FIC: Wrecking Force (In Me)
Title: Wrecking Force (In Me)
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Rating: Light R
Word Count: 11,500
Summary: Kris is hopelessly in love with Adam, but Adam has other plans in mind.
Notes: This is my first long, career-focused futurefic, and it's a bit darker than people might expect. Emo Kris is emo. You'll have to suspend your disbelief a little at the way I've arranged the time-line. Also - I'm totally crossing off the "jealous" prompt for kradingo .
In Kris' dream, he's floating.
x
In Kris’ dream, he’s floating.
But it’s not a good kind of floating; it’s induced, it’s manufactured. People surround him, all in masks, illuminated by the green-blue of fluorescent hospital lighting. But it’s still so dark. He can barely open his eyes. His entire body is numb.
He blinks and the people are gone, save for one, jesus, it would be Adam, sitting there all dramatic with hooded eyes and tears and prayers that don’t quite make it into Kris’ understanding. He must be pretty hurt for Adam to resort to prayer, but he’s not dying for God’s sake.
He blinks again and Adam is gone. The floating feeling returns, only it’s warm this time, warm and pleasantly suffocating. It’s nice to be alone, but there’s a hole in the air where Adam was, and when he reaches out to touch it, the air is solid and his fingers connect with nothing.
He wakes up cold in a hotel room and can’t remember where he is for a moment, but that’s not unusual. His palms are sweaty and he rubs them on his cheeks to calm himself.
It doesn’t take long to feel sleepy again, comforting himself with the knowledge that no, he’s not dying, not yet anyway, and he never remembers his dreams - the unease he only faces when he’s asleep.
And he’s right. He doesn’t remember the dream for a very long time.
x
Kris gets the call at eleven PM.
“Hey, it’s Adam. Don’t come to my party, okay?”
Kris freezes in the middle of pulling on his jeans. “What?”
“They think we’re real. People think we’re real.”
“Huh?”
“Kradam. You and me. Real.”
A couple of seconds pulse by, and “Oh.” Kris catches on. “Wait, but... People’ve always thought that.”
“Yeah, but like,” and Kris can hear the wheels in Adam’s brain turning, “they’re fucking serious. I found some websites, and I thought, well, that crush thing, it’s totally blown over, no big deal anymore, but it’s not, it’s worse.”
Kris collapses into one of the uncomfortable chairs in his hotel room, and thinks, this could get awkward quickly. “I, uh, well. I don’t know why you’re suddenly freaking out. Because it’s always been like this. With us.”
He listens to Adam breathe a little more and then adds, “I don’t think anyone’s really serious. You need to calm down.”
“I just,” Adam pauses to sigh dramatically, “I’m worried about your career. This speculation could hurt you.”
“So you think I shouldn’t come to your birthday party because of this bullshit.”
“They think you and Katy are having problems, which, I mean, ridiculous.”
And that, obviously, hits Kris like a punch to the chest. He forces out a little laugh, though, that he hopes Adam doesn’t notice is higher-pitched than usual. “Yeah. Ridiculous.”
“Okay, so no more sex jokes, alright? No more eating out, no more hugs, no more flirty-ness on twitter, no more bubbletweets - ”
“That was ages ago - ”
“And you’re not coming.”
Adam’s tone makes Kris feel like a little boy again, not invited to the popular kid’s party.
“It won’t be that fun anyway,” Adam amends, as though this will somehow help. “And maybe we can get lunch tomorrow? In my house so - ”
“So no one sees us? Yeah, alright, Adam. Whatever. See you then. And happy fucking birthday.”
Kris slams the phone down and sucks in a huge breath to stop his eyes from watering. He’s never talked to Adam that way. Ever.
And yet while something about it is liberating, another part of him hates to hurt Adam, even though Adam’s hurt Kris more times than he can count. This time is just happening to hit him especially hard.
The text he receives a minute later doesn’t improve things:
You’re kind of a tease sometimes, you can’t help it! Not your fault. Just tone it down.
Kris deletes it.
Because the remarkable thing about Adam is that he understands Kris in every way, really, it’s scary. But this... this he’s got completely, entirely, utterly wrong.
x
Adam has attempted some sort of meal by the time Kris shows up in his kitchen the next day and it’s so atrocious that Kris’ first comment is “You might as well have dyed it blue.”
Adam glances down at the very poorly constructed orange-chicken thing, then back up. “What?”
“You know,” says Kris, feeling at ease despite his extremely weird statement. “Bridget Jones. Blue soup.”
Normally that would have had Adam doubled over laughing, but instead his eyebrows kind of come together and he says, “You’ve seen that?”
Kris shrugs. “It was on TV once and I was bored.”
“You mean Katy didn’t make you watch it?”
“No.”
“Oh,” says Adam, lifting a piece of chicken with his fork and watching the orange juice he must have inexplicably poured on it drip off. Kris is nauseated at the sight of it.
The silence twists in his gut and it’s so, so uncomfortable.
After a moment of picking at overcooked peas, Kris just has to come out with it.
“So, you going to apologize to me for the de-invitation?”
Adam puts down his fork. “I told you my reasons for that already, your career for god’s sake, and it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Maybe it would be better for us both to try and separate from American Idol a little more.”
Kris narrows his eyes. “By separating from each other?”
Adam’s eyes are sad but he doesn’t deny it. “We’re still spending time together, right?”
“In your house eating food made by you.”
“Why are you so angry about this?” and it’s that that pisses Kris off. Adam really is a dumb-ass. Clueless and stupid.
“Because, Adam, it kind of hurts to know you’re so repulsed by the mere suggestion of us being together that you won’t even let us be seen in public.”
Adam freezes, his mouth opening and closing a few times. His eyes are huge. “That’s not what I... that’s not at all...”
“What?” Kris spits out, surprising himself with his own cruelty. But Adam’s cruelty has always far outweighed his own, however inadvertent it was.
“I just,” Adams says delicately, “don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea,” Kris repeats, the words sinking low, low, low in his stomach. “Okay,” he chokes out. “I see.”
Adam stares at him, hard, across the too-big dark-wood table, realization dawning in his eyes. “Am I reading this right?” he says slowly. “Are you... do you have feelings for me?”
Kris stands up. He can’t. He really, really can’t.
“Keep in touch,” he says, and stalks out of the room, out of the house, and out of Adam’s life, struck by the knowledge that their friendship has just changed for good.
x
Kris makes things work. It’s what he’s good at. He starts off slow and then surprises everyone.
In this case, it’s the media that’s surprised by the solidity of Kris and Katy’s marriage. Rumors fly around for months, shots of Katy vacationing alone without her ring, Kris on tour alone, again. They’re sure they’ll be an announcement of divorce any day now.
Kris wonders if maybe that’s part of the reason they stay together. To spite everyone. To prove something.
He doesn’t know what, though.
x
It always seems to start with a call, and it’s been over a year and a half since he’s received one from Adam. Kris has already decided to interpret the lack of communication as cold, hard rejection.
“You still in love with me?”
Kris barely blinks, though he presses the phone a little harder to his ear and turns down the TV. “Who said I was in love with you?”
It’s like they never stopped speaking, already at each other’s throats. It’s still weird to Kris, even though it’s been a year since either has initiated anything more than a text, these harsh words pouring out with ease. They were never like that on tour, or in the mansion, always getting along obscenely well. Kris has wondered more than once if it’s the constant separation that makes it difficult. Like they only work when they’re together, or something.
But that’s definitely not a healthy thought.
“And that’s rich,” Kris continues, “assuming I would still have feelings for you over a year later when I have a wife. I don’t pine.”
And he berates himself for giving away the part about the feelings.
“Speaking of that wife,” Adam cuts in with an infuriating, airy tone, “how are things with Katy?”
“Oh, finally time to catch up, is it? After all this time never calling?”
“You never called either,” says Adam.
Kris can’t really argue with that. Instead he says, “Your album’s out pretty soon,” which is an understatement. He can barely move for hype; it seems every channel Kris turns to is featuring an interview, a performance, a discussion about Adam Lambert. And his plan did work - not one of them prefaces his name with “American Idol Alum” anymore.
“Yeah, well. What about yours?”
Kris’ stomach clenches. “I, um. It’s... it’s coming along.”
“Those rumors about fights with your management - ”
“I see you’ve been keeping up with me,” Kris snaps.
“They true?”
Kris clears his throat, but the truth comes out anyway. “I don’t like it,” he breathes, aware of his sudden pounding heart. “The album. I just... none of the material... it... it really kind of sucks. In fact, I think I hate it.”
The silence that follows is expected, but then Adam says, unexpectedly, “Can I hear it?”
Kris splutters out a couple of nonsense vowels, and then hears a commotion on the other end of the line. Adam continues with urgency, “Where are you? Kris, did you hear me?”
“I’m in my house but,” and Kris struggles to think of some reason why they can’t do this, “but, I mean, are you even in L.A.?”
“No, but I’m going to my computer now. Send me the files.”
“Adam, I really think this is unnecessary - ”
“I’ll call you back with my thoughts,” Adam says, and hangs up.
Kris really has no idea how he let the conversation fall so out of his control. No matter what he does, how mean or nasty or domineering he tries to be, Adam always somehow takes the lead, gets what he wants. Even after all these months, they follow the formula, slot right back into place.
But Kris doesn’t even consider disobeying. After all this time, there’s only one opinion he’ll listen to and trust - and it’s not his record label’s, not his producers’, not even his own wife’s.
He scrabbles for his laptop and opens his email. He searches for Adam’s private address, attaches each mp3, and sends. And then he waits.
Waits, waits, waits. A term he has come to associate with Adam.
His phone finally buzzes when he’s in the shower and he’s so nervous the bar of soap slips out of his hand onto his foot. He hops out, throws a towel around his waist, grabs the phone off the pretty pink marble counter, and sits on the toilet.
“Was worried you weren’t going to pick up for a minute,” Adam says with a significant edge to his voice that makes Kris even more anxious.
He lets out a shaky sigh. “So?”
“You’re right,” says Adam.
“Right?”
“Yeah. It sucks.”
Suddenly the steam in the room is suffocating.
“One hundred percent,” Adam continues. “Those fights, I mean, god. Did you win any of them? Jesus. It’s like... everything was done for you. Wasn’t it supposed to get better with the second album? Not the other way around? Weren’t you supposed to get more freedom?”
Kris can barely breathe. Adam sounds almost... angry.
“It’s not you at all. How much of this did you write? What producers were involved? I just, I’m so... damn. A waste. Not you at all.”
Kris finally unsticks his throat and grumbles, “I don’t know whether that’s supposed to be a compliment.”
“I don’t know either,” Adam says. “I mean, yeah, because you really should have written it. All of it. How did you let this happen?”
Kris lets his head fall into his hands, phone pressed almost painfully hard to his ear. Adam’s honesty has always been brutal, but it’s even worse when he’s right on the money.
Kris takes several huge, gulping breaths, but that doesn’t push down the lump in his throat. The walls are closing in. On his career, on his marriage, all of it. Suffocating. Or already suffocated. And it’s his damn fault, another failure of an idol. He doesn’t know whether to tell Adam it’s all because of him, this complete tanking of Kris’ life. Adam stepped in, took over, changed Kris’ life, and then stepped out again, and maybe Kris just wasn’t strong enough to handle something like that. Someone so larger than life, without whom Kris forgot about work, forgot about everything. This has happened before; it’s his tendency. To just go through the motions when nothing seems to drive itself anymore. To let it all happen.
But then again he always tries to blame everything on Adam.
“Kris? Honey?”
He used to hate it when Adam called him honey, but now it makes him want to fall apart.
“Yeah?” he whispers back, voice cracking a little.
“It’s okay, you know. It’s not the end of the world. You can tell them to fuck off. Start over. Write everything. I think you should.”
Kris nods, forgetting or not caring that Adam can’t see him.
“Okay,” Adam says, like he knows. “Now go write.”
Kris hangs up, tosses the phone on the counter. Katy still isn’t back, and come to think of it, he isn’t even sure where she’s been all day.
All the better, though. He needs to concentrate.
x
A blur.
He barely speaks to anyone, not family, hardly any friends, his wife even less than usual and never Adam. And yet the fact that Adam doesn’t call him during the whirlwind of inspiration that is the next few months is almost comforting - like he knows Kris wouldn’t want to be distracted.
Katy supports him in her consistent, vague way, seeming to enjoy the fact that Kris is home a lot more locking himself in rooms to write while she’s the one out accomplishing something. Commercials, mainly, but she’s making money and that’s a step up.
She also doesn’t seem to mind that not one of the new songs is about her. Kris can tell she knows; she’s not stupid.
He writes all the way through the winter, and by April he has fourteen demos, all of which are nothing - absolutely nothing - like his label’s attempt at a second album.
He stares at his computer screen for over an hour before he manages to send out the files: one set to 19, the other to Adam.
An hour later his PA calls him in tears, and he’s in the studio the next day.
The entire Kris Allen team is split; half are still pissed he dumped all the other material and threaten being discouraged altogether about keeping him on the label. The other says it’s the best work he’s ever done.
Nonetheless, they seem to have no choice but to risk it and invest their money in a new album, and accordingly Kris throws himself head-first into work.
It’s nice to be busy, to be proud of what he’s doing again, but none of it has really solved anything like Adam seemed to think it would.
Maybe that’s because Adam doesn’t email him back.
x
The album does well. Really well.
So well, he makes it to the Grammys that year. The downside is, so does Adam. Strutting all over the fucking place with a new piece of arm candy. Kris feels sick at the sight of it, at the sight of him all happy and radiant.
Kris trusts his instincts, though, when it comes to Adam, and his instincts tell him that the radiance is just Hollywood. And Adam is damn good at it.
He whispers this to Katy, who shushes him, still disappointed that they’re not really friends anymore. She and Adam used to love each other. Besides, she lives for award ceremonies and she looks beautiful tonight. She doesn’t want to feel anything but glamorous joy. It’s her perk for being his wife, she says, but Kris hates that because he knows she means it.
The weird thing is, Kris wins. He beats Adam, whose reaction smile is so wonderfully rehearsed up on the big screen.
It’s what he’s thinking about when he kisses his beaming wife and starts the walk up to the podium. The backlash of this should be interesting, all the questions he’s going to have to answer about being the unexpected number one, again. It’s weird, but Kris wonders more than once whether it’d be better to be number two, where he belongs, rather than everyone saying he doesn’t deserve to be the best.
“I don’t have a speech,” he says into the microphone, hearing himself echoing everywhere in the huge theater. “This is... unexpected. Amazing.”
There are a few cheers. He does the obvious, thanks his label and producers, his family, his friends. It goes quickly and he still has time.
“There is one last person I kind of have to thank,” Kris says, speech halting. “He pretty much single-handedly caused me to rewrite the entire thing all myself, and... I don’t think I would’ve had the confidence to do it if it weren’t for him. He should’ve beat me tonight, I think, and probably one other time, too.”
The background music cuts through the shocked silence.
“Thank you again, this is unbelievable,” he says, and lifts his Grammy as he walks off the stage.
Katy is so happy when he greets her a few minutes later, smile brilliant and completely unaware that he’s going to break her heart in not very long.
Kris isn’t sure when he made the decision. Something about the awards spurred him on. Wins and losses, along those lines.
They get home early from the after parties (during which Kris mainly focused on avoiding Adam, which wasn’t actually that difficult), and Kris holes up in the bathroom with his laptop, still in his suit, to watch gay porn for about twenty minutes. Just to make sure.
He almost wants to throw up when he enters the bedroom to find Katy, hair still perfect, so blissfully happy.
“Why didn’t you tell me Adam was the one who inspired you?” she asks, patting the space next to her on the bed. Well, it’s a good place to start, at least.
“There’s a lot of things I haven’t told you,” he says, climbing in, taking her hand.
Her face changes, and Kris thinks she gets what’s about to happen, right there.
x
It’s not easy. In fact it’s probably even harder than he thought it would be. Their families are so intertwined by now that prying them apart is pretty much impossible, and that makes it all the more awkward. But it does mean, possibly, that after a while they’ll be friends again.
They both cried that night, fell asleep together for the last time. When he woke, she was gone, and he tried very hard not to crumble, especially by himself, so pathetic. But when he failed, he told himself it was alright; just once, you’re allowed to cry alone in the ruins of one love and in the battlefield of another.
After that day he keeps it together. The divorce was a long time coming, and there were a lot of reasons for it.
The media has never been so in love with Kris Allen.
“It’s because you’re interesting now,” Cale tells him before they go on Ellen. “You win a Grammy, reignite Kradam, and get divorced all in one go! What’s not to love?”
Kris shrugs. He hadn’t meant any of that, and he repeats this statement in every interview his people make him do. Good for his profile, or something.
So you’re divorced now.
Yeah. Honestly, I would argue that it’s not really everyone’s business, but in this case I can say that our reasons aren’t really concrete enough to be sensationalized anyway. Relationships are complicated as people, and sometimes things happen for more than one reason, or it’s just a feeling, and really I’m not gonna bore people with that. I can tell you no one cheated. I’ll put that to bed, at least.
Your reference to Adam Lambert in your Grammy speech came as a surprise to some people.
I wasn’t gonna not mention it because it might be surprising. I’m not gonna not thank him. What I said was the truth, and people have speculated that we’re enemies now, or some bull but that’s ridiculous. We... we keep in touch.
And it’s always that part which trips him up, when he’s forced to describe their relationship in one way or another. As well rehearsed and eloquent as his other sound-bytes manage to be for once, that one never quite finds its formula and people probably notice. Any speculation never makes it to his ears, though, thank god. He’s not sure he could handle it.
He and Adam never make contact, despite how many questions they field about one other daily. Kris knows this because he’s an idiot and when he can’t sleep at night (it’s weird without a body next to him) he pulls out his laptop and watches Adam interviews like an obsessed teenage girl.
It’s not even really about the feelings, which are, unfortunately, still present, however repressed. It’s more about the emptiness, and the non-relationship they have. Even when they’re not speaking, they’re in each other’s lives more than Kris’ closest friends, and that’s... unusual. Fascinating. Watching videos of Adam - hearing his voice, his laugh, seeing his smile - is his only way of filling that void.
The not speaking thing lasts for three more months following the Grammys, coming to an end in May, at which time Kris is home in LA working on his first legitimate, large-scale solo tour.
Kris is sleeping on top of his phone - a terrible, terrible habit - when it buzzes against his stomach, jerking him from his light sleep. It buzzes more than once, which means it’s probably his PA because she’s the only one who never texts.
But the phone beams Adam Lambert with the silly wide-eyed picture of him Kris took during the idol tour and his heart stops.
“You realize what time it is?” Kris answers with a drowsy tone that’s entirely fabricated.
“No, not really. I’m not in the States at the moment, couldn’t be bothered to calculate.”
“Where are you?”
“In bed in a hotel.”
It isn’t what Kris meant, but he’ll take it. “Well, I’m in bed too, obviously, as it’s, what, four thirty?”
Adam lets a few seconds go, and then he says, oh so smug, “So, how those feelings for me going?”
“Nonexistent,” Kris snaps.
Adam doesn’t fight the response, but Kris can hear his doubtful smirk. “We’re doing a pretty shit job of disassociating from each other, aren’t we?” he says instead.
Kris considers this; it’s exactly what he’s been thinking. He can tell by the questions he’s asked in interviews that American Idol is back in people’s minds again. “I guess, yeah, we really are,” he says.
“Though I did appreciate the Grammy nod.”
Kris doesn’t say anything. It is about time they mentioned it.
“I always laugh when you say ‘we keep in touch.’”
Kris freezes for a moment, and then tosses away his blankets in shock. “You watch interviews of me?”
“Of course,” says Adam as though this should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Gotta keep tabs on the other half of Kradam.”
“I don’t understand you,” says Kris, annoyance deepening into anger. “We don’t speak for over a year and then you call me up to taunt me. And then you act like we’re best friends and change my career and then we don’t speak again for even longer, and then you call me now, completely fucking out of the blue - ”
“Kris - ”
“No, let me say this. I’m sick of always chasing after you, waiting for you, everything. You don’t get to dictate when you’re in my life and when you’re not.”
“Kris, I’m always in your life. That’s the point.”
That calms him down a little, because Adam’s right: it really is the point.
“You’re ridiculous,” Kris says weakly.
“I know,” Adam says. “That’s why you’re in love with me.”
It’s fucking four in the morning and Kris just doesn’t have the energy. “Whatever you want to believe,” he says.
Adam laughs. They’re both perfectly aware that Adam’s beliefs are usually the truth, or at least they become truth if he wills hard enough.
They hang up. Kris realizes they never once touched on the divorce, nor did he find out why Adam called in the first place. Maybe it was just for the pure sake of being insufferably jarring. Kris wouldn’t be surprised.
x
He meets Dominic at a Starbucks on the Boston tour stop.
He’s carrying a latte he’s planning to bring to soundcheck when a red-haired guy turns sharply and tips Kris’ drink all over his jeans.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry, can I please buy you a new one?”
The guy starts using a hand-knitted rainbow scarf to pat Kris down, but freezes once he sees Kris’ face. “Though I’d buy Kris Allen one even if I didn’t just ruin his day, so maybe I should get you two?”
Kris grins, liking him instantly.
They get to talking about anything and everything over their three lattes, especially music; their tastes are strikingly similar, and at one point Dominic pulls out his laptop to start putting together a “K-Allen” playlist. Needless to say, Kris is late to soundcheck.
He invites Dominic backstage that night, and ends up bringing him on the tour bus. He kind of never leaves.
When they kissed that night, it was nice to know that yeah, Kris can like guys other than Adam. Attraction to men is a real, tangible part of him, liberating and permanent.
And the thing is, it works. Dominic is a designer, does all his web work from his computer, free to travel and free to accompany Kris. He’s nice, he’s adorable and hilarious, very low-key, and good-looking in a way that Kris might not have noticed at first but definitely does now. Plus, he gets along great with the band and everyone, so Kris sees no reason for Dominic to leave, not when they make each other happy.
Adam isn’t a reason.
Adam, who made fun of Cale’s beard and their little kid fans and took up so much space on the Idol bus it was insane. Kris used to find it endearing, but he’s realizing more and more just how different they really are.
The media doesn’t pick up on Dom for a few months, and by then their relationship has made the unexpected slide into serious, unshakeable by a mere headline or two.
Is KRIS ALLEN gay? Is KRIS ALLEN in a new relationship -- with a man?
These are accompanied by numerous pictures of Dom and Kris huddling close heading in and out of various Starbucks (they’re kind of attached), and one particularly notable shot of a distinct handhold out on a bench by the tour bus.
“Maybe you should make a statement,” Dom suggests on a Tuesday, sitting cross-legged on the end of Kris’ bunk, twisting his fingers together.
As comfortable with the limelight as Dominic claims to be, Kris knows going that far would be pushing it. So he just shakes his head and knocks his shoulder against Dom’s, whose lips curve into a fond smile.
When the press asks him about it, Kris denies nothing but offers nothing either, reminding himself unavoidably of Adam’s strategy on Idol. The media eats it up, as it only adds to Kris’ “mystery” as Cale puts it.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever be as famous as Adam, though. Adam is everywhere, his image and voice providing a thousand daily shocks to Kris’ system, a constant test of his will to move on.
Kris’ subscription to Rolling Stone is particularly damning. Those fuckers were always obsessed with the modern day glam rocker, and it’s painful how his heart still flips when Dominic tosses the latest edition on his Chinese takeout.
“Look who it is,” Dom says cheerfully, throwing himself on the dressing room couch next to Kris. “Your old pal.”
Kris merely grunts and pushes it away.
Dom takes it back, holding it close to his face. “Like his image needs any more sexing up.”
Kris can’t help it; he puts down his fork and looks. Adam’s shirtless - gotta be a big deal for him, Kris knows how self conscious he is - except for a microphone cord wrapped all around his body hundreds of times, winding between his leather-clad legs and up his arms. It must have taken hours. His smoky, heavy-lidded eyes are closed in ecstasy, hidden behind purple hair that’s hanging in his face, and his mouth... his mouth is open and wet, tongue just barely brushing the mic like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
The cover line reads, For Lambert, fame is delicious.
Kris is instantly hard.
“Whatever happened to you two again?” Dominic asks, so casual, like no time has passed and nothing has changed.
Kris clears his throat. “He can be... kind of an asshole. We drifted apart.”
“Never seemed like it in interviews,” Dom says, shrugging and flipping to the accompanying article. “Always seemed really sweet. Not that I’ve seen many or anything. I mean, I watched Idol your year because my mom did,” he adds in a rush.
Kris frowns around his bite of noodles. Dom can be a bit pretentious sometimes, which is weird since he’s dating a past American Idol. But Kris doesn’t dwell on it. It’s nice to be able to talk to someone who really cares about music, someone who’s down-to-earth and doesn’t go all starry-eyed at Kris’ ridiculous life.
“Wanna show me what you were working on last night?” Dom says, playing with the edge of Kris’ t-shirt.
Kris takes a few deep breaths, just to test whether his hard-on has any chance of going away. But his jeans are uncomfortable and his breathing is uneven, and not in the way Dom could fix. Kris can’t trust himself right now. Who knows what he might end up saying if he asked Dom for a blow job or something.
“I’m kinda feeling off right now,” he says carefully, eyes lowered to hide what might be in them. “Think I’m gonna take a shower, but after?”
Dom lets go of Kris’ shirt and gives a small smile. “Sure. Come get me when you’re ready.”
Dom doesn’t notice that the magazine disappears that day, or if he does, he never mentions it.
x
Kris straightens his tie, eyeing his reflection in the car window. He looks alright, the same as usual. But he’s nervous, because Adam is probably going to look amazing.
The AMAs that year is the first event Kris and Adam will both attend since the Grammys, the first time they’ll be in the same room since Kris’ infamous speech. He doesn’t know how he’ll feel.
He steps out of his car to a barrage of lights and questions.
Thankfully, the interviewer is tasteful. “A lot of people have been speculating about you lately,” she says, turning to the camera which is broadcasting from the red carpet live.
“Let them speculate,” Kris says, smiling.
“You’re a great example that all press is great press, as your tour was almost sold out if I’m correct?” Kris nods. “And your album continues to do fantastically well. Who will you thank if your latest single wins tonight?”
Adam enters Kris’ line of sight at the worst moment possible. His hair is slicked but a few strands fall, loose and artful, around his cheekbones. His suit is trim and shining silver. His eyes are done the same way as they were for the Rolling Stone cover.
“Somehow I don’t think I’m going to win,” Kris says, voice cracking.
“Speaking of Adam Lambert - ” the interviewer says, and, jesus christ, no, pulls Adam into the camera’s view.
“We’re speaking of me?” Adam aims his Hollywood smile right at Kris. “How are you, Jenna?” he adds, moving in to kiss the interviewer on the cheek. Kris feels sick to his stomach.
Every camera in a thirty foot radius is on them, now, flashbulbs relentless. The media has been trying to get them in the same shot for months.
“The winner and the runner-up, reunited!” Jenny or whatever her name is declares. “Adam, is it nice to see Kris again?”
Adam slides a hand to Kris’ lower back, presses there lightly. “We never see each other. It’s amazing. Right, Kris?”
Kris’ Hollywood smile is better than it used to be. “Yeah, it’s awesome.”
The conversation lasts maybe a minute or two more, Kris barely remembers, and he bolts right after he gets the go-ahead, speeding through the rest of the carpet as quickly as is acceptable and darting to his seat.
He’s one of the first people in the theater, and he closes his eyes for a moment, breathing hard.
A hand lands on his wrist. Kris closes his eyes even tighter.
“Let’s go get a drink.”
Kris shakes his head at the voice. Maybe if he wills hard enough it’ll go away.
“Kris, c’mon.”
The hand tugs, persistent, and Kris lets himself be dragged up. He wrenches away from Adam’s grip and follows, not wanting to cause a scene.
Adam turns to him at the bar, leaning against it casually. “So you have a boyfriend, or what?”
Kris glares at him. “We’re not gonna talk about this here.”
“No denial,” Adam drawls. “Interesting.”
“What do you want?” Kris asks, defeated.
Adam looks at him for a moment, but then the bartender comes over and Adam takes his time ordering them drinks. Once he’s sipping away at his vodka, he says, “He’s not cute enough for you, Kris.”
Kris slams his drink on the sleek dark wood of the bar. “Dom is amazing, thank you very much. He’s sweet, and funny, gorgeous, and like me in a lot of ways. We’re compatible.”
Adam’s grimace is ugly. “Well if Dom’s so amazing, why isn’t he here with you?”
Kris chokes a little on his vodka, which is disgusting. “A lot of reasons, none of which have to do with you. Some people aren’t fame whores. Some people don’t feel the need to show off their relationships everywhere they go. Some people - ”
“Aren’t ready to come out of the closest.”
A few seconds of ringing silence. Kris knows Adam’s not talking about Dom. Adam doesn’t look triumphant, though. He looks... sad.
Kris gulps and says, “It was my choice for him not to come. And he listened because he cares about me.”
Adam’s tosses back the rest of his drink, eyes wide. “I care about - ”
“Don’t you fucking start,” Kris says, as close as he gets to menacing. “If you cared about me we wouldn’t be where we are.”
Adam stares at him, hard. “But that’s exactly why we’re where we are.”
Kris shuts his eyes again. He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand, what Adam wants, what he’s doing, what he’s still doing to Kris, every day.
“This needs to end,” Kris finds himself saying, clarity falling upon him. “There’s no reason. I can’t do this. You said you wanted distance, and it has to be all or nothing. I can’t take this in-between crap anymore.”
Adam opens his mouth like he’s going to protest.
“Don’t call me. Don’t try to change it. And remember it was your decision in the first place, not mine.”
He hands Adam his half-finished drink and stalks off, feeling oddly free.
Adam wins that night. He doesn’t thank Kris - why would he?
x
part two
Pairing: Kris/Adam
Rating: Light R
Word Count: 11,500
Summary: Kris is hopelessly in love with Adam, but Adam has other plans in mind.
Notes: This is my first long, career-focused futurefic, and it's a bit darker than people might expect. Emo Kris is emo. You'll have to suspend your disbelief a little at the way I've arranged the time-line. Also - I'm totally crossing off the "jealous" prompt for kradingo .
In Kris' dream, he's floating.
x
In Kris’ dream, he’s floating.
But it’s not a good kind of floating; it’s induced, it’s manufactured. People surround him, all in masks, illuminated by the green-blue of fluorescent hospital lighting. But it’s still so dark. He can barely open his eyes. His entire body is numb.
He blinks and the people are gone, save for one, jesus, it would be Adam, sitting there all dramatic with hooded eyes and tears and prayers that don’t quite make it into Kris’ understanding. He must be pretty hurt for Adam to resort to prayer, but he’s not dying for God’s sake.
He blinks again and Adam is gone. The floating feeling returns, only it’s warm this time, warm and pleasantly suffocating. It’s nice to be alone, but there’s a hole in the air where Adam was, and when he reaches out to touch it, the air is solid and his fingers connect with nothing.
He wakes up cold in a hotel room and can’t remember where he is for a moment, but that’s not unusual. His palms are sweaty and he rubs them on his cheeks to calm himself.
It doesn’t take long to feel sleepy again, comforting himself with the knowledge that no, he’s not dying, not yet anyway, and he never remembers his dreams - the unease he only faces when he’s asleep.
And he’s right. He doesn’t remember the dream for a very long time.
x
Kris gets the call at eleven PM.
“Hey, it’s Adam. Don’t come to my party, okay?”
Kris freezes in the middle of pulling on his jeans. “What?”
“They think we’re real. People think we’re real.”
“Huh?”
“Kradam. You and me. Real.”
A couple of seconds pulse by, and “Oh.” Kris catches on. “Wait, but... People’ve always thought that.”
“Yeah, but like,” and Kris can hear the wheels in Adam’s brain turning, “they’re fucking serious. I found some websites, and I thought, well, that crush thing, it’s totally blown over, no big deal anymore, but it’s not, it’s worse.”
Kris collapses into one of the uncomfortable chairs in his hotel room, and thinks, this could get awkward quickly. “I, uh, well. I don’t know why you’re suddenly freaking out. Because it’s always been like this. With us.”
He listens to Adam breathe a little more and then adds, “I don’t think anyone’s really serious. You need to calm down.”
“I just,” Adam pauses to sigh dramatically, “I’m worried about your career. This speculation could hurt you.”
“So you think I shouldn’t come to your birthday party because of this bullshit.”
“They think you and Katy are having problems, which, I mean, ridiculous.”
And that, obviously, hits Kris like a punch to the chest. He forces out a little laugh, though, that he hopes Adam doesn’t notice is higher-pitched than usual. “Yeah. Ridiculous.”
“Okay, so no more sex jokes, alright? No more eating out, no more hugs, no more flirty-ness on twitter, no more bubbletweets - ”
“That was ages ago - ”
“And you’re not coming.”
Adam’s tone makes Kris feel like a little boy again, not invited to the popular kid’s party.
“It won’t be that fun anyway,” Adam amends, as though this will somehow help. “And maybe we can get lunch tomorrow? In my house so - ”
“So no one sees us? Yeah, alright, Adam. Whatever. See you then. And happy fucking birthday.”
Kris slams the phone down and sucks in a huge breath to stop his eyes from watering. He’s never talked to Adam that way. Ever.
And yet while something about it is liberating, another part of him hates to hurt Adam, even though Adam’s hurt Kris more times than he can count. This time is just happening to hit him especially hard.
The text he receives a minute later doesn’t improve things:
You’re kind of a tease sometimes, you can’t help it! Not your fault. Just tone it down.
Kris deletes it.
Because the remarkable thing about Adam is that he understands Kris in every way, really, it’s scary. But this... this he’s got completely, entirely, utterly wrong.
x
Adam has attempted some sort of meal by the time Kris shows up in his kitchen the next day and it’s so atrocious that Kris’ first comment is “You might as well have dyed it blue.”
Adam glances down at the very poorly constructed orange-chicken thing, then back up. “What?”
“You know,” says Kris, feeling at ease despite his extremely weird statement. “Bridget Jones. Blue soup.”
Normally that would have had Adam doubled over laughing, but instead his eyebrows kind of come together and he says, “You’ve seen that?”
Kris shrugs. “It was on TV once and I was bored.”
“You mean Katy didn’t make you watch it?”
“No.”
“Oh,” says Adam, lifting a piece of chicken with his fork and watching the orange juice he must have inexplicably poured on it drip off. Kris is nauseated at the sight of it.
The silence twists in his gut and it’s so, so uncomfortable.
After a moment of picking at overcooked peas, Kris just has to come out with it.
“So, you going to apologize to me for the de-invitation?”
Adam puts down his fork. “I told you my reasons for that already, your career for god’s sake, and it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Maybe it would be better for us both to try and separate from American Idol a little more.”
Kris narrows his eyes. “By separating from each other?”
Adam’s eyes are sad but he doesn’t deny it. “We’re still spending time together, right?”
“In your house eating food made by you.”
“Why are you so angry about this?” and it’s that that pisses Kris off. Adam really is a dumb-ass. Clueless and stupid.
“Because, Adam, it kind of hurts to know you’re so repulsed by the mere suggestion of us being together that you won’t even let us be seen in public.”
Adam freezes, his mouth opening and closing a few times. His eyes are huge. “That’s not what I... that’s not at all...”
“What?” Kris spits out, surprising himself with his own cruelty. But Adam’s cruelty has always far outweighed his own, however inadvertent it was.
“I just,” Adams says delicately, “don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea,” Kris repeats, the words sinking low, low, low in his stomach. “Okay,” he chokes out. “I see.”
Adam stares at him, hard, across the too-big dark-wood table, realization dawning in his eyes. “Am I reading this right?” he says slowly. “Are you... do you have feelings for me?”
Kris stands up. He can’t. He really, really can’t.
“Keep in touch,” he says, and stalks out of the room, out of the house, and out of Adam’s life, struck by the knowledge that their friendship has just changed for good.
x
Kris makes things work. It’s what he’s good at. He starts off slow and then surprises everyone.
In this case, it’s the media that’s surprised by the solidity of Kris and Katy’s marriage. Rumors fly around for months, shots of Katy vacationing alone without her ring, Kris on tour alone, again. They’re sure they’ll be an announcement of divorce any day now.
Kris wonders if maybe that’s part of the reason they stay together. To spite everyone. To prove something.
He doesn’t know what, though.
x
It always seems to start with a call, and it’s been over a year and a half since he’s received one from Adam. Kris has already decided to interpret the lack of communication as cold, hard rejection.
“You still in love with me?”
Kris barely blinks, though he presses the phone a little harder to his ear and turns down the TV. “Who said I was in love with you?”
It’s like they never stopped speaking, already at each other’s throats. It’s still weird to Kris, even though it’s been a year since either has initiated anything more than a text, these harsh words pouring out with ease. They were never like that on tour, or in the mansion, always getting along obscenely well. Kris has wondered more than once if it’s the constant separation that makes it difficult. Like they only work when they’re together, or something.
But that’s definitely not a healthy thought.
“And that’s rich,” Kris continues, “assuming I would still have feelings for you over a year later when I have a wife. I don’t pine.”
And he berates himself for giving away the part about the feelings.
“Speaking of that wife,” Adam cuts in with an infuriating, airy tone, “how are things with Katy?”
“Oh, finally time to catch up, is it? After all this time never calling?”
“You never called either,” says Adam.
Kris can’t really argue with that. Instead he says, “Your album’s out pretty soon,” which is an understatement. He can barely move for hype; it seems every channel Kris turns to is featuring an interview, a performance, a discussion about Adam Lambert. And his plan did work - not one of them prefaces his name with “American Idol Alum” anymore.
“Yeah, well. What about yours?”
Kris’ stomach clenches. “I, um. It’s... it’s coming along.”
“Those rumors about fights with your management - ”
“I see you’ve been keeping up with me,” Kris snaps.
“They true?”
Kris clears his throat, but the truth comes out anyway. “I don’t like it,” he breathes, aware of his sudden pounding heart. “The album. I just... none of the material... it... it really kind of sucks. In fact, I think I hate it.”
The silence that follows is expected, but then Adam says, unexpectedly, “Can I hear it?”
Kris splutters out a couple of nonsense vowels, and then hears a commotion on the other end of the line. Adam continues with urgency, “Where are you? Kris, did you hear me?”
“I’m in my house but,” and Kris struggles to think of some reason why they can’t do this, “but, I mean, are you even in L.A.?”
“No, but I’m going to my computer now. Send me the files.”
“Adam, I really think this is unnecessary - ”
“I’ll call you back with my thoughts,” Adam says, and hangs up.
Kris really has no idea how he let the conversation fall so out of his control. No matter what he does, how mean or nasty or domineering he tries to be, Adam always somehow takes the lead, gets what he wants. Even after all these months, they follow the formula, slot right back into place.
But Kris doesn’t even consider disobeying. After all this time, there’s only one opinion he’ll listen to and trust - and it’s not his record label’s, not his producers’, not even his own wife’s.
He scrabbles for his laptop and opens his email. He searches for Adam’s private address, attaches each mp3, and sends. And then he waits.
Waits, waits, waits. A term he has come to associate with Adam.
His phone finally buzzes when he’s in the shower and he’s so nervous the bar of soap slips out of his hand onto his foot. He hops out, throws a towel around his waist, grabs the phone off the pretty pink marble counter, and sits on the toilet.
“Was worried you weren’t going to pick up for a minute,” Adam says with a significant edge to his voice that makes Kris even more anxious.
He lets out a shaky sigh. “So?”
“You’re right,” says Adam.
“Right?”
“Yeah. It sucks.”
Suddenly the steam in the room is suffocating.
“One hundred percent,” Adam continues. “Those fights, I mean, god. Did you win any of them? Jesus. It’s like... everything was done for you. Wasn’t it supposed to get better with the second album? Not the other way around? Weren’t you supposed to get more freedom?”
Kris can barely breathe. Adam sounds almost... angry.
“It’s not you at all. How much of this did you write? What producers were involved? I just, I’m so... damn. A waste. Not you at all.”
Kris finally unsticks his throat and grumbles, “I don’t know whether that’s supposed to be a compliment.”
“I don’t know either,” Adam says. “I mean, yeah, because you really should have written it. All of it. How did you let this happen?”
Kris lets his head fall into his hands, phone pressed almost painfully hard to his ear. Adam’s honesty has always been brutal, but it’s even worse when he’s right on the money.
Kris takes several huge, gulping breaths, but that doesn’t push down the lump in his throat. The walls are closing in. On his career, on his marriage, all of it. Suffocating. Or already suffocated. And it’s his damn fault, another failure of an idol. He doesn’t know whether to tell Adam it’s all because of him, this complete tanking of Kris’ life. Adam stepped in, took over, changed Kris’ life, and then stepped out again, and maybe Kris just wasn’t strong enough to handle something like that. Someone so larger than life, without whom Kris forgot about work, forgot about everything. This has happened before; it’s his tendency. To just go through the motions when nothing seems to drive itself anymore. To let it all happen.
But then again he always tries to blame everything on Adam.
“Kris? Honey?”
He used to hate it when Adam called him honey, but now it makes him want to fall apart.
“Yeah?” he whispers back, voice cracking a little.
“It’s okay, you know. It’s not the end of the world. You can tell them to fuck off. Start over. Write everything. I think you should.”
Kris nods, forgetting or not caring that Adam can’t see him.
“Okay,” Adam says, like he knows. “Now go write.”
Kris hangs up, tosses the phone on the counter. Katy still isn’t back, and come to think of it, he isn’t even sure where she’s been all day.
All the better, though. He needs to concentrate.
x
A blur.
He barely speaks to anyone, not family, hardly any friends, his wife even less than usual and never Adam. And yet the fact that Adam doesn’t call him during the whirlwind of inspiration that is the next few months is almost comforting - like he knows Kris wouldn’t want to be distracted.
Katy supports him in her consistent, vague way, seeming to enjoy the fact that Kris is home a lot more locking himself in rooms to write while she’s the one out accomplishing something. Commercials, mainly, but she’s making money and that’s a step up.
She also doesn’t seem to mind that not one of the new songs is about her. Kris can tell she knows; she’s not stupid.
He writes all the way through the winter, and by April he has fourteen demos, all of which are nothing - absolutely nothing - like his label’s attempt at a second album.
He stares at his computer screen for over an hour before he manages to send out the files: one set to 19, the other to Adam.
An hour later his PA calls him in tears, and he’s in the studio the next day.
The entire Kris Allen team is split; half are still pissed he dumped all the other material and threaten being discouraged altogether about keeping him on the label. The other says it’s the best work he’s ever done.
Nonetheless, they seem to have no choice but to risk it and invest their money in a new album, and accordingly Kris throws himself head-first into work.
It’s nice to be busy, to be proud of what he’s doing again, but none of it has really solved anything like Adam seemed to think it would.
Maybe that’s because Adam doesn’t email him back.
x
The album does well. Really well.
So well, he makes it to the Grammys that year. The downside is, so does Adam. Strutting all over the fucking place with a new piece of arm candy. Kris feels sick at the sight of it, at the sight of him all happy and radiant.
Kris trusts his instincts, though, when it comes to Adam, and his instincts tell him that the radiance is just Hollywood. And Adam is damn good at it.
He whispers this to Katy, who shushes him, still disappointed that they’re not really friends anymore. She and Adam used to love each other. Besides, she lives for award ceremonies and she looks beautiful tonight. She doesn’t want to feel anything but glamorous joy. It’s her perk for being his wife, she says, but Kris hates that because he knows she means it.
The weird thing is, Kris wins. He beats Adam, whose reaction smile is so wonderfully rehearsed up on the big screen.
It’s what he’s thinking about when he kisses his beaming wife and starts the walk up to the podium. The backlash of this should be interesting, all the questions he’s going to have to answer about being the unexpected number one, again. It’s weird, but Kris wonders more than once whether it’d be better to be number two, where he belongs, rather than everyone saying he doesn’t deserve to be the best.
“I don’t have a speech,” he says into the microphone, hearing himself echoing everywhere in the huge theater. “This is... unexpected. Amazing.”
There are a few cheers. He does the obvious, thanks his label and producers, his family, his friends. It goes quickly and he still has time.
“There is one last person I kind of have to thank,” Kris says, speech halting. “He pretty much single-handedly caused me to rewrite the entire thing all myself, and... I don’t think I would’ve had the confidence to do it if it weren’t for him. He should’ve beat me tonight, I think, and probably one other time, too.”
The background music cuts through the shocked silence.
“Thank you again, this is unbelievable,” he says, and lifts his Grammy as he walks off the stage.
Katy is so happy when he greets her a few minutes later, smile brilliant and completely unaware that he’s going to break her heart in not very long.
Kris isn’t sure when he made the decision. Something about the awards spurred him on. Wins and losses, along those lines.
They get home early from the after parties (during which Kris mainly focused on avoiding Adam, which wasn’t actually that difficult), and Kris holes up in the bathroom with his laptop, still in his suit, to watch gay porn for about twenty minutes. Just to make sure.
He almost wants to throw up when he enters the bedroom to find Katy, hair still perfect, so blissfully happy.
“Why didn’t you tell me Adam was the one who inspired you?” she asks, patting the space next to her on the bed. Well, it’s a good place to start, at least.
“There’s a lot of things I haven’t told you,” he says, climbing in, taking her hand.
Her face changes, and Kris thinks she gets what’s about to happen, right there.
x
It’s not easy. In fact it’s probably even harder than he thought it would be. Their families are so intertwined by now that prying them apart is pretty much impossible, and that makes it all the more awkward. But it does mean, possibly, that after a while they’ll be friends again.
They both cried that night, fell asleep together for the last time. When he woke, she was gone, and he tried very hard not to crumble, especially by himself, so pathetic. But when he failed, he told himself it was alright; just once, you’re allowed to cry alone in the ruins of one love and in the battlefield of another.
After that day he keeps it together. The divorce was a long time coming, and there were a lot of reasons for it.
The media has never been so in love with Kris Allen.
“It’s because you’re interesting now,” Cale tells him before they go on Ellen. “You win a Grammy, reignite Kradam, and get divorced all in one go! What’s not to love?”
Kris shrugs. He hadn’t meant any of that, and he repeats this statement in every interview his people make him do. Good for his profile, or something.
So you’re divorced now.
Yeah. Honestly, I would argue that it’s not really everyone’s business, but in this case I can say that our reasons aren’t really concrete enough to be sensationalized anyway. Relationships are complicated as people, and sometimes things happen for more than one reason, or it’s just a feeling, and really I’m not gonna bore people with that. I can tell you no one cheated. I’ll put that to bed, at least.
Your reference to Adam Lambert in your Grammy speech came as a surprise to some people.
I wasn’t gonna not mention it because it might be surprising. I’m not gonna not thank him. What I said was the truth, and people have speculated that we’re enemies now, or some bull but that’s ridiculous. We... we keep in touch.
And it’s always that part which trips him up, when he’s forced to describe their relationship in one way or another. As well rehearsed and eloquent as his other sound-bytes manage to be for once, that one never quite finds its formula and people probably notice. Any speculation never makes it to his ears, though, thank god. He’s not sure he could handle it.
He and Adam never make contact, despite how many questions they field about one other daily. Kris knows this because he’s an idiot and when he can’t sleep at night (it’s weird without a body next to him) he pulls out his laptop and watches Adam interviews like an obsessed teenage girl.
It’s not even really about the feelings, which are, unfortunately, still present, however repressed. It’s more about the emptiness, and the non-relationship they have. Even when they’re not speaking, they’re in each other’s lives more than Kris’ closest friends, and that’s... unusual. Fascinating. Watching videos of Adam - hearing his voice, his laugh, seeing his smile - is his only way of filling that void.
The not speaking thing lasts for three more months following the Grammys, coming to an end in May, at which time Kris is home in LA working on his first legitimate, large-scale solo tour.
Kris is sleeping on top of his phone - a terrible, terrible habit - when it buzzes against his stomach, jerking him from his light sleep. It buzzes more than once, which means it’s probably his PA because she’s the only one who never texts.
But the phone beams Adam Lambert with the silly wide-eyed picture of him Kris took during the idol tour and his heart stops.
“You realize what time it is?” Kris answers with a drowsy tone that’s entirely fabricated.
“No, not really. I’m not in the States at the moment, couldn’t be bothered to calculate.”
“Where are you?”
“In bed in a hotel.”
It isn’t what Kris meant, but he’ll take it. “Well, I’m in bed too, obviously, as it’s, what, four thirty?”
Adam lets a few seconds go, and then he says, oh so smug, “So, how those feelings for me going?”
“Nonexistent,” Kris snaps.
Adam doesn’t fight the response, but Kris can hear his doubtful smirk. “We’re doing a pretty shit job of disassociating from each other, aren’t we?” he says instead.
Kris considers this; it’s exactly what he’s been thinking. He can tell by the questions he’s asked in interviews that American Idol is back in people’s minds again. “I guess, yeah, we really are,” he says.
“Though I did appreciate the Grammy nod.”
Kris doesn’t say anything. It is about time they mentioned it.
“I always laugh when you say ‘we keep in touch.’”
Kris freezes for a moment, and then tosses away his blankets in shock. “You watch interviews of me?”
“Of course,” says Adam as though this should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Gotta keep tabs on the other half of Kradam.”
“I don’t understand you,” says Kris, annoyance deepening into anger. “We don’t speak for over a year and then you call me up to taunt me. And then you act like we’re best friends and change my career and then we don’t speak again for even longer, and then you call me now, completely fucking out of the blue - ”
“Kris - ”
“No, let me say this. I’m sick of always chasing after you, waiting for you, everything. You don’t get to dictate when you’re in my life and when you’re not.”
“Kris, I’m always in your life. That’s the point.”
That calms him down a little, because Adam’s right: it really is the point.
“You’re ridiculous,” Kris says weakly.
“I know,” Adam says. “That’s why you’re in love with me.”
It’s fucking four in the morning and Kris just doesn’t have the energy. “Whatever you want to believe,” he says.
Adam laughs. They’re both perfectly aware that Adam’s beliefs are usually the truth, or at least they become truth if he wills hard enough.
They hang up. Kris realizes they never once touched on the divorce, nor did he find out why Adam called in the first place. Maybe it was just for the pure sake of being insufferably jarring. Kris wouldn’t be surprised.
x
He meets Dominic at a Starbucks on the Boston tour stop.
He’s carrying a latte he’s planning to bring to soundcheck when a red-haired guy turns sharply and tips Kris’ drink all over his jeans.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry, can I please buy you a new one?”
The guy starts using a hand-knitted rainbow scarf to pat Kris down, but freezes once he sees Kris’ face. “Though I’d buy Kris Allen one even if I didn’t just ruin his day, so maybe I should get you two?”
Kris grins, liking him instantly.
They get to talking about anything and everything over their three lattes, especially music; their tastes are strikingly similar, and at one point Dominic pulls out his laptop to start putting together a “K-Allen” playlist. Needless to say, Kris is late to soundcheck.
He invites Dominic backstage that night, and ends up bringing him on the tour bus. He kind of never leaves.
When they kissed that night, it was nice to know that yeah, Kris can like guys other than Adam. Attraction to men is a real, tangible part of him, liberating and permanent.
And the thing is, it works. Dominic is a designer, does all his web work from his computer, free to travel and free to accompany Kris. He’s nice, he’s adorable and hilarious, very low-key, and good-looking in a way that Kris might not have noticed at first but definitely does now. Plus, he gets along great with the band and everyone, so Kris sees no reason for Dominic to leave, not when they make each other happy.
Adam isn’t a reason.
Adam, who made fun of Cale’s beard and their little kid fans and took up so much space on the Idol bus it was insane. Kris used to find it endearing, but he’s realizing more and more just how different they really are.
The media doesn’t pick up on Dom for a few months, and by then their relationship has made the unexpected slide into serious, unshakeable by a mere headline or two.
Is KRIS ALLEN gay? Is KRIS ALLEN in a new relationship -- with a man?
These are accompanied by numerous pictures of Dom and Kris huddling close heading in and out of various Starbucks (they’re kind of attached), and one particularly notable shot of a distinct handhold out on a bench by the tour bus.
“Maybe you should make a statement,” Dom suggests on a Tuesday, sitting cross-legged on the end of Kris’ bunk, twisting his fingers together.
As comfortable with the limelight as Dominic claims to be, Kris knows going that far would be pushing it. So he just shakes his head and knocks his shoulder against Dom’s, whose lips curve into a fond smile.
When the press asks him about it, Kris denies nothing but offers nothing either, reminding himself unavoidably of Adam’s strategy on Idol. The media eats it up, as it only adds to Kris’ “mystery” as Cale puts it.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever be as famous as Adam, though. Adam is everywhere, his image and voice providing a thousand daily shocks to Kris’ system, a constant test of his will to move on.
Kris’ subscription to Rolling Stone is particularly damning. Those fuckers were always obsessed with the modern day glam rocker, and it’s painful how his heart still flips when Dominic tosses the latest edition on his Chinese takeout.
“Look who it is,” Dom says cheerfully, throwing himself on the dressing room couch next to Kris. “Your old pal.”
Kris merely grunts and pushes it away.
Dom takes it back, holding it close to his face. “Like his image needs any more sexing up.”
Kris can’t help it; he puts down his fork and looks. Adam’s shirtless - gotta be a big deal for him, Kris knows how self conscious he is - except for a microphone cord wrapped all around his body hundreds of times, winding between his leather-clad legs and up his arms. It must have taken hours. His smoky, heavy-lidded eyes are closed in ecstasy, hidden behind purple hair that’s hanging in his face, and his mouth... his mouth is open and wet, tongue just barely brushing the mic like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
The cover line reads, For Lambert, fame is delicious.
Kris is instantly hard.
“Whatever happened to you two again?” Dominic asks, so casual, like no time has passed and nothing has changed.
Kris clears his throat. “He can be... kind of an asshole. We drifted apart.”
“Never seemed like it in interviews,” Dom says, shrugging and flipping to the accompanying article. “Always seemed really sweet. Not that I’ve seen many or anything. I mean, I watched Idol your year because my mom did,” he adds in a rush.
Kris frowns around his bite of noodles. Dom can be a bit pretentious sometimes, which is weird since he’s dating a past American Idol. But Kris doesn’t dwell on it. It’s nice to be able to talk to someone who really cares about music, someone who’s down-to-earth and doesn’t go all starry-eyed at Kris’ ridiculous life.
“Wanna show me what you were working on last night?” Dom says, playing with the edge of Kris’ t-shirt.
Kris takes a few deep breaths, just to test whether his hard-on has any chance of going away. But his jeans are uncomfortable and his breathing is uneven, and not in the way Dom could fix. Kris can’t trust himself right now. Who knows what he might end up saying if he asked Dom for a blow job or something.
“I’m kinda feeling off right now,” he says carefully, eyes lowered to hide what might be in them. “Think I’m gonna take a shower, but after?”
Dom lets go of Kris’ shirt and gives a small smile. “Sure. Come get me when you’re ready.”
Dom doesn’t notice that the magazine disappears that day, or if he does, he never mentions it.
x
Kris straightens his tie, eyeing his reflection in the car window. He looks alright, the same as usual. But he’s nervous, because Adam is probably going to look amazing.
The AMAs that year is the first event Kris and Adam will both attend since the Grammys, the first time they’ll be in the same room since Kris’ infamous speech. He doesn’t know how he’ll feel.
He steps out of his car to a barrage of lights and questions.
Thankfully, the interviewer is tasteful. “A lot of people have been speculating about you lately,” she says, turning to the camera which is broadcasting from the red carpet live.
“Let them speculate,” Kris says, smiling.
“You’re a great example that all press is great press, as your tour was almost sold out if I’m correct?” Kris nods. “And your album continues to do fantastically well. Who will you thank if your latest single wins tonight?”
Adam enters Kris’ line of sight at the worst moment possible. His hair is slicked but a few strands fall, loose and artful, around his cheekbones. His suit is trim and shining silver. His eyes are done the same way as they were for the Rolling Stone cover.
“Somehow I don’t think I’m going to win,” Kris says, voice cracking.
“Speaking of Adam Lambert - ” the interviewer says, and, jesus christ, no, pulls Adam into the camera’s view.
“We’re speaking of me?” Adam aims his Hollywood smile right at Kris. “How are you, Jenna?” he adds, moving in to kiss the interviewer on the cheek. Kris feels sick to his stomach.
Every camera in a thirty foot radius is on them, now, flashbulbs relentless. The media has been trying to get them in the same shot for months.
“The winner and the runner-up, reunited!” Jenny or whatever her name is declares. “Adam, is it nice to see Kris again?”
Adam slides a hand to Kris’ lower back, presses there lightly. “We never see each other. It’s amazing. Right, Kris?”
Kris’ Hollywood smile is better than it used to be. “Yeah, it’s awesome.”
The conversation lasts maybe a minute or two more, Kris barely remembers, and he bolts right after he gets the go-ahead, speeding through the rest of the carpet as quickly as is acceptable and darting to his seat.
He’s one of the first people in the theater, and he closes his eyes for a moment, breathing hard.
A hand lands on his wrist. Kris closes his eyes even tighter.
“Let’s go get a drink.”
Kris shakes his head at the voice. Maybe if he wills hard enough it’ll go away.
“Kris, c’mon.”
The hand tugs, persistent, and Kris lets himself be dragged up. He wrenches away from Adam’s grip and follows, not wanting to cause a scene.
Adam turns to him at the bar, leaning against it casually. “So you have a boyfriend, or what?”
Kris glares at him. “We’re not gonna talk about this here.”
“No denial,” Adam drawls. “Interesting.”
“What do you want?” Kris asks, defeated.
Adam looks at him for a moment, but then the bartender comes over and Adam takes his time ordering them drinks. Once he’s sipping away at his vodka, he says, “He’s not cute enough for you, Kris.”
Kris slams his drink on the sleek dark wood of the bar. “Dom is amazing, thank you very much. He’s sweet, and funny, gorgeous, and like me in a lot of ways. We’re compatible.”
Adam’s grimace is ugly. “Well if Dom’s so amazing, why isn’t he here with you?”
Kris chokes a little on his vodka, which is disgusting. “A lot of reasons, none of which have to do with you. Some people aren’t fame whores. Some people don’t feel the need to show off their relationships everywhere they go. Some people - ”
“Aren’t ready to come out of the closest.”
A few seconds of ringing silence. Kris knows Adam’s not talking about Dom. Adam doesn’t look triumphant, though. He looks... sad.
Kris gulps and says, “It was my choice for him not to come. And he listened because he cares about me.”
Adam’s tosses back the rest of his drink, eyes wide. “I care about - ”
“Don’t you fucking start,” Kris says, as close as he gets to menacing. “If you cared about me we wouldn’t be where we are.”
Adam stares at him, hard. “But that’s exactly why we’re where we are.”
Kris shuts his eyes again. He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand, what Adam wants, what he’s doing, what he’s still doing to Kris, every day.
“This needs to end,” Kris finds himself saying, clarity falling upon him. “There’s no reason. I can’t do this. You said you wanted distance, and it has to be all or nothing. I can’t take this in-between crap anymore.”
Adam opens his mouth like he’s going to protest.
“Don’t call me. Don’t try to change it. And remember it was your decision in the first place, not mine.”
He hands Adam his half-finished drink and stalks off, feeling oddly free.
Adam wins that night. He doesn’t thank Kris - why would he?
x
part two