fic: Sunshine
Title: Sunshine
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Rating: PG (first time that's ever happened, I think. Wow.)
Word Count: ~1,350
Disclaimer: Real people, no owners, no harm intended/received, etc.
Author's Note: For
rei_chan013
---
So it was a long shot to begin with. Obviously, nobody would ever think otherwise. You don't move halfway across the country for a career in music and actually make it. If you did, everyone would go for it.
Unfortunately, that doesn't change the fact that Kris is currently shopping for sunglasses that cost more than his first guitar.
His world is in a very, very sad state.
The connection between sunglasses and improbable fame in L.A. is, apparently, very common, because despite his unease the shop girls have maneuvered him into several pairs with the ease of long practice with frightened customers.
They urge him to the front counter and he swipes his card for four pairs and seven hundred dollars, wincing behind the ones currently on his face, and all the while cursing his publicist and management team. He wouldn't have to worry about being recognized if he didn't go outside, and he didn't care about becoming a hermit and recording from within his (also very pricey) condo.
A bag full of glossy boxes is shoved into his arms and he's encouraged, very politely, back outside into the bright sunshine. Maybe the glasses have a secondary purpose after all, but twenty dollar pairs should have sufficed just as well.
He sighs and someone says, "First timer?"
Kris jerks around, and then tilts his head back. "What?" The guy is tall, and gaudy. A bit. Maybe just by Kris' standards. His sunglasses, Kris' inexperienced eyes would estimate, probably cost at least twice as much as the ones he just bought. If only because they were colorful and, well, maybe a little shiny, which Kris though defeated the purpose but apparently not. He's flanked by a couple of people, both obviously watching Kris carefully.
"Buying sunglasses. You're wearing that completely shocked look of a virgin shopper."
Kris says, "Do I know you?" Because there are some things you just really didn't expect to hear every day.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He pushes up his glasses and smiles at Kris hopefully. He doesn't introduce himself, which, yeah, is maybe a little arrogant, Kris thinks, but accurate, because Kris does recognize him, so it would've been unnecessary. But polite.
Having decided Kris has stared long enough, Adam holds out a hand. "I'm Adam Lambert."
Kris stares down at it for a second and then jumps, shifting the bag to his left hand. "Right. I know."
Adam's smile twists a little but he shakes firmly. "You're ahead of me, sorry. I remain disappointingly clueless as to your name." It's a little pointed and Kris laughs, shakes himself.
"Sorry, yeah. I'm Kris Allen."
Adam raises his eyebrows and then settles his glasses back onto his nose. "You are, really?"
And Kris has no idea what that means, but there's a couple of pretty young girls approaching them cautiously. So he steps back, puts a more appropriate distance between them, and signs the girls' shopping bags when they present them -- after Adam, of course, and Kris tries hard not to roll his eyes -- and then rubs his hands awkwardly on his jeans when they fall, giggling, through the doors to the overpriced store behind them.
"So, anyway, I really should--" He says, stumbling over the words and looking down the street past Adam.
"Do you really have to? I was thinking we could shop together." Adam's smiling, friendly, but Kris eyes his wardrobe distrustfully.
"Adam, I really don't think--" One of the men touches his elbow in reprimand, and Adam ignores him happily.
"Oh, you don't need to look at me like that. 'No' would work, too. But since you won't shop with me you have to take me out to dinner in compensation for my disappointment."
---
For some reason, his publicist won't believe him when he says it's not a date. She fusses at him over the phone, so he puts her on speaker and leaves it on his bed as he tucks his shirt in.
He interrupts, "I think I should have agreed to go shopping."
Amy pauses. "That wouldn't have helped, really. Just as bad. You just can't be around someone with his reputation without questions."
Kris says, "That's not what I mean. I don't have--"
And then he turns off the light and ends the call, because there are some roads he just will not travel down, and worrying about what he's wearing for a not-date with a guy who won the national karaoke contest is not one of them.
---
Adam laughs when he sees him.
Kris turns on his heel.
"No, no, wait. It's just that your plaid changed colors." He's still snickering a little but his hand is warm around Kris' wrist so he obeys the tug towards the nondescript car.
"Where are we going?" He doesn't know if his plaid will be appropriate, compared to Adam's display.
"Is small talk lost on you?" Adam starts to laugh again but restrains it to a large smile and continues, "Nowhere complicated. Just thought we'd go to a coffeehouse."
Kris looks at him. "You couldn't think of anything more interesting?"
Adam just shrugs and continues to smile.
---
Kris won't admit to watching American Idol. Largely because it's partially untrue, but also because Adam's been teasing him mercilessly about recognizing him at first sight -- which is also partially untrue, but he's ignoring that part. Kris throws up his hands.
"I did not watch the show! You're just hard to get away from. That's not my fault."
Adam's hand sneaks over and Kris rolls his eyes, letting him steal another piece of muffin. "Yeah, but come on. You watch it. You know you do."
He says, "I do not!" and moves his plate further away. "And anyway, you didn't believe me when I said who I was."
"I did, I just didn't know what you look like. You're a hard person to get a hold of."
Kris blinks at him. "You tried to get a hold of me? Why?"
Adam smiles, a little crooked. "I liked your music. And what's the point of being famous if you can't meet the people you like?"
And maybe Kris lets his guard down a little more after that, but he'll never admit it, and it doesn't matter anyway.
---
After a few months Amy's protests die down. Instead, she settles into damage control, trying to convince reporters and fans of the truth: the relationship is strictly platonic, Kris is not seeing anyone right now.
Kris would never want her job.
They're laughing over something in the tabloids, one of the cheap newsprint ones in black and white with alien babies on the cover, this one proclaiming that Adam and Kris are secretly married and Adam's expecting, when Kris looks up at Adam and asks, "Why am I not your type?"
It's forgivable if Adam doesn't follow the change in topic, staring up at him. Kris doubts he remembers the quote from months ago, back at the very beginning, when he told nosy reporters outside of a grocery store that Kris wasn't the type he'd go for.
He elaborates. "You said once that I wasn't your type. Why not?"
Adam raises his eyebrows. "Maybe because you're straight."
Kris rolls the magazine up in his hands. "But you've told me a couple times about sleeping with straight boys. You've done it at least a couple of times."
"What about because we're friends?"
Twisting his hands sharply, Kris says, "You've told me about sleeping with them, too." Adam tended to fully disclose, even when it really wasn't necessary.
Adam frowns at him, and Kris focuses on a piece of his hair across his forehead. "Kris. Are you trying to argue me into trying to sleep with you?"
And Kris blinks, because yeah, maybe he is. He shrugs at Adam, at himself, and leans forward to kiss him clumsily, crumpling the tabloid between them. He half falls until Adam grabs his shoulders, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the sun through his living room windows. Adam's laughing against his mouth and that's okay; Kris will let him get away with it this time.
---
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Rating: PG (first time that's ever happened, I think. Wow.)
Word Count: ~1,350
Disclaimer: Real people, no owners, no harm intended/received, etc.
Author's Note: For
rei_chan013
---
So it was a long shot to begin with. Obviously, nobody would ever think otherwise. You don't move halfway across the country for a career in music and actually make it. If you did, everyone would go for it.
Unfortunately, that doesn't change the fact that Kris is currently shopping for sunglasses that cost more than his first guitar.
His world is in a very, very sad state.
The connection between sunglasses and improbable fame in L.A. is, apparently, very common, because despite his unease the shop girls have maneuvered him into several pairs with the ease of long practice with frightened customers.
They urge him to the front counter and he swipes his card for four pairs and seven hundred dollars, wincing behind the ones currently on his face, and all the while cursing his publicist and management team. He wouldn't have to worry about being recognized if he didn't go outside, and he didn't care about becoming a hermit and recording from within his (also very pricey) condo.
A bag full of glossy boxes is shoved into his arms and he's encouraged, very politely, back outside into the bright sunshine. Maybe the glasses have a secondary purpose after all, but twenty dollar pairs should have sufficed just as well.
He sighs and someone says, "First timer?"
Kris jerks around, and then tilts his head back. "What?" The guy is tall, and gaudy. A bit. Maybe just by Kris' standards. His sunglasses, Kris' inexperienced eyes would estimate, probably cost at least twice as much as the ones he just bought. If only because they were colorful and, well, maybe a little shiny, which Kris though defeated the purpose but apparently not. He's flanked by a couple of people, both obviously watching Kris carefully.
"Buying sunglasses. You're wearing that completely shocked look of a virgin shopper."
Kris says, "Do I know you?" Because there are some things you just really didn't expect to hear every day.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He pushes up his glasses and smiles at Kris hopefully. He doesn't introduce himself, which, yeah, is maybe a little arrogant, Kris thinks, but accurate, because Kris does recognize him, so it would've been unnecessary. But polite.
Having decided Kris has stared long enough, Adam holds out a hand. "I'm Adam Lambert."
Kris stares down at it for a second and then jumps, shifting the bag to his left hand. "Right. I know."
Adam's smile twists a little but he shakes firmly. "You're ahead of me, sorry. I remain disappointingly clueless as to your name." It's a little pointed and Kris laughs, shakes himself.
"Sorry, yeah. I'm Kris Allen."
Adam raises his eyebrows and then settles his glasses back onto his nose. "You are, really?"
And Kris has no idea what that means, but there's a couple of pretty young girls approaching them cautiously. So he steps back, puts a more appropriate distance between them, and signs the girls' shopping bags when they present them -- after Adam, of course, and Kris tries hard not to roll his eyes -- and then rubs his hands awkwardly on his jeans when they fall, giggling, through the doors to the overpriced store behind them.
"So, anyway, I really should--" He says, stumbling over the words and looking down the street past Adam.
"Do you really have to? I was thinking we could shop together." Adam's smiling, friendly, but Kris eyes his wardrobe distrustfully.
"Adam, I really don't think--" One of the men touches his elbow in reprimand, and Adam ignores him happily.
"Oh, you don't need to look at me like that. 'No' would work, too. But since you won't shop with me you have to take me out to dinner in compensation for my disappointment."
---
For some reason, his publicist won't believe him when he says it's not a date. She fusses at him over the phone, so he puts her on speaker and leaves it on his bed as he tucks his shirt in.
He interrupts, "I think I should have agreed to go shopping."
Amy pauses. "That wouldn't have helped, really. Just as bad. You just can't be around someone with his reputation without questions."
Kris says, "That's not what I mean. I don't have--"
And then he turns off the light and ends the call, because there are some roads he just will not travel down, and worrying about what he's wearing for a not-date with a guy who won the national karaoke contest is not one of them.
---
Adam laughs when he sees him.
Kris turns on his heel.
"No, no, wait. It's just that your plaid changed colors." He's still snickering a little but his hand is warm around Kris' wrist so he obeys the tug towards the nondescript car.
"Where are we going?" He doesn't know if his plaid will be appropriate, compared to Adam's display.
"Is small talk lost on you?" Adam starts to laugh again but restrains it to a large smile and continues, "Nowhere complicated. Just thought we'd go to a coffeehouse."
Kris looks at him. "You couldn't think of anything more interesting?"
Adam just shrugs and continues to smile.
---
Kris won't admit to watching American Idol. Largely because it's partially untrue, but also because Adam's been teasing him mercilessly about recognizing him at first sight -- which is also partially untrue, but he's ignoring that part. Kris throws up his hands.
"I did not watch the show! You're just hard to get away from. That's not my fault."
Adam's hand sneaks over and Kris rolls his eyes, letting him steal another piece of muffin. "Yeah, but come on. You watch it. You know you do."
He says, "I do not!" and moves his plate further away. "And anyway, you didn't believe me when I said who I was."
"I did, I just didn't know what you look like. You're a hard person to get a hold of."
Kris blinks at him. "You tried to get a hold of me? Why?"
Adam smiles, a little crooked. "I liked your music. And what's the point of being famous if you can't meet the people you like?"
And maybe Kris lets his guard down a little more after that, but he'll never admit it, and it doesn't matter anyway.
---
After a few months Amy's protests die down. Instead, she settles into damage control, trying to convince reporters and fans of the truth: the relationship is strictly platonic, Kris is not seeing anyone right now.
Kris would never want her job.
They're laughing over something in the tabloids, one of the cheap newsprint ones in black and white with alien babies on the cover, this one proclaiming that Adam and Kris are secretly married and Adam's expecting, when Kris looks up at Adam and asks, "Why am I not your type?"
It's forgivable if Adam doesn't follow the change in topic, staring up at him. Kris doubts he remembers the quote from months ago, back at the very beginning, when he told nosy reporters outside of a grocery store that Kris wasn't the type he'd go for.
He elaborates. "You said once that I wasn't your type. Why not?"
Adam raises his eyebrows. "Maybe because you're straight."
Kris rolls the magazine up in his hands. "But you've told me a couple times about sleeping with straight boys. You've done it at least a couple of times."
"What about because we're friends?"
Twisting his hands sharply, Kris says, "You've told me about sleeping with them, too." Adam tended to fully disclose, even when it really wasn't necessary.
Adam frowns at him, and Kris focuses on a piece of his hair across his forehead. "Kris. Are you trying to argue me into trying to sleep with you?"
And Kris blinks, because yeah, maybe he is. He shrugs at Adam, at himself, and leans forward to kiss him clumsily, crumpling the tabloid between them. He half falls until Adam grabs his shoulders, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the sun through his living room windows. Adam's laughing against his mouth and that's okay; Kris will let him get away with it this time.
---