down by the shore, everything's all right [american idol; kris/adam; nc-17]
down by the shore, everything's all right by
voiture_jaune
american idol. kris allen/adam lambert. nc-17.
~2300 words. this is absolutely not true.
watching Kris balance on the white crosswalk lines in the dying sun is so pretty that Adam thinks it should be in a museum.
They have a day off between their last show in New Jersey and the next one in Long Island, so the suggestion of spending a day at the famous Jersey Shore goes over well. The handlers eventually agree and so they tumble into their buses, tired but excited, limbs entwined and smiles bright.
The big tour buses are so out of place in the little beach town they stop in - they arrive around three in the morning, parking in a lot somewhere and sleeping until dawn.
When they awake, the sun is gold and the wind is low - it’s warm and the air is sweet and they can all smell summer and freedom in the breeze. A couple of bikes materialize outside of the buses, and a few of them decide to head down to the beach early, so they slather on sun block and pack some magazines and hop onto the bicycles, laughing and letting their toes skim the bumpy roads as they near the beach.
It’s Adam and Kris and Allison, and Anoop and Megan and Matt - the others stayed behind, to sleep or go shopping in the little town a couple of blocks from the beach. They pass quaint houses painted red and blue and white, with pink flowers outside and lawns so green they look like they’re out of a picture book. No strange looks are passed their way, and when they get to the boardwalk, Anoop manages to thread one bike lock through the front tires of all six bikes, so that no one will ride away with them.
Eight dollars each are handed over to gain entry onto the white sand but once they’re on it’s like perfection, the kind of place Adam forgot existed. The sand is hot but soft between his toes when he slips off his flip flops, and no strange looks are passed their way. They share the beach only with elderly couples and teenagers in bikinis, with too-long hair, playing their iPods through stereos and eating pretzels from a giant gallon-sized bag shared between them.
It feels strange, to be out and not be swarmed - it’s like Adam had forgotten how to be a real person, the kind who just lives without other people watching. He lays out a towel and rubs SPF 60 all over his chest, watching Allison and Matt build a sandcastle in the low tide and Anoop and Kris tease Megan in the water. The yellow sun and blue sky have transformed them into just another group of kids, hanging out and playing around. Adam puts his earphones in and catches the eyes of a pretty brunette staring at him, watches her nudge a friend and point.
They recognize him, he knows, but they never come over like he expects them to. Briefly, Adam wonders what foreign land this is, and then suddenly feels bad about every New Jersey joke he’s made in his life. People here seem cool, to tell the truth. Only when they are buying ridiculously overpriced mozzarella sticks at the “Shack” does anyone make a move, and then he and Kris and Allison just take a couple of pictures, smiles wide and genuine for once, before bringing their food out to a picnic table on the boardwalk to share.
Eventually the sun hides behind the clouds and it gets a little chilly, and people begin packing up their towels and beach chairs, the teenagers laughing and flirting and yelling to each other about some party later that night. Their feet are bare when they jump on their bikes, coasting off into a maze of streets sporting gates and mansions.
Allison picks out the restaurant for the night - more like, they’re driving past it, and she squeals, “Ooh, that looks awesome! Let’s go! Let’s go let’s go let’s go!” Everyone pacifies her and they pull into a place called the Circus, where Adam has a beer and shares a rack of the best ribs he’s ever had with Kris. He’s not tipsy, just a little giddy, when they leave and coast over to an ice cream place that has a line like, a thousand people long, but the resulting cake batter ice cream is worth twice the wait.
Kris is carefully poking his straw around in his Oreo milkshake, when he nudges Adam and says, “Want to head down to the beach again?” He has that wide-eyed, excited look that he gets when he’s really excited to do something - like before he went on to do Heartless, or before every single show. Adam knows that he shouldn’t, because the handlers will be fucking pissed if they wander off, but they’re literally seven blocks from the ocean and Adam has never really cared about crossing lines anyway. So he nods and Kris tugs on his hand and they disappear.
Kris takes off his shoes to walk, which is kind of dirty and gross, but watching him balance on the white crosswalk lines in the dying sun is so pretty that Adam thinks it should be in a museum. His Converse dangle from one hand, and his milkshake is in the other, and he lets Adam have a sip. It’s delicious.
“Trying to fatten me up, right?”
Kris rolls his eyes, licking the Styrofoam cup where some has dripped out of the top. Adam coughs.
“Really, though. The stylists won’t be happy with me if I can’t fit into my jacket tomorrow night.” He smiles and Kris smiles back and they’re walking under a canopy of old trees, past different avenues whose numbers grow smaller and smaller until they’re at Ocean Avenue and the Atlantic is staring back at them. No one’s around, and the only light comes from the moon and the orange streetlamps lining the boardwalk. Unbidden, an image of living here presents itself in Adam’s mind - a big house, facing the beach, sitting on the porch with Kris every morning and watching the sun rise. His heart clenches, and he pushes the fantasy away, feeling guilty of exploiting Kris’ friendship, even if only in thoughts.
Now the sand is cold, and the moon is high, reflecting in the black ocean. Adam can hear the whisper of the tides, and he and Kris don’t speak as they walk to the shoreline, dipping their feet into the freezing cold salt water. Kris leans his head onto Adam’s shoulder and Adam breathes deep, smelling seawater and sunblock and the generic store brand shampoo Kris has been using. He wants to bottle the scent, bottle this moment, rebuild it in miniature and place it in a glass box like a little boat.
“Excited for tomorrow?” Kris asks into Adam’s shirt.
“Mmhm,” Adam says, raking a hand through the sand, letting it slide through his fingers. “I’m excited for New York. They’ll probably like me there better.”
Kris pulls away, scoffing, looking Adam in the eyes. “They like you everywhere.”
“Not the Midwest, really.”
Kris is silent for a moment, then mumbles, “You still get more applause than me there.” He says it with the air of someone getting something off of their chest, something that’s been sitting there for a really long time. His brown eyes are hesitant, looking down. Adam’s jaw drops, and he kneels, forcing Kris to look at him.
“Kris, honey,” he says, his voice soft. Kris looks so vulnerable right now that it’s almost killing him, because it’s kind of the saddest look he’s ever seen. “They love you. Everyone. Everywhere. They love you!”
Kris opens his mouth, closes it, and finally mutters, “I feel like some of them only like me because…they don’t like you.” His brow creases, and he wiggles his toes as a wave laps over them. “Which sucks. I want everyone to like you. And if they don’t like you, it shouldn’t be because…of who you are.”
Adam isn’t sure what it is about this moment, but he suddenly just knows that this crush the press loves to talk about - the one he portrays as silly, non-threatening, not really anything - is all at once, for some reason, hugely something. Something like…
Kris nudges him. “What?” He has his self-deprecating smile on. Adam just looks at him and he knows, just has a feeling, that everything he’s always felt is showing on his face in a big way. It’s confirmed when Kris’ face changes a little - he looks a little startled, but not scared, like Adam knows he should be, by all accounts, right now.
Adam sighs, breaking their gaze, breaking the moment - he’s not going to let this happen, not going to allow himself to really fall for someone so unavailable. He’s teetering on the edge of a cliff right now, a very dangerous one.
It bowls him over when one of Kris’ hands rests on his neck, turning his face a little. He feels naked under his friend’s scrutiny, and avoids his eyes, only to be shocked - really and truly - when Kris’ lips brush over his, feather light, like the water on his toes or the wind in his hair.
“Kris,” he sighs, their lips only centimeters apart. It’s half warning, half affection.
Kris looks at him for a fraction of a second before smiling and kissing him again, and Adam is stepping off of the cliff and falling, falling into Kris’ touch and the taste of him, like Oreo milkshakes and the salt in the air and something else, something that is so familiar Adam aches to recognize it. Their tongues meet slowly, and Adam has had some intense kisses before but this is so deep that he can feel it in his fingers and his toes and the air surrounding them.
Fingers just grazing the skin of Kris’ stomach, Adam feels himself falling into the sand and is shocked by the sting of the water on his back, soaking through his shirt. He rolls over, elbows holding him above Kris, who is laughing as the Atlantic washes over him and presses his tongue to Adam’s neck, eliciting a deep moan.
Their shirts are gone so quickly, lying in the sand, and Kris murmurs, “I love your freckles,” his fingers tracing them delicately. Adam quirks an eyebrow. “I used to watch you in our room, during the show, when you’d be changing. They’re everywhere, and they’re so different from what you present to people, but they’re just so…you.”
Adam is pretty sure he’s going to cry soon so he just kisses Kris again, their mouths not battling for control but sinking into a harmonic rhythm of sharing. They’re rolling around in the sand and it’s all very dirty except Adam doesn’t think he’s ever done anything so simple or pure in his life, laying with somebody he adores and translating that all into action. It feels like a weight is lifted off of him.
Kris’ erection is pressing against Adam’s thigh and Adam groans as Kris moves his hips, a little nervously, his pants tightening. He yells, a strangled groan, when Kris presses the heel of his palm to Adam’s hard-on, grinning at his reaction and fumbling with his belt. They can hear the laughter of some people on the boardwalk, but they’re too far away to be able to see the two celebrities currently doing very ungodly things on the shore.
Soon both of them are naked and the water is freezing but Adam takes both of them into his hand, and Kris moans, tilting his head back. Adam litters kisses on his jaw, hand leisurely stroking up and down, pace changing and rhythm unsteady.
Kris comes first, and fuck, in the moonlight, with the background of the ocean, Adam has never seen anything more beautiful. His moan of pleasure is lost in the stars above them, floating away on the wind. He laughs shakily when Adam kisses him again, but then Kris takes Adam into his hands, unsure but determined, and experiments, working his hand slow and then fast and then in between, the other hand softly stroking Adam’s balls. His lips meet Adam’s earlobe and he’s softly speaking and then Adam realizes he’s singing, softly: “Remember when I moved in you, and the holy dove was moving too, and every breath we drew was hallelujah?”
Adam comes so hard that he sees black, feeling only Kris and hearing only music in his ears. Kris keeps singing afterwards, the same song, and they just rest together in the sand, bodies adjusted to the sting of the water on their skin. When they finally make eye contact, Kris just smiles, his eyes glinting.
They both hop into the water, naked, to clean themselves off afterwards, and then struggle into their clothes. They walk off the beach and Adam feels a little wistful. Kris, as usual, seems to know what he’s thinking.
“We should come back sometime,” he says, reaching for Adam’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “You know, after the tour.”
Adam nods.
As they’re walking back to the bus, Adam sees a house for sale, right on the ocean. All he can think of is iced tea on the porch and how the pink of the sunrise would look reflecting off of Kris’ face, of sharing cake batter ice cream and swimming in the ocean together early in the morning.
He smiles.
voiture_jaune
american idol. kris allen/adam lambert. nc-17.
~2300 words. this is absolutely not true.
watching Kris balance on the white crosswalk lines in the dying sun is so pretty that Adam thinks it should be in a museum.
They have a day off between their last show in New Jersey and the next one in Long Island, so the suggestion of spending a day at the famous Jersey Shore goes over well. The handlers eventually agree and so they tumble into their buses, tired but excited, limbs entwined and smiles bright.
The big tour buses are so out of place in the little beach town they stop in - they arrive around three in the morning, parking in a lot somewhere and sleeping until dawn.
When they awake, the sun is gold and the wind is low - it’s warm and the air is sweet and they can all smell summer and freedom in the breeze. A couple of bikes materialize outside of the buses, and a few of them decide to head down to the beach early, so they slather on sun block and pack some magazines and hop onto the bicycles, laughing and letting their toes skim the bumpy roads as they near the beach.
It’s Adam and Kris and Allison, and Anoop and Megan and Matt - the others stayed behind, to sleep or go shopping in the little town a couple of blocks from the beach. They pass quaint houses painted red and blue and white, with pink flowers outside and lawns so green they look like they’re out of a picture book. No strange looks are passed their way, and when they get to the boardwalk, Anoop manages to thread one bike lock through the front tires of all six bikes, so that no one will ride away with them.
Eight dollars each are handed over to gain entry onto the white sand but once they’re on it’s like perfection, the kind of place Adam forgot existed. The sand is hot but soft between his toes when he slips off his flip flops, and no strange looks are passed their way. They share the beach only with elderly couples and teenagers in bikinis, with too-long hair, playing their iPods through stereos and eating pretzels from a giant gallon-sized bag shared between them.
It feels strange, to be out and not be swarmed - it’s like Adam had forgotten how to be a real person, the kind who just lives without other people watching. He lays out a towel and rubs SPF 60 all over his chest, watching Allison and Matt build a sandcastle in the low tide and Anoop and Kris tease Megan in the water. The yellow sun and blue sky have transformed them into just another group of kids, hanging out and playing around. Adam puts his earphones in and catches the eyes of a pretty brunette staring at him, watches her nudge a friend and point.
They recognize him, he knows, but they never come over like he expects them to. Briefly, Adam wonders what foreign land this is, and then suddenly feels bad about every New Jersey joke he’s made in his life. People here seem cool, to tell the truth. Only when they are buying ridiculously overpriced mozzarella sticks at the “Shack” does anyone make a move, and then he and Kris and Allison just take a couple of pictures, smiles wide and genuine for once, before bringing their food out to a picnic table on the boardwalk to share.
Eventually the sun hides behind the clouds and it gets a little chilly, and people begin packing up their towels and beach chairs, the teenagers laughing and flirting and yelling to each other about some party later that night. Their feet are bare when they jump on their bikes, coasting off into a maze of streets sporting gates and mansions.
Allison picks out the restaurant for the night - more like, they’re driving past it, and she squeals, “Ooh, that looks awesome! Let’s go! Let’s go let’s go let’s go!” Everyone pacifies her and they pull into a place called the Circus, where Adam has a beer and shares a rack of the best ribs he’s ever had with Kris. He’s not tipsy, just a little giddy, when they leave and coast over to an ice cream place that has a line like, a thousand people long, but the resulting cake batter ice cream is worth twice the wait.
Kris is carefully poking his straw around in his Oreo milkshake, when he nudges Adam and says, “Want to head down to the beach again?” He has that wide-eyed, excited look that he gets when he’s really excited to do something - like before he went on to do Heartless, or before every single show. Adam knows that he shouldn’t, because the handlers will be fucking pissed if they wander off, but they’re literally seven blocks from the ocean and Adam has never really cared about crossing lines anyway. So he nods and Kris tugs on his hand and they disappear.
Kris takes off his shoes to walk, which is kind of dirty and gross, but watching him balance on the white crosswalk lines in the dying sun is so pretty that Adam thinks it should be in a museum. His Converse dangle from one hand, and his milkshake is in the other, and he lets Adam have a sip. It’s delicious.
“Trying to fatten me up, right?”
Kris rolls his eyes, licking the Styrofoam cup where some has dripped out of the top. Adam coughs.
“Really, though. The stylists won’t be happy with me if I can’t fit into my jacket tomorrow night.” He smiles and Kris smiles back and they’re walking under a canopy of old trees, past different avenues whose numbers grow smaller and smaller until they’re at Ocean Avenue and the Atlantic is staring back at them. No one’s around, and the only light comes from the moon and the orange streetlamps lining the boardwalk. Unbidden, an image of living here presents itself in Adam’s mind - a big house, facing the beach, sitting on the porch with Kris every morning and watching the sun rise. His heart clenches, and he pushes the fantasy away, feeling guilty of exploiting Kris’ friendship, even if only in thoughts.
Now the sand is cold, and the moon is high, reflecting in the black ocean. Adam can hear the whisper of the tides, and he and Kris don’t speak as they walk to the shoreline, dipping their feet into the freezing cold salt water. Kris leans his head onto Adam’s shoulder and Adam breathes deep, smelling seawater and sunblock and the generic store brand shampoo Kris has been using. He wants to bottle the scent, bottle this moment, rebuild it in miniature and place it in a glass box like a little boat.
“Excited for tomorrow?” Kris asks into Adam’s shirt.
“Mmhm,” Adam says, raking a hand through the sand, letting it slide through his fingers. “I’m excited for New York. They’ll probably like me there better.”
Kris pulls away, scoffing, looking Adam in the eyes. “They like you everywhere.”
“Not the Midwest, really.”
Kris is silent for a moment, then mumbles, “You still get more applause than me there.” He says it with the air of someone getting something off of their chest, something that’s been sitting there for a really long time. His brown eyes are hesitant, looking down. Adam’s jaw drops, and he kneels, forcing Kris to look at him.
“Kris, honey,” he says, his voice soft. Kris looks so vulnerable right now that it’s almost killing him, because it’s kind of the saddest look he’s ever seen. “They love you. Everyone. Everywhere. They love you!”
Kris opens his mouth, closes it, and finally mutters, “I feel like some of them only like me because…they don’t like you.” His brow creases, and he wiggles his toes as a wave laps over them. “Which sucks. I want everyone to like you. And if they don’t like you, it shouldn’t be because…of who you are.”
Adam isn’t sure what it is about this moment, but he suddenly just knows that this crush the press loves to talk about - the one he portrays as silly, non-threatening, not really anything - is all at once, for some reason, hugely something. Something like…
Kris nudges him. “What?” He has his self-deprecating smile on. Adam just looks at him and he knows, just has a feeling, that everything he’s always felt is showing on his face in a big way. It’s confirmed when Kris’ face changes a little - he looks a little startled, but not scared, like Adam knows he should be, by all accounts, right now.
Adam sighs, breaking their gaze, breaking the moment - he’s not going to let this happen, not going to allow himself to really fall for someone so unavailable. He’s teetering on the edge of a cliff right now, a very dangerous one.
It bowls him over when one of Kris’ hands rests on his neck, turning his face a little. He feels naked under his friend’s scrutiny, and avoids his eyes, only to be shocked - really and truly - when Kris’ lips brush over his, feather light, like the water on his toes or the wind in his hair.
“Kris,” he sighs, their lips only centimeters apart. It’s half warning, half affection.
Kris looks at him for a fraction of a second before smiling and kissing him again, and Adam is stepping off of the cliff and falling, falling into Kris’ touch and the taste of him, like Oreo milkshakes and the salt in the air and something else, something that is so familiar Adam aches to recognize it. Their tongues meet slowly, and Adam has had some intense kisses before but this is so deep that he can feel it in his fingers and his toes and the air surrounding them.
Fingers just grazing the skin of Kris’ stomach, Adam feels himself falling into the sand and is shocked by the sting of the water on his back, soaking through his shirt. He rolls over, elbows holding him above Kris, who is laughing as the Atlantic washes over him and presses his tongue to Adam’s neck, eliciting a deep moan.
Their shirts are gone so quickly, lying in the sand, and Kris murmurs, “I love your freckles,” his fingers tracing them delicately. Adam quirks an eyebrow. “I used to watch you in our room, during the show, when you’d be changing. They’re everywhere, and they’re so different from what you present to people, but they’re just so…you.”
Adam is pretty sure he’s going to cry soon so he just kisses Kris again, their mouths not battling for control but sinking into a harmonic rhythm of sharing. They’re rolling around in the sand and it’s all very dirty except Adam doesn’t think he’s ever done anything so simple or pure in his life, laying with somebody he adores and translating that all into action. It feels like a weight is lifted off of him.
Kris’ erection is pressing against Adam’s thigh and Adam groans as Kris moves his hips, a little nervously, his pants tightening. He yells, a strangled groan, when Kris presses the heel of his palm to Adam’s hard-on, grinning at his reaction and fumbling with his belt. They can hear the laughter of some people on the boardwalk, but they’re too far away to be able to see the two celebrities currently doing very ungodly things on the shore.
Soon both of them are naked and the water is freezing but Adam takes both of them into his hand, and Kris moans, tilting his head back. Adam litters kisses on his jaw, hand leisurely stroking up and down, pace changing and rhythm unsteady.
Kris comes first, and fuck, in the moonlight, with the background of the ocean, Adam has never seen anything more beautiful. His moan of pleasure is lost in the stars above them, floating away on the wind. He laughs shakily when Adam kisses him again, but then Kris takes Adam into his hands, unsure but determined, and experiments, working his hand slow and then fast and then in between, the other hand softly stroking Adam’s balls. His lips meet Adam’s earlobe and he’s softly speaking and then Adam realizes he’s singing, softly: “Remember when I moved in you, and the holy dove was moving too, and every breath we drew was hallelujah?”
Adam comes so hard that he sees black, feeling only Kris and hearing only music in his ears. Kris keeps singing afterwards, the same song, and they just rest together in the sand, bodies adjusted to the sting of the water on their skin. When they finally make eye contact, Kris just smiles, his eyes glinting.
They both hop into the water, naked, to clean themselves off afterwards, and then struggle into their clothes. They walk off the beach and Adam feels a little wistful. Kris, as usual, seems to know what he’s thinking.
“We should come back sometime,” he says, reaching for Adam’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “You know, after the tour.”
Adam nods.
As they’re walking back to the bus, Adam sees a house for sale, right on the ocean. All he can think of is iced tea on the porch and how the pink of the sunrise would look reflecting off of Kris’ face, of sharing cake batter ice cream and swimming in the ocean together early in the morning.
He smiles.