Fic: This Is Awkward (AI/skating, Jeremy Abbott/Kris Allen)
I am not allowed back on LJ yet because my work is not done, but today is my posting day for holiday_on_ice. So here's the fic! Hope y'all are having fun and behaving yourselves.
Title: This Is Awkward
Fandom: figure skating RPF/American Idol RPF
Pairing/Characters: Jeremy Abbott/Kris Allen, Meryl Davis
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex
Warnings: None standard
Continuity: Takes place this summer.
Word Count: about 2,000.
Summary: Jeremy has the most humiliating rock-star crush on Kris Allen. The feeling is mutual.
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended. This original work of fan fiction is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this Livejournal post.
Notes: Thanks to mandysbitch for beta reading and thistle90 for audiencing. And most of all to xmorghanax, who requested this in holiday_on_ice, because this pairing needed so badly to be written.
*
In his wildest dreams, Jeremy is fucking Kris Allen. No, literally, he has wild dreams where he's fucking Kris Allen, frequently enough that he can't listen to "Live Like We're Dying" before bed. Wet dreams don't work out so well on the tour bus. He was going to do an exhibition number to that song for the new season - even talked to Yuka about it - but now he's pretty sure it would get embarrassing.
He has his celebrity crush under control until his friends find out about it. Those girls are merciless. They wake him by sticking earphones in his ears and playing "Red Guitar" or leaning over his face and loudly humming "Heartless." They tape pictures in his bunk, and when he takes them down, they find hotter ones to replace them. Jeremy gives up when he gets on the bus after a show to find a row of paparazzi shots of Kris on the beach, soaking wet, water running down his perfect abs. Jeremy spends half an hour in his bunk staring at the line of hair from Kris's belly button to the waistband of his trunks, trying to figure out how he can jerk off without anyone hearing him.
Two days later, Meryl comes up to him with news. "Kris Allen's doing a show in Detroit in August, and guess who totally abused her Olympic medal to get backstage passes!" Jeremy can't keep his face from falling, because he's tired of the girls harassing him and because he's tired of being reminded that he does not have an Olympic medal. Meryl looks down at his feet, contrite. "You don't want to go?"
"No, I mean, I do, but I... It'd be weird. With the whole, like, strong possibility of a spontaneous erection."
She pats his shoulder. "I'm sure he gets that all the time."
Jeremy has three months to forget that he's going to the Kris Allen concert. By August, he's too busy training to think about pop stars with charming sideways smiles and soft-spoken Southern accents. He's also single again. On the bus, he forgot what loneliness and boredom felt like, and he's grateful that Meryl's around to give him these weekend adventures. She picks him up from his apartment complex, and they're on their way up to Clarkston with their passes and a tote bag of Olympic crap to give away if Kris Allen turns out to be the kind of guy who gets excited by Team USA t-shirts and magnets.
The VIP passes entitle them to seriously amazing seats. Kris Allen is wearing extremely tight jeans and a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves, only buttoned halfway up. They're close enough that Jeremy can see every bulge and ripple. He waves his arms and cheers and drinks a ton of water, trying to focus on the music and not on the scenery. That's not easy when Kris Allen launches into a guitar solo like he's making love to the instrument and pulls his microphone to his mouth like he's going down on it. He has a beautiful voice, and Jeremy can barely hear it.
Fortunately, Kris is the opening act for the Barenaked Ladies, and Jeremy gets an hour of portly Canadian comedy rock to bring his dick back under control. Afterward, they have to fight their way to the backstage area, only to find that it is the regular backstage pass entrance and not the super special VIP entrance that they are apparently super special enough to merit. A gorilla-shaped guy who probably weighs twice as much as Jeremy and Meryl put together leads them to a door they never would have found on their own. The VIP room has soft beige couches, a self-serve bar, and no one else in it. Meryl makes tequila sunrises. They wait.
Kris comes in after about fifteen minutes, and he makes a strained, high noise in the back of his throat before he starts apologizing for taking so long. "It's so cool that you guys are here," Kris squeals, apparently not at all in control of his voice. Jeremy would think a singer would have that together more. But then, if Jeremy stood up now, he'd probably fall on his face.
Kris is really excited about the bag of Olympics stuff. He pops open the last few buttons of his tight shirt and replaces it with the Vancouver 2010 t-shirt they brought him. Jeremy stares at Kris's chest. He wants to lick Kris's nipples. He wants to hold Kris up against the wall and ram into him like Rambo.
Jeremy kind of wants to die.
He also might be imagining things, but Kris is looking back at him with a hungry expression he remembers from such nights as Massi's Hotel Bathroom The Night After They Both Sucked at '09 Worlds and That Time He Got Drunk With Jeff Buttle In Japan. He might be dreaming. Maybe Meryl slipped him a mickey. Maybe he's still on the tour bus.
"You're a lot more built in person," Kris is saying. "On TV you all looked so... like a stiff wind'd blow you over." He is not looking into Jeremy's eyes. Did he just say stiff?
"Is there another lounge outside?" Meryl says. "Because maybe I should just wait out there." Jeremy tries to give her don't go puppy eyes but she is out of there like a bolt. He might be dreaming, but he's not imagining things.
Kris looks over both his shoulders, like someone else might have followed them in. "Well," he says. "This is awkward."
Jeremy is racing through his brain to come up with ways to draw attention away from his crotch. "Yeah."
"No, not because of - what you don't know is - I, and my wife, we have a list of people who, if we ever got the chance, the rules of matrimony don't apply. And you'd think by now, with the touring and the hit record, I'd have, but I haven't - and you're actually, you're actually on both of our lists. And we're alone in the VIP lounge and isn't that what rock stars do, I guess?"
"I don't know what rock stars do." Jeremy's tongue feels numb. His brain keeps playing the word wife over and over. "Is she here? Your wife."
"No, she's back in Arkansas. But I get the feeling I'm the only one you'd be interested in anyway."
"Well, I don't know what she looks like." Jeremy is officially the dumbest person in the VIP lounge and possibly the dumbest person in the state of Michigan. To the point where Kris can't even follow that up, because he's stammering out half-syllables. He's propositioning Jeremy but doesn't know what to say - or at least that's what Jeremy hopes is happening. He yanks Kris forward by his screen-printed Vancouver 2010 logo and gives him a wet, heavy kiss.
Kris is giving him messy tongue, and they are staggering backwards until Jeremy is up against the wall, Kris's hands like a tornado in Jeremy's hair, Jeremy's hands skidding down Kris's butt. Kris stops to say, "This is so cool." His lips glisten red.
"I - I just can't believe you know who I am."
"Katy likes to watch ice skating," Kris says. "We watched the National Championships because she wanted to know who was going to the Olympics. And then, you know, the Olympics. I really liked that Beatles number you did. It made me hear the song different. So that was - it stuck with me."
Jeremy's received a few bigger compliments, but this one's in the top five. He beams, and his cheeks are burning. "So I guess you saw me at my best and my worst."
"Everyone has an off day." Kris's accent mushes all his words into a soft purr. Jeremy wants to stick his tongue into them and pry them apart.
"Yeah, I mean, I voted for you even when you weren't the best," Jeremy blurts. "I - not that you weren't always -"
"No," Kris says, "sometimes I really kind of sucked." And there is a silence, where they should be laughing, but their lips are so close they end up kissing instead. Jeremy is feeling Kris up all over, his chest and back and ass, wanting to remember Kris's skin under his fingers. There's no extra room in Kris's jeans, and Jeremy can feel him straining. Kris doesn't protest when Jeremy goes for his belt, and he sighs when Jeremy pulls his dick out and runs his fist up its length.
Kris Allen's dick is in Jeremy's hand. He's going to wake up any second now. "You still want this?" he says.
"Yeah," Kris breathes into his ear.
Jeremy takes his wallet out of his back pocket and gets out the emergency condom. He's not sure how long it's been there, but the expiration date is still in the future. He says a little prayer and puts it in Kris's hand. Then, he turns around and pulls his jeans down to his ankles. He's ready to give more instructions, but Kris is inside him fast, fucking him hard into the wall. Arms around his chest, tugging his shirt up above his nipples. But gentle enough that Jeremy is begging for more.
Jeremy takes Kris's wrist and moves it down so Kris's hand is on his dick. He might come without it, but he wants the help. He wants Kris to make him come. Which Kris does, and Jeremy comes with his chest and hands pressed into the wall, stifling a scream because the walls might be thin. He doesn't realize Kris is done until he feels air between them, and it's another minute before the room stops spinning.
He puts his pants on. He's not sure if he's supposed to stay.
"I feel like I should give you some kind of souvenir," Kris says. "Since you guys gave me all this stuff."
"I don't need anything." Jeremy smooths back his hair. It's probably going in a million directions.
"I could sign something?"
Jeremy's about to protest that he has nothing to sign, but he has an idea. He rolls his shirt up under his arms, showing off his chest and abs. "Sign that." He can't completely stop himself from giggling.
Neither can Kris, who finds a Sharpie and scrawls his name in huge letters across Jeremy's torso. Holding up his shirt, Jeremy gets his camera out of the bag he brought with him. He turns it on and hands it to Kris. "Since I'm going to have to bathe eventually." Kris takes the picture, and then they take one of the two of them with their arms around each other. Jeremy is worried about leaving Meryl to wait too long, and Kris doesn't keep him. He kisses Kris on the cheek and says, "It was amazing to meet you."
"Won't be the last time," Kris says with a long-lashed smile.
Meryl's had a few drinks with the Barenaked Ladies - big ice dance fans, apparently - so she asks Jeremy to drive them home. Most of the crowd has left, and the parking lot is a desert. The roads, too, are dark, the suburbs shut down for the night. Meryl hardly says anything to him for a few miles. "So did you get your whole Prince Charming fantasy out of the way?" she asks, finally.
"He wasn't supposed to be my prince," Jeremy says. "It was just a one-time thing."
There must have been some sadness in his voice, because she rubs his arm. "Someday your prince will come."
Jeremy shrugs. All of his relationships have felt like fairy tales until they've fallen apart. "That wasn't what I was looking for. I mean, rock star in the VIP lounge, I knew what I was getting there. And I think, in a weird way? I was kind of his rock star, too."
He drops Meryl off and goes home. His apartment is kind of a mess, but quiet, and he's reminded that it's not so bad being alone sometimes. He gets some leftover pasta out of the fridge and sits down on the couch to eat it cold out of the Tupperware. He squirms into place, a little sore from being fucked. He takes his wallet out of his back pocket, and while he's thinking of it, he gets a new emergency condom out of the top drawer of his dresser, for the next time.
Title: This Is Awkward
Fandom: figure skating RPF/American Idol RPF
Pairing/Characters: Jeremy Abbott/Kris Allen, Meryl Davis
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex
Warnings: None standard
Continuity: Takes place this summer.
Word Count: about 2,000.
Summary: Jeremy has the most humiliating rock-star crush on Kris Allen. The feeling is mutual.
Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. The characters herein are based on real people, but the words and events are completely made up. They are not intended to be mistaken for fact, and no libel is intended. This original work of fan fiction is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this Livejournal post.
Notes: Thanks to mandysbitch for beta reading and thistle90 for audiencing. And most of all to xmorghanax, who requested this in holiday_on_ice, because this pairing needed so badly to be written.
*
In his wildest dreams, Jeremy is fucking Kris Allen. No, literally, he has wild dreams where he's fucking Kris Allen, frequently enough that he can't listen to "Live Like We're Dying" before bed. Wet dreams don't work out so well on the tour bus. He was going to do an exhibition number to that song for the new season - even talked to Yuka about it - but now he's pretty sure it would get embarrassing.
He has his celebrity crush under control until his friends find out about it. Those girls are merciless. They wake him by sticking earphones in his ears and playing "Red Guitar" or leaning over his face and loudly humming "Heartless." They tape pictures in his bunk, and when he takes them down, they find hotter ones to replace them. Jeremy gives up when he gets on the bus after a show to find a row of paparazzi shots of Kris on the beach, soaking wet, water running down his perfect abs. Jeremy spends half an hour in his bunk staring at the line of hair from Kris's belly button to the waistband of his trunks, trying to figure out how he can jerk off without anyone hearing him.
Two days later, Meryl comes up to him with news. "Kris Allen's doing a show in Detroit in August, and guess who totally abused her Olympic medal to get backstage passes!" Jeremy can't keep his face from falling, because he's tired of the girls harassing him and because he's tired of being reminded that he does not have an Olympic medal. Meryl looks down at his feet, contrite. "You don't want to go?"
"No, I mean, I do, but I... It'd be weird. With the whole, like, strong possibility of a spontaneous erection."
She pats his shoulder. "I'm sure he gets that all the time."
Jeremy has three months to forget that he's going to the Kris Allen concert. By August, he's too busy training to think about pop stars with charming sideways smiles and soft-spoken Southern accents. He's also single again. On the bus, he forgot what loneliness and boredom felt like, and he's grateful that Meryl's around to give him these weekend adventures. She picks him up from his apartment complex, and they're on their way up to Clarkston with their passes and a tote bag of Olympic crap to give away if Kris Allen turns out to be the kind of guy who gets excited by Team USA t-shirts and magnets.
The VIP passes entitle them to seriously amazing seats. Kris Allen is wearing extremely tight jeans and a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves, only buttoned halfway up. They're close enough that Jeremy can see every bulge and ripple. He waves his arms and cheers and drinks a ton of water, trying to focus on the music and not on the scenery. That's not easy when Kris Allen launches into a guitar solo like he's making love to the instrument and pulls his microphone to his mouth like he's going down on it. He has a beautiful voice, and Jeremy can barely hear it.
Fortunately, Kris is the opening act for the Barenaked Ladies, and Jeremy gets an hour of portly Canadian comedy rock to bring his dick back under control. Afterward, they have to fight their way to the backstage area, only to find that it is the regular backstage pass entrance and not the super special VIP entrance that they are apparently super special enough to merit. A gorilla-shaped guy who probably weighs twice as much as Jeremy and Meryl put together leads them to a door they never would have found on their own. The VIP room has soft beige couches, a self-serve bar, and no one else in it. Meryl makes tequila sunrises. They wait.
Kris comes in after about fifteen minutes, and he makes a strained, high noise in the back of his throat before he starts apologizing for taking so long. "It's so cool that you guys are here," Kris squeals, apparently not at all in control of his voice. Jeremy would think a singer would have that together more. But then, if Jeremy stood up now, he'd probably fall on his face.
Kris is really excited about the bag of Olympics stuff. He pops open the last few buttons of his tight shirt and replaces it with the Vancouver 2010 t-shirt they brought him. Jeremy stares at Kris's chest. He wants to lick Kris's nipples. He wants to hold Kris up against the wall and ram into him like Rambo.
Jeremy kind of wants to die.
He also might be imagining things, but Kris is looking back at him with a hungry expression he remembers from such nights as Massi's Hotel Bathroom The Night After They Both Sucked at '09 Worlds and That Time He Got Drunk With Jeff Buttle In Japan. He might be dreaming. Maybe Meryl slipped him a mickey. Maybe he's still on the tour bus.
"You're a lot more built in person," Kris is saying. "On TV you all looked so... like a stiff wind'd blow you over." He is not looking into Jeremy's eyes. Did he just say stiff?
"Is there another lounge outside?" Meryl says. "Because maybe I should just wait out there." Jeremy tries to give her don't go puppy eyes but she is out of there like a bolt. He might be dreaming, but he's not imagining things.
Kris looks over both his shoulders, like someone else might have followed them in. "Well," he says. "This is awkward."
Jeremy is racing through his brain to come up with ways to draw attention away from his crotch. "Yeah."
"No, not because of - what you don't know is - I, and my wife, we have a list of people who, if we ever got the chance, the rules of matrimony don't apply. And you'd think by now, with the touring and the hit record, I'd have, but I haven't - and you're actually, you're actually on both of our lists. And we're alone in the VIP lounge and isn't that what rock stars do, I guess?"
"I don't know what rock stars do." Jeremy's tongue feels numb. His brain keeps playing the word wife over and over. "Is she here? Your wife."
"No, she's back in Arkansas. But I get the feeling I'm the only one you'd be interested in anyway."
"Well, I don't know what she looks like." Jeremy is officially the dumbest person in the VIP lounge and possibly the dumbest person in the state of Michigan. To the point where Kris can't even follow that up, because he's stammering out half-syllables. He's propositioning Jeremy but doesn't know what to say - or at least that's what Jeremy hopes is happening. He yanks Kris forward by his screen-printed Vancouver 2010 logo and gives him a wet, heavy kiss.
Kris is giving him messy tongue, and they are staggering backwards until Jeremy is up against the wall, Kris's hands like a tornado in Jeremy's hair, Jeremy's hands skidding down Kris's butt. Kris stops to say, "This is so cool." His lips glisten red.
"I - I just can't believe you know who I am."
"Katy likes to watch ice skating," Kris says. "We watched the National Championships because she wanted to know who was going to the Olympics. And then, you know, the Olympics. I really liked that Beatles number you did. It made me hear the song different. So that was - it stuck with me."
Jeremy's received a few bigger compliments, but this one's in the top five. He beams, and his cheeks are burning. "So I guess you saw me at my best and my worst."
"Everyone has an off day." Kris's accent mushes all his words into a soft purr. Jeremy wants to stick his tongue into them and pry them apart.
"Yeah, I mean, I voted for you even when you weren't the best," Jeremy blurts. "I - not that you weren't always -"
"No," Kris says, "sometimes I really kind of sucked." And there is a silence, where they should be laughing, but their lips are so close they end up kissing instead. Jeremy is feeling Kris up all over, his chest and back and ass, wanting to remember Kris's skin under his fingers. There's no extra room in Kris's jeans, and Jeremy can feel him straining. Kris doesn't protest when Jeremy goes for his belt, and he sighs when Jeremy pulls his dick out and runs his fist up its length.
Kris Allen's dick is in Jeremy's hand. He's going to wake up any second now. "You still want this?" he says.
"Yeah," Kris breathes into his ear.
Jeremy takes his wallet out of his back pocket and gets out the emergency condom. He's not sure how long it's been there, but the expiration date is still in the future. He says a little prayer and puts it in Kris's hand. Then, he turns around and pulls his jeans down to his ankles. He's ready to give more instructions, but Kris is inside him fast, fucking him hard into the wall. Arms around his chest, tugging his shirt up above his nipples. But gentle enough that Jeremy is begging for more.
Jeremy takes Kris's wrist and moves it down so Kris's hand is on his dick. He might come without it, but he wants the help. He wants Kris to make him come. Which Kris does, and Jeremy comes with his chest and hands pressed into the wall, stifling a scream because the walls might be thin. He doesn't realize Kris is done until he feels air between them, and it's another minute before the room stops spinning.
He puts his pants on. He's not sure if he's supposed to stay.
"I feel like I should give you some kind of souvenir," Kris says. "Since you guys gave me all this stuff."
"I don't need anything." Jeremy smooths back his hair. It's probably going in a million directions.
"I could sign something?"
Jeremy's about to protest that he has nothing to sign, but he has an idea. He rolls his shirt up under his arms, showing off his chest and abs. "Sign that." He can't completely stop himself from giggling.
Neither can Kris, who finds a Sharpie and scrawls his name in huge letters across Jeremy's torso. Holding up his shirt, Jeremy gets his camera out of the bag he brought with him. He turns it on and hands it to Kris. "Since I'm going to have to bathe eventually." Kris takes the picture, and then they take one of the two of them with their arms around each other. Jeremy is worried about leaving Meryl to wait too long, and Kris doesn't keep him. He kisses Kris on the cheek and says, "It was amazing to meet you."
"Won't be the last time," Kris says with a long-lashed smile.
Meryl's had a few drinks with the Barenaked Ladies - big ice dance fans, apparently - so she asks Jeremy to drive them home. Most of the crowd has left, and the parking lot is a desert. The roads, too, are dark, the suburbs shut down for the night. Meryl hardly says anything to him for a few miles. "So did you get your whole Prince Charming fantasy out of the way?" she asks, finally.
"He wasn't supposed to be my prince," Jeremy says. "It was just a one-time thing."
There must have been some sadness in his voice, because she rubs his arm. "Someday your prince will come."
Jeremy shrugs. All of his relationships have felt like fairy tales until they've fallen apart. "That wasn't what I was looking for. I mean, rock star in the VIP lounge, I knew what I was getting there. And I think, in a weird way? I was kind of his rock star, too."
He drops Meryl off and goes home. His apartment is kind of a mess, but quiet, and he's reminded that it's not so bad being alone sometimes. He gets some leftover pasta out of the fridge and sits down on the couch to eat it cold out of the Tupperware. He squirms into place, a little sore from being fucked. He takes his wallet out of his back pocket, and while he's thinking of it, he gets a new emergency condom out of the top drawer of his dresser, for the next time.