Can't Figure It Out
Title: Can't Figure It Out
Author: come_on_live
Rating: PG-13, I guess? Light R?
Pairing: Kris/Adam, mention of Adam/Drake
Summary: There are a couple of things that Kris doesn't exactly understand.
Notes: I am going to be so exhausted at work tomorrow, but as I turned out my light, this plot bunny hit. This is the first fanfic I've published in probably 6 years, so please hit me with any criticism or problems or whatnot.
This is a one-shot, angsty sort of thing. About 500 words, a little drabbly.
Disclaimer: I do not own Adam Lambert or Kris Allen, never met them, not making any money off of all this, just think about them all the time at work.
Kris Allen doesn’t get jealous. Kris has always been the levelheaded one - he never even bats an eyelash when Katy gets wolf whistles from passers-by as she’s walking down Rodeo Drive (bad idea, Adam took her shopping and now there’s absolutely no room in the tiny closet they share in their L.A. apartment). He might roll his eyes or sigh a little bit when the hundred-and-second reporter asks him if there’s any strain on their newly-minted marriage, what with American Idol and the fame and the bromance - but never angry, never jealous.
Which is why he just can’t understand that corkscrewing feeling in his stomach when he’s scrolling through news websites (the stock market, the Bruno/Eminem stunt, swine flu, anything to feel for just a moment that he’s normal, that the Idol bubble isn’t pressing in on all sides) and sees a link to these pictures taken in West Hollywood.
He can’t understand why seeing two linked hands would have him seeing red. Or green. What a time for a green-eyed monster to rear its head.
Kris Allen is not attracted to men. Kris has always dated girls, pretty blondes with pretty names and pretty curves. He might be able to appreciate it when a guy is handsome (come on, George Clooney?) or get a little flustered when freakishly tall (or maybe he's just short) singers in eyeliner and tight leather pants maul him with hugs and temple kisses - but never attraction, never desire.
Which is why he just can’t understand that corkscrewing feeling in his stomach when he’s scrolling through CNN.com (the stock market, the Bruno/Eminem stunt, swine flu, anything to feel for just a moment that he’s normal, that the Idol bubble isn’t pressing in on all sides) and sees a link to these pictures taken in West Hollywood.
He can’t understand why he looks at this other guy (this other guy? where did that come from?), with his short brown hair, and jeans-tshirt-and-blazer combo (that sounds so familiar), and it feels like there’s a knife in his heart.
Kris Allen is not a violent guy. Kris has always been known as the peacemaker, the guy who could take anything in stride, who would rather watch an Adam Sandler movie than a Michael Bay one. He might have had his fair share of toes stubbed on the bathroom door when his mother would ground him, or when Katy would whine about getting married sooner (we’ve been together 3 years! what’s the holdup?) - but never violent, never physical.
Which is why he just can’t understand that corkscrewing in his stomach when he has Adam shoved up against the wall of the taller man’s apartment (wait, how did he find the strength to do that? he can’t understand that either), demanding answers without ever having asked the questions.
He just can’t understand why the taste of Adam’s blood on his lips tastes so good, why a bruised lip is the sexiest thing he’s seen in a long time, why he’s so satisfied the next morning to see claw marks down a pale, freckled back.
Author: come_on_live
Rating: PG-13, I guess? Light R?
Pairing: Kris/Adam, mention of Adam/Drake
Summary: There are a couple of things that Kris doesn't exactly understand.
Notes: I am going to be so exhausted at work tomorrow, but as I turned out my light, this plot bunny hit. This is the first fanfic I've published in probably 6 years, so please hit me with any criticism or problems or whatnot.
This is a one-shot, angsty sort of thing. About 500 words, a little drabbly.
Disclaimer: I do not own Adam Lambert or Kris Allen, never met them, not making any money off of all this, just think about them all the time at work.
Kris Allen doesn’t get jealous. Kris has always been the levelheaded one - he never even bats an eyelash when Katy gets wolf whistles from passers-by as she’s walking down Rodeo Drive (bad idea, Adam took her shopping and now there’s absolutely no room in the tiny closet they share in their L.A. apartment). He might roll his eyes or sigh a little bit when the hundred-and-second reporter asks him if there’s any strain on their newly-minted marriage, what with American Idol and the fame and the bromance - but never angry, never jealous.
Which is why he just can’t understand that corkscrewing feeling in his stomach when he’s scrolling through news websites (the stock market, the Bruno/Eminem stunt, swine flu, anything to feel for just a moment that he’s normal, that the Idol bubble isn’t pressing in on all sides) and sees a link to these pictures taken in West Hollywood.
He can’t understand why seeing two linked hands would have him seeing red. Or green. What a time for a green-eyed monster to rear its head.
Kris Allen is not attracted to men. Kris has always dated girls, pretty blondes with pretty names and pretty curves. He might be able to appreciate it when a guy is handsome (come on, George Clooney?) or get a little flustered when freakishly tall (or maybe he's just short) singers in eyeliner and tight leather pants maul him with hugs and temple kisses - but never attraction, never desire.
Which is why he just can’t understand that corkscrewing feeling in his stomach when he’s scrolling through CNN.com (the stock market, the Bruno/Eminem stunt, swine flu, anything to feel for just a moment that he’s normal, that the Idol bubble isn’t pressing in on all sides) and sees a link to these pictures taken in West Hollywood.
He can’t understand why he looks at this other guy (this other guy? where did that come from?), with his short brown hair, and jeans-tshirt-and-blazer combo (that sounds so familiar), and it feels like there’s a knife in his heart.
Kris Allen is not a violent guy. Kris has always been known as the peacemaker, the guy who could take anything in stride, who would rather watch an Adam Sandler movie than a Michael Bay one. He might have had his fair share of toes stubbed on the bathroom door when his mother would ground him, or when Katy would whine about getting married sooner (we’ve been together 3 years! what’s the holdup?) - but never violent, never physical.
Which is why he just can’t understand that corkscrewing in his stomach when he has Adam shoved up against the wall of the taller man’s apartment (wait, how did he find the strength to do that? he can’t understand that either), demanding answers without ever having asked the questions.
He just can’t understand why the taste of Adam’s blood on his lips tastes so good, why a bruised lip is the sexiest thing he’s seen in a long time, why he’s so satisfied the next morning to see claw marks down a pale, freckled back.