the truth is sexy [kris allen/adam lambert] 2/2
the truth is sexy, 2/2
part one
Carli’s take on the situation is actually incredibly logical, much like everything Carli does. It’s not like Kris didn’t already know that, it’s just - well, he’s always been a bit of an optimist.
The truth of the matter is that he’s been telling himself the whole time that there was something different about his relationship with Adam, that set it apart from any other relationship that he’s ever had - or that Adam’s ever had, for that matter. Just like how he can’t imagine ever feeling about anyone the way he felt about Katy, he can’t imagine ever wanting anyone like how he wants Adam. Kris had just assumed that it went both ways, without ever really thinking about it all that deeply.
It’s that assumption that, he is starting to realize, allowed him to spend the last month and a half plainly ignoring all the signs that Adam just wasn’t as involved in - whatever it is they have - as Kris is. If the whole horribly embarrassing rejection thing wasn’t enough, the weeks and weeks of ignored calls and emails and, even worse, the avoidance - Adam ducking away as soon as Kris walks into a party, Adam pretending not to notice him at events, Adam deflecting questions about their friendship in interviews - yeah, that’s certainly done the trick.
All that energy, time spent agonizing about how to get Adam to talk to him, all the nights he couldn’t sleep remembering how it felt to hold Adam’s body close to his, the way his voice sounded half-drunk with sleep, the scratchy slide of leather and denim against his bare skin, all for what. Kris has nothing to show for any of it but a bruised ego, an ache in his throat and a silent phone.
So, no more, he decides. He might be a Gatsby, but he will allow no more tragedy. His self-delusion ends now. And he skates on this assertion for a full week before it all shatters at his feet.
There’s some big fancy event at Simon Fuller’s estate to celebrate Idol’s newest judge switch-up, and all the show’s biggest names are heavily encouraged to attend. Kris knows Adam will be there, in a sort of detached, not-thinking-about-it sort of way, but when the time comes that he actually sees him in person, it hits him with all the force of a hurricane.
Adam looks - terrible. Kris first spots him from across the room as he negotiates himself towards the bar. He’s standing off to the side from the crowd, speaking closely to David Cook, but he looks dead on his feet, swaying slightly in place. His clothes are rumpled and his eye makeup is smudged, as if he’d fallen asleep with it on and hadn’t bothered to reapply. He’s clutching his drink with white knuckles, and in the short time that Kris watches him, he manages to chug the entire thing.
Kris feels a wave of concern and has to forcibly calm himself, turning resolutely away. He spends the next hour attempting to stay on the opposite side of the room as Adam, but this only results in Kris being hyper-aware of where he is at any given second, so it’s a bit counterproductive.
He isn’t sure exactly when Adam realizes that he’s there, but at some point he starts to feel Adam’s gaze, laser-sharp on the back of his neck. He does his best not to shift uncomfortably under the attention, but he can’t stop his cheeks from flushing every time Adam manages to catch his eye, and he knows - knows - that he’s completely transparent. As usual.
It isn’t long before Kris hears a commotion from the other side of the room, and he knows even before he turns to look that it’s Adam. How could it be anyone but Adam?
He’s embroiled in an argument with one of the guys from security, glaring venomously and stepping up in the guy’s space, the line of his shoulders rigid and tense. As Kris watches, Adam leans in and hisses something that makes the man’s face flush red with anger. Hovering behind them is Adam’s assistant, fluttering her hands and looking fairly close to a heart attack.
An impulse striking, Kris sets down his drink and follows it, barely thinking Carli’s gonna kill me before heading straight in Adam’s direction.
“…down, sir. I will remove you.”
“Oh, you’ll remove me.” Adam waves one arm dramatically, leaning in closer to the guard. “Did you hear that, Ellie? He’s going to remove me. Like a fucking couch.”
“Adam, quit it, come on - “
“Adam.” Kris watches as all three of them freeze, Ellie swiveling her head to stare at him in almost dawning horror. He feels a stab of something in-between sympathy and irritation. “Come on, we need to talk.”
Adam turns slowly to look at him, and Kris fights to keep his face blank. Face twisting into an ugly smirk, Adam narrows his eyes, taking a sharp step backwards. “No,” he says, drawing the word out so it sounds like a curse. “No, I don’t think we need to do anything.”
Kris inhales sharply, stepping forward and grabbing Adam’s arm. The bicep beneath his fingers immediately tenses, and Kris grabs on tighter, anticipating a move to pull away. “Adam, walk out of here with me.” Adam’s face twists and he opens his mouth to spit out a reply, but Kris cuts him off. “No, listen, there are thirty different cameras in here and the last thing either of us need is a scene, so let it go and come with me.” Kris pauses, feeling a flash of mingled frustration and leftover hurt. “You can blow me off if you want, but at least walk out of here with me.”
Adam rips his arm out of Kris’s grip, straightening his clothes primly. “Walk out on your own,” he says breezily and turns on his heel, striding for the door. Ellie looks at him, eyes wide, before tearing after him, ponytail flapping behind her anxiously. Muttering to himself, Kris shoots an apologetic look at the security guard - who ignores him - and ducks out of the ballroom.
He finds Adam standing in the huge driveway, leaning against a limo and smoking a cigarette. Ellie is talking rapidly on her cell phone, darting her eyes around and glaring at nothing. At his approach, she looks up at the sky briefly before moving away abruptly, climbing into the limo and snapping the door shut with an angry slam.
Kris debates the wisdom of actually continuing this encounter for about a half a second before Adam looks up and spots him, his face darkening stormily.
“Kris,” he says, voice razor-sharp. “How nice to see you.”
Anger erupts in Kris’s chest, and all thoughts of leaving it be erupt into smoke. “You never called me back.”
Adam blinks, and his mouth flattens into a thin line. “Neither did you.”
“I believe the drunk-dialing etiquette calls for the drunken one,” Kris points to Adam, that’d be you, “to take the responsibility for apologizing to their victim.”
“Victim. Right.” Adam flicks his cigarette and Kris takes a step back as it skids across the pavement at his feet, a flash of red and an acrid whiff of smoke. “Well, I apologize heartily for any pain or damage I may have caused. I certainly hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” Adam’s voice grates harshly against Kris’s ears, the cruel twist of his words making him wince.
“Okay, all right.” Kris nods jerkily, crossing his arms across his chest. “So this is how it’s gonna be?”
Adam scoffs. “What,” he bites out.
“I don’t know what your problem suddenly is,” Kris says, surprising himself with how steady his voice sounds. “But regardless of anything that happened between us, I would’ve thought you’d have a little bit more respect for our friendship.”
“Friendship,” Adam repeats, grimacing like the word leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “Let’s not kid ourselves; we haven’t been friends in awhile,” he says. “Friends don’t fuck each other.” Kris winces, and Adam latches onto it instantly. “Or did you forget? You were all over me that night, practically begging for it - “
Kris cuts him off, face burning in humiliation. “Go to hell.”
But Adam just continues, as if Kris had never spoken. “Or maybe it was all a part of the plan. Working your way up to the big leagues.” Digging in his jacket pocket, Adam pulls out a pack of cigarettes, tearing into the pack with shaky, erratic movements. “Saw the big party on TMZ,” he says, chin jutting out obstinately. “Tell me, is her dick bigger than mine? I’ve always wondered.”
Kris gapes at him for an agonizingly long minute, watching as Adam lights a cigarette, staring at the ground with narrowed eyes.
“What exactly were you wanting me to do?” he finally says, fighting to keep his words even. “We slept together, and you didn’t want to take it further than that, fine. Whatever. I kept calling you because I thought for some - some stupid reason that we could still salvage what was left of our friendship. And you didn’t want that either, okay. So what next, am I supposed to disappear off the face of the earth? Never leave my house again?” Kris’s anger builds as he keeps talking, something snapping in his head and allowing the flow of words to rush free. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me? God that’s - I never thought I’d actually say that to somebody.” Kris shakes his head. “Congrats, Adam.”
“So it’s true, huh?” Adam takes a long drag, staring at some point over Kris’s shoulder. “Yeah, thought so.”
Feeling suddenly and intensely exhausted, Kris shakes his head, not having the strength to correct him on the assumption, or to come up with a reason why he even should. “Whatever, man.” Kris turns to leave. “I hope you’re happy.”
Adam snorts loudly, calling out to Kris’s back with a derisive sneer. “Say hello to Gaga for me. It’s been way too long, we should do lunch!”
Kris ignores him, managing to make it to his car before faltering, jutting forward to lean his forehead against the steering wheel, the dismay and disappointment overwhelming. He breathes deeply for a long second, an icy cold spreading through his arms and fingers. Emotional frostbite, he thinks, and gulps down a hysterical snort.
From his driver’s seat, Kris can see Adam’s profile, a dark shadow against the bright backdrop of the mansion, blazing with light. As Kris watches, Adam turns and climbs inside the car, face turned away. The sound of the door slamming is muffled and far away, and after a minute the limo pulls away, driving past Kris’s car smoothly.
So that’s that, Kris thinks, and watches as Adam’s limo disappears into the night, silent as the grave.
--
Kris decides, halfway through a bottle of whiskey that is supposed to help him drown his sorrows but instead is just making him feel like puking, to mope about it for exactly one week. One week is a fair amount of time, he figures - after all, it’s not like they broke up, exactly, or that they’d ever even dated at all. It’s the end of, well, whatever it is that they were doing, Kris doesn’t think there’s a name for it.
This commitment doesn’t work out so well. But he’d been expecting that.
He’s so sick of moping, though, and whining, and self-analyzing, and obsessing. He feels like he’s been going around in a vicious circle in his own head for months, and the familiar treads in his mind are well-worn.
But he can’t just let go, there’s just - no way. No matter how many times he goes over it in his mind, it just doesn’t make sense. Everything had been fine - better than fine, it’d been amazing, in a way that life hadn’t been amazing for quite a while. Their night together was the culmination of not just the weeks and months they’d spent toeing the line with each other, playing chicken and slowly moving forward, inch by inch, but of their entire friendship, every moment from the very first day they’d met all leading up to what Kris had already accepted was the inevitable conclusion. There’d been no sign that Adam wasn’t on the same page - at least no sign that Kris had seen, or could figure out in retrospect.
He just can’t figure out what changed between the time they fell asleep and the time that they woke up, how Kris had expected warmth and happiness and had been met with standoffishness and awkwardness. How Adam had rushed out in almost a panic, all jerky movement and high-pitched excuses - and then, to not even have an explanation, to just be blatantly ignored - Kris doesn’t understand it, knows he’s missing something important, something that Adam isn’t letting him in on.
He doesn’t have the energy to keep chasing it, that’s for sure. But he can’t quite let go, either, can’t quite believe that the Adam he’d seen at Fuller’s party, the nasty, sneering, unreachable Adam, is all that’s left for him.
But it’s all Adam’s choice, is the bottom line, Adam’s terms, Adam’s limits, Adam’s decision. Kris doesn’t even really know what happened or what’s going on, all he has is confusion and anger and, well, Lady Gaga, apparently.
A few days before Kris’s birthday, Carli sends him a link to photos of Gaga and Adam, taken in a bistro in downtown LA. They’re arguing - or sort of, where it’s more like Adam looking angry and Gaga frowning up at him disapprovingly. The article is mildly offensive, referring to the “tiff” as “dissent among the ranks” - which doesn’t even make sense, honestly - but it quotes a couple nameless patrons who describe “a huge blowup” and also “friends” of both Adam and Gaga saying that “this is it, for their friendship” and “it was a major thing.” It gets picked up by TMZ, but it doesn’t go much farther than that, to Kris’s great relief.
It only increases his confusion however, to the point where he’s exasperated just thinking about it. Why were they arguing? Adam was jealous, Kris could deduce that much, but if he doesn’t want a relationship or sex or whatever, why would he even care who Kris sleeps with?
He doesn’t have a whole lot of time to dissect it, which he is insanely grateful for. His tour starts up in a month, and he’s spending two weeks of that back in Arkansas since his parents want to celebrate his birthday with just family this year. This may or may not have something to do with the incident on Kris’s thirtieth birthday the year before, when his mother had attempted a surprise visit and had crashed Kris’s night of embarrassing drunken revelry with Adam and his band. Tommy had been in a lap-dance sort of mood, and well. She hasn’t quite let it go yet. Though in retrospect, it had been a convenient opener for the “by the way, I might be a little bit gay” conversation, which had been long overdue.
But the point remains that he owes her a quiet birthday party, with cake and ice cream and normal-people things, and he’s determined to give it to her. For instance, normal people don’t usually angst about their weird love triangle-resembling situations with gay rock stars, so Kris is attempting to move past it.
He gets a text, a few days before he’s scheduled to leave. It’s from Mr. Lucy, who Kris had exchanged numbers with at some point at the party, he can’t really remember why. They’ve had some interesting conversations over the past few weeks, though. Turns out his real name is George.
Are you free right now?
Kris blinks, debating the best way to react if this is a come on of some kind. Yes?
Good. I’m outside. Her highness requests your presence!
“Ooookay,” Kris mumbles, and hops across his suitcase to peer out the window. Sure enough, the familiar limo is there (which Kris has since learned is named Purple Rain, which is just…awesome, he has to admit) and Mr. Lucy standing vigil by the driver’s side door.
What is my life? Kris thinks, but heads downstairs anyway. Gaga requests his presence, after all.
Mr. Lucy presents him with a purple cupcake, colored exactly the same shade as the limo. “Happy birthday,” he says, and grins toothily. “Now get in, we’re gonna be late.”
Kris shrugs and climbs in; he’s at least getting a cupcake out of this deal. He lounges in the back and eats it leisurely as the limo makes its now familiar trek to Gaga’s estate. He manages to make it last most of the ride, so he’s still licking frosting off his fingers as Mr. Lucy opens his door.
They’re parked in a different spot than before, and Mr. Lucy leads him in through the back, past the pool where most of the people had been gathered around at the party. Then, into an unfamiliar bedroom on the second floor, one that Kris doesn’t think he’s seen before.
There’s a huge bed with a black comforter, and a big mahogany desk that takes up an entire wall. A wooden screen is set up beside the bed, and a massage table sits just beyond it. Perched on top primly is Gaga, who is brushing her hair and humming something to herself. Looking up at Kris’s entrance, she throws the brush aside and hops off.
“Kris Allen! Happy birthday!” She rushes over and gives him a big kiss on his forehead, then leaning back and giggling. “I love how I don’t have to stand on my tip toes to reach you, you runt.”
“That’s cold,” Kris replies, laughing. “You’re one to talk anyway.”
She waves one hand at him, and he notices that there are tiny peace signs painted on each fingernail. “Alright, so I know it’s not your actual birthday until this weekend, but a little birdie told me you were flying out of town, so I have to give you your present now.”
“You didn’t have to - “
“Pish, posh, no speaking. Come with me.” She takes him by the hand and pats the massage table she’d just been sitting on with a wink. “Hop on.”
“A massage?” Kris asks, obediently jumping onto the table. “Or is this something more mysterious? A tattooing table, or…acupuncture, maybe?”
“Acupuncture,” she repeats, chin jutting out thoughtfully. “Now there’s an idea.”
“This is a needle-free birthday,” Kris says quickly.
“Of course, of course.” Tossing her head, she moves to the screen, pulling it out so that it obscures Kris from the rest of the room. “Now bear with me here. I have a surprise for you, but you need to stay behind here and keep quiet.”
Kris frowns. “What?”
Gaga smiles mysteriously, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a white flower, tossing it to him casually. “Have a daisy,” she says. “You’ll understand in a minute.”
“Wait, what are you - “
“Remember, keep quiet!” She smiles, hopping out from behind the screen with a wave of her hand. “And stay behind the screen!”
Kris laughs, a little bewildered. God, he hopes it isn’t a hooker.
He sits for only a few scant minutes before the door opens again. He waits with no small amount of trepidation before he starts to hear voices.
“…just in here. I hope you don’t mind, darling, I couldn’t book Paolo for any other time but right now. He’s going on some cruise with Naomi Campbell, I don’t even know.”
“No, it’s totally fine.” Kris freezes. That’s Adam. “I’m just glad we can have some time to talk in person. I just really wanted to apologize again, for the other day.”
“Don’t even think of it. We’ll not speak of it again.” Kris scrambles off the table as quietly as he can; he squints, and can just see the figures of Adam and Gaga through the wooden screen. “I’m just glad everything is all cleared up now. It - is, right?”
“Of course! Of course. I feel awful that I was taking all my stuff out on you, I was acting like such an ass.” Kris hears Adam sigh mournfully. “Seems to be the trend nowadays.”
“Is there a reason for that?” A flash of movement, and Gaga suddenly appears on the opposite side of the screen, grinning coquettishly at Kris.
What are you doing, Kris mouths, eyes wide.
Happy birthday, she mouths back, pressing a finger to her lips. “You can keep talking, love, I’m just going to get ready for my massage appointment. I’m listening.”
On the other side of the screen, Adam moves to flop down on the huge bed. “It’s this thing with Kris,” he says, and Kris’s breath catches abruptly. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
“Talk it out, darling, maybe it’ll help,” Gaga calls, and Kris turns to her in a panic. Clapping her hand over his mouth, she leans in, whispers, “happy birthday, Gatsby,” and kisses his temple. Kris watches, gobsmacked, as she slips out the back door, winking over her shoulder. The door closes with an almost imperceptible click, leaving him alone in the room with a clueless Adam.
“…and you already know what happened, and everything. And - well, I don’t know, it’s like what I said the other night. It’s like some crazy monster takes over my body and wreaks nasty havoc while I watch in horror.” Adam snorts loudly. “Jekyll and Hyde. Or Adam and Hyde. Or - which one was the mean one? Or - whatever.”
Kris bites his lip, debating the incredible number of ethical issues implicit in this situation, and just how incredibly pissed off Adam will be when he discovers Kris is here. Then he weighs that against just how badly he wants to hear what Adam has to say, and quickly decides that he is a very unethical person.
“And I know it’s not his fault, really, like in my head? But I feel like it’s his fault, even though I know that’s not true, and so it all just gets jumbled up and wham, evil Adam. And so I’m guilty and yucky and angry and self-righteous, all at the same time. It’s just - ridiculous.” Adam’s talking so quickly that his words are tumbling over each other. “It’s just - I thought I could handle it, you know? He kept pushing, and I’m not saying I didn’t want it too, I did - fuck, I did, I do - but he’d only gotten divorced like, what, six months before, and I wasn’t sure if - “ Adam sighs again. “I dunno.”
Kris suddenly feels a little sick.
“And then it happened and it was amazing, don’t get me wrong, and I thought it could handle it, and then I woke up, because his phone was ringing? And it was Katy, and for a moment it almost felt like we were cheating on her, and I just - I freaked out.” Adam sighs, voice growing softer as he keeps talking. “And I knew I should’ve just, like, explained or something, but I wasn’t sure…I mean, he never talks to me about anything, he never talks about how he feels. And I don’t know if he actually meant any of it or if it was just like, something he wanted to do to get over Katy, maybe? I mean, that’s awful, and I don’t think he’d ever do that, but maybe if he wasn’t aware of it?”
Kris falls back against the table with a loud thump, his heart in his throat.
“What was that?” Kris barely registers the sounds of Adam standing up and moving toward the screen. “Hey, are you okay?” The screen suddenly moves and Adam appears, face draining of color. “Oh…my God.”
“You thought I was using you to get over Katy?” Kris croaks, and Adam takes a step back.
“Um, you - you’re not Gaga.” Adam shakes his head, knuckles going white as he grips the screen.
“No, I’m not,” Kris says. “And I really, really wasn’t. That’s not - Jesus, Adam, that’s what you’ve been thinking the whole time?”
“No,” Adam blurts quickly. “I didn’t think that, I mean - I did, okay, yeah, a little bit, but that’s crazy, and I know you wouldn’t do that, and I didn’t even think it for very long, but - um.”
“But you thought I was,” Kris pushes. “Or you didn’t think I was serious about it. And instead of talking to me, you…decided to act like a crazy person instead?”
“I have issues!” Adam whines. “You know this about me!”
“You don’t have issues, okay, Lindsey Lohan has issues. You have a troubling lack of common sense, but that’s just a part of your sparkling personality, apparently.”
“Hey, you weren’t very talky yourself, you know,” Adam shoots back. “And then you sent me all these texts like, oh, we can still be friends! It doesn’t have to be a big deal!” Adam flaps his hands mockingly.
“I thought that’s what you wanted!” Kris protests. “You ran out on me and you were all freaked out and I thought you - that you didn’t.” Adam’s face changes slightly and Kris takes a deep breath, flustered. “Whatever, asshole. You were the one acting like a psycho the other night.”
“Well, you were the one flirting with Lady Gaga on freaking twitter!”
“You drunk dialed me! And made out with some other guy and told me about it.”
“Well, your stupid assistant won’t stop sending me nasty emails!”
“She - “ Kris stops short. “Carli sends you email?”
Adam crosses his arms petulantly. “Yes. Any time she feels like venting, apparently, for the past fucking month.”
Kris splutters, unable to keep an incredulous laugh from erupting. “She sends - she sends you hate mail?”
“It’s not funny,” Adam says, as Kris laughs helplessly. “Shut the fuck up, okay, some of them were very hurtful.”
“I can’t believe - Adam. Adam, I’m friends with Lady Gaga,” Kris stammers, suddenly overwhelmed with the utter insanity of the past month. “We’re having an argument about our relationship in Lady Gaga’s bedroom.”
Adam’s mouth twitches slightly. “Are you having an episode or something?” Kris just laughs harder, collapsing backwards on the massage table. “Do you need some Valium?”
“She told me you were my birthday present,” Kris says, clutching at his side helplessly.
“Well, that’s nice and objectifying,” Adam grumbles. “Stop laughing, dick.”
“I’m sorry,” Kris manages, slowly calming down. Thinking back over what Adam had said, he sobers completely. Had he really gotten his signals crossed so completely? “I’m sorry. I’m - really sorry.”
Adam just frowns, kicking at the carpet with one boot. “Did - you really thought that’s what I wanted to hear? That’s what all the friend noise was about?” Kris nods slowly. “And I thought - well, I don’t know what I thought exactly, but it was something totally different.”
“I think,” Kris says slowly, thinking through the past few months with a newfound clarity, “that we need to work on our communication.”
Adam takes a deep breath. “We could start,” he says slowly, staring at his feet, “by talking? Maybe, over dinner?”
Kris is almost afraid to breathe. “Yes,” he says immediately. “I would - yes. Absolutely.”
“Saturday night?” Adam grins a little. “I’d even pay and everything. Be a gentleman and all that.”
“I’m leaving on Friday,” he says, without thinking, and Adam’s face falls a little. “Just to Arkansas! For my birthday. My mom wants a family celebration.”
“Oh,” Adam replies, sounding relieved. “Well, okay. We can meet up - well, shit, then you’re going on tour, aren’t you?”
Kris nods slowly. “Five months.”
“Dammit,” Adam says, the strained look returning to his face. “Well. This is what cell phones were invented for, right?”
“Or,” says Kris, and swallows a little nervously. “Or, you could come with me?” Adam’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “You might have to let Carli interrogate you, but - “
“You’d want me there, at your family celebration?”
“Of course,” Kris replies automatically, and Adam smiles, big and wide and beautiful.
“Okay, let’s do that,” he says, and reaches out to grab Kris’s wrist, his light grip sending tiny explosions of sparks, racing up his arm. “But we should have sex again, first. Probably.”
“Um,” Kris says, and feels something almost - snap, in his head, and he lurches forward without thinking, latching his arms around Adam’s neck.
Stumbling backward beneath Kris’s unexpected weight, Adam laughs into the kiss. “Whoa nelly.”
“Shut up,” Kris says, pushing him back towards the bed.
“Why Kristopher, how forward of you,” Adam mumbles as he topples backwards onto the comforter. “Ow - what the - “ Twisting around, Adam digs something out from beneath his back, frowning perplexedly. “Is this - “
“Lube!” Kris throws his head back and laughs. “Gaga left us lube! Do you see what I’m talking about?”
Adam stares at the bottle unblinkingly, then back up at Kris, eyes dark and intense. “Kris,” he says. “Shut up.”
And Kris does.
--
“Oh, shit.”
Kris attempts to lift his head, groans, and gives up. “What?”
“The lube’s all gone.”
“Oh, man.” Kris shakes his head mournfully. “I’m not leaving. You’re leaving. I can’t move.”
“Wait, wait.” The bed dips and Adam stumbles to the desk in the corner, stark naked. “Look at this. Oh my God.”
“What?” Kris grunts as a bottle of lube hits his chest. “Ow!”
Adam turns around, holding a velvet bag, tied with ivory ribbon. “There’s like, three fucking bottles here. And M&Ms, and - Ritz crackers?” Kris jerks his head up. “And Mountain Dew!” Adam digs deeper into the bag and gasps. “And condoms! Oh my God, it’s like a goody bag of sexy awesomeness!”
“Wait, that wasn’t there before,” Kris says. “How did she know we…” he trails off, frowning deeply.
Adam looks up from the bag, hair ruffled, eyes wide. “She’s magic,” he breathes reverently.
Kris blinks, thinks, my life is awesome. “Okay,” he says, and shrugs. “Toss me some M&Ms.”
end.
I have decided that RPF is like the fandom beer bong. You may view it with excitement, trepidation, disgust, or hysterical glee, but what the fuck ever, if you hang around the party long enough you’ll end up doing it eventually.
Relevant note: I kick ass at beer bongs. In fact I'm so good at it that it's a little embarrassing. Coincidence, or DESTINY?
part one
Carli’s take on the situation is actually incredibly logical, much like everything Carli does. It’s not like Kris didn’t already know that, it’s just - well, he’s always been a bit of an optimist.
The truth of the matter is that he’s been telling himself the whole time that there was something different about his relationship with Adam, that set it apart from any other relationship that he’s ever had - or that Adam’s ever had, for that matter. Just like how he can’t imagine ever feeling about anyone the way he felt about Katy, he can’t imagine ever wanting anyone like how he wants Adam. Kris had just assumed that it went both ways, without ever really thinking about it all that deeply.
It’s that assumption that, he is starting to realize, allowed him to spend the last month and a half plainly ignoring all the signs that Adam just wasn’t as involved in - whatever it is they have - as Kris is. If the whole horribly embarrassing rejection thing wasn’t enough, the weeks and weeks of ignored calls and emails and, even worse, the avoidance - Adam ducking away as soon as Kris walks into a party, Adam pretending not to notice him at events, Adam deflecting questions about their friendship in interviews - yeah, that’s certainly done the trick.
All that energy, time spent agonizing about how to get Adam to talk to him, all the nights he couldn’t sleep remembering how it felt to hold Adam’s body close to his, the way his voice sounded half-drunk with sleep, the scratchy slide of leather and denim against his bare skin, all for what. Kris has nothing to show for any of it but a bruised ego, an ache in his throat and a silent phone.
So, no more, he decides. He might be a Gatsby, but he will allow no more tragedy. His self-delusion ends now. And he skates on this assertion for a full week before it all shatters at his feet.
There’s some big fancy event at Simon Fuller’s estate to celebrate Idol’s newest judge switch-up, and all the show’s biggest names are heavily encouraged to attend. Kris knows Adam will be there, in a sort of detached, not-thinking-about-it sort of way, but when the time comes that he actually sees him in person, it hits him with all the force of a hurricane.
Adam looks - terrible. Kris first spots him from across the room as he negotiates himself towards the bar. He’s standing off to the side from the crowd, speaking closely to David Cook, but he looks dead on his feet, swaying slightly in place. His clothes are rumpled and his eye makeup is smudged, as if he’d fallen asleep with it on and hadn’t bothered to reapply. He’s clutching his drink with white knuckles, and in the short time that Kris watches him, he manages to chug the entire thing.
Kris feels a wave of concern and has to forcibly calm himself, turning resolutely away. He spends the next hour attempting to stay on the opposite side of the room as Adam, but this only results in Kris being hyper-aware of where he is at any given second, so it’s a bit counterproductive.
He isn’t sure exactly when Adam realizes that he’s there, but at some point he starts to feel Adam’s gaze, laser-sharp on the back of his neck. He does his best not to shift uncomfortably under the attention, but he can’t stop his cheeks from flushing every time Adam manages to catch his eye, and he knows - knows - that he’s completely transparent. As usual.
It isn’t long before Kris hears a commotion from the other side of the room, and he knows even before he turns to look that it’s Adam. How could it be anyone but Adam?
He’s embroiled in an argument with one of the guys from security, glaring venomously and stepping up in the guy’s space, the line of his shoulders rigid and tense. As Kris watches, Adam leans in and hisses something that makes the man’s face flush red with anger. Hovering behind them is Adam’s assistant, fluttering her hands and looking fairly close to a heart attack.
An impulse striking, Kris sets down his drink and follows it, barely thinking Carli’s gonna kill me before heading straight in Adam’s direction.
“…down, sir. I will remove you.”
“Oh, you’ll remove me.” Adam waves one arm dramatically, leaning in closer to the guard. “Did you hear that, Ellie? He’s going to remove me. Like a fucking couch.”
“Adam, quit it, come on - “
“Adam.” Kris watches as all three of them freeze, Ellie swiveling her head to stare at him in almost dawning horror. He feels a stab of something in-between sympathy and irritation. “Come on, we need to talk.”
Adam turns slowly to look at him, and Kris fights to keep his face blank. Face twisting into an ugly smirk, Adam narrows his eyes, taking a sharp step backwards. “No,” he says, drawing the word out so it sounds like a curse. “No, I don’t think we need to do anything.”
Kris inhales sharply, stepping forward and grabbing Adam’s arm. The bicep beneath his fingers immediately tenses, and Kris grabs on tighter, anticipating a move to pull away. “Adam, walk out of here with me.” Adam’s face twists and he opens his mouth to spit out a reply, but Kris cuts him off. “No, listen, there are thirty different cameras in here and the last thing either of us need is a scene, so let it go and come with me.” Kris pauses, feeling a flash of mingled frustration and leftover hurt. “You can blow me off if you want, but at least walk out of here with me.”
Adam rips his arm out of Kris’s grip, straightening his clothes primly. “Walk out on your own,” he says breezily and turns on his heel, striding for the door. Ellie looks at him, eyes wide, before tearing after him, ponytail flapping behind her anxiously. Muttering to himself, Kris shoots an apologetic look at the security guard - who ignores him - and ducks out of the ballroom.
He finds Adam standing in the huge driveway, leaning against a limo and smoking a cigarette. Ellie is talking rapidly on her cell phone, darting her eyes around and glaring at nothing. At his approach, she looks up at the sky briefly before moving away abruptly, climbing into the limo and snapping the door shut with an angry slam.
Kris debates the wisdom of actually continuing this encounter for about a half a second before Adam looks up and spots him, his face darkening stormily.
“Kris,” he says, voice razor-sharp. “How nice to see you.”
Anger erupts in Kris’s chest, and all thoughts of leaving it be erupt into smoke. “You never called me back.”
Adam blinks, and his mouth flattens into a thin line. “Neither did you.”
“I believe the drunk-dialing etiquette calls for the drunken one,” Kris points to Adam, that’d be you, “to take the responsibility for apologizing to their victim.”
“Victim. Right.” Adam flicks his cigarette and Kris takes a step back as it skids across the pavement at his feet, a flash of red and an acrid whiff of smoke. “Well, I apologize heartily for any pain or damage I may have caused. I certainly hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” Adam’s voice grates harshly against Kris’s ears, the cruel twist of his words making him wince.
“Okay, all right.” Kris nods jerkily, crossing his arms across his chest. “So this is how it’s gonna be?”
Adam scoffs. “What,” he bites out.
“I don’t know what your problem suddenly is,” Kris says, surprising himself with how steady his voice sounds. “But regardless of anything that happened between us, I would’ve thought you’d have a little bit more respect for our friendship.”
“Friendship,” Adam repeats, grimacing like the word leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “Let’s not kid ourselves; we haven’t been friends in awhile,” he says. “Friends don’t fuck each other.” Kris winces, and Adam latches onto it instantly. “Or did you forget? You were all over me that night, practically begging for it - “
Kris cuts him off, face burning in humiliation. “Go to hell.”
But Adam just continues, as if Kris had never spoken. “Or maybe it was all a part of the plan. Working your way up to the big leagues.” Digging in his jacket pocket, Adam pulls out a pack of cigarettes, tearing into the pack with shaky, erratic movements. “Saw the big party on TMZ,” he says, chin jutting out obstinately. “Tell me, is her dick bigger than mine? I’ve always wondered.”
Kris gapes at him for an agonizingly long minute, watching as Adam lights a cigarette, staring at the ground with narrowed eyes.
“What exactly were you wanting me to do?” he finally says, fighting to keep his words even. “We slept together, and you didn’t want to take it further than that, fine. Whatever. I kept calling you because I thought for some - some stupid reason that we could still salvage what was left of our friendship. And you didn’t want that either, okay. So what next, am I supposed to disappear off the face of the earth? Never leave my house again?” Kris’s anger builds as he keeps talking, something snapping in his head and allowing the flow of words to rush free. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me? God that’s - I never thought I’d actually say that to somebody.” Kris shakes his head. “Congrats, Adam.”
“So it’s true, huh?” Adam takes a long drag, staring at some point over Kris’s shoulder. “Yeah, thought so.”
Feeling suddenly and intensely exhausted, Kris shakes his head, not having the strength to correct him on the assumption, or to come up with a reason why he even should. “Whatever, man.” Kris turns to leave. “I hope you’re happy.”
Adam snorts loudly, calling out to Kris’s back with a derisive sneer. “Say hello to Gaga for me. It’s been way too long, we should do lunch!”
Kris ignores him, managing to make it to his car before faltering, jutting forward to lean his forehead against the steering wheel, the dismay and disappointment overwhelming. He breathes deeply for a long second, an icy cold spreading through his arms and fingers. Emotional frostbite, he thinks, and gulps down a hysterical snort.
From his driver’s seat, Kris can see Adam’s profile, a dark shadow against the bright backdrop of the mansion, blazing with light. As Kris watches, Adam turns and climbs inside the car, face turned away. The sound of the door slamming is muffled and far away, and after a minute the limo pulls away, driving past Kris’s car smoothly.
So that’s that, Kris thinks, and watches as Adam’s limo disappears into the night, silent as the grave.
--
Kris decides, halfway through a bottle of whiskey that is supposed to help him drown his sorrows but instead is just making him feel like puking, to mope about it for exactly one week. One week is a fair amount of time, he figures - after all, it’s not like they broke up, exactly, or that they’d ever even dated at all. It’s the end of, well, whatever it is that they were doing, Kris doesn’t think there’s a name for it.
This commitment doesn’t work out so well. But he’d been expecting that.
He’s so sick of moping, though, and whining, and self-analyzing, and obsessing. He feels like he’s been going around in a vicious circle in his own head for months, and the familiar treads in his mind are well-worn.
But he can’t just let go, there’s just - no way. No matter how many times he goes over it in his mind, it just doesn’t make sense. Everything had been fine - better than fine, it’d been amazing, in a way that life hadn’t been amazing for quite a while. Their night together was the culmination of not just the weeks and months they’d spent toeing the line with each other, playing chicken and slowly moving forward, inch by inch, but of their entire friendship, every moment from the very first day they’d met all leading up to what Kris had already accepted was the inevitable conclusion. There’d been no sign that Adam wasn’t on the same page - at least no sign that Kris had seen, or could figure out in retrospect.
He just can’t figure out what changed between the time they fell asleep and the time that they woke up, how Kris had expected warmth and happiness and had been met with standoffishness and awkwardness. How Adam had rushed out in almost a panic, all jerky movement and high-pitched excuses - and then, to not even have an explanation, to just be blatantly ignored - Kris doesn’t understand it, knows he’s missing something important, something that Adam isn’t letting him in on.
He doesn’t have the energy to keep chasing it, that’s for sure. But he can’t quite let go, either, can’t quite believe that the Adam he’d seen at Fuller’s party, the nasty, sneering, unreachable Adam, is all that’s left for him.
But it’s all Adam’s choice, is the bottom line, Adam’s terms, Adam’s limits, Adam’s decision. Kris doesn’t even really know what happened or what’s going on, all he has is confusion and anger and, well, Lady Gaga, apparently.
A few days before Kris’s birthday, Carli sends him a link to photos of Gaga and Adam, taken in a bistro in downtown LA. They’re arguing - or sort of, where it’s more like Adam looking angry and Gaga frowning up at him disapprovingly. The article is mildly offensive, referring to the “tiff” as “dissent among the ranks” - which doesn’t even make sense, honestly - but it quotes a couple nameless patrons who describe “a huge blowup” and also “friends” of both Adam and Gaga saying that “this is it, for their friendship” and “it was a major thing.” It gets picked up by TMZ, but it doesn’t go much farther than that, to Kris’s great relief.
It only increases his confusion however, to the point where he’s exasperated just thinking about it. Why were they arguing? Adam was jealous, Kris could deduce that much, but if he doesn’t want a relationship or sex or whatever, why would he even care who Kris sleeps with?
He doesn’t have a whole lot of time to dissect it, which he is insanely grateful for. His tour starts up in a month, and he’s spending two weeks of that back in Arkansas since his parents want to celebrate his birthday with just family this year. This may or may not have something to do with the incident on Kris’s thirtieth birthday the year before, when his mother had attempted a surprise visit and had crashed Kris’s night of embarrassing drunken revelry with Adam and his band. Tommy had been in a lap-dance sort of mood, and well. She hasn’t quite let it go yet. Though in retrospect, it had been a convenient opener for the “by the way, I might be a little bit gay” conversation, which had been long overdue.
But the point remains that he owes her a quiet birthday party, with cake and ice cream and normal-people things, and he’s determined to give it to her. For instance, normal people don’t usually angst about their weird love triangle-resembling situations with gay rock stars, so Kris is attempting to move past it.
He gets a text, a few days before he’s scheduled to leave. It’s from Mr. Lucy, who Kris had exchanged numbers with at some point at the party, he can’t really remember why. They’ve had some interesting conversations over the past few weeks, though. Turns out his real name is George.
Are you free right now?
Kris blinks, debating the best way to react if this is a come on of some kind. Yes?
Good. I’m outside. Her highness requests your presence!
“Ooookay,” Kris mumbles, and hops across his suitcase to peer out the window. Sure enough, the familiar limo is there (which Kris has since learned is named Purple Rain, which is just…awesome, he has to admit) and Mr. Lucy standing vigil by the driver’s side door.
What is my life? Kris thinks, but heads downstairs anyway. Gaga requests his presence, after all.
Mr. Lucy presents him with a purple cupcake, colored exactly the same shade as the limo. “Happy birthday,” he says, and grins toothily. “Now get in, we’re gonna be late.”
Kris shrugs and climbs in; he’s at least getting a cupcake out of this deal. He lounges in the back and eats it leisurely as the limo makes its now familiar trek to Gaga’s estate. He manages to make it last most of the ride, so he’s still licking frosting off his fingers as Mr. Lucy opens his door.
They’re parked in a different spot than before, and Mr. Lucy leads him in through the back, past the pool where most of the people had been gathered around at the party. Then, into an unfamiliar bedroom on the second floor, one that Kris doesn’t think he’s seen before.
There’s a huge bed with a black comforter, and a big mahogany desk that takes up an entire wall. A wooden screen is set up beside the bed, and a massage table sits just beyond it. Perched on top primly is Gaga, who is brushing her hair and humming something to herself. Looking up at Kris’s entrance, she throws the brush aside and hops off.
“Kris Allen! Happy birthday!” She rushes over and gives him a big kiss on his forehead, then leaning back and giggling. “I love how I don’t have to stand on my tip toes to reach you, you runt.”
“That’s cold,” Kris replies, laughing. “You’re one to talk anyway.”
She waves one hand at him, and he notices that there are tiny peace signs painted on each fingernail. “Alright, so I know it’s not your actual birthday until this weekend, but a little birdie told me you were flying out of town, so I have to give you your present now.”
“You didn’t have to - “
“Pish, posh, no speaking. Come with me.” She takes him by the hand and pats the massage table she’d just been sitting on with a wink. “Hop on.”
“A massage?” Kris asks, obediently jumping onto the table. “Or is this something more mysterious? A tattooing table, or…acupuncture, maybe?”
“Acupuncture,” she repeats, chin jutting out thoughtfully. “Now there’s an idea.”
“This is a needle-free birthday,” Kris says quickly.
“Of course, of course.” Tossing her head, she moves to the screen, pulling it out so that it obscures Kris from the rest of the room. “Now bear with me here. I have a surprise for you, but you need to stay behind here and keep quiet.”
Kris frowns. “What?”
Gaga smiles mysteriously, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a white flower, tossing it to him casually. “Have a daisy,” she says. “You’ll understand in a minute.”
“Wait, what are you - “
“Remember, keep quiet!” She smiles, hopping out from behind the screen with a wave of her hand. “And stay behind the screen!”
Kris laughs, a little bewildered. God, he hopes it isn’t a hooker.
He sits for only a few scant minutes before the door opens again. He waits with no small amount of trepidation before he starts to hear voices.
“…just in here. I hope you don’t mind, darling, I couldn’t book Paolo for any other time but right now. He’s going on some cruise with Naomi Campbell, I don’t even know.”
“No, it’s totally fine.” Kris freezes. That’s Adam. “I’m just glad we can have some time to talk in person. I just really wanted to apologize again, for the other day.”
“Don’t even think of it. We’ll not speak of it again.” Kris scrambles off the table as quietly as he can; he squints, and can just see the figures of Adam and Gaga through the wooden screen. “I’m just glad everything is all cleared up now. It - is, right?”
“Of course! Of course. I feel awful that I was taking all my stuff out on you, I was acting like such an ass.” Kris hears Adam sigh mournfully. “Seems to be the trend nowadays.”
“Is there a reason for that?” A flash of movement, and Gaga suddenly appears on the opposite side of the screen, grinning coquettishly at Kris.
What are you doing, Kris mouths, eyes wide.
Happy birthday, she mouths back, pressing a finger to her lips. “You can keep talking, love, I’m just going to get ready for my massage appointment. I’m listening.”
On the other side of the screen, Adam moves to flop down on the huge bed. “It’s this thing with Kris,” he says, and Kris’s breath catches abruptly. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
“Talk it out, darling, maybe it’ll help,” Gaga calls, and Kris turns to her in a panic. Clapping her hand over his mouth, she leans in, whispers, “happy birthday, Gatsby,” and kisses his temple. Kris watches, gobsmacked, as she slips out the back door, winking over her shoulder. The door closes with an almost imperceptible click, leaving him alone in the room with a clueless Adam.
“…and you already know what happened, and everything. And - well, I don’t know, it’s like what I said the other night. It’s like some crazy monster takes over my body and wreaks nasty havoc while I watch in horror.” Adam snorts loudly. “Jekyll and Hyde. Or Adam and Hyde. Or - which one was the mean one? Or - whatever.”
Kris bites his lip, debating the incredible number of ethical issues implicit in this situation, and just how incredibly pissed off Adam will be when he discovers Kris is here. Then he weighs that against just how badly he wants to hear what Adam has to say, and quickly decides that he is a very unethical person.
“And I know it’s not his fault, really, like in my head? But I feel like it’s his fault, even though I know that’s not true, and so it all just gets jumbled up and wham, evil Adam. And so I’m guilty and yucky and angry and self-righteous, all at the same time. It’s just - ridiculous.” Adam’s talking so quickly that his words are tumbling over each other. “It’s just - I thought I could handle it, you know? He kept pushing, and I’m not saying I didn’t want it too, I did - fuck, I did, I do - but he’d only gotten divorced like, what, six months before, and I wasn’t sure if - “ Adam sighs again. “I dunno.”
Kris suddenly feels a little sick.
“And then it happened and it was amazing, don’t get me wrong, and I thought it could handle it, and then I woke up, because his phone was ringing? And it was Katy, and for a moment it almost felt like we were cheating on her, and I just - I freaked out.” Adam sighs, voice growing softer as he keeps talking. “And I knew I should’ve just, like, explained or something, but I wasn’t sure…I mean, he never talks to me about anything, he never talks about how he feels. And I don’t know if he actually meant any of it or if it was just like, something he wanted to do to get over Katy, maybe? I mean, that’s awful, and I don’t think he’d ever do that, but maybe if he wasn’t aware of it?”
Kris falls back against the table with a loud thump, his heart in his throat.
“What was that?” Kris barely registers the sounds of Adam standing up and moving toward the screen. “Hey, are you okay?” The screen suddenly moves and Adam appears, face draining of color. “Oh…my God.”
“You thought I was using you to get over Katy?” Kris croaks, and Adam takes a step back.
“Um, you - you’re not Gaga.” Adam shakes his head, knuckles going white as he grips the screen.
“No, I’m not,” Kris says. “And I really, really wasn’t. That’s not - Jesus, Adam, that’s what you’ve been thinking the whole time?”
“No,” Adam blurts quickly. “I didn’t think that, I mean - I did, okay, yeah, a little bit, but that’s crazy, and I know you wouldn’t do that, and I didn’t even think it for very long, but - um.”
“But you thought I was,” Kris pushes. “Or you didn’t think I was serious about it. And instead of talking to me, you…decided to act like a crazy person instead?”
“I have issues!” Adam whines. “You know this about me!”
“You don’t have issues, okay, Lindsey Lohan has issues. You have a troubling lack of common sense, but that’s just a part of your sparkling personality, apparently.”
“Hey, you weren’t very talky yourself, you know,” Adam shoots back. “And then you sent me all these texts like, oh, we can still be friends! It doesn’t have to be a big deal!” Adam flaps his hands mockingly.
“I thought that’s what you wanted!” Kris protests. “You ran out on me and you were all freaked out and I thought you - that you didn’t.” Adam’s face changes slightly and Kris takes a deep breath, flustered. “Whatever, asshole. You were the one acting like a psycho the other night.”
“Well, you were the one flirting with Lady Gaga on freaking twitter!”
“You drunk dialed me! And made out with some other guy and told me about it.”
“Well, your stupid assistant won’t stop sending me nasty emails!”
“She - “ Kris stops short. “Carli sends you email?”
Adam crosses his arms petulantly. “Yes. Any time she feels like venting, apparently, for the past fucking month.”
Kris splutters, unable to keep an incredulous laugh from erupting. “She sends - she sends you hate mail?”
“It’s not funny,” Adam says, as Kris laughs helplessly. “Shut the fuck up, okay, some of them were very hurtful.”
“I can’t believe - Adam. Adam, I’m friends with Lady Gaga,” Kris stammers, suddenly overwhelmed with the utter insanity of the past month. “We’re having an argument about our relationship in Lady Gaga’s bedroom.”
Adam’s mouth twitches slightly. “Are you having an episode or something?” Kris just laughs harder, collapsing backwards on the massage table. “Do you need some Valium?”
“She told me you were my birthday present,” Kris says, clutching at his side helplessly.
“Well, that’s nice and objectifying,” Adam grumbles. “Stop laughing, dick.”
“I’m sorry,” Kris manages, slowly calming down. Thinking back over what Adam had said, he sobers completely. Had he really gotten his signals crossed so completely? “I’m sorry. I’m - really sorry.”
Adam just frowns, kicking at the carpet with one boot. “Did - you really thought that’s what I wanted to hear? That’s what all the friend noise was about?” Kris nods slowly. “And I thought - well, I don’t know what I thought exactly, but it was something totally different.”
“I think,” Kris says slowly, thinking through the past few months with a newfound clarity, “that we need to work on our communication.”
Adam takes a deep breath. “We could start,” he says slowly, staring at his feet, “by talking? Maybe, over dinner?”
Kris is almost afraid to breathe. “Yes,” he says immediately. “I would - yes. Absolutely.”
“Saturday night?” Adam grins a little. “I’d even pay and everything. Be a gentleman and all that.”
“I’m leaving on Friday,” he says, without thinking, and Adam’s face falls a little. “Just to Arkansas! For my birthday. My mom wants a family celebration.”
“Oh,” Adam replies, sounding relieved. “Well, okay. We can meet up - well, shit, then you’re going on tour, aren’t you?”
Kris nods slowly. “Five months.”
“Dammit,” Adam says, the strained look returning to his face. “Well. This is what cell phones were invented for, right?”
“Or,” says Kris, and swallows a little nervously. “Or, you could come with me?” Adam’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “You might have to let Carli interrogate you, but - “
“You’d want me there, at your family celebration?”
“Of course,” Kris replies automatically, and Adam smiles, big and wide and beautiful.
“Okay, let’s do that,” he says, and reaches out to grab Kris’s wrist, his light grip sending tiny explosions of sparks, racing up his arm. “But we should have sex again, first. Probably.”
“Um,” Kris says, and feels something almost - snap, in his head, and he lurches forward without thinking, latching his arms around Adam’s neck.
Stumbling backward beneath Kris’s unexpected weight, Adam laughs into the kiss. “Whoa nelly.”
“Shut up,” Kris says, pushing him back towards the bed.
“Why Kristopher, how forward of you,” Adam mumbles as he topples backwards onto the comforter. “Ow - what the - “ Twisting around, Adam digs something out from beneath his back, frowning perplexedly. “Is this - “
“Lube!” Kris throws his head back and laughs. “Gaga left us lube! Do you see what I’m talking about?”
Adam stares at the bottle unblinkingly, then back up at Kris, eyes dark and intense. “Kris,” he says. “Shut up.”
And Kris does.
--
“Oh, shit.”
Kris attempts to lift his head, groans, and gives up. “What?”
“The lube’s all gone.”
“Oh, man.” Kris shakes his head mournfully. “I’m not leaving. You’re leaving. I can’t move.”
“Wait, wait.” The bed dips and Adam stumbles to the desk in the corner, stark naked. “Look at this. Oh my God.”
“What?” Kris grunts as a bottle of lube hits his chest. “Ow!”
Adam turns around, holding a velvet bag, tied with ivory ribbon. “There’s like, three fucking bottles here. And M&Ms, and - Ritz crackers?” Kris jerks his head up. “And Mountain Dew!” Adam digs deeper into the bag and gasps. “And condoms! Oh my God, it’s like a goody bag of sexy awesomeness!”
“Wait, that wasn’t there before,” Kris says. “How did she know we…” he trails off, frowning deeply.
Adam looks up from the bag, hair ruffled, eyes wide. “She’s magic,” he breathes reverently.
Kris blinks, thinks, my life is awesome. “Okay,” he says, and shrugs. “Toss me some M&Ms.”
end.
I have decided that RPF is like the fandom beer bong. You may view it with excitement, trepidation, disgust, or hysterical glee, but what the fuck ever, if you hang around the party long enough you’ll end up doing it eventually.
Relevant note: I kick ass at beer bongs. In fact I'm so good at it that it's a little embarrassing. Coincidence, or DESTINY?