Ficlet: Who Do You Sing to When it All Falls Down?
Title: Who Do You Sing to When It All Falls Down?
Author: whenbuffysmiles
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Pairing: Kradam friendship
Summary: Takes place in the future. After a night of celebration, Adam faces the reality of his empty life. As always there is just one person he can count on to help him remember who he really is.
Disclaimer: This didn't happen or won't happen. Adam and Kris belong only to themselves.
Who Do You Sing to When It All Falls Down?
Adam stumbled through the front door of his three-bedroom Hollywood Hills house that sat on the top of a hill. Despite the fact that it was 7 AM and he was just coming home, he turned, as he often did, to gaze downward at the houses below him. It was the reason he'd chosen this particular house, inside it he felt the illusion of being superior to all the other residents of the neighborhood. It was what he had tried to achieve for so long and now it belonged to him.
It was an illusion. He tried to run his hands through his hair but the heavy applications by the makeup artist hours earlier made it impossible. A sardonic laugh escaped through his chapped lips as he shook his head. He himself was an illusion. He rarely left his home without the full armor - makeup, glitter, jewelry, skintight leather - that came with being Adam Lambert. The paparazzi would make a big deal if he did, and his fans would fight for hours over whether he was sick, lazy or maybe just didn't care anymore. He rarely saw the kid with freckles, pockmarked skin and big dreams when he stared in the mirror. Sometimes he missed the man he'd once been even though everyone talked about how wonderful it was that Adam Lambert had arrived.
Arrived where? What had all the fame really given him? He wondered to himself as he walked through the perfect living room that had been done by a big name interior designer while he was on his first solo tour. It hadn't been his first choice designer though, because by then Drake had moved out. Adam couldn't remember whose fault the break-up had been, but it was just when he was getting used to the clattering of Sam's paws skittering along the shiny floor as he rushed to greet Adam when he came home every evening.
"What you need is a drink," Adam slurred, as he weaved to the perfectly stocked bar in the corner. As leader of the Hollywood hot set, he needed to be able to entertain at any given moment if his subjects popped in for an impromptu party at their King's castle. He poured a generous amount of vodka into a flute, raised it high and said, "Here's to Adam Fucking Lambert and to winning four, yes fucking count them, four Grammy's tonight. Oh, excuse me, last night. That was yesterday's news. So, tell us Adam, as I kiss your ass, what are you doing today to top that? People are hungry. Fuck, they are always starving; tell us please, what are you doing today?"
Adam stepped out from behind the bar, smiled that smile everyone expected, struck that arrogant posture that usually put them in their place. "Today, I am going to go upstairs to my bed…alone. Alone because I can't stand to have another star fucker in my bed and because I need to sleep off this fucking drunk. Then when I get up, I am going to stare at the ceiling for a couple of hours, oh probably beat my meat to get rid of the morning wood, and after that I will contemplate my next move because I can see them coming. All the new flavors of the week and I have to keep on top. I fucking have to…or everyone will move on to someone hotter, younger and better than me. Watch the news, folks, because they're right there nipping at my coattails."
Adam knew if he had another drink he would probably end up sleeping on the couch, so he forced his feet to head upstairs, but not before he stopped in front of the painting hanging in a place of honor. He smiled at the innocent beauty he saw in the vibrant colors. For a second, he allowed himself to miss the man who loved him all the way through the early days of American Idol, through the tour. The man he'd lost when the world blew up and he found himself dancing among the stars.
"Sometimes, I still miss you," Adam said. "And sometimes I'm still pissed that it didn't work. I hope you're happy, baby."
Adam put it out of his mind, like so many other things, and forced his feet to move up the stairs towards his bedroom. Somewhere in the hallway, he started the process of shedding his clothes, the clothes that cost more than what he'd made in a year once upon a time. They were just clothes. There were a thousand more in the closet that was once a bedroom and if they weren't there, they could be here simply by tossing a piece of plastic across the counter of a high-end boutique.
Nude, he walked into the bathroom, a room nearly as big as his first apartment had been. He didn't even look in the mirror as he scrubbed his face clean and brushed his teeth. Once free of the trappings of the Adam Lambert image, he glanced up, but even then, he didn't see himself. All he saw were the tiny lines beside his eyes that he and his cosmetic surgeon had been discussing, but fixing them wouldn't make up for the lack of sparkle in his eyes. The bloom was gone, but he had all he wanted, didn't he? This was the dream. He'd attained it, so he'd better fucking enjoy it before everyone stopped sucking his dick.
"Honey, that ain't going to happen," Adam told his reflection. "Not with this new album, because we have fucking topped the last one. No more innocent references. We're just going to take them there. Bring on the handcuffs," he laughed, holding his hands crossed above his head. "And get ready to get that screenshot and post it on your blog. Adam Lambert always delivers."
The phone with the private number was ringing. He glanced at the Caller ID and grabbed the handset as he lay down on his bed.
"What the fuck are you doing up at this hour?"
"No, baby, it's more like what are you doing up at this hour?" Kris asked with a laugh.
"Haven't gone to bed yet," Adam said, pulling the comforter over him. "How are you and your Grammy doing this morning?"
Kris giggled. Adam knew that Kris's giggle was still accompanied with a flush of embarrassment. "It's fine. Katy and I did our own celebrating. Left the parties kind of early."
"Good for you," Adam said, as a feeling of jealousy over what his friend had with Katy swept over him.
"So, what are you doing when you wake up?"
"Hell, if I know," Adam said, covering his face with his hand. "Too many invitations, and then I've got a couple of interviews tomorrow."
"Of course, you do, but that's tomorrow," Kris said. "Catch a nap and then head over here."
"What are you planning?"
"Not much," Adam could picture Kris shrugging. "Grill some steaks, we've got some shrimp, a six-pack and figured we'd just hang out and bask in the day."
Adam smiled. "Sounds like heaven, bro." He glanced at his clock. "I can probably make it by about three?"
"Come on over when you're ready. We'll be here."
He heard the click on the other end of the line, and Kris was gone, but never for long. In all the insanity, and especially in the cynical times like this morning, Kris was always there as his rock of sanity. No matter how famous Kris got, he was just Kris, and Adam loved that about him. Sometimes he wished he'd started a little slower and built that fame on solid music like Kris had instead of busting out of the gate like a thoroughbred horse at the Kentucky Derby.
Adam turned on his side, and grinned to no one but himself, "Fuck nah, I'm Adam Fucking Lambert, and I'm going to make it rough on ya!"
The End
Author: whenbuffysmiles
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Pairing: Kradam friendship
Summary: Takes place in the future. After a night of celebration, Adam faces the reality of his empty life. As always there is just one person he can count on to help him remember who he really is.
Disclaimer: This didn't happen or won't happen. Adam and Kris belong only to themselves.
Who Do You Sing to When It All Falls Down?
Adam stumbled through the front door of his three-bedroom Hollywood Hills house that sat on the top of a hill. Despite the fact that it was 7 AM and he was just coming home, he turned, as he often did, to gaze downward at the houses below him. It was the reason he'd chosen this particular house, inside it he felt the illusion of being superior to all the other residents of the neighborhood. It was what he had tried to achieve for so long and now it belonged to him.
It was an illusion. He tried to run his hands through his hair but the heavy applications by the makeup artist hours earlier made it impossible. A sardonic laugh escaped through his chapped lips as he shook his head. He himself was an illusion. He rarely left his home without the full armor - makeup, glitter, jewelry, skintight leather - that came with being Adam Lambert. The paparazzi would make a big deal if he did, and his fans would fight for hours over whether he was sick, lazy or maybe just didn't care anymore. He rarely saw the kid with freckles, pockmarked skin and big dreams when he stared in the mirror. Sometimes he missed the man he'd once been even though everyone talked about how wonderful it was that Adam Lambert had arrived.
Arrived where? What had all the fame really given him? He wondered to himself as he walked through the perfect living room that had been done by a big name interior designer while he was on his first solo tour. It hadn't been his first choice designer though, because by then Drake had moved out. Adam couldn't remember whose fault the break-up had been, but it was just when he was getting used to the clattering of Sam's paws skittering along the shiny floor as he rushed to greet Adam when he came home every evening.
"What you need is a drink," Adam slurred, as he weaved to the perfectly stocked bar in the corner. As leader of the Hollywood hot set, he needed to be able to entertain at any given moment if his subjects popped in for an impromptu party at their King's castle. He poured a generous amount of vodka into a flute, raised it high and said, "Here's to Adam Fucking Lambert and to winning four, yes fucking count them, four Grammy's tonight. Oh, excuse me, last night. That was yesterday's news. So, tell us Adam, as I kiss your ass, what are you doing today to top that? People are hungry. Fuck, they are always starving; tell us please, what are you doing today?"
Adam stepped out from behind the bar, smiled that smile everyone expected, struck that arrogant posture that usually put them in their place. "Today, I am going to go upstairs to my bed…alone. Alone because I can't stand to have another star fucker in my bed and because I need to sleep off this fucking drunk. Then when I get up, I am going to stare at the ceiling for a couple of hours, oh probably beat my meat to get rid of the morning wood, and after that I will contemplate my next move because I can see them coming. All the new flavors of the week and I have to keep on top. I fucking have to…or everyone will move on to someone hotter, younger and better than me. Watch the news, folks, because they're right there nipping at my coattails."
Adam knew if he had another drink he would probably end up sleeping on the couch, so he forced his feet to head upstairs, but not before he stopped in front of the painting hanging in a place of honor. He smiled at the innocent beauty he saw in the vibrant colors. For a second, he allowed himself to miss the man who loved him all the way through the early days of American Idol, through the tour. The man he'd lost when the world blew up and he found himself dancing among the stars.
"Sometimes, I still miss you," Adam said. "And sometimes I'm still pissed that it didn't work. I hope you're happy, baby."
Adam put it out of his mind, like so many other things, and forced his feet to move up the stairs towards his bedroom. Somewhere in the hallway, he started the process of shedding his clothes, the clothes that cost more than what he'd made in a year once upon a time. They were just clothes. There were a thousand more in the closet that was once a bedroom and if they weren't there, they could be here simply by tossing a piece of plastic across the counter of a high-end boutique.
Nude, he walked into the bathroom, a room nearly as big as his first apartment had been. He didn't even look in the mirror as he scrubbed his face clean and brushed his teeth. Once free of the trappings of the Adam Lambert image, he glanced up, but even then, he didn't see himself. All he saw were the tiny lines beside his eyes that he and his cosmetic surgeon had been discussing, but fixing them wouldn't make up for the lack of sparkle in his eyes. The bloom was gone, but he had all he wanted, didn't he? This was the dream. He'd attained it, so he'd better fucking enjoy it before everyone stopped sucking his dick.
"Honey, that ain't going to happen," Adam told his reflection. "Not with this new album, because we have fucking topped the last one. No more innocent references. We're just going to take them there. Bring on the handcuffs," he laughed, holding his hands crossed above his head. "And get ready to get that screenshot and post it on your blog. Adam Lambert always delivers."
The phone with the private number was ringing. He glanced at the Caller ID and grabbed the handset as he lay down on his bed.
"What the fuck are you doing up at this hour?"
"No, baby, it's more like what are you doing up at this hour?" Kris asked with a laugh.
"Haven't gone to bed yet," Adam said, pulling the comforter over him. "How are you and your Grammy doing this morning?"
Kris giggled. Adam knew that Kris's giggle was still accompanied with a flush of embarrassment. "It's fine. Katy and I did our own celebrating. Left the parties kind of early."
"Good for you," Adam said, as a feeling of jealousy over what his friend had with Katy swept over him.
"So, what are you doing when you wake up?"
"Hell, if I know," Adam said, covering his face with his hand. "Too many invitations, and then I've got a couple of interviews tomorrow."
"Of course, you do, but that's tomorrow," Kris said. "Catch a nap and then head over here."
"What are you planning?"
"Not much," Adam could picture Kris shrugging. "Grill some steaks, we've got some shrimp, a six-pack and figured we'd just hang out and bask in the day."
Adam smiled. "Sounds like heaven, bro." He glanced at his clock. "I can probably make it by about three?"
"Come on over when you're ready. We'll be here."
He heard the click on the other end of the line, and Kris was gone, but never for long. In all the insanity, and especially in the cynical times like this morning, Kris was always there as his rock of sanity. No matter how famous Kris got, he was just Kris, and Adam loved that about him. Sometimes he wished he'd started a little slower and built that fame on solid music like Kris had instead of busting out of the gate like a thoroughbred horse at the Kentucky Derby.
Adam turned on his side, and grinned to no one but himself, "Fuck nah, I'm Adam Fucking Lambert, and I'm going to make it rough on ya!"
The End