rpf: lead me not
Title: Lead Me Not
Pairing: Kris / Adam. Sort of.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own nobody.
Warning: It's RPF. And it's slash-like. Includes a reference to Bible. And I'm not really sure where Adam stands religiously. And it's not fluffy.
Summary: For a good Christian, the boy is bad. Real bad. 1,385 words.
For a good Christian, the boy is bad. Real bad.
Mom and Dad sat little Adam down on a merry-go-round flying horse, never a pew; serenaded him “You Are My Sunshine,” not “O Holy Night”.
Still, that afternoon, Mom cried; she tried to hide it as not to hurt her son’s feelings but failed nonetheless. And it took a while before Dad could look him in the eye again. He knew it was the high notes that nudged Dad in the shoulder, forcing him to turn around and finally acknowledge his oblique (this wasn’t his own word) existence.
Maybe that was why he screamed a lot.
Believer or not, he knew a story by heart. In which a sinless man was brought to a desert and left to starve. Where someone or something came over and offered the man every beautiful thing that had ever existed in the world. Where it gave up and eventually retreated-to return.
Kris was leaning on his bedpost, strumming the guitar on his lap while humming mindlessly. His lips formed a pout that Adam has come to familiarize himself with. And there was a curl at the right end of his own; his cheek buried deeper into the pillow as he lay sideways on the other bed and watched Kris practicing. The fingers on the guitar were dancing.
What was he singing again this week?
It startled him a little when Kris stopped short and turned to look at him. He might flush too.
The thing is, they talked. They really did. They really do.
“Have you ever-,” Kris paused there. He always paused.
“I mean,” he tried once more, only to stop midway again. “You know, there’s all this crap about who’s going to heaven. And not-”
On his bed, Adam tensed. His lips have lost the amused twist, set straight as he prepared for what was about to come. Because he knew what was about to come. His fingernails clawed the pillow sheet even firmer.
He let Kris finish.
“I mean, personally, even me- I think it’s all crap. But, you know, have you ever- Really thought about it?”
His eyes jumped from one point to another as he mumbled the sentences; always the modest man. One of the TV crew said that theirs was the biggest room. There was a lot of furniture. A lot to see.
Kris was still watching the sofa in the corner when Adam exhaled at his side. Funnily, this wasn’t as hard for him as it was for Kris. You know how twin siblings sigh-and then smile when yet another stranger asks them what their differences are? Or who’s older? Or how many minutes? Well, with him, it isn’t so different after all.
The fact is, like the twins, when it comes to this, he’s numb already.
“To tell you the truth,” said Adam, chuckling slightly. It was weakly sounded but caught the other man’s attention nevertheless. Kris’ eyes voluntarily left the windowsill and met his; waiting. So he continued.
“I’m not sure I believe in one anyway,” he finished after a while.
Kris smirked at that, and Adam even let out a grin of his own. He thought he heard a “Yeah” coming from Kris’ end but wasn’t exactly sure. Kris was like that sometimes, most of the times; blowing words out of the side of his mouth, so he could easily retract them when they turned out to be inappropriate. So he didn’t have to feel bad. So he didn’t have to be bad.
“I’ll be burnt in hell!” Adam moved on. This time, he knew for sure he was laughing; he felt the muscles in his face tightened by the action. And it was hard to see from his narrowed eyes but he could still hear Kris’ snicker, wryly echoed by the wallpaper.
Kris was picking at the wood of his guitar when the sounds finally died away. There were frowns in his forehead as he stared down at it before he suddenly squinted at Adam.
“Which you don’t really believe either, by the way.”
There was a smirk appearing, vain and lingered as Kris deadpanned. From his end, Adam snorted.
There’s a problem here. Because this, it was always executed and concluded in multiple ways. On the back of his mind, Adam could remember another conversation in another time, another song choice and different stances. And how everything was closed.
“I always turn to her,” Kris told him once.
And the boy is cruel.
Because he knows, of course he does. Everyone knows; why shouldn’t he?
He knows his lips pout. He knows how to sing through the right side of his mouth. How to wear a crooked grin.
He knows exactly what touches do. So he puts his arm on the lower part of your back, patting it once in a while. And he initiates embraces sometimes. Most of the times, he just receives them; gladly. He keeps his face close, knowing very well that you will bury your nose in his neck; it tickles him when you breathe him in. He will turn and congratulate you when you’re safe, when you’re both safe; your palms brush as you shake hands. He pulls back too rapidly, as if he wants to see how you will react. He tiptoes from behind and wraps his arms around you when you’re least expecting it. Because he’s genuinely comfortable. And he knows you are too and that’s why he wants to do it.
He knows his sports well. That’s why he claps his hands above his head, mildly dancing all the while. And why he merely smirks at the ridiculous tight shirt, knowing very well he’ll don it well anyway. Move it well anyway, earning him an approving glance.
He knows he’s beautiful. And he’s generous, he always is. So he lets you bask yourself in his face before he finally turns to hold your gaze. And he watches as you take a short breath in, momentarily thinking this will last longer than it should. But you’re wrong. And he snorts as he gently looks away, as if he knows.
You wish he’ll stop knowing.
“Told you, man,” he was mumbling again, looking down at their toes at the same time. His right hand was inside the pocket of his jeans, while the left one found its way under his hair.
“Told you this would be the hardest for me,” Kris finished in time.
Adam took a moment, staring at the top of Kris’ head instead. Because what was he supposed to say? That this was, expectedly, the easiest for him?
“You did good,” replied Adam after a while, dry. He was staggering a little too.
Still, at that, Kris straightened and stopped rubbing the back of his neck. He lowered his left hand, letting it dangle at his side before he, slowly, looked up. And then there was suddenly a smile on his face; it was as if the memory of a mediocre, if not bad, performance was erased completely.
In front of him, Adam returned the favor, staring back.
But then he noticed the way the right end of Kris’ lips tucked upwards. And there was nothing nice about it; nothing that should scream “Kris”; considering he knew who and what a “Kris” was. Because Kris was good, Kris was humble, Kris was quiet. Kris was supposed to be good. And he felt the smile on his own face disappeared, as he frowned and watched the other man glanced sideways. He followed Kris’ gaze.
Amidst this, he has missed the girl’s voice. Blonde hair sprung behind her as she walked closer to where they were standing in the backstage. And they said Katy was good.
But Kris kissed her on the lips. And her hair must’ve been soft because he kept playing with the strands as he shifted to whisper in her ear. Adam’s eyes were watching.
“Bye-”
It seemed to come out of nowhere. Yet when he saw Kris turning away, he realized it must’ve been coming from him. The arm on Katy’s waist pulled her closer to its owner as Adam watched them walking towards the exit door at the other side of the room.
He left him until an opportune time.
Pairing: Kris / Adam. Sort of.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own nobody.
Warning: It's RPF. And it's slash-like. Includes a reference to Bible. And I'm not really sure where Adam stands religiously. And it's not fluffy.
Summary: For a good Christian, the boy is bad. Real bad. 1,385 words.
For a good Christian, the boy is bad. Real bad.
Mom and Dad sat little Adam down on a merry-go-round flying horse, never a pew; serenaded him “You Are My Sunshine,” not “O Holy Night”.
Still, that afternoon, Mom cried; she tried to hide it as not to hurt her son’s feelings but failed nonetheless. And it took a while before Dad could look him in the eye again. He knew it was the high notes that nudged Dad in the shoulder, forcing him to turn around and finally acknowledge his oblique (this wasn’t his own word) existence.
Maybe that was why he screamed a lot.
Believer or not, he knew a story by heart. In which a sinless man was brought to a desert and left to starve. Where someone or something came over and offered the man every beautiful thing that had ever existed in the world. Where it gave up and eventually retreated-to return.
Kris was leaning on his bedpost, strumming the guitar on his lap while humming mindlessly. His lips formed a pout that Adam has come to familiarize himself with. And there was a curl at the right end of his own; his cheek buried deeper into the pillow as he lay sideways on the other bed and watched Kris practicing. The fingers on the guitar were dancing.
What was he singing again this week?
It startled him a little when Kris stopped short and turned to look at him. He might flush too.
The thing is, they talked. They really did. They really do.
“Have you ever-,” Kris paused there. He always paused.
“I mean,” he tried once more, only to stop midway again. “You know, there’s all this crap about who’s going to heaven. And not-”
On his bed, Adam tensed. His lips have lost the amused twist, set straight as he prepared for what was about to come. Because he knew what was about to come. His fingernails clawed the pillow sheet even firmer.
He let Kris finish.
“I mean, personally, even me- I think it’s all crap. But, you know, have you ever- Really thought about it?”
His eyes jumped from one point to another as he mumbled the sentences; always the modest man. One of the TV crew said that theirs was the biggest room. There was a lot of furniture. A lot to see.
Kris was still watching the sofa in the corner when Adam exhaled at his side. Funnily, this wasn’t as hard for him as it was for Kris. You know how twin siblings sigh-and then smile when yet another stranger asks them what their differences are? Or who’s older? Or how many minutes? Well, with him, it isn’t so different after all.
The fact is, like the twins, when it comes to this, he’s numb already.
“To tell you the truth,” said Adam, chuckling slightly. It was weakly sounded but caught the other man’s attention nevertheless. Kris’ eyes voluntarily left the windowsill and met his; waiting. So he continued.
“I’m not sure I believe in one anyway,” he finished after a while.
Kris smirked at that, and Adam even let out a grin of his own. He thought he heard a “Yeah” coming from Kris’ end but wasn’t exactly sure. Kris was like that sometimes, most of the times; blowing words out of the side of his mouth, so he could easily retract them when they turned out to be inappropriate. So he didn’t have to feel bad. So he didn’t have to be bad.
“I’ll be burnt in hell!” Adam moved on. This time, he knew for sure he was laughing; he felt the muscles in his face tightened by the action. And it was hard to see from his narrowed eyes but he could still hear Kris’ snicker, wryly echoed by the wallpaper.
Kris was picking at the wood of his guitar when the sounds finally died away. There were frowns in his forehead as he stared down at it before he suddenly squinted at Adam.
“Which you don’t really believe either, by the way.”
There was a smirk appearing, vain and lingered as Kris deadpanned. From his end, Adam snorted.
There’s a problem here. Because this, it was always executed and concluded in multiple ways. On the back of his mind, Adam could remember another conversation in another time, another song choice and different stances. And how everything was closed.
“I always turn to her,” Kris told him once.
And the boy is cruel.
Because he knows, of course he does. Everyone knows; why shouldn’t he?
He knows his lips pout. He knows how to sing through the right side of his mouth. How to wear a crooked grin.
He knows exactly what touches do. So he puts his arm on the lower part of your back, patting it once in a while. And he initiates embraces sometimes. Most of the times, he just receives them; gladly. He keeps his face close, knowing very well that you will bury your nose in his neck; it tickles him when you breathe him in. He will turn and congratulate you when you’re safe, when you’re both safe; your palms brush as you shake hands. He pulls back too rapidly, as if he wants to see how you will react. He tiptoes from behind and wraps his arms around you when you’re least expecting it. Because he’s genuinely comfortable. And he knows you are too and that’s why he wants to do it.
He knows his sports well. That’s why he claps his hands above his head, mildly dancing all the while. And why he merely smirks at the ridiculous tight shirt, knowing very well he’ll don it well anyway. Move it well anyway, earning him an approving glance.
He knows he’s beautiful. And he’s generous, he always is. So he lets you bask yourself in his face before he finally turns to hold your gaze. And he watches as you take a short breath in, momentarily thinking this will last longer than it should. But you’re wrong. And he snorts as he gently looks away, as if he knows.
You wish he’ll stop knowing.
“Told you, man,” he was mumbling again, looking down at their toes at the same time. His right hand was inside the pocket of his jeans, while the left one found its way under his hair.
“Told you this would be the hardest for me,” Kris finished in time.
Adam took a moment, staring at the top of Kris’ head instead. Because what was he supposed to say? That this was, expectedly, the easiest for him?
“You did good,” replied Adam after a while, dry. He was staggering a little too.
Still, at that, Kris straightened and stopped rubbing the back of his neck. He lowered his left hand, letting it dangle at his side before he, slowly, looked up. And then there was suddenly a smile on his face; it was as if the memory of a mediocre, if not bad, performance was erased completely.
In front of him, Adam returned the favor, staring back.
But then he noticed the way the right end of Kris’ lips tucked upwards. And there was nothing nice about it; nothing that should scream “Kris”; considering he knew who and what a “Kris” was. Because Kris was good, Kris was humble, Kris was quiet. Kris was supposed to be good. And he felt the smile on his own face disappeared, as he frowned and watched the other man glanced sideways. He followed Kris’ gaze.
Amidst this, he has missed the girl’s voice. Blonde hair sprung behind her as she walked closer to where they were standing in the backstage. And they said Katy was good.
But Kris kissed her on the lips. And her hair must’ve been soft because he kept playing with the strands as he shifted to whisper in her ear. Adam’s eyes were watching.
“Bye-”
It seemed to come out of nowhere. Yet when he saw Kris turning away, he realized it must’ve been coming from him. The arm on Katy’s waist pulled her closer to its owner as Adam watched them walking towards the exit door at the other side of the room.
He left him until an opportune time.