Imperfect Boys | PG-13 | Adam Lambert/Brad Bell
Imperfect Boys | PG-13 | Adam Lambert/Brad Bell | 774 | Brad would like 3 things. To sleep for the next week, for this damn flu to go away, and for door to door sales people to burn in hell.
Except, that isn't a sales person. | Beta'd by minus_four, title from "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes" by Fall Out Boy.
Brad sniffled as he made his way over to the door, blanket clutched tightly around his shoulders; he was going to need to blow his nose in a minute, if only this goddamn sales person would go away. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he mumbled under his breath, reaching the door. Brad's eyes were still gazing downward where he'd been making sure he actually grabbed onto the door knob, but he could tell from the worn out jeans and shiny belt buckle that it was definitely not a sales person. Slowly, his eyes drew upward, tracing black buttons and noticing a large hand clutching the strap of a duffle bag against his shoulder before glancing over freckled lips and settling on Adam's eyes.
Brad grimaced, unimpressed, and had half a thought to close the door on his… What were they, even? Instead he merely let his hand drop from the silver knob, turning and going into the kitchen to blow his nose.
"You're sick," Adam said, leaning against the doorway as he watched Brad drop the used tissue into the waste bin.
"Yes, I fucking am. Though you didn't seem to care a fucking week ago." Brad blew his nose again, making sure he'd cleared it for the time being before turning to face his not-boyfriend. "I could barely get out of bed last week, and all you could talk about was these hot fucking Australian boys. Did you ask me once how I was feeling? Did you notice I could hardly breathe, let alone talk?!"
Brad's yelling turned into a coughing fit and he clutched the counter in an effort to stay upright. Adam made a move to get closer, but aborted it when Brad held up his other hand, signalling him to stay away. Brad straightened again after another few pitiful hacks, regathering the blanket around his shoulders. "I don't care about the other boys, Adam, because I know you're coming home to me, but it’d be nice if you actually gave a shit about me while you were gone.”
“Brad, I,” Adam uncrossed his arms, letting them fall by his sides.
“Just leave it, Adam,” Brad sniffled, “I can’t deal with you right now. Just leave.” Brad pushed past Adam, going into his bedroom.
“But I do care,” Adam finished quietly, watching Brad walk away.
--
Brad collapsed on to his bed, curling into a tight ball as tears threatened to escape his already puffy eyes. “Urgh. Get a grip on yourself, Cheeks.” He wiped at his cheeks with the corner of the blanket, sitting up. Brad sniffled once more before gathering himself and his trusted quilt up, grabbing the dvd case sitting on his bedside table, and leaving the room. He was shocked to find Adam standing in the doorway to his kitchen when he came out, holding Brad’s favourite soup mug. Even though he couldn’t smell it from the other side of the room, and probably wouldn’t even be able to smell it if the soup was right under his blocked nose right now, Brad knew that mug contained everything good in the world. Which was, right now, Adam’s mom’s chicken noodle soup. “Adam..” Brad had one hand clutching the dvd and blanket to his chest as the other went out to steady himself against the wall. He was feeling lightheaded from being sick and emotional and angry and now Adam had gone and done.. this.
“Hey,” Adam watched as the smaller male swooned into the wall. The action forced Adam into motion, and he put the mug down on the coffee table. Going over to Brad, he put an arm around him, guiding him over to sit on the couch. Adam took the dvd, inserting the disk into the player and getting the movie set up. He stood and turned, a soft look coming over his face when he saw Brad cradling the soup mug close to his face, eyelids drooping closed.
Adam moved around the coffee table and sat next to Brad. He gently removed the ceramic mug from Brad’s hands, replacing it on the coffee table.
“Thought I told you to leave,” Brad mumbled as he was manhandled into a more horizontal position, Adam tucked in behind him. Brad’s head was cushioned on one of Adam’s arms, the other curled possessively around his waist, keeping him from falling off the sofa.
The opening credits started up on Brad’s shitty little television screen, and Adam replied, “You didn’t mean it,” but Brad’s eyes had already drifted shut and he was snoring softly. Adam smiled, pressing a kiss to Brad’s temple and then settled in to watch the movie.
Except, that isn't a sales person. | Beta'd by minus_four, title from "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes" by Fall Out Boy.
Brad sniffled as he made his way over to the door, blanket clutched tightly around his shoulders; he was going to need to blow his nose in a minute, if only this goddamn sales person would go away. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he mumbled under his breath, reaching the door. Brad's eyes were still gazing downward where he'd been making sure he actually grabbed onto the door knob, but he could tell from the worn out jeans and shiny belt buckle that it was definitely not a sales person. Slowly, his eyes drew upward, tracing black buttons and noticing a large hand clutching the strap of a duffle bag against his shoulder before glancing over freckled lips and settling on Adam's eyes.
Brad grimaced, unimpressed, and had half a thought to close the door on his… What were they, even? Instead he merely let his hand drop from the silver knob, turning and going into the kitchen to blow his nose.
"You're sick," Adam said, leaning against the doorway as he watched Brad drop the used tissue into the waste bin.
"Yes, I fucking am. Though you didn't seem to care a fucking week ago." Brad blew his nose again, making sure he'd cleared it for the time being before turning to face his not-boyfriend. "I could barely get out of bed last week, and all you could talk about was these hot fucking Australian boys. Did you ask me once how I was feeling? Did you notice I could hardly breathe, let alone talk?!"
Brad's yelling turned into a coughing fit and he clutched the counter in an effort to stay upright. Adam made a move to get closer, but aborted it when Brad held up his other hand, signalling him to stay away. Brad straightened again after another few pitiful hacks, regathering the blanket around his shoulders. "I don't care about the other boys, Adam, because I know you're coming home to me, but it’d be nice if you actually gave a shit about me while you were gone.”
“Brad, I,” Adam uncrossed his arms, letting them fall by his sides.
“Just leave it, Adam,” Brad sniffled, “I can’t deal with you right now. Just leave.” Brad pushed past Adam, going into his bedroom.
“But I do care,” Adam finished quietly, watching Brad walk away.
--
Brad collapsed on to his bed, curling into a tight ball as tears threatened to escape his already puffy eyes. “Urgh. Get a grip on yourself, Cheeks.” He wiped at his cheeks with the corner of the blanket, sitting up. Brad sniffled once more before gathering himself and his trusted quilt up, grabbing the dvd case sitting on his bedside table, and leaving the room. He was shocked to find Adam standing in the doorway to his kitchen when he came out, holding Brad’s favourite soup mug. Even though he couldn’t smell it from the other side of the room, and probably wouldn’t even be able to smell it if the soup was right under his blocked nose right now, Brad knew that mug contained everything good in the world. Which was, right now, Adam’s mom’s chicken noodle soup. “Adam..” Brad had one hand clutching the dvd and blanket to his chest as the other went out to steady himself against the wall. He was feeling lightheaded from being sick and emotional and angry and now Adam had gone and done.. this.
“Hey,” Adam watched as the smaller male swooned into the wall. The action forced Adam into motion, and he put the mug down on the coffee table. Going over to Brad, he put an arm around him, guiding him over to sit on the couch. Adam took the dvd, inserting the disk into the player and getting the movie set up. He stood and turned, a soft look coming over his face when he saw Brad cradling the soup mug close to his face, eyelids drooping closed.
Adam moved around the coffee table and sat next to Brad. He gently removed the ceramic mug from Brad’s hands, replacing it on the coffee table.
“Thought I told you to leave,” Brad mumbled as he was manhandled into a more horizontal position, Adam tucked in behind him. Brad’s head was cushioned on one of Adam’s arms, the other curled possessively around his waist, keeping him from falling off the sofa.
The opening credits started up on Brad’s shitty little television screen, and Adam replied, “You didn’t mean it,” but Brad’s eyes had already drifted shut and he was snoring softly. Adam smiled, pressing a kiss to Brad’s temple and then settled in to watch the movie.