![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
linzeestylecontinued from part one
The Beverly Hills Hotel looks different, somehow, when Adam pulls up to it the second time: more foreign, maybe, the shock of garish color odd and out of place in rolling black hills and carefully cultivated green. It's funny, how it doesn't suit Kris, and Adam imagines Kris's sneakers scuffing on expensive tile when he hears his own boots click, tapping out the distance from the front door to the elevator. Twenty-six, twenty-seven -- Adam rocks on his heels in the elevator, feeling for all the world like he's going on a first date. Which is stupid, of course -- it's Kris, God, and he's honestly not sure how this is going to play out, right now.
That question, at least, dissolves as soon as Kris opens his door, button-down shirt undone to his sternum and bare toes digging into the plush, expensive rug. "Hey," he says carefully, stepping back to let Adam into the room before shutting the door again. "Just packing up. I'm pretty sure it all fit on the way here," he adds with a lopsided smile, scratching the back of his neck. "But, uh." There are still clothes hanging over the couch and chairs, and Kris's guitar is propped up out of his case against the crystalline windows. "Go figure."
"Dinner went alright?"
"What? Oh--yeah, I guess. Honestly I sorta zoned out. I don't think they actually needed me there, really I just go where they tell me and stand where they want and hey, there's the concert." He shrugs, still smiling. "As long as I get to play music I'm happy."
It's so very Kris, and Adam has to smile. On his first tour, Adam spent four days going over lighting, another week and a half on costumes and set lists. Kris would forget all of that, if he could, let someone else work out the parts that aren't melody and lyric and be content just to stand and play music for the people in front of him. It's beautiful, the most honest and open Adam can imagine anyone being. Kris doesn't know how to lie through his music; he tells the truth, and people listen.
Which. Adam swallows, watches Kris shuffle across the room to zip his guitar into its case. "Were you serious, earlier?"
Kris freezes, guitar strap hoisted over his shoulder. He sets it down beside the bed and comes around to stand in front of Adam, close enough that his toes are almost touching Adam's boots. "Completely."
Adam swallows. He feels completely out of his league right now, and that never happens. But Kris is something else, always has been -- that perfect joke, the one his friends like to tease he measures all his boyfriends against. He's tilting at windmills now. "Why?"
Kris laughs, startled and serious. "You're kidding, right? My friends at home used to rag me about it, even back when we were touring together. People I've never met before knew I had a crush on you. I thought you knew."
Which... Adam did, of course. He could tell by top 13, even, the way Kris stared at him every time he came off stage. Would have probably tried to see how far that look could carry him, if Kris hadn't had a ring on his finger. But Adam's no cheater, from either side of the equation, and then Kris was a friend, and by the time he was a best friend it was cute, just sweet. Flattering, really, because while Adam's used to having straight boys stare, he's never looked back at one and thought, 'what if.'
He reaches out and grips Kris's arm, gently, letting his eyes wander down Kris's body to follow it. "A crush. Non-threatening?"
Kris swallows, jaw set. "Scary as heck." He sways forward though, tilting his head back, and oh, Adam has never been the kind of boy to let this type of chance go by. Self-denial isn't his strong point, anyway. His other hand comes up to tangle in Kris's short hair, dragging him forward and into a kiss, and he's gratified, not surprised, when Kris kisses back like he's been waiting for the chance. It's awkward at first -- Kris kisses like a straight boy, like he's only ever been in charge, and he groans when Adam pulls back, biting at his bottom lip.
"I drive," Adam murmurs into his mouth, wrapping his other arm around Kris's waist. The move lets him guide Kris, peddle him backwards towards the bed, and when the backs of Kris's knees hit the mattress he buckles, pulling Adam down with him.
"Shotgun," mumbles Kris, and Adam giggles and kisses him again. It's better this time, no bumped noses or odd angles. Adam cups Kris's jaw, sucks at his tongue playfully, and Kris is open and demanding and wriggling beneath him, one leg coming up to rub between Adam's. It sends a shiver down his spine, and Adam catches Kris's wrist and pins it against the mattress, spreads his legs a little farther to make room for Kris's thigh.
"How far do we want to take this tonight," asks Adam when he pulls back, just enough to lick at Kris's chin, bite his way across his jawline. Kris squirms happily, the hand Adam doesn't have trapped beside his head coming up to grab at Adam's hair, tug him lower, towards his neck.
"Not gonna hear me say to stop."
As if on cue, Kris's phone trills. Adam groans and buries his face in Kris's neck.
"That? Is karma."
"It's my alarm, actually." Kris fumbles to grab it, slaps it quiet with a few clumsy buttons. "Supposed to go to bed. I've got a bus call in freaking Portland tomorrow."
"You set an alarm to tell you to sleep?" Adam gets his elbows back under him, lifting up enough so he can look Kris in the eye. "That's so cute." And God, he's adorable like this, in general, flushed from being under Adam and pouty-irritated, lips red and wet and faintly marked by teeth. It's too much temptation, and Adam leans back down to lick at his bottom lip. "Well," he says reasonably, into Kris's mouth, "I don't want to give you bad habits."
"Oh?" Kris's eyebrow raises when Adam's hand travels down, pops the button on Kris's jeans.
"Mm-hmm." The zipper comes down easy, and Kris lifts his hips like it's reflex, and Adam gets his jeans and his boxers in one movement. He's already hard and Adam can't help the wicked grin that stretches over his face, not when Kris is panting and blatantly staring, glazed like he's not sure what Adam will do next.
What Adam does is get his arms back under him, ignoring the desperate sound Kris makes when he moves his hand away.
"Shouldn't keep you up past your bedtime."
Kris looks a little manic, and Adam can't keep a straight face.
"You dick," Kris breathes, when Adam starts to snicker, and Adam drops a quick kiss to his lips before sliding down between his legs. "Holy--jeez," says Kris when Adam wraps his palm, spit-slicked, around the base of his cock.
"That's what I like to hear. Now watch."
At the first touch of Adam's mouth, Kris's hips come off the bed. He's close, already, and Adam squeezes the base of his cock, holding off his orgasm as he licks a line across the head. Oh, sh-God, Kris swears, sounding genuinely shocked, and Adam laughs, humming happily as he dips down to take Kris in. He's so beautiful like this. Knew he would be, but still, Adam can't get over how eager he is, can't get over the broken noises he makes when Adam presses his tongue flat or uses just the barest brush of teeth. There's a part of Adam that had expected Kris to be embarrassed by it, quiet or tentative, to treat sex like it wasn't something to play with. It's silly, of course: Kris is the same like this as he is any other way, earnest and wide-eyed, just a little bit bossy. He digs his fingers into Adam's hair and squirms happily when he does something that Kris really likes, when Adam's fingers dig into the skin at the dip of his pelvis, sensitive, apparently ticklish. Adam glances up at Kris as he takes him in, all the way, notes how Kris's eyes flutter when Adam works his throat around him.
"Adam, please, just, gonna--"
Adam pulls away, wrapping his hand tight around Kris's cock and jerking, fast. "Come on."
Kris gasps, and does as he's told.
Adam keeps working his hand through Kris's orgasm, hot spurts that make the glide smoother, leave Kris wrung-out against the mattress like he can't quite regain his bearings. When Adam pulls away it's to lick the come off his palm -- he's showing off, but that's the point. It gets results: Kris groans and reaches out to grab Adam by the elbow, tugging him up into a kiss that tastes like semen and sex, hotter for the fact that it's undeniably real. One of Kris's legs comes up to rub between Adam's, and Adam hisses, kisses harder; Kris lets go long enough to snake his hand between them, gives a tentative squeeze that could drive Adam crazy.
Shit. Adam pulls back long enough to shove his pants down around his thighs, grabs Kris's wrist and guides his hand until it's wrapped around his cock. "Like that, oh, fuck," he swears, letting his head drop as Kris twists his palm across the head.
"You gotta tell me."
His fingers catch along the ridge; Adam shifts, giving him better access. "Just keep--oh, yes, exactly," he says, pushing into Kris's grip, and then he's back on him again, sucking a wet trail across his neck while Kris jerks him off.
It's not fancy, but it works. Adam figures Kris is probably just repeating what he does on himself, and it's good, it's fantastic, because it's Kris and it's--yes. Adam comes hard, striping Kris's t-shirt and hand and wringing a surprised gasp out of Kris when he does. It's the most tempting thing in the world, just to collapse on Kris, after, but Adam groans and rolls to his side, falls down onto the mattress until his heartbeat steadies, until the world expands back out beyond the feel of bodies together.
Kris speaks first, startling Adam. "Wow," he says, the end dragging into a breathy, shocked giggle. He glances down at himself, surveying the damage. "Nice."
Adam laughs and takes the opportunity to wriggle the rest of the way out of his pants, pulling off his shirt as an afterthought and then motioning for Kris to do the same. "Oops," he says, watching Kris sit up long enough to undress; that shirt is never going to be the same again. He's even more beautiful with the clothes off though -- Adam can't help but touch, reaches out to run his knuckles along Kris's jaw. It makes him shiver, but he doesn't flinch -- not at the possessive gesture, and not at the way Adam's thumb presses lightly against his throat, vague promise of something more sparking like it could catch fire. Adam has to admit: with his lips kiss-swollen and his skin flushed, Kris looks every part the tease -- he shouldn't be getting anywhere near this, is too damn old to play with bicurious boys.
It's hard to hold onto that sense of self-preservation, though, because Kris has been perfect for him since the first time they'd had a conversation that went further than Idol, the first week in that stupid mansion, and Adam had fallen asleep thinking, it's always the straight ones, damn.
Adam pulls Kris back down onto the bed, buries his face in the side of Kris's neck. "I don't know what I'm doing, with you."
"I'm pretty easy, actually," murmurs Kris, clumsily petting Adam's hair. He sounds tired, and Adam smiles despite himself, sighing heavily against Kris's skin.
"You aren't even close." It's nowhere near all of the things Adam needs to say, but there's a comfortable fog settling around his brain and for now, it's honest, and maybe that's enough. "Now move over, I'm sleepy."
Kris snorts, letting Adam move them both until he's curled against Adam's chest, Adam's arm slung tight around his waist. His eyes are already sliding shut, and Adam remembers this -- give him another three minutes and he'll be totally out. Adam's already scanning the room to see if he can find Kris's laptop, because there's no way he's falling asleep this early. God, I love you, Adam thinks, and it startles him -- not the sentiment, but how sharp it is, the way it twists up his stomach when he turns it in his mind. He doesn't say it though, just kisses Kris's shoulder and listens to his breathing even, counts down the rhythm like he could turn it into melody. They write songs about this, and Adam has always thought that, about Kris, and about the two of them together. It's just that they've always been sad, without lyrics, nothing gained by saying it all of it out loud.
Adam's not very good with that kind of music.
*
Dropping Kris off at LAX is hard. Adam helps Kris get his bags out of the back of the Mustang and then hugs him tight on the sidewalk, a full-body cling that has him curled into a comma, face pressed hard into Kris's neck.
"I can do long distance, I swear," he murmurs wetly, sniffling against sudden emotion he didn't even see coming. It's okay though, it's honest -- and Kris's voice sounds a little raw too when he chuckles into Adam's chest.
"You sound like I'm shipping off somewhere." His arms slide under Adam's blazer, palms warm against the thin cotton of his t-shirt. It's inappropriate, except that they've always been like this, and even if there were paps no one would be paying attention.
"A tour is definitely 'shipping off' somewhere." Adam pulls back, kissing the top of Kris's head and grabbing his duffel off the pavement. "I'm just going to kidnap you. It'd be easy, too, you'd fit in my pocket."
"Nothing fits in your pockets," says Kris, eying Adam's jeans.
Adam hands Kris's bag to him and ducks in so he can say, "come back and you can get them off of me," quiet enough that he's sure no one else can hear them. Kris shivers and grips Adam's forearm, squeezing tight. He looks like he's having second thoughts about this whole responsible adult thing, and Adam grins wide when he straightens back up, says "ready to go?" brightly.
Kris glares at him. "You're a damn tease."
Adam laughs, hard enough to double himself over. "Payback, bitch." He doesn't sound apologetic at all.
*
Kris's first tour date is a sell-out.
"I knew it would be," Adam shouts into the phone excitedly when Kris calls, cupping his other ear with his hand in a bid to hear over the din of the rest of the crowd. The club isn't the usual tinsel-Hollywood scene -- and thank God for that, really, because Adam's found it's easy to forget that he actually lives in West Hollywood, these days, that it's his home and not just a fishbowl he happened to fall in the middle of. Right now he's standing just off of a stage not much higher than the dance floor itself: it's all one of Cassidy's orchestrations tonight, leather and rivets and thick, glittered makeup. Adam's here on the sidelines, and it feels good to be surrounded by people he knows, and hasn't just heard of.
Kris's voice sounds rubbed-raw, like he just got finished singing -- he sounds happy, though, and it's contagious when he speaks, makes Adam smile like an idiot in a room full of people. "My manager left me a voice mail when I got off the stage. She sounded kinda shell-shocked. I guess a couple others are like, seventy percent or something, so I guess we're doing pretty good." There's a loud shock of music from one of the speakers behind Adam, and Kris laughs. "Where are you?"
"It's a revue," Adam says, making a be right back gesture at Cassidy. "It's a friend's thing, I'm just here to get out. I can barely hear you, hang on just a sec."
The bathroom isn't all that quieter than the rest of the club, but Adam can hear himself think, at least. More importantly, he can hear Kris, and he locks the door and leans against it, catching a glimpse of his glitter-and-sweat smeared face in the mirror. He looks a little debauched, and he really wants to take Kris to one of these, someday. "That's more than Daughtry or the Killers did last year. You made Brandon Flowers your bitch."
Kris snorts. "It's not that big a deal."
"It is!" In the other room, someone's started a dance track, and Adam ducks back against a stall and cradles the phone closer. He knows he's probably on a different decible scale as Kris entirely right now, but holy fuck. There's no reason he should be quiet about this, anyway. "It's a huge deal. You're a rock star."
"Mom-rock, I think. And I'm only the opener."
"Stop that! Just take the compliment, oh my God." There's a knock at the door, and Adam raises his hand automatically. "Just a minute!"
"Man, where are you?"
"In a bathroom?" Adam's smile feels goofy, blinding, and Kris laughs. "I have my drink with me, too. It's an awful cliche, isn't it?" He looks at the mirror again, catches his own reflection. He's wearing leather and shimmering fabric and his hair is cockatoo-skewed in the back, sparks of green and now purple and gold at the edges, but the expression that looks back at him is the same one he's had since he was a teenager, earnest and lovesick. He makes a a face at himself, distorting the image. "I miss you."
"Me too. It's still weird--I mean, it's stupid because it's been so long, but every time I get off stage I sorta expect you to be there."
Adam can't help the noise he makes at that, something dangerously close to a happy aw. "You aren't real, Kris Allen," he says, voice all twisted up with the earnestness of it, "and you're coming back next week, right?"
"Wouldn't miss it." They're not playing LA, just yet anyway, but Ryan is coming back to guest-judge on Idol, and Kris gets to tag along for a radio show in Glendale. Same week as Adam hits Idol, actually, which is...not how Adam would have expected a line-up to go. Not that it matters, of course: he's performing "He Said," a ballad that's still in the Billboard Top 20, and America's 'family show' isn't going to know what hit it.
There's another knock, louder this time. Okay, okay! calls Adam again, and he can hear Kris chuckle on the other end of the line. "Man, that's how rumors start," he says, and Adam laughs and unlocks the door, stepping back out into the much-louder walkway. The lights are back up, which means production's in take-down, and Adam remembers enough from prior experience that whoever doesn't help is going to get stuck with the shitty jobs, next time. Being a rock star doesn't grant anyone immunity.
"Okay, I really have to let you go. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" There's a rustling sound and he imagines Kris nodding against the phone, misses him so sharply it makes his chest hurt. He has no idea how they went so long apart, before. "Goodnight, baby," he murmurs into the receiver. He lets Kris hang up first, phone still pressed to his ear as he navigates back into the kaleidoscope of the audience.
After he's been on tour for a while, it's easy for Adam to forget just how weird West Hollywood can be. Not in the way that he grew into adulthood, with: before Idol, Adam thinks he was probably the weird part of WeHo, the glitter, noise and chaos that made other people think "that place" of what he just called home. "Weird" never really meant anything before Adam got famous -- another label he took pride in, the opportunity to twist.
"Weird," now, means a thousand different things. Not being able to go out shopping in anonymity, for one, or not having to make a reservation because the person attending already knows your name. Having the places you go mean something, because you're not just you, you're also a brand, and every photograph outside of a drag show or cabaret launches another sixth-page-in gossip rag debate on whether it's just "hitting the town" or "fallen Idol" behavior. Even worse if Adam has someone else with him -- it frustrates him, sometimes, but Hollywood is just like the rest of the world, thinks everyone Adam so much as holds hands with is in his pants, too.
All of that comes back when he and Cassidy slide out of the club and back into the street; there's a hoard of photographers out on the sidewalk, and Adam puts on his best you're just doing your job smile and holds up a hand against the glare of the flash bulbs.
"Okay, you guys, he's a friend. Can we do this when I'm more interesting, maybe?"
Someone off to the side asks, just a friend? possibly asks if they can kiss for the cameras, but Adam just ignores it. Cassidy's already ducked under somebody's raised photo lens and made it to the vehicle. "Does anyone even do anything on a Thursday?"
There's a final round of snap-snap-click as Adam slides into the front seat, and Cassidy's laughing by the time they're pulled out into traffic, craning his neck to look behind them at the lingering paparazzi. "I didn't know you were that kind of rock star," he says, and Adam sighs and changes lanes.
"It's only like this when I go out with somebody, really, it's so crazy. I'm a little fucking sick of it, actually." He tugs off his sunglasses -- it's too dark for them, and he's starting to feel kind of like a dick, still wearing them while he's driving. "It's just tacky, like, I know they have to make a living, but I really don't think my dating life is that exciting."
"What's left of it," Cassidy agrees.
Home is a relief: always is, and Adam doesn't bother playing host, just waves Cassidy in the direction of his bar. He'd consider changing out of his clothes but the bedroom's just too damn far away; he gives up halfway through the living room and collapses down onto the couch, slinging his arm over his eyes to block out the overhead lighting.
"So, in all seriousness," says Cassidy, putting enough bottles out on the counter that Adam officially has no idea what he's doing. "Is everything okay? Wallflower isn't your color, beautiful."
Adam peeks out from under his forearm. "You've been talking to Alisan, haven't you?"
"We're a horrible, gossipy bunch."
Adam huffs.
There's a clinking of crystal, and Adam sits back up when Cassidy comes around the sofa. He's got a tumbler of what looks like gin but ends up being a gimlet and he hands it over to Adam before folding down beside him, Adam's entire bottle of SoCo perched between his knees. Adam shakes his head, takes a drink from his own glass before he even tries to speak.
"I think I'm doing something stupid," he says, mouth scrunching up thoughtfully. "When Kris was down here, this last time, we..." Adam waves his hand, vaguely, because hooked up sounds so fucking crass and talked is the one thing they didn't do enough of. "I'm just processing."
There's a long pause, like Cassidy isn't sure how to respond. "Wow," he says, finally, and Adam laughs, because, yeah. "Well that's big."
He sounds as shocked as Adam feels, and Adam shakes his head. "I feel bad even talking about it. He's just, it's Kris, you know? There isn't really room to mess up here. Can you imagine what would happen--like, going out on a date, with how crazy it was tonight?" Adam frowns, looking down at the polish on his nails. He's getting so ahead of himself, but he wasn't lying to Cassidy: it's Kris. "Even if we got serious, I don't know how it would work."
Cassidy hmmms, taps his fingers thoughtfully against the bottle cupped between them. "Well, what does that mean for you? You're gonna have to try eventually, baby. I don't think I need to tell you what they'd call it if you hid it."
Adam looks at the floor. "I'm not going back into a closet. But I'm not pulling anyone out of one, either. I don't even know what this is to him. He wouldn't do this intentionally, but...sometimes you just want someone, you know?" Adam empties his glass, focusing on the burn as it slides down his throat. The effect is almost instant, a heavy, spreading warmth, and he leans back into warm leather, closing his eyes again. "I'm trying to just take this as it comes at me."
Cassidy raises an eyebrow. He doesn't say anything though, leans over instead and pours from his bottle into Adam's empty cup, clinking both together and muttering cheers before he drinks. Adam follows suite, then wrinkles his nose. "Too sweet." He looks down at the drink, swirls the tumbler in his hands and watches the amber-tinted alcohol slosh against the sides. "I really do believe things work out the way they're supposed to," he says after a minute, more quietly, serious. "Kris and I were meant for something. I don't know if it's this, but--there's a reason I met him, you know? Whatever that is--I'll be okay with that." It might suck, but Adam doesn't believe that 'love of your life' is a zero-sum game, and sometimes you don't get the chance to keep your winnings. "I'll always love him." Just like Brad.
"You've got to give yourself more than that. You want to be in love--it's why you're better than the rest of us just out having a damn good hedonistic time." Adam smiles at that, shakes his head before Cassidy shushes him with a hand wave. "But you're entitled to not think about someone else first, here." He reaches over and brushes Adam's bangs out of his face. "You're everybody else's caretaker, baby--just try taking advice instead of giving it, for once."
Adam blinks, hand coming up to rub at his eyes without even really noticing he's doing it. He nods, though, and he ducks his head to look at his hand, hiding a small, teasing smile. "Why didn't we ever hook up, again?"
"Because you are way too much attention than I will ever have time for. And I'm nowhere near enough of a queen for you."
Adam laughs. "I'll let Kris know you say that."
*
It's Songwriter Week on Idol, when Adam performs; he's not quite sure of the rules for the theme, but the contestants are singing from lists by Paul Simon and John Mayer, and Kara is throwing around Bernie Taupin's name like she wants to poke an eye out with it. It's silly, but Adam likes it, even more so when he steps out onto the stage for his first appearance as an artist, rather than a contestant. The lights go green and golden and he's eschewed back-up dancers in favor of black leather and cat-eye makeup, raising an eyebrow at Simon when the smoke machine starts up, when shimmering bits of paper meant to look like rain drop from an overhead holder in time with the strings that build up the chorus of "He Said." I don't want to love you now if you'll just leave someday...
It's over fast, and Adam shakes his head to clear it and grins at the way Kara and Randy are clapping, at the arched eyebrow that (Adam thinks) means Simon is proud. Wiggles his fingers in Simon's direction with a happy smirk, because well, shit.
Backstage, his mom is already cheering, bouncing on the balls of her feet and laughing when Adam picks her up, spins her around in a hug. "This is so crazy. I mean, I've been at the Grammys and this was even crazier than that. Is that weird?"
"It's your homecoming, baby." Leila reaches out to dust some of the glitter off of Adam's forehead. "And you've got a fan waiting for you."
Adam eyes her, ready with a comeback, and then he sees Kris, cheesy newspaper cap pulled over his eyes and gray button-down done up to just below his collar. He looks sheepish, like he isn't sure if he should be here or not, and Adam squeals, actually squeals, wrapping him in a full-body hug that gets glitter and makeup on his clothing.
"You! I didn't think you'd be here already!"
Kris laughs, arms looping easily around Adam's waist. "One of my radio things got canceled so I hitched a ride with Ryan. Wow." His eyes are wide, and Adam's as brave as he dares, dipping down to kiss just the corner of Kris's mouth. It could be friendly, if you ignore the way Kris relaxes into it, the way his hands slide under the leather of Adam's jacket to dig into the thin fabric of the shirt underneath. When Adam pulls back, Kris looks a little dazed. "You look, holy crap," he finishes, so quiet that only Adam can hear.
Adam looks down at himself, tries to pinpoint what Kris is staring at. There are a lot of options: Adam's covered in glitter, from the stage and from his own makeup kit, and it reflects off the snake-scale pattern of his jacket, the shimmering mirror-ball black of his shirt and the long chains of beads and necklaces draping around his collar. His hair is slicked back and he's got on cat-eye makeup, remembers the way the kohl stuck to his fingers when he smudged it against his eyelids.
"Too much?" Adam looks back up, watching Kris's face. "I wanted theatrical."
Kris laughs. "You definitely got that. No, it's not too much. Jeez. Everybody out there looks like kids, compared to that." Kris gestures back out to the stage, where Ryan is telling the camera the number to call if they want to vote for one of the contestants, a tall blonde boy who sang Panic! at the Disco last week. "Is that even songwriting," asks Kris with a twisted smile. Adam grins back, hands still low on Kris' hips.
Dinner is at a restaurant Adam hasn't been to before: the whole Idol thing, complete with after-party, minus the awkward need to play nice with everyone. He tips back the last of his third chocolate martini and slouches down low enough to lean against Kris's shoulder, hair fanning out against his neck and collar.
"You'd look pretty with colored hair," he tells him when he catches a flash of his own green fringe against Kris's skin.
"Um, not so much."
"I have this pink wig, I bet you'd look amazing." Adam rolls his head a little, rubbing his cheek against Kris' shoulder like a cat. His shirt smells like detergent, and soft like it's had way too many washings, and Adam wonders, a little dreamy, what it would look like sharing closet space.
Kris chuckles. "I'm gonna leave the glam thing to you."
"I'll get you eventually." Adam closes his eyes, sighs and lets himself lean more heavily against Kris. It's a bit surreal, being back in the Idol bubble -- even not in it, exactly, just along the edges. The kids at the center of the table -- top thirteen, someone told Adam earlier -- are so wide-eyed and there's that shock of it just being so wild, getting sucked into the machine and hoping you wash up on the other side. "Did you ever think about this part? Wearing the Idol crown?" Adam waves a hand in a loose marquee in front of them, gestures over to the table where someone's taking photos of a cousin, or sister, with the various new Idols.
Kris tilts his head back in amusement. "I really don't even know where that stupid trophy is, so nah."
"Isn't it weird, though? That one thing keeps defining us?"
"Everybody gets that. I think we're just lucky ours is pretty tame."
Over near the cluster of Idol contestants someone turns with the camera, gestures it at Kris and Adam. There's a flash and then attention is directed their way, and Adam groans and sits up, reaches over to grab Kris's water and drinks half of the glass in one take.
"Time to be rock stars," grins Kris, lopsided, standing and pulling Adam to his feet.
"Nothing more real than what's on TV." Adam turns on his celebrity smile and steps around to take pictures.
*
It's close to midnight when the chauffeur drops them both off at Adam's house; Kris's overnight bag hits the wood floor with a heavy thud, and Kris kicks at it half-assedly, sending it skidding in the general direction of the staircase.
"Oh my God that took forever."
Kris leans heavily against the front door, groaning. With his eyes closed and his back against the wood it's not even worth trying to resist -- Adam's in front of him with two long strides, tipping his head back and dropping kisses over his mouth, cheeks, jawline.
"I know I should sit you down and ask about your day, but I really, really just want to get you naked."
Kris's hands slide into Adam's back pockets, and Adam's going to take that as agreement, spinning them abruptly and pushing Kris into the bedroom. He's not familiar with the layout of Adam's house, stumbles a couple of times on the slick wood of the hallway floor, but Adam keeps him up, hands locked on Kris's elbows and fumbling the lights on just before he all but tosses him on the bed.
"Clothes off, now." It comes out rougher, more desperate than Adam expected -- he feels exposed like this, needy and sharper around the edges than he intended. Kris watches him undress with wide eyes, fumbles with his own jeans and lets Adam pull him up to his knees long enough to pull the sweater he's wearing up and over his head. "Fuck, you're so hot." Adam presses their palms together, uses his own weight to push Kris back down against the mattress. "How do you ever get out of a bed?"
"I keep trying not to, but people keep making me." Kris grins when Adam rolls him over, biting a blossom-branch of little red marks across his back. His arms slide up to pin Kris's against the mattress, and he sighs and slides down harder against him when Kris just takes it, wrists twisting loosely in Adam's grasp. "God."
Adam nods into Kris's neck, digging his nails into the thin skin of Kris's hands. He looks--amazing isn't even the word for it, right now, flushed and spread out and on his stomach beneath him. Every push of Adam's hips slides his cock along Kris's ass, fucking gorgeous tease, and Adam pushes against him harder and hisses at the reaction, the way Kris arches up and takes it, murmurs yeah, come on like he's imagining the same thing as Adam.
"Come on," Kris repeats, and Adam mutters oh fuck. He twists so both of Kris's hands are trapped in one of his own, brings the other down to grip Kris's hip, enough to hold him steady while he shoves against him in earnest. The move presses his cock hard between their bodies, and Adam's not expecting the heat that spreads low in his stomach, the way his whole body coils like a spring at having Kris under him like this, hot and solid and unbelievably willing. He's pushing back against Adam with a kind of teasing enthusiasm: it's not a rhythm, and it's driving him crazy, making him rut down harder, more selfish, orgasm building and he can feel it in his toes. It hits him abruptly, faster than he's come in years, at least -- his gut clenches hard and his whole body shakes, sharp needy thing taking him over entirely.
"Holy shit that was so fast." He can hear how hoarse he sounds, and it'd be embarrassing, if it wasn't so good. Adam's mind clears gradually on the thought that it's Kris, that can undo him like this. It's a little scary, frankly, and it makes something in Adam's stomach flip. Underneath him, Kris laughs, a breathy noise that trails off into a gasp when Adam slides off of him, abruptly. Adam hauls Kris's hips up, gets him onto hands and knees and wraps a fist around Kris's cock. He's close, Adam can feel it, can tell in his tense muscles and the way his breathing hiccups when Adam touches him. He squeezes the base once, hard, and Kris groans. "Good boy," Adam says into his ear, and then he's licking a hot line down the sharp indents of Kris's spine, further.
"Oh--you're--"
"Shut up," Adam says, pressing his forearm down on Kris's lower back to hold him still, and Kris cuts off abruptly when Adam's mouth comes down on him, teeth scraping the dip of his tailbone and lower, licking in a tight circle that makes Kris gasp for air. That's it, he thinks, feeling irrationally smug at the way Kris whimpers and drops his forehead to the mattress; he feels stable like this, back in control a little -- it's kind of an ugly feeling, and he's not entirely proud of it, but he still lifts his hand to his mouth to briefly wet his index finger, still smiles in only sort of misplaced triumph when he presses his fingertip into Kris, just barely, makes him whine and buck into Adam's too-tight fist. "Just wait," says Adam smoothly, leaning forward to press his tongue in against his fingers.
Kris moans. "I can't--"
"You can." Adam squeezes his cock again, just enough that he can't come, and twists into Kris further, just barely, just to the first knuckle. Kris is shaking, now, and Adam pushes his tongue in, hums as he does it; the effect is amazing, like Kris doesn't know he's talking, and it's a steady litany of pleas and gasps and Adam's name over it, the best part of all. It's sort of beautifully, filthily sweet, and Adam fucks him with his tongue and loosens the hand around his dick, lets Kris rock forward into his palm and back into his mouth and makes little encouraging noises, crooking the finger inside of Kris enough to give it edge, remind him what he's doing, what it means and who it's with.
Kris comes with a noise like his orgasm's surprised him: it's broken and off-key, and it's accompanied by his legs finally giving out on him. Adam lets him down onto the mattress gently, covers Kris's body with his own again and dots kisses along his neck and the shell of his ear until Kris stirs, tries to turn over in Adam's arms.
Adam shivers and kisses his neck again, keeping him facing the silence of the pillows. His chest feels tight and he's not really sure what to say, in this case. He suddenly, sharply misses the part of sex that used to be about I love you, in the end.
He's probably heavy, though, and he rolls off of Kris with a sigh. One of their t-shirts is still caught on the drawer to the nightstand and Adam scoops it up, wipes his face briefly, uses it to clean off the worst of the mess from his own stomach and thighs, from off of Kris's back.
"Those pictures from tonight are going to end up online," says Adam quietly, tossing the ruined shirt back down towards the foot board. "We should be okay, but it was still stupid of me not to think about it then. We could have been more careful."
"Careful how?"
Adam sits up, slings his legs off the edge of the mattress. The sheets pool around his waist and he tugs them a little tighter. "I'm just afraid this is going to get mistaken for something it's not."
Kris sits up as well, shifting so he's looking at Adam directly. "Something it's 'not' being..."
Adam waves it off. "All it takes is one picture and it ends up anywhere... it's different. When everyone knows."
Kris shakes his head. "I don't care."
"You will!" It comes out angrier than Adam intended, and he amends, softly, "everyone does. Even I do, sometimes. What this is right now... it's still safe. I don't want you to lose that and regret it later."
"Why are you so sure I'm gonna regret it later?"
Adam doesn't say anything.
There's a pause where Kris bites his lip and nods, slowly like he's digesting what Adam's just told him. "I don't even know what to say to that," Kris says, finally. He sounds sad, kind of tired, and so resigned that Adam's stomach twists up. "I do know what I'm in for, I've definitely thought about it. I think maybe you're the only one who's thinking about 'safe.'" Adam can hear the irritation dripping from Kris's voice, the way he wrinkles his nose on the word like it's personally offensive. "I'm not in this for...fun, or whatever, and it's kind of dick of you to think that way, really. I'm serious here. And it's up to you--if you don't believe that, then I guess you get to decide how long you want to keep doing something that doesn't mean anything anyway."
It's a terrifying statement, and the way Kris says it -- he's so calm about it, like it makes perfect sense, and Adam swallows, hard, because there's no right response. Feels even worse about it when Kris just curls back down again, so fucking innocuous Adam isn't sure what to do. He stares at Kris, completely at a loss, and it must be so obvious because Kris sighs heavily. "Forget it. Just go to sleep, okay? I'm not mad."
Adam sincerely doubts that. He relents anyway though, lying down tentatively, like jostling too much could make Kris run away. There's only a few inches of space between them but Adam's hyper-aware of it, wants to close the distance but isn't quite sure what to say. He hates lying, and Kris would know if he did, anyway. He's absolutely sure Kris would know.
Beside him, Kris reaches out to wrap his fingers around Adam's forearm. "G'night," he says, voice already slightly slurred, and Adam looks over, distracted, brushes at Kris's hair and leans to press a quick kiss to his forehead. Not mad. Maybe. Either way, Kris is out in all of two minutes and Adam can't help but laugh; it's reassuring, actually, something so weirdly innocent about the way Kris looks in sleep, like he's let everything go, completely at ease. Adam is jealous of the talent, wishes he was able to take some of it himself.
He frowns at the ceiling and stays awake.
*
At least Hollywood is on his side in the morning: he finds parking not even a block from Basix and gets to the door without so much as a camera flash, slouch cap pulled low over his hair and aviators covering his eyes. He feels like shit, honestly -- he got up at five to take Kris to LAX and couldn't sleep again afterward, only drifted off in time to hear his alarm trill that he was already late for breakfast. He spots his mom out on the patio, drinking a latte and chatting on her phone. Talking to Paul, probably -- Adam hears you too as she hangs up, stands to kiss his cheek when he makes his way to her table.
"I'm really sorry," Adam says as soon as he sits down, rubbing at his eyes underneath his glasses. They feel grainy and puffy and he's pretty sure he'd look like one of those celebrities -- the party-all-night-kind -- if he took them off. Which he can be, sometimes, but he usually at least remembers to put on some damn makeup first. "Kris had a flight so early this morning. I went back home and planted."
"It's okay, honey. Are you feeling okay?" She raises an eyebrow, head dipping as she looks at his sunglasses. "It's not really that bright."
Adam pulls the glasses up long enough to show her his eyes, puffy and red around the edges. "I'm just sleepy," he says with a smile he hopes is reassuring. "I was up pretty late." On second thought, he amends, "thinking!" with a sheepish smile.
Leila tsks, reaching out to squeeze his hand. The waiter reappears to bring them both water -- Adam orders a mimosa, grins when his mom adds a second to the order -- and it's blissfully normal, one of those mornings -- afternoons, Adam guesses -- where he gets to play at not being famous. It's everything he loves about Hollywood, usually.
"Okay, mister. Spill." Leila leans forward, fixing him with a stare that usually means busted. "What's going on."
Adam rubs at his eyes again, knuckles grazing plastic rims. He probably looks awful; he can feel the tendrils of a migraine working their way between his eyes, kind of suspects he'll be back in bed pretty soon. "It's nothing," he says finally. "We argued a little last night, that's all."
Leila reaches over and squeezes his forearm, briefly. "About?"
"He says I don't believe he's serious about being together."
"Is he right?"
Adam drops his head to the table, closing his eyes when he feels his mom's fingers carding gently through his hair. "Maybe? It's just... I don't think he gets what it means, if we really do this--what it's going to change for him. I think he thinks he means it, but when it's not just us, when everyone knows?" Leila makes a soft, calming sound, and Adam bites his lip. He isn't going to cry. "I don't want him to hate me if he changes his mind," he mutters finally, face pressed into the table cloth.
Leila doesn't answer right away -- Adam closes his eyes and sighs into the table, wonders just how eccentric it would make him to fall asleep, right here. He's considering it, on the edge between 'just resting my eyes' and 'fuck it' when his mom tugs at his hair, gently, and he has to glance back up.
"I'm no expert, but I think if you asked your dad he'd tell you something about straight boys and dating other men." Adam laughs, and Leila smiles at him, brushing his bangs back from his forehead. "Let's try this another way. Are you happy? With Kris?"
"God, yeah." Adam sits back up. "There's this energy, you know? Everything's better with him. It's like--" like Brad, he wants to say, except he knows that it's not. Brad was his first love, he'll always love him, Adam's sure, but it was hyper-real and biting, sharp in the way that dug into skin and left wounds, that hurt. Romeo and Juliet shit, the kind of crazy that rubbed off in how they fought and how they fucked, the places they went and the mutual friends they kept and the way Adam didn't know how to breathe, sometimes, without Brad there to show him. Kris isn't like that; Adam's older now, his own person by himself, even when he's alone, and he knows Kris is, too. "It's big," he finishes, because it seems the most true.
"How big?"
Adam opens his mouth, snaps it shut again with a smirk. Leila shakes her head, laughing.
"Okay, you, don't even."
Adam snorts indelicately and stares down at his hands. If he twists them, this way and that, the rings catch and reflect the light through his water glass. "I think I could fall in love with him," he says finally.
"So isn't it worth trusting him?"
"You're totally on his side," says Adam, but he can feel warmth spreading over him, something like relief when the knot he's tied up in begins to uncoil.
"I think he knows more about himself than you give him credit for."
"It's just scary. I've only ever... it was always Brad, I guess. Even--I loved Drake, but I don't think I was in love with him. Kris... he's perfect for me." It's a terrifying thing to say out loud, even -- maybe especially -- to his mom, and Adam looks up at the awning above them, anywhere but directly at her. "Even... I would have never, ever said, done anything then, but we'd be sitting out in the lounge on tour just talking, and I'd think, it's so weird that all of these things came together so he was there in front of me, but he wasn't... somebody I could ever have." Adam shakes his head, feeling guilty even saying it. "I felt so bad when he told me about him and Katy because I kept thinking, oh God, what if I'd done it? What if I wanted it so hard it made it true?"
"You know that's not true. Adam--look at me." Adam does, suddenly fully aware of the way the corners of his mouth are trembling. He's not going to cry in public, he's not. "What happened with Kris and Katy has nothing to do with you. It sounds like that's what Kris was doing, keeping you two apart for so long. Right?"
One year. Three hundred and sixty five days. Adam nods, biting the inside of his cheek.
"Then don't feel bad right now -- certainly not for being happy. And you know, I saw him watching you last night, on the teleprompter," she adds, turning to thank the waiter as he brings them their drinks. "I don't think you're the only one who feels the way you do."
Adam squeezes his eyes shut, briefly. "I hope so."
*
Adam's headache doesn't vanish, but it doesn't get worse, either. He ends up at home by mid-afternoon, curled up on his bed with the television and a bottle of Advil. There are a half-dozen messages on his iPhone, waiting: from Danielle, and Cassidy, both of which he answers, but from RCA and 19 too, both of which can wait. When he's done, he swallows his pride and nerves long enough to open a text message to Kris, taps it out quickly and tosses the phone away from him as soon as he hits send.
i forgot 2 say: whatever this is or isnt i'm happy. with u.
The response, when it comes, makes his eyes burn again, and he falls asleep with his phone on the pillow beside his head.
me too. always am.
*
Tuesday is Ellen. Adam isn't entirely sure why Tuesday is Ellen - he's not promoting anything, exactly, right now - but he loves Ellen, and he's not going to argue when the message left for him by RCA ends up being a request for him to come down to fill a vacancy guest-spot. He shows up an hour before they're scheduled to record and tackles Ellen when he sees her, staggering them both forward because no, really, he loves his job when he gets to do things like this. It's strange, and kind of fun, to be there without performing, and when the cameras go on Adam curls up in Ellen's over-sized chair and tells her about being on Idol again, beams when she offers him a bedazzled version of the Laugh. Dance. Dream t-shirt.
"I will totally wear this." Adam holds it up for the camera, giggling. "I will. I'm gonna wear this on-stage. Do you know I still have my one from Idol?" Well, Kris's shirt, anyway. Adam wears it as pajamas, when he's in a situation where he has to wear pajamas.
"So, you've been finished with your tour -- the Glamour Ball Tour, right? -- you've been finished with that for a couple of months now. And you know, one of the best-selling tours last year, so wow."
"Thank you." Adam ducks his head, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "We put together an amazing band and it was so much fun. I'm really proud of it."
"You should be, too, you're doing wonderful things. Now what's the hardest part of getting off of that, since this is your first break in, well..."
"Forever, oh my God. It's strange, you know? Now I get why you see pictures of Lindsey Lohan and everybody out shopping all the time -- when you're not out doing something for your job there just isn't all that much you can do with all the cameras around." Adam considers, amends quickly with, "but I'm not that famous! Yet! I can still go to McDonalds and get looks like, 'hey, is that Pete Wentz? Oh, wow, I thought you were shorter.'" He smiles.
"Is there anything you can't do, or that's more difficult now?"
"Well, dating," says Adam, with another laugh. "You can't hit the club scene when everyone saw you on Ellen yesterday."
It generates some amusement from the audience, particularly when Ellen rejoins with, "do you date a lot of my viewers? That's not a demographic I would have pictured from you."
Adam laughs, folding in half with it, blushing. "Actually, you know what, my boyfriend watches your show." Not religiously or anything, but Adam used to turn on daytime television on their rare downtime between venues, crammed up front with Matt and Michael playing poker, with Danny's ever-present phone a murmur in the back until Adam waved his arms, ooh, Gaga is performing! He caught Kris saying, "Ellen said," one night when he was coming off of his first tour, had teased him about 'rubbing off' until Kris had snickered through the phone line, muttered sheepishly about it reminding him of Adam. Sometimes Adam thinks he favors the show for that, alone.
Adam has never talked to Kris about this, before, though, and the title is new. Adam claps his hand over his mouth with a mumbled, "oops." He waves sheepishly at the camera closest to him. "Hi honey." He feels a little exposed, but Ellen plows through it, reaches over to squeeze his knee and moves on to some challenge, a couple of girls who want to have Adam teach them to put on eye makeup. It's a relief, but Adam still steps off the stage and texts, I am so sorry, sending it to Kris as he slides out of the studio. The response comes while Adam is outside signing, and he excuses himself long enough to take Kris's phone call.
On the other end of the line, Kris sounds amused as hell. "I'm your boyfriend now," he drawls.
"Fuck you!" That was, maybe, a little too loud. Adam ducks his head and steps back into the doorway. "I'm so sorry, it just slipped out."
"Don't apologize." Adam glances up at the brick side of the building, doing his best not to shuffle. He feels nervous, the way he hasn't felt in years, with his love life. He thinks he likes it, but he isn't sure. When Kris talks again it's cautious, like maybe he's thinking the same thing. "So that's new."
Adam lets his breath out in a rush. "Yeah, about that." This is such a ridiculous time to have this conversation, but Adam's life is nothing if not largely ridiculous. "I was being so stupid," he says, rubbing at his eyes under his sunglasses. "I couldn't stop thinking about it, after you said it. I don't--this isn't casual, I wouldn't want it to be." He closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against the brick of the studio building. "I love you and I want this for real, all of it. I want to do this."
The silence on the other end of the line is almost terrifying, and when Kris answers it's a relief. "Wow." He sounds a little shaky, and Adam imagines him sitting on a couch somewhere, running his hand over his face or leaning forward on his knees, the way he does when he's shocked by something, like his body won't support him. "That's... pretty big."
"Yeah." It's barely more than a whisper, but he knows Kris can hear it. "I mean it, though. I think I have for a while. It's funny, how scared you can get without even really knowing why."
There's silence on the other end, and then Kris says, "jeez, Adam," and Adam laughs because basically. "You have no idea how freaking worried I was. I don't know what I was gonna do if you'd decided on giving up on this."
"That couldn't happen." There's absolute conviction in his voice -- that much, he always knew. "Where are you?"
Kris chuckles: it sounds nervous, maybe, just a bit. "Heading into Arkansas. I'm in Texarcana."
"That's what it's called?"
"For real." He gets that accent, when he says it, like he never left the South; Adam can't help but smile, feels his expression going soft.
"I bet you're excited," he says, remembering hog-calls and thousands of exuberant fans.
"Terrified, but I'm pretty sure they're not gonna boo me."
Adam laughs. There's another flurry of noise from back by the gates -- Kris must be able to hear it, too, because he laughs again. "Okay, I'm hogging you here. You've got the rock star thing to do and I'm supposed to be doing some phone interview, anyway. Shoo."
Adam doesn't want to, not at all. It's part of the game though, and he knows as soon as he gets back out there, he'll be glad he did. "I really miss you."
"Me too. Now go, c'mon. It's not like I'm going anywhere." Which is actually a lie -- Kris is crossing state lines as he speaks. Still, there are fans waiting and cameras to pose for and Adam says goodbye like it doesn't suck, every time.
When Adam slides back to the barricade it's with a broad smile and damp eyes, sunglasses pulled down against the latter as he gives signatures. Off to the side, a camera flashes; Adam turns and waves, poses for a photo with a younger fan. "Who were you talking to?" someone asks, in front of him, and when Adam says boyfriend it's the best thing he's said in a very long time.
continued in part three
The Beverly Hills Hotel looks different, somehow, when Adam pulls up to it the second time: more foreign, maybe, the shock of garish color odd and out of place in rolling black hills and carefully cultivated green. It's funny, how it doesn't suit Kris, and Adam imagines Kris's sneakers scuffing on expensive tile when he hears his own boots click, tapping out the distance from the front door to the elevator. Twenty-six, twenty-seven -- Adam rocks on his heels in the elevator, feeling for all the world like he's going on a first date. Which is stupid, of course -- it's Kris, God, and he's honestly not sure how this is going to play out, right now.
That question, at least, dissolves as soon as Kris opens his door, button-down shirt undone to his sternum and bare toes digging into the plush, expensive rug. "Hey," he says carefully, stepping back to let Adam into the room before shutting the door again. "Just packing up. I'm pretty sure it all fit on the way here," he adds with a lopsided smile, scratching the back of his neck. "But, uh." There are still clothes hanging over the couch and chairs, and Kris's guitar is propped up out of his case against the crystalline windows. "Go figure."
"Dinner went alright?"
"What? Oh--yeah, I guess. Honestly I sorta zoned out. I don't think they actually needed me there, really I just go where they tell me and stand where they want and hey, there's the concert." He shrugs, still smiling. "As long as I get to play music I'm happy."
It's so very Kris, and Adam has to smile. On his first tour, Adam spent four days going over lighting, another week and a half on costumes and set lists. Kris would forget all of that, if he could, let someone else work out the parts that aren't melody and lyric and be content just to stand and play music for the people in front of him. It's beautiful, the most honest and open Adam can imagine anyone being. Kris doesn't know how to lie through his music; he tells the truth, and people listen.
Which. Adam swallows, watches Kris shuffle across the room to zip his guitar into its case. "Were you serious, earlier?"
Kris freezes, guitar strap hoisted over his shoulder. He sets it down beside the bed and comes around to stand in front of Adam, close enough that his toes are almost touching Adam's boots. "Completely."
Adam swallows. He feels completely out of his league right now, and that never happens. But Kris is something else, always has been -- that perfect joke, the one his friends like to tease he measures all his boyfriends against. He's tilting at windmills now. "Why?"
Kris laughs, startled and serious. "You're kidding, right? My friends at home used to rag me about it, even back when we were touring together. People I've never met before knew I had a crush on you. I thought you knew."
Which... Adam did, of course. He could tell by top 13, even, the way Kris stared at him every time he came off stage. Would have probably tried to see how far that look could carry him, if Kris hadn't had a ring on his finger. But Adam's no cheater, from either side of the equation, and then Kris was a friend, and by the time he was a best friend it was cute, just sweet. Flattering, really, because while Adam's used to having straight boys stare, he's never looked back at one and thought, 'what if.'
He reaches out and grips Kris's arm, gently, letting his eyes wander down Kris's body to follow it. "A crush. Non-threatening?"
Kris swallows, jaw set. "Scary as heck." He sways forward though, tilting his head back, and oh, Adam has never been the kind of boy to let this type of chance go by. Self-denial isn't his strong point, anyway. His other hand comes up to tangle in Kris's short hair, dragging him forward and into a kiss, and he's gratified, not surprised, when Kris kisses back like he's been waiting for the chance. It's awkward at first -- Kris kisses like a straight boy, like he's only ever been in charge, and he groans when Adam pulls back, biting at his bottom lip.
"I drive," Adam murmurs into his mouth, wrapping his other arm around Kris's waist. The move lets him guide Kris, peddle him backwards towards the bed, and when the backs of Kris's knees hit the mattress he buckles, pulling Adam down with him.
"Shotgun," mumbles Kris, and Adam giggles and kisses him again. It's better this time, no bumped noses or odd angles. Adam cups Kris's jaw, sucks at his tongue playfully, and Kris is open and demanding and wriggling beneath him, one leg coming up to rub between Adam's. It sends a shiver down his spine, and Adam catches Kris's wrist and pins it against the mattress, spreads his legs a little farther to make room for Kris's thigh.
"How far do we want to take this tonight," asks Adam when he pulls back, just enough to lick at Kris's chin, bite his way across his jawline. Kris squirms happily, the hand Adam doesn't have trapped beside his head coming up to grab at Adam's hair, tug him lower, towards his neck.
"Not gonna hear me say to stop."
As if on cue, Kris's phone trills. Adam groans and buries his face in Kris's neck.
"That? Is karma."
"It's my alarm, actually." Kris fumbles to grab it, slaps it quiet with a few clumsy buttons. "Supposed to go to bed. I've got a bus call in freaking Portland tomorrow."
"You set an alarm to tell you to sleep?" Adam gets his elbows back under him, lifting up enough so he can look Kris in the eye. "That's so cute." And God, he's adorable like this, in general, flushed from being under Adam and pouty-irritated, lips red and wet and faintly marked by teeth. It's too much temptation, and Adam leans back down to lick at his bottom lip. "Well," he says reasonably, into Kris's mouth, "I don't want to give you bad habits."
"Oh?" Kris's eyebrow raises when Adam's hand travels down, pops the button on Kris's jeans.
"Mm-hmm." The zipper comes down easy, and Kris lifts his hips like it's reflex, and Adam gets his jeans and his boxers in one movement. He's already hard and Adam can't help the wicked grin that stretches over his face, not when Kris is panting and blatantly staring, glazed like he's not sure what Adam will do next.
What Adam does is get his arms back under him, ignoring the desperate sound Kris makes when he moves his hand away.
"Shouldn't keep you up past your bedtime."
Kris looks a little manic, and Adam can't keep a straight face.
"You dick," Kris breathes, when Adam starts to snicker, and Adam drops a quick kiss to his lips before sliding down between his legs. "Holy--jeez," says Kris when Adam wraps his palm, spit-slicked, around the base of his cock.
"That's what I like to hear. Now watch."
At the first touch of Adam's mouth, Kris's hips come off the bed. He's close, already, and Adam squeezes the base of his cock, holding off his orgasm as he licks a line across the head. Oh, sh-God, Kris swears, sounding genuinely shocked, and Adam laughs, humming happily as he dips down to take Kris in. He's so beautiful like this. Knew he would be, but still, Adam can't get over how eager he is, can't get over the broken noises he makes when Adam presses his tongue flat or uses just the barest brush of teeth. There's a part of Adam that had expected Kris to be embarrassed by it, quiet or tentative, to treat sex like it wasn't something to play with. It's silly, of course: Kris is the same like this as he is any other way, earnest and wide-eyed, just a little bit bossy. He digs his fingers into Adam's hair and squirms happily when he does something that Kris really likes, when Adam's fingers dig into the skin at the dip of his pelvis, sensitive, apparently ticklish. Adam glances up at Kris as he takes him in, all the way, notes how Kris's eyes flutter when Adam works his throat around him.
"Adam, please, just, gonna--"
Adam pulls away, wrapping his hand tight around Kris's cock and jerking, fast. "Come on."
Kris gasps, and does as he's told.
Adam keeps working his hand through Kris's orgasm, hot spurts that make the glide smoother, leave Kris wrung-out against the mattress like he can't quite regain his bearings. When Adam pulls away it's to lick the come off his palm -- he's showing off, but that's the point. It gets results: Kris groans and reaches out to grab Adam by the elbow, tugging him up into a kiss that tastes like semen and sex, hotter for the fact that it's undeniably real. One of Kris's legs comes up to rub between Adam's, and Adam hisses, kisses harder; Kris lets go long enough to snake his hand between them, gives a tentative squeeze that could drive Adam crazy.
Shit. Adam pulls back long enough to shove his pants down around his thighs, grabs Kris's wrist and guides his hand until it's wrapped around his cock. "Like that, oh, fuck," he swears, letting his head drop as Kris twists his palm across the head.
"You gotta tell me."
His fingers catch along the ridge; Adam shifts, giving him better access. "Just keep--oh, yes, exactly," he says, pushing into Kris's grip, and then he's back on him again, sucking a wet trail across his neck while Kris jerks him off.
It's not fancy, but it works. Adam figures Kris is probably just repeating what he does on himself, and it's good, it's fantastic, because it's Kris and it's--yes. Adam comes hard, striping Kris's t-shirt and hand and wringing a surprised gasp out of Kris when he does. It's the most tempting thing in the world, just to collapse on Kris, after, but Adam groans and rolls to his side, falls down onto the mattress until his heartbeat steadies, until the world expands back out beyond the feel of bodies together.
Kris speaks first, startling Adam. "Wow," he says, the end dragging into a breathy, shocked giggle. He glances down at himself, surveying the damage. "Nice."
Adam laughs and takes the opportunity to wriggle the rest of the way out of his pants, pulling off his shirt as an afterthought and then motioning for Kris to do the same. "Oops," he says, watching Kris sit up long enough to undress; that shirt is never going to be the same again. He's even more beautiful with the clothes off though -- Adam can't help but touch, reaches out to run his knuckles along Kris's jaw. It makes him shiver, but he doesn't flinch -- not at the possessive gesture, and not at the way Adam's thumb presses lightly against his throat, vague promise of something more sparking like it could catch fire. Adam has to admit: with his lips kiss-swollen and his skin flushed, Kris looks every part the tease -- he shouldn't be getting anywhere near this, is too damn old to play with bicurious boys.
It's hard to hold onto that sense of self-preservation, though, because Kris has been perfect for him since the first time they'd had a conversation that went further than Idol, the first week in that stupid mansion, and Adam had fallen asleep thinking, it's always the straight ones, damn.
Adam pulls Kris back down onto the bed, buries his face in the side of Kris's neck. "I don't know what I'm doing, with you."
"I'm pretty easy, actually," murmurs Kris, clumsily petting Adam's hair. He sounds tired, and Adam smiles despite himself, sighing heavily against Kris's skin.
"You aren't even close." It's nowhere near all of the things Adam needs to say, but there's a comfortable fog settling around his brain and for now, it's honest, and maybe that's enough. "Now move over, I'm sleepy."
Kris snorts, letting Adam move them both until he's curled against Adam's chest, Adam's arm slung tight around his waist. His eyes are already sliding shut, and Adam remembers this -- give him another three minutes and he'll be totally out. Adam's already scanning the room to see if he can find Kris's laptop, because there's no way he's falling asleep this early. God, I love you, Adam thinks, and it startles him -- not the sentiment, but how sharp it is, the way it twists up his stomach when he turns it in his mind. He doesn't say it though, just kisses Kris's shoulder and listens to his breathing even, counts down the rhythm like he could turn it into melody. They write songs about this, and Adam has always thought that, about Kris, and about the two of them together. It's just that they've always been sad, without lyrics, nothing gained by saying it all of it out loud.
Adam's not very good with that kind of music.
*
Dropping Kris off at LAX is hard. Adam helps Kris get his bags out of the back of the Mustang and then hugs him tight on the sidewalk, a full-body cling that has him curled into a comma, face pressed hard into Kris's neck.
"I can do long distance, I swear," he murmurs wetly, sniffling against sudden emotion he didn't even see coming. It's okay though, it's honest -- and Kris's voice sounds a little raw too when he chuckles into Adam's chest.
"You sound like I'm shipping off somewhere." His arms slide under Adam's blazer, palms warm against the thin cotton of his t-shirt. It's inappropriate, except that they've always been like this, and even if there were paps no one would be paying attention.
"A tour is definitely 'shipping off' somewhere." Adam pulls back, kissing the top of Kris's head and grabbing his duffel off the pavement. "I'm just going to kidnap you. It'd be easy, too, you'd fit in my pocket."
"Nothing fits in your pockets," says Kris, eying Adam's jeans.
Adam hands Kris's bag to him and ducks in so he can say, "come back and you can get them off of me," quiet enough that he's sure no one else can hear them. Kris shivers and grips Adam's forearm, squeezing tight. He looks like he's having second thoughts about this whole responsible adult thing, and Adam grins wide when he straightens back up, says "ready to go?" brightly.
Kris glares at him. "You're a damn tease."
Adam laughs, hard enough to double himself over. "Payback, bitch." He doesn't sound apologetic at all.
*
Kris's first tour date is a sell-out.
"I knew it would be," Adam shouts into the phone excitedly when Kris calls, cupping his other ear with his hand in a bid to hear over the din of the rest of the crowd. The club isn't the usual tinsel-Hollywood scene -- and thank God for that, really, because Adam's found it's easy to forget that he actually lives in West Hollywood, these days, that it's his home and not just a fishbowl he happened to fall in the middle of. Right now he's standing just off of a stage not much higher than the dance floor itself: it's all one of Cassidy's orchestrations tonight, leather and rivets and thick, glittered makeup. Adam's here on the sidelines, and it feels good to be surrounded by people he knows, and hasn't just heard of.
Kris's voice sounds rubbed-raw, like he just got finished singing -- he sounds happy, though, and it's contagious when he speaks, makes Adam smile like an idiot in a room full of people. "My manager left me a voice mail when I got off the stage. She sounded kinda shell-shocked. I guess a couple others are like, seventy percent or something, so I guess we're doing pretty good." There's a loud shock of music from one of the speakers behind Adam, and Kris laughs. "Where are you?"
"It's a revue," Adam says, making a be right back gesture at Cassidy. "It's a friend's thing, I'm just here to get out. I can barely hear you, hang on just a sec."
The bathroom isn't all that quieter than the rest of the club, but Adam can hear himself think, at least. More importantly, he can hear Kris, and he locks the door and leans against it, catching a glimpse of his glitter-and-sweat smeared face in the mirror. He looks a little debauched, and he really wants to take Kris to one of these, someday. "That's more than Daughtry or the Killers did last year. You made Brandon Flowers your bitch."
Kris snorts. "It's not that big a deal."
"It is!" In the other room, someone's started a dance track, and Adam ducks back against a stall and cradles the phone closer. He knows he's probably on a different decible scale as Kris entirely right now, but holy fuck. There's no reason he should be quiet about this, anyway. "It's a huge deal. You're a rock star."
"Mom-rock, I think. And I'm only the opener."
"Stop that! Just take the compliment, oh my God." There's a knock at the door, and Adam raises his hand automatically. "Just a minute!"
"Man, where are you?"
"In a bathroom?" Adam's smile feels goofy, blinding, and Kris laughs. "I have my drink with me, too. It's an awful cliche, isn't it?" He looks at the mirror again, catches his own reflection. He's wearing leather and shimmering fabric and his hair is cockatoo-skewed in the back, sparks of green and now purple and gold at the edges, but the expression that looks back at him is the same one he's had since he was a teenager, earnest and lovesick. He makes a a face at himself, distorting the image. "I miss you."
"Me too. It's still weird--I mean, it's stupid because it's been so long, but every time I get off stage I sorta expect you to be there."
Adam can't help the noise he makes at that, something dangerously close to a happy aw. "You aren't real, Kris Allen," he says, voice all twisted up with the earnestness of it, "and you're coming back next week, right?"
"Wouldn't miss it." They're not playing LA, just yet anyway, but Ryan is coming back to guest-judge on Idol, and Kris gets to tag along for a radio show in Glendale. Same week as Adam hits Idol, actually, which is...not how Adam would have expected a line-up to go. Not that it matters, of course: he's performing "He Said," a ballad that's still in the Billboard Top 20, and America's 'family show' isn't going to know what hit it.
There's another knock, louder this time. Okay, okay! calls Adam again, and he can hear Kris chuckle on the other end of the line. "Man, that's how rumors start," he says, and Adam laughs and unlocks the door, stepping back out into the much-louder walkway. The lights are back up, which means production's in take-down, and Adam remembers enough from prior experience that whoever doesn't help is going to get stuck with the shitty jobs, next time. Being a rock star doesn't grant anyone immunity.
"Okay, I really have to let you go. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" There's a rustling sound and he imagines Kris nodding against the phone, misses him so sharply it makes his chest hurt. He has no idea how they went so long apart, before. "Goodnight, baby," he murmurs into the receiver. He lets Kris hang up first, phone still pressed to his ear as he navigates back into the kaleidoscope of the audience.
After he's been on tour for a while, it's easy for Adam to forget just how weird West Hollywood can be. Not in the way that he grew into adulthood, with: before Idol, Adam thinks he was probably the weird part of WeHo, the glitter, noise and chaos that made other people think "that place" of what he just called home. "Weird" never really meant anything before Adam got famous -- another label he took pride in, the opportunity to twist.
"Weird," now, means a thousand different things. Not being able to go out shopping in anonymity, for one, or not having to make a reservation because the person attending already knows your name. Having the places you go mean something, because you're not just you, you're also a brand, and every photograph outside of a drag show or cabaret launches another sixth-page-in gossip rag debate on whether it's just "hitting the town" or "fallen Idol" behavior. Even worse if Adam has someone else with him -- it frustrates him, sometimes, but Hollywood is just like the rest of the world, thinks everyone Adam so much as holds hands with is in his pants, too.
All of that comes back when he and Cassidy slide out of the club and back into the street; there's a hoard of photographers out on the sidewalk, and Adam puts on his best you're just doing your job smile and holds up a hand against the glare of the flash bulbs.
"Okay, you guys, he's a friend. Can we do this when I'm more interesting, maybe?"
Someone off to the side asks, just a friend? possibly asks if they can kiss for the cameras, but Adam just ignores it. Cassidy's already ducked under somebody's raised photo lens and made it to the vehicle. "Does anyone even do anything on a Thursday?"
There's a final round of snap-snap-click as Adam slides into the front seat, and Cassidy's laughing by the time they're pulled out into traffic, craning his neck to look behind them at the lingering paparazzi. "I didn't know you were that kind of rock star," he says, and Adam sighs and changes lanes.
"It's only like this when I go out with somebody, really, it's so crazy. I'm a little fucking sick of it, actually." He tugs off his sunglasses -- it's too dark for them, and he's starting to feel kind of like a dick, still wearing them while he's driving. "It's just tacky, like, I know they have to make a living, but I really don't think my dating life is that exciting."
"What's left of it," Cassidy agrees.
Home is a relief: always is, and Adam doesn't bother playing host, just waves Cassidy in the direction of his bar. He'd consider changing out of his clothes but the bedroom's just too damn far away; he gives up halfway through the living room and collapses down onto the couch, slinging his arm over his eyes to block out the overhead lighting.
"So, in all seriousness," says Cassidy, putting enough bottles out on the counter that Adam officially has no idea what he's doing. "Is everything okay? Wallflower isn't your color, beautiful."
Adam peeks out from under his forearm. "You've been talking to Alisan, haven't you?"
"We're a horrible, gossipy bunch."
Adam huffs.
There's a clinking of crystal, and Adam sits back up when Cassidy comes around the sofa. He's got a tumbler of what looks like gin but ends up being a gimlet and he hands it over to Adam before folding down beside him, Adam's entire bottle of SoCo perched between his knees. Adam shakes his head, takes a drink from his own glass before he even tries to speak.
"I think I'm doing something stupid," he says, mouth scrunching up thoughtfully. "When Kris was down here, this last time, we..." Adam waves his hand, vaguely, because hooked up sounds so fucking crass and talked is the one thing they didn't do enough of. "I'm just processing."
There's a long pause, like Cassidy isn't sure how to respond. "Wow," he says, finally, and Adam laughs, because, yeah. "Well that's big."
He sounds as shocked as Adam feels, and Adam shakes his head. "I feel bad even talking about it. He's just, it's Kris, you know? There isn't really room to mess up here. Can you imagine what would happen--like, going out on a date, with how crazy it was tonight?" Adam frowns, looking down at the polish on his nails. He's getting so ahead of himself, but he wasn't lying to Cassidy: it's Kris. "Even if we got serious, I don't know how it would work."
Cassidy hmmms, taps his fingers thoughtfully against the bottle cupped between them. "Well, what does that mean for you? You're gonna have to try eventually, baby. I don't think I need to tell you what they'd call it if you hid it."
Adam looks at the floor. "I'm not going back into a closet. But I'm not pulling anyone out of one, either. I don't even know what this is to him. He wouldn't do this intentionally, but...sometimes you just want someone, you know?" Adam empties his glass, focusing on the burn as it slides down his throat. The effect is almost instant, a heavy, spreading warmth, and he leans back into warm leather, closing his eyes again. "I'm trying to just take this as it comes at me."
Cassidy raises an eyebrow. He doesn't say anything though, leans over instead and pours from his bottle into Adam's empty cup, clinking both together and muttering cheers before he drinks. Adam follows suite, then wrinkles his nose. "Too sweet." He looks down at the drink, swirls the tumbler in his hands and watches the amber-tinted alcohol slosh against the sides. "I really do believe things work out the way they're supposed to," he says after a minute, more quietly, serious. "Kris and I were meant for something. I don't know if it's this, but--there's a reason I met him, you know? Whatever that is--I'll be okay with that." It might suck, but Adam doesn't believe that 'love of your life' is a zero-sum game, and sometimes you don't get the chance to keep your winnings. "I'll always love him." Just like Brad.
"You've got to give yourself more than that. You want to be in love--it's why you're better than the rest of us just out having a damn good hedonistic time." Adam smiles at that, shakes his head before Cassidy shushes him with a hand wave. "But you're entitled to not think about someone else first, here." He reaches over and brushes Adam's bangs out of his face. "You're everybody else's caretaker, baby--just try taking advice instead of giving it, for once."
Adam blinks, hand coming up to rub at his eyes without even really noticing he's doing it. He nods, though, and he ducks his head to look at his hand, hiding a small, teasing smile. "Why didn't we ever hook up, again?"
"Because you are way too much attention than I will ever have time for. And I'm nowhere near enough of a queen for you."
Adam laughs. "I'll let Kris know you say that."
*
It's Songwriter Week on Idol, when Adam performs; he's not quite sure of the rules for the theme, but the contestants are singing from lists by Paul Simon and John Mayer, and Kara is throwing around Bernie Taupin's name like she wants to poke an eye out with it. It's silly, but Adam likes it, even more so when he steps out onto the stage for his first appearance as an artist, rather than a contestant. The lights go green and golden and he's eschewed back-up dancers in favor of black leather and cat-eye makeup, raising an eyebrow at Simon when the smoke machine starts up, when shimmering bits of paper meant to look like rain drop from an overhead holder in time with the strings that build up the chorus of "He Said." I don't want to love you now if you'll just leave someday...
It's over fast, and Adam shakes his head to clear it and grins at the way Kara and Randy are clapping, at the arched eyebrow that (Adam thinks) means Simon is proud. Wiggles his fingers in Simon's direction with a happy smirk, because well, shit.
Backstage, his mom is already cheering, bouncing on the balls of her feet and laughing when Adam picks her up, spins her around in a hug. "This is so crazy. I mean, I've been at the Grammys and this was even crazier than that. Is that weird?"
"It's your homecoming, baby." Leila reaches out to dust some of the glitter off of Adam's forehead. "And you've got a fan waiting for you."
Adam eyes her, ready with a comeback, and then he sees Kris, cheesy newspaper cap pulled over his eyes and gray button-down done up to just below his collar. He looks sheepish, like he isn't sure if he should be here or not, and Adam squeals, actually squeals, wrapping him in a full-body hug that gets glitter and makeup on his clothing.
"You! I didn't think you'd be here already!"
Kris laughs, arms looping easily around Adam's waist. "One of my radio things got canceled so I hitched a ride with Ryan. Wow." His eyes are wide, and Adam's as brave as he dares, dipping down to kiss just the corner of Kris's mouth. It could be friendly, if you ignore the way Kris relaxes into it, the way his hands slide under the leather of Adam's jacket to dig into the thin fabric of the shirt underneath. When Adam pulls back, Kris looks a little dazed. "You look, holy crap," he finishes, so quiet that only Adam can hear.
Adam looks down at himself, tries to pinpoint what Kris is staring at. There are a lot of options: Adam's covered in glitter, from the stage and from his own makeup kit, and it reflects off the snake-scale pattern of his jacket, the shimmering mirror-ball black of his shirt and the long chains of beads and necklaces draping around his collar. His hair is slicked back and he's got on cat-eye makeup, remembers the way the kohl stuck to his fingers when he smudged it against his eyelids.
"Too much?" Adam looks back up, watching Kris's face. "I wanted theatrical."
Kris laughs. "You definitely got that. No, it's not too much. Jeez. Everybody out there looks like kids, compared to that." Kris gestures back out to the stage, where Ryan is telling the camera the number to call if they want to vote for one of the contestants, a tall blonde boy who sang Panic! at the Disco last week. "Is that even songwriting," asks Kris with a twisted smile. Adam grins back, hands still low on Kris' hips.
Dinner is at a restaurant Adam hasn't been to before: the whole Idol thing, complete with after-party, minus the awkward need to play nice with everyone. He tips back the last of his third chocolate martini and slouches down low enough to lean against Kris's shoulder, hair fanning out against his neck and collar.
"You'd look pretty with colored hair," he tells him when he catches a flash of his own green fringe against Kris's skin.
"Um, not so much."
"I have this pink wig, I bet you'd look amazing." Adam rolls his head a little, rubbing his cheek against Kris' shoulder like a cat. His shirt smells like detergent, and soft like it's had way too many washings, and Adam wonders, a little dreamy, what it would look like sharing closet space.
Kris chuckles. "I'm gonna leave the glam thing to you."
"I'll get you eventually." Adam closes his eyes, sighs and lets himself lean more heavily against Kris. It's a bit surreal, being back in the Idol bubble -- even not in it, exactly, just along the edges. The kids at the center of the table -- top thirteen, someone told Adam earlier -- are so wide-eyed and there's that shock of it just being so wild, getting sucked into the machine and hoping you wash up on the other side. "Did you ever think about this part? Wearing the Idol crown?" Adam waves a hand in a loose marquee in front of them, gestures over to the table where someone's taking photos of a cousin, or sister, with the various new Idols.
Kris tilts his head back in amusement. "I really don't even know where that stupid trophy is, so nah."
"Isn't it weird, though? That one thing keeps defining us?"
"Everybody gets that. I think we're just lucky ours is pretty tame."
Over near the cluster of Idol contestants someone turns with the camera, gestures it at Kris and Adam. There's a flash and then attention is directed their way, and Adam groans and sits up, reaches over to grab Kris's water and drinks half of the glass in one take.
"Time to be rock stars," grins Kris, lopsided, standing and pulling Adam to his feet.
"Nothing more real than what's on TV." Adam turns on his celebrity smile and steps around to take pictures.
*
It's close to midnight when the chauffeur drops them both off at Adam's house; Kris's overnight bag hits the wood floor with a heavy thud, and Kris kicks at it half-assedly, sending it skidding in the general direction of the staircase.
"Oh my God that took forever."
Kris leans heavily against the front door, groaning. With his eyes closed and his back against the wood it's not even worth trying to resist -- Adam's in front of him with two long strides, tipping his head back and dropping kisses over his mouth, cheeks, jawline.
"I know I should sit you down and ask about your day, but I really, really just want to get you naked."
Kris's hands slide into Adam's back pockets, and Adam's going to take that as agreement, spinning them abruptly and pushing Kris into the bedroom. He's not familiar with the layout of Adam's house, stumbles a couple of times on the slick wood of the hallway floor, but Adam keeps him up, hands locked on Kris's elbows and fumbling the lights on just before he all but tosses him on the bed.
"Clothes off, now." It comes out rougher, more desperate than Adam expected -- he feels exposed like this, needy and sharper around the edges than he intended. Kris watches him undress with wide eyes, fumbles with his own jeans and lets Adam pull him up to his knees long enough to pull the sweater he's wearing up and over his head. "Fuck, you're so hot." Adam presses their palms together, uses his own weight to push Kris back down against the mattress. "How do you ever get out of a bed?"
"I keep trying not to, but people keep making me." Kris grins when Adam rolls him over, biting a blossom-branch of little red marks across his back. His arms slide up to pin Kris's against the mattress, and he sighs and slides down harder against him when Kris just takes it, wrists twisting loosely in Adam's grasp. "God."
Adam nods into Kris's neck, digging his nails into the thin skin of Kris's hands. He looks--amazing isn't even the word for it, right now, flushed and spread out and on his stomach beneath him. Every push of Adam's hips slides his cock along Kris's ass, fucking gorgeous tease, and Adam pushes against him harder and hisses at the reaction, the way Kris arches up and takes it, murmurs yeah, come on like he's imagining the same thing as Adam.
"Come on," Kris repeats, and Adam mutters oh fuck. He twists so both of Kris's hands are trapped in one of his own, brings the other down to grip Kris's hip, enough to hold him steady while he shoves against him in earnest. The move presses his cock hard between their bodies, and Adam's not expecting the heat that spreads low in his stomach, the way his whole body coils like a spring at having Kris under him like this, hot and solid and unbelievably willing. He's pushing back against Adam with a kind of teasing enthusiasm: it's not a rhythm, and it's driving him crazy, making him rut down harder, more selfish, orgasm building and he can feel it in his toes. It hits him abruptly, faster than he's come in years, at least -- his gut clenches hard and his whole body shakes, sharp needy thing taking him over entirely.
"Holy shit that was so fast." He can hear how hoarse he sounds, and it'd be embarrassing, if it wasn't so good. Adam's mind clears gradually on the thought that it's Kris, that can undo him like this. It's a little scary, frankly, and it makes something in Adam's stomach flip. Underneath him, Kris laughs, a breathy noise that trails off into a gasp when Adam slides off of him, abruptly. Adam hauls Kris's hips up, gets him onto hands and knees and wraps a fist around Kris's cock. He's close, Adam can feel it, can tell in his tense muscles and the way his breathing hiccups when Adam touches him. He squeezes the base once, hard, and Kris groans. "Good boy," Adam says into his ear, and then he's licking a hot line down the sharp indents of Kris's spine, further.
"Oh--you're--"
"Shut up," Adam says, pressing his forearm down on Kris's lower back to hold him still, and Kris cuts off abruptly when Adam's mouth comes down on him, teeth scraping the dip of his tailbone and lower, licking in a tight circle that makes Kris gasp for air. That's it, he thinks, feeling irrationally smug at the way Kris whimpers and drops his forehead to the mattress; he feels stable like this, back in control a little -- it's kind of an ugly feeling, and he's not entirely proud of it, but he still lifts his hand to his mouth to briefly wet his index finger, still smiles in only sort of misplaced triumph when he presses his fingertip into Kris, just barely, makes him whine and buck into Adam's too-tight fist. "Just wait," says Adam smoothly, leaning forward to press his tongue in against his fingers.
Kris moans. "I can't--"
"You can." Adam squeezes his cock again, just enough that he can't come, and twists into Kris further, just barely, just to the first knuckle. Kris is shaking, now, and Adam pushes his tongue in, hums as he does it; the effect is amazing, like Kris doesn't know he's talking, and it's a steady litany of pleas and gasps and Adam's name over it, the best part of all. It's sort of beautifully, filthily sweet, and Adam fucks him with his tongue and loosens the hand around his dick, lets Kris rock forward into his palm and back into his mouth and makes little encouraging noises, crooking the finger inside of Kris enough to give it edge, remind him what he's doing, what it means and who it's with.
Kris comes with a noise like his orgasm's surprised him: it's broken and off-key, and it's accompanied by his legs finally giving out on him. Adam lets him down onto the mattress gently, covers Kris's body with his own again and dots kisses along his neck and the shell of his ear until Kris stirs, tries to turn over in Adam's arms.
Adam shivers and kisses his neck again, keeping him facing the silence of the pillows. His chest feels tight and he's not really sure what to say, in this case. He suddenly, sharply misses the part of sex that used to be about I love you, in the end.
He's probably heavy, though, and he rolls off of Kris with a sigh. One of their t-shirts is still caught on the drawer to the nightstand and Adam scoops it up, wipes his face briefly, uses it to clean off the worst of the mess from his own stomach and thighs, from off of Kris's back.
"Those pictures from tonight are going to end up online," says Adam quietly, tossing the ruined shirt back down towards the foot board. "We should be okay, but it was still stupid of me not to think about it then. We could have been more careful."
"Careful how?"
Adam sits up, slings his legs off the edge of the mattress. The sheets pool around his waist and he tugs them a little tighter. "I'm just afraid this is going to get mistaken for something it's not."
Kris sits up as well, shifting so he's looking at Adam directly. "Something it's 'not' being..."
Adam waves it off. "All it takes is one picture and it ends up anywhere... it's different. When everyone knows."
Kris shakes his head. "I don't care."
"You will!" It comes out angrier than Adam intended, and he amends, softly, "everyone does. Even I do, sometimes. What this is right now... it's still safe. I don't want you to lose that and regret it later."
"Why are you so sure I'm gonna regret it later?"
Adam doesn't say anything.
There's a pause where Kris bites his lip and nods, slowly like he's digesting what Adam's just told him. "I don't even know what to say to that," Kris says, finally. He sounds sad, kind of tired, and so resigned that Adam's stomach twists up. "I do know what I'm in for, I've definitely thought about it. I think maybe you're the only one who's thinking about 'safe.'" Adam can hear the irritation dripping from Kris's voice, the way he wrinkles his nose on the word like it's personally offensive. "I'm not in this for...fun, or whatever, and it's kind of dick of you to think that way, really. I'm serious here. And it's up to you--if you don't believe that, then I guess you get to decide how long you want to keep doing something that doesn't mean anything anyway."
It's a terrifying statement, and the way Kris says it -- he's so calm about it, like it makes perfect sense, and Adam swallows, hard, because there's no right response. Feels even worse about it when Kris just curls back down again, so fucking innocuous Adam isn't sure what to do. He stares at Kris, completely at a loss, and it must be so obvious because Kris sighs heavily. "Forget it. Just go to sleep, okay? I'm not mad."
Adam sincerely doubts that. He relents anyway though, lying down tentatively, like jostling too much could make Kris run away. There's only a few inches of space between them but Adam's hyper-aware of it, wants to close the distance but isn't quite sure what to say. He hates lying, and Kris would know if he did, anyway. He's absolutely sure Kris would know.
Beside him, Kris reaches out to wrap his fingers around Adam's forearm. "G'night," he says, voice already slightly slurred, and Adam looks over, distracted, brushes at Kris's hair and leans to press a quick kiss to his forehead. Not mad. Maybe. Either way, Kris is out in all of two minutes and Adam can't help but laugh; it's reassuring, actually, something so weirdly innocent about the way Kris looks in sleep, like he's let everything go, completely at ease. Adam is jealous of the talent, wishes he was able to take some of it himself.
He frowns at the ceiling and stays awake.
*
At least Hollywood is on his side in the morning: he finds parking not even a block from Basix and gets to the door without so much as a camera flash, slouch cap pulled low over his hair and aviators covering his eyes. He feels like shit, honestly -- he got up at five to take Kris to LAX and couldn't sleep again afterward, only drifted off in time to hear his alarm trill that he was already late for breakfast. He spots his mom out on the patio, drinking a latte and chatting on her phone. Talking to Paul, probably -- Adam hears you too as she hangs up, stands to kiss his cheek when he makes his way to her table.
"I'm really sorry," Adam says as soon as he sits down, rubbing at his eyes underneath his glasses. They feel grainy and puffy and he's pretty sure he'd look like one of those celebrities -- the party-all-night-kind -- if he took them off. Which he can be, sometimes, but he usually at least remembers to put on some damn makeup first. "Kris had a flight so early this morning. I went back home and planted."
"It's okay, honey. Are you feeling okay?" She raises an eyebrow, head dipping as she looks at his sunglasses. "It's not really that bright."
Adam pulls the glasses up long enough to show her his eyes, puffy and red around the edges. "I'm just sleepy," he says with a smile he hopes is reassuring. "I was up pretty late." On second thought, he amends, "thinking!" with a sheepish smile.
Leila tsks, reaching out to squeeze his hand. The waiter reappears to bring them both water -- Adam orders a mimosa, grins when his mom adds a second to the order -- and it's blissfully normal, one of those mornings -- afternoons, Adam guesses -- where he gets to play at not being famous. It's everything he loves about Hollywood, usually.
"Okay, mister. Spill." Leila leans forward, fixing him with a stare that usually means busted. "What's going on."
Adam rubs at his eyes again, knuckles grazing plastic rims. He probably looks awful; he can feel the tendrils of a migraine working their way between his eyes, kind of suspects he'll be back in bed pretty soon. "It's nothing," he says finally. "We argued a little last night, that's all."
Leila reaches over and squeezes his forearm, briefly. "About?"
"He says I don't believe he's serious about being together."
"Is he right?"
Adam drops his head to the table, closing his eyes when he feels his mom's fingers carding gently through his hair. "Maybe? It's just... I don't think he gets what it means, if we really do this--what it's going to change for him. I think he thinks he means it, but when it's not just us, when everyone knows?" Leila makes a soft, calming sound, and Adam bites his lip. He isn't going to cry. "I don't want him to hate me if he changes his mind," he mutters finally, face pressed into the table cloth.
Leila doesn't answer right away -- Adam closes his eyes and sighs into the table, wonders just how eccentric it would make him to fall asleep, right here. He's considering it, on the edge between 'just resting my eyes' and 'fuck it' when his mom tugs at his hair, gently, and he has to glance back up.
"I'm no expert, but I think if you asked your dad he'd tell you something about straight boys and dating other men." Adam laughs, and Leila smiles at him, brushing his bangs back from his forehead. "Let's try this another way. Are you happy? With Kris?"
"God, yeah." Adam sits back up. "There's this energy, you know? Everything's better with him. It's like--" like Brad, he wants to say, except he knows that it's not. Brad was his first love, he'll always love him, Adam's sure, but it was hyper-real and biting, sharp in the way that dug into skin and left wounds, that hurt. Romeo and Juliet shit, the kind of crazy that rubbed off in how they fought and how they fucked, the places they went and the mutual friends they kept and the way Adam didn't know how to breathe, sometimes, without Brad there to show him. Kris isn't like that; Adam's older now, his own person by himself, even when he's alone, and he knows Kris is, too. "It's big," he finishes, because it seems the most true.
"How big?"
Adam opens his mouth, snaps it shut again with a smirk. Leila shakes her head, laughing.
"Okay, you, don't even."
Adam snorts indelicately and stares down at his hands. If he twists them, this way and that, the rings catch and reflect the light through his water glass. "I think I could fall in love with him," he says finally.
"So isn't it worth trusting him?"
"You're totally on his side," says Adam, but he can feel warmth spreading over him, something like relief when the knot he's tied up in begins to uncoil.
"I think he knows more about himself than you give him credit for."
"It's just scary. I've only ever... it was always Brad, I guess. Even--I loved Drake, but I don't think I was in love with him. Kris... he's perfect for me." It's a terrifying thing to say out loud, even -- maybe especially -- to his mom, and Adam looks up at the awning above them, anywhere but directly at her. "Even... I would have never, ever said, done anything then, but we'd be sitting out in the lounge on tour just talking, and I'd think, it's so weird that all of these things came together so he was there in front of me, but he wasn't... somebody I could ever have." Adam shakes his head, feeling guilty even saying it. "I felt so bad when he told me about him and Katy because I kept thinking, oh God, what if I'd done it? What if I wanted it so hard it made it true?"
"You know that's not true. Adam--look at me." Adam does, suddenly fully aware of the way the corners of his mouth are trembling. He's not going to cry in public, he's not. "What happened with Kris and Katy has nothing to do with you. It sounds like that's what Kris was doing, keeping you two apart for so long. Right?"
One year. Three hundred and sixty five days. Adam nods, biting the inside of his cheek.
"Then don't feel bad right now -- certainly not for being happy. And you know, I saw him watching you last night, on the teleprompter," she adds, turning to thank the waiter as he brings them their drinks. "I don't think you're the only one who feels the way you do."
Adam squeezes his eyes shut, briefly. "I hope so."
*
Adam's headache doesn't vanish, but it doesn't get worse, either. He ends up at home by mid-afternoon, curled up on his bed with the television and a bottle of Advil. There are a half-dozen messages on his iPhone, waiting: from Danielle, and Cassidy, both of which he answers, but from RCA and 19 too, both of which can wait. When he's done, he swallows his pride and nerves long enough to open a text message to Kris, taps it out quickly and tosses the phone away from him as soon as he hits send.
i forgot 2 say: whatever this is or isnt i'm happy. with u.
The response, when it comes, makes his eyes burn again, and he falls asleep with his phone on the pillow beside his head.
me too. always am.
*
Tuesday is Ellen. Adam isn't entirely sure why Tuesday is Ellen - he's not promoting anything, exactly, right now - but he loves Ellen, and he's not going to argue when the message left for him by RCA ends up being a request for him to come down to fill a vacancy guest-spot. He shows up an hour before they're scheduled to record and tackles Ellen when he sees her, staggering them both forward because no, really, he loves his job when he gets to do things like this. It's strange, and kind of fun, to be there without performing, and when the cameras go on Adam curls up in Ellen's over-sized chair and tells her about being on Idol again, beams when she offers him a bedazzled version of the Laugh. Dance. Dream t-shirt.
"I will totally wear this." Adam holds it up for the camera, giggling. "I will. I'm gonna wear this on-stage. Do you know I still have my one from Idol?" Well, Kris's shirt, anyway. Adam wears it as pajamas, when he's in a situation where he has to wear pajamas.
"So, you've been finished with your tour -- the Glamour Ball Tour, right? -- you've been finished with that for a couple of months now. And you know, one of the best-selling tours last year, so wow."
"Thank you." Adam ducks his head, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "We put together an amazing band and it was so much fun. I'm really proud of it."
"You should be, too, you're doing wonderful things. Now what's the hardest part of getting off of that, since this is your first break in, well..."
"Forever, oh my God. It's strange, you know? Now I get why you see pictures of Lindsey Lohan and everybody out shopping all the time -- when you're not out doing something for your job there just isn't all that much you can do with all the cameras around." Adam considers, amends quickly with, "but I'm not that famous! Yet! I can still go to McDonalds and get looks like, 'hey, is that Pete Wentz? Oh, wow, I thought you were shorter.'" He smiles.
"Is there anything you can't do, or that's more difficult now?"
"Well, dating," says Adam, with another laugh. "You can't hit the club scene when everyone saw you on Ellen yesterday."
It generates some amusement from the audience, particularly when Ellen rejoins with, "do you date a lot of my viewers? That's not a demographic I would have pictured from you."
Adam laughs, folding in half with it, blushing. "Actually, you know what, my boyfriend watches your show." Not religiously or anything, but Adam used to turn on daytime television on their rare downtime between venues, crammed up front with Matt and Michael playing poker, with Danny's ever-present phone a murmur in the back until Adam waved his arms, ooh, Gaga is performing! He caught Kris saying, "Ellen said," one night when he was coming off of his first tour, had teased him about 'rubbing off' until Kris had snickered through the phone line, muttered sheepishly about it reminding him of Adam. Sometimes Adam thinks he favors the show for that, alone.
Adam has never talked to Kris about this, before, though, and the title is new. Adam claps his hand over his mouth with a mumbled, "oops." He waves sheepishly at the camera closest to him. "Hi honey." He feels a little exposed, but Ellen plows through it, reaches over to squeeze his knee and moves on to some challenge, a couple of girls who want to have Adam teach them to put on eye makeup. It's a relief, but Adam still steps off the stage and texts, I am so sorry, sending it to Kris as he slides out of the studio. The response comes while Adam is outside signing, and he excuses himself long enough to take Kris's phone call.
On the other end of the line, Kris sounds amused as hell. "I'm your boyfriend now," he drawls.
"Fuck you!" That was, maybe, a little too loud. Adam ducks his head and steps back into the doorway. "I'm so sorry, it just slipped out."
"Don't apologize." Adam glances up at the brick side of the building, doing his best not to shuffle. He feels nervous, the way he hasn't felt in years, with his love life. He thinks he likes it, but he isn't sure. When Kris talks again it's cautious, like maybe he's thinking the same thing. "So that's new."
Adam lets his breath out in a rush. "Yeah, about that." This is such a ridiculous time to have this conversation, but Adam's life is nothing if not largely ridiculous. "I was being so stupid," he says, rubbing at his eyes under his sunglasses. "I couldn't stop thinking about it, after you said it. I don't--this isn't casual, I wouldn't want it to be." He closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against the brick of the studio building. "I love you and I want this for real, all of it. I want to do this."
The silence on the other end of the line is almost terrifying, and when Kris answers it's a relief. "Wow." He sounds a little shaky, and Adam imagines him sitting on a couch somewhere, running his hand over his face or leaning forward on his knees, the way he does when he's shocked by something, like his body won't support him. "That's... pretty big."
"Yeah." It's barely more than a whisper, but he knows Kris can hear it. "I mean it, though. I think I have for a while. It's funny, how scared you can get without even really knowing why."
There's silence on the other end, and then Kris says, "jeez, Adam," and Adam laughs because basically. "You have no idea how freaking worried I was. I don't know what I was gonna do if you'd decided on giving up on this."
"That couldn't happen." There's absolute conviction in his voice -- that much, he always knew. "Where are you?"
Kris chuckles: it sounds nervous, maybe, just a bit. "Heading into Arkansas. I'm in Texarcana."
"That's what it's called?"
"For real." He gets that accent, when he says it, like he never left the South; Adam can't help but smile, feels his expression going soft.
"I bet you're excited," he says, remembering hog-calls and thousands of exuberant fans.
"Terrified, but I'm pretty sure they're not gonna boo me."
Adam laughs. There's another flurry of noise from back by the gates -- Kris must be able to hear it, too, because he laughs again. "Okay, I'm hogging you here. You've got the rock star thing to do and I'm supposed to be doing some phone interview, anyway. Shoo."
Adam doesn't want to, not at all. It's part of the game though, and he knows as soon as he gets back out there, he'll be glad he did. "I really miss you."
"Me too. Now go, c'mon. It's not like I'm going anywhere." Which is actually a lie -- Kris is crossing state lines as he speaks. Still, there are fans waiting and cameras to pose for and Adam says goodbye like it doesn't suck, every time.
When Adam slides back to the barricade it's with a broad smile and damp eyes, sunglasses pulled down against the latter as he gives signatures. Off to the side, a camera flashes; Adam turns and waves, poses for a photo with a younger fan. "Who were you talking to?" someone asks, in front of him, and when Adam says boyfriend it's the best thing he's said in a very long time.
continued in part three
