June Hymn
Title: June Hymn
Author: pennilesspoet17
Rating: R (language)
Pairing: Kris/Adam, Kris/OMC
Word Count: 2,500
Type: Future!Fic, Dramady?
Summary: Adam finally figures out what he wants; Kris is a ninja.
Warning: You’ve read this before. Seriously. Also, this fills exactly none of the prompts I am currently supposed to be working on. Yay, procrastination!
Pegging clothing on the line
Training jasmine how to vine
Up the arbor to your door, and more
Standing on the landing with the war
You shouldered all the night before
This is a stupid idea.
Like, on this list of incredibly stupid, foolish, bad, bad ideas, this is definitely at the top of the list. Or, well - top five, at least.
First of all, it’s like, 95 degrees outside. What kind of person has a backyard barbeque when it’s this fucking hot out? Okay, yeah, a person can’t really choose when their birthday is, but just because said person has a summer birthday doesn’t mean they have to celebrate outside. In the sun. Where certain glam rock stars who spent 45 minutes on their eye makeup alone will melt.
And right, okay. No one is probably expecting Adam to show up. Which. Yeah, that’s totally his bad, right there.
Yes, okay? He could have handled Kris’s coming out a little better. He could have like, not had a total fit. He could have like, not shot down Kris’s clumsy attempts at seduction (which were totally tequila-fueled, Adam is sure of that) and he could have maybe, possibly, sort of, you know, called Kris at least once this past year.
This is such a bad, bad idea.
He can’t just show up at Kris’s birthday party, and act like nothing happened. First of all, Kris probably sent the invite as a fucking courtesy, because that little fucker is all about southern hospitality, or what the fuck ever, and he probably wants nothing to do with Adam.
If Adam showing up to a backyard barbeque after a year of radio silence isn’t suspicious enough, the fact that it’s coming on the heels of the very-recent photos of Kris with his new boyfriend, Thomas is definitely, definitely suspicious.
He is so screwed.
~~::~~
When Adam pictured a “backyard barbeque” at Kris Allen’s house, he was kind of expecting a few friends, grilled hot dogs, and an unfortunate game of football or volleyball or...some game with balls that was not the fun game involving balls.
But Adam hasn’t been to Kris’s new house, hasn’t seen his friend in over a year, so he really shouldn’t assume things.
(Really. He should assume nothing when it comes to Kris Allen. The fucker. He’s like a fucking ninja.)
Kris’s house is a modest two story with a sprawling front yard and a large garage. Adam pulls his Mustang into the red brick driveway, and takes about 15 deep breaths before sucking it up and getting out of the car. There’s a note on the front door that indicates that party-goers should use the side gate to come around back, and Adam wonders how Kris doesn’t have more trouble with stalkers, because really?
He wanders around the side of the house, and pulls open a thick wooden gate. He can hear the sounds of people chatting, and the low thrum of music, as he makes his way down the gravel path toward the backyard.
The yard is huge; there’s a sprawling stone patio, which is dotted with three umbrella-covered tables, each surrounded by at least six chairs. There’s a long stone wall along one end of the patio, that features an elaborate cooking area; an enormous gas grill, a short, silver refrigerator, and a long counter. A fire pit sits in the center of everything.
Just beyond the patio, there’s a small swimming pool, and an adjacent hot tub.
Okay. So. Not as modest as Adam had pictured.
On top of everything, the yard is packed; Adam doesn’t even recognize half the people here. He sees Kris’s band, a few people from Idol, a few industry folks, and Kris’s family. But who the hell are all these other people?
“Adam? Holy shit!” Anoop is standing in front of Adam suddenly, looking about as shocked as Adam feels.
“Hey man,” Adam manages a smile and a short “dude” hug, “how are you?”
“I’m good but...man, what the hell? I thought you weren’t talking to Kris or whatever?”
Well. Leave it to Anoop to bypass all the fucking small talk and dig right in. Fucker.
“Yeah, uh, I-”
“Adam?” Adam turns away from Anoop to see Kris approach, his smile wide.
“Hey! Hey, uh, Happy Birthday, man,” Adam manages. He gives Anoop the side-eye, and the guy actually takes the hint and wanders off as Kris approaches.
Kris, who looks all tan and fit in his black board shorts and criminally tight white tank top. Fuck.
Adam gets pulled into a hug against his will (okay not really against his will) and manages not to get a hard on while doing it. (It’s the small victories, okay?) Kris pulls back, and Adam shoves a small, intricately wrapped silver box at him.
“Wow, a rock star and a present? Must be my birthday,” Kris smiles crookedly, and slaps Adam on the back, so Adam barks out a (totally fake) laugh and tells his dick to just calm the fuck down.
“You want a drink? We have...beer. And I probably have wine in the fridge. And...oh! Margaritas!” Kris turns and scans the crowd, “Hey! Who is on margarita duty!?”
“I’monit!” someone yells, and then Adam sees Kris’s drummer (Shit, why can’t he remember names?) jump up from his seat at one of the tables, and walk toward the blender which is, of course, sitting right there on the sprawling countertop.
“Hop to it, Ryland, what do I pay you for? Oh, and one for Adam,” Kris turns and nods at Adam, and Adam can do nothing but dumbly nod back.
It’s then that a tall, thin, dark haired, stunning man approaches, and Adam thinks that if this is Thomas, he is so, so fucked.
“Hey,” Kris’s smile widens as the man reaches them, and Adam starts scanning the area for sharp sticks to stab himself in the eyes with.
“Darling,” the man says in a posh British accent, because of course, of course this asshole is British. He’s probably a Duke, or Prince, or Earl, or Knight or something too. He probably has a fucking castle. Fucking stupid England.
The man reaches down and kisses Kris soundly, and Seriously, where are all the sharp implements!
“Thomas, this is Adam,” Kris says when Thomas breaks this kiss, only to wrap his thin, stupidly toned arms around Kris’s waist. Thomas manages to unhand Kris long enough to extend one of his stupid, British paws though.
“Ah yes, Glambert. I’m a big fan of your third album, I must say,” Thomas smiles politely, and Adam is kind of forced to smile back and shake his hand, because Kris is standing there, grinning like a fucking loon, making Adam’s heart all achy and shit.
“Thank you. Thomas? Um. How...how did you meet Kris?”
“He was working in the same studio,” Kris interrupts, and looks up at Thomas. Thomas gives Kris a short squeeze and a peck on his nose. Kris’s nose scrunches up, and Adam seriously considers vomiting.
“You’re a singer?” Adam asks, and gleefully imagines himself in a sing off with Prince Thomas. (Adam wins, of course.)
“I’m afraid not, no,” Thomas smiles politely, “I’m a producer. I was working with Gaga on her charity single.”
“Adam loves Gaga!” Kris chirps, and if Adam wasn’t totally in love with him, he’d punch him in the face.
Ryland chooses that moment to appear with two margaritas, and Adam snags one out of the drummer’s hand before he can even pretend to be polite about it. Thomas primly licks a wayward line of salt off the corner of Kris’s mouth, and Adam finishes the drink in three gulps, which, you know, brain freeze.
He uses the opportunity to slink away from the happy couple, and seeks out the blender to refill his glass.
“Fancy meeting you here,” a low voice says. Adam turns to see Cale standing in front of the grill, poking at thick steaks and dripping burgers with a set of long silver tongs.
“Hey Cale,” Adam manages. He pours himself another glass of margarita, and makes a move to leave, but Cale puts the tongs down and wraps a large hand around Adam’s bicep.
“You kind of look like you want to set puppies on fire right now, which - given your history with our boy over there - makes sense,” Adam turns to look at Cale, who is glaring down at him with an intensity he rarely sees on the man’s pretty face.
“It took him two months to get over what you did. But he did. Get over it. He got over you, and he moved on. If your intentions are altruistic - if you’re here to be his friend again, then tell me I’ve overstepped the line, and I’ll let it lie. But you don’t get to do that to him again, alright? He’s happy,” Cale lets go of Adam’s arm, and turns back to the grill, and Adam feels all of his energy drain away.
He looks across the yard, and sees Thomas and Kris talking to a small group of people, their arms wrapped around each other, wide smiles on both of their faces.
This was a stupid idea anyway.
~~::~~
It’s been three days since Kris’s party, and Adam can’t get that damn rock out of his gut.
He attributed it to a hangover the first day. But a three day hangover from drinking four margaritas (and a lite beer) is just pathetic. So yeah. It’s definitely not a hangover.
He’s perfectly happy, laying here on his very expensive, rock star sofa, inside his stupid expensive, rock star home, feeling totally sorry for himself for not being rock star enough to get himself a Kris Allen.
He’d said as much to Tommy yesterday, and Tommy had laughed hysterically for like, a half an hour.
“What’s so funny? I’m Adam Fucking Lambert, dammit!” Okay, not his finest moment.
“And he’s Kris Fucking Allen. He’s his own person, you know. You can’t just expect him to sit around and wait for you to figure your shit out. You said no, baby,” Tommy points out, like Adam needs someone to tell him things that are already so fucking obvious.
So. Right. He’s an idiot for not seeing it sooner. He gets that.
There’s a sharp knock on his door, and he thinks maybe it’s Tommy, coming over with half his body weight in Taco Bell (because eating fake meat is a great way to get over someone, at least Tommy thinks so) but when he opens the door, Kris is standing there, wearing the silver pendant Adam gave him for his birthday.
“Hi,” Adam manages. Kris nods and pushes his way into the house. Adam has no choice but to close the door and follow Kris into the kitchen.
“You left kind of suddenly on Saturday,” Kris says, and his voice is tight and weird, and he looks like he might be a little mad.
“Yeah, I...had an early day the next day,” Adam shrugs, “but it looked like you were having a good birthday.”
“I was,” Kris replies sharply, “I did. Cale said you want to be friends again. Maybe. He seemed suspicious. Why was he suspicious of your intentions?”
“I...I don’t know?” Adam shrugs, “what’s with the third degree?”
Kris shakes his head, and folds his arms tightly across his chest. He stares at Adam silently, like he thinks that he can somehow break Adam just by eyeballing him.
“Thomas is moving back to London,” Kris says lowly, “he leaves in a week.”
“Oh. Wow. Um, are you...are you gonna - “
“Long distance and separate lives killed my marriage. I’m not going to let it happen again,” Kris shakes his head.
“Are you...did you come here to tell me that you’re moving to London?” Adam feels a little dizzy, and overheated, and overwhelmingly...sad.
If Kris moves to London, Adam can’t fix their friendship. He hates endings like this.
“I’m not moving to London. Thomas and I always agreed it would be...casual. Turns out, I kind of suck at casual. So. Yeah,” Kris shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and looks at the floor as he rocks back on his heels. He looks small, and vulnerable, so Adam straightens his shoulders, sucks it up, and tells himself to be Kris’s friend, because right now, that’s what he needs.
“Kris - tell me what I can do. To...make it easier.”
Kris looks up, his eyes watery, his smile tight, and shrugs. He pulls Adam into a tight hug, and whispers, “Just don’t disappear on me again, okay?” Adam nods into Kris’s hair, and let’s him hold on for as long as he needs.
When Kris finally pulls away, he looks more relaxed.
“I have to go,” he says, and Adam just nods, and follows Kris to the foyer. He wonders, sometimes, what goes through Kris’s head. He knows that he’s the one who opened the door to their friendship again by going to the party, but coming over to Adam’s unannounced is a large friendship boundary to cross. But then, Kris was never afraid to burrow in, and make himself at home with anyone who showed him affection.
Kris turns at the door, and smiles up at Adam. The sun is setting, and the orange remains of the day shine golden on Kris’s upturned face.
“I’m gonna need a month or so,” Kris says. What?
“What?”
“I think...I’m gonna need a month or so, to get myself back together. You can ask me out then. Okay?”
“Um,” Adam articulately replies.
“Dinner. Fancy dinner. And maybe a movie,” Kris continues, as he backs away from Adam’s door, “I mean it, Lambert.”
Kris is long gone before Adam manages to form a reply.
A month. He can work with that.
AN: Title and lyrics blatantly stolen (with love) from The Decemberists
Author: pennilesspoet17
Rating: R (language)
Pairing: Kris/Adam, Kris/OMC
Word Count: 2,500
Type: Future!Fic, Dramady?
Summary: Adam finally figures out what he wants; Kris is a ninja.
Warning: You’ve read this before. Seriously. Also, this fills exactly none of the prompts I am currently supposed to be working on. Yay, procrastination!
Pegging clothing on the line
Training jasmine how to vine
Up the arbor to your door, and more
Standing on the landing with the war
You shouldered all the night before
This is a stupid idea.
Like, on this list of incredibly stupid, foolish, bad, bad ideas, this is definitely at the top of the list. Or, well - top five, at least.
First of all, it’s like, 95 degrees outside. What kind of person has a backyard barbeque when it’s this fucking hot out? Okay, yeah, a person can’t really choose when their birthday is, but just because said person has a summer birthday doesn’t mean they have to celebrate outside. In the sun. Where certain glam rock stars who spent 45 minutes on their eye makeup alone will melt.
And right, okay. No one is probably expecting Adam to show up. Which. Yeah, that’s totally his bad, right there.
Yes, okay? He could have handled Kris’s coming out a little better. He could have like, not had a total fit. He could have like, not shot down Kris’s clumsy attempts at seduction (which were totally tequila-fueled, Adam is sure of that) and he could have maybe, possibly, sort of, you know, called Kris at least once this past year.
This is such a bad, bad idea.
He can’t just show up at Kris’s birthday party, and act like nothing happened. First of all, Kris probably sent the invite as a fucking courtesy, because that little fucker is all about southern hospitality, or what the fuck ever, and he probably wants nothing to do with Adam.
If Adam showing up to a backyard barbeque after a year of radio silence isn’t suspicious enough, the fact that it’s coming on the heels of the very-recent photos of Kris with his new boyfriend, Thomas is definitely, definitely suspicious.
He is so screwed.
~~::~~
When Adam pictured a “backyard barbeque” at Kris Allen’s house, he was kind of expecting a few friends, grilled hot dogs, and an unfortunate game of football or volleyball or...some game with balls that was not the fun game involving balls.
But Adam hasn’t been to Kris’s new house, hasn’t seen his friend in over a year, so he really shouldn’t assume things.
(Really. He should assume nothing when it comes to Kris Allen. The fucker. He’s like a fucking ninja.)
Kris’s house is a modest two story with a sprawling front yard and a large garage. Adam pulls his Mustang into the red brick driveway, and takes about 15 deep breaths before sucking it up and getting out of the car. There’s a note on the front door that indicates that party-goers should use the side gate to come around back, and Adam wonders how Kris doesn’t have more trouble with stalkers, because really?
He wanders around the side of the house, and pulls open a thick wooden gate. He can hear the sounds of people chatting, and the low thrum of music, as he makes his way down the gravel path toward the backyard.
The yard is huge; there’s a sprawling stone patio, which is dotted with three umbrella-covered tables, each surrounded by at least six chairs. There’s a long stone wall along one end of the patio, that features an elaborate cooking area; an enormous gas grill, a short, silver refrigerator, and a long counter. A fire pit sits in the center of everything.
Just beyond the patio, there’s a small swimming pool, and an adjacent hot tub.
Okay. So. Not as modest as Adam had pictured.
On top of everything, the yard is packed; Adam doesn’t even recognize half the people here. He sees Kris’s band, a few people from Idol, a few industry folks, and Kris’s family. But who the hell are all these other people?
“Adam? Holy shit!” Anoop is standing in front of Adam suddenly, looking about as shocked as Adam feels.
“Hey man,” Adam manages a smile and a short “dude” hug, “how are you?”
“I’m good but...man, what the hell? I thought you weren’t talking to Kris or whatever?”
Well. Leave it to Anoop to bypass all the fucking small talk and dig right in. Fucker.
“Yeah, uh, I-”
“Adam?” Adam turns away from Anoop to see Kris approach, his smile wide.
“Hey! Hey, uh, Happy Birthday, man,” Adam manages. He gives Anoop the side-eye, and the guy actually takes the hint and wanders off as Kris approaches.
Kris, who looks all tan and fit in his black board shorts and criminally tight white tank top. Fuck.
Adam gets pulled into a hug against his will (okay not really against his will) and manages not to get a hard on while doing it. (It’s the small victories, okay?) Kris pulls back, and Adam shoves a small, intricately wrapped silver box at him.
“Wow, a rock star and a present? Must be my birthday,” Kris smiles crookedly, and slaps Adam on the back, so Adam barks out a (totally fake) laugh and tells his dick to just calm the fuck down.
“You want a drink? We have...beer. And I probably have wine in the fridge. And...oh! Margaritas!” Kris turns and scans the crowd, “Hey! Who is on margarita duty!?”
“I’monit!” someone yells, and then Adam sees Kris’s drummer (Shit, why can’t he remember names?) jump up from his seat at one of the tables, and walk toward the blender which is, of course, sitting right there on the sprawling countertop.
“Hop to it, Ryland, what do I pay you for? Oh, and one for Adam,” Kris turns and nods at Adam, and Adam can do nothing but dumbly nod back.
It’s then that a tall, thin, dark haired, stunning man approaches, and Adam thinks that if this is Thomas, he is so, so fucked.
“Hey,” Kris’s smile widens as the man reaches them, and Adam starts scanning the area for sharp sticks to stab himself in the eyes with.
“Darling,” the man says in a posh British accent, because of course, of course this asshole is British. He’s probably a Duke, or Prince, or Earl, or Knight or something too. He probably has a fucking castle. Fucking stupid England.
The man reaches down and kisses Kris soundly, and Seriously, where are all the sharp implements!
“Thomas, this is Adam,” Kris says when Thomas breaks this kiss, only to wrap his thin, stupidly toned arms around Kris’s waist. Thomas manages to unhand Kris long enough to extend one of his stupid, British paws though.
“Ah yes, Glambert. I’m a big fan of your third album, I must say,” Thomas smiles politely, and Adam is kind of forced to smile back and shake his hand, because Kris is standing there, grinning like a fucking loon, making Adam’s heart all achy and shit.
“Thank you. Thomas? Um. How...how did you meet Kris?”
“He was working in the same studio,” Kris interrupts, and looks up at Thomas. Thomas gives Kris a short squeeze and a peck on his nose. Kris’s nose scrunches up, and Adam seriously considers vomiting.
“You’re a singer?” Adam asks, and gleefully imagines himself in a sing off with Prince Thomas. (Adam wins, of course.)
“I’m afraid not, no,” Thomas smiles politely, “I’m a producer. I was working with Gaga on her charity single.”
“Adam loves Gaga!” Kris chirps, and if Adam wasn’t totally in love with him, he’d punch him in the face.
Ryland chooses that moment to appear with two margaritas, and Adam snags one out of the drummer’s hand before he can even pretend to be polite about it. Thomas primly licks a wayward line of salt off the corner of Kris’s mouth, and Adam finishes the drink in three gulps, which, you know, brain freeze.
He uses the opportunity to slink away from the happy couple, and seeks out the blender to refill his glass.
“Fancy meeting you here,” a low voice says. Adam turns to see Cale standing in front of the grill, poking at thick steaks and dripping burgers with a set of long silver tongs.
“Hey Cale,” Adam manages. He pours himself another glass of margarita, and makes a move to leave, but Cale puts the tongs down and wraps a large hand around Adam’s bicep.
“You kind of look like you want to set puppies on fire right now, which - given your history with our boy over there - makes sense,” Adam turns to look at Cale, who is glaring down at him with an intensity he rarely sees on the man’s pretty face.
“It took him two months to get over what you did. But he did. Get over it. He got over you, and he moved on. If your intentions are altruistic - if you’re here to be his friend again, then tell me I’ve overstepped the line, and I’ll let it lie. But you don’t get to do that to him again, alright? He’s happy,” Cale lets go of Adam’s arm, and turns back to the grill, and Adam feels all of his energy drain away.
He looks across the yard, and sees Thomas and Kris talking to a small group of people, their arms wrapped around each other, wide smiles on both of their faces.
This was a stupid idea anyway.
~~::~~
It’s been three days since Kris’s party, and Adam can’t get that damn rock out of his gut.
He attributed it to a hangover the first day. But a three day hangover from drinking four margaritas (and a lite beer) is just pathetic. So yeah. It’s definitely not a hangover.
He’s perfectly happy, laying here on his very expensive, rock star sofa, inside his stupid expensive, rock star home, feeling totally sorry for himself for not being rock star enough to get himself a Kris Allen.
He’d said as much to Tommy yesterday, and Tommy had laughed hysterically for like, a half an hour.
“What’s so funny? I’m Adam Fucking Lambert, dammit!” Okay, not his finest moment.
“And he’s Kris Fucking Allen. He’s his own person, you know. You can’t just expect him to sit around and wait for you to figure your shit out. You said no, baby,” Tommy points out, like Adam needs someone to tell him things that are already so fucking obvious.
So. Right. He’s an idiot for not seeing it sooner. He gets that.
There’s a sharp knock on his door, and he thinks maybe it’s Tommy, coming over with half his body weight in Taco Bell (because eating fake meat is a great way to get over someone, at least Tommy thinks so) but when he opens the door, Kris is standing there, wearing the silver pendant Adam gave him for his birthday.
“Hi,” Adam manages. Kris nods and pushes his way into the house. Adam has no choice but to close the door and follow Kris into the kitchen.
“You left kind of suddenly on Saturday,” Kris says, and his voice is tight and weird, and he looks like he might be a little mad.
“Yeah, I...had an early day the next day,” Adam shrugs, “but it looked like you were having a good birthday.”
“I was,” Kris replies sharply, “I did. Cale said you want to be friends again. Maybe. He seemed suspicious. Why was he suspicious of your intentions?”
“I...I don’t know?” Adam shrugs, “what’s with the third degree?”
Kris shakes his head, and folds his arms tightly across his chest. He stares at Adam silently, like he thinks that he can somehow break Adam just by eyeballing him.
“Thomas is moving back to London,” Kris says lowly, “he leaves in a week.”
“Oh. Wow. Um, are you...are you gonna - “
“Long distance and separate lives killed my marriage. I’m not going to let it happen again,” Kris shakes his head.
“Are you...did you come here to tell me that you’re moving to London?” Adam feels a little dizzy, and overheated, and overwhelmingly...sad.
If Kris moves to London, Adam can’t fix their friendship. He hates endings like this.
“I’m not moving to London. Thomas and I always agreed it would be...casual. Turns out, I kind of suck at casual. So. Yeah,” Kris shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and looks at the floor as he rocks back on his heels. He looks small, and vulnerable, so Adam straightens his shoulders, sucks it up, and tells himself to be Kris’s friend, because right now, that’s what he needs.
“Kris - tell me what I can do. To...make it easier.”
Kris looks up, his eyes watery, his smile tight, and shrugs. He pulls Adam into a tight hug, and whispers, “Just don’t disappear on me again, okay?” Adam nods into Kris’s hair, and let’s him hold on for as long as he needs.
When Kris finally pulls away, he looks more relaxed.
“I have to go,” he says, and Adam just nods, and follows Kris to the foyer. He wonders, sometimes, what goes through Kris’s head. He knows that he’s the one who opened the door to their friendship again by going to the party, but coming over to Adam’s unannounced is a large friendship boundary to cross. But then, Kris was never afraid to burrow in, and make himself at home with anyone who showed him affection.
Kris turns at the door, and smiles up at Adam. The sun is setting, and the orange remains of the day shine golden on Kris’s upturned face.
“I’m gonna need a month or so,” Kris says. What?
“What?”
“I think...I’m gonna need a month or so, to get myself back together. You can ask me out then. Okay?”
“Um,” Adam articulately replies.
“Dinner. Fancy dinner. And maybe a movie,” Kris continues, as he backs away from Adam’s door, “I mean it, Lambert.”
Kris is long gone before Adam manages to form a reply.
A month. He can work with that.
AN: Title and lyrics blatantly stolen (with love) from The Decemberists