Idol kNight : Top 13 :Thursday
Title: Idol kNight : Top 13 : Thursday
Pairing: Kradam (friendship/ hints of maybe more in the future)
Rating: PG - at most. It is Kris' mind, after all. ;)
Length: 2,518 words
Author's Note: So, while my computer's been imploding, I've gotten around to a few more little fics. This one is a continuation of the Idol kNight series. Links to the previous two are here and here. Enjoy!
Remember: comments are to authors as chocolate is to a pms-ing woman. <3
"Country?! Country! I mean, I knew it was coming- there's always a country week- but, so soon?" I'm ranting. I know it. But, come on! Second week in?
"I'd think this genre would be easy for you. You are from the country, after all." The teasing gleam in his eye keeps me from smacking him. It does not, however, save his reflection in the bathroom mirror from a serious glare.
Our routine for getting ready for bed is kind of similar to the one I have with Katy. Except, I think Adam has even more bottles of product than she does. And, apparently, it's all very important. I've learned not to question it. I just spend as little time in the room as possible, and take up as little space as I can.
"Yes, well, geography aside, country music is just really not-- I mean, I get the I have the whole 'Southern Twang' thing going on, but I just don't feel very-"
"And the plaid. Don't forget the plaid."
"Right. Yes. Fine. But, I don't see myself as-"
"And the southern gentleman, down-home, good-boy personality."
"Adam." He's frustrating me on purpose. He pokes at all of our buttons, like any older brother would, but I think he especially likes tormenting me. It seems to make him extra giddy to try and get a rise out of me.
"I know, Kris, I get it. You're not a hill-billy bumpkin with a spittoon can."
I make a gesture and expression that says, 'Thank you'. He may like to push people's boundaries, but he knows when to lay off, too. Not that he always does, but at least he knows when he's going too far.
"You gotta admit, though, that out of the two of us, you've got the advantage this week. I can't even think of a country song that I know, let alone would want to sing. I really don't know what I'm gonna do."
This isn't something Adam's used to- the uncertainty. He's always got some sort of plan of action for any given situation. I don't like to think too deeply on what that means he's had to go through in his life to develop so many fronts, so many faces, to learn how to look neutral. It kind of hurts.
I put a hand on his shoulder and look his reflection in the eyes.
"You are going to be fine. You're gonna find some awesome, obscure song, or take some classic and turn it into something no one's ever heard before, and it's going to be great. I'm telling you."
He's got a great smile. It starts in his eyes and works its way outward, crinkling the corners, then it raises his cheeks and pulls this little burst of physical happiness from his mouth. It's so much fun to watch. It's nothing like his stage smile, which starts with his lips and doesn't go much further. ...Not that I've spent a lot of time thinking about his lips or anything. I'm not, like, studying him or whatever. I'm just naturally observant, and I've got nothing but time to observe Adam.
How did I get on this uncomfortable topic?
Stop with the weird thoughts, Kris. You sound ridiculous.
He shifts toward me, putting his arm around my back, under the hand still resting on his shoulder. Adam is very intense. When he looks at you, it's like the whole world is shrunken down and zeroed in on you and him. Everything else becomes a sort of blank, muted air-space. He makes every person he talks to feel incredibly special and important. At first glance, seeing him interact with someone like Allison can be a bit of a surprise. This tall, multiply-pierced, guy-lingered, chains-and-leather-and-snake-skin-boots-wearing rock star, treating a petite little girl -don’t ever let her know you just thought that!- like she's the most precious thing in the world, all gentle hands and soft, focused eyes. The juxtaposition is a thing of real beauty.
Using that genuine, gracious smile to express what I guess he feels he can't say with words, he pats my back softly, lingering just a little, like he does when he wants to show that there's real emotion behind the action and it isn't just an obligatory, perfunctory display. He rubs his hand up and down once before sliding his arm back out to face forward.
You could probably let go of him now, you know.
"So, do you have any idea what you're going to do?" He asks after a moment of comfortable silence.
I watch his hand pull a wet cotton ball over his nose, streaking away the completely unnecessary layers of make-up Adam insists are “vital for public consumption and the betterment of humankind,” or some such nonsense. It isn't the wearing of make-up that bothers me- heck, this show's got me dolled up like a layer-cake twice a week live and half a dozen times for recordings- it's that he doesn't feel as confident in himself without it. Of course, trying to explain this is like trying to convince Katy that the dress looks fine, baby, your hair is perfect, you don't need any lipstick, let's just go already.
"I looked at the list. There are a few I know. I kinda want to try a ballad, maybe."
"Switch it up a bit- good idea."
"Yeah. I dunno; I thought about maybe this one that Garth Brooks covered." I settle back on the closed toilet lid, leaning on the tank and bracing my feet up against the wall. "To Make You Feel My Love." I finish my thought belatedly, and Adam sends me a quirked-eyebrow, slightly smirking side-glance that takes me several seconds to figure out. "The song- it's title is "To Make You Feel My Love"." I must be more tired than I thought. I'm such a space-case tonight.
He lets the goofy, confused look melt into one of comprehension, but no less teasing, as the unbidden flush in my face subsides.
"Sounds pretty." He comments, kindly overlooking the last few seconds of my embarrassment. "Are you going to play your guitar?"
"Actually, I was thinking about going with the piano."
The corners of his mouth quirk upwards. "Yeah? Cool."
He puts the caps and lids back on all his paraphernalia, and I stand and stretch for the ceiling like a child for its favorite toy, placed just out of reach.
Adam’s expression reads as a cross between fascination and evil older brother. I instinctively shield my stomach. He looks a bit stricken, like he's been caught doing something wrong, or he thinks I'm upset for whatever reason is in his head. I'm not sure what he's thinking, but I do want to be very clear on one thing, "I hate being tickled."
Adam's features scrunch up in a way I haven't seen before.
It's kinda cute.
"What?"
"You had that face, like my Dad would get before he'd attack my brother and me with tickles. I'm just telling you, I don't like being--"
Something catches in my throat and for the life of me, I can't tell what it is. The pause is strange, but I finally finish, "--tickled."
Adam cocks his head to the side, an expression of curiosity and something else I can't place, schooled into an air of detached consideration. With a smile that can only be described as wicked, he starts in a lower timbre than I've ever heard him use, "Oh?" It's almost dark, the way he says it. Predatory, I might call it, if I didn't know better.
One step toward me, and he's grown several times his actual size. He fills up the space, somehow, and I've never been intimidated by Adam until this very moment. I never really realized how... big he is. How truly dangerous he could be. Normally I'd be feeling that rush of admiration that I get whenever Adam’s amazingness shows itself- he makes me so proud to be his friend- but right now I'm having some trouble swallowing, to be honest. For the first time, Adam is making me nervous. I haven't thought about it before, but I'm quickly realizing he's got the physical prowess to do just about anything he wants. The crazy thing? I know, without a doubt, he'd never hurt me.
So, if I'm not actually scared right now, what's with the flipping-out nerves?
"Y-yeah. I've, uh, I've never really liked, uhm--"
"You know," He continues casually, like he isn't stalking toward me in slow motion; a lion and its prey. "I'm something of an expert at... tickling." The pause startles me into noticing our actual proximity, and not just the way it feels like he's taken all the air out of the room and every breath is a gift he's granting me.
He's still at arm's length, but whatever it is that makes Adam larger than life at other times is making me feel like a cartoon character that's run itself over the ledge of a cliff and is just now realizing it. That one, blinking moment of being on solid air before reality reminds you that air isn't solid at all.
Time has lost its meaning somewhere between ‘normal’ and 'there is only the sound of rushing blood through my veins and the static noise gray cells make as they disintegrate'. I'm a little dizzy and I don't understand what's happening. He's talking again. I can't seem to think fast enough to get a grip, but on he goes.
"In fact, I know how to tickle in a way so slowly, so softly, so maddeningly not-quite-enough and just-a-little-too-much, that I can get you to beg for a good, hard tickle. Or so I've been told."
Inches. He's inches from me, and I don't know what's happening. I don't understand this all-over tingling, these... thoughts- I don't understand what these thoughts are. Or these non-thoughts, because I can't even tell if I'm having actual thoughts inside my thick, clouded head.
It's been maybe, maybe ten seconds since the world went insane, and this conversation about tickling turned into something very much not about tickling, and I don't know Adam's plan here, but the most worrying part for me is how very not-worried I am about it all. And possibly a little more than the right amount of curious. Shouldn't I be much more, I don't know, uncomfortable in the way that's 'my friend is talking to me in a voice that I'm pretty sure would make anyone inclined toward attraction to males drop trou immediately, with words that would have them, well, begging for a good... hard...'
I can't feel my knees.
What the heck?
Adam's hand is reaching out, is moving much quicker than I thought it would, considering the molasses-like way everything else has gone. And as suddenly as it started- whatever it was- it's entirely over. Adam's fingers dig childishly into my ribs, making me jump and squirm and let out a very manly and dignified noise of indignation that sounded nothing like the shriek of a school girl. He giggles harder and louder than I think I've ever heard him, hopping a little and running out of the room like I'm going to chase him and reciprocate. Like he's playing a game of tag. Like he didn't just totally ruin every thought I'll ever have of tickling for the rest of my life. He's--
Cute.
What? No. Not where I was going with that. Shut up, brain.
Except he totally is, and I'm only realizing this as I'm dashing out of the bathroom door after him the way I would with my little cousins or something. Maybe it is a game, after all.
The flush and excitement and pure impishness on Adam's face makes me doubt both my ability to assess a situation and my sanity, but it's so late and we're both punch-drunk, and chasing Adam around the room, tackling and wrestling and escaping and starting all over again- well, that just seems like a far more perfect plan than anything I could have come up with. I don't know how he does it, but Adam makes everything feel better, every time.
Tangled in each other's limbs, panting, exhausted but still laughing, on his bed, I promise myself -and Adam- that I'll never take him or our friendship for granted. He leans down and presses his face into my hair, pursing his lips to make a long, sweet kiss on the top of my head. I roll in a way that snuggles me closer to him, and I can feel myself relaxing from the inside out. It's a bone-deep contentment that I've missed, something for which I shoot the quickest prayer thanks to God.
I don't care what anyone says or thinks, I know Adam is an honest-to-goodness gift to this world, and a saving grace for me. Maybe He didn't have anything to do with it directly, but my relationship with Adam definitely feels like my very own little miracle- small and personal, like a secret. And I know that if God paid any attention to a televised singing competition, and wanted to support me somehow, Adam is exactly what He would give me.
We may not believe the same way, but we believe in each other, and that's enough.
"You know you're not sleeping here." Adam sounds very certain of this.
"Mmmhmphh." Is my fully intelligible and witty reply.
"Kris. Kris." He's nudging me and I really wish he'd stop it. Does he not see how comfortable and sleeping I am? "Buddy, come on. Kris."
I may have whined just then. Let's not dwell.
"Your own bed is right over there- go take up all the room in it." Adam's nudges are turning into shoves and he's trying to lift my head and shoulders up so I'll be compelled to travel the five hundred light-years to my bed.
"Look, I know you're tiny and all, but this is not gonna work." I'll assume he's gesturing widely when he says "this", but I'm not opening my eyes to check.
And, hey! I'm not tiny. I'm average.
In my protest to the reference to my stature, Adam wins in getting me to crack open an eye and prove I'm not dead to the world, as I was hoping he would, and therefore leave me alone.
"Hello, there. Time to go inhabit your own space, doll. Let's go."
I am not a child; his practically carrying me to bed is completely unnecessary.
"Which is why I'm dragging your surprisingly solid self instead of carrying you."
Oh. Must have said that bit out loud, then. That's alright, though, because I'm back in a pleasantly horizontal position, and there are soft, fluffy things under my head and I think I'm being tucked in, which, okay, kinda strange, but I can't get myself to care at this particular moment, because it's actually quite nice.
I feel Adam run a finger down my face, and hear him whisper, "Goodnight, honey."
I don't even hear him get back into his own bed.
Pairing: Kradam (friendship/ hints of maybe more in the future)
Rating: PG - at most. It is Kris' mind, after all. ;)
Length: 2,518 words
Author's Note: So, while my computer's been imploding, I've gotten around to a few more little fics. This one is a continuation of the Idol kNight series. Links to the previous two are here and here. Enjoy!
Remember: comments are to authors as chocolate is to a pms-ing woman. <3
"Country?! Country! I mean, I knew it was coming- there's always a country week- but, so soon?" I'm ranting. I know it. But, come on! Second week in?
"I'd think this genre would be easy for you. You are from the country, after all." The teasing gleam in his eye keeps me from smacking him. It does not, however, save his reflection in the bathroom mirror from a serious glare.
Our routine for getting ready for bed is kind of similar to the one I have with Katy. Except, I think Adam has even more bottles of product than she does. And, apparently, it's all very important. I've learned not to question it. I just spend as little time in the room as possible, and take up as little space as I can.
"Yes, well, geography aside, country music is just really not-- I mean, I get the I have the whole 'Southern Twang' thing going on, but I just don't feel very-"
"And the plaid. Don't forget the plaid."
"Right. Yes. Fine. But, I don't see myself as-"
"And the southern gentleman, down-home, good-boy personality."
"Adam." He's frustrating me on purpose. He pokes at all of our buttons, like any older brother would, but I think he especially likes tormenting me. It seems to make him extra giddy to try and get a rise out of me.
"I know, Kris, I get it. You're not a hill-billy bumpkin with a spittoon can."
I make a gesture and expression that says, 'Thank you'. He may like to push people's boundaries, but he knows when to lay off, too. Not that he always does, but at least he knows when he's going too far.
"You gotta admit, though, that out of the two of us, you've got the advantage this week. I can't even think of a country song that I know, let alone would want to sing. I really don't know what I'm gonna do."
This isn't something Adam's used to- the uncertainty. He's always got some sort of plan of action for any given situation. I don't like to think too deeply on what that means he's had to go through in his life to develop so many fronts, so many faces, to learn how to look neutral. It kind of hurts.
I put a hand on his shoulder and look his reflection in the eyes.
"You are going to be fine. You're gonna find some awesome, obscure song, or take some classic and turn it into something no one's ever heard before, and it's going to be great. I'm telling you."
He's got a great smile. It starts in his eyes and works its way outward, crinkling the corners, then it raises his cheeks and pulls this little burst of physical happiness from his mouth. It's so much fun to watch. It's nothing like his stage smile, which starts with his lips and doesn't go much further. ...Not that I've spent a lot of time thinking about his lips or anything. I'm not, like, studying him or whatever. I'm just naturally observant, and I've got nothing but time to observe Adam.
How did I get on this uncomfortable topic?
Stop with the weird thoughts, Kris. You sound ridiculous.
He shifts toward me, putting his arm around my back, under the hand still resting on his shoulder. Adam is very intense. When he looks at you, it's like the whole world is shrunken down and zeroed in on you and him. Everything else becomes a sort of blank, muted air-space. He makes every person he talks to feel incredibly special and important. At first glance, seeing him interact with someone like Allison can be a bit of a surprise. This tall, multiply-pierced, guy-lingered, chains-and-leather-and-snake-skin-boots-wearing rock star, treating a petite little girl -don’t ever let her know you just thought that!- like she's the most precious thing in the world, all gentle hands and soft, focused eyes. The juxtaposition is a thing of real beauty.
Using that genuine, gracious smile to express what I guess he feels he can't say with words, he pats my back softly, lingering just a little, like he does when he wants to show that there's real emotion behind the action and it isn't just an obligatory, perfunctory display. He rubs his hand up and down once before sliding his arm back out to face forward.
You could probably let go of him now, you know.
"So, do you have any idea what you're going to do?" He asks after a moment of comfortable silence.
I watch his hand pull a wet cotton ball over his nose, streaking away the completely unnecessary layers of make-up Adam insists are “vital for public consumption and the betterment of humankind,” or some such nonsense. It isn't the wearing of make-up that bothers me- heck, this show's got me dolled up like a layer-cake twice a week live and half a dozen times for recordings- it's that he doesn't feel as confident in himself without it. Of course, trying to explain this is like trying to convince Katy that the dress looks fine, baby, your hair is perfect, you don't need any lipstick, let's just go already.
"I looked at the list. There are a few I know. I kinda want to try a ballad, maybe."
"Switch it up a bit- good idea."
"Yeah. I dunno; I thought about maybe this one that Garth Brooks covered." I settle back on the closed toilet lid, leaning on the tank and bracing my feet up against the wall. "To Make You Feel My Love." I finish my thought belatedly, and Adam sends me a quirked-eyebrow, slightly smirking side-glance that takes me several seconds to figure out. "The song- it's title is "To Make You Feel My Love"." I must be more tired than I thought. I'm such a space-case tonight.
He lets the goofy, confused look melt into one of comprehension, but no less teasing, as the unbidden flush in my face subsides.
"Sounds pretty." He comments, kindly overlooking the last few seconds of my embarrassment. "Are you going to play your guitar?"
"Actually, I was thinking about going with the piano."
The corners of his mouth quirk upwards. "Yeah? Cool."
He puts the caps and lids back on all his paraphernalia, and I stand and stretch for the ceiling like a child for its favorite toy, placed just out of reach.
Adam’s expression reads as a cross between fascination and evil older brother. I instinctively shield my stomach. He looks a bit stricken, like he's been caught doing something wrong, or he thinks I'm upset for whatever reason is in his head. I'm not sure what he's thinking, but I do want to be very clear on one thing, "I hate being tickled."
Adam's features scrunch up in a way I haven't seen before.
It's kinda cute.
"What?"
"You had that face, like my Dad would get before he'd attack my brother and me with tickles. I'm just telling you, I don't like being--"
Something catches in my throat and for the life of me, I can't tell what it is. The pause is strange, but I finally finish, "--tickled."
Adam cocks his head to the side, an expression of curiosity and something else I can't place, schooled into an air of detached consideration. With a smile that can only be described as wicked, he starts in a lower timbre than I've ever heard him use, "Oh?" It's almost dark, the way he says it. Predatory, I might call it, if I didn't know better.
One step toward me, and he's grown several times his actual size. He fills up the space, somehow, and I've never been intimidated by Adam until this very moment. I never really realized how... big he is. How truly dangerous he could be. Normally I'd be feeling that rush of admiration that I get whenever Adam’s amazingness shows itself- he makes me so proud to be his friend- but right now I'm having some trouble swallowing, to be honest. For the first time, Adam is making me nervous. I haven't thought about it before, but I'm quickly realizing he's got the physical prowess to do just about anything he wants. The crazy thing? I know, without a doubt, he'd never hurt me.
So, if I'm not actually scared right now, what's with the flipping-out nerves?
"Y-yeah. I've, uh, I've never really liked, uhm--"
"You know," He continues casually, like he isn't stalking toward me in slow motion; a lion and its prey. "I'm something of an expert at... tickling." The pause startles me into noticing our actual proximity, and not just the way it feels like he's taken all the air out of the room and every breath is a gift he's granting me.
He's still at arm's length, but whatever it is that makes Adam larger than life at other times is making me feel like a cartoon character that's run itself over the ledge of a cliff and is just now realizing it. That one, blinking moment of being on solid air before reality reminds you that air isn't solid at all.
Time has lost its meaning somewhere between ‘normal’ and 'there is only the sound of rushing blood through my veins and the static noise gray cells make as they disintegrate'. I'm a little dizzy and I don't understand what's happening. He's talking again. I can't seem to think fast enough to get a grip, but on he goes.
"In fact, I know how to tickle in a way so slowly, so softly, so maddeningly not-quite-enough and just-a-little-too-much, that I can get you to beg for a good, hard tickle. Or so I've been told."
Inches. He's inches from me, and I don't know what's happening. I don't understand this all-over tingling, these... thoughts- I don't understand what these thoughts are. Or these non-thoughts, because I can't even tell if I'm having actual thoughts inside my thick, clouded head.
It's been maybe, maybe ten seconds since the world went insane, and this conversation about tickling turned into something very much not about tickling, and I don't know Adam's plan here, but the most worrying part for me is how very not-worried I am about it all. And possibly a little more than the right amount of curious. Shouldn't I be much more, I don't know, uncomfortable in the way that's 'my friend is talking to me in a voice that I'm pretty sure would make anyone inclined toward attraction to males drop trou immediately, with words that would have them, well, begging for a good... hard...'
I can't feel my knees.
What the heck?
Adam's hand is reaching out, is moving much quicker than I thought it would, considering the molasses-like way everything else has gone. And as suddenly as it started- whatever it was- it's entirely over. Adam's fingers dig childishly into my ribs, making me jump and squirm and let out a very manly and dignified noise of indignation that sounded nothing like the shriek of a school girl. He giggles harder and louder than I think I've ever heard him, hopping a little and running out of the room like I'm going to chase him and reciprocate. Like he's playing a game of tag. Like he didn't just totally ruin every thought I'll ever have of tickling for the rest of my life. He's--
Cute.
What? No. Not where I was going with that. Shut up, brain.
Except he totally is, and I'm only realizing this as I'm dashing out of the bathroom door after him the way I would with my little cousins or something. Maybe it is a game, after all.
The flush and excitement and pure impishness on Adam's face makes me doubt both my ability to assess a situation and my sanity, but it's so late and we're both punch-drunk, and chasing Adam around the room, tackling and wrestling and escaping and starting all over again- well, that just seems like a far more perfect plan than anything I could have come up with. I don't know how he does it, but Adam makes everything feel better, every time.
Tangled in each other's limbs, panting, exhausted but still laughing, on his bed, I promise myself -and Adam- that I'll never take him or our friendship for granted. He leans down and presses his face into my hair, pursing his lips to make a long, sweet kiss on the top of my head. I roll in a way that snuggles me closer to him, and I can feel myself relaxing from the inside out. It's a bone-deep contentment that I've missed, something for which I shoot the quickest prayer thanks to God.
I don't care what anyone says or thinks, I know Adam is an honest-to-goodness gift to this world, and a saving grace for me. Maybe He didn't have anything to do with it directly, but my relationship with Adam definitely feels like my very own little miracle- small and personal, like a secret. And I know that if God paid any attention to a televised singing competition, and wanted to support me somehow, Adam is exactly what He would give me.
We may not believe the same way, but we believe in each other, and that's enough.
"You know you're not sleeping here." Adam sounds very certain of this.
"Mmmhmphh." Is my fully intelligible and witty reply.
"Kris. Kris." He's nudging me and I really wish he'd stop it. Does he not see how comfortable and sleeping I am? "Buddy, come on. Kris."
I may have whined just then. Let's not dwell.
"Your own bed is right over there- go take up all the room in it." Adam's nudges are turning into shoves and he's trying to lift my head and shoulders up so I'll be compelled to travel the five hundred light-years to my bed.
"Look, I know you're tiny and all, but this is not gonna work." I'll assume he's gesturing widely when he says "this", but I'm not opening my eyes to check.
And, hey! I'm not tiny. I'm average.
In my protest to the reference to my stature, Adam wins in getting me to crack open an eye and prove I'm not dead to the world, as I was hoping he would, and therefore leave me alone.
"Hello, there. Time to go inhabit your own space, doll. Let's go."
I am not a child; his practically carrying me to bed is completely unnecessary.
"Which is why I'm dragging your surprisingly solid self instead of carrying you."
Oh. Must have said that bit out loud, then. That's alright, though, because I'm back in a pleasantly horizontal position, and there are soft, fluffy things under my head and I think I'm being tucked in, which, okay, kinda strange, but I can't get myself to care at this particular moment, because it's actually quite nice.
I feel Adam run a finger down my face, and hear him whisper, "Goodnight, honey."
I don't even hear him get back into his own bed.