GOLDEN (Oneshot)
GOLDEN
A Birthday Story for Adam Lambert
By: Lady Michaelis
Pairing: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen, Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff (friendship)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mentions of sexual situations, infidelity, foul language
Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama
Summary: Adam turns twenty-nine. He realizes it’s time to stop playing games.
Disclaimers: I’m crazy and all, but not crazy enough to say I own anybody. (Tommy, though…)
Notes: I don’t know what got into me when I decided to write this. It’s very different from what I usually write, but I found myself entertained by the idea all the same. It’s quite a symbol-laden story, so it’s going to take some effort to fully understand. Still, I hope you enjoy!
“Sometimes, I’d like to think that time has stopped.”
The words escape my mouth in such a way that tells him I’m thinking out loud again. Tommy stares at me for a moment before the corners of his pretty little mouth quirk up into a wry smile. He clinks his half-empty glass of vodka against mine, and we look away from each other to survey the spectacle before us. It is supposed to be a thing of beauty to watch your friends drink, dance and enjoy each other’s company. Normally, I would be in the throng of people gyrating their hips to the beat, dancing and tossing back alcohol like there was no tomorrow.
It is my birthday, after all. I should be there. I should be the star. But each time I try to pull myself to my feet and let the happy mask slip back into place, I end up hating myself more and more.
“Of course you would want to think that,” Tommy says, amusement lacing his tone. “I could say you are simply imagining things, but that would be rude and an outright lie on my part. Time has stopped, yes.”
“You actually believe me?” I arch an eyebrow at him. “When I say something like this, no one ever does. I must be imagining things. Maybe you’re just a figment of my imagination. I might close my eyes and see no one next to me when I open them again.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I could be merely extracting your thoughts to commit crimes of my own?”
I study his face critically. Tommy is beautiful; extraordinarily so. He has fine elfin features and the mind of a war strategist. It is amazing how I have learned to appreciate a man’s beauty without coupling it with the idea of dragging him off to bed and pounding him into the mattress. Meeting Tommy has changed me greatly, and I believe he is the only one of my friends who can actually read me like an open book despite the fact that I’ve grown so fond of hiding under a second layer of personas. Right now, he’s the only one who has been content to sit by my side while everyone else has a good time.
“If I were to imagine the perfect man, what do you think would he look like?” I ask him.
“You can’t imagine him anymore, Adam,” he tells me quietly. “Because you and I both know he already exists. He’s also the reason why you’re sitting here all by your lonesome.”
I hate it when Tommy is right--which is, quite often. It can be terribly disconcerting.
“Maybe it’s time you did a little growing up of your own, baby boy.” He sets his glass down to look me in the eye. “The waiting is killing you both; it can’t go on like this forever. You know very well I can’t stand seeing you like this; it makes me sick to my stomach.”
I laugh. Leave it to Tommy to tell me that I make him sick without injecting malice into it.
“I’m pathetic,” I declare openly.
“And you want me to believe that?” he asks. “Because you don’t actually look the part. You look blissed out. Happy. You look exactly the way you’re supposed to look. But your hands tell a different story. While you’re nursing your sorrows with the glass of vodka in your left, you’re clutching your phone like a promise ring in your right. I don’t think I have to tell you why.”
He holds his own phone up like a trophy, displaying the greeting I’ve been rereading over and over again. Of course Tommy knows. He always knows.
“Happy bday @adamlambert! Hope it’s a good great one.”
“He has always been very original,” Tommy says fondly. “I like that about him. He’s fresh, real and alive. The only thing tying him down to a life away from you is that woman he doesn’t even love.”
“…the fuck?” I glare at him, slamming my glass down onto the table. “How much do you know, anyway? Have you been talking to him behind my back?”
“See? You inner caveman is coming out to play,” he teases me. “You can’t stand the thought of someone else touching him while you can’t. You’re a selfish bastard who wants to claim him for yourself because you don’t believe in sharing when it comes to your little ray of sunshine. And yes, I do speak to him. The man needs someone who is actually willing to listen to what he has to say. He has told me everything there is to know, but begged me to keep my mouth shut because he wants to be able to reveal them to you in person someday. He misses you, Adam-just as much as you miss him.”
“Then why won’t he come to me?” I snarl. “If he misses me so much, then why won’t he even talk to me? Do you have any idea how insane I’ve become? Every day, I wait for a call or even just a text from him just so I know I still matter to him. And it never comes, Tommy. It never does.”
“Until today,” he says simply.
“Until today,” I agree.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” He shakes his head. “It means that he’s ready. He’s been silent for all these years, but he finally became brave enough to make a stand. For him, all roads lead to you, Adam. Gina leaving his management team was just the beginning.”
He pulls something out of his pocket-something circular and shiny-and places it carelessly on the table. I pick it up and squint at it, trying to make out exactly what it is in the dim lighting of the club.
It’s a ring-a familiar silver band with a crack in the middle. The one I used to slide off his finger each time he begged me to make love to him.
“…why do you have this?” I ask him hoarsely.
“He gave it to me,” Tommy replies nonchalantly. “He didn’t want to put it where he could see it. Think of it as the alternate Lord of the Rings ending where Frodo didn’t have the heart to destroy the ring himself. Their union may have been brief and tumultuous, but you’ve got to remember that they loved each other once. Naturally, he wanted a friend he didn’t share with her for all those years they were together to get rid of it for him. I was going to toss it into the sea, but I figured you would want to take care of it yourself.”
The crack in the middle looks ready to give. Wordlessly, I take the metal stirrer from my drink and press the blunt edge along the crack, surprised when the ring easily snaps at the center.
“It must have been waiting for you to destroy it,” Tommy says lightly. “Perhaps what is left of this marriage has waiting for you to put an end to it for all these years.”
I send the remains of his wedding ring flying across the room with a clean sweep of my head, relieved when the noise of metal rolling on wood stops reverberating in my ear. It was at that very moment where I realized that my conscience had died a long time ago, I did not even feel the slightest twinge of guilt-then again, in the little bubble where he and I existed alone, guilt was nothing but a myth.
“Better?” Tommy asks.
“Much, thank you,” I reply.
“So, what are you going to do now?” he asks me again.
“…I want to see him.” The words leave my mouth in a single breath.
“And leave all this behind?” His face is impassive as he asks me this. “This is what you’ve always wanted, am I right? Family, friends, drinks, a Finnish boy by your side…what else is there to want?”
“Kris.”
I’m shaking. My palms are sweaty. The empty glass in my hand slips out of my grip and crashes to the floor, the broken bits and pieces reminding me of where I’m supposed to be.
Broken pieces; break into me. So imperfectly, what you should be.
Of course it would be that song-the one for him; the one that was meant just for him.
“…you slipped me something, didn’t you?” I whirl around to face him. “This is why I feel like I’m about to go berserk anytime now!”
“I have,” he smirks at me. “But it’s not what you think it is.”
There is something in my left hand. It is hard, flat and rectangular. I know its shape all too well.
“…he’s here, isn’t he?” I clutch the room key tightly.
“He is.”
I grab Tommy by the collar of his jacket and press a tender kiss to his cheek. He is everything that is safe and familiar. He is my friend; my darling, beloved friend and I love him.
“Thank you.”
“Go,” he smiles at me-finally, finally. “I’ll see you in the world where the three of us are all cats.”
I laugh. And laugh. And laugh some more. I think I hear people calling my name as I stumble towards the exit-my mother, Danielle, Alisan, even Sauli-but I don’t hear them. I’ll explain myself someday. I’ll apologize for my raucous behavior someday.
But for now, there is only Kris; and Kris alone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I am awful at getting places on foot. Oftentimes, I would find myself taking a wrong turn or ending up someplace else because I wanted to chase that bright red balloon that slipped out of my grasp. Tommy says I can’t keep a balloon tied to my wrist even if he secures it with a Gordian knot. His metaphors for love have gotten stranger and stranger over the years; I like the idea of a balloon, though. My favorites are the red ones; they’re nice and shiny and remind me of hearts.
I can’t even keep track of how many I’ve popped over the years.
Walking on a trail of broken hearts, eh? I wonder if he was thinking about me when he wrote that song.
Somehow, I find my way to the hotel-Andaz West Hollywood Hotel, if my eyes aren’t deceiving me- without getting hit by a passing car or getting accosted by a fan. Or maybe Tommy teleported me here using his secret pixie powers that he refuses to share with me. I don’t know. Perhaps I just don’t really care right now. All I care about is finding him. Then I can say sorry. Then I can say thank you for not giving up.
Then I can say that I love him and that he’s always been worth fighting for.
I nearly stumble into the hotel lobby, catching myself just in time. It is an honest-to-goodness miracle that nobody’s looking at me right now; the last thing I need is my face plastered all over tabloids while they make up some lameass story about me dying on my twenty-ninth birthday.
It’s a quick trip from the lobby to the hotel room. I try to keep my eyes open as I practically race down the hall, behaving like an overly exuberant child searching for the candy store. As soon as I reach my destination, I slide my key into the designated slot, relieved when the door opens with a soft click.
“You came.”
Kris is half-wrapped in the hotel’s pristine white linens, the bare skin of his shoulder golden in the yellow lamplight. He is still beautiful; so, so beautiful.
“You stayed,” I manage to stammer.
“I had faith,” he says softly. “I wasn’t sure of what I would find upon my return, but I had faith.”
I don’t know how to answer him. It’s amazing how my tongue fails me in his wake.
“You’re shaking,” he observes, holding his arms out. “Come here.”
I can deny him nothing. Everything clicks into place as soon as I feel his arms wrap around me. I shift out of my semi-drunken haze and pull him into my lap, relishing the firm smoothness of the heat of his skin against my palms. Somehow, I feel as if we have never been parted.
“I feel like I’m waking up from a terrible dream,” I murmur truthfully.
“What exactly is this dream about?” he asks softly, undoing the buttons of my blazer with deft, practiced fingers. “It can’t be worse than what you usually have, can it?”
“I dreamt that you didn’t exist.” I press a kiss to his forehead. “Well, in my life, at least. There was a force pushing me away from you, and I was too weak to fight it.”
“But you came back.” The feel of his hands on my chest are soothing. “You chose me.”
“You have always been the first choice.” I grip his hands tightly in mine. “Though my body and mind were able to adhere to the lies, my heart could not. The boys that walked willingly by my side and knelt adoringly at my feet were nothing but shadows of you, Kris. They do not have your heart.”
“That is because I have given it to you a long time ago,” he replies. “The only one who could ever be in possession of my heart is you. I never left your side, Adam. I was with you the entire time.”
Kris. Kris. Kris. Kris. I can’t stop saying his name.
“I’m here,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I broke the ring,” I suddenly say. “It cracked when I touched it. I threw it away.”
“Good,” he breathes. “I could no longer stand the weight of it. Do you think she’ll ever forgive me, Adam? Do you think she’ll ever forgive me for loving you more than I ever did her?”
“In time, she will,” I promise him. “But we shouldn’t be sorry, Kris. You’re not supposed to apologize for falling in love with the one that was meant for you.”
He tangles his fingers with mine, and we fall into the blanket of linens together. He makes quick work of my clothing, and soon, my hands and my mouth are all over his skin, desperately trying to remember his taste. But he was right; it really is as if he had never left me.
I remember everything now.
And when I finally, finally bury my cock into his tight, warm body, time begins to press forward again. I have visions of stars aligning and seconds, minutes, hours moving back into place. The urge to throw up and dunk my head into a basin of ice cold water has disappeared.
“Happy birthday, Adam,” he pants into my ear. “Have a good, great one.”
I laugh softly and bury my face into his shoulder, a moan escaping my throat when I finally flood him with my warmth.
Kris is real. I am real. We are alive.
A Birthday Story for Adam Lambert
By: Lady Michaelis
Pairing: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen, Adam Lambert/Tommy Joe Ratliff (friendship)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mentions of sexual situations, infidelity, foul language
Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama
Summary: Adam turns twenty-nine. He realizes it’s time to stop playing games.
Disclaimers: I’m crazy and all, but not crazy enough to say I own anybody. (Tommy, though…)
Notes: I don’t know what got into me when I decided to write this. It’s very different from what I usually write, but I found myself entertained by the idea all the same. It’s quite a symbol-laden story, so it’s going to take some effort to fully understand. Still, I hope you enjoy!
“Sometimes, I’d like to think that time has stopped.”
The words escape my mouth in such a way that tells him I’m thinking out loud again. Tommy stares at me for a moment before the corners of his pretty little mouth quirk up into a wry smile. He clinks his half-empty glass of vodka against mine, and we look away from each other to survey the spectacle before us. It is supposed to be a thing of beauty to watch your friends drink, dance and enjoy each other’s company. Normally, I would be in the throng of people gyrating their hips to the beat, dancing and tossing back alcohol like there was no tomorrow.
It is my birthday, after all. I should be there. I should be the star. But each time I try to pull myself to my feet and let the happy mask slip back into place, I end up hating myself more and more.
“Of course you would want to think that,” Tommy says, amusement lacing his tone. “I could say you are simply imagining things, but that would be rude and an outright lie on my part. Time has stopped, yes.”
“You actually believe me?” I arch an eyebrow at him. “When I say something like this, no one ever does. I must be imagining things. Maybe you’re just a figment of my imagination. I might close my eyes and see no one next to me when I open them again.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I could be merely extracting your thoughts to commit crimes of my own?”
I study his face critically. Tommy is beautiful; extraordinarily so. He has fine elfin features and the mind of a war strategist. It is amazing how I have learned to appreciate a man’s beauty without coupling it with the idea of dragging him off to bed and pounding him into the mattress. Meeting Tommy has changed me greatly, and I believe he is the only one of my friends who can actually read me like an open book despite the fact that I’ve grown so fond of hiding under a second layer of personas. Right now, he’s the only one who has been content to sit by my side while everyone else has a good time.
“If I were to imagine the perfect man, what do you think would he look like?” I ask him.
“You can’t imagine him anymore, Adam,” he tells me quietly. “Because you and I both know he already exists. He’s also the reason why you’re sitting here all by your lonesome.”
I hate it when Tommy is right--which is, quite often. It can be terribly disconcerting.
“Maybe it’s time you did a little growing up of your own, baby boy.” He sets his glass down to look me in the eye. “The waiting is killing you both; it can’t go on like this forever. You know very well I can’t stand seeing you like this; it makes me sick to my stomach.”
I laugh. Leave it to Tommy to tell me that I make him sick without injecting malice into it.
“I’m pathetic,” I declare openly.
“And you want me to believe that?” he asks. “Because you don’t actually look the part. You look blissed out. Happy. You look exactly the way you’re supposed to look. But your hands tell a different story. While you’re nursing your sorrows with the glass of vodka in your left, you’re clutching your phone like a promise ring in your right. I don’t think I have to tell you why.”
He holds his own phone up like a trophy, displaying the greeting I’ve been rereading over and over again. Of course Tommy knows. He always knows.
“Happy bday @adamlambert! Hope it’s a good great one.”
“He has always been very original,” Tommy says fondly. “I like that about him. He’s fresh, real and alive. The only thing tying him down to a life away from you is that woman he doesn’t even love.”
“…the fuck?” I glare at him, slamming my glass down onto the table. “How much do you know, anyway? Have you been talking to him behind my back?”
“See? You inner caveman is coming out to play,” he teases me. “You can’t stand the thought of someone else touching him while you can’t. You’re a selfish bastard who wants to claim him for yourself because you don’t believe in sharing when it comes to your little ray of sunshine. And yes, I do speak to him. The man needs someone who is actually willing to listen to what he has to say. He has told me everything there is to know, but begged me to keep my mouth shut because he wants to be able to reveal them to you in person someday. He misses you, Adam-just as much as you miss him.”
“Then why won’t he come to me?” I snarl. “If he misses me so much, then why won’t he even talk to me? Do you have any idea how insane I’ve become? Every day, I wait for a call or even just a text from him just so I know I still matter to him. And it never comes, Tommy. It never does.”
“Until today,” he says simply.
“Until today,” I agree.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” He shakes his head. “It means that he’s ready. He’s been silent for all these years, but he finally became brave enough to make a stand. For him, all roads lead to you, Adam. Gina leaving his management team was just the beginning.”
He pulls something out of his pocket-something circular and shiny-and places it carelessly on the table. I pick it up and squint at it, trying to make out exactly what it is in the dim lighting of the club.
It’s a ring-a familiar silver band with a crack in the middle. The one I used to slide off his finger each time he begged me to make love to him.
“…why do you have this?” I ask him hoarsely.
“He gave it to me,” Tommy replies nonchalantly. “He didn’t want to put it where he could see it. Think of it as the alternate Lord of the Rings ending where Frodo didn’t have the heart to destroy the ring himself. Their union may have been brief and tumultuous, but you’ve got to remember that they loved each other once. Naturally, he wanted a friend he didn’t share with her for all those years they were together to get rid of it for him. I was going to toss it into the sea, but I figured you would want to take care of it yourself.”
The crack in the middle looks ready to give. Wordlessly, I take the metal stirrer from my drink and press the blunt edge along the crack, surprised when the ring easily snaps at the center.
“It must have been waiting for you to destroy it,” Tommy says lightly. “Perhaps what is left of this marriage has waiting for you to put an end to it for all these years.”
I send the remains of his wedding ring flying across the room with a clean sweep of my head, relieved when the noise of metal rolling on wood stops reverberating in my ear. It was at that very moment where I realized that my conscience had died a long time ago, I did not even feel the slightest twinge of guilt-then again, in the little bubble where he and I existed alone, guilt was nothing but a myth.
“Better?” Tommy asks.
“Much, thank you,” I reply.
“So, what are you going to do now?” he asks me again.
“…I want to see him.” The words leave my mouth in a single breath.
“And leave all this behind?” His face is impassive as he asks me this. “This is what you’ve always wanted, am I right? Family, friends, drinks, a Finnish boy by your side…what else is there to want?”
“Kris.”
I’m shaking. My palms are sweaty. The empty glass in my hand slips out of my grip and crashes to the floor, the broken bits and pieces reminding me of where I’m supposed to be.
Broken pieces; break into me. So imperfectly, what you should be.
Of course it would be that song-the one for him; the one that was meant just for him.
“…you slipped me something, didn’t you?” I whirl around to face him. “This is why I feel like I’m about to go berserk anytime now!”
“I have,” he smirks at me. “But it’s not what you think it is.”
There is something in my left hand. It is hard, flat and rectangular. I know its shape all too well.
“…he’s here, isn’t he?” I clutch the room key tightly.
“He is.”
I grab Tommy by the collar of his jacket and press a tender kiss to his cheek. He is everything that is safe and familiar. He is my friend; my darling, beloved friend and I love him.
“Thank you.”
“Go,” he smiles at me-finally, finally. “I’ll see you in the world where the three of us are all cats.”
I laugh. And laugh. And laugh some more. I think I hear people calling my name as I stumble towards the exit-my mother, Danielle, Alisan, even Sauli-but I don’t hear them. I’ll explain myself someday. I’ll apologize for my raucous behavior someday.
But for now, there is only Kris; and Kris alone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I am awful at getting places on foot. Oftentimes, I would find myself taking a wrong turn or ending up someplace else because I wanted to chase that bright red balloon that slipped out of my grasp. Tommy says I can’t keep a balloon tied to my wrist even if he secures it with a Gordian knot. His metaphors for love have gotten stranger and stranger over the years; I like the idea of a balloon, though. My favorites are the red ones; they’re nice and shiny and remind me of hearts.
I can’t even keep track of how many I’ve popped over the years.
Walking on a trail of broken hearts, eh? I wonder if he was thinking about me when he wrote that song.
Somehow, I find my way to the hotel-Andaz West Hollywood Hotel, if my eyes aren’t deceiving me- without getting hit by a passing car or getting accosted by a fan. Or maybe Tommy teleported me here using his secret pixie powers that he refuses to share with me. I don’t know. Perhaps I just don’t really care right now. All I care about is finding him. Then I can say sorry. Then I can say thank you for not giving up.
Then I can say that I love him and that he’s always been worth fighting for.
I nearly stumble into the hotel lobby, catching myself just in time. It is an honest-to-goodness miracle that nobody’s looking at me right now; the last thing I need is my face plastered all over tabloids while they make up some lameass story about me dying on my twenty-ninth birthday.
It’s a quick trip from the lobby to the hotel room. I try to keep my eyes open as I practically race down the hall, behaving like an overly exuberant child searching for the candy store. As soon as I reach my destination, I slide my key into the designated slot, relieved when the door opens with a soft click.
“You came.”
Kris is half-wrapped in the hotel’s pristine white linens, the bare skin of his shoulder golden in the yellow lamplight. He is still beautiful; so, so beautiful.
“You stayed,” I manage to stammer.
“I had faith,” he says softly. “I wasn’t sure of what I would find upon my return, but I had faith.”
I don’t know how to answer him. It’s amazing how my tongue fails me in his wake.
“You’re shaking,” he observes, holding his arms out. “Come here.”
I can deny him nothing. Everything clicks into place as soon as I feel his arms wrap around me. I shift out of my semi-drunken haze and pull him into my lap, relishing the firm smoothness of the heat of his skin against my palms. Somehow, I feel as if we have never been parted.
“I feel like I’m waking up from a terrible dream,” I murmur truthfully.
“What exactly is this dream about?” he asks softly, undoing the buttons of my blazer with deft, practiced fingers. “It can’t be worse than what you usually have, can it?”
“I dreamt that you didn’t exist.” I press a kiss to his forehead. “Well, in my life, at least. There was a force pushing me away from you, and I was too weak to fight it.”
“But you came back.” The feel of his hands on my chest are soothing. “You chose me.”
“You have always been the first choice.” I grip his hands tightly in mine. “Though my body and mind were able to adhere to the lies, my heart could not. The boys that walked willingly by my side and knelt adoringly at my feet were nothing but shadows of you, Kris. They do not have your heart.”
“That is because I have given it to you a long time ago,” he replies. “The only one who could ever be in possession of my heart is you. I never left your side, Adam. I was with you the entire time.”
Kris. Kris. Kris. Kris. I can’t stop saying his name.
“I’m here,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I broke the ring,” I suddenly say. “It cracked when I touched it. I threw it away.”
“Good,” he breathes. “I could no longer stand the weight of it. Do you think she’ll ever forgive me, Adam? Do you think she’ll ever forgive me for loving you more than I ever did her?”
“In time, she will,” I promise him. “But we shouldn’t be sorry, Kris. You’re not supposed to apologize for falling in love with the one that was meant for you.”
He tangles his fingers with mine, and we fall into the blanket of linens together. He makes quick work of my clothing, and soon, my hands and my mouth are all over his skin, desperately trying to remember his taste. But he was right; it really is as if he had never left me.
I remember everything now.
And when I finally, finally bury my cock into his tight, warm body, time begins to press forward again. I have visions of stars aligning and seconds, minutes, hours moving back into place. The urge to throw up and dunk my head into a basin of ice cold water has disappeared.
“Happy birthday, Adam,” he pants into my ear. “Have a good, great one.”
I laugh softly and bury my face into his shoulder, a moan escaping my throat when I finally flood him with my warmth.
Kris is real. I am real. We are alive.