DRABBLE MEME: BATCH 16
Hey guys, remember the drabble meme? Well here are a couple more drabbles! You are more than welcome to revive the drabble meme at any time! There are plenty of great prompts left!
Clark Kent-looking stylist* - Glasses, mirror, overwhelmed by cynnet
Eric Lawrence.
Age: twenty-five, height: 6’1.”
Brown hair, brown eyes, glasses.
Status: Employed. Tentatively employed. Three minutes away from unemployment. Two minutes and fifty-seven seconds. Two minutes and forty-one seconds.
“It’s okay, Eric.” Lisa smiles at him sympathetically from behind the desk. “Try to relax. Appreciate the space around you.”
“Right, okay, that's a good plan for the next two minutes, but then--"
“One minute and fifty-eight seconds,” she says.
Eric drops his head into his hands.
“Sorry.”
The intercom goes off. Jones doesn’t even bother to say hello, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, because there are lots of times that Jones doesn’t bother to say hello, but is, in this case, a bad thing. “Where the fuck is he, Eric? You set this fucking appointment up, all you had to do was confirm he was coming.“
“I just talked to his manager; he’s on his way, I swear!” This might be a total lie. It’s true that he talked to Lambert’s manager, but she just kept talking about putting eyeliner on a lamb, or something, and Americans talk so goddamn fast and Lambert might be out cavorting with farm animals, for all he knows.
The buzzer sounds, and Lisa smiles, pressing the button. “Mr. Lambert? I’m sending you in.”
Eric sighs in relief. “Okay. Okay, sir, he’s here.”
“Well, get him ready and bring him the fuck to the studio, come on!”
“Right.” Eric fumbles with the handset, flipping it to off. He’s made that mistake before, yet another reason why he’s only tentatively currently-
“Eric?” Lisa’s looking at him expectantly. “Can you show Mr. Lambert to make-up?”
“Oh-yeah, yeah, follow me.” He looks over at Adam Lambert, intending to introduce himself, and gets momentarily tongue-tied. The guy fucking radiates charisma. “Nice to meet you Mr. Lambert, I’m Eric. We’re a little behind schedule, so I’m just going to-“
The blond woman smiles tightly. “He got a little distracted, sorry, but we’re here.“
“-get you to make up and then I’ll get you changed and-“ He starts to walk away, then remembers they haven’t shaken hands yet and turns back.
Lambert takes his hand and then just kind of, keeps it. “Hi, Eric.”
“Hi, Mr. Lambert.”
“You can call me Adam.” Lambert’s looking at his nails, turning his hand over curiously. “You know, you have great hands. If you just-“
“No,” the woman cuts in. “No more projects, Adam, you promised.”
“Right, make-up’s up the stairs and to the right.” Eric starts to lead the way, and the blond woman grabs his arm and pulls him back.
“He had like eight cups of coffee this morning, plus they keep giving him caffeinated tea. You need to keep him on task, okay? Keep him focused on you.”
“How do I-?”
“Eric,” she says. “Your name’s Eric, right?”
“Um.” She’s straightening his collar-no wait, she’s-she’s unbuttoning. Yeah, she’s definitely unbuttoning. “Sure, I can try to, um, do that.“
“Good.” She smiles at him. “Don’t worry. He’s a lot of fun, you’ll like him. I’m going to go take a nap in the limo for a bit.”
*
So it turns out that what Adam’s manager meant by he’s fun, you’ll like him, is, he’ll flirt with you ridiculously overtly, and you will, in fact, like him, but possibly too much, as in, possibly a visible amount.
Which he doesn’t think can get him fired, but like, you never know. Besides, it’s ninety percent Adam’s fault anyway. He’s just doing his job. Which happens to be to undress Adam.
“This seems a little unfair,” Adam says, but he tilts his chin up obediently and stretches his arms out so Eric can slip the jacket off, placing it neatly on the pile of rejects. “Is it my turn after?”
“Your boss took your turn, think,” Eric says, hand slipping to the unbuttoned top button self-consciously.
Adam grins. “Lane? Yeah, she worries.”
“Uh-huh, I think we all know that's not an actual medical complaint, though. Here, turn around and duck your head.” Adam sighs but turns around, letting Eric unfasten the necklace, fingers brushing the smooth skin at the back of his neck. He leans in a little bit, letting them linger. He’s been in relatively close contact with quite a bit of Adam’s skin and it’s surprisingly soft all over, sensitive; the fair, delicate skin of a natural redhead. Adam had wrinkled his nose when Eric brought up the freckles, so Eric hadn’t said anything else, but sometimes he really likes his job. Actually, this is only the second time he’s liked his job, but he’s trying not to think like that about it, because it’s just a stepping stone, never mind that by age twenty-five he’d thought he’d be the one taking the pictures.
“You’re supposed to be changing me out of these, right?” Adam says, head still ducked. “You know, if you were better at your job, I’d be naked right now.”
Eric laughs, turning him back around and kneeling to start unlacing the leather ties running up the sides of the pants. “You’re supposed to be some kind of crazy rock star, right? Maybe if you were better at your job, I’d be naked.”
Adam grins. “I’ve got you on your knees though.”
Eric rolls his eyes.
*
So Adam had been cute and freckly and approachable-too approachable, frankly, with the way he’d hugged Eric after he’d finally managed to get all the strings and laces done; the feel of Adam’s hands on his sides, lips on his cheek still practically burns-but on camera, Jesus.
Eric realizes his legs are spreading apart, he’s shifting in his chair, and hastily sits straight, bringing them back together. Adam glances at him, cocks his head, and Eric can’t quite breathe, fingers clenching on the edge of his chair. He wants to let his head drop back, wants Adam to see his neck and come over and just, take, he would let him do that, would go down on him in a heartbeat just to feel him come, feel his hands in his hair. The corner of Adam’s mouth twitches upward. Eric crosses his legs.
*
And then it’s over.
“Adam, it was a pleasure working with you.”
Jones is all smiles, shutting off the camera, coming over to shake his hand and pat him on the back.
“Likewise.” Adam’s shaking out his shoulders, bringing his hands up to start to work his tie loose. “Jesus, do they use different knots over here, too?”
“Oh, I can get that.” Eric starts to walk over, and Adam turns sharply towards him, eyes catching and holding.
Eric stops in his tracks, and Adam raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh! Nothing, just-you forgot to turn off the-you know.” He flutters his hands around a little, hoping the gesture will somehow encompass eyes, legs, lips, sex.
“Oh!” Adam grins, and just like that he’s back to normal, easy, not even that tall or that big. “Right, sorry. I get kind of into the shoots, it’s fun.”
“You’re good at it.” Eric steps closer, reaching up to touch the knot, loosened already, just below the base of Adam’s neck.
Adam laughs. “Yeah?”
And what the fuck, he’s probably going to lose his job soon anyway. “Yeah,” Eric says, putting his hands on Adam’s waist. They’re probably the same height, but Adam is one inch taller in boots. Their hips square up perfectly; he can almost sense the way they would fit, already.
Eric’s not shy but it’s tough to make eye contact for that long, and he drops his gaze. Adam laughs, low. “So,” he says, and there’s kind of a teasing edge to his voice. “How badly do you need the glasses?”
“Um.” Because he really, really can’t see without the glasses.
“Do you trust me?” Adam runs his thumb along his cheekbone, slipping under the rim of the glasses, working them loose a little. Eric swallows. Nods. “Good,” Adam says. He takes them off, and Eric hears him set them down somewhere nearby, but everything’s gone kind of blurry and less dimensional, which he knew would happen, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling a little off balance; moving his hands to Adam’s chest and gripping the lapels of his jacket. Adam puts his hand on Eric’s hip, steadying him, and says, “hey,” and Eric tilts his head up and Adam leans in and stops, just an inch away, and Eric thinks, “cocky motherfucker,” but he does it anyway, stretches forward and kisses him, because he’s pretty sure it’s going to be worth it.
It’s worth it.
*
It’s a little gratifying that afterwards Adam looks almost as disheveled as Eric feels.
“This sudden fame thing, fuck,” he says.
“Yeah,” Eric says. He tips his head back against the mirror and takes a deep breath. Adam’s stepped back already, but he can still almost feel him against him, hot, pressing. “So I guess I’m a groupie now."
Adam grins, already straightening his jacket, trying to reknot his tie. “Nah, you’re just good at your job.”
Eric laughs. “Did you just call me a whore?” He steps forward to help Adam with his tie and Adam starts buttoning Eric’s shirt back up. “And the shirt was all your handler’s idea, by the way.” Adam just hugs him hard, ducking his head into his neck, and Eric-fuck it-melts a little. “Good luck with everything, though."
“Thanks,” Adam says. “I’ll probably need it. Although maybe not with Lane around, actually.”
“Oh, shut up,” Eric says, and Adam’s half out the door but Eric hears him laughing as he walks away and grins to himself.
David Bowie* - time-travel, backstage, makeup by hockeychick57
“Oy! Wake up, man,” Adam heard, blinking as the light in the room temporarily blinded him. He looked around the room, confused and trying to get his bearings as the man who had shaken him awake tore about the room throwing clothes and makeup everywhere, obviously in search of something.
“Where am I?” Adam grumbled.
The man stopped and turned around saying, “Backstage at Music Hall…I thought you worked here?”
He bent over and began digging through a suitcase as he mumbled under his breath, “Otherwise what are you doing in my dressing room?”
Adam rubbed his eyes and then stared at the stranger. He looked about the room and then went back to staring at him after rubbing his eyes once more. Wait. Had he passed out at some gay club on drag night? Christ, someone may have drugged him for all he knew right now. He felt weird as hell and he could swear he was sitting across from a young David Bowie digging through a makeup bag.
The man dropped the clothes in his hands and walked closer. “Are you tripping on something or what, man? Do you work here or not?”
Adam just continued to stare without speaking as he noted the mismatched pupils in his eyes that he knew Bowie is famous for. Holy. Fucking. Shit. It’s him.
He continued, “I told them I didn’t need anyone to help with wardrobe or makeup, but if that’s what you’re here to do then either help me out or get out. I don’t really like people around me before a show - not even my wife or band.”
Still wide eyed, Adam began to reach out with the intent of laying a hand upon Bowie's cheek, before he realized how bizarre he was becoming.
"It's... it's really you--" he trailed off, shaking his head and smiling.
Bowie didn't flinch, didn't even look at him strangely. Instead he merely widened his eyes and smiled, “You are totally tripping, man. Do share!”
Adam shook his head profusely, stumbling a little as he tried to stand up. "I'm just a heavy sleeper?" he laughed, even questioning himself as he glanced around the room. "And... yeah. I work here. You need help with anything?"
David narrowed his eyes at Adam and shook his head with a hint of a smile on his face. “You’re a strange lad…Americans,” he said with a scoff. “Maybe you can do my face? I’ve never had anyone else do it for me, but from the looks of yours, I can tell you’re pretty good at it.”
Adam glanced in the mirror and noted that he was in full stage makeup - eyeliner, glitter, rhinestones; the works. “Yeah, sure, I’ll do your makeup,” Adam replied, freaking out on the inside as he rummaged through the makeup and face paint strewn about the room. What the fuuuck am I doing here? Just go with it, Adam. Calm down. As he took note of the materials he had to work with he glanced up at the mirror again and saw David’s naked form behind him pulling on one of his signature leotards he’d only seen pictures of Bowie wearing on stage. David looked up and caught Adam watching him and Adam averted his eyes as quickly as possible while David walked over to the chair in front of the mirror and took a seat, looking up at Adam expectantly.
“You mind if I finish this up while you do this? You can work around it, right?” he asked, lighting up a half-smoked joint as Adam nodded. As a teenager Adam had practiced doing Bowie’s Aladdin Sane album cover makeup countless times. He’d even dressed up as Bowie one Halloween in his early twenties, actually being grateful for his ginger hair for once.
“So is it alright if I do the Aladdin Sane makeup or do you want something in particular?” Adam asked.
“A lad…insane?” I’m not following,” David replied.
Adam bit his lip, “Wait, what year is it?” he questioned, immediately blushing as he realized how crazy he must sound.
David just laughed and answered, “1972 last time I checked.” Adam shook his head Jesus…the album hasn’t even come out yet... before David interrupted his thoughts, “And, I don’t care…do whatever you want. For some inexplicable reason I trust you. A lad insane, indeed.”
“I’m not insane,” Adam said teasingly as he began applying a base to David’s face, “but I figured you of all people would appreciate a little insanity.
“You talk like we’ve known each other for years,” he said with an air of disbelief. “I know I’ve had a hit or two over here, but tonight’s my first performance in America for the Ziggy Stardust tour so I didn’t think I’d be running into any overzealous fans or anyone interesting in general in Ohio, but you,” he said eyeing Adam up and down, “you are a very strange boy. You’re sure you didn’t smoke anything?”
Adam shook his head as Bowie took another drag of his joint and asked, “Are all blokes in America this strange?”
“Oh, I’m definitely a special kind of strange,” Adam smirked as he grabbed the orange face paint.
“So what’s your story? Why were you passed out back here?” David asked, genuinely intrigued.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Adam said as he straddled David’s knees a bit and leaned down towards his face with the brush, “Now close your eyes.”
David closed his eyes and grinned, “Try me.”
“Let’s just say I traveled very far to get here,” he teased as he began painting the outline of a lightning bolt down David’s face.
As Adam rewet the brush, David took another hit of the joint, “It can’t be very far. There’s no doubt your accent is American.”
Adam tilted David’s face upward and continued painting the bolt, “Think…more outside the box.”
David’s eyes popped open and lit up, “Aha, a space traveler? Is there life on Mars after all?” He laughed at his own joke and muttered, “This is some good marijuana.”
“No, no, not an alien, but you’re on the right track. I’m impressed,” Adam smirked.
“Hmm, well an alien would have explained the way you look. I can’t say I’ve ever met a man with half of his head shaved, jewels on his eyes, and leather and snakeskin lace-up pants,” David said running a hand over Adam’s thigh in front of him, “which look amazing on you, by the way.”
Adam dropped the makeup brush at the touch on his thigh and his heart began beating a bit faster as he bent over to pick it up clumsily. Note to self: David Bowie gets handsy when he’s high. Awesome. David made no effort to conceal himself as he looked down at Adam admiringly, “You have incredibly long legs. You’ll have to tell me where you got these pants before the night is over; I need to pick up a pair for myself before I leave Ohio.”
Adam stood up and washed out the orange brush before grabbing another to dip into blue facepaint. “I’m not sure I can do that. I told you I’m not from around here…and neither are these pants. He turned back towards David and straddled his knees again, leaning in to paint a blue outline around the orange bolt. His thigh was still burning a bit where David had touched him and his mind was going a mile a minute. He looked down at David’s sinewy thighs for a moment. “You have great legs,” he said much to his own disbelief, mentally rolling his eyes at himself.
“Don’t change the subject,” David snapped teasingly and took the last hit of his joint. He exhaled dejectedly, “Alright. I give up. Tell me where you’re from before I’m convinced this whole meeting is a hallucination. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
What’s the worst that could happen? Everything happens for a reason, right?. Might as well go with it. Adam thought to himself as he finished the last of the blue on the bolt now covering David’s face. He rinsed out the brush and set it down as he took a deep breath saying, “Alright, ready?” He turned around and blurted out, “I’m from the future…I think?”
“Prove it,” David said exhaling a cloud of smoke and totally unimpressed.
Fuck, how am I supposed to prove it? “Ummm, you say it’s 1972?”
“Yes, what year were you born?”
“1982.”
“Do you have an ID card or something like that?”
“I left it in my other snakeskin pants,” Adam said nervously, getting a small chuckle out of David.
“Not convinced then,” David said as he tossed the butt of his joint to the floor and looked up at Adam expectantly.
Shit. Uhhh. Of course I don’t have my damn phone on me or anything that looks remotely futuristic, what else have I got? Adam started apprehensively, “Alright, 1972? You must be writing your next album. Songs like The Jean Genie? Drive-In Sunday? Watch That Man? Any of those sound familiar?”
David got up from the makeup chair and stood directly in front of Adam, staring at him challengingly, “How do you know those? Only my band & I have been working on those songs and no one outside of us should know anything about them…”
“I know them because I grew up listening to those songs, ” Adam said, tentatively raising his arms and resting his hands on David fucking Bowie’s shoulders.
“Okay…” David trailed off. He looked down at the floor and shook his head before looking back up at Adam and leaning in closer to him to say, “Tell me everything.”
“What kind of things do you want to know?” Adam asked, mind going a mile a minute. He had seen enough time travel movies to know not to fuck with letting people in the past know too much about the future - if they decide to change anything based on what you tell them it could change everything in the future. Warning him about major historical events was out of the question. What about smaller things? Like warning friends? What would I say? Tell Marc Bolan not to ride in cars in the late 70s. Tell John Lennon to stay out of New York City in 1980. When you meet him, tell Freddie Mercury not to fuck guys without protection. Nope, those were all out of the question for now.
“I don’t know, do you have any advice for me?” David asked softly.
Adam laughed heartily, “Advice? From me? I always pictured meeting you and asking you for advice. In the future, you’re a fucking legend. You influence many young people for years and years to come - including me. I’m a singer, too.”
David looked down at the floor again and shook his head smiling, “I never thought anything I’d do would leave a lasting impression on anyone…”
Adam tilted his chin back up to meet his eyes, “Trust me, you will. You are right now - this is only the beginning. Just keep doing what you’re doing and don’t second-guess yourself.”
David leaned up to Adam and lightly brushed his lips against his before saying, “I wouldn’t mind keeping you around here…you may prove yourself very useful.” Hoooooooooooly Jesus fucking Christ shit.
There was a knock at the door, “Five minutes, David!”
“Do you always do your shows this high?” Adam asked teasingly, trying to catch his breath.
“Yes, in fact, that’s my advice for you. Always smoke up before you go on!” David laughed.
Adam grinned, “No, really, what is your advice for me?”
David turned serious, “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come out and watch the show and then afterwards I’d love to sit down and pick your brain and you can ask me anything you want.”
“That would be amazing, you have no idea,” Adam breathed.
“I’m looking forward to it already,” said David in all sincerity.
“Only thing is, I have no idea how I got here or how long I’ll be here, what if I get transported back to the future before we have the chance to really talk?” Adam questioned, biting his lower lip worriedly knowing that he sounded completely ridiculous.
“You mean you didn’t come by machine? You just got dropped here?” David asked and Adam nodded looking just as confused as he did. “That’s so fascinating.”
“That’s why I was so out of it when you woke me up…I literally just got here,” Adam explained.
“I wonder why here, why now?” David said, not really looking at Adam.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to just enjoy this night for what it is and we’ll figure it out afterwards,” Adam said excitedly.
“My kind of man,” David nodded.
Another knock on the door, “David! Now!”
“So any requests for the show?” David asked.
“Actually…have you ever thought about covering Nature Boy?” Adam suggested. Of the many, many songs he’d always wanted to hear Bowie sing live, this was #1 on his list even though he knew Bowie wouldn’t cover it for years.
“I love that song, but no I haven’t…until now. How does that line go at the end?” he asked.
Adam began, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and - “
“-And be loved in return,” they sang together.
“I’ll see what I can do. Grab some of my shoes. You don’t want to be out there shoeless, trust me. See you after the show,” David said as he dragged the palm of his hand over Adam’s chest as he crossed to the door. Adam closed the door behind him and walked to the mirror to look at himself.
“That just happened,” he said aloud. And now BOWIE CONCERT…find some shoes…holy shit, I’m looking through Bowie’s clothes…ooh that’s cute. He found some boots but they were too small so he settled for some high heeled sandals even though his heels were hanging off the backs. Probably women’s…oh well…wouldn’t be the first time. He glanced at himself once more in the mirror, taking a deep breath before he let himself out of the room. He was met by strange looks from the rest of Bowie’s crew, especially a young woman. Fuuuck that’s probably his wife. He rushed by them and made his way to the back of the theater, stopping at the bar to grab a beer first.
Soon enough the music started and for the first time, Adam really experienced Bowie. He watched every move closely, taking in the way he moved around the stage and changed up the melodies of songs. About midway through the concert he swore he could hear a faint chant of his name, but brushed it off since he knew no one here would know who he was. He clapped and cat-called appreciatively when Bowie dropped to his knees, grabbed his guitarist by the back of his thighs, and put his mouth to the guitar as if he were sucking him off. Adam took note. Tommy’ll love that. Suddenly Tommy’s worried face flashed briefly in his head. He blinked a couple of times and then refocused on the stage.
After about an hour of playing, David strapped his guitar over his neck and quietly said to the audience, “Now I didn’t tell my band I was doing this and I’ve never sung it for anyone, but there’s someone in the audience tonight that suggested I try this out.” Adam’s mouth fell open as David began singing Nature Boy.
As David belted out the last note and the crowd began cheering, Adam swore he heard his name being shouted again. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. When he reopened them he was staring up at Sutan and Tommy hovering over him.
“Adam! Honey, are you up?” Sutan asked.
“Finally!” Tommy said, resting a hand on his cheek, “You scared the shit out of us. He’s up, guys!”
Lane rushed over, phone in hand, “Are you alright? There’s an ambulance on the way.”
“Ambulance? What happened? Where am I? How long was I out?” Adam asked, sitting up.
Lane explained, “You’re backstage in Columbus, Ohio. You’ve been out no longer than five minutes. You were on stage and-“
“Wait, five minutes?” he interrupted. They nodded.
“I feel like I was somewhere else for a few hours,” he said, looking down at his feet and seeing one heeled sandal was still on his foot while the other had slipped off onto the floor.
“When will that paramedic be here?” Monte asked.
“Soon,” Lane responded, starting to pace.
“No, I mean I feel fine, I’m just a little confused. So what exactly happened?” he asked, looking up at Tommy and Monte.
Tommy sat down next to him, unscrewing a bottle of water and pressing it into Adam’s hand while Monte began, “We were in the middle of Fever and you just sort of collapsed. One second you were leaning into Tommy and the next thing we knew you just sort of slumped onto him and he had to catch you from falling. Then me and Terrance ran over and grabbed you off of him and carried you back here while Lane called 911. And now…you’re back.”
Adam took in what he was saying, downing the water, but slightly distracted by the chanting of his name by the fans waiting for him to go back on. So that’s what I was hearing during the Bowie concert...
“Weird…must’ve gotten dehydrated or something. But I feel fine now, I swear. The fans are waiting so we better get out there and finish up,” Adam said standing up.
“Like hell you are,” Monte said putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back down onto the couch.
“No, really, I’m fine. I was a little confused at first, but there’s nothing wrong with me. Let’s do this,” he argued, beginning to stand but being pulled back down, this time by Tommy gripping his arm.
“Let the paramedic do his thing and check you out first?” he pleaded. Adam looked into Tommy’s eyes and then around the rest of the room at the worried faces and nodded. He looked back at Tommy and noticed a bit of dried blood and swollenness on his lips. He reached out, thumbing across his bottom lip questioningly.
“Yeah, you headbutted me a bit when you passed out, Sleeping Beauty,” he smirked.
“Shit I’m sorry,” Adam laughed, “Guess there’s no way to keep this off YouTube is there?”
“Christ, I didn’t even think about that…the press is going to have a field day with this,” Lane murmured, as she left the room dialing another number.
“Paramedic’s here,” Brooke announced rushing into the room with a man in blue behind her.
The paramedic examined him carefully, asking him questions, shining a light in his eye, making him focus on different objects. He let him know they didn’t need to take him in for observation since he hadn’t fallen or hit his head. It had been a combination of severe dehydration and possibly a bit of exhaustion. Monte asked the paramedic if he thought it’d be okay for Adam to go back out and perform, clearly hoping he’d advise against it.
“Just one or two songs? Sitting down?” Adam pleaded, finished up a second bottle of water.
“One or two?” the paramedic thought, “I can’t say I recommend it, but of course I can’t force you not to. And really, since you’ve been back here for a while and you’ve rehydrated I don’t think one or two songs would be too big of a problem. But after that, you need a good night’s sleep and a couple of days off with lots of fluids.
Adam smiled, “Thank you, I appreciate it. And we actually have the next three days off, so lots of rest shouldn’t be a problem.”
While the paramedic packed up his gear and the band headed back out to the stage, Sutan blotted Adam’s face with some powder and gave him a onceover, “Whaaat are those shoes. Were you wearing those earlier?”
“I’ll explain sometime, I promise,” he winked, “You’re gonna love this story.”
Adam went back out on stage and performed his acoustic set and ended the show performing Nature Boy instead of his usual encores.
~*~
Adam was awakened by the sound of his door sliding shut and pressure on his bed. “Morning,” Tommy smiled, “We just made a stop so I got you some coffee.”
He held the coffee out towards him and Adam grinned, sitting up, “Mmm, you’re the best.”
“So you feeling okay?” Tommy asked taking a sip of his own drink.
“Perfect…I mean a little tired still…but otherwise, never felt better. Did you stay with me the whole night?” he asked.
“Just til you fell asleep…I wanted to give you your space,” Tommy said quietly.
“I thought I told you I liked it when you’re in my space,” Adam said, grabbing his arm and pulling him a bit closer, giving him a quick peck on the lips. Tommy caught Adam’s bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a little nip.
Adam hissed and then pulled back grinning as Tommy said, “That’s payback for my bloodied lip last night. And I guess you’re just gonna have to keep reminding me about this space thing.” Tommy leaned against Adam and they continued sipping their coffees as the bus started back up.
Adam reached over to the ledge next to his bed to grab his phone. “Jesus fuck…who died?” Adam mumbled, confused.
“Hm?” Tommy mused, looking up from his cup.
“37 texts and 13 voicemails,” he responded.
“Oh..about that…well…the story about the collapse last night is kinda…everywhere,” Tommy explained, looking nervous.
“Great,” Adam sighed, flipping through his texts.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy offered, “Don’t worry, it’ll pass soon enough. Just cut your hair again or blow me on stage.”
“Oooh, don’t give me ideas,” Adam laughed.
“Anyway, I guess I’ll leave you to those voicemails,” Tommy started, getting up from the bed, “I’m gonna go grab some breakfast. You want anything?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having, thanks,” Adam smiled, putting the phone up to his ear. Voicemail from Mom first, then Dad, then a couple of friends, his record label, Brad, and then…
“Hey, it’s David. I heard about last night and just wanted to let you know I’m sending positive thoughts your way. I’ve already had three different people send me Nature Boy from last night…it was brilliant. What made you pull that one out? Anyway, it’s been a few weeks too long since I’ve seen you so give me a call back whenever you want to get together. And let me know when you want to start writing for the next album because I’ve got some ideas. Take care of yourself!”
Suddenly everything about last night made sense. Memories of him and David rushed through his head. Getting a call from David a few weeks into Idol and being told he had been waiting for him. Adam had been flattered, but confused. He assumed David meant he had been waiting for an artist like him or a voice like his on the music scene, but he could never quite shake that feeling that David had meant something else. David kept up with Adam over the weeks on Idol, offering him bits of advice here and there. They finally met after the show ended when Adam invited David to his apartment one night for dinner. They talked for hours and hours, got high together much to Adam’s surprise and delight, and then David briefly mentioned something to Adam about meeting him in the 70s. Adam had laughed it off then, chalking it up to the high, and David had dropped it. But now…now…Adam dialed David’s phone number and waited anxiously for him to pick up so they could reminisce together about the night they had met.
Clark Kent-looking stylist* - Glasses, mirror, overwhelmed by cynnet
Eric Lawrence.
Age: twenty-five, height: 6’1.”
Brown hair, brown eyes, glasses.
Status: Employed. Tentatively employed. Three minutes away from unemployment. Two minutes and fifty-seven seconds. Two minutes and forty-one seconds.
“It’s okay, Eric.” Lisa smiles at him sympathetically from behind the desk. “Try to relax. Appreciate the space around you.”
“Right, okay, that's a good plan for the next two minutes, but then--"
“One minute and fifty-eight seconds,” she says.
Eric drops his head into his hands.
“Sorry.”
The intercom goes off. Jones doesn’t even bother to say hello, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, because there are lots of times that Jones doesn’t bother to say hello, but is, in this case, a bad thing. “Where the fuck is he, Eric? You set this fucking appointment up, all you had to do was confirm he was coming.“
“I just talked to his manager; he’s on his way, I swear!” This might be a total lie. It’s true that he talked to Lambert’s manager, but she just kept talking about putting eyeliner on a lamb, or something, and Americans talk so goddamn fast and Lambert might be out cavorting with farm animals, for all he knows.
The buzzer sounds, and Lisa smiles, pressing the button. “Mr. Lambert? I’m sending you in.”
Eric sighs in relief. “Okay. Okay, sir, he’s here.”
“Well, get him ready and bring him the fuck to the studio, come on!”
“Right.” Eric fumbles with the handset, flipping it to off. He’s made that mistake before, yet another reason why he’s only tentatively currently-
“Eric?” Lisa’s looking at him expectantly. “Can you show Mr. Lambert to make-up?”
“Oh-yeah, yeah, follow me.” He looks over at Adam Lambert, intending to introduce himself, and gets momentarily tongue-tied. The guy fucking radiates charisma. “Nice to meet you Mr. Lambert, I’m Eric. We’re a little behind schedule, so I’m just going to-“
The blond woman smiles tightly. “He got a little distracted, sorry, but we’re here.“
“-get you to make up and then I’ll get you changed and-“ He starts to walk away, then remembers they haven’t shaken hands yet and turns back.
Lambert takes his hand and then just kind of, keeps it. “Hi, Eric.”
“Hi, Mr. Lambert.”
“You can call me Adam.” Lambert’s looking at his nails, turning his hand over curiously. “You know, you have great hands. If you just-“
“No,” the woman cuts in. “No more projects, Adam, you promised.”
“Right, make-up’s up the stairs and to the right.” Eric starts to lead the way, and the blond woman grabs his arm and pulls him back.
“He had like eight cups of coffee this morning, plus they keep giving him caffeinated tea. You need to keep him on task, okay? Keep him focused on you.”
“How do I-?”
“Eric,” she says. “Your name’s Eric, right?”
“Um.” She’s straightening his collar-no wait, she’s-she’s unbuttoning. Yeah, she’s definitely unbuttoning. “Sure, I can try to, um, do that.“
“Good.” She smiles at him. “Don’t worry. He’s a lot of fun, you’ll like him. I’m going to go take a nap in the limo for a bit.”
*
So it turns out that what Adam’s manager meant by he’s fun, you’ll like him, is, he’ll flirt with you ridiculously overtly, and you will, in fact, like him, but possibly too much, as in, possibly a visible amount.
Which he doesn’t think can get him fired, but like, you never know. Besides, it’s ninety percent Adam’s fault anyway. He’s just doing his job. Which happens to be to undress Adam.
“This seems a little unfair,” Adam says, but he tilts his chin up obediently and stretches his arms out so Eric can slip the jacket off, placing it neatly on the pile of rejects. “Is it my turn after?”
“Your boss took your turn, think,” Eric says, hand slipping to the unbuttoned top button self-consciously.
Adam grins. “Lane? Yeah, she worries.”
“Uh-huh, I think we all know that's not an actual medical complaint, though. Here, turn around and duck your head.” Adam sighs but turns around, letting Eric unfasten the necklace, fingers brushing the smooth skin at the back of his neck. He leans in a little bit, letting them linger. He’s been in relatively close contact with quite a bit of Adam’s skin and it’s surprisingly soft all over, sensitive; the fair, delicate skin of a natural redhead. Adam had wrinkled his nose when Eric brought up the freckles, so Eric hadn’t said anything else, but sometimes he really likes his job. Actually, this is only the second time he’s liked his job, but he’s trying not to think like that about it, because it’s just a stepping stone, never mind that by age twenty-five he’d thought he’d be the one taking the pictures.
“You’re supposed to be changing me out of these, right?” Adam says, head still ducked. “You know, if you were better at your job, I’d be naked right now.”
Eric laughs, turning him back around and kneeling to start unlacing the leather ties running up the sides of the pants. “You’re supposed to be some kind of crazy rock star, right? Maybe if you were better at your job, I’d be naked.”
Adam grins. “I’ve got you on your knees though.”
Eric rolls his eyes.
*
So Adam had been cute and freckly and approachable-too approachable, frankly, with the way he’d hugged Eric after he’d finally managed to get all the strings and laces done; the feel of Adam’s hands on his sides, lips on his cheek still practically burns-but on camera, Jesus.
Eric realizes his legs are spreading apart, he’s shifting in his chair, and hastily sits straight, bringing them back together. Adam glances at him, cocks his head, and Eric can’t quite breathe, fingers clenching on the edge of his chair. He wants to let his head drop back, wants Adam to see his neck and come over and just, take, he would let him do that, would go down on him in a heartbeat just to feel him come, feel his hands in his hair. The corner of Adam’s mouth twitches upward. Eric crosses his legs.
*
And then it’s over.
“Adam, it was a pleasure working with you.”
Jones is all smiles, shutting off the camera, coming over to shake his hand and pat him on the back.
“Likewise.” Adam’s shaking out his shoulders, bringing his hands up to start to work his tie loose. “Jesus, do they use different knots over here, too?”
“Oh, I can get that.” Eric starts to walk over, and Adam turns sharply towards him, eyes catching and holding.
Eric stops in his tracks, and Adam raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh! Nothing, just-you forgot to turn off the-you know.” He flutters his hands around a little, hoping the gesture will somehow encompass eyes, legs, lips, sex.
“Oh!” Adam grins, and just like that he’s back to normal, easy, not even that tall or that big. “Right, sorry. I get kind of into the shoots, it’s fun.”
“You’re good at it.” Eric steps closer, reaching up to touch the knot, loosened already, just below the base of Adam’s neck.
Adam laughs. “Yeah?”
And what the fuck, he’s probably going to lose his job soon anyway. “Yeah,” Eric says, putting his hands on Adam’s waist. They’re probably the same height, but Adam is one inch taller in boots. Their hips square up perfectly; he can almost sense the way they would fit, already.
Eric’s not shy but it’s tough to make eye contact for that long, and he drops his gaze. Adam laughs, low. “So,” he says, and there’s kind of a teasing edge to his voice. “How badly do you need the glasses?”
“Um.” Because he really, really can’t see without the glasses.
“Do you trust me?” Adam runs his thumb along his cheekbone, slipping under the rim of the glasses, working them loose a little. Eric swallows. Nods. “Good,” Adam says. He takes them off, and Eric hears him set them down somewhere nearby, but everything’s gone kind of blurry and less dimensional, which he knew would happen, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling a little off balance; moving his hands to Adam’s chest and gripping the lapels of his jacket. Adam puts his hand on Eric’s hip, steadying him, and says, “hey,” and Eric tilts his head up and Adam leans in and stops, just an inch away, and Eric thinks, “cocky motherfucker,” but he does it anyway, stretches forward and kisses him, because he’s pretty sure it’s going to be worth it.
It’s worth it.
*
It’s a little gratifying that afterwards Adam looks almost as disheveled as Eric feels.
“This sudden fame thing, fuck,” he says.
“Yeah,” Eric says. He tips his head back against the mirror and takes a deep breath. Adam’s stepped back already, but he can still almost feel him against him, hot, pressing. “So I guess I’m a groupie now."
Adam grins, already straightening his jacket, trying to reknot his tie. “Nah, you’re just good at your job.”
Eric laughs. “Did you just call me a whore?” He steps forward to help Adam with his tie and Adam starts buttoning Eric’s shirt back up. “And the shirt was all your handler’s idea, by the way.” Adam just hugs him hard, ducking his head into his neck, and Eric-fuck it-melts a little. “Good luck with everything, though."
“Thanks,” Adam says. “I’ll probably need it. Although maybe not with Lane around, actually.”
“Oh, shut up,” Eric says, and Adam’s half out the door but Eric hears him laughing as he walks away and grins to himself.
David Bowie* - time-travel, backstage, makeup by hockeychick57
“Oy! Wake up, man,” Adam heard, blinking as the light in the room temporarily blinded him. He looked around the room, confused and trying to get his bearings as the man who had shaken him awake tore about the room throwing clothes and makeup everywhere, obviously in search of something.
“Where am I?” Adam grumbled.
The man stopped and turned around saying, “Backstage at Music Hall…I thought you worked here?”
He bent over and began digging through a suitcase as he mumbled under his breath, “Otherwise what are you doing in my dressing room?”
Adam rubbed his eyes and then stared at the stranger. He looked about the room and then went back to staring at him after rubbing his eyes once more. Wait. Had he passed out at some gay club on drag night? Christ, someone may have drugged him for all he knew right now. He felt weird as hell and he could swear he was sitting across from a young David Bowie digging through a makeup bag.
The man dropped the clothes in his hands and walked closer. “Are you tripping on something or what, man? Do you work here or not?”
Adam just continued to stare without speaking as he noted the mismatched pupils in his eyes that he knew Bowie is famous for. Holy. Fucking. Shit. It’s him.
He continued, “I told them I didn’t need anyone to help with wardrobe or makeup, but if that’s what you’re here to do then either help me out or get out. I don’t really like people around me before a show - not even my wife or band.”
Still wide eyed, Adam began to reach out with the intent of laying a hand upon Bowie's cheek, before he realized how bizarre he was becoming.
"It's... it's really you--" he trailed off, shaking his head and smiling.
Bowie didn't flinch, didn't even look at him strangely. Instead he merely widened his eyes and smiled, “You are totally tripping, man. Do share!”
Adam shook his head profusely, stumbling a little as he tried to stand up. "I'm just a heavy sleeper?" he laughed, even questioning himself as he glanced around the room. "And... yeah. I work here. You need help with anything?"
David narrowed his eyes at Adam and shook his head with a hint of a smile on his face. “You’re a strange lad…Americans,” he said with a scoff. “Maybe you can do my face? I’ve never had anyone else do it for me, but from the looks of yours, I can tell you’re pretty good at it.”
Adam glanced in the mirror and noted that he was in full stage makeup - eyeliner, glitter, rhinestones; the works. “Yeah, sure, I’ll do your makeup,” Adam replied, freaking out on the inside as he rummaged through the makeup and face paint strewn about the room. What the fuuuck am I doing here? Just go with it, Adam. Calm down. As he took note of the materials he had to work with he glanced up at the mirror again and saw David’s naked form behind him pulling on one of his signature leotards he’d only seen pictures of Bowie wearing on stage. David looked up and caught Adam watching him and Adam averted his eyes as quickly as possible while David walked over to the chair in front of the mirror and took a seat, looking up at Adam expectantly.
“You mind if I finish this up while you do this? You can work around it, right?” he asked, lighting up a half-smoked joint as Adam nodded. As a teenager Adam had practiced doing Bowie’s Aladdin Sane album cover makeup countless times. He’d even dressed up as Bowie one Halloween in his early twenties, actually being grateful for his ginger hair for once.
“So is it alright if I do the Aladdin Sane makeup or do you want something in particular?” Adam asked.
“A lad…insane?” I’m not following,” David replied.
Adam bit his lip, “Wait, what year is it?” he questioned, immediately blushing as he realized how crazy he must sound.
David just laughed and answered, “1972 last time I checked.” Adam shook his head Jesus…the album hasn’t even come out yet... before David interrupted his thoughts, “And, I don’t care…do whatever you want. For some inexplicable reason I trust you. A lad insane, indeed.”
“I’m not insane,” Adam said teasingly as he began applying a base to David’s face, “but I figured you of all people would appreciate a little insanity.
“You talk like we’ve known each other for years,” he said with an air of disbelief. “I know I’ve had a hit or two over here, but tonight’s my first performance in America for the Ziggy Stardust tour so I didn’t think I’d be running into any overzealous fans or anyone interesting in general in Ohio, but you,” he said eyeing Adam up and down, “you are a very strange boy. You’re sure you didn’t smoke anything?”
Adam shook his head as Bowie took another drag of his joint and asked, “Are all blokes in America this strange?”
“Oh, I’m definitely a special kind of strange,” Adam smirked as he grabbed the orange face paint.
“So what’s your story? Why were you passed out back here?” David asked, genuinely intrigued.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Adam said as he straddled David’s knees a bit and leaned down towards his face with the brush, “Now close your eyes.”
David closed his eyes and grinned, “Try me.”
“Let’s just say I traveled very far to get here,” he teased as he began painting the outline of a lightning bolt down David’s face.
As Adam rewet the brush, David took another hit of the joint, “It can’t be very far. There’s no doubt your accent is American.”
Adam tilted David’s face upward and continued painting the bolt, “Think…more outside the box.”
David’s eyes popped open and lit up, “Aha, a space traveler? Is there life on Mars after all?” He laughed at his own joke and muttered, “This is some good marijuana.”
“No, no, not an alien, but you’re on the right track. I’m impressed,” Adam smirked.
“Hmm, well an alien would have explained the way you look. I can’t say I’ve ever met a man with half of his head shaved, jewels on his eyes, and leather and snakeskin lace-up pants,” David said running a hand over Adam’s thigh in front of him, “which look amazing on you, by the way.”
Adam dropped the makeup brush at the touch on his thigh and his heart began beating a bit faster as he bent over to pick it up clumsily. Note to self: David Bowie gets handsy when he’s high. Awesome. David made no effort to conceal himself as he looked down at Adam admiringly, “You have incredibly long legs. You’ll have to tell me where you got these pants before the night is over; I need to pick up a pair for myself before I leave Ohio.”
Adam stood up and washed out the orange brush before grabbing another to dip into blue facepaint. “I’m not sure I can do that. I told you I’m not from around here…and neither are these pants. He turned back towards David and straddled his knees again, leaning in to paint a blue outline around the orange bolt. His thigh was still burning a bit where David had touched him and his mind was going a mile a minute. He looked down at David’s sinewy thighs for a moment. “You have great legs,” he said much to his own disbelief, mentally rolling his eyes at himself.
“Don’t change the subject,” David snapped teasingly and took the last hit of his joint. He exhaled dejectedly, “Alright. I give up. Tell me where you’re from before I’m convinced this whole meeting is a hallucination. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
What’s the worst that could happen? Everything happens for a reason, right?. Might as well go with it. Adam thought to himself as he finished the last of the blue on the bolt now covering David’s face. He rinsed out the brush and set it down as he took a deep breath saying, “Alright, ready?” He turned around and blurted out, “I’m from the future…I think?”
“Prove it,” David said exhaling a cloud of smoke and totally unimpressed.
Fuck, how am I supposed to prove it? “Ummm, you say it’s 1972?”
“Yes, what year were you born?”
“1982.”
“Do you have an ID card or something like that?”
“I left it in my other snakeskin pants,” Adam said nervously, getting a small chuckle out of David.
“Not convinced then,” David said as he tossed the butt of his joint to the floor and looked up at Adam expectantly.
Shit. Uhhh. Of course I don’t have my damn phone on me or anything that looks remotely futuristic, what else have I got? Adam started apprehensively, “Alright, 1972? You must be writing your next album. Songs like The Jean Genie? Drive-In Sunday? Watch That Man? Any of those sound familiar?”
David got up from the makeup chair and stood directly in front of Adam, staring at him challengingly, “How do you know those? Only my band & I have been working on those songs and no one outside of us should know anything about them…”
“I know them because I grew up listening to those songs, ” Adam said, tentatively raising his arms and resting his hands on David fucking Bowie’s shoulders.
“Okay…” David trailed off. He looked down at the floor and shook his head before looking back up at Adam and leaning in closer to him to say, “Tell me everything.”
“What kind of things do you want to know?” Adam asked, mind going a mile a minute. He had seen enough time travel movies to know not to fuck with letting people in the past know too much about the future - if they decide to change anything based on what you tell them it could change everything in the future. Warning him about major historical events was out of the question. What about smaller things? Like warning friends? What would I say? Tell Marc Bolan not to ride in cars in the late 70s. Tell John Lennon to stay out of New York City in 1980. When you meet him, tell Freddie Mercury not to fuck guys without protection. Nope, those were all out of the question for now.
“I don’t know, do you have any advice for me?” David asked softly.
Adam laughed heartily, “Advice? From me? I always pictured meeting you and asking you for advice. In the future, you’re a fucking legend. You influence many young people for years and years to come - including me. I’m a singer, too.”
David looked down at the floor again and shook his head smiling, “I never thought anything I’d do would leave a lasting impression on anyone…”
Adam tilted his chin back up to meet his eyes, “Trust me, you will. You are right now - this is only the beginning. Just keep doing what you’re doing and don’t second-guess yourself.”
David leaned up to Adam and lightly brushed his lips against his before saying, “I wouldn’t mind keeping you around here…you may prove yourself very useful.” Hoooooooooooly Jesus fucking Christ shit.
There was a knock at the door, “Five minutes, David!”
“Do you always do your shows this high?” Adam asked teasingly, trying to catch his breath.
“Yes, in fact, that’s my advice for you. Always smoke up before you go on!” David laughed.
Adam grinned, “No, really, what is your advice for me?”
David turned serious, “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come out and watch the show and then afterwards I’d love to sit down and pick your brain and you can ask me anything you want.”
“That would be amazing, you have no idea,” Adam breathed.
“I’m looking forward to it already,” said David in all sincerity.
“Only thing is, I have no idea how I got here or how long I’ll be here, what if I get transported back to the future before we have the chance to really talk?” Adam questioned, biting his lower lip worriedly knowing that he sounded completely ridiculous.
“You mean you didn’t come by machine? You just got dropped here?” David asked and Adam nodded looking just as confused as he did. “That’s so fascinating.”
“That’s why I was so out of it when you woke me up…I literally just got here,” Adam explained.
“I wonder why here, why now?” David said, not really looking at Adam.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to just enjoy this night for what it is and we’ll figure it out afterwards,” Adam said excitedly.
“My kind of man,” David nodded.
Another knock on the door, “David! Now!”
“So any requests for the show?” David asked.
“Actually…have you ever thought about covering Nature Boy?” Adam suggested. Of the many, many songs he’d always wanted to hear Bowie sing live, this was #1 on his list even though he knew Bowie wouldn’t cover it for years.
“I love that song, but no I haven’t…until now. How does that line go at the end?” he asked.
Adam began, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and - “
“-And be loved in return,” they sang together.
“I’ll see what I can do. Grab some of my shoes. You don’t want to be out there shoeless, trust me. See you after the show,” David said as he dragged the palm of his hand over Adam’s chest as he crossed to the door. Adam closed the door behind him and walked to the mirror to look at himself.
“That just happened,” he said aloud. And now BOWIE CONCERT…find some shoes…holy shit, I’m looking through Bowie’s clothes…ooh that’s cute. He found some boots but they were too small so he settled for some high heeled sandals even though his heels were hanging off the backs. Probably women’s…oh well…wouldn’t be the first time. He glanced at himself once more in the mirror, taking a deep breath before he let himself out of the room. He was met by strange looks from the rest of Bowie’s crew, especially a young woman. Fuuuck that’s probably his wife. He rushed by them and made his way to the back of the theater, stopping at the bar to grab a beer first.
Soon enough the music started and for the first time, Adam really experienced Bowie. He watched every move closely, taking in the way he moved around the stage and changed up the melodies of songs. About midway through the concert he swore he could hear a faint chant of his name, but brushed it off since he knew no one here would know who he was. He clapped and cat-called appreciatively when Bowie dropped to his knees, grabbed his guitarist by the back of his thighs, and put his mouth to the guitar as if he were sucking him off. Adam took note. Tommy’ll love that. Suddenly Tommy’s worried face flashed briefly in his head. He blinked a couple of times and then refocused on the stage.
After about an hour of playing, David strapped his guitar over his neck and quietly said to the audience, “Now I didn’t tell my band I was doing this and I’ve never sung it for anyone, but there’s someone in the audience tonight that suggested I try this out.” Adam’s mouth fell open as David began singing Nature Boy.
As David belted out the last note and the crowd began cheering, Adam swore he heard his name being shouted again. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. When he reopened them he was staring up at Sutan and Tommy hovering over him.
“Adam! Honey, are you up?” Sutan asked.
“Finally!” Tommy said, resting a hand on his cheek, “You scared the shit out of us. He’s up, guys!”
Lane rushed over, phone in hand, “Are you alright? There’s an ambulance on the way.”
“Ambulance? What happened? Where am I? How long was I out?” Adam asked, sitting up.
Lane explained, “You’re backstage in Columbus, Ohio. You’ve been out no longer than five minutes. You were on stage and-“
“Wait, five minutes?” he interrupted. They nodded.
“I feel like I was somewhere else for a few hours,” he said, looking down at his feet and seeing one heeled sandal was still on his foot while the other had slipped off onto the floor.
“When will that paramedic be here?” Monte asked.
“Soon,” Lane responded, starting to pace.
“No, I mean I feel fine, I’m just a little confused. So what exactly happened?” he asked, looking up at Tommy and Monte.
Tommy sat down next to him, unscrewing a bottle of water and pressing it into Adam’s hand while Monte began, “We were in the middle of Fever and you just sort of collapsed. One second you were leaning into Tommy and the next thing we knew you just sort of slumped onto him and he had to catch you from falling. Then me and Terrance ran over and grabbed you off of him and carried you back here while Lane called 911. And now…you’re back.”
Adam took in what he was saying, downing the water, but slightly distracted by the chanting of his name by the fans waiting for him to go back on. So that’s what I was hearing during the Bowie concert...
“Weird…must’ve gotten dehydrated or something. But I feel fine now, I swear. The fans are waiting so we better get out there and finish up,” Adam said standing up.
“Like hell you are,” Monte said putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back down onto the couch.
“No, really, I’m fine. I was a little confused at first, but there’s nothing wrong with me. Let’s do this,” he argued, beginning to stand but being pulled back down, this time by Tommy gripping his arm.
“Let the paramedic do his thing and check you out first?” he pleaded. Adam looked into Tommy’s eyes and then around the rest of the room at the worried faces and nodded. He looked back at Tommy and noticed a bit of dried blood and swollenness on his lips. He reached out, thumbing across his bottom lip questioningly.
“Yeah, you headbutted me a bit when you passed out, Sleeping Beauty,” he smirked.
“Shit I’m sorry,” Adam laughed, “Guess there’s no way to keep this off YouTube is there?”
“Christ, I didn’t even think about that…the press is going to have a field day with this,” Lane murmured, as she left the room dialing another number.
“Paramedic’s here,” Brooke announced rushing into the room with a man in blue behind her.
The paramedic examined him carefully, asking him questions, shining a light in his eye, making him focus on different objects. He let him know they didn’t need to take him in for observation since he hadn’t fallen or hit his head. It had been a combination of severe dehydration and possibly a bit of exhaustion. Monte asked the paramedic if he thought it’d be okay for Adam to go back out and perform, clearly hoping he’d advise against it.
“Just one or two songs? Sitting down?” Adam pleaded, finished up a second bottle of water.
“One or two?” the paramedic thought, “I can’t say I recommend it, but of course I can’t force you not to. And really, since you’ve been back here for a while and you’ve rehydrated I don’t think one or two songs would be too big of a problem. But after that, you need a good night’s sleep and a couple of days off with lots of fluids.
Adam smiled, “Thank you, I appreciate it. And we actually have the next three days off, so lots of rest shouldn’t be a problem.”
While the paramedic packed up his gear and the band headed back out to the stage, Sutan blotted Adam’s face with some powder and gave him a onceover, “Whaaat are those shoes. Were you wearing those earlier?”
“I’ll explain sometime, I promise,” he winked, “You’re gonna love this story.”
Adam went back out on stage and performed his acoustic set and ended the show performing Nature Boy instead of his usual encores.
~*~
Adam was awakened by the sound of his door sliding shut and pressure on his bed. “Morning,” Tommy smiled, “We just made a stop so I got you some coffee.”
He held the coffee out towards him and Adam grinned, sitting up, “Mmm, you’re the best.”
“So you feeling okay?” Tommy asked taking a sip of his own drink.
“Perfect…I mean a little tired still…but otherwise, never felt better. Did you stay with me the whole night?” he asked.
“Just til you fell asleep…I wanted to give you your space,” Tommy said quietly.
“I thought I told you I liked it when you’re in my space,” Adam said, grabbing his arm and pulling him a bit closer, giving him a quick peck on the lips. Tommy caught Adam’s bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a little nip.
Adam hissed and then pulled back grinning as Tommy said, “That’s payback for my bloodied lip last night. And I guess you’re just gonna have to keep reminding me about this space thing.” Tommy leaned against Adam and they continued sipping their coffees as the bus started back up.
Adam reached over to the ledge next to his bed to grab his phone. “Jesus fuck…who died?” Adam mumbled, confused.
“Hm?” Tommy mused, looking up from his cup.
“37 texts and 13 voicemails,” he responded.
“Oh..about that…well…the story about the collapse last night is kinda…everywhere,” Tommy explained, looking nervous.
“Great,” Adam sighed, flipping through his texts.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy offered, “Don’t worry, it’ll pass soon enough. Just cut your hair again or blow me on stage.”
“Oooh, don’t give me ideas,” Adam laughed.
“Anyway, I guess I’ll leave you to those voicemails,” Tommy started, getting up from the bed, “I’m gonna go grab some breakfast. You want anything?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having, thanks,” Adam smiled, putting the phone up to his ear. Voicemail from Mom first, then Dad, then a couple of friends, his record label, Brad, and then…
“Hey, it’s David. I heard about last night and just wanted to let you know I’m sending positive thoughts your way. I’ve already had three different people send me Nature Boy from last night…it was brilliant. What made you pull that one out? Anyway, it’s been a few weeks too long since I’ve seen you so give me a call back whenever you want to get together. And let me know when you want to start writing for the next album because I’ve got some ideas. Take care of yourself!”
Suddenly everything about last night made sense. Memories of him and David rushed through his head. Getting a call from David a few weeks into Idol and being told he had been waiting for him. Adam had been flattered, but confused. He assumed David meant he had been waiting for an artist like him or a voice like his on the music scene, but he could never quite shake that feeling that David had meant something else. David kept up with Adam over the weeks on Idol, offering him bits of advice here and there. They finally met after the show ended when Adam invited David to his apartment one night for dinner. They talked for hours and hours, got high together much to Adam’s surprise and delight, and then David briefly mentioned something to Adam about meeting him in the 70s. Adam had laughed it off then, chalking it up to the high, and David had dropped it. But now…now…Adam dialed David’s phone number and waited anxiously for him to pick up so they could reminisce together about the night they had met.