Fic: Fairy Tale | AI8 RPF | Kris/Adam | Adult | 1/2
Fairy Tale
Fandom: American Idol RPF
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Rating: Adult
Warnings: THIS IS CRACKFIC. Like, if you ever doubted what constitutes crackfic, THIS IS IT. Also, MRPEG. But this isn't your grandpa's MPREG. This is a very ~special kind of MPREG that must be read to never be believed. It is honestly the weirdest, most insane, and possibly most hilarious thing I have ever written, and YES, that is saying something after The One Where They Are Animals In A Zoo.
Comments: Firstly, a thousand million thanks to the fantastically talented merihn, who made me the delightful banner. Seriously, it is the most awesome art I have ever gotten because it is so completely perfect for this story and, I think, totally embodies the spirit of the fic. Secondly, thanks to madame_d and miss_begonia for attempting to come up with some sort of constructive criticism on this (but I do think the ending is better now!). And lastly, thanks to everyone at Twitter for chiming in with their opinions on crack being WACK. Written for aificathon with the prompt: "a non-AU Kradam crack!fic. Kris gets pregnant with Adam's baby. After that, go crazy with it." AND I DID.
Kris, it turns out, is kind of a slut. Not in practice, because the whole accidental not-sponge-worthy gay sex really was the first and only time Kris cheated, but in spirit, Kris is a total tramp. Most people would call him a flirt and say he doesn't mean any of it, he's just teasing, but Kris knows that in his heart where he can't ever lie because that's where Jesus lives--he means every word, and if he hadn't promised Katy to be faithful in front of his parents and God and everyone, it's seriously likely that he would be a lot sluttier in practice. Because Jesus maybe lives in his heart, and that helps with resisting the impulses to get jiggy with it, but Kris is pretty sure that Lucifer or, at the very least, one of his higher-up lieutenants, has taken up residence in his dick. Jesus is a busy dude, he can't always be hanging out in Kris's heart, helping him fight temptation, but Satan has like a gillion minions and can totally afford to dedicate one solely to Kris's dick, especially when Kris is in this vulnerable position of constant blue balls. It's not Kris's fault he's a harlot. The devil made him do it. QED.
Fairy Tale
At first Kris doesn’t think anything of it. Maybe he just has the flu or some weird virus he picked up on tour; maybe it's some sort of bizarre bacteria from living on a bus with ten other people and all their collective germs for three months, or maybe his body is just run down and that’s why he spends most mornings and some nights on his knees in front of the toilet, puking.
Katy watches him from the doorway of their hotel room, her nose wrinkled up in disgust. "You have to go to a doctor. This is getting gross." Not, 'I'm worried about you,' or anything a normal wife might say, but, 'This is getting gross.' Like the mess that the hotel staff will have to clean up is the real issue, here, and not Kris's daily (or sometimes hourly) puking episodes. His wife kind of sucks, Kris thinks, and leans his forehead against the cool edge of the bathtub, hoping this current round of vomit-o-rama is over.
"But I feel fine after," Kris says weakly, breathing in and out in careful, measured gasps, like Katy's yoga video always told him to do to harness his inner energy and gain a sense of calm and peace. He's hoping that it'll somehow trickle down to his stomach, like Reagan's idea of economics, only this time it might actually work. At this point he's willing to try just about anything that doesn't involve lab coats and hospital gowns. He really doesn't want to go the doctor, no matter how gross Katy thinks his mystery illness is.
To be fair to Katy, the gratuitous vomiting is pretty gross, especially since he pretty much feels fine when he's not actively puking, which means he eats as much if not more than ever, and the end results of the situation are quite colorful. And sometimes chunky. Kris suspects they might be really stinky, too, but he's grown too used to it all to really tell. Still, he wishes Katy were maybe more worried about his well-being than the ick factor.
Because the thing is, if he goes to the doctor, they might tell him something's horribly wrong with him, and he can't afford to have anything horribly wrong with him right now. He has an album to promote and release; he wants to start planning his next tour, which he's supposed to be co-headlining with Adam, but none of that's going to happen if he has some horrible disease or something. He watched enough House with Anoop on tour that he knows exactly what kinds of awful medical mysteries are possible. Maybe he has a tapeworm, or some sort of terrible parasite that's chewing holes in his intestines and making him puke because his internal organs are leaking into each other. Maybe he has Lupus, but no one ever actually has Lupus, so Kris isn't even really sure what it is. It sounds bad, though. He wonders if daily vomiting and a sudden craving for red meat with ice cream are symptoms of Lupus, but when he asks Katy, she just rolls her eyes and says, "It's not Lupus. You're going to the damn doctor," so Kris is forced to ignore her. It could totally be Lupus, and if it is, Kris would rather not know. He's too busy to be diseased.
Maybe he's a vampire and he's throwing up from trying to eat people food, like when he let Daniel's cat drink milk once and it spent the next three days puking. He's not especially sparkly, even in direct sunlight, but it kind of makes the most sense. This is what he tells Adam on the phone the next morning on his way to the studio after his latest puking session.
"So, I think I'm a vampire or something," he says, watching the palm trees drift by out the window of the SUV, very thankful for once that he has a driver and a barf bag, otherwise TMZ would probably get some excellent footage of him pulling over to vomit, and somehow Kris doesn't think TMZ will understand the whole vampire theory. "No really, I'm not incredibly hungover, I'm just allergic to people food and as soon as I start eating proper vampire nourishment, I'm sure I'll be fine!" probably won't fly, even with TMZ. Maybe the National Enquirer. No, definitely the National Enquirer.
"I'm not sparkling significantly more than normal," Kris says, "but I have this weird craving for red meat and I keep puking every morning, like maybe I'm lactose-intolerant, but for normal human food."
"Maybe you're pregnant," Adam says, and laughs.
"Yeah, and maybe the moon is really made of cheese."
"The moon landing was a fake, so it's possible. Anything's possible. Well, except for you being a vampire. You'd be the lamest vampire in the world. Even lamer than Lestat. You're way too nice to be a vampire. If Katy got pregnant with your half-vampire psychic fetus, would you be capable of eating it out of her when the scalpel fails to cut through her placenta?"
"Maybe!" Kris says defensively. "If I was a vampire, I bet placenta would be like some kind of delicacy. Like caviar or brains or something."
"Placenta-eating aside," Adam says, "you don't have the hair for being a vampire. No, you're probably pregnant. It makes more sense."
"Because of the ovaries I've been hiding from the world my whole life."
Adam huffs. "Ovaries are internal, duh. They're hidden by definition. I'm not the one who fucks ladies, I can't believe I have to tell you about the female reproductive system. Do you even know what a placenta is?"
"I blame abstinence-only education," Kris says solemnly. Outside, the palm trees start to sway kind of alarmingly, and Kris suddenly feels a little dizzy and a lot not good, like maybe--
"Oh shit," he mumbles. "I gotta go. My morning sickness is back, I need to puke." He hears Adam laughing at him as he tosses his phone aside and fumbles for his barf bag.
*
He finally agrees to go to the doctor, or, well, Katy makes him an appointment without telling him first because of the whole gross factor and also, "Think of the poor maid making minimum wage who has to clean your puke off the toilet every morning, Kris! She's going to think you're bulimic and sell the story to the tabloids because she probably has like, kids to support and the hotel doesn't give her health insurance and maybe one of her kids is sick and she has to find a way to pay for treatment."
Kris says, "Isn't that more reason to keep puking, so she has a story to sell so she can pay for her kid's surgery or whatever?" but then he gets interrupted by the urge to vomit again and never gets to really make his point, which is how he ends up in some nondescript medical building in West Hollywood being examined and questioned by a bleach blond woman--or maybe man, Kris isn't sure because her voice is really deep and they are in West Hollywood, after all--wearing stilettos and a magenta lab coat. Katy sits in the waiting room with a Highlights magazine watching 'One Life to Live' while Dr. Candy--Kris can't believe that's her actual real name, even if it is on her diploma--makes him breathe in and out, looks at his eyes and throat and nose and ears, has him lie back and presses on his stomach. She's definitely not House or even Cuddy or Chase, but Kris guesses she's okay for a doctor, and she doesn't look too concerned about his symptoms, so he's probably not dying. He kind of wishes he were in the waiting room with Katy watching 'One Life to Live' instead, though, so maybe he's not dying, but he really hates 'One Life to Live' ('Passions' is so much better, it at least has witches!) so this might actually be the apocalypse. Kris is reserving judgment until he hears a diagnosis.
"Are you sexually active?" Dr. Candy asks, and Kris just stares at her for a second. Patients always lie, he thinks, House always says so, and then sometimes they end up losing limbs or livers or having to get lumbar punctures or brain biopsies, and Kris really doesn't want anyone sticking a giant needle in his spine or stealing pieces of his brain, so lying is probably not a great idea. He shrugs instead and says, "Well, I'm married. So, not really."
Dr. Candy laughs and doesn't ask any more questions, which is good because then Kris would have to maybe start lying if she asked anything else about his recent sexual encounters, and he'd be really sad if he ended up with some kind of brain-exploding disease because he didn't want to tell his doctor about the time he accidentally had gay sex with his possibly-roofied or maybe just-really-drunk best friend, but in his defense, they were stuck in Milwaukee and Kris isn't the one who drugged their drinks, so he can't really be blamed for that incident. Condoms were involved, and Adam couldn't remember anything except for the part where he puked for, like, an hour the next morning, which was maybe a little insulting because Kris likes to think he's more memorable than that, or at least Adam would remember sticking his dick in Kris's ass, since the entire internet seems to think that's Adam's ultimate fantasy, but whatever. It's probably better this way, and Kris doesn't really think that one gay sexual encounter has anything to do with his mysterious and disgusting puking illness.
Unless Jesus is punishing him, but Kris doubts it. They were in Milwaukee. Even Jesus would understand that, Kris is pretty sure.
*
The lab tests come back a few days later and there's nothing wrong, which Kris knows is impossible because he's still throwing up at random but daily intervals. There's definitely something wrong. Dr. Candy calls him herself and explains, "You're in perfect health, no bacterias or fungi or viruses. We can run a few more tests, but... Kris, have you been feeling anxious, lately? Any sudden mood swings?" Over the phone she sounds kind of like the love child of Joan Rivers and Rue Paul, which is somehow comforting to Kris.
He frowns into the phone, trying to think about things he might be feeling anxious about. There's the fact that he hasn't had sex since the tour ended a month ago, and Kris is pretty sure that Katy's period is over and she probably doesn't actually have a headache every night, and she could possibly find other times to wash her hair or suddenly decide that they're in desperate need of ice, like maybe not every time Kris tries to get frisky. And then there's the whole One Apparently Completely Forgettable Night In Kris situation, which he feels pretty guilty and even more disappointed about, because seriously, if he's going to cheat on his wife with his best friend, he wishes that Adam hadn't passed out in the middle, for one thing. Kris will never stop being impressed by Adam's ability to maintain an erection while passed out drunk and possibly roofied, but it was an awful lot of work, fucking himself, and not really what he'd been expecting from the whole gay cheating thing.
Not that he went into it planning to lose his ass virginity and cheat on his wife of less than a year in the process, but since that's kind of what happened, he just wishes it would've been actually worth it. Like, really good sex would've been worth it. Phenomenal sex with someone who was actually awake and remembered it later, just for example, might've been worth the guilt from cheating. Not that he feels all that guilty about it, honestly, because when it comes right down to it, it was more like masturbation than sex with another person. Kris doesn't feel guilty for jerking off; how can he be expected to feel all that guilty about using Adam as a glorified dildo?
So yeah, he's kind of stressed, but Kris is pretty sure that's not why he's puking all the time. "Well, I just won American Idol," he says, "and now I'm trying to put out an album that I actually like in spite of my record label, so yeah, I'm a little anxious. Do you think this is psychological?" Kris doesn't think it's psychological. He's pretty sure lack of sex doesn't cause spontaneous vomiting, or he'd have spent his entire adolescence throwing up.
Dr. Candy hmms. "I think it's likely. You're stressed out, over-worked. I could write you a prescription for something, but it'd be more helpful for you to talk to someone."
"Being crazy is probably better than being pregnant," Kris says, and she laughs.
"You're not wrong. There's nothing worse than trying to shove something the size of a grapefruit out of something the size of a cherry."
"Wow, now I really need to puke," Kris says, and runs for the bathroom.
*
He's halfway through lunch with Adam--steak, rare, and he really thinks he's onto something with the vampire theory--when he has to rush to the bathroom, leaving a trail of pissed off waiters and spilled water glasses in his wake. Adam follows a few minutes later, leaning casually in the doorway of the handicapped stall whose toilet Kris is hopefully done populating with half-digested cow and stomach acid, looking like watching his friend puke his guts out in the middle of a meal is just another glamorous day in the life of Adam Lambert, Superstar. Although, Kris thinks as he spits into the toilet and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, knowing Adam's friends, this situation probably isn't that unusual for him.
"I thought you went to the doctor," Adam says, frowning with concern. "I told Katy to make an appointment with mine. I thought she took you."
"She did," Kris says, flushing the toilet. He leans against the stall wall weakly and shrugs. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm in perfect health."
"Well, I wouldn't say perfect," Adam says, smiling a little. "You're pretty short. That can't be all genetic." He clears his throat and reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a rectangular pink box. "I got this as a joke," he says, handing the box to Kris, "but maybe you actually need it."
Kris looks at the box, blue lettering on a pink background, claiming that the contents can predict pregnancy before the first missed period. Kris snorts and looks up at Adam, says, "You have to have sex to get pregnant."
Adam just raises his eyebrows and wanders over to the bay of sinks while Kris pulls himself up from the tiles and hopes no one heard him puking before Adam came in, or else the maid with the deathly sick kid won't get her exclusive from News of the World about Kris's eating disorder, and that would be a damn shame. Someone should benefit from all of this. He looks at the box Adam gave him, shrugs and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. He's pretty sure he'd know by now if he had the necessary parts to make babies, but it might make Katy laugh, anyway.
It never hurts to get tested.
*
Spoiler alert: Katy will not, in fact, find this situation in any way amusing.
Kris discovers this when he returns to the hotel after a long day of puking and recording and consuming beef and beef products like cows are on the verge of extinction and he has to get his fix in fast before it's too late. It's like that episode of Seinfeld when Elaine starts hoarding prophylactic sponges because they're about to stop making them or whatever, only, Kris supposes, if he'd been hoarding something useful like sponges, he maybe wouldn't be overdosing on cow like some sort of weird cow-obsessed crazy person. He knows he's not actually pregnant, because that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard and he does not have a uterus no matter how many times Matt implied so throughout the tour, but if he'd remembered the lesson of Elaine's sponge-worthy criteria, he wouldn't even be having this conversation with himself in his head.
Because Adam is hot--obviously, Adam is hot, even Scott knows that, and Scott is like some kind of asexual amoeba person, and also blind--but that accidental gay sex encounter was so far from sponge-worthy, Kris wishes it would get thee to the nunnery in his brain with the rest of his unchaste, whorish thoughts.
(Kris, it turns out, is kind of a slut. Not in practice, because the whole accidental not-sponge-worthy gay sex really was the first and only time Kris cheated, but in spirit, Kris is a total tramp. Most people would call him a flirt and say he doesn't mean any of it, he's just teasing, but Kris knows that in his heart where he can't ever lie because that's where Jesus lives--he means every word, and if he hadn't promised Katy to be faithful in front of his parents and God and everyone, it's seriously likely that he would be a lot sluttier in practice. Because Jesus maybe lives in his heart, and that helps with resisting the impulses to get jiggy with it, but Kris is pretty sure that Lucifer or, at the very least, one of his higher-up lieutenants, has taken up residence in his dick. Jesus is a busy dude, he can't always be hanging out in Kris's heart, helping him fight temptation, but Satan has like a gillion minions and can totally afford to dedicate one solely to Kris's dick, especially when Kris is in this vulnerable position of constant blue balls. It's not Kris's fault he's a harlot. The devil made him do it. QED.)
He should've remembered the lessons of Elaine, and also that sometimes, Jesus (or possibly aliens, because he's not ruling anything out at this point) works in mysterious ways, because when he gets back to the hotel, he decides to take the test. It'll be funny, and there are two of them in the box anyway, and Adam bought the test especially and Kris hates to waste anything, but particularly thoughtfulness. So he pees on the little stick, sets it on the bathroom counter to dry or tabulate or whatever it needs to do, shakes off, wanders back into the bedroom to watch the Daily Show, and forgets all about it until Katy comes back an hour later and emerges from the bathroom with the pregnancy test, looking confused and distraught and in serious need of a hug. Which Kris tries to provide, because he's a good husband and he loves her despite his whorish soul, but is coldly denied.
She shoves him, is what happens. She actually shoves him away, waving the pee stick around and saying, "What the hell is this?"
Kris sits down on the bed with a frown, trying to ignore the sounds of Stephen Colbert mocking health care reform in the background. "It's a pregnancy test." Duh, he thinks, because isn't that obvious, but he doesn't say that out loud, because Katy looks like she's ready to kill kittens, or possibly just Kris, and truthfully, he's a little afraid of her. She's bigger than him. It's a valid fear.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious. I can see that it's a pregnancy test. Whose pregnancy test is it? Because I sure as hell didn't take it."
Kris wants to say that obviously she didn't take it because they haven't had sex in over a month and she's been "on a visit with Aunt Flo" for most of that time, or at least lying about Ms. Flo in some sort of unconsciously malicious attempt to aid and abet Kris's dick devil, so yeah. Obviously, she didn't take it. Kris thinks the answer is pretty clear, but then, most people wouldn't assume that it's Kris's test, what with Kris not being of the egg-laying variety of human and all. He rubs his neck and tries not to sound like too much of an insane moron when he says, "It's mine, actually."
Katy rolls her eyes and practically flings the test at him, which--ew, it has his pee all over it, even if it's dry by now, but it's still pee, and totally unhygienic. Doesn't she know there's swine flu and other deadly viruses going around? Kris is already sick with the stress-vomiting or alien implants or whatever. The last thing he needs is swine flu or Ebola or anthrax, which apparently isn't just an awesome heavy metal band, but also a deadly powder terrorists are always trying to mail to the president or Bill O'Reilly. Kris doesn't know how it might end up on a pee stick, but then again, it's more likely than one of Kris's non-existent eggs inside his imaginary uterus actually being fertilized.
"Well apparently," Katy hisses, snatching up her purse and stalking to the door, "you're pregnant, you total fucking asshole." Well, Kris thinks, staring after her, at least he doesn't have anthrax.
And then she's out the door and slamming it behind her before Kris can say anything, not that he even knows what he could've said, because on the one hand, she's kind of right about him being a total fucking asshole and all, but on the other hand, it's just the way Jesus made him, the Devil and or aliens made him do it, and also he's so not pregnant, because of the no eggs thing. QED.
Except that when he recovers from his shock enough to actually look at the test, he sees a pale pink plus sign in the little window, which the directions from the back of the box tell him means that not only is he a total fucking asshole, but he's also completely retarded. He's a retarded pregnant asshole. Fuck his life right up the ass.
Or not. His life so isn't sponge-worthy.
*
Since Kris is apparently a pregnant retard, he does what any pregnant retard with half a brain would do--he calls his best friend. Not the one who accidentally and unknowingly knocked him up in the first place, but the other best friend, the one who lives far away in the land of cheese fries and sno cone shacks and can't call the ambulances to haul him off to the loony bin all Britney Spears style.
Charles answers the phone on the third ring with a, "Yo homie," and Kris blurts out, "A month ago I accidentally had sex with Adam and now I'm pregnant and I think Katy left me."
"Huh," Charles says. "That's not what I was expecting, but okay. Do you have boobs?"
"What?" Kris says. Talk about a non-sequitor.
"Boobs. Tits. Jugs. Fun bags. Do you have them?"
"Fun bags? Seriously?"
"It's a totally acceptable term. And highly descriptive," Charles says defensively. "They are fun, and bag-shaped. They are fun bags."
"No, I don't have fun ba--oh my god. I don't have boobs. Why would I have boobs?"
"Well I figure if you're pregnant, maybe you turned into a girl. At least if you had boobs, you could touch them whenever you wanted, because they'd be yours and you'd never get slapped for staring at your own chest, and then you could convince Katy to come back to you and tape yourselves having hot lesbian sex. I bet you're a really hot girl. Not that I've ever considered this scenario in lurid detail or anything, because that would be weird and wrong." He pauses, considering. "Oh man, are you even shorter?"
"No! I'm not even shorter. I'm the same, which is a perfectly respectable height. I'm average. And I'm not a girl. I'm just pregnant. With Adam's baby. Fetus. Thing."
"I'm sorry, man," Charles says, "but if you didn't suddenly wake up a woman one morning or whatever, the whole pregnant thing just doesn't make any sense."
"But switching genders does?"
"Maybe you fell into the Pool of the Drowned Girl at the ancient Chinese training ground or whatever, how the hell should I know?" Charles pauses. "Did Adam maybe have like... a tentacle? Instead of. You know. You know."
"It was ridiculously huge, but no. It was just a dick. As far as I could tell. You need to stop with the anime, man. It's making you weird. Not everything involves Ranma 1/2 or tentacle sex."
Charles just snorts loudly and ignores that statement. "So not aliens then. Dude, I don't know what to tell you. This is why you should always use protection."
"I did," Kris says.
"Because you know that despite what they say in the girl's room, you can totally get pregnant the first time. Not from the bathtub, though. Or blowjobs. Those are myths."
"We used a condom! And as far as like human anatomy goes, I'm pretty sure guys can't get pregnant at all!"
Charles sighs. "If we learned anything from Ross and Rachel, it's that condoms aren't a hundred percent effective. And that 'we were on a break' is never gonna fly as an excuse, so I hope that's not what you told Katy about cheating on her in gay style and getting knocked up. Are you sure you're not a girl? Or maybe a secret hermaphrodite? Chicks with dicks, man. I've seen it in porn."
Kris actually stops to consider that for a minute, but he's pretty sure he'd know by the age of twenty-four if he secretly had working female organs. Also, he's fairly certain that even hermaphrodites don't have balls and ovaries. That would just be overkill. "I'm not a chick with a dick," Kris says. "Or even a normal chick. I'm just an impossibly pregnant dude."
"This is what I'm trying to tell you. If you're not a woman, I just don't know how to make sense of this situation."
"What am I gonna do?" Kris says miserably.
"I think you're gonna have to bite the bullet and call your mom," Charles says in a rather unsympathetic tone.
"Fuck."
"That's what got you into this mess in the first place. Shoulda thought of that before you accidentally let Adam Lambert shoot his apparently condom-melting, super-baby freakazoid load in you."
Kris is too freaked out to argue. Instead, he hangs up on Charles and runs to the bathroom to throw up. Being pregnant totally blows.
*
Kris manages to wait two days before calling his mom. He tries to tell himself that he's not pregnant, just batshit crazy; that there's no way he could possibly be pregnant because even if he gave in to the dick devil that one time, Jesus loves him and would never punish him in such a horrific manner as pregnancy. Plus, it's not like he's getting fatter or showing any other signs of pregnancy aside from the beef cravings and puking. His fun bags are still flat and not at all tender and he hasn't had any mood changes at all. He's still as freaked out as he was when this all started.
Of course, the twenty-seven pee sticks lined up on his bathroom counter with pink plus signs and smiley faces and 'pregnants' on them all seem to think otherwise. Kris stares at them, his phone in his hand as he tries to come up with any other plausible explanation for the multitude of positive results so that he won't have to call his mom, but they just lie there innocently, smelling faintly of pee and declaring that he is knocked up, with child, in the family way. They seem to be silently judging him. Kris narrows his eyes at their cheerful windows full of pink and sits on the toilet to call his mom, wondering how the hell this is his life.
He knows it's bad when he would rather be crazy.
"I was wondering when you'd call," is how his mom answers the phone.
"You were?" Kris says.
She makes a clucking noise with her tongue. "Katy told me what happened. And then Charles called to tell me that you've been drunk dialing him again and babbling about aliens. And then Adam called wondering if I'd heard from you lately, because you were ill and he was worried."
"Oh. I didn't. I mean, I'm sick, yeah. But it's not that kind of. I don't know. I should've called," Kris says. He's a horrible son. He should've called. Maybe not about the mutant fetus growing in his intestines or wherever it is right now because he most definitely does not possess a womb, but at least about the part where Katy totally left him and won't even take his calls now, despite the many messages he's left attempting to explain how it was only the once, and he was probably roofied, and Adam doesn't even know it happened so it totally shouldn't count. He doesn't even know if Katy's still in LA, and it's like every bad after-school special and or Lifetime movie he's ever seen: young girl makes tragic mistake, young girl ends up pregnant and alone, young girl delivers her mutant/alien/devilspawn baby in an abandoned crack den because she was too afraid to tell her parents about it. He sighs. Crack dens look so unsanitary on tv, and when even Whitney Houston says that crack is a ghetto drug, you know it's bad news. Crack is wack. He can't even imagine what a whole den of it would be like, but certainly it's no place to bring a child into the world.
His mom makes a resigned, disappointed noise and says, "Yes, you should've. But," she continues in a softer, comforting voice, "it's understandable, honey. When I first found out I was pregnant with you, I didn't tell your father for two weeks."
"I. How did you? Um." Kris's mind completely blanks out because all he can think is, Oh my god, she knows about the accidental gay sex! Which is probably not the most salient point, because--fetus in his belly!--but whatever. He's pregnant with a possible alien spawn of Satan, he's allowed to freak out about the wrong things in a time like this. His dick devil made him do it.
His mom sighs. "I was hoping this would never come up with you, Kristopher. I'm not disappointed, please don't think that. Your father and I love you very much, and you breaking your wedding vows and ending up in this little predicament can't change that. We just thought it would be Daniel. He's a cheerleader. He likes the Backstreet Boys. He was in the French Club. We thought for sure he'd be the one, and you were safely married to Katy." She lets out another heavy sigh. "Your father wanted to tell you, and I should've listened to him. Kris, I hope you can forgive me."
"Mom. I don't understand. Forgive you for what?" Kris stares blindly at the tiles of the bathroom floor, his brain a swirling mass of emotions and thoughts that can't seem to arrange themselves into anything that makes sense, especially in reference to the Backstreet Boys, who Kris is pretty sure Daniel only pretended to like to get Jessica Moran to go out with him. Daniel doesn't even know the words to 'I Want It That Way.' He is so not a fan.
"Forgive me for never telling you that you're a fairy."
"Um. I'm pretty sure that's like. Something I'm supposed to tell you," Kris says. He frowns. He's not even sure it's true, anyway. He's only had gay sex the one time, but that was with Adam, so it doesn't even really count because Adam makes everyone gay. And okay, so maybe he'd be totally willing to have sex with Anoop or Matt, and sometimes Michael can be kind of sexy when he tries to look all fierce, and okay, so maybe Kris would totally let John Mayer do anything he wanted to him, including really kinky stuff, including stuff with pee and other unsanitary substances, but that doesn't mean he's a fairy. It doesn't make him gay. He totally likes girls, too. Well, he likes Katy. When she lets him, and he's in the mood. And he wouldn't say no to Michelle Obama, either. She has great arm definition.
...oh fuck, Kris is totally gay. He's a raging fairy. This still doesn't explain the pregnancy thing, but at the very least, maybe his dick isn't possessed by Satan's minion. It's just gay. That makes way more sense when he really thinks about it.
"No, honey," his mom says gently. "I don't mean you're gay. Well, I do mean you're gay, but that's not what I'm talking about. I mean you're a fairy. As in a magical being with an affinity for nature and music and mischief, hailing from the hidden island of Emerald Clover off the shores of Ireland, although, of course, our family left long ago, during the beef shortage of 1899."
The beef shortage of 1899, Kris thinks. Of course, because that makes total sense. "As in, 'clap your hands if you believe in fairies?'" Kris asks. He wants to laugh, except that he's a pregnant dude looking at twenty-seven positive pee sticks and being told that he's a gay fairy from a distant magical land full of cows, or maybe short on cows since it's post-1899, so it's really only the third most impossible thing to happen to him today. At least he doesn't have any fun bags. Yet. That better not be the next little surprise life has in store for him, or he's turning in his official resignation.
"Well," his mom says slowly, "it's not really like that. The movies always get it wrong. Hollywood couldn't spot a real fairy if they were being hit in the face by its wings."
"I don't have wings!" Kris says.
"Of course not, don't be silly," his mom says, and Kris feels a momentary burst of relief amidst all the crazy. Being a pregnant gay fairy is one thing, but wings? He can't even begin to imagine how he'd explain those away. "We don't get our wings until we turn thirty. I can't even tell you how much of a relief it was when you boys finally left home and I could start leaving them out around the house. They're retractable, obviously, but it's not comfortable, having three feet of wing inside your back."
"Oh, obviously," he agrees, sounding slightly hysterical even to himself. Kris decides that the only way he's going to get through this is to ignore everything but the problem at hand, which is, after all, the most critical, being that he's going to have a baby whose father--whose other father? Oh God, is Kris the mother?--doesn't even know they had sex to begin with. This is even worse than an after-school special, Kris thinks. This is a SyFy original movie. A giant octopus will swoop in to devour him whole any minute now, wings and baby and all. At least then he won't have to deal with it anymore.
"Mom," he says, trying to take deep, calming breaths, "what does any of this have to do with the part where I'm, you know. In this situation."
She coughs and stutters a little, starts to say something and stops before she finally says, "This is really something you need to talk to a man about. I can arrange something--I know there are quite a few fairies living in LA and one of them will surely be available to explain everything to you--but until then, I'll overnight you the manual."
"There's a manual?" Kris says. "Seriously?"
"Of course there's a manual. All superior magical species have manuals. Well, except for ogres, but I don't think they're actually capable of language, and it'd be pretty hard to write an entire manual in grunts."
*
Continue reading if you dare: Part 2, Electric Boogaloo