RPS: Burning Brightly Now (1 of 2)

Title: Burning Brightly Now (1/2)
Author: itinerant_vae
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Adam Lambert/Kris Allen, Cassidy Haley, Brad Bell, Katy Allen, Tommy Joe Ratliff
Disclaimer: These characters are fictional. The situation is fictional. Resemblance to real people may be inferred, but not really. No offense intended.
Summary: Adam's not Greta Garbo, and he's never going to be.
Author's Note: Written for sorchasilver for help_haiti. Huge thanks to matsujo9 and petit_rhino for being amazing betas, and to becky_h for cheeleading and reassuring me, when the monster reached 10k words, that it didn't suck and I could finish it. Lyrics quoted are from a song by the Delays called 'Love Made Visible'.

The day that Kris' divorce is finalized, Adam's deep in last minute arrangements for his European tour. He knows that it's Kris' divorce date, of course he knows, because Kris is his friend, probably his best friend, so, Adam knows. He doesn't call, though. His cell's turned on, it's in his pocket, he'll know if Kris calls or whatever.

He's in the middle of a meeting with Steve and Andy about how they're going to make sure that everything gets across state and arrives in the right order to get set up instead of the band turning up before the lighting rig or some shit like that when his phone finally chirrups at him. He's deep enough in concentration that he's not expecting it, and Steve laughs when Adam knocks his elbow on the table as he squirms to get his phone out. Adam flips him off with his non-phone hand, swipes his thumb across the screen, and finds a picture message waiting for him.

A photo of Kris and Katy, holding up the document, both grinning like idiots. It takes a moment to take it in, then Adam laughs, relief loosening the tight worry in his chest that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Trust Kris and Katy to have the most amicable divorce in the history of ever, both of them looking genuinely happy that it's come through. I love you crazy kids, he sends back, and goes back to the argument between Steve and Andy, trying to remember some kind of basic geography.

~~~

It turns out that a tour of Europe is even crazier than one that covers most states of the US, even if some of the countries are actually closer together and Adam gets to sleep in hotels some nights. Okay, spend the nights in hotels, he's not really good at actually sleeping when he's on tour (too wired) and the change from buses to beds that don't move throws him out of any kind of sleep pattern he thought he had. It does mean that he gets to talk to people, though. Show done, time with the fans done (on the nights he's got time for it as well as travel), and Adam can curl up in the bunk at the front of the bus and make the most of international dialing.

He stops calling Neil pretty quickly, but he kind of enjoys the way that Brad puts him on speakerphone while he's getting ready for a night out and Adam can hear the sound of music in the background, make-up getting knocked off of the scratched dressing table he remembers way too fucking well, and the cursing when Brad catches his nail polish before it's properly set. Cassidy's different, he's quiet. There's still music, but it's quieter, because the phone's next to Cassidy's ear. Allison's still in the middle of working on her second album, slower than he's been, but it means that sometimes when he calls, she'll play to him, snippets of whatever song's been going through her head that day. It's good stuff and yeah, they'll definitely get that duet done before she's through with recording sessions.

His mom's pretty much the same as ever, checking that he's eating and sleeping. (He lies to her and feels guilty about it afterwards, but his stage costumes are so not forgiving of too many carbs.) His dad doesn't really get how hectic the schedule is and keeps telling Adam about all these amazing places Adam should really check out, usually in places he doesn't get to stop in long enough for any sightseeing.

Kris, though, Kris gets it. Kris just talks to him about anything, what he's had for dinner, what he's done during the day. Normal shit. About music and that weird downtime between finishing an album and leaving the producers to do their thing, and he listens when Adam talks, too. Kris lets Adam talk about Sean and how he doesn't really wish Sean was there because Sean would be bored shitless backstage at Adam's shows and they'd end up fighting instead of fucking but Adam misses him anyway. He talks about the way every hotel room's kind of the same and hotel towels all smell like dryers and sometimes when morning comes he only knows which city or country he's in by the name of the place on the hotel stationary. He talks about trying to work out in hotel gyms when no one else is around and the music he's finding to stick on his iPod when he works out, and Kris suggests new stuff. It's never really the kind of stuff that he can work out to, but he downloads it anyway and a new playlist slowly forms. He’s already got one for Kris' music, but this one is music from Kris or music that makes him think of Kris and he likes that. He calls the playlist Allenation and he can listen to it on the bus and be half asleep remembering what it was like when he was doing this with Kris. And all the others, but Kris is...yeah. Kris is different. Kris is Kris.

He doesn't call Sean much. He tries sometimes, but Sean's always about to do a show and Sean doesn't want to hear about the tour or the audiences or the really fucking sweet things the fans have done or whatever's been thrown on stage tonight, and Sean doesn't want to talk about the show he's playing for either because his contract's nearly up and maybe it won't get renewed and Adam doesn't really understand any of that. He'd like to, but Sean doesn't want to explain it to him.

~~~

Landing back at LAX is weird. Finishing a tour is always weird, more than finishing a run of a show, but it's the same feeling. Like everything's gone flat and Adam can't really see or hear or connect. It's like being outside himself, watching himself going through all the right movements. Saying the right things to the band around luggage reclaim and letting Ash get his bags through customs, giving the address to the cab driver, getting home, and home is...empty.

No one else is here. Room service isn't going to bring him food and maids aren't going knock on his bedroom door and wake him up if he sleeps in too late, and Ash isn't going to come fetch him and take him wherever. It's bliss. He's got a whole week off.

Adam leaves the bags in the lounge and gets undressed on his way to the bathroom, clothes and shoes left wherever they fall. A long, hot shower washes away the flight and some of the gray fog of jetlag, but he's got no clue what time it is when he finally faceplants into his pillow. His own pillow, that smells right and feels right and that's all he knows, curling up with his hands tucked under his pillow and pretty much passing out.

He finally wakes up in the dark, with vague memories of someone trying to wake him, and a growing feeling of dread as he hauls himself out of bed and pads through to the living room, still naked, and someone's cleared his clothes up, folded into a neat pile next to his boots. Someone's stacked his bags neatly and got his washbag out and into his bathroom. Someone's not there any more and the dread gets heavier when Adam finally finds his phone.

Seven texts and four missed calls.

The texts are from Ash, Tommy, Kris, Neil, his mom, Kris, and Katy.

All of the missed calls are from Sean.

So is the voicemail.

~~~

The thing is. The thing is, Adam's not Greta fucking Garbo. Sure, he can do the whole aloof artist "I vant to be alooone" shtick but the truth, the thing is, he's shit at being alone. Not alone like not with a crowd of people, just alone like not with someone. And he doesn't really mind the thing where it gets his heart broken because it's worth it, every time, the love is worth it.

It still fucking hurts every time, though.

The other thing is, Brad's heard it all before and while Cassidy's apparently content enough to sit back and let Adam ramble through his fourth (fifth?) Screaming Orgasm on the basis that it's got milk in and you're meant to drink milk to not get drunk (and completely ignoring the fact that last time it had him puking his guts up before he even got home and spent the next day swearing he was never going to drink again), Brad's never had Cassidy’s Zen patience thing going on. "Bitch, are you gonna dance or go the fuck home?" he yells across the table, loud enough that Adam can hear him over the music and the huge fucking void of gaping misery that is his life to come for the next eternity.

Adam stops, looks at Brad, looks at Cassidy, places both hands flat on the table and tries to stand up and oh, that is so not right. His legs are drunk. He'd known sitting down was a mistake. All he can do now is give Cassidy a plaintive look and hope he's not done something really stupid like rubbing his eyes and screwing his make-up as well. Zen only goes so far, apparently, because Cassidy's curled up, fetus like, except fetuses probably aren't half-dying of a giggle fit. Even Brad's only smirking. "I hate you all," Adam says miserably, and stops trying to stand up.

"Aww, princess," Brad croons, and tries to get under Adam's arm. Which Adam's not really resisting, but then Brad's trying to use that to help Adam stand up and that one really is fucking hysterical because Brad still only comes up to halfway up Adam's chest, and if Adam actually leaned on the skinny little bitch they'd both fall over. Cassidy manages to stop laughing at them long enough to get himself under Adam's other arm and for a moment it's nice, it's them together again. Adam's surrounded by people he loves and who love him and it's warm and it's just nice. It's mellow, despite the relentless pounding bass that he can feel more than interpret through the assault on his ear drums.

"I don’t hate you all the time," Adam concludes, and leans on Cassidy more than Brad. Cassidy's taller than Brad, but not as tall as Adam. Apparently no one in the whole fucking club is as tall as Adam even with some of the platform shoes on display. When they're all three more or less upright, they head for the door, and after a few steps Adam remembers how this balance thing is meant to work and turns around, headed back towards the dancefloor.

Brad makes a little crowing, happy sound, and skips off ahead, but Cassidy catches Adam by the hand, and Adam's not got enough balance back to pull against that. "What?"

"Cinderella’s going home before pumpkin time," Cassidy tells him, and for a moment Adam doesn't get the reference because it's way past midnight, the night's barely getting started at midnight, then he gets a reminding glimpse of the silver glittery boots he's wearing. They're new, and...and he was with Sean when he bought them and he'd taken a photo on his iPhone and sent it to pretty much everyone in his contacts list. Sean had hung over his shoulder, watching the replies come in and asked about Kris and...shit, he hasn't seen Kris in ages, he should see Kris, he should call Kris, fumbling to get his phone out right now to do that because if it's been that long there’s no point waiting any longer.

Kris had got the boots thing.

WeHo isn't a cold place, and the club's not cold, either, so the thing that hits Adam when they get outside isn't the temperature. It's the humidity, like walking into a sauna (where everyone, thankfully, has got their clothes on). Well, the humidity and the flashes of the cameras but he almost doesn't notice those by now, leaning on Cassidy and trying to get his phone out of his pocket at the same time. Cassidy somehow pours him into the back of a cab, climbs in after, and gives the driver Adam's address, all before Adam's even succeeded in getting the phone out. It's quiet after the club, everything’s so quiet, his ears are ringing with how quiet it is and... "Cass?"

Cassidy sighs, confiscates Adam's phone, and props him upright. "Look out the window, baby," he advises. "Be home soon."

"He left," Adam remembers, blackness welling up again. Blackness and something else and oh, fuck, no, he can taste the bitterness rising at the back of his throat. "Where's Brad?"

"Being Cheeks." Cassidy shifts closer, no regard for seatbelts, and somehow manages to get them positioned so he’s got his arm around Adam’s shoulders, and Adam can lean his head against Cassidy’s shoulder. “He can take care of himself.”

"Sean left," Adam repeats plaintively, leans against Cassidy, and manages to make it all the way back, into his own house and even his own bathroom before throwing up.

Cinderella left the ball without Prince Charming and the next morning, Adam's definitely got his Ugly Sister on.

Mixed gender what-the-fuck-ever. He could rock the tiara and glass slippers if he wanted to.

~~~


Once he's actually accepted the whole thing, Adam has to admit to himself that it's kind of a relief. Sure, Sean was pretty and kind of cool, but he was always practicing that fucking flute and not even as a euphemism. Not even making his own music, it was always stuff for the show, the same thing over and over. Adam could never work out why Sean did that, playing the same phrases until frustration turned his face bright red and the flute sounded even worse than when Sean started, tone going thin and shrill.

Still, Sean's gone, and so's his flute, and Adam's still got the boots and in a few months he'll probably be able to call Sean if he ever needs a flute player for session work.

He fills his unexpectedly empty week off by spending a long overdue day at a spa with Brad (at Adam’s expense), catching up with family, and seeing Kris. It's some kind of miracle that they're both free at the same time, but Kris seems happy enough doing his album promotional interviews on his cellphone from Adam's couch, and Adam gets free previews of the songs (the ones Kris hasn’t already played for him) because Kris doesn't go anywhere without at least one guitar. That means a couple of them have moved into Adam's place so that they're there for Kris when Kris wants to play something.

"I kinda hate the whole album right now," Kris confides, nose scrunched up as he bends over the acoustic twelve string, trying to get it back into tune while Adam reminds himself (again) that he’s really not meant to have those kinds of thoughts about the patch of skin on the back of Kris' neck between his hairline and the collar of his inevitably plaid shirt. "I mean, I've heard every song every way and a million and one times, you know? And I'm gonna be playing them to death once A Way With You drops and I start the whole tour thing again."

Adam nods and curls up in the opposite corner of his couch, one knee tugged up so he can wrap an arm around his leg and rest his chin on his knee. "So play something else."

Kris gives him a startled look from under ridiculously long lashes, then laughs, shaking his head slightly, fingers sliding over the steel strings to give that weird hissy sound that's not really a note but more than an accident. "Man, I don't know if I remember how to. Wait, there's..."

Fingers start moving over the strings, hesitantly at first, Kris' left hand shifting around the neck to find chord shapes, and then a sequence forms, something that sounds vaguely familiar until Adam finally recognizes it because Kris is managing to pick out a melody over the top again. He laughs, and grins. "Okay, hit me with it."

It's one of his own songs - one of his favorites from his second album, but not one that was commercial enough to ever be a single, and Kris' version is a world away from the electronica mix Adam had decided on. Simple lyrics and a repetitive melody that caught the euphoria of love discovered late and still found true, the kind of love he wanted to tell the world about, too much to keep hidden, but he'd never thought of it like this. Not the way Kris is singing it.

"I found you in summer," Kris sings softly, chords shifting to a minor key that isn't a place Adam's ever thought that song could go, almost wistful. "When you were undercover. Not hiding, just shadowed..."

Kris lifts his head and Adam’s heart stops when he sees Kris' eyes, the warmth and the hope there and... fuck. Fuck, no, he can't be seeing what he thinks he's seeing, what he wants so desperately to see there, because he's not allowed that. It's not even six months since Kris' divorce was finalized and Kris doesn't even mean what Adam thinks he's seeing, he can't. "Now that is a Kris Allen song," he says lightly, brushing off the mood with a grin and an overly camp impersonation of Kara that has Kris laughing, too. "Seriously, you should do that. Hey, and I should do some of yours next time I do a gig."

"You’re gonna have to learn to play first," Kris teases, and that's it, moment passed, back into easy friendship. Adam's not ever risking losing that on the chance of a moment.

~~~

Adam does the interviews and he scores a guest appearance in the new series of Vampire Diaries, which is fucking awesome, and if he can't be on True Blood then being Damon Salvatore's cousin is the next best thing and he gets to talk eyeliner with Ian Somerhalder. (He doesn't really figure that Alexander Skarsgard is the eyeliner type of guy but who cares, right? The dude is fierce.) It keeps him busy, and he's learning something new, because it turns out that doing an acting role for TV is totally different to doing chat show appearances, and the marks he's got to hit aren't like the ones on stage marked out in colored tape. It's a whole new world to learn, scaling everything down for the cameras and remembering how to play a character who's not just Adam Fucking Lambert written large.

Filming makes him wired and happy, fired up by the new challenge. He swaps texts with Kris every break he gets, about whatever thing he's just learned about aiming a performance at the right camera as well as the other performers or the gossip Melinda Clarke shares because she's worked with half of Hollywood and "had dinner" with the other half. Adam can't tell Kris much about what he's actually doing, sure, because the contract's got him tied up there, but there’s always something to say to Kris and Kris always has something to say back. Mostly about Robin Williams and when ABC is going to revive Mork and Mindy with Adam in that role now he's got TV experience.

Adam suspects Kris is talking to Neil too much.

Neil's got plenty to say as well but Adam kind of wants to leave the door open to maybe work with these guys again in the future (or at least at the same studio or for the same network), so he doesn't pass those on. Or Brad's resume. He does leave Cassidy's contact details with wardrobe.

On his last day of filming, he discovers that he's got a scene with Katy.

He hadn't recognized her name from the call sheet. It doesn't say Katy, it says Katherine, and he never knew her maiden name. He'd never had to, she was always Katy Allen, Kris' wife, and now she's not any more. She's got another name, but she's still little and blonde and sunny and so wholesome it makes his teeth ache just to look at her. She's still Katy, and it's almost a relief to see her again and know that she's still just as willing to throw herself into his arms for a hug.

And still as direct as ever. Katy drops herself into his lap while the camera guys are doing something complicated about focus that Adam doesn't even begin to understand, hands him a bottle of water, and waits until he's taken a mouthful before saying brightly, "So are you and Kris fucking yet?"

Adam promptly sprays the water over both of them. Katy laughs, then purses her lips at him, nodding. "Okay, so that's a no. Or is it an oh-god-yes-we’re-having-amazing-sex-that-I just-don't-talk-about and before you answer that one, Lambert, remember who you're talking to and that I know you."

That's true enough that there's no way that Katy's going to buy that he's shy of talking about sex. Even with her ex-husband. "He's straight," Adam blurts out, belatedly realizing that he should probably have said something about Kris being his friend instead of something that comes out sounding like I-would-totally-hit-that-in-a-New-York-second-otherwise.

Katy stares at him for a moment, then nods and slides off Adam's lap. "He's not, you know," she says conversationally, then actually pats his hair before skipping off and leaving Adam gaping. And dripping. And in trouble with wardrobe, hair and make-up.

~~~

So I'm working with your ex.

The reply comes almost immediately, fast enough that Adam suspects it of smugness.

I know

Oh, shit, this really isn't the kind of thing he wants to talk about in text.

Movie nite 2nite?

let me know when ur done on set

~~~

Katy's done before Adam is, and that shouldn't bother him, but he knows he's not giving the last scene as much as focus as he would if he hadn't been wondering about what she said. About how he's going to bring it up with Kris tonight, because he's got to, and it's a struggle to get through the last take to any kind of level that he's satisfied with, never mind the director. Hugs and exchange of phone numbers and twitter names all round, then Adam escapes into the peace of the back of a cab. Thanks to Becky and Michelle, he's completely make-up free, and there's not even any product on his hair. Maybe a touch of wax, but it's close to nothing.

Still awake?

on ur couch wit beer n pizza

Of course he is. Kris has got a key and all the security codes he needs and fuck, pizza. Dairy and carbs and fat and maybe Adam can get away with it just for tonight because he's just finishing a job and he's pretty convinced that his stomach's trying to digest his backbone. Right now, he could almost kiss Kris for just being there so he's not going home to an empty house, which doesn’t make any sense. He's got friends, he could call any of them, and they'd... okay, it's a Thursday night so Brad's probably in a club already but Cassidy would definitely meet him for food some place, or Scarlett would swoop in and steal him over to hers for pot and Thai take-out.

He pays off the taxi by the gates, tugs his hat lower over his eyes, and ducks inside as quickly as possible. And fuck, it’s good to see Kris on his couch, already starting on the pizza, beer open on the coffee table. Another level of tension just drops away at the sight of Kris, and Adam leans over to steal a slice of pizza with a blissful sigh. "For the record, you can totally do this any time at all."

Kris drops his head back to grin up at Adam, and there's the thing where his stomach turns somersaults again. It's probably just hunger, and Adam bites into the pizza, lifting one hand to try and break the strings of melted cheese that don't want to let go of the rest of the slice and oh, shit, that’s good enough that the sound he's making is practically pornographic. Enough to make Kris blush, anyway, and at least he can still manage that.

Adam grins back, and pads through to the kitchen, taking his slice of pizza with him. "So how did Katy get that?" he calls back, finding a glass first and then looking for... thank God, the merlot's still on the counter and there's a glass left in there.

"She’s dating the guy that plays Elena’s brother?" Kris replies from closer than Adam expects, and he turns to find Kris has followed him into the kitchen. "Steve something."

Adam takes a moment to look very carefully at Kris to make sure he’s really as okay with that as he sounds, and pours the last of the wine into his glass one handed. "She, uh..." Wait. There’s something... Kris looks too innocent. Even for Kris. Enough that it raises Adam's suspicions. "She called you, right?"

Kris cracks up, actually bending down over his knees, which is too cute for words, even though this laugh is at Adam's expense. "Texted, actually, yeah, you should see your face, man."

Oh, shit, his face. No make-up, and his skin's hell because of the stuff that Becky's been using on him all week and this is so not the time to get self-conscious about it, but he is, and knowing that makes him more awkward. "So who's this guy you dated, then?"

He's not jealous. No, really not, like he'd want to be anyone else's first anyway, been there done that and guys who know what they're doing are way easier to be with. And better at sex, and Kris isn't his property but if Kris has dated someone since the divorce he should have told his best friend about it as well as his ex-wife, right?

The silence from Kris is stretching out way too long, and when Adam makes himself look at Kris again, Kris is doing the awkward thing, toes of his right foot turned in towards his left, lower lip caught in his teeth. "Uh, well..."

"Dating?" Adam tries, and that’s... not worse, so not worse, Kris is allowed to date. Kris can date guys if he wants to and Adam will adjust his world view again and remind himself again that Kris is his friend and anyone who makes Kris happy is a good thing.

Color creeps slowly up from the collar of Kris' shirt, working up to stain his neck and throat, meeting the blush on his cheeks as he shakes his head. "There isn't. I'm single, c'mon, Adam, I'd tell you if there was anyone, yeah?"

Okay, right, good, but... "So you had a thing with a guy before Katy?" Not an open marriage, shit, Adam’s going to die right there on the spot if Kris had an open marriage and he didn’t know and he never got to... killing that thought right there.

Kris lifts his chin defiantly. "I'm bisexual," he says baldly, like a challenge, and it kind of is one.

Except, Kris never did actually say he's straight, not ever, Adam just sort of assumed it, and now he feels kind of like an ass because he knows first-hand what those assumptions are like. "Okay," he says slowly, and takes a large swallow of his wine. "Let's, uh... couch?" Couch, right, and he's going to finish that slice of pizza no matter what huge revelations are going on because he's still starving. "And you can tell me about this guy."

Or not, as it turns out. Kris follows him through to the lounge and the couch readily enough, but his shoulders are hunched and something about his body language is really not right.

"Kris?" Adam says hesitantly, and puts his wine down so he's got a non-greasy hand free for Kris'shoulder, and that's weird on its own. Usually Kris is the one reaching out for him. "You know I’m not mad or anything, right?"

The noise Kris makes at that is nearly a laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I know, but... there isn't a guy. Hasn’t been a guy. Not yet."

Which means Kris has only been with girls, right? "There hasn’t been a guy... but you’re bisexual?" Adam repeats, trying to figure that out. "What, like, theoretically?"

"Like actually," Kris insists, and the color's still there in his face. "Just because I haven’t done it doesn’t mean I’m not."

Theoretically bisexual. Fuck, Adam can't even work out if that's better or worse than the three-beer-queer. "Look, I know you've gotta be going through a lot right now with the divorce and Katy dating and stuff and..."

And that's another almost-laugh. "Man, don’t you get it?" Kris asks incredulously. "I thought, if anyone, but, no, it's Adam, he'll get it, you'll understand. I'm not.... not bi-curious or whatever or mixed up or not sure or confused, I'm bisexual. I think girls are hot, I think guys are hot. I like tits and I like dick." And he's still blushing like someone lit a fire inside his throat.

"But you’re never done anything with a guy," Adam says again, because he's clinging to that idea and it's probably not healthy but he understands that bit.

Kris looks like he can't decide whether to throw the rest of the pizza at Adam or walk out. "So, what, you weren't gay until you had sex?"

Low blow. Really low blow and not the same and Adam doesn’t actually believe that Kris is saying it to be cool or interesting or whatever because it's Kris (and it was Katy) and Kris is way too genuine for any of that posturing bullshit. But it's not ... "It's not the same!"

He's lost, he's confused, and he can't - for the first time since they met and Kris didn't freak out at Adam being himself - he really can't interpret Kris' expression or guess what Kris is going to do next until there are guitar-callused hands pressed hard against his face and Kris is kissing him.

Kris. Is kissing. Him.

Kris is kissing him, and although it's pretty obvious that Kris isn't used to kissing a mouth that's bigger than his, there's no hesitation there, no squeamishness. It's just certain and warm and firm and...really fucking good and hot. Lips sliding against lips and body against body because just a kiss is nowhere near enough, Adam needs more of Kris against him, hands finding Kris' shirt, jeans, whatever, to haul him closer, and it's there, the thing he's noticed from Kris' hugs. The way Kris does whatever Kris does wholeheartedly, nothing held back, and the realization goes straight to Adam's cock, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. Kris doesn't hesitate at that, either, just makes this sexy little moaning sound and rocks closer against him and whoa. Whoa.

Adam lets his head drop back, breaking the kiss because breathing is good when the guy he's been lusting over and fantasizing about for years is suddenly sprawled over him, all warm and willing and inexperienced and Kris. Adam blinks a couple of times, and tries to focus in on Kris' face, which is kind of too close to focus on anyway. He doesn't actually really mind that right now.

"So am I bisexual enough for you now?" Kris asks, and his voice is all deep and rough, breathless, really sexy and Adam's cock agrees.

"You... I..." Adam gives in, closes his eyes again, and laughs. Not a trace of mockery to it, just warmth and relief and joy.

Kris bites his throat. Adam yelps and twists to press Kris between his body and the back of the couch, one hand running down to rest on Kris' hip. "I just did the vampire thing," he objects, not very forcefully.

Kris bites again, more gently, and then licks, and it’s not like no one’s ever licked Adam’s neck before, but not like this. Not this playful. "Just say yes," he suggests.

"Fuck yes," Adam agrees, though he's forgotten what he's saying yes to, and leans in to kiss Kris back.

This time, he's in charge of the kiss. It's a good thing, because it means he gets to cradle Kris' face in his hands and control the pace of it, keep it slow because he’s dreamed about this, he’s fantasized about this, he's spent embarrassing amounts of time thinking about how he'd do this, theoretically, if it ever became an actual real possibility. About how he can savor it, the taste of Kris, the heat of Kris' mouth, the heavy solidity of Kris' body, the soft sounds Kris makes and the way Kris moves but he never, ever thought it might be like this. Making out on his couch with a theoretically-bisexual recently-divorced Kris Allen.

He draws back from the kiss a lot more slowly than he went into it, a lot more reluctantly, because stopping kissing means starting thinking, and thinking means poisonous thoughts, dark little doubts creeping into his mind. Doubts that Kris evidently doesn't share, from the look on his face, all dazed happiness and dark eyes, and Adam lets himself have a moment of satisfaction that, yeah, that was one hell of a good kiss from both sides. "So, this is, uh..."

"Good?" Kris supplies, and holy fuck, Kris is practically snuggling into Adam like a contented kitten. A contented kitten with a hard-on and ew, brain-bleach needed right there.

Good. Good is nowhere near the right level of description for fan-fucking-tastic, and it just settles the doubts heavier and colder in Adam's belly. "Good," he agrees, not entirely happily, and rolls away. It's possibly the hardest thing he's ever done, but he rolls away from warm, pliant, horny Kris, and sits up, only yelping briefly as tight jeans remind him forcefully that Kris isn't the only horny guy in the room and Adam's body has a lot less doubts than his mind.

"Adam?" Confusion colors Kris' voice. There's a faint slither of denim against leather as Kris moves, legs sliding over the cushions as he sits up as well, and the cushions dip and rise with the shift in weight. Then Kris is sitting next to Adam, legs apart so his right knee is touching Adam's left knee, and Adam's so fucking aware of that simple touch, heat flaring fresh from the innocence of it.

He draws in a breath and controls it, lets it out smoothly, trying to summon thoughts back together from suspicion and uncertainty. "So, this is, what? Long enough from the divorce to experiment?"

Kris flinches. A moment of stillness, and then Kris' knee shifts away from Adam's, not far, just enough to break the contact, and Adam can't make himself move back into it. Not now. Not when he's torn between a twisted satisfaction that the wince means he got it right, and he's just convenient, and mentally kicking himself hard in the ass because he was kissing Kris and he's just fucked it up to the point where it's probably never going to happen again.

Still, bonus point, his jeans aren't as uncomfortable as they were thirty seconds before.

When Kris finally speaks, he doesn't look at Adam, and Adam's not going to admit to himself that he's watching Kris out of the corner of his eye. Kris' voice is dry, and there's a tightness to it that Adam hates more for knowing he caused it. "You're not the only gay guy I know, Adam."

Yeah, but the only gay guy who's invited Kris over tonight. Fuck, even Adam's heart aches, throat tight, stopping him speaking. Given how spectacularly he's screwed up already, not speaking is probably a good thing right now.

Kris waits, presumably to give Adam time to respond, then shakes his head, cushions shifting again as he stands up. "I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you, not a gay guy. And I thought you were pretty into it, but..."

Why now? Adam wants to ask, wants to know. Why the fuck not years ago, why not as soon as the divorce came through, why not as soon as Kris and Katy had agreed their separation? Instead, what comes out is, "Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"That I wanted to kiss you?" Kris gives him a look like he's grown a second head or something. "I thought kissing you was pretty much the clue there."

Okay, yeah, fair point, but no. Although... it's Kris. And Kris isn't an asshole, which means if Kris kisses someone, he means it. Personally. "I mean the bisexual thing. If Katy hadn't."

Kris looks uncomfortable at that, and Adam's heart sinks to somewhere around the level of underneath the couch. That's as much of a no as he can get without speech, and if Kris really wanted him, Kris would have said something, right? Or intended to say something. "I don’t know," Kris says at last. "I mean, Goddamn, Adam, you're not exactly like the starter slopes, you know? It's kinda like going for the black run first off."

Skiing metaphor, he's getting a fucking skiing metaphor from Kris of all people. Does Arkansas even have ski slopes? Maybe it has mountains, Adam doesn't exactly care right now but it still feels ridiculous, and he can still taste Kris on his lips, beer and pizza and music and warmth that contrasts with the heavy, cold knot in his belly. "So you were gonna work up to me?"

He's not being fair. Adam knows he's not being fair, but fuck, his best friend, the guy he's spent years telling himself that he can't think about like that, has just turned his world upside down and he can't work out if he's overjoyed or just fucking terrified. Probably terrified, but he can't even tell if he's terrified of never kissing Kris again, or losing his best friend.

Kris' face shuts down and he moves away, just one step and then one more. Adam would swear on any holy book ever written that he can feel the distance increasing. "One minute I'm not gay enough for you because I haven't done anything and now you're getting pissed because maybe I'd think about other guys and doing stuff with them?"

Put like that, it doesn't make any sense. Especially not as Adam's never made any secret about the way he feels about Kris (most of it, anyway) and he's still dated other guys. More than dated. Shit, none of it makes sense, and Kris can't even say what he'd have done, just "stuff", and stuff probably covers a lot more than Kris thinks he knows. "Uh, hello, bombshell?" Adam offers lamely.

"Right. Right, yeah." Kris is still too far away, and he pushes a hand through his hair (getting too long, Adam notices, must remind Kris to actually see his stylist once in a blue moon). "So... I should go."

Fuck. No. Kris shouldn't go, Kris should ignore every stupid fucking word coming out of Adam's mouth and be right back there, back in Adam's lap, that wiry strength pressed back against him and that amazingly lush, soft mouth back against his, but there's no way Adam can make himself say any of that. "If that's what you wanna do."

Kris shakes his head, picks up his shoes and tugs them on, one at a time. Different to the way he usually just sleepily shuffles into them, like an afterthought. "It's not but... I think it's best for tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah," Adam agrees hollowly, finally standing up as well, and takes one step toward Kris. "Kris..."

Kris steps back again, and it's like a rejection, like a full body blow, like walking into a glass fucking wall that stops Adam from getting any closer. "Hello, bombshell?" Kris echoes wryly, and then, then Kris is back next to him, Kris' hand on his face, Kris stretching up to kiss him again, soft and warm and way too brief. "Call me."

It's a repeat of a hundred nights. Cute guy pulls on his shoes, kisses Adam, and says "call me", and leaves. And Adam does, usually, because he's not a total dick, even if it's just to make sure they're on the same page with what's happened and what's not going to happen. But this is... shit, this isn't any of those nights, this is Kris, and every step Kris takes away from him is like something's tearing inside, something severed by the final sounding soft thud of the door closing.

Call me, Kris said.

Adam digs into his pocket, drops back onto the couch, and hits the speeddial for Kris number, praying harder than he can remember praying for anything. Even that Dior jacket he'd fallen for on first sight and... yeah, more than that. A lot more than that.

Someone's listening, because Kris picks up. "I didn't mean, like, right now, moron."

There's warmth in Kris' voice, though, enough to make Adam instantly relax. "Okay, so, I'm a dick."

"Yeah, you kind of are." Kris chuckles, warm and low, and the sound curls in Adam's stomach, unfolding like it belongs there. "I'm still not gonna come back in right now."

"But we're okay, right?" Kind of. Somehow. Please.

"Yeah, we're okay," Kris agrees softly. "But I'mma call a cab right now, yeah?"

Shit, yeah, he hadn't even thought about how Kris was going to get home, so he really is a dick. "You wanna come back inside and wait?"

There's a pause, and Adam swears he can hear Kris shaking his head before remembering, hello, phone. "No, it's...it's a nice night. Call me tomorrow."

"It already is tomorrow." Which means that he's already calling tomorrow and... Okay, he's pathetic. "Later tomorrow, right, got it."

"Later tomorrow," Kris says, laughing. "Okay, I gotta go. Later, man."

"Night, Kris." Adam's got to get off the line so Kris can call that taxi, but it's a few more seconds before he actually ends the call and proves how pathetic he is by padding over to the window to check if he can see Kris from his living room.

He can't.

Let me know when you get home safe!

Because Hollywood so isn't Little Rock, and Adam's pretty sure that Kris forgets that. At least this time Kris isn't suggesting he could walk home. Like anyone walks in LA. In the few minutes when Adam doesn't get an answer, he's busy worrying that Kris has already been mugged, or abducted, or something else bad he can't think of right now, but he hasn't quite got to the point of getting his boots on again before his iPhone chirps its message alert at him.

Yes, mom

Adam grins foolishly at his phone, drops back onto the couch, and decides who to call first, because there's no chance he's going to be able to sleep for hours yet. Emotional rollercoaster as bombshell fallout, hello.

There's one person he's got to call. One person who's definitely still awake and picks up so fast he must have had his phone glued to his hand (not actually unheard of). "Yo, bitch!"

Instant diversion. "Yo to you too, nineties queen." Adam giggles, and stretches out on his back. "Seriously? Yo? Who even says yo?"

"I do," Brad singsongs smugly. "I'm wearing white Levis."

"Oh my God. The world's ending." It has to be. Brad is wearing white Levis. "Not 501s?" They're way too baggy for Brad's skinny little ass.

"Better believe it."

Adam passes one hand dramatically over his face. This is way more important than his love life. Brad has totally lost his fashion sense. "Look, I don't know who you are, or what you've done to him, but you better let Brad go right the fuck now, bitch."

Brad snickers down the phone. "Chillax, princess, it's a partay. I'm in disguise."

"As what?" There is, can be, no excuse why Brad would be wearing white 501s. There's enough background noise that it probably is a party, anyway.

"The ghost of fashion past." Brad giggles again.

Oh, shit. Adam senses a sinister hand at work. "How many drinks did Scarlett pour down you before you agreed to that?"

"I can think of my own costume ideas!" Brad protests. "I totally can!"

"No, you can't, you ask Cassidy, and Cassidy would never let you out in public in white 501s." Adam's trying very, very hard not to imagine what else Brad's wearing. Probably one of those hideously badly-fitting luminous block color shirts.

Brad's pout is distinctly audible. "I don't care. So why are you calling me away from the baaaaaar, sugarpie? Did La Somerhalder finally put out?"

Right, that. "Never once followed through," Adam says almost automatically, and sighs. "No, it's... look, maybe this isn't the best time."

"Oh, no." Brad's voice sharpens, and the sounds of the party fade. "No, sweetie, you called me after the party really got started, you are telling me why."

Maybe it's not the best idea but, fuck, he's got to tell someone. "Kris," he says simply, and waits for the choking sounds to die down. "He's..."

"You dirty little bitch!" Brad crows. "I want all the gory details. I want them now, and... Wait, Cassidy's here, I'm putting you on speaker."

"No!" Adam protests immediately, sitting up with a jerk like that's going to do anything to stop Brad and fuck, he's got no idea who's there. "Brad, fuck... Cass?"

"Tomorrow," Cassidy's voice says firmly, and then the call cuts out. Adam would be relieved, but whatever Brad invents is going to be way worse than what actually happened. He's midway through dialing when the texts come through. Three of them.

Evry signle deet

I'm home. Go to bed!

He'll forget in thirty seconds. See you after the hangover. ONLY CALL IF HE'S IN HOSPITAL.

Adam's rarely wanted so much to be drunk since he got old enough to do it legally. And he still hasn't told anyone. (That's maybe a blessing in Brad's case.) He scrolls through the contacts, looking for anyone else who might be awake, and decides maybe, just maybe, he'd better try a text first this time.

still up, glitterbaby?

The answer comes quickly enough to be truth, not delayed by the waking up groping for his phone that Adam's witnessed too many times now.

jst finishd open mic w long. ok baby boy?

Oh, thank fuck.

kris just left

He's still hesitating over whether to say more when the reply arrives.

b thr in 10

Part 2