Fic: With My Own Eyes
Title: With My Own Eyes
Pairing: Kris/Adam (slash)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1150
Summary: Kris knows things.
Disclaimer: Pure imagination. No disrespect intended.
With My Own Eyes
Kris has always known things. His earliest memory is of his mother rummaging through her jewelry box, tsking in annoyance. “Drawer, Mama,” he’d piped up, pointing. She’d opened the nightstand, and sure enough, there were her favorite pearl earrings. “My smart boy!” she’d exclaimed, picking him up and squeezing him tight.
As a kid, he knows when Daniel is cheating at Monopoly and when his history teacher is about to spring a pop quiz, things like that. He doesn’t dwell on his gift, though sometimes, standing at bat, he wishes he could predict the trajectory of the coming pitch. It’s just a part of him, ranked somewhere in importance between his brown eyes and his talent for music.
At age 21, he gives away his guitar in a Thai refugee camp and breaks down in tears at the sense of rightness that fills him. He cries again on the night he doesn’t propose to Katy after all. Ring in his pocket, he’d looked at her across the table in the candlelit restaurant and known that their love wasn’t durable enough to build a life on. Even as he grieves, he’s grateful for the intuition--guidance, whatever--that had blocked the wrong path.
It goes quiet for a while after that. He doesn’t mind; he sees the value in completing the journey to adulthood without training wheels. Learning to rely on his own judgment gives him a greater sense of independence than moving out of his parents’ house.
It returns, stronger than ever before, at his Idol audition. Facing the judges, he finds himself confronting stage lights, cameras, and a cheering audience. He even feels the tightness of unfamiliar clothes. “Kris?” Simon prods, and he blinks away the vision and opens his mouth confidently to sing.
He brings that quiet assurance with him to Hollywood Week, where he doesn’t care that the flashier contestants eclipse him. He may not be the most noticed or the most praised, but he’s sailing through, never stumbling. Until the tall guy with the staggering voice and the smile to match offers him a friendly high-five. “You sounded great up there, man.”
Their fingers lock briefly, and there’s a corresponding click inside Kris, as though he’s skipping to the next frame in a slideshow. Both his hands are caught in a warm clasp; his heart overflows, and that beautiful clear voice is speaking, resonating with solemn joy: I, Adam, take you, Kris . . .
As Adam--yes, that is his name, Adam Lambert--turns to congratulate someone else, Kris sinks heavily into a chair. The break with reality had been nothing like the gentle prompts he takes for granted. Too vivid, he decides, to be anything but a hallucination, a really random one. No more Red Bull for breakfast.
But he can’t quite leave it alone. He finds opportunities to touch Adam again, hoping for confirmation--of what, he’s not sure. All he learns is how much he enjoys the contact. Kris likes to cuddle, as any of his friends can attest. Adam is the same, unguarded with his personal space, generous with pats and hugs. If they’re Velcro together, it’s just compatibility. By the time they become roommates, Kris is ready to dismiss their first meeting as a misfire of brain chemistry.
So naturally lightning strikes again at the worst possible moment. On Top 8 results night, after Ryan calls Kris’s name, Adam pulls him into an exuberant hug. Kris burrows in, and their limbs are tangled and naked, sweaty, and Adam is on top of him, pounding into him with broken gasps that go straight to Kris’s aching cock.
Kris clings reflexively, then drops his arms in consternation. Face heating, he hurries toward the row of safe chairs like they’re a bus pulling away from a curb.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Kris,” Adam says in their room later. “It’s a normal reaction. It can happen to anyone. Doesn’t mean a thing.”
Kris soaks up the kindness, wanting to pour out all his secrets in return. He settles for one. “I’m not embarrassed. Well, I’m trying to forget that I was on TV and that my mom was there.” The truth feels at home in his soul, if a little clumsy on his tongue. “I think you might’ve gotten the wrong idea when I told you about my ex-girlfriend. I’m not straight. I just, uh. I just thought you should know.” He exhales in a long whoosh of breath. “I haven’t said it out loud before.”
“Kris . . . ” Adam’s eyes are suspiciously shiny. “Thank you for trusting me.” He takes Kris’s hand. “This is probably where I should confess that I’ve always found you really cute. Like, distracting levels of cute.”
“You mean you were trying to keep it a secret?”
There’s no distance between them after that. To Allison and Matt and the others, they’re a set, Kris and Adam, the names running together into a single word. Every instinct Kris has tells him that they could be even more. That this time he’s found the path he’s meant to take.
With a month of competition left to go, he slips out of bed to watch Adam sleep. Feeling only a little creepy, he brushes the thick dark hair from Adam’s forehead. Adam doesn’t stir, and nothing unexpected stirs in Kris. No intrusive images, no extrasensory details--just a certainty that flows warmly through his body. “Yes,” he whispers.
The next time Adam reaches for The Secret Language of Birthdays, Kris asks casually, “Does believing in astrology mean you believe in--other stuff?”
“What kind of other stuff?”
“Um, foreknowledge, I guess.”
“I have an open mind about it, I suppose. It doesn’t seem that unlikely.” Adam sets the book aside and angles toward Kris, attentive. “Is this . . . personal for you?”
“Yeah.” Kris bites his lip. This is harder than coming out. “All my life, I’ve been able to pick up these odds and ends. Little flashes of information, or emotions. Lately they’ve gotten pretty intense.”
“Are they--disturbing?”
“No. A lot of the time they’re helpful. They can catch me off guard, that’s all.”
“Good.” Adam hesitates, obviously wondering how he can help Kris come unstuck. He opts for humor. “Do you know who’s going to win?”
“Me.” Kris mumbles it, squirming inwardly. He has to fight the urge to apologize, even though Adam is beaming, as excited as if it’s already happened.
“Oh my God, Kris! You deserve it. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“You deserve it too. But it won’t matter. You’re going to have an amazing career. All the costumes you could ever want. Lasers.”
Adam gently bumps his knee against Kris’s. “But will we be happy?”
“Oh, yeah. Adam.” He looks up, awkwardness falling away. “I can’t wait for it to start.”
“Let’s not wait, then.” Adam leans in and cups Kris’s cheek, right here in the present. His kiss shows Kris, as clearly as anything, how it’s going to be.
--End--
Pairing: Kris/Adam (slash)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1150
Summary: Kris knows things.
Disclaimer: Pure imagination. No disrespect intended.
With My Own Eyes
Kris has always known things. His earliest memory is of his mother rummaging through her jewelry box, tsking in annoyance. “Drawer, Mama,” he’d piped up, pointing. She’d opened the nightstand, and sure enough, there were her favorite pearl earrings. “My smart boy!” she’d exclaimed, picking him up and squeezing him tight.
As a kid, he knows when Daniel is cheating at Monopoly and when his history teacher is about to spring a pop quiz, things like that. He doesn’t dwell on his gift, though sometimes, standing at bat, he wishes he could predict the trajectory of the coming pitch. It’s just a part of him, ranked somewhere in importance between his brown eyes and his talent for music.
At age 21, he gives away his guitar in a Thai refugee camp and breaks down in tears at the sense of rightness that fills him. He cries again on the night he doesn’t propose to Katy after all. Ring in his pocket, he’d looked at her across the table in the candlelit restaurant and known that their love wasn’t durable enough to build a life on. Even as he grieves, he’s grateful for the intuition--guidance, whatever--that had blocked the wrong path.
It goes quiet for a while after that. He doesn’t mind; he sees the value in completing the journey to adulthood without training wheels. Learning to rely on his own judgment gives him a greater sense of independence than moving out of his parents’ house.
It returns, stronger than ever before, at his Idol audition. Facing the judges, he finds himself confronting stage lights, cameras, and a cheering audience. He even feels the tightness of unfamiliar clothes. “Kris?” Simon prods, and he blinks away the vision and opens his mouth confidently to sing.
He brings that quiet assurance with him to Hollywood Week, where he doesn’t care that the flashier contestants eclipse him. He may not be the most noticed or the most praised, but he’s sailing through, never stumbling. Until the tall guy with the staggering voice and the smile to match offers him a friendly high-five. “You sounded great up there, man.”
Their fingers lock briefly, and there’s a corresponding click inside Kris, as though he’s skipping to the next frame in a slideshow. Both his hands are caught in a warm clasp; his heart overflows, and that beautiful clear voice is speaking, resonating with solemn joy: I, Adam, take you, Kris . . .
As Adam--yes, that is his name, Adam Lambert--turns to congratulate someone else, Kris sinks heavily into a chair. The break with reality had been nothing like the gentle prompts he takes for granted. Too vivid, he decides, to be anything but a hallucination, a really random one. No more Red Bull for breakfast.
But he can’t quite leave it alone. He finds opportunities to touch Adam again, hoping for confirmation--of what, he’s not sure. All he learns is how much he enjoys the contact. Kris likes to cuddle, as any of his friends can attest. Adam is the same, unguarded with his personal space, generous with pats and hugs. If they’re Velcro together, it’s just compatibility. By the time they become roommates, Kris is ready to dismiss their first meeting as a misfire of brain chemistry.
So naturally lightning strikes again at the worst possible moment. On Top 8 results night, after Ryan calls Kris’s name, Adam pulls him into an exuberant hug. Kris burrows in, and their limbs are tangled and naked, sweaty, and Adam is on top of him, pounding into him with broken gasps that go straight to Kris’s aching cock.
Kris clings reflexively, then drops his arms in consternation. Face heating, he hurries toward the row of safe chairs like they’re a bus pulling away from a curb.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Kris,” Adam says in their room later. “It’s a normal reaction. It can happen to anyone. Doesn’t mean a thing.”
Kris soaks up the kindness, wanting to pour out all his secrets in return. He settles for one. “I’m not embarrassed. Well, I’m trying to forget that I was on TV and that my mom was there.” The truth feels at home in his soul, if a little clumsy on his tongue. “I think you might’ve gotten the wrong idea when I told you about my ex-girlfriend. I’m not straight. I just, uh. I just thought you should know.” He exhales in a long whoosh of breath. “I haven’t said it out loud before.”
“Kris . . . ” Adam’s eyes are suspiciously shiny. “Thank you for trusting me.” He takes Kris’s hand. “This is probably where I should confess that I’ve always found you really cute. Like, distracting levels of cute.”
“You mean you were trying to keep it a secret?”
There’s no distance between them after that. To Allison and Matt and the others, they’re a set, Kris and Adam, the names running together into a single word. Every instinct Kris has tells him that they could be even more. That this time he’s found the path he’s meant to take.
With a month of competition left to go, he slips out of bed to watch Adam sleep. Feeling only a little creepy, he brushes the thick dark hair from Adam’s forehead. Adam doesn’t stir, and nothing unexpected stirs in Kris. No intrusive images, no extrasensory details--just a certainty that flows warmly through his body. “Yes,” he whispers.
The next time Adam reaches for The Secret Language of Birthdays, Kris asks casually, “Does believing in astrology mean you believe in--other stuff?”
“What kind of other stuff?”
“Um, foreknowledge, I guess.”
“I have an open mind about it, I suppose. It doesn’t seem that unlikely.” Adam sets the book aside and angles toward Kris, attentive. “Is this . . . personal for you?”
“Yeah.” Kris bites his lip. This is harder than coming out. “All my life, I’ve been able to pick up these odds and ends. Little flashes of information, or emotions. Lately they’ve gotten pretty intense.”
“Are they--disturbing?”
“No. A lot of the time they’re helpful. They can catch me off guard, that’s all.”
“Good.” Adam hesitates, obviously wondering how he can help Kris come unstuck. He opts for humor. “Do you know who’s going to win?”
“Me.” Kris mumbles it, squirming inwardly. He has to fight the urge to apologize, even though Adam is beaming, as excited as if it’s already happened.
“Oh my God, Kris! You deserve it. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“You deserve it too. But it won’t matter. You’re going to have an amazing career. All the costumes you could ever want. Lasers.”
Adam gently bumps his knee against Kris’s. “But will we be happy?”
“Oh, yeah. Adam.” He looks up, awkwardness falling away. “I can’t wait for it to start.”
“Let’s not wait, then.” Adam leans in and cups Kris’s cheek, right here in the present. His kiss shows Kris, as clearly as anything, how it’s going to be.
--End--