american idol. kris allen/adam lambert. ranges from pg - light nc-17.
none of this is true, obviously
a series of drabbles inspired by words given to me by members of ontd_ai, as well as some epic happenings in that community that made me squee and then cry and then laugh.
There are snowflakes stuck to Kris' eyelashes. It's dark outside, black almost, but the streetlamps make little pools of orange light on the pure white ground. The weird lighting makes Kris' eyes shimmer. It looks like there are stars in them, Adam thinks. His boots make heavy imprints in the snow, and they look silly next to the light, almost invisible prints from Kris' Converse. Their hands are intertwined. Kris is wearing mittens.
"I love the snow," he hums quietly. The whole night is silent, pretty, like a postcard. A snowman is standing a few feet ahead of them, and Adam rushes over to fix its crooked nose.
"He could use a little flair," Adam says. A sparkly scarf is wrapped around his neck, and he tugs it off and adds it to the snowman.
Kris wraps an arm around his waist. "Very glam," he replies, resting his chin on Adam's shoulder and grazing his lips over his now-bare neck. A shiver runs down Adam's back and he turns, pressing their bodies together, feeling the heat through their jackets and sweaters and jeans and boots and whatever layers are there as well - nothing has ever been able to separate Adam from the feeling that he gets when Kris is there, sitting next to him or slipping his hand below the waist of his jeans or singing something soft, delicate.
Soon they're on the ground, no one watching except the snowman's button eyes, lying next to each other. Chaste kisses are pressed between their lips and they're just together, not sexually, not physically, but almost spiritually.
Snowflakes catch in Adam's hair and Kris runs a hand over Adam's cheek, singing in his ear, "And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow..."
Adam doesn't know when it happened, why it happened, but somehow in the past, say, twelve hours, Kris went on a mission to bake something and has been driving Adam crazy. Jittery and nervous and annoying, Kris has been bouncing around and talking about cupcakes and muffins and cookies and brownies and Adam is like, man, just focus on the fucking competition but apparently the competition doesn't hold any importance next to Mama Allen's famous sugar cookie recipe.
So, well, fine. Adam just throws a pillow at Kris everytime he starts to babble about egg whites or tune the TV to Food Network.
He's at the grocery store the next day, looking for some honest-to-god peanut butter, not the organic crap the house chef keeps in the cupboards. Adam has a jar of creamy Skippy in his shopping cart, as well as a bottle of Dr. Pepper, when he passes the baking aisle and Kris immediately pops into his head. In a brief attempt at scorn, he tries to pass the aisle, but immediately returns, hailing down a girl who works there and asking her what would be a seasonal baking project.
She looks at him like he's batshit, but then says that they just got a new produce shipment and the blueberries are looking fabulous and he could make muffins. So the two of them go on an adventure, her throwing everything into his cart that he needs to make them (or, that Kris needs to make them) and telling him how he's her favorite on the show. He signs her apron.
When he gets back to the mansion, Kris is watching the Barefoot Contessa and practically crying from his urge. Adam throws a bag of flour at him, shows him the bags with the rest of the stuff in them, and then tells him not to talk for the next week and a half.
"You're my best friend!" Kris shouts, dancing around and giving Adam a hug before pre-heating the oven.
Adam rolls his eyes but smiles, regardless. "I better get a fucking muffin when you're done."
The look on Kris' face is almost amusing enough to justify the question - he looks like he just won American Idol or something akin to that. Then he wrinkles his nose and faux-glares at Adam. "Never. Why, have you?"
Kris pouts. "You don't have to say it like that."
"Like - well, we both know you're more experienced than me already, so just. I don't know." He flushes. Adam grins, looking a little wicked, running his hand along Kris' thigh, relishing the way he shudders and tenses. Too easy, Adam thinks, tracing the inseam of Kris' jeans, making sure not to travel too close to his crotch. Kris is making low sounds in his throat, kind of like a growl, and nipping his teeth at Adam's shoulder. Adam loves him like this - undone, primal, instinctive. It's so hot.
"I'd like to see you in a school girl's outfit," Adam mumbles, loving the vibration of Kris' laugh against his own tongue.
"In your dreams."
"You love plaid!" Kris is laughing really hard now, rolling over so that he's straddling Adam's waist, his erection straining against his jeans. Adam grabs his hips and rocks them back and forth, grinding them together slowly. He leans up and kisses Kris softly, their lips just barely touching.
"Not that much," Kris responds against Adam's mouth.
"But it would be so hot," Adam whined.
"I think we're fine in that department." Kris dips his hand into Adam's jeans, and Adam gives up - for a little while.
Kris used to be able to see where his life was taking him.
It was a straight shot, like he was driving from his childhood home to the grocery store, a path he could follow with his eyes closed and without any sort of map. He'd finish college, get a job working in an office and making a respectable salary - marry Katy, have some kids, sing songs to them. He'd live in Conway, hang out with Charles, play at bars on the weekend and hope for some tips in his guitar case. It was simple, easy. His compass pointed north, and the ships at sea were safe.
American Idol was like a lovely detour. Instead of the grocery store, he ended up in a store full of candy and cheese dip, where he could stay forever. Whatever, it was cool - better than cool, really. Things were still pretty right-on. He was married, he could really provide for his family now, and he'd be happy doing what he loved for the rest of his life.
The earth reverses its tilt and his compass spins out of control when Adam first kisses him, in the dressing room during the tour, soft and kind of sudden but special enough to make Kris' toes curl.
He feels like Lewis and Clark, Christopher Colombus, charting territory never seen before. He's sketching out a map with a quill, running his fingers over Adam's chest, connecting the freckles the way railroads connect cities and dipping into the oceans of Adam's hips, knees, arms. Ink should be sprouting from his fingertips, he touches Adam so reverently, tracing patterns and words and invisible tattoos.
Their bodies are projecting their histories, now, nailpolish on their thumbs, bruises on their lips, bite marks on their shoulders, rings on their fingers, love in their eyes. Kris can look at Adam and find every second of his time with him without a key or a legend.
His compass points south, now, but maybe the way that's supposed to have been all this time.
for the lovely kissoffools
Adam makes a lot of fuss about what they're going to wear. He whines and cajoles and pleads when Kris just wants to rent a tux from a cheap place, asks why can't you just buy a nice Armani suit? and makes his pouty face that Kris has a lot of trouble ignoring.
He freaks out about a lot of other things, too - the flowers that Allison will be holding, the flavor of the cake, the guest list. Kris starts to call him Bridezilla.
They're laying in bed one night, sweaty, panting, Kris just watching as Adam flexes his fingers in the crevices of Kris', kissing his knuckles, when he finally brings it up.
"Why are you so obsessed with all this stuff?"
Adam won't look him in the eye. "I just want it to be nice, is all."
Kris nods, silent for a moment. "But, really. Why?"
His mouth opens and closes a few times before he can fully answer. "I'm nervous," he finally mumbles.
It's a really rare moment between them - Kris has only seen Adam this vulnerable, so open, a handful of times before. He presses a hand to Adam's cheek, forcing their gaze together. He's not sure really what to say.
"We're going to be the best ever. You and I. We're just - great." He wishes there were a song that said what he was thinking.
A few weeks later, Kris is standing next to a minister and waiting. Adam appears ten yards away, his eyes bright. When he sees Kris, he doesn't see the Armani suit or the daffodils in Allison's tiny hands or any of that. He sees their lips coming together for the first time, and Kris making pancakes in the morning - their footprints next to each other in the sand, Kris asleep on a plane. He could be wearing a clown suit, and it would all still be there.
Adam kisses Kris when he gets to the altar, softly, even though he's not supposed to - whispers, "Best ever."
It's difficult to keep it quiet, it really is. In his head, it's a rush of things, pushing to free themselves, wanting to be out there in the open. And it's funny, because it's not a secret - not to anyone, really, except for Kris. Sure, he knows about the crush, and he calls it hilarious and laughs and says he reciprocates and keeps on encouraging the rumors that they're - well. That they're something. Adam hates himself for letting it get this far, for letting himself fall into something that's going to be difficult crawl out of unscathed. He remembers when he first felt a stirring of something in his gut and promised himself no, this isn't going to happen, you don't do this. Just as clear are the memories of that wall being torn down, Kris resting his feet in Adam's lap while they watch a movie, talking about music, pressing a thumb to Adam's cheek to catch an eyelash, murmuring make a wish.
It's hard not to fall when he's everywhere, across the aisle sleeping, two feet away rehearsing, kissing his beautiful wife just a skip down the road.
Sometimes he has to bite his lip so hard to stop himself from saying anything, sits on his hands to stop them from shaking - it's all Adam can do not to press Kris to a wall and say see, this has never been a joke, what this is and then release him. He works so hard every day, not just on the show but on making his attraction seem shallow. Reality is an undertoe, a riptide, pulling him out and under. Reality is the desire to hate Kris, to find something wrong with him, something that will make it easy to break away and swim to shore.
Then they're sitting on a couch and half-asleep and Kris says something like, you're the best friend I've ever had and -
It stays secret.
for my love justtellinglies
Adam is half-asleep, so when Kris interrupts his silence with, "Let's play a game!" he ignores him. Steadfastly. Thing is, though, Kris can be incredibly annoying when he wants to be, and right now, he really wants to be. He sits on Adam's feet and tickles him behind the knees and pokes him in the stomach and acts like a four-year-old that wants a snack. Rain slaps against the windows hard, and thunder cracks in the distance. The perfect day for doing nothing, in Adam's opinion, but sleeping and reading a magazine and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
"There are no games to play on here," he grumbles finally, rolling over and pushing Kris to the floor of the bus. Kris considers this for a moment, looking around, before -
A dictionary is in his hands when Adam deigns to open one eye to look at him. It's pocket-sized and shiny silver. A Kradam dictionary, Adam thinks briefly, before Kris plops down in front of him.
"Where the fuck did that even come from?" Adam groans, rubbing his face.
"It's Anoop's, I think. He does the crossword puzzles on Sundays."
"Mmhm. Kris?" Adam asks, stretching out his limbs.
"What the fuck kind of game are we going to play with a dictionary?"
Kris grins. "Tell me when to stop," he half-sings, and starts running his finger back and forth, back and forth across the pages of the dictionary. Adam rolls his eyes.
"Stop," he finally says. Kris opens to a page sort of near the front of the dictionary, then begins tapping both pages like they're drums.
"Tell me when to -"
"Stop," Adam says. He chooses the left page. Kris nods, like this is somehow a good choice, and begins to run his fingertips down the pages.
"Now, the word that you stop on will be the one word in the universe that describes you, more than any other word in the history of all time -"
"Stop!" Adam laughs. Kris sticks his tongue out, and his eyes widen at the word he stopped on.
"I can't even pronounce that, but -" His eyes look like saucers and he suddenly bursts out laughing, dropping the book. "Oh, my God."
Adam raises an eyebrow, diving for the dictionary and flipping to the page. There are a hell of a lot of big words on there - callipee, calliphora, callirhoe...
Kris points to one.
Callipygian - adj. - having well-shaped buttocks.
Adam stares for a moment, then falls over laughing too, until they're both laying on the floor, chuckles subsiding, chests heaving a little. "The word that describes me most in the universe, huh?" Adam says, still smiling. Kris grins.
"You sure do have a nice ass, but I think -"
He turns his head at that moment and it's just - their eyes catch for a moment, when Kris finishes his thought, murmuring, "- I think your smile is nicer." Neither one is really smiling, now, and it's there, whatever it is between them that can't be named and shouldn't be, either. They're caught in a staring contest, and Adam can see or feel or maybe imagine Kris inching closer, agonizing centimeter by centimeter, and he thinks yes and no at the same moment, when Kris' eyes leave his to flicker downward, to Adam's lips. Then he's looking back at Adam and he can't take it anymore, he can't, not when they're dangerously close to destroying what they've built. Adam breaks eye contact, sitting up, rubbing his eyes a little. He leans against the wall, sighs.
"Shall we find your word, now?"
Kris has an inscrutable look on his face, but it passes - these things always pass - and he smiles, and Adam picks up the dictionary.
inspired by the fake head kiss of saturday, august first.
Hold on to that feeling -
The energy is so right on tonight, like the cosmos and the planets and the stars aligned. They were all so excited for Anoop, Charlotte was so excited for Anoop, that something like electricity crackled in the air and shocked their fingertips. Adam wonders at the way that music has of connecting people, bringing them together, because right now the whole stadium is one and it's so fucking awesome that he can't breathe, can't think from smiling so wide. He can hear the crowd singing along, out of key, sees Megan and Allison dancing, Kris jumping on Anoop's back as they're exiting the stage, and he just -
Not much thought goes into it, because when you're so happy that it feels like this is the only time that ever existed, you just want to be with people that make you happy. Kris makes Adam happy, when they're singing together, smiling, laughing, and when they're exiting the stage - it's just instinctive. Throwing an arm around Kris' tiny shoulders and leaning down to -
The lights are still up though, bright lights, and the cameras are always watching, so Adam diverts at the last moment, burying his nose in Kris' hair, kissing his ear. Kris just laughs, shoving him away, playing ticklish.
They're in the dressing room, later, done celebrating with Anoop and everyone else is gone, Kris is sitting on a table and just watching Adam touch up his eyeliner.
"Almost let it spill tonight," Adam says, a devilish grin lifting the corners of his mouth. Kris rolls his eyes.
"Let what spill?"
Adam caps his pencil, then puts on a pondering face. "Oh, I don't know." He moves between Kris' legs, hands on his thin hips, face in his neck. "That I have a crush on you?"
Kris' laugh vibrates all throughout Adam's body, and he can taste it in his mouth. "Or that I have a crush on you." He rests his chin on Adam's shoulder.
"They're going to run with that," Adam whispers lightly, his lips grazing over Kris' neck, making his head roll back, his lips part when Adam's tongue presses to his pulse point, feeling his heart beat. Kris' fingers flex on Adam's arms.
"Mmm," he moans, quietly. "I'm screwed." Their lips come together, like they may have before, in another reality, where they could do things like that and not worry. Hold on to that feeling, Adam sings in his head, into Kris' mouth. He pulls back and gathers Kris to him, so that they're just -
They stand like that for a while, together, hugging until the handlers come to find them. Adam kisses Kris one more time, softly, and then again on his ear.
Kris laughs and pushes him away, ticklish.
Hold on to that feeling.
also inspired by the trolling of august first
"What are you two laughing at?"
Wiping tears from his eyes, Kris slumped into Adam's shoulder and continued to giggle uncontrollably, his whole body shaking in mirth. Adam was laughing, too, and typing something on the computer. Matt and Anoop were looking at them like they were fucking nuts - which, frankly, was deserved.
"We - we - "
"Oh, I see," Anoop said, rolling his eyes and adopting his scholarly voice. "You're too overcome with your own hilarity to share."
"Trolled - AI - benches - "
"What?" Matt hopped onto the couch next to Adam and stole the laptop away quickly, scanning his eyes over the page before him. "Holy shit, man. What did you two do?"
Kris was calming down a little and said, "We - we made a twitter, and said that Adam kissed my head on stage -"
Anoop raised an eyebrow, his eyes widening. "And?"
"They went crazy, dude." Kris dissolved into laughter again, he and Adam practically pounding on the cushions from glee. Matt was still reading through the posts.
"God, they like - you two Rick-rolled them!" Matt choked out, laughing along. "You fucking Rick-rolled ONTD_AI! I didn't think it was possible - "
"Look," Anoop said, pulling the laptop onto the table in front of him. "They're, like, flipping their shit. They're using Bill O'Reilly pictures and posting poems and - hey, this one girl wrote you two a letter about why you should hug more!"
Kris snorted, and Matt let out a bark of laughter.
"Shit, you guys trolled ONTD_AI," Anoop murmured. "I didn't know anyone could even do that."
It's been quiet in Adam's bunk - their bunk - for some minutes now, after they finished up and cleaned up. Kris is resting on Adam, his head on his chest, running his fingers lightly over the tattoo on Adam's wrist.
Adam looks at him, pursing his lips. "Maybe we should do something nice tomorrow night for them. You know, you could - well, you could slap my ass or something."
Kris laughed, deep and low. "Or we could just make out."
Adam laughed, rolling over, pinning Kris below him. "That might be a little overboard. Think they could handle it?"