Kiss the Beautiful Boy: A Burning Man Story (Part 1 of 2)
Author: Idahophoenix
Beta: sweet_poeia (who is generous, insightful and smart!)
Pairings: Adam/Brad, Adam/Kris
Rating: R
Word Count: 12,233
Warnings: Homophobic speech/actions, drug use, slash!
Part 1 of 2
A/N: This is a work of fiction; however, I’ve personally seen all of the art pieces and structures described, although not during the same Burn. At the end of the story, I’ve included a couple of links for any of you who would like to know more about the wild and wonderful world of Burning Man and the Thunderdome. There's a link to Part 2 at the end of Part 1.
“On my left, we have Cheeks of Cheektopia who loves fluffy white puppies, square jawed marines, and white socks that stay below the ankle without falling into your shoe. Cheeks fears no man and seeks enlightenment on the field of battle.”
Brad raised his arm and gave a lovely princess wave. Applause and hoots of appreciation came from the crowd.
“On my right, we have Kris from Arkansas, who says he’s not quite sure why he is here.” Plaid Boy raised a fist to the air and the crowd laughed and applauded.
Part 1:
The Burn felt different this year. Sure last year Adam and Brad were madly in love--giggling at each other’s bitchy jokes, designing coordinated costumes and decorating Playa bikes. They plotted seductions of pretty boys at the all night raves, in the Contact Dancing workshops and, this had been the best, during the Billion Bunny march. Everything had been sparkling and magical and sexy.
This year not so much. That thread of uneasiness that had begun between Brad and Adam last spring when Adam, once again, was out of town to play the under-fucking-study for Fyero, and Brad never seemed to answer the phone, had blossomed into an out-and-out full-on screaming argument in front of the Porta-Potties.
Adam said, “I can’t ever get a hold of you when I need you. You know how it is when I’m touring--I hardly have a minute. How fucking difficult is to answer the phone--aren’t you supposed to be the Diva of Electronic Communication?”
And Brad said, “Excuse me if I’m not always at your beck and call Your Highness!” He then proceeded with an uncomfortably accurate analysis of Adam’s habit of putting off anything that might be the least bit difficult, ranging, somehow, from taking his music career seriously to replacing the toilet paper. It deteriorated from there until, unexpectedly, Adam found himself yelling, “Well, bitch, if you’re so damn mad, why don’t you just hit me.”
Brad had stepped back and said with quiet dignity, “Because I only like to pick on people my own size.” And, of course, Adam had to laugh at himself, at both of them, really.
And suddenly Brad was jumping up and down in excitement saying, “You’re a genius! This is perfect. I do need to hit someone - I mean when have I ever been able to do that?”
“Um. What?” Adam replied.
Brad raised his fists and struck a fighting pose. “You want to see me go mano-a-mano. To get on my Texan and strut my manly stuff? Well Lover, come to Thunder Dome tonight.” And just like that, the argument was over.
A little later in the back of their van, Brad pulled on a pair of tangerine harem pants, liberally dosed his torso with glitter make-up and grinned at Adam.
Adam said, “M.C. Hammer? Really?”
Brad just laughed and said, “M.C. Hammer never looked this good.”
And Adam had to admit Brad was kind of right. He looked -well, beautiful. It still caught Adam by surprise sometimes, how Brad could throw on anything and somehow make it his own, always a whiff of satire mixed in with the sexy.
For a long time, all that swirl of energy had been focused on Adam, and Adam had felt sexy and confident because of it. But lately, it felt like he shared Brad with everyone. That this THING they had become took real work. Hell, sometimes Adam felt like just one of many satellites circling planet Cheeks. Ok---maybe not a satellite-he was a big asteroid, but still. A fucking asteroid. Really an ass-teroid.
Shit! Now he was making pathetic puns like Neil. That was never a good sign.
Time to pull himself up by his bootstraps and have some fun. (Adam took a moment to admire his gorgeous platform boots-really the way he felt walking in them never got old). He planted a kiss on Brad’s head and said, “See you at Thunderdome.” Brad languidly waved his hand as Adam set off for his evening’s adventure.
Several hours later, filled with shots of Tequila, mimosas, mouthtinis and whatever other alcoholic beverages his fellow Burners had seen fit to gift him with on the long walk from Boys Just Wanna Have Fun camp to the outskirts of Black Rock City, Adam found himself scrambling up the metal struts of Thunderdome to get a better look at the fight arena.
As he looked down, he could see Brad in line, standing next to another small guy. So, that was a relief. Knowing Brad, Adam had worried that he would pair up to fight some brawny uber-hunk just to prove he could. Sure, the sign in front of Thunderdome reading ‘0 Days Without Injury’ was a joke, but only sort of. Adam still remembered the moans, and not the fun kind, his neighbor Matt had made last year after returning from a fight in Thunderdome with a dislocated shoulder. Matt and his camp had left the Burn early to go to the hospital in Reno.
When Adam had mentioned this worry, Brad had said, “Stop being such a Jewish mother. Risk is the price of freedom.” And really, Brad was right, the whole notion of radical self-sufficiency was an underpinning of the Burn, and part of that was not whining if you got hurt, and certainly not filing a law suit.
Still, Brad was so small, and Adam had been worried. He couldn’t help it, the camp that ran Thunder Dome was known as the Death Guild, after all. And besides, Adam was just wired that way; he liked his boyfriends uninjured and alive. So, seeing that Brad’s challenger was another small guy, well actually tiny, made Adam feel he could relax and enjoy the show. In fact, taking another look at the two below him, Adam thought he could fit Brad in one of his pockets, his opponent in the other, and still walk with a swagger. The image set Adam to giggling for a moment.
Adam wriggled a little, to get a more comfortable grip on the dome. It was a gorgeous night to watch his boyfriend play gladiator, but he could have done without the three college kids crowding into him from the left and right. It was a drag how the energy of the Burn always shifted just a little on Friday, when the long-term Burners were joined by the crowds of Frat Boys and weekend alcoholics who came to ogle naked women and get shit faced. Not that Adam had an issue with ogling in general, but his preferred mode was mutual appreciation with a strong dash of sardonic self-reflection. These boys were discussing breast size and fuckability, and Adam just wanted them to shut up.
Actually the guy on his right was good looking - in a Preppy/Valentino/Bollywood sort of way-and better yet-seemed less interested in the trash talk and was willing to move over to give Adam room.
Valentino shrugged in apology when he saw Adam’s look of disgust as the dude on his left let out an ear splitting FUCK YEAH BITCHES LET IT ALL HANG OUT. Below, one of the female contestants ripped the shirt right off of her opponent. Actually, the crowd did go sort of wild, which was funny since there were plenty of women around with no shirts on already. But Adam got it; the crowd was applauding the performance more than anything. Except for the douche-bags on his left, who were now loudly critiquing the women’s bodies.
“Don’t be assholes,” Adam said to the Frat Boys in irritation. It wasn’t as if he and Brad hadn’t run down the pros and cons of men at the Burn, in the bars, hell, at the grocery store, hundreds of time, but this just felt different.
Valentino on his right laughed and said, “O’Reilley, Beck, this guy’s got a point. Remember, dudes, respect for the women, right?” And then made a gesture, which in LA would have been the beginning of some sort of scary gang exchange that would have had Adam scrambling for cover. But here it was clearly a Frat Honor Code symbol or something, because O’Reilly actually looked a little ashamed of himself.
“They’re just really loaded,” Valentino said to Adam.
“Who isn’t? Doesn’t mean you have to be a jerk,” Adam replied, with an arched eyebrow.
“Your logic is unimpeachable,” Valentino said. “Speaking of which, would you like a drink?”
Of course Adam said yes, and smiled in approval as Valentino pulled out an elegant silver flask. Adam took a good slug of what turned out to be some excellent whiskey and savored the slow burn as the alcohol slid down his throat.
Taking another sip, Adam drifted into a lazy contemplation of life at the Burn while he waited for his amour to be called up to do battle. It was true, he thought, that there were never as many topless women in Black Rock City as shirt-cockers-men running around in shirts to keep themselves warm or out of the sun but letting their dicks fly free. It really wasn’t a great fashion look, but Adam wasn’t complaining.
One of the funniest things he’d ever seen at the Burn had been a shirt-cocker who had stepped into the mobile karaoke booth on the Playa and belted out “Billy Don’t Be A Hero,” completely ignoring the fact that by the end of the number his prick was doing a full-on salute to the audience. The crowd had given the karaoke singer an enthusiastic round of applause, and he had bowed with dignity before leaving the stage, scrambling onto his Playa Bike and peddling away. “That’s what I call a balls-out performance!” Brad had said. More than anything, really, it was that exit by bike that had left Adam and Brad somewhere between admiration and hysterics.
And that was what Adam loved about Brad: his ability to cherish the ridiculous. And it was why all this fighting, this just not being in sync, was scaring Adam a little, and then pissing him off until he said stupid things that he instantly regretted. When Valentino offered, Adam took another long, slow drink of whiskey.
Adam glanced down and saw that Brad was being strapped into a harness by a big Black Bear, all beard and hairy chest and gut proudly protruding between the flaps of a leather vest. Two long bungee cords stretched from the harness and attached to the dome’s wall. Across the arena, Brad’s opponent looked awkward as he tried to adjust his harness. A flame-haired chick, all attitude and wiggle, laughed as she helped the opponent get the harness untangled from the sleeves of his plaid shirt.
Plaid shirt? Wait--who wore plaid at the Burn? As Adam contemplated this fashion forward concept, he noticed that the Frat Boys on either side of him were gesturing with excitement.
“Allen, HEY ALLEN!” they yelled. “Dude, you’re gonna kill it tonight!” The Plaid Boy looked up and gave a sheepish-looking thumbs up to his friends. Meanwhile, Brad was bouncing up and down on his toes, getting a feel for the gear, and oh-so-casually glancing around at the crowd. Adam let out a wolf whistle. Brad looked up and sketched a mock salute, followed by one of those smiles that Adam felt down to his toes.
A gorgeous blonde Amazon with a tattoo sleeve, tight black dress and black combat boots strode into the center of the arena.
“Our combatants have arrived!” she announced. “On my left, we have Cheeks of Cheektopia who loves fluffy white puppies, square jawed marines, and white socks that stay below the ankle without falling into your shoe. Cheeks fears no man and seeks enlightenment on the field of battle.”
Brad raised his arm and gave a lovely princess wave. Applause and hoots of appreciation came from the crowd.
“On my right, we have Kris from Arkansas, who says he’s not quite sure why he is here.” Plaid Boy raised a fist to the air and the crowd laughed and applauded.
“Our combatants have agreed to the terms of battle. First: The word of the Death Guild is final. Second: Two men enter, one man leaves.” The Amazon, the Bear and the Red-haired Wonder Girl all assumed stern faces, pounded their right hands twice across their chests and raised fists to the air and shouted, “Two men enter: One man leaves.” The crowd picked up the chant, clapping their hands in rhythm and rattling the metal bars that made up the dome. Each combatant was handed a “weapon.” Adam harrumphed silently to himself as he noted that the long bats appeared to be some kind of Nerf Swords.
“Doesn’t look too terrifying does it?” Valentino stage-whispered to Adam.
“That’s just because you’ve never seen what Cheeks can do with a soft sword,” Adam retorted loyally and returned his attention to the arena.
Somehow, he had missed the beginning of the fight, because Brad and Plaid Boy were already bouncing around each other, swinging their ‘weapons’ wildly and missing making contact more often than not. With, really, a kind of adorable warrior cry, Plaid Boy tried to make a straight run at Brad, who at the moment was standing with legs akimbo, looking for an opportunity to attack. But as Plaid Boy got near Brad, he reached the end of his tether and was instantly jerked back by the Bungee cord attached to the harness. Brad, in a maddening way that Adam knew all too well, pursed his lips and shook his head ruefully at Plaid Boy. Brad then gracefully bounced two steps forward and repeatedly hit Plaid Boy across his head and belly.
Adam found himself yelling triumphantly, “Go Cheeks Go!!!” while on his right, O’Reilly shouted, “Allen FIGHT! Get your MAN on!” Beck yelled, “Hit him Allen! Take that asshole OUT!” And Valentino muttered something about how Kris never had been very good at strategy or being sneaky.
The Bear pulled Plaid Boy and Brad apart and gave them a moment to catch their breath.
“Round One to Cheeks!” intoned Amazon girl.
The second round started with some cautious thrusts and circling, while each combatant looked for an opening. Suddenly, Plaid Boy began jumping up and down and up and down, and then, somehow, impossibly, launched himself up and forward towards Brad. Plaid Boy grabbed Brad by the shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist. Brad appeared momentarily distracted by this turn of events, and Plaid Boy took full advantage of the moment, gleefully landing hit after hit around Brad’s head and shoulders. Brad regained composure quickly and returned a couple of well-placed thwacks on Plaid Boy’s ass.
This time, Red Hair pulled the two men apart and sent them to their “corners.”
Adam was laughing his ass off. “Those boys are having way too much fun!” he said to Valentino. “Yeah, maybe Kris is sneakier than I thought,” Valentino agreed with a smile. O’Reilly grimaced and Beck muttered, “What the fuck?”
“Round Two to Kris,” announced Amazon girl.
Brad raised his eyes to Adam, blew a kiss, and headed toward the center of the ring. Plaid Boy looked up to his frat brothers, gave a funny little shrug of his shoulders, and maneuvered his way towards Brad. The round started in a flurry of thrusts and hits - too fast really to tell who was ahead. They both looked kind of worked up to Adam--like winning this thing mattered. And Adam began to see how someone could actually get hurt. Because it wasn’t all Nerf weapons and bouncing-there was real body contact going on down there.
Brad suddenly lunged forward, threw an elbow into Plaid Boy’s gut and smacked him on the head. Plaid Boy sprang up and landed his knees in Brad’s side. Brad staggered back, doubled over, breathing hard, and Plaid Boy stopped, with a look of concern on his face. Both Red Head and Bear were heading to the middle of the ring, when Brad stood back up and simply took a bounce forward. He wrapped one arm around Plaid Boy’s shoulders; gaining purchase against his body, he tilted Plaid Boy’s face up and kissed him on the mouth.
Plaid Boy abruptly stepped back and then stood stock still, his mouth in a kind of crooked grin. Brad pulled him forward again and, quite tenderly this time, leaned into that crooked grin and kissed the hell out of him. Plaid Boy’s arms lifted and, it seemed almost involuntarily, wrapped around Brad’s waist for a moment.
The kiss, although definitely hot, had really gone on quite long enough, thought Adam, when Plaid Boy finally pushed Brad away. Plaid Boy shook his head a couple of times, as if to clear his thoughts.. Brad swept a bow to the crowd, who hooted their approval and then turned to his opponent and offered his hand. Plaid Boy reached his hand out and gave it a firm shake.
“And that concludes our fight!” bellowed Amazon girl. “By a unanimous vote of the Death Guild, Cheeks of Cheektopia is the winner! Two men enter: One man leaves!” She raised Brad’s arms high and the crowd roared.
Adam couldn’t take his eyes off of Brad, who was radiating joy, laughing and preening, as he was unhooked from the harness. So Adam was taken by surprise when he was sharply elbowed from the left.
“Hey! That hurt!” he exclaimed.
“Oopsy-poopsy!” said frat-boy O’Neill and then waved a limp wrist at Adam.
Beck backed him, practically spitting as he said, “I didn’t know it was Faggot Friday at the Burn.”
Adam felt his whole body flush. It was one of the treacherous things about actually being a ginger; no amount of hair dye could erase that primordial response. Adam absolutely hated the way it showed his emotions to the world while simultaneously slowing his ability to think. Crap! He expected this shit out in the Default World, but the Burn was safe. It was sort of a sacred space for all the artists and queers and dreamers and freaks. It was home.
Adam knew it was time for an appropriately cutting response, but all he really wanted to do was to slug the jerks. On the other hand, Adam was six feet off the ground, balanced somewhat precariously on a narrow strip of metal and wearing platform boots. Even more importantly, his boyfriend was waiting below to be petted and praised, and Adam so didn’t need to deal with this homophobic shit right now. So instead, he gave Aryan frat boys one and two what he hoped was a truly withering look and began to climb down the dome.
Above him he heard Valentino yelling at his friends phrases like “ass-holes without a sense of humor,” and, “fucking Greeks who don’t know how to function outside of the frat house.” Well, maybe there was some justice in the world, Adam thought as he jumped the last few feet down onto the desert floor. Let the college boys work it out among themselves. He had a gladiator to congratulate.
And there Brad was - loping towards Adam with a huge grin plastered across his face and a fuck-me-now twinkle in his eye. Adam strode forward until he was right in front of Brad, and then dropped dramatically to his knees.
“My hero,” he said.
“Damn right,” said Brad, running his fingers through Adam’s hair, and then in a rush of words, “God, Adam, that felt great! I mean really amazing. Everyone watching and the adrenaline and, did you see me, I mean did you really see me?”
“Yeah, baby, I saw you. You were a wonder to behold.”
____________________________
Several hours of dancing later, back in their very own van, Brad lay in Adam’s arms still talking about the fight.
“You know what?” Brad whispered into Adam’s ear. “I really was getting pissed off. Like I really wanted to just beat the crap out of Kris. So weird, too, cuz he’s really a sweet guy.”
“Uh hmm. Yeah, I sort of gathered that you liked Plaid Boy."
Brad chuckled. “Yeah, I did. We had a great talk before the fight and he was really cute. He seemed sort of shy and out of his element, but a good soul. He told me this was his last trip out with the boys before he gets married. And then that fabulous Black Bear came and told us, “Dawgs! You understand--this is a fight to the death. But it’s really up to you to make sure you don’t injure each other.” And we both were like, of course man, because we knew it was all show. But Adam, I swear, in that third round suddenly it didn’t matter. It was like some freaky he-man voodoo testosterone thing was taking me over - and I was remembering all those times back in junior high, when absolutely no one was appreciating my wit and beauty…”
“Oh, god, how did any of us survive junior high?” Adam sighed.
“You know, I barely did.”
“I know, baby.”
“And anyhow, there was Kris in front of me, and my ears were ringing and I just fucking wanted to win. To be the toughest dude in the ring.”
“You did look kind of intense there for a little while. So, what happened?”
“Well, it was the weirdest thing, like a scene out of a Gus Van Sant movie. I suddenly had this feeling like everything was in slow motion, and I swear to god, I heard a voice say, ‘Remember your super power Cheeks.’ And then I did remember. So, I did what came naturally: I kissed the beautiful boy and slayed the dragon with my magic fairy powers.”
Adam breathed Brad in deeply. Oh yeah, this was it. This was why he fell in love with this impossible creature. That deep sweetness and idealism that underlay all of his snark.
Then Brad leaned into Adam and bit his ear. Hard.
“Ouch!” Adam exclaimed, in an embarrassingly un-toppy voice. And this was why Brad fucking drove him nuts.
“Way to break the mood Brad.”
“Well, here’s the thing Adam. We aren’t in some fairy tale where we live happily ever after. Sure, tonight we’re us again. Ready to dazzle the world together. But what about tomorrow? god, we sound so pathetic arguing about cell phone calls and toilet paper and whether I’m flirting too much with too many boys. We can’t keep doing this.”
“Stop being such a drama queen. It was just a lovers’ quarrel,” Adam said.
“No, not this time sweetheart. Don’t you feel it? The slow crumbling apart. I know you. I know what you want. Remember, I’m the one who swept your insecure red-haired self off the dance floor and into your current state of black haired fabulosity.”
“You did not, “ Adam protested. This was an old argument. “I pulled you away from that blonde-haired gym queen on the dance floor that night. I kissed you witless against the bathroom door. I took you out to our first elegant date for coffee at Denny’s at 3 in the morning. I charmed your ass off until 5 in the morning and then I took you home and fucked you until 2 the next afternoon. I Found You.”
“God, Adam. We were only on the dance floor so I could get near you. I practically waltzed right up your body, before you clued in to the fact that someone might actually be interested in you. I had been watching and lusting after you for days--and that was before I even knew you could sing--and you never even made a move to say hello.”
“Well of course not. You were always surrounded by your crowd of inamorata. I didn’t think I had a chance.”
“Ha! See, I Found You!” Brad exclaimed triumphantly.
“Ok. Maybe you did. Or maybe we found each other. What does it matter, really?”
“Here’s why it matters Adam: you’re a peacock and I’m a gazelle. So, you see, we have to break up.”
Adam absolutely hated it when Brad got into his animal metaphors. He had definitely not drunk enough for this conversation.
“Brad, are you breaking up with me because I’m a bird and you’re a goat or a deer or whatever?”
“A gazelle, Adam, a graceful gazelle,” Brad said very seriously. “ You’re obviously not getting the point. Here’s the thing. A gazelle leaps freely across the Savannah. Sure, we gazelles are loyal to our herd, but we need a lot of space to run and play and eat grass - or whatever the hell it is we gazelles eat. Peacocks, beautiful gorgeous peacocks-they put up a big show for all to see-and God help the person who doesn’t appropriately admire their big display-but at heart peacocks are quite conservative.”
“Hmm….you’ve never seemed to have an issue with admiring my big display,” Adam interrupted.
Brad ran his hand all the way down Adam’s chest to his cock, which to Adam’s irritation, responded enthusiastically right on cue.
“No. That’s not the issue is it?”
“Well, then what the hell is it Brad?”
“Here’s the thing about peacocks: they mate for life. I know you really want that. And that was never going to be me.”
And there it was in a nutshell. What all the sniping and awkward silences over things that didn’t really matter had been about. Adam felt frozen. As if he truly couldn’t breathe.
“Adam. I adore you. I love you. You are the most fabulous, gorgeous, irritating, talented, mind blowing, sexy, infuriating, funny person I have ever known. “
“Shit Brad! You can’t say that and at the same time say you don’t want me.”
“No sweetheart. You have it wrong. It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s that you don’t want me. Not really. It all came clear to me in the ring today when I was kissing that college guy.”
“Oh, this is so not about the Plaid Boy, is it?”
“No, it’s about kissing him,” Brad explained, as if he were making perfect sense.
“Great. This evening just gets better and better.”
“No, here’s the thing. I want to kiss lots and lots and lots more boys. Plaid ones and camouflage ones and velvet ones and pinstripe ones and khaki ones and Velcro ones…”
“Uh, Brad, I get the idea. You can stop listing materials now.”
“Ooops. Just got carried away with the visuals there. Anyhow, the point is, I know that would definitely get to be an issue for us, for you. And I don’t want that and you sure as hell don’t want that. I think what you want is someone, some ridiculously monogamous soul, to unconditionally support you and love you and push you until you step out of the safety zone you’ve been floating in this last year and actually get the world to pay attention to the incredible talent that is Adam Lambert. But that isn’t going to be me. I’m figuring out my own journey - and that takes a lot of concentration just by itself-and I just can’t do that for you.”
“And then there’s the kissing all the material boys thing too,” Adam said.
“Yep. There’s that too,” said Brad. “It really is time for us to break up.”
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in again, Adam told himself. They lay in silence for several more minutes, Brad still tracing his fingers up and down Adam’s torso. Adam’s first inclination was to shake him off. To just get out of the damn van and get away. As far away as he could. He visualized himself gathering up his clothes and leaving the van in stony silence. And then he realized he was trembling. Like his body had taken it in before his mind had really had a chance to process. He couldn’t walk even if he wanted to.
Ok. He thought. Ok.
It wasn’t until Brad climbed on top of Adam, wrapped his arms around him and whispered, “Shush, I know sweetheart, I know,” that Adam realized he was crying.
Adam took a ragged breath. Shit!!!
Pull it together Lambert.
Peacock, he thought, a fuckin’ Peacock. Well, damn right. Then it was time for him to stop acting like a sad little pea hen. This, after all, was his last night with Brad-- Flaming Cheeks of Cheektopia--Champion of the Thunder Dome. Adam’s very own first love. He was at Burning Man and he was not going to go out with a whimper.
Adam gathered himself, like he did before an important audition.
“Ok Brad. You’re right. I know you’re right.” Brad kissed Adam’s nose, his cheeks, his lips. Then Adam flipped Brad onto his back, straddled him and pinned Brad’s hands up above his head. He ran his tongue across Brad’s lips. Brad struggled, just a little, and Adam held him down more firmly and bit Brad’s ear. Hard.
“Now, how about a last display of my feathers just for you,” Adam whispered.
Brad sighed. And, for one final time, they made love through the night, at last falling asleep to the sound of Burners drumming up the rising of the sun.
*****
Part 2 Kiss the Beautiful Boy Here
Beta: sweet_poeia (who is generous, insightful and smart!)
Pairings: Adam/Brad, Adam/Kris
Rating: R
Word Count: 12,233
Warnings: Homophobic speech/actions, drug use, slash!
Part 1 of 2
A/N: This is a work of fiction; however, I’ve personally seen all of the art pieces and structures described, although not during the same Burn. At the end of the story, I’ve included a couple of links for any of you who would like to know more about the wild and wonderful world of Burning Man and the Thunderdome. There's a link to Part 2 at the end of Part 1.
“On my left, we have Cheeks of Cheektopia who loves fluffy white puppies, square jawed marines, and white socks that stay below the ankle without falling into your shoe. Cheeks fears no man and seeks enlightenment on the field of battle.”
Brad raised his arm and gave a lovely princess wave. Applause and hoots of appreciation came from the crowd.
“On my right, we have Kris from Arkansas, who says he’s not quite sure why he is here.” Plaid Boy raised a fist to the air and the crowd laughed and applauded.
Part 1:
The Burn felt different this year. Sure last year Adam and Brad were madly in love--giggling at each other’s bitchy jokes, designing coordinated costumes and decorating Playa bikes. They plotted seductions of pretty boys at the all night raves, in the Contact Dancing workshops and, this had been the best, during the Billion Bunny march. Everything had been sparkling and magical and sexy.
This year not so much. That thread of uneasiness that had begun between Brad and Adam last spring when Adam, once again, was out of town to play the under-fucking-study for Fyero, and Brad never seemed to answer the phone, had blossomed into an out-and-out full-on screaming argument in front of the Porta-Potties.
Adam said, “I can’t ever get a hold of you when I need you. You know how it is when I’m touring--I hardly have a minute. How fucking difficult is to answer the phone--aren’t you supposed to be the Diva of Electronic Communication?”
And Brad said, “Excuse me if I’m not always at your beck and call Your Highness!” He then proceeded with an uncomfortably accurate analysis of Adam’s habit of putting off anything that might be the least bit difficult, ranging, somehow, from taking his music career seriously to replacing the toilet paper. It deteriorated from there until, unexpectedly, Adam found himself yelling, “Well, bitch, if you’re so damn mad, why don’t you just hit me.”
Brad had stepped back and said with quiet dignity, “Because I only like to pick on people my own size.” And, of course, Adam had to laugh at himself, at both of them, really.
And suddenly Brad was jumping up and down in excitement saying, “You’re a genius! This is perfect. I do need to hit someone - I mean when have I ever been able to do that?”
“Um. What?” Adam replied.
Brad raised his fists and struck a fighting pose. “You want to see me go mano-a-mano. To get on my Texan and strut my manly stuff? Well Lover, come to Thunder Dome tonight.” And just like that, the argument was over.
A little later in the back of their van, Brad pulled on a pair of tangerine harem pants, liberally dosed his torso with glitter make-up and grinned at Adam.
Adam said, “M.C. Hammer? Really?”
Brad just laughed and said, “M.C. Hammer never looked this good.”
And Adam had to admit Brad was kind of right. He looked -well, beautiful. It still caught Adam by surprise sometimes, how Brad could throw on anything and somehow make it his own, always a whiff of satire mixed in with the sexy.
For a long time, all that swirl of energy had been focused on Adam, and Adam had felt sexy and confident because of it. But lately, it felt like he shared Brad with everyone. That this THING they had become took real work. Hell, sometimes Adam felt like just one of many satellites circling planet Cheeks. Ok---maybe not a satellite-he was a big asteroid, but still. A fucking asteroid. Really an ass-teroid.
Shit! Now he was making pathetic puns like Neil. That was never a good sign.
Time to pull himself up by his bootstraps and have some fun. (Adam took a moment to admire his gorgeous platform boots-really the way he felt walking in them never got old). He planted a kiss on Brad’s head and said, “See you at Thunderdome.” Brad languidly waved his hand as Adam set off for his evening’s adventure.
Several hours later, filled with shots of Tequila, mimosas, mouthtinis and whatever other alcoholic beverages his fellow Burners had seen fit to gift him with on the long walk from Boys Just Wanna Have Fun camp to the outskirts of Black Rock City, Adam found himself scrambling up the metal struts of Thunderdome to get a better look at the fight arena.
As he looked down, he could see Brad in line, standing next to another small guy. So, that was a relief. Knowing Brad, Adam had worried that he would pair up to fight some brawny uber-hunk just to prove he could. Sure, the sign in front of Thunderdome reading ‘0 Days Without Injury’ was a joke, but only sort of. Adam still remembered the moans, and not the fun kind, his neighbor Matt had made last year after returning from a fight in Thunderdome with a dislocated shoulder. Matt and his camp had left the Burn early to go to the hospital in Reno.
When Adam had mentioned this worry, Brad had said, “Stop being such a Jewish mother. Risk is the price of freedom.” And really, Brad was right, the whole notion of radical self-sufficiency was an underpinning of the Burn, and part of that was not whining if you got hurt, and certainly not filing a law suit.
Still, Brad was so small, and Adam had been worried. He couldn’t help it, the camp that ran Thunder Dome was known as the Death Guild, after all. And besides, Adam was just wired that way; he liked his boyfriends uninjured and alive. So, seeing that Brad’s challenger was another small guy, well actually tiny, made Adam feel he could relax and enjoy the show. In fact, taking another look at the two below him, Adam thought he could fit Brad in one of his pockets, his opponent in the other, and still walk with a swagger. The image set Adam to giggling for a moment.
Adam wriggled a little, to get a more comfortable grip on the dome. It was a gorgeous night to watch his boyfriend play gladiator, but he could have done without the three college kids crowding into him from the left and right. It was a drag how the energy of the Burn always shifted just a little on Friday, when the long-term Burners were joined by the crowds of Frat Boys and weekend alcoholics who came to ogle naked women and get shit faced. Not that Adam had an issue with ogling in general, but his preferred mode was mutual appreciation with a strong dash of sardonic self-reflection. These boys were discussing breast size and fuckability, and Adam just wanted them to shut up.
Actually the guy on his right was good looking - in a Preppy/Valentino/Bollywood sort of way-and better yet-seemed less interested in the trash talk and was willing to move over to give Adam room.
Valentino shrugged in apology when he saw Adam’s look of disgust as the dude on his left let out an ear splitting FUCK YEAH BITCHES LET IT ALL HANG OUT. Below, one of the female contestants ripped the shirt right off of her opponent. Actually, the crowd did go sort of wild, which was funny since there were plenty of women around with no shirts on already. But Adam got it; the crowd was applauding the performance more than anything. Except for the douche-bags on his left, who were now loudly critiquing the women’s bodies.
“Don’t be assholes,” Adam said to the Frat Boys in irritation. It wasn’t as if he and Brad hadn’t run down the pros and cons of men at the Burn, in the bars, hell, at the grocery store, hundreds of time, but this just felt different.
Valentino on his right laughed and said, “O’Reilley, Beck, this guy’s got a point. Remember, dudes, respect for the women, right?” And then made a gesture, which in LA would have been the beginning of some sort of scary gang exchange that would have had Adam scrambling for cover. But here it was clearly a Frat Honor Code symbol or something, because O’Reilly actually looked a little ashamed of himself.
“They’re just really loaded,” Valentino said to Adam.
“Who isn’t? Doesn’t mean you have to be a jerk,” Adam replied, with an arched eyebrow.
“Your logic is unimpeachable,” Valentino said. “Speaking of which, would you like a drink?”
Of course Adam said yes, and smiled in approval as Valentino pulled out an elegant silver flask. Adam took a good slug of what turned out to be some excellent whiskey and savored the slow burn as the alcohol slid down his throat.
Taking another sip, Adam drifted into a lazy contemplation of life at the Burn while he waited for his amour to be called up to do battle. It was true, he thought, that there were never as many topless women in Black Rock City as shirt-cockers-men running around in shirts to keep themselves warm or out of the sun but letting their dicks fly free. It really wasn’t a great fashion look, but Adam wasn’t complaining.
One of the funniest things he’d ever seen at the Burn had been a shirt-cocker who had stepped into the mobile karaoke booth on the Playa and belted out “Billy Don’t Be A Hero,” completely ignoring the fact that by the end of the number his prick was doing a full-on salute to the audience. The crowd had given the karaoke singer an enthusiastic round of applause, and he had bowed with dignity before leaving the stage, scrambling onto his Playa Bike and peddling away. “That’s what I call a balls-out performance!” Brad had said. More than anything, really, it was that exit by bike that had left Adam and Brad somewhere between admiration and hysterics.
And that was what Adam loved about Brad: his ability to cherish the ridiculous. And it was why all this fighting, this just not being in sync, was scaring Adam a little, and then pissing him off until he said stupid things that he instantly regretted. When Valentino offered, Adam took another long, slow drink of whiskey.
Adam glanced down and saw that Brad was being strapped into a harness by a big Black Bear, all beard and hairy chest and gut proudly protruding between the flaps of a leather vest. Two long bungee cords stretched from the harness and attached to the dome’s wall. Across the arena, Brad’s opponent looked awkward as he tried to adjust his harness. A flame-haired chick, all attitude and wiggle, laughed as she helped the opponent get the harness untangled from the sleeves of his plaid shirt.
Plaid shirt? Wait--who wore plaid at the Burn? As Adam contemplated this fashion forward concept, he noticed that the Frat Boys on either side of him were gesturing with excitement.
“Allen, HEY ALLEN!” they yelled. “Dude, you’re gonna kill it tonight!” The Plaid Boy looked up and gave a sheepish-looking thumbs up to his friends. Meanwhile, Brad was bouncing up and down on his toes, getting a feel for the gear, and oh-so-casually glancing around at the crowd. Adam let out a wolf whistle. Brad looked up and sketched a mock salute, followed by one of those smiles that Adam felt down to his toes.
A gorgeous blonde Amazon with a tattoo sleeve, tight black dress and black combat boots strode into the center of the arena.
“Our combatants have arrived!” she announced. “On my left, we have Cheeks of Cheektopia who loves fluffy white puppies, square jawed marines, and white socks that stay below the ankle without falling into your shoe. Cheeks fears no man and seeks enlightenment on the field of battle.”
Brad raised his arm and gave a lovely princess wave. Applause and hoots of appreciation came from the crowd.
“On my right, we have Kris from Arkansas, who says he’s not quite sure why he is here.” Plaid Boy raised a fist to the air and the crowd laughed and applauded.
“Our combatants have agreed to the terms of battle. First: The word of the Death Guild is final. Second: Two men enter, one man leaves.” The Amazon, the Bear and the Red-haired Wonder Girl all assumed stern faces, pounded their right hands twice across their chests and raised fists to the air and shouted, “Two men enter: One man leaves.” The crowd picked up the chant, clapping their hands in rhythm and rattling the metal bars that made up the dome. Each combatant was handed a “weapon.” Adam harrumphed silently to himself as he noted that the long bats appeared to be some kind of Nerf Swords.
“Doesn’t look too terrifying does it?” Valentino stage-whispered to Adam.
“That’s just because you’ve never seen what Cheeks can do with a soft sword,” Adam retorted loyally and returned his attention to the arena.
Somehow, he had missed the beginning of the fight, because Brad and Plaid Boy were already bouncing around each other, swinging their ‘weapons’ wildly and missing making contact more often than not. With, really, a kind of adorable warrior cry, Plaid Boy tried to make a straight run at Brad, who at the moment was standing with legs akimbo, looking for an opportunity to attack. But as Plaid Boy got near Brad, he reached the end of his tether and was instantly jerked back by the Bungee cord attached to the harness. Brad, in a maddening way that Adam knew all too well, pursed his lips and shook his head ruefully at Plaid Boy. Brad then gracefully bounced two steps forward and repeatedly hit Plaid Boy across his head and belly.
Adam found himself yelling triumphantly, “Go Cheeks Go!!!” while on his right, O’Reilly shouted, “Allen FIGHT! Get your MAN on!” Beck yelled, “Hit him Allen! Take that asshole OUT!” And Valentino muttered something about how Kris never had been very good at strategy or being sneaky.
The Bear pulled Plaid Boy and Brad apart and gave them a moment to catch their breath.
“Round One to Cheeks!” intoned Amazon girl.
The second round started with some cautious thrusts and circling, while each combatant looked for an opening. Suddenly, Plaid Boy began jumping up and down and up and down, and then, somehow, impossibly, launched himself up and forward towards Brad. Plaid Boy grabbed Brad by the shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist. Brad appeared momentarily distracted by this turn of events, and Plaid Boy took full advantage of the moment, gleefully landing hit after hit around Brad’s head and shoulders. Brad regained composure quickly and returned a couple of well-placed thwacks on Plaid Boy’s ass.
This time, Red Hair pulled the two men apart and sent them to their “corners.”
Adam was laughing his ass off. “Those boys are having way too much fun!” he said to Valentino. “Yeah, maybe Kris is sneakier than I thought,” Valentino agreed with a smile. O’Reilly grimaced and Beck muttered, “What the fuck?”
“Round Two to Kris,” announced Amazon girl.
Brad raised his eyes to Adam, blew a kiss, and headed toward the center of the ring. Plaid Boy looked up to his frat brothers, gave a funny little shrug of his shoulders, and maneuvered his way towards Brad. The round started in a flurry of thrusts and hits - too fast really to tell who was ahead. They both looked kind of worked up to Adam--like winning this thing mattered. And Adam began to see how someone could actually get hurt. Because it wasn’t all Nerf weapons and bouncing-there was real body contact going on down there.
Brad suddenly lunged forward, threw an elbow into Plaid Boy’s gut and smacked him on the head. Plaid Boy sprang up and landed his knees in Brad’s side. Brad staggered back, doubled over, breathing hard, and Plaid Boy stopped, with a look of concern on his face. Both Red Head and Bear were heading to the middle of the ring, when Brad stood back up and simply took a bounce forward. He wrapped one arm around Plaid Boy’s shoulders; gaining purchase against his body, he tilted Plaid Boy’s face up and kissed him on the mouth.
Plaid Boy abruptly stepped back and then stood stock still, his mouth in a kind of crooked grin. Brad pulled him forward again and, quite tenderly this time, leaned into that crooked grin and kissed the hell out of him. Plaid Boy’s arms lifted and, it seemed almost involuntarily, wrapped around Brad’s waist for a moment.
The kiss, although definitely hot, had really gone on quite long enough, thought Adam, when Plaid Boy finally pushed Brad away. Plaid Boy shook his head a couple of times, as if to clear his thoughts.. Brad swept a bow to the crowd, who hooted their approval and then turned to his opponent and offered his hand. Plaid Boy reached his hand out and gave it a firm shake.
“And that concludes our fight!” bellowed Amazon girl. “By a unanimous vote of the Death Guild, Cheeks of Cheektopia is the winner! Two men enter: One man leaves!” She raised Brad’s arms high and the crowd roared.
Adam couldn’t take his eyes off of Brad, who was radiating joy, laughing and preening, as he was unhooked from the harness. So Adam was taken by surprise when he was sharply elbowed from the left.
“Hey! That hurt!” he exclaimed.
“Oopsy-poopsy!” said frat-boy O’Neill and then waved a limp wrist at Adam.
Beck backed him, practically spitting as he said, “I didn’t know it was Faggot Friday at the Burn.”
Adam felt his whole body flush. It was one of the treacherous things about actually being a ginger; no amount of hair dye could erase that primordial response. Adam absolutely hated the way it showed his emotions to the world while simultaneously slowing his ability to think. Crap! He expected this shit out in the Default World, but the Burn was safe. It was sort of a sacred space for all the artists and queers and dreamers and freaks. It was home.
Adam knew it was time for an appropriately cutting response, but all he really wanted to do was to slug the jerks. On the other hand, Adam was six feet off the ground, balanced somewhat precariously on a narrow strip of metal and wearing platform boots. Even more importantly, his boyfriend was waiting below to be petted and praised, and Adam so didn’t need to deal with this homophobic shit right now. So instead, he gave Aryan frat boys one and two what he hoped was a truly withering look and began to climb down the dome.
Above him he heard Valentino yelling at his friends phrases like “ass-holes without a sense of humor,” and, “fucking Greeks who don’t know how to function outside of the frat house.” Well, maybe there was some justice in the world, Adam thought as he jumped the last few feet down onto the desert floor. Let the college boys work it out among themselves. He had a gladiator to congratulate.
And there Brad was - loping towards Adam with a huge grin plastered across his face and a fuck-me-now twinkle in his eye. Adam strode forward until he was right in front of Brad, and then dropped dramatically to his knees.
“My hero,” he said.
“Damn right,” said Brad, running his fingers through Adam’s hair, and then in a rush of words, “God, Adam, that felt great! I mean really amazing. Everyone watching and the adrenaline and, did you see me, I mean did you really see me?”
“Yeah, baby, I saw you. You were a wonder to behold.”
____________________________
Several hours of dancing later, back in their very own van, Brad lay in Adam’s arms still talking about the fight.
“You know what?” Brad whispered into Adam’s ear. “I really was getting pissed off. Like I really wanted to just beat the crap out of Kris. So weird, too, cuz he’s really a sweet guy.”
“Uh hmm. Yeah, I sort of gathered that you liked Plaid Boy."
Brad chuckled. “Yeah, I did. We had a great talk before the fight and he was really cute. He seemed sort of shy and out of his element, but a good soul. He told me this was his last trip out with the boys before he gets married. And then that fabulous Black Bear came and told us, “Dawgs! You understand--this is a fight to the death. But it’s really up to you to make sure you don’t injure each other.” And we both were like, of course man, because we knew it was all show. But Adam, I swear, in that third round suddenly it didn’t matter. It was like some freaky he-man voodoo testosterone thing was taking me over - and I was remembering all those times back in junior high, when absolutely no one was appreciating my wit and beauty…”
“Oh, god, how did any of us survive junior high?” Adam sighed.
“You know, I barely did.”
“I know, baby.”
“And anyhow, there was Kris in front of me, and my ears were ringing and I just fucking wanted to win. To be the toughest dude in the ring.”
“You did look kind of intense there for a little while. So, what happened?”
“Well, it was the weirdest thing, like a scene out of a Gus Van Sant movie. I suddenly had this feeling like everything was in slow motion, and I swear to god, I heard a voice say, ‘Remember your super power Cheeks.’ And then I did remember. So, I did what came naturally: I kissed the beautiful boy and slayed the dragon with my magic fairy powers.”
Adam breathed Brad in deeply. Oh yeah, this was it. This was why he fell in love with this impossible creature. That deep sweetness and idealism that underlay all of his snark.
Then Brad leaned into Adam and bit his ear. Hard.
“Ouch!” Adam exclaimed, in an embarrassingly un-toppy voice. And this was why Brad fucking drove him nuts.
“Way to break the mood Brad.”
“Well, here’s the thing Adam. We aren’t in some fairy tale where we live happily ever after. Sure, tonight we’re us again. Ready to dazzle the world together. But what about tomorrow? god, we sound so pathetic arguing about cell phone calls and toilet paper and whether I’m flirting too much with too many boys. We can’t keep doing this.”
“Stop being such a drama queen. It was just a lovers’ quarrel,” Adam said.
“No, not this time sweetheart. Don’t you feel it? The slow crumbling apart. I know you. I know what you want. Remember, I’m the one who swept your insecure red-haired self off the dance floor and into your current state of black haired fabulosity.”
“You did not, “ Adam protested. This was an old argument. “I pulled you away from that blonde-haired gym queen on the dance floor that night. I kissed you witless against the bathroom door. I took you out to our first elegant date for coffee at Denny’s at 3 in the morning. I charmed your ass off until 5 in the morning and then I took you home and fucked you until 2 the next afternoon. I Found You.”
“God, Adam. We were only on the dance floor so I could get near you. I practically waltzed right up your body, before you clued in to the fact that someone might actually be interested in you. I had been watching and lusting after you for days--and that was before I even knew you could sing--and you never even made a move to say hello.”
“Well of course not. You were always surrounded by your crowd of inamorata. I didn’t think I had a chance.”
“Ha! See, I Found You!” Brad exclaimed triumphantly.
“Ok. Maybe you did. Or maybe we found each other. What does it matter, really?”
“Here’s why it matters Adam: you’re a peacock and I’m a gazelle. So, you see, we have to break up.”
Adam absolutely hated it when Brad got into his animal metaphors. He had definitely not drunk enough for this conversation.
“Brad, are you breaking up with me because I’m a bird and you’re a goat or a deer or whatever?”
“A gazelle, Adam, a graceful gazelle,” Brad said very seriously. “ You’re obviously not getting the point. Here’s the thing. A gazelle leaps freely across the Savannah. Sure, we gazelles are loyal to our herd, but we need a lot of space to run and play and eat grass - or whatever the hell it is we gazelles eat. Peacocks, beautiful gorgeous peacocks-they put up a big show for all to see-and God help the person who doesn’t appropriately admire their big display-but at heart peacocks are quite conservative.”
“Hmm….you’ve never seemed to have an issue with admiring my big display,” Adam interrupted.
Brad ran his hand all the way down Adam’s chest to his cock, which to Adam’s irritation, responded enthusiastically right on cue.
“No. That’s not the issue is it?”
“Well, then what the hell is it Brad?”
“Here’s the thing about peacocks: they mate for life. I know you really want that. And that was never going to be me.”
And there it was in a nutshell. What all the sniping and awkward silences over things that didn’t really matter had been about. Adam felt frozen. As if he truly couldn’t breathe.
“Adam. I adore you. I love you. You are the most fabulous, gorgeous, irritating, talented, mind blowing, sexy, infuriating, funny person I have ever known. “
“Shit Brad! You can’t say that and at the same time say you don’t want me.”
“No sweetheart. You have it wrong. It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s that you don’t want me. Not really. It all came clear to me in the ring today when I was kissing that college guy.”
“Oh, this is so not about the Plaid Boy, is it?”
“No, it’s about kissing him,” Brad explained, as if he were making perfect sense.
“Great. This evening just gets better and better.”
“No, here’s the thing. I want to kiss lots and lots and lots more boys. Plaid ones and camouflage ones and velvet ones and pinstripe ones and khaki ones and Velcro ones…”
“Uh, Brad, I get the idea. You can stop listing materials now.”
“Ooops. Just got carried away with the visuals there. Anyhow, the point is, I know that would definitely get to be an issue for us, for you. And I don’t want that and you sure as hell don’t want that. I think what you want is someone, some ridiculously monogamous soul, to unconditionally support you and love you and push you until you step out of the safety zone you’ve been floating in this last year and actually get the world to pay attention to the incredible talent that is Adam Lambert. But that isn’t going to be me. I’m figuring out my own journey - and that takes a lot of concentration just by itself-and I just can’t do that for you.”
“And then there’s the kissing all the material boys thing too,” Adam said.
“Yep. There’s that too,” said Brad. “It really is time for us to break up.”
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in again, Adam told himself. They lay in silence for several more minutes, Brad still tracing his fingers up and down Adam’s torso. Adam’s first inclination was to shake him off. To just get out of the damn van and get away. As far away as he could. He visualized himself gathering up his clothes and leaving the van in stony silence. And then he realized he was trembling. Like his body had taken it in before his mind had really had a chance to process. He couldn’t walk even if he wanted to.
Ok. He thought. Ok.
It wasn’t until Brad climbed on top of Adam, wrapped his arms around him and whispered, “Shush, I know sweetheart, I know,” that Adam realized he was crying.
Adam took a ragged breath. Shit!!!
Pull it together Lambert.
Peacock, he thought, a fuckin’ Peacock. Well, damn right. Then it was time for him to stop acting like a sad little pea hen. This, after all, was his last night with Brad-- Flaming Cheeks of Cheektopia--Champion of the Thunder Dome. Adam’s very own first love. He was at Burning Man and he was not going to go out with a whimper.
Adam gathered himself, like he did before an important audition.
“Ok Brad. You’re right. I know you’re right.” Brad kissed Adam’s nose, his cheeks, his lips. Then Adam flipped Brad onto his back, straddled him and pinned Brad’s hands up above his head. He ran his tongue across Brad’s lips. Brad struggled, just a little, and Adam held him down more firmly and bit Brad’s ear. Hard.
“Now, how about a last display of my feathers just for you,” Adam whispered.
Brad sighed. And, for one final time, they made love through the night, at last falling asleep to the sound of Burners drumming up the rising of the sun.
*****
Part 2 Kiss the Beautiful Boy Here