fic: we're starting off (i can turn it to what i like)
Title: we're starting off (i can turn it to what i like)
Pairing: Adam/Kris friendship
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Word Count: ~500
Author's Notes: Set before their Top 36 show; title from FOB's Tiffany Blews
Summary: "So, Kris. What do you do," he gestures between them, fingernails dark and obvious, "back in the real world?"
It's ten minutes before the dress rehearsal starts and he's mouthing the lyrics to Man in the Mirror into his fist backstage, his feet moving in a shuffling dance he's still not sure he wants the nation to see; he spins around - and it still feels too carefully choreographed - meets a pair of heavily outlined, amused eyes.
"Hey," he says, self-conscious, and Adam smiles slightly.
"You freaking out about tonight?" he asks, a little sympathetically.
Kris winces slightly (loathes his transparency). "Kind of?" he admits, his palm-down hand rocking back and forth.
"You'll be fine," Adam says, confidently. "You sounded really good this morning."
Kris runs a hand through his hair. "Uh - thanks. You did too." Then, awkwardly, because this competition's been a constant stream of people, of faces, "I'm Kris."
"I remember," Adam replies, mildly, and Kris shrugs. "So, Kris. What do you do," he gestures between them, fingernails dark and obvious, "back in the real world?"
"I'm - uh - still at college," he scratches the back of his neck - adds, because it sounds pretty fucking lame to him, "And, you know. I do some stuff as a church leader."
Adam's eyebrow, voice rise fractionally. "Oh?"
Kris shrugs. "Yeah. What about you?"
"I suck cock," and it's lazy, a little bored, but his eyes are almost challenging.
Kris' laugh is breathless, surprised - embarrassed. "I meant - for work."
Adam's gaze doesn't waver. "So did I."
"Oh," and it's creeping into mortified. Then, narrowing his eyes, "Wait, seriously?" and the accent he's losing a little more each day he's out here returns with a vengeance.
Adam's expression doesn't change for a long moment; eventually, the corner of mouth curves, reluctantly. "No. Musical theatre can be kind of gay..." his eyebrows pinch, and Kris is only now noticing that he speaks with his face, his hands, his whole body.
"But not that gay?" Kris supplies, amused, and Adam tilts his head to the side, smiles more genuinely.
"Exactly," Adam replies; he adds, laughing a little, "Did you seriously think-"
"I don't know, man," Kris says, hands up in protest, innocence. "Not in Arkansas anymore, you know?"
Adam's smile fades, quickly. "Is that a 'Friend of Dorothy' joke?"
"What? No-" and Kris' eyes widen before Adam laughs again.
"I'm kidding," he says, almost affectionately.
"Oh my God," Kris mutters.
"You're too easy," Adam says - adds, rapidly, "And that's a compliment. The pretty ones usually aren't."
Kris ducks his head as he laughs; he glances up at Adam, his chin still dipped. "I ... don't know what to say to that," he admits, and Adam tosses his head back and laughs.
"Well," he says, offering a hand to Kris, "Good luck tonight."
They shake, Adam's free hand coming up to cover his briefly; Kris squeezes his hand, the feel of Adam's leather glove odd - new - against his skin. "You too, man."
Disclaimer: References to real persons, places and events are made in the context of fiction, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory or factual.
Pairing: Adam/Kris friendship
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Word Count: ~500
Author's Notes: Set before their Top 36 show; title from FOB's Tiffany Blews
Summary: "So, Kris. What do you do," he gestures between them, fingernails dark and obvious, "back in the real world?"
It's ten minutes before the dress rehearsal starts and he's mouthing the lyrics to Man in the Mirror into his fist backstage, his feet moving in a shuffling dance he's still not sure he wants the nation to see; he spins around - and it still feels too carefully choreographed - meets a pair of heavily outlined, amused eyes.
"Hey," he says, self-conscious, and Adam smiles slightly.
"You freaking out about tonight?" he asks, a little sympathetically.
Kris winces slightly (loathes his transparency). "Kind of?" he admits, his palm-down hand rocking back and forth.
"You'll be fine," Adam says, confidently. "You sounded really good this morning."
Kris runs a hand through his hair. "Uh - thanks. You did too." Then, awkwardly, because this competition's been a constant stream of people, of faces, "I'm Kris."
"I remember," Adam replies, mildly, and Kris shrugs. "So, Kris. What do you do," he gestures between them, fingernails dark and obvious, "back in the real world?"
"I'm - uh - still at college," he scratches the back of his neck - adds, because it sounds pretty fucking lame to him, "And, you know. I do some stuff as a church leader."
Adam's eyebrow, voice rise fractionally. "Oh?"
Kris shrugs. "Yeah. What about you?"
"I suck cock," and it's lazy, a little bored, but his eyes are almost challenging.
Kris' laugh is breathless, surprised - embarrassed. "I meant - for work."
Adam's gaze doesn't waver. "So did I."
"Oh," and it's creeping into mortified. Then, narrowing his eyes, "Wait, seriously?" and the accent he's losing a little more each day he's out here returns with a vengeance.
Adam's expression doesn't change for a long moment; eventually, the corner of mouth curves, reluctantly. "No. Musical theatre can be kind of gay..." his eyebrows pinch, and Kris is only now noticing that he speaks with his face, his hands, his whole body.
"But not that gay?" Kris supplies, amused, and Adam tilts his head to the side, smiles more genuinely.
"Exactly," Adam replies; he adds, laughing a little, "Did you seriously think-"
"I don't know, man," Kris says, hands up in protest, innocence. "Not in Arkansas anymore, you know?"
Adam's smile fades, quickly. "Is that a 'Friend of Dorothy' joke?"
"What? No-" and Kris' eyes widen before Adam laughs again.
"I'm kidding," he says, almost affectionately.
"Oh my God," Kris mutters.
"You're too easy," Adam says - adds, rapidly, "And that's a compliment. The pretty ones usually aren't."
Kris ducks his head as he laughs; he glances up at Adam, his chin still dipped. "I ... don't know what to say to that," he admits, and Adam tosses his head back and laughs.
"Well," he says, offering a hand to Kris, "Good luck tonight."
They shake, Adam's free hand coming up to cover his briefly; Kris squeezes his hand, the feel of Adam's leather glove odd - new - against his skin. "You too, man."
Disclaimer: References to real persons, places and events are made in the context of fiction, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory or factual.