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linzeestylecontinued from part I
The Idol Cam has a loose schedule: there aren't set times, per se, that everyone has to pay their dues, but their handlers seem to know that without some kind of rules it'd just be Gokey and Matt all the time, every time. There's a rotation sheet, of sorts, where everyone's supposed to play. Adam gets hold of it their first night back in California.
"I gotta admit," says Kris mildly, sprawled across lounge couch in their bus and picking aimlessly at notes on his guitar, "it works out pretty well. I got no want to be around you right now."
"Well in that case." Adam keeps fiddling with the setting buttons. "We'll just leave it in my bunk."
"Just in case they want a sequel to your last starring role?"
"Only if you're my co-star," Adam suggests, looking up to bat his eyelashes.
It's getting easier, slowly, to not get flustered when Adam flirts with him -- because Adam doesn't mean it, seems to do it like breathing. If anything, it's a reminder, just enough of a tease to remind them of their limits. For all of the comments, Adam's been great about keeping the safety of space between them, and Kris is, at least intellectually speaking, really very grateful.
On the camera in Adam's hands, some light changes from red to green, and Adam squeals, actually squeals in delight. Kris laughs, setting his guitar down and twisting until his head's hanging over the edge of the arm-rest. "You get it?"
"The Lambert Cam is open for business."
"Cambert. Oh jeez." Kris grins, flipping over until he's laying on his stomach. Adam climbs up off the floor and drags the little camera up with him, panning the room in what Kris imagines is a 'look at our digs' survey. He closes his eyes and lets himself listen to the voice over Adam's helpfully providing: Here's Casa de Kris y Adam, Idol fans, this is where the magic happens, and by magic I mean costumes, lots of them. The first day we had to move everything out of the two spare bunks so I could put my suitcases in there -- actually Danny never left the bus, we think he's buried under a makeup kit somewhere, but we promise to find him before anyone notices...
Kris huffs, letting himself zone out to the sound of Adam talking to the camera. His eyes slide closed and he's almost ready to ignore the presence of the Idol Cam entirely, until he's jostled by someone -- Adam -- kicking at the edge of the couch. When he opens his eyes, there's a camera in his face, Adam staring him down over it with his best Intrepid Reporter face on.
It's not very convincing.
"So, Kris Allen," says Adam in an affected register slightly lower than his own. "What's the best part of sharing a bus with Adam? Other than the closet space."
"Hey, who says there is one?" Kris finds himself craning his neck back a little to wave into the camera. "Um, I dunno. Adam's a great guy, so the company, I guess." He glances at Adam. "Pretty bad, fishing for compliments on the internet."
"The internet tells only truths, Kris."
"So you slept with Perez Hilton then?"
Adam's nose scrunches. "Ew, someone said that?" There's a whirring sound when the camera clicks off and Adam spins it around, looking into the lens. "I hope they have an editor."
Because Idol Cam is, apparently, the freshest of fresh material, Allen (Kris still isn't sure what exactly that means), Adam insists on taking it to rehearsal, propping it up on a chair while they work out the hand-offs on "Walk This Way." He hands it over to Kris for "Slow Ride," pushing it into his hands exactly ten seconds before Allison tackles him, a blur of leopard-print leggings and green and purple hair.
"Your hair, baby girl," coos Adam, spinning Allison in a circle before depositing her back onto the stage. "You color-coordinated! Now I'm going to match my shirt to my bangs tonight."
"It's like living in a bag of Skittles," Kris tells the camera, using the zoom to pan, blurry from Allison's two-toned hair to the red sweep across Adam's gelled mohawk. He's pretty sure he hears Adam murmur something about tasting the rainbow, but all the camera picks up is Allison's giggle and Adam's enthusiastic wave.
The night after they play San Diego -- Adam's hometown, and when Kris looks out into the crowd he sees flashes of rainbow-strobes and glittered clothing -- Adam leaves after the tour, just to run home and grab some things, go out and see some friends. Kris begs off coming with him, can't quite imagine how that would play out; Adam gets more media attention than he does, and he feels like flash-photography would be an awful idea.
"It would be good for you," Adam sing-songs, giant frame taking up the tiny mirror in the bathroom as he applies glitter to each eyelid, highlights the corners with shimmering white shadow. "One cannot live off of stage-attention alone."
"I don't know, you sure seem to." Kris doesn't move from the sofa and Adam turns and flashes bright white teeth.
"All the best attention happens off the stage."
Kris snorts, face flushing, and hangs over the side of the sofa, watching Adam slick his hair back and use a sponge to cover the freckles on his face. It's a ritual Kris is familiar with, watches Katy in the mirror some mornings, and he feels a sharp tug of guilt that almost knocks him off the couch. It's followed on its heels by a sense of irrational concern, and when Adam turns to put his rings on he catches Kris watching him, smiles curiously and tilts his head.
"Be careful, okay?" It sounds stupid and Kris feels self-conscious and absurd. "Just, it's going to be crazy. They'll probably know you're around here and, well."
"That's sweet, thank you." Kris will never get used to it, the easy way Adam admits what he thinks of things. Even more when Adam follows it up by running a thumb down the bridge of Kris' nose, leaving a trail of scented glitter makeup that Kris can smell on his skin. "I'll be fine, I promise. Home before morning, even." The grin comes back, playful and maybe dirty. "But not too much before."
Kris swats at his hand, ignoring the goosebumps he's got from Adam's touch. He promised himself he wouldn't be weird about this; he blames the lack of sleep, and the fact that whatever Adam's wearing right now smells really good. "'Kay, okay man. Go have fun. I'll just be here with my shotgun makin' sure I turn the light on before your date gets to second base."
"I bet your mom totally did that, didn't she?" Adam sounds charmed by the idea.
"Yup. Keebler Elves are real, too. Got our cookies every morning." Kris rolls his eyes, even though he can't help but grin. "Go, c'mon already."
"Okay, okay, I'm gone." Adam's laughing though, and manages to catch Kris off-guard enough to dip down and kiss his forehead. It's innocent, except for the way his lips are slightly parted, damp from breath and the gloss he put on them. Kris can't help it, closes his eyes and leans into it. "Nighty night," Adam whispers against him, and Kris shivers.
Kris doesn't mean to fall asleep on the couch: he was actually kidding about hanging out waiting for Adam to get back. Still, it's the sound of the pass code being keyed in that startles Kris awake, the soft clip of Adam's boots when he climbs back up the stairs. Kris blinks sleepily, turning against the sofa and scrunching his eyes in a wince at the pain in his neck from falling asleep against the arm rest.
"I'm sorry, I thought you'd be asleep by now." Adam sounds a little high, but the apology is genuine and Kris shakes his head, waving him off.
"Fell asleep watchin' TV." He gestures at the flat-panel, now left on the blue screen that signifies the channel is gone for the night. The timer on the DVDR says it's close to four am.
"Oh." Adam flops down onto the other thin sofa, reaching down to tug off one snakeskin boot. Now that he's in the light Kris can see him a little better: he's covered in glitter, far more than he left in, and the makeup he applied before he left is smudged dark around his eyes and flushing his cheeks with extra color. His pupils are definitely dilated and his shirt's fabric is shiny, ripples colors like oil-slick, folding and doubling where it's been unbuttoned to his sternum. He looks... not like a woman, at all, but also not like any of the guys Kris has ever met before. He can't seem to stop staring, and he blames it on being tired.
"Hmm?"
Kris doesn't realize Adam's looking up at him until Adam makes a curious sound in his throat; Kris startles, jerking back against the sofa.
"Oh, that's interesting." Adam tilts his head lazily, blinking at Kris all hood-lidded like a cat. It makes Kris feel caught, like Adam can see right through him. "You just don't seem like the boy that would go for this." Adam shrugs. "Shows what I know."
His eyes are hazy with whatever he's taken, but there's still lucidity to what he's saying; Kris has no doubt Adam will remember this, later.
"Sleep," says Adam, finally, pushing himself up so he can lever off the sofa. "And tomorrow..." He waves his hand in front of him, then holds it out for Kris to take, uses it to tug until Kris is more or less upright. He sways a little, dizzier than he expected.
"Thanks," he says sheepishly, not looking Adam in the eye.
"Hey." One of Adam's fingers comes up, tipping Kris' face until he has no choice but to look at him. Up this close is intimate, weird in a way nothing else they've done has been, and for a moment Kris is sure Adam is going to kiss him, going to start something at four in the damn morning, is nearly knocked backwards by the want in his gut. It chokes his chest and tightens his throat with guilt, sometimes, how he thinks about it even when Adam seems to be trying to put some normalcy back between them.
And Adam doesn't kiss him -- just smiles, kind of crooked, like he knows Kris is thinking it. "Bedtime," he says instead, getting an arm under Kris' and staggering them both towards the bunks. It's kind of a trick, climbing up when he's this tired, and Adam's not entirely helpful, sloping sideways against the wall and nearly knocking them both into it with a giggle when the bus starts moving and Adam's party-drug-or-whatever impaired balance is shot. Kris makes it into his own bed, but it's a trip-and-get-lucky thing.
"Goodnight," Adam calls across the span between them, and Kris makes a noise he hopes is a response. He's asleep after that though, and he doesn't know one way or the other.
*
In Glendale, one of the local radio stations schedules an interview with the top four. Adam crawls out of bed looking like every warning against the sins of excess and debauched revelry, but still manages to talk more than any of them when they slide into their respective studio chairs at Holy High Jesus O'Clock in the morning. "I had a good homecoming," Adam says, earnest-eyed, when he's asked about the coffee he's clinging to like a lifeline.
"Looks like it," says the DJ, "did you guys go with him?"
Adam answers before anyone else can, with, "Alli isn't old enough for those kinds of parties," and Kris and Danny laugh -- Kris out of discomfort, and Danny probably a little derisively.
"I think Adam is the only partier we've got here," says Danny with one last chuckle, and Allison scrunches up her face when he's not looking directly at her. "But we can only handle so many tapes, right Adam?"
"That's right. I'm too much man for Gokey." It makes Danny color, and earns another set of laughs before the DJ presses on.
Kris knows where the conversation is going, because it's where it always goes -- and Danny didn't help, of course, because he had to bring it up. "So about that tape," says the DJ, finally, after another couple of minutes pretending he cares about anything else. "Has the reaction died down?"
"Well, it did until just now." Adam smiles, syrup-sweet in that way where you can never tell if he's making fun of you. "No, but everyone's been pretty nice about it and now if this doesn't work out, I know I'll always have other offers." He looks over at Allison, who's clapped her hand over her mouth to avoid laughing into the mic. "Oops, sorry. That was inappropriate."
It goes on like that, questions about Adam's business, and Kris is content to tune out, listen to Adam make his usual canned responses. Yes, it was a movie; it was to help out a friend; no, he's not going to make a habit of it. Finally the DJ turns, like he's got a great idea, and asks, "So what is everyone's deepest, darkest secret?"
Kris chokes, and Adam pats him on the back sympathetically. "Uhhh..."
"Kris doesn't have any secrets. He's a puppy."
"Oh, come on. Nobody's perfect. Tell us, Kris, what's your big secret?"
"I don't, uh..." A thousand images are playing in his mind right now: of the tape, of him and Adam. Real, imagined -- none of it matters, at this point. "I don't have anything," he finishes lamely.
"He snores!" Adam says, helpfully. "You can hear it across the whole bus. And he squeezes the toothpaste wrong, that's awful."
That makes Allison finally give up, guffawing into her microphone. "Tell them all about Kris' toothpaste, Adam," and Adam reaches over to slap at her hands, gently.
"Dirty mind! You're not old enough for these things." It gets the conversation moving away from him though, and Kris leans back in his chair, eyes closed and listening as Danny talks about that time, in college, his fraternity made him put on a dress. Another twenty minutes and they're back on the road again, walking in twos and flanked by security like real-live celebrities, instead of the weird 15-minute kind. Adam, at least, looks the part: in dark reflective shades and a shirt that Kris can't imagine someone in their right mind designing, jeans that look too-tight and leather despite Arizona being one-fifteen in the shade. Kris shoves his hands in his pockets and feels out of place and unnerved; it was a radio show, not video anyway, but he still can't shake the whole secrets, thing. 'Someone's gonna know eventually,' he thinks, because it's true and that part is most likely his fault.
Adam lists sideways to knock their shoulders together, and Kris looks up and smiles weakly. "Hey," he says, leaning enough to wrap an arm around Kris as they walk. "You okay there?"
"Yeah, just thinkin'." Kris shrugs and leans in closer, lets Adam squeeze him tighter as they wait to pile into the van.
"Bad things?"
Kris climbs into the back seat; Adam follows him, scooting in beside him.
"Just hard. You ever worry about it?"
There's no use explaining what 'it' is -- Kris isn't entirely sure himself. Adam's face scrunches up though, like he's earnestly considering, and his voice is thoughtful when he says, "I think so. But I wouldn't do anything differently."
Kris nods. "Yeah. Me too." He puts his hands in his lap and watches the strange, dry skyline.
At the venue, Kris tunes his guitar while Adam plays with his makeup, which is probably a pretty appropriate representation of the show as a whole. At one point or other, Anoop comes by with the camera, holds on Kris while he plucks out by ear a chorus of "Her Diamonds," and makes Adam explain the contents of his makeup bag.
"You should try some," says Adam after Anoop wanders off, waggling the tube at Kris.
"Er, no thanks." He holds his hands up like he could ward it off, and Adam laughs, warm.
"I don't know, you were pretty into it before."
Kris flushes red; he knew Adam would remember that, and he should have seen it coming. "That's different."
"So only other boys wearing it? That's what you like?"
"Just you, I think." It's an awkward conversation, and Kris thinks, 'This isn't going anywhere. Adam's not going to let it.' It's inexcusably chicken-shit, putting all the pressure on Adam to keep their promise, but it's the only way Kris is going to get through this tour.
Turning away from the mirror, Adam looks at him, mouth turning into an affectionate grin. "I'm just asking, Kris, I promise not to jump you." He reaches over fast to drag his finger across Kris' cheek; Kris feels something damp and realizes he's been hit with whatever glitter-goop Adam is using, rubs the back of his hand over his face. When he pulls away his knuckles shimmer, and Kris has the strong suspicion it's still there.
There are two free days between Arizona and Texas -- for driving, yeah, but the second night they get hotel rooms. It feels foreign, a real bed, and Kris bounces up and down on his twin like a child, watching in the bathroom mirror as Adam fucks with his pile of cosmetics.
"You're playing dress-up, man."
"After seventeen we call it role-playing, and someone gets to use the fuzzy handcuffs." Adam lines an eye deftly with a white pencil, examines the results critically in the mirror. Kris bites his lip, fascinated despite himself. "Do you want to try?"
Kris does a double-take. "The--um, the--"
Adam waves the stick of eyeliner, raising his eyebrows expectantly. "Makeup?" Laughs out loud when he sees Kris' expression. "You thought I meant--oh your little face."
"Shut up, dick." It sends Adam into a fresh fit of giggles, probably at Kris' excuse for cursing. "Just threw me off, that's all." He's flushed red, and his dick jerks in his pants.
"I think you should try it," Adam continues, shifting gears easily into stage convincing. "Since we have a room to ourselves. You can wash it off."
"I've tried it before, thanks."
"Let me guess, Halloween? Dare?" Kris nods quickly and Adam tsks in disapproval. "Come over here, let me see what I can do." The to you is implicit, and Kris' cock is way too interested for Adam to get that close.
"I--okay," Kris says anyway, suddenly nervous. 'Adam won't let anything happen,' he thinks to himself, climbing off the bed awkwardly and joining Adam at the vanity. He's half-hard, enough to be uncomfortable, but if Adam notices he doesn't say anything and Kris is inexplicably grateful. Instead he just gestures to the counter, clearing a space so Kris can hop up on the marble counter top and then maneuvering until he's between Kris' legs, wielding a (black, now) kohl stick and biting on the tip of his tongue like he's trying to focus.
Kris chuckles, uncomfortable. He can feel Adam's hips hot between his thighs and the temptation to wrap his legs around them is terrifying in its sharpness. "Uh." He coughs, glancing down at the (lack of) space between them, and then back up at Adam's face.
"Oh, hush. I could apply it from arm's length but then you'd just look like I beat you with a sharpie." Adam grabs his jaw, gently, tilting his head. "Close your eyes."
Kris does, and shivers when the stick makes contact. It feels cool and slick, odd against his skin, and Adam's touch is gentle but firm, confident as he lines one eye, then turns Kris' head to do the same to the other side. With his eyes closed he's hyper-aware of Adam's body, the sound of his breathing and his breath warm against one cheek, and then the other. When Adam makes a humming noise that suggests he can open his eyes, Kris is thrown off-centered by just how close Adam really is.
"Well?" Impatient, too; Kris turns awkwardly on the vanity to examine himself in the mirror. Can't help but laugh at his own image, smoky-eyed and incongruous.
"I definitely do not rock this."
And Adam giggles, too, grabbing a makeup wipe off the counter and taking careful hold of Kris' face again. "Maybe black is a little much," he says thoughtfully, wiping the makeup off with the same careful hand he used to apply it. "Blush, though. Or gloss. It made Brad look amazing." Adam's thumb rubs gently over Kris' cheek, lingering even as he pulls the cloth back. "I think you have the same kind of thing going."
Kris has seen pictures of Brad; 'same kind of thing' doesn't even begin to cover it. The guy could be his long-lost cousin, and he shivers at the way Adam's fingers still brush his skin.
"That what you thinkin' about?" It sounds pathetic when he says it out loud, and Adam's fingers stutter, a little.
"Not close at all," he says softly, after a pause. "And I'm not any good at temperance." He sounds, oh, genuinely apologetic, and suddenly the drag of Adam's fingertips has a heat behind it. "This was a--no, I'm sorry. This wasn't fair of me." Adam pulls his hand away, waving it between them in a gesture that probably encompasses the last surreal five minutes. "I don't want to make you--I don't want to be that guy."
"Not you gonna 'make me' anything," murmurs Kris, letting his eyes squeeze shut, briefly, because this is... this is a bad idea, but it's his bad idea. Not Adam's. Not anyone else's to save him from his own deviant dick or whatever.
It's the final breath before you dive into a frozen lake. He grabs Adam's wrist and uses it for purchase when he drags Adam down with him.
"Oh," says Adam when their mouths connect this time. Kris hums and bites down on Adam's lower lip, traces the seam of his mouth and licks inside when Adam's surprised sound gives him the chance to do so. There's a part of his brain that's yelling at him right now, asking, What are you doing? like it makes any difference, but it's pretty easy to push it aside when Adam half steps, half falls forward until he's braced against the vanity, one hand coming up to tangle in Kris' hair and the other pressed against the mirror, making it knock back into the wall with a heavy clacking sound.
"Someone's pushy tonight," says Adam when he pulls back, biting at Kris' cheek with a little click of teeth. Whatever guilt Kris heard before is gone, or at least hiding, veiled behind lust and that sharp look Adam gets when he's got something in front of him he wants to figure out. It's too honest to be stage presence, and Kris think it's just that he's curious, can't get over that because Kris is the least intriguing person he knows. It's not even self-deprecating, just one of those things. I think I'd know you anywhere, Katy told him once, even if you grew up a thousand miles away.
It's not the time to be thinking of Katy, and maybe Kris is pushy, feels outside of himself and reckless. "Somebody's a tease," he shoots back, reaching out to grab Adam's hip. He pulls them forward until they're grinding together, and Adam lets his head fall back as he moves against Kris, looking down at him through heavy lids and biting the tip of his tongue.
"I never," he says finally, voice sing-song and tempting. "So is this boredom or are you just a little curious?" His hips jerk forward, cock dragging against Kris' own through denim. Adam chuckles, and there's something dark and musical in it. "More than a little, maybe."
"Screw you." It cuts off into a giggle when Adam's fingers run up the seams of his jeans, and he squirms, ticklish.
"Well that's not right." Adam's hand slides up higher, and Kris definitely stops laughing when the heel of Adam's palm presses down against his dick. "Oh, there we go." Kris just nods, hips jerking without his permission. He's sort of vaguely aware of Adam's fingers working over his zipper, but it's all kind of a blur until the moment a warm hand wraps around his cock, pulling him out through his jeans and stroking firmly. "Very nice.
"I bet you're even cuter when you come, right?" And Adam's bossy like this, like he's putting on a show -- Kris isn't surprised, but he is a little startled at how much he likes it, how he's content to let his head fall back, arch up into Adam's hand and let him keep control of the rhythm he's setting. "Show me, baby," whispers Adam, and Kris moans and grips Adam's bicep. "God, the things I could do to you."
It makes Kris' breath hitch, imagining it: Adam, long lithe body pinning Kris' against a mattress, holding his wrists or his thighs, skin sweat-slick and heated. The details are foggy and loose around the edges, but the feeling of it, the want so sharp it actually hurts, makes Kris come apart. He's hyper-aware of the feel of Adam's soft hand around his dick, the way his head's fallen heavy on Kris' shoulder, the feel of breath hot and wet against his neck. His orgasm hits him with enough force to black his vision, and he's still cognizant of Adam, stroking him through it, murmuring something that might be an endearment and lifting his head to kiss his cheek, his forehead, drop down lower for a wet brush of mouths.
"Holy crap," says Kris, eventually, slitting his eyes open to survey the damage. There's jizz on his jeans and his dick is wet and limp against his stomach; in front of him Adam is smiling, in that funny half-way that makes Kris' feelings into a moving, churning thing. Adam has come on his fingers, too; he lifts his hand to lick a stripe off of his fingers and Kris groans, head falling back against the vanity mirror. He watches Adam with half-open eyes, and Jesus, he wants to touch him.
"Hey, hey--" Kris sits up, wincing at the sticky wet feeling of his jeans against his skin. "--wanna..." He doesn't have the words to ask, so he reaches down towards Adam's belt loops, tugging him back in tight between his thighs. "Can I?" says Kris lightly, even as a shiver works its way down the overwrought nerves in his spine.
"Very polite." Adam grinds his hips forward. Kris laughs and pulls him into another kiss, hand sliding around to undo his jeans.
It's a little surreal, jerking somebody off from the other side of things -- Kris isn't sure how to go about it at first, trying to reverse in his head what he's familiar with from himself. Adam chuckles and brings down his own hand to squeeze Kris' fingers tighter, cuts off into a gasp of air when Kris twists his palm, catching on. "I guess there's a learning curve," he huffs into Adam's mouth, blunt nails scraping along the underside of his dick with just enough pressure to make Adam cry out.
Kris is thrown off by Adam's orgasm. It feels abrupt, even though Adam's kisses are getting sloppier, his breathing fast and skin hot as he gets close to the edge. But it's still a surprise, the hot wet warmth and the way Adam sighs and lets his head tilt back, line of his jaw somehow elegant even with his pants down around his thighs. When Adam's hips stop moving Kris pulls his hand away, looks down at the come on his fingers with a kind of disjointed surprise. Brings it up to his mouth and tastes it, tentatively; it's salty, foreign and not so much unpleasant as just impossibly strange. His nose wrinkles, a little, and he wipes his hand on his already-dirty jeans, glances at Adam to find him resting with a temple on Kris' shoulder, watching him with a lazy, weighted smile.
"I think that's the advanced class," he tells him, turning to kiss the sweaty skin at Kris' collar.
Kris snorts. "I was a sub for a while in college. Public schools. Freaking crazy."
Adam laughs. "You're just unfolding like a flower, Allen." Sits up, presses one last (sweet, brief) kiss to Kris' mouth before reaching for his jeans with a frown. "Oh, dear. These are a lost cause, aren't they?"
Kris waves a lazy hand at his own jeans. He should really stand up himself; at least pull his fly back up. "Got a laundry here somewhere."
Adam nods, taking a sharp breath and tugging his pants back up anyway. "So. This."
If Kris is honest with himself, he was hoping they wouldn't talk about it, after. Not now -- maybe not ever. But it's an awful thing to hope: Adam's his friend, not just some guilty hook-up, and he hates having to say, "I'm so sorry," because he doesn't mean it at all.
And his expression must give him away, because Adam's mouth turns up when he says, "No you don't."
It catches Kris off-guard.
"Not this part, at least. But it can't... we can't do it again, right?" Kris nods. "I do get that part. I don't want to screw things up for you." Smile, a little sad. "Worse, anyway."
"Don't say that. You didn't like, seduce me with your feminine wiles or whatever." Adam flashes teeth when he laughs, and Kris can't help but chuckle, too. "No, really. M'not sorry about this. Guess I just wish..."
Adam takes a step forward, brushing his hand affectionately through Kris' hair. It feels familiar, homey, and Kris can't help but flash back on that first night before the tour, same kind of hotel and entirely different world. There's nothing beguiling in it -- it's just contact. Close. Easy. Safe, still.
"Me too," says Adam, and Kris leans into the touch.
*
After the next night's show, Adam has a sleepover on Allison's bus. It's against the rules, technically -- no boys in the girls' room, and vice versa -- but the Idol Cam is with Gokey tonight and besides, even middle America knows the most untoward thing Adam's going to do with any group of girls is dye someone's hair a new shade of fabulous. He slides into his own bunk long enough to pick up nail polish (purple) and DVDs (True Blood) and then he's gone again, rubbing his hand over Kris' head when he passes the sofa.
In Oklahoma, Kris doesn't see Adam outside of the stage. He's not sure what Adam's found to do in Oklahoma, but it keeps him absent, at any rate. When the show's over it's Matt that crashes in their lounge, saying something about, "Geek talk, man," and, "Can't let you have all the fun." Adam's bunk stays empty, though, and Kris starts wondering how long the tour managers are going to let them play musical cars.
Kris figures he knows why Adam's doing it, at least. They hit Little Rock -- home -- the next day.
It doesn't feel all that much like a homecoming. For one, it's not Conway, and Kris can't exactly just step off the bus and sleep in his own bed. But it's bigger things, too: his family and his in-laws are there but Katy's in Birmingham on work for the week, offered a dozen times to cancel but Kris wouldn't let her, knows she's already given up so much for his dreams. It'll be fine, he'd said on the phone back in Glendale, pressing it hard against his ear like it could make her feel closer. We're barely there a day anyway, there'd be no sense in throwin' you off too. It made sense, in Arizona: no big deal, nothing to worry about. It seems like a freaking lifetime ago though, and he's kind of a lot of less sure now.
After the show, he gets dinner with his parents and calls Katy to say goodnight. It's late in Birmingham and she's half-asleep already, but she stayed up for his call and her voice makes him miss her more. He stays on the phone until she does fall asleep, listens to her breathing even and chuckles when she finally stops responding to what he's saying entirely. Once upon a time, he'd be out, too. But it feels too early to sleep, and he's still lying across the couch when Adam comes in, fifteen minutes before they head out and damp-haired and makeup-free from the venue's backstage showers.
"Hi, you," he says softly.
"There you are," Kris mumbles, drowsy. "Startin' to think you'd moved out."
"Mmm, not without my flat iron." Adam knees Kris' legs, gently; Kris swings into a sitting position, making room for Adam. "Good being home?"
It's a careful question. But Kris is too sleepy to give a careful answer. "Sure. The restaurant we went gave me free food, which was kinda cool." Not necessary, but cool. "I wish--man. I wish Katy'd been here, I guess. She hasn't seen the show yet, you know?"
"I was wondering," whispers Adam. "She's coming out to Carolina though, right?"
"There are two of them, you realize" says Kris, chuckling. "But yeah. Schedule lets up for a couple days. It'll be really good." He huffs at himself. He's sure Adam would listen, if he wanted to talk -- but this is a little too weird, willingness aside. Kris isn't sure he's ready for this, yet. "Forget it, man. I'm gonna get some sleep. You sticking around?"
"Wagons rolling on. They shooed me out of the girls' bus. Apparently I'm a shampoo hog."
"Coulda told 'em that." Kris pushes himself up from the couch with a groan; he really is tired, the kind of bone-weary he hasn't been able to shake these days. Not that it matters, it's too early for Kris to sleep -- he kind of wants to sit out here and watch TV or something, actually, but it's probably easier this way, put them in their own separate bunks before things have a chance to get any weirder. It will be better in the morning, Kris reminds himself firmly, when they've got things going on and they're out of Little Rock for a while. He sets his jaw and moves to pass by the couch, trying not to trip on Adam's long legs as he does so.
He's startled when Adam reaches out and grabs his wrist. "Wait," blurts Adam, and Kris nearly trips back onto the cushions. "I came in here for a reason. I don't--well--we don't have to stay this way."
Kris blinks.
"If it would be less weird Matt could trade. Or I could stay with Allison. Or Anoop or Scott could come stay here for a while." It comes out in kind of a rush, like Adam has already thought about it, and Kris is suddenly struck with the absolute certainty that Adam has thought about it, has probably discussed it with their tour-mates, already. That if he said yes tomorrow night he'd have Matt or Michael or someone else's stuff in here with him. Somebody else hogging all the sugary food and arguing over what they should watch on the flat-screen. "This is a bad idea, maybe," Adam finishes, quietly.
Which is pretty much exactly what Kris has been thinking since it happened... and yet he finds himself shaking his head, firmly disagreeing. "You're not allowed to leave me, man." Adam looks wide-eyed, but doesn't move away. "I'd miss you a lot. You're my friend, anyway."
"I just thought, maybe--"
"--probably." Kris nods, even as he says, "But nah."
And it's not expected, but it still feels appropriate, when Adam stands up and tugs him in, pulling him into a hug with one graceful movement. It's firm and warm and Kris relaxes into it, lets his eyes slip shut and the guilt melt down, lets his hands come up under Adam's jacket to ball in the strange shiny fabric of his T-shirt. It's the kind of hug that has nothing to do with manly distance, but they've done this on camera, and it still feels the same. If nothing else does, this part makes sense.
Gradually, Kris becomes aware of the fact Adam is talking, whispering half-words that don't make a lot of sense into the top of Kris' head. "S'okay," he says, then repeats it again. Kris finds himself nodding, even though he knows there's no way Adam can know that. "It's gonna work out," and he squeezes Kris a little tighter.
It's stupid, probably, but Kris still believes him.
* * *
Notes: Title comes from Rob Thomas' "Gasoline," off of Cradlesong. Huge thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tasyfa for providing beta and helping keep me from (too much) bandom pull over. All mistakes and flaws are my own.
The Idol Cam has a loose schedule: there aren't set times, per se, that everyone has to pay their dues, but their handlers seem to know that without some kind of rules it'd just be Gokey and Matt all the time, every time. There's a rotation sheet, of sorts, where everyone's supposed to play. Adam gets hold of it their first night back in California.
"I gotta admit," says Kris mildly, sprawled across lounge couch in their bus and picking aimlessly at notes on his guitar, "it works out pretty well. I got no want to be around you right now."
"Well in that case." Adam keeps fiddling with the setting buttons. "We'll just leave it in my bunk."
"Just in case they want a sequel to your last starring role?"
"Only if you're my co-star," Adam suggests, looking up to bat his eyelashes.
It's getting easier, slowly, to not get flustered when Adam flirts with him -- because Adam doesn't mean it, seems to do it like breathing. If anything, it's a reminder, just enough of a tease to remind them of their limits. For all of the comments, Adam's been great about keeping the safety of space between them, and Kris is, at least intellectually speaking, really very grateful.
On the camera in Adam's hands, some light changes from red to green, and Adam squeals, actually squeals in delight. Kris laughs, setting his guitar down and twisting until his head's hanging over the edge of the arm-rest. "You get it?"
"The Lambert Cam is open for business."
"Cambert. Oh jeez." Kris grins, flipping over until he's laying on his stomach. Adam climbs up off the floor and drags the little camera up with him, panning the room in what Kris imagines is a 'look at our digs' survey. He closes his eyes and lets himself listen to the voice over Adam's helpfully providing: Here's Casa de Kris y Adam, Idol fans, this is where the magic happens, and by magic I mean costumes, lots of them. The first day we had to move everything out of the two spare bunks so I could put my suitcases in there -- actually Danny never left the bus, we think he's buried under a makeup kit somewhere, but we promise to find him before anyone notices...
Kris huffs, letting himself zone out to the sound of Adam talking to the camera. His eyes slide closed and he's almost ready to ignore the presence of the Idol Cam entirely, until he's jostled by someone -- Adam -- kicking at the edge of the couch. When he opens his eyes, there's a camera in his face, Adam staring him down over it with his best Intrepid Reporter face on.
It's not very convincing.
"So, Kris Allen," says Adam in an affected register slightly lower than his own. "What's the best part of sharing a bus with Adam? Other than the closet space."
"Hey, who says there is one?" Kris finds himself craning his neck back a little to wave into the camera. "Um, I dunno. Adam's a great guy, so the company, I guess." He glances at Adam. "Pretty bad, fishing for compliments on the internet."
"The internet tells only truths, Kris."
"So you slept with Perez Hilton then?"
Adam's nose scrunches. "Ew, someone said that?" There's a whirring sound when the camera clicks off and Adam spins it around, looking into the lens. "I hope they have an editor."
Because Idol Cam is, apparently, the freshest of fresh material, Allen (Kris still isn't sure what exactly that means), Adam insists on taking it to rehearsal, propping it up on a chair while they work out the hand-offs on "Walk This Way." He hands it over to Kris for "Slow Ride," pushing it into his hands exactly ten seconds before Allison tackles him, a blur of leopard-print leggings and green and purple hair.
"Your hair, baby girl," coos Adam, spinning Allison in a circle before depositing her back onto the stage. "You color-coordinated! Now I'm going to match my shirt to my bangs tonight."
"It's like living in a bag of Skittles," Kris tells the camera, using the zoom to pan, blurry from Allison's two-toned hair to the red sweep across Adam's gelled mohawk. He's pretty sure he hears Adam murmur something about tasting the rainbow, but all the camera picks up is Allison's giggle and Adam's enthusiastic wave.
The night after they play San Diego -- Adam's hometown, and when Kris looks out into the crowd he sees flashes of rainbow-strobes and glittered clothing -- Adam leaves after the tour, just to run home and grab some things, go out and see some friends. Kris begs off coming with him, can't quite imagine how that would play out; Adam gets more media attention than he does, and he feels like flash-photography would be an awful idea.
"It would be good for you," Adam sing-songs, giant frame taking up the tiny mirror in the bathroom as he applies glitter to each eyelid, highlights the corners with shimmering white shadow. "One cannot live off of stage-attention alone."
"I don't know, you sure seem to." Kris doesn't move from the sofa and Adam turns and flashes bright white teeth.
"All the best attention happens off the stage."
Kris snorts, face flushing, and hangs over the side of the sofa, watching Adam slick his hair back and use a sponge to cover the freckles on his face. It's a ritual Kris is familiar with, watches Katy in the mirror some mornings, and he feels a sharp tug of guilt that almost knocks him off the couch. It's followed on its heels by a sense of irrational concern, and when Adam turns to put his rings on he catches Kris watching him, smiles curiously and tilts his head.
"Be careful, okay?" It sounds stupid and Kris feels self-conscious and absurd. "Just, it's going to be crazy. They'll probably know you're around here and, well."
"That's sweet, thank you." Kris will never get used to it, the easy way Adam admits what he thinks of things. Even more when Adam follows it up by running a thumb down the bridge of Kris' nose, leaving a trail of scented glitter makeup that Kris can smell on his skin. "I'll be fine, I promise. Home before morning, even." The grin comes back, playful and maybe dirty. "But not too much before."
Kris swats at his hand, ignoring the goosebumps he's got from Adam's touch. He promised himself he wouldn't be weird about this; he blames the lack of sleep, and the fact that whatever Adam's wearing right now smells really good. "'Kay, okay man. Go have fun. I'll just be here with my shotgun makin' sure I turn the light on before your date gets to second base."
"I bet your mom totally did that, didn't she?" Adam sounds charmed by the idea.
"Yup. Keebler Elves are real, too. Got our cookies every morning." Kris rolls his eyes, even though he can't help but grin. "Go, c'mon already."
"Okay, okay, I'm gone." Adam's laughing though, and manages to catch Kris off-guard enough to dip down and kiss his forehead. It's innocent, except for the way his lips are slightly parted, damp from breath and the gloss he put on them. Kris can't help it, closes his eyes and leans into it. "Nighty night," Adam whispers against him, and Kris shivers.
Kris doesn't mean to fall asleep on the couch: he was actually kidding about hanging out waiting for Adam to get back. Still, it's the sound of the pass code being keyed in that startles Kris awake, the soft clip of Adam's boots when he climbs back up the stairs. Kris blinks sleepily, turning against the sofa and scrunching his eyes in a wince at the pain in his neck from falling asleep against the arm rest.
"I'm sorry, I thought you'd be asleep by now." Adam sounds a little high, but the apology is genuine and Kris shakes his head, waving him off.
"Fell asleep watchin' TV." He gestures at the flat-panel, now left on the blue screen that signifies the channel is gone for the night. The timer on the DVDR says it's close to four am.
"Oh." Adam flops down onto the other thin sofa, reaching down to tug off one snakeskin boot. Now that he's in the light Kris can see him a little better: he's covered in glitter, far more than he left in, and the makeup he applied before he left is smudged dark around his eyes and flushing his cheeks with extra color. His pupils are definitely dilated and his shirt's fabric is shiny, ripples colors like oil-slick, folding and doubling where it's been unbuttoned to his sternum. He looks... not like a woman, at all, but also not like any of the guys Kris has ever met before. He can't seem to stop staring, and he blames it on being tired.
"Hmm?"
Kris doesn't realize Adam's looking up at him until Adam makes a curious sound in his throat; Kris startles, jerking back against the sofa.
"Oh, that's interesting." Adam tilts his head lazily, blinking at Kris all hood-lidded like a cat. It makes Kris feel caught, like Adam can see right through him. "You just don't seem like the boy that would go for this." Adam shrugs. "Shows what I know."
His eyes are hazy with whatever he's taken, but there's still lucidity to what he's saying; Kris has no doubt Adam will remember this, later.
"Sleep," says Adam, finally, pushing himself up so he can lever off the sofa. "And tomorrow..." He waves his hand in front of him, then holds it out for Kris to take, uses it to tug until Kris is more or less upright. He sways a little, dizzier than he expected.
"Thanks," he says sheepishly, not looking Adam in the eye.
"Hey." One of Adam's fingers comes up, tipping Kris' face until he has no choice but to look at him. Up this close is intimate, weird in a way nothing else they've done has been, and for a moment Kris is sure Adam is going to kiss him, going to start something at four in the damn morning, is nearly knocked backwards by the want in his gut. It chokes his chest and tightens his throat with guilt, sometimes, how he thinks about it even when Adam seems to be trying to put some normalcy back between them.
And Adam doesn't kiss him -- just smiles, kind of crooked, like he knows Kris is thinking it. "Bedtime," he says instead, getting an arm under Kris' and staggering them both towards the bunks. It's kind of a trick, climbing up when he's this tired, and Adam's not entirely helpful, sloping sideways against the wall and nearly knocking them both into it with a giggle when the bus starts moving and Adam's party-drug-or-whatever impaired balance is shot. Kris makes it into his own bed, but it's a trip-and-get-lucky thing.
"Goodnight," Adam calls across the span between them, and Kris makes a noise he hopes is a response. He's asleep after that though, and he doesn't know one way or the other.
*
In Glendale, one of the local radio stations schedules an interview with the top four. Adam crawls out of bed looking like every warning against the sins of excess and debauched revelry, but still manages to talk more than any of them when they slide into their respective studio chairs at Holy High Jesus O'Clock in the morning. "I had a good homecoming," Adam says, earnest-eyed, when he's asked about the coffee he's clinging to like a lifeline.
"Looks like it," says the DJ, "did you guys go with him?"
Adam answers before anyone else can, with, "Alli isn't old enough for those kinds of parties," and Kris and Danny laugh -- Kris out of discomfort, and Danny probably a little derisively.
"I think Adam is the only partier we've got here," says Danny with one last chuckle, and Allison scrunches up her face when he's not looking directly at her. "But we can only handle so many tapes, right Adam?"
"That's right. I'm too much man for Gokey." It makes Danny color, and earns another set of laughs before the DJ presses on.
Kris knows where the conversation is going, because it's where it always goes -- and Danny didn't help, of course, because he had to bring it up. "So about that tape," says the DJ, finally, after another couple of minutes pretending he cares about anything else. "Has the reaction died down?"
"Well, it did until just now." Adam smiles, syrup-sweet in that way where you can never tell if he's making fun of you. "No, but everyone's been pretty nice about it and now if this doesn't work out, I know I'll always have other offers." He looks over at Allison, who's clapped her hand over her mouth to avoid laughing into the mic. "Oops, sorry. That was inappropriate."
It goes on like that, questions about Adam's business, and Kris is content to tune out, listen to Adam make his usual canned responses. Yes, it was a movie; it was to help out a friend; no, he's not going to make a habit of it. Finally the DJ turns, like he's got a great idea, and asks, "So what is everyone's deepest, darkest secret?"
Kris chokes, and Adam pats him on the back sympathetically. "Uhhh..."
"Kris doesn't have any secrets. He's a puppy."
"Oh, come on. Nobody's perfect. Tell us, Kris, what's your big secret?"
"I don't, uh..." A thousand images are playing in his mind right now: of the tape, of him and Adam. Real, imagined -- none of it matters, at this point. "I don't have anything," he finishes lamely.
"He snores!" Adam says, helpfully. "You can hear it across the whole bus. And he squeezes the toothpaste wrong, that's awful."
That makes Allison finally give up, guffawing into her microphone. "Tell them all about Kris' toothpaste, Adam," and Adam reaches over to slap at her hands, gently.
"Dirty mind! You're not old enough for these things." It gets the conversation moving away from him though, and Kris leans back in his chair, eyes closed and listening as Danny talks about that time, in college, his fraternity made him put on a dress. Another twenty minutes and they're back on the road again, walking in twos and flanked by security like real-live celebrities, instead of the weird 15-minute kind. Adam, at least, looks the part: in dark reflective shades and a shirt that Kris can't imagine someone in their right mind designing, jeans that look too-tight and leather despite Arizona being one-fifteen in the shade. Kris shoves his hands in his pockets and feels out of place and unnerved; it was a radio show, not video anyway, but he still can't shake the whole secrets, thing. 'Someone's gonna know eventually,' he thinks, because it's true and that part is most likely his fault.
Adam lists sideways to knock their shoulders together, and Kris looks up and smiles weakly. "Hey," he says, leaning enough to wrap an arm around Kris as they walk. "You okay there?"
"Yeah, just thinkin'." Kris shrugs and leans in closer, lets Adam squeeze him tighter as they wait to pile into the van.
"Bad things?"
Kris climbs into the back seat; Adam follows him, scooting in beside him.
"Just hard. You ever worry about it?"
There's no use explaining what 'it' is -- Kris isn't entirely sure himself. Adam's face scrunches up though, like he's earnestly considering, and his voice is thoughtful when he says, "I think so. But I wouldn't do anything differently."
Kris nods. "Yeah. Me too." He puts his hands in his lap and watches the strange, dry skyline.
At the venue, Kris tunes his guitar while Adam plays with his makeup, which is probably a pretty appropriate representation of the show as a whole. At one point or other, Anoop comes by with the camera, holds on Kris while he plucks out by ear a chorus of "Her Diamonds," and makes Adam explain the contents of his makeup bag.
"You should try some," says Adam after Anoop wanders off, waggling the tube at Kris.
"Er, no thanks." He holds his hands up like he could ward it off, and Adam laughs, warm.
"I don't know, you were pretty into it before."
Kris flushes red; he knew Adam would remember that, and he should have seen it coming. "That's different."
"So only other boys wearing it? That's what you like?"
"Just you, I think." It's an awkward conversation, and Kris thinks, 'This isn't going anywhere. Adam's not going to let it.' It's inexcusably chicken-shit, putting all the pressure on Adam to keep their promise, but it's the only way Kris is going to get through this tour.
Turning away from the mirror, Adam looks at him, mouth turning into an affectionate grin. "I'm just asking, Kris, I promise not to jump you." He reaches over fast to drag his finger across Kris' cheek; Kris feels something damp and realizes he's been hit with whatever glitter-goop Adam is using, rubs the back of his hand over his face. When he pulls away his knuckles shimmer, and Kris has the strong suspicion it's still there.
There are two free days between Arizona and Texas -- for driving, yeah, but the second night they get hotel rooms. It feels foreign, a real bed, and Kris bounces up and down on his twin like a child, watching in the bathroom mirror as Adam fucks with his pile of cosmetics.
"You're playing dress-up, man."
"After seventeen we call it role-playing, and someone gets to use the fuzzy handcuffs." Adam lines an eye deftly with a white pencil, examines the results critically in the mirror. Kris bites his lip, fascinated despite himself. "Do you want to try?"
Kris does a double-take. "The--um, the--"
Adam waves the stick of eyeliner, raising his eyebrows expectantly. "Makeup?" Laughs out loud when he sees Kris' expression. "You thought I meant--oh your little face."
"Shut up, dick." It sends Adam into a fresh fit of giggles, probably at Kris' excuse for cursing. "Just threw me off, that's all." He's flushed red, and his dick jerks in his pants.
"I think you should try it," Adam continues, shifting gears easily into stage convincing. "Since we have a room to ourselves. You can wash it off."
"I've tried it before, thanks."
"Let me guess, Halloween? Dare?" Kris nods quickly and Adam tsks in disapproval. "Come over here, let me see what I can do." The to you is implicit, and Kris' cock is way too interested for Adam to get that close.
"I--okay," Kris says anyway, suddenly nervous. 'Adam won't let anything happen,' he thinks to himself, climbing off the bed awkwardly and joining Adam at the vanity. He's half-hard, enough to be uncomfortable, but if Adam notices he doesn't say anything and Kris is inexplicably grateful. Instead he just gestures to the counter, clearing a space so Kris can hop up on the marble counter top and then maneuvering until he's between Kris' legs, wielding a (black, now) kohl stick and biting on the tip of his tongue like he's trying to focus.
Kris chuckles, uncomfortable. He can feel Adam's hips hot between his thighs and the temptation to wrap his legs around them is terrifying in its sharpness. "Uh." He coughs, glancing down at the (lack of) space between them, and then back up at Adam's face.
"Oh, hush. I could apply it from arm's length but then you'd just look like I beat you with a sharpie." Adam grabs his jaw, gently, tilting his head. "Close your eyes."
Kris does, and shivers when the stick makes contact. It feels cool and slick, odd against his skin, and Adam's touch is gentle but firm, confident as he lines one eye, then turns Kris' head to do the same to the other side. With his eyes closed he's hyper-aware of Adam's body, the sound of his breathing and his breath warm against one cheek, and then the other. When Adam makes a humming noise that suggests he can open his eyes, Kris is thrown off-centered by just how close Adam really is.
"Well?" Impatient, too; Kris turns awkwardly on the vanity to examine himself in the mirror. Can't help but laugh at his own image, smoky-eyed and incongruous.
"I definitely do not rock this."
And Adam giggles, too, grabbing a makeup wipe off the counter and taking careful hold of Kris' face again. "Maybe black is a little much," he says thoughtfully, wiping the makeup off with the same careful hand he used to apply it. "Blush, though. Or gloss. It made Brad look amazing." Adam's thumb rubs gently over Kris' cheek, lingering even as he pulls the cloth back. "I think you have the same kind of thing going."
Kris has seen pictures of Brad; 'same kind of thing' doesn't even begin to cover it. The guy could be his long-lost cousin, and he shivers at the way Adam's fingers still brush his skin.
"That what you thinkin' about?" It sounds pathetic when he says it out loud, and Adam's fingers stutter, a little.
"Not close at all," he says softly, after a pause. "And I'm not any good at temperance." He sounds, oh, genuinely apologetic, and suddenly the drag of Adam's fingertips has a heat behind it. "This was a--no, I'm sorry. This wasn't fair of me." Adam pulls his hand away, waving it between them in a gesture that probably encompasses the last surreal five minutes. "I don't want to make you--I don't want to be that guy."
"Not you gonna 'make me' anything," murmurs Kris, letting his eyes squeeze shut, briefly, because this is... this is a bad idea, but it's his bad idea. Not Adam's. Not anyone else's to save him from his own deviant dick or whatever.
It's the final breath before you dive into a frozen lake. He grabs Adam's wrist and uses it for purchase when he drags Adam down with him.
"Oh," says Adam when their mouths connect this time. Kris hums and bites down on Adam's lower lip, traces the seam of his mouth and licks inside when Adam's surprised sound gives him the chance to do so. There's a part of his brain that's yelling at him right now, asking, What are you doing? like it makes any difference, but it's pretty easy to push it aside when Adam half steps, half falls forward until he's braced against the vanity, one hand coming up to tangle in Kris' hair and the other pressed against the mirror, making it knock back into the wall with a heavy clacking sound.
"Someone's pushy tonight," says Adam when he pulls back, biting at Kris' cheek with a little click of teeth. Whatever guilt Kris heard before is gone, or at least hiding, veiled behind lust and that sharp look Adam gets when he's got something in front of him he wants to figure out. It's too honest to be stage presence, and Kris think it's just that he's curious, can't get over that because Kris is the least intriguing person he knows. It's not even self-deprecating, just one of those things. I think I'd know you anywhere, Katy told him once, even if you grew up a thousand miles away.
It's not the time to be thinking of Katy, and maybe Kris is pushy, feels outside of himself and reckless. "Somebody's a tease," he shoots back, reaching out to grab Adam's hip. He pulls them forward until they're grinding together, and Adam lets his head fall back as he moves against Kris, looking down at him through heavy lids and biting the tip of his tongue.
"I never," he says finally, voice sing-song and tempting. "So is this boredom or are you just a little curious?" His hips jerk forward, cock dragging against Kris' own through denim. Adam chuckles, and there's something dark and musical in it. "More than a little, maybe."
"Screw you." It cuts off into a giggle when Adam's fingers run up the seams of his jeans, and he squirms, ticklish.
"Well that's not right." Adam's hand slides up higher, and Kris definitely stops laughing when the heel of Adam's palm presses down against his dick. "Oh, there we go." Kris just nods, hips jerking without his permission. He's sort of vaguely aware of Adam's fingers working over his zipper, but it's all kind of a blur until the moment a warm hand wraps around his cock, pulling him out through his jeans and stroking firmly. "Very nice.
"I bet you're even cuter when you come, right?" And Adam's bossy like this, like he's putting on a show -- Kris isn't surprised, but he is a little startled at how much he likes it, how he's content to let his head fall back, arch up into Adam's hand and let him keep control of the rhythm he's setting. "Show me, baby," whispers Adam, and Kris moans and grips Adam's bicep. "God, the things I could do to you."
It makes Kris' breath hitch, imagining it: Adam, long lithe body pinning Kris' against a mattress, holding his wrists or his thighs, skin sweat-slick and heated. The details are foggy and loose around the edges, but the feeling of it, the want so sharp it actually hurts, makes Kris come apart. He's hyper-aware of the feel of Adam's soft hand around his dick, the way his head's fallen heavy on Kris' shoulder, the feel of breath hot and wet against his neck. His orgasm hits him with enough force to black his vision, and he's still cognizant of Adam, stroking him through it, murmuring something that might be an endearment and lifting his head to kiss his cheek, his forehead, drop down lower for a wet brush of mouths.
"Holy crap," says Kris, eventually, slitting his eyes open to survey the damage. There's jizz on his jeans and his dick is wet and limp against his stomach; in front of him Adam is smiling, in that funny half-way that makes Kris' feelings into a moving, churning thing. Adam has come on his fingers, too; he lifts his hand to lick a stripe off of his fingers and Kris groans, head falling back against the vanity mirror. He watches Adam with half-open eyes, and Jesus, he wants to touch him.
"Hey, hey--" Kris sits up, wincing at the sticky wet feeling of his jeans against his skin. "--wanna..." He doesn't have the words to ask, so he reaches down towards Adam's belt loops, tugging him back in tight between his thighs. "Can I?" says Kris lightly, even as a shiver works its way down the overwrought nerves in his spine.
"Very polite." Adam grinds his hips forward. Kris laughs and pulls him into another kiss, hand sliding around to undo his jeans.
It's a little surreal, jerking somebody off from the other side of things -- Kris isn't sure how to go about it at first, trying to reverse in his head what he's familiar with from himself. Adam chuckles and brings down his own hand to squeeze Kris' fingers tighter, cuts off into a gasp of air when Kris twists his palm, catching on. "I guess there's a learning curve," he huffs into Adam's mouth, blunt nails scraping along the underside of his dick with just enough pressure to make Adam cry out.
Kris is thrown off by Adam's orgasm. It feels abrupt, even though Adam's kisses are getting sloppier, his breathing fast and skin hot as he gets close to the edge. But it's still a surprise, the hot wet warmth and the way Adam sighs and lets his head tilt back, line of his jaw somehow elegant even with his pants down around his thighs. When Adam's hips stop moving Kris pulls his hand away, looks down at the come on his fingers with a kind of disjointed surprise. Brings it up to his mouth and tastes it, tentatively; it's salty, foreign and not so much unpleasant as just impossibly strange. His nose wrinkles, a little, and he wipes his hand on his already-dirty jeans, glances at Adam to find him resting with a temple on Kris' shoulder, watching him with a lazy, weighted smile.
"I think that's the advanced class," he tells him, turning to kiss the sweaty skin at Kris' collar.
Kris snorts. "I was a sub for a while in college. Public schools. Freaking crazy."
Adam laughs. "You're just unfolding like a flower, Allen." Sits up, presses one last (sweet, brief) kiss to Kris' mouth before reaching for his jeans with a frown. "Oh, dear. These are a lost cause, aren't they?"
Kris waves a lazy hand at his own jeans. He should really stand up himself; at least pull his fly back up. "Got a laundry here somewhere."
Adam nods, taking a sharp breath and tugging his pants back up anyway. "So. This."
If Kris is honest with himself, he was hoping they wouldn't talk about it, after. Not now -- maybe not ever. But it's an awful thing to hope: Adam's his friend, not just some guilty hook-up, and he hates having to say, "I'm so sorry," because he doesn't mean it at all.
And his expression must give him away, because Adam's mouth turns up when he says, "No you don't."
It catches Kris off-guard.
"Not this part, at least. But it can't... we can't do it again, right?" Kris nods. "I do get that part. I don't want to screw things up for you." Smile, a little sad. "Worse, anyway."
"Don't say that. You didn't like, seduce me with your feminine wiles or whatever." Adam flashes teeth when he laughs, and Kris can't help but chuckle, too. "No, really. M'not sorry about this. Guess I just wish..."
Adam takes a step forward, brushing his hand affectionately through Kris' hair. It feels familiar, homey, and Kris can't help but flash back on that first night before the tour, same kind of hotel and entirely different world. There's nothing beguiling in it -- it's just contact. Close. Easy. Safe, still.
"Me too," says Adam, and Kris leans into the touch.
*
After the next night's show, Adam has a sleepover on Allison's bus. It's against the rules, technically -- no boys in the girls' room, and vice versa -- but the Idol Cam is with Gokey tonight and besides, even middle America knows the most untoward thing Adam's going to do with any group of girls is dye someone's hair a new shade of fabulous. He slides into his own bunk long enough to pick up nail polish (purple) and DVDs (True Blood) and then he's gone again, rubbing his hand over Kris' head when he passes the sofa.
In Oklahoma, Kris doesn't see Adam outside of the stage. He's not sure what Adam's found to do in Oklahoma, but it keeps him absent, at any rate. When the show's over it's Matt that crashes in their lounge, saying something about, "Geek talk, man," and, "Can't let you have all the fun." Adam's bunk stays empty, though, and Kris starts wondering how long the tour managers are going to let them play musical cars.
Kris figures he knows why Adam's doing it, at least. They hit Little Rock -- home -- the next day.
It doesn't feel all that much like a homecoming. For one, it's not Conway, and Kris can't exactly just step off the bus and sleep in his own bed. But it's bigger things, too: his family and his in-laws are there but Katy's in Birmingham on work for the week, offered a dozen times to cancel but Kris wouldn't let her, knows she's already given up so much for his dreams. It'll be fine, he'd said on the phone back in Glendale, pressing it hard against his ear like it could make her feel closer. We're barely there a day anyway, there'd be no sense in throwin' you off too. It made sense, in Arizona: no big deal, nothing to worry about. It seems like a freaking lifetime ago though, and he's kind of a lot of less sure now.
After the show, he gets dinner with his parents and calls Katy to say goodnight. It's late in Birmingham and she's half-asleep already, but she stayed up for his call and her voice makes him miss her more. He stays on the phone until she does fall asleep, listens to her breathing even and chuckles when she finally stops responding to what he's saying entirely. Once upon a time, he'd be out, too. But it feels too early to sleep, and he's still lying across the couch when Adam comes in, fifteen minutes before they head out and damp-haired and makeup-free from the venue's backstage showers.
"Hi, you," he says softly.
"There you are," Kris mumbles, drowsy. "Startin' to think you'd moved out."
"Mmm, not without my flat iron." Adam knees Kris' legs, gently; Kris swings into a sitting position, making room for Adam. "Good being home?"
It's a careful question. But Kris is too sleepy to give a careful answer. "Sure. The restaurant we went gave me free food, which was kinda cool." Not necessary, but cool. "I wish--man. I wish Katy'd been here, I guess. She hasn't seen the show yet, you know?"
"I was wondering," whispers Adam. "She's coming out to Carolina though, right?"
"There are two of them, you realize" says Kris, chuckling. "But yeah. Schedule lets up for a couple days. It'll be really good." He huffs at himself. He's sure Adam would listen, if he wanted to talk -- but this is a little too weird, willingness aside. Kris isn't sure he's ready for this, yet. "Forget it, man. I'm gonna get some sleep. You sticking around?"
"Wagons rolling on. They shooed me out of the girls' bus. Apparently I'm a shampoo hog."
"Coulda told 'em that." Kris pushes himself up from the couch with a groan; he really is tired, the kind of bone-weary he hasn't been able to shake these days. Not that it matters, it's too early for Kris to sleep -- he kind of wants to sit out here and watch TV or something, actually, but it's probably easier this way, put them in their own separate bunks before things have a chance to get any weirder. It will be better in the morning, Kris reminds himself firmly, when they've got things going on and they're out of Little Rock for a while. He sets his jaw and moves to pass by the couch, trying not to trip on Adam's long legs as he does so.
He's startled when Adam reaches out and grabs his wrist. "Wait," blurts Adam, and Kris nearly trips back onto the cushions. "I came in here for a reason. I don't--well--we don't have to stay this way."
Kris blinks.
"If it would be less weird Matt could trade. Or I could stay with Allison. Or Anoop or Scott could come stay here for a while." It comes out in kind of a rush, like Adam has already thought about it, and Kris is suddenly struck with the absolute certainty that Adam has thought about it, has probably discussed it with their tour-mates, already. That if he said yes tomorrow night he'd have Matt or Michael or someone else's stuff in here with him. Somebody else hogging all the sugary food and arguing over what they should watch on the flat-screen. "This is a bad idea, maybe," Adam finishes, quietly.
Which is pretty much exactly what Kris has been thinking since it happened... and yet he finds himself shaking his head, firmly disagreeing. "You're not allowed to leave me, man." Adam looks wide-eyed, but doesn't move away. "I'd miss you a lot. You're my friend, anyway."
"I just thought, maybe--"
"--probably." Kris nods, even as he says, "But nah."
And it's not expected, but it still feels appropriate, when Adam stands up and tugs him in, pulling him into a hug with one graceful movement. It's firm and warm and Kris relaxes into it, lets his eyes slip shut and the guilt melt down, lets his hands come up under Adam's jacket to ball in the strange shiny fabric of his T-shirt. It's the kind of hug that has nothing to do with manly distance, but they've done this on camera, and it still feels the same. If nothing else does, this part makes sense.
Gradually, Kris becomes aware of the fact Adam is talking, whispering half-words that don't make a lot of sense into the top of Kris' head. "S'okay," he says, then repeats it again. Kris finds himself nodding, even though he knows there's no way Adam can know that. "It's gonna work out," and he squeezes Kris a little tighter.
It's stupid, probably, but Kris still believes him.
* * *
Notes: Title comes from Rob Thomas' "Gasoline," off of Cradlesong. Huge thanks to
tasyfa for providing beta and helping keep me from (too much) bandom pull over. All mistakes and flaws are my own.
