Fic: This is (not) a fairytale (1/1)
Title: This is (not) a fairytale (1/1)
Pairing: Kris Allen/Adam Lambert
Word Count: 1,839
Disclaimer: Don’t know. Never happened. All fiction.
Notes: This started out as a cute little drabble, but soon expanded to 1,837 words. So let’s call it a short fic, huh? It’s definitely a light piece filled with fluff and schmoop galore. Comments and feedback, as always, are much appreciated!
Summary: Kris and Adam take care of Kris’ niece, Abby.
It’s 2:17 a.m. when Kris finds himself rolling over in the 750 thread count sheets Adam insisted they buy in search of warmth. The navy blue satin sheets feel luxurious on his skin, sliding like one of Adam’s silk scarves across his tired calves and feet, soothing and calming after a long day of chasing children around in the backyard. He sighs and grunts as he moves, eyes closed, arms reaching out instinctively to push aside decorative pillows adorned with tassels and sequins in search of his lover. He’s made it halfway across the bed, but he still rolls, arms open and extended, expecting to collide with hard, warm flesh anytime now. It’s not until Kris is stretched over the entire bed, right arm dangling off the right side and face smashed into Adam’s down pillow that he realizes something’s not quite right with this picture. Shivering, he cracks one eye open, peering at Adam’s empty space that his own body now occupies before he looks over his shoulder to glare at the half-open bedroom door. He’s alone. He grumbles to himself, pulling his tired body from the bed and grabbing his glasses from the nightstand. All he wanted was a little warmth from his lover. Just some snuggling, possible spooning with Adam’s body pressed up tight behind his, and maybe a few stolen kisses. Is that so much to ask? Kris doesn’t think so.
He’s in the hallway now, the sun and moon nightlight casting a dim shadow of light, as he feels his way down the hall. He reaches the steps, one foot in the air poised to descend, when he hears hushed voices from behind the guestroom door. Retreating from the staircase, he turns and walks back down the hall, concern growing as he remembers the little girl he and Adam put to bed that night: his niece, Abby, a mere five years old, but one of Kris’ favorite people in the entire world, besides Adam, of course. He’d been there for her birth, pacing with Daniel up and down the long corridors of the hospital, waiting patiently for his turn to hold the crying, wrinkled little body wrapped up tight in a pink blanket with matching hat and booties. From the moment that Daniel laid her in his arms and she looked up at her uncle with bright blue eyes, he knew he was a goner; he was in love. His attachment, their bond, only strengthened as the years grew. Kris was present for every birthday, every Christmas, every precious moment in her life, spoiling her beyond words; his reward: the toothy smile Abby bestowed on him and half-eaten animal crackers she offered in return.
Ever the doting uncle, it’s only natural that Kris now finds himself outside of the cracked guestroom door, hand rising to tap gently on the frame before he stops, his worried expression softening at the image before him. Adam is stretched out on the twin size bed, long legs extended down over the mahogany footboard, one arm curled gently around Abby’s back. The little girl is pressed tight to his side; her long, raven hair falling in a tangled mess down over her back and Adam’s arm; her wide eyes focused on the open story book that Adam holds in his other hand.
The sight is so precious, so sweet, that Kris has to struggle to remember Adam’s nervous insecurity the day before. Abby had come over that afternoon with Daniel and his wife, Anna, for a family barbecue and Adam had spent the entire morning worrying. Kris is still not sure what the problem was; children always loved Adam. They loved his energy, his cartoon voices, his funny faces; they were enamored with his jewelry, makeup, and funky hair. They loved it when he crouched down on one knee to be on their same level, his eyes meeting theirs as he gave them his undivided attention. But, for whatever reason, Adam was nervous about meeting Abby. Perhaps it had been awhile since he’d been around a child so young, or, perhaps, he was nervous about meeting the only other person in Kris’ life who could weasel their way out of something with a perfected pout or shy smile; who could get Kris to agree to anything with a fluttering of the eyelashes or an emphatic “I love you.”
Timidly, he had stood behind Kris as Abby pranced into the room, small pink tote bag in hand, and launched herself into Kris’ arms, pudgy hands encircling his neck as she giggled, “Unca Kris! Unca Kris!” Kris doesn’t remember much after that; Daniel handed him a bottle of wine and Anna dragged him into the kitchen to see “what mess he’d gotten himself into” by attempting to cook.
It was an hour later when Kris realized that he hadn’t seen Adam or Abby since he had left them both in the living room. Popping a few pretzels into his mouth, Kris backpedaled to the room, hand covering his mouth in an attempt to prevent the laughter from spewing out. Adam was seated on the floor with Abby, his legs folded up underneath him, tongue peeking out from between his lips in concentration as he carefully painted the tiny nail on the index finger that Abby had extended in front of him. As Adam leaned forward to inspect his handiwork, the plastic crown with colorful jewels that Kris recognized as the crown from Abby’s Pretty Pretty Princess game slipped down his head. He reached a bejeweled hand up distractedly to push it back, fingers tucking a piece of stray hair behind his ear to reveal a dark purple clip-on earring on his lobe. Abby, decked out herself in three different colored necklaces and a multitude of bracelets, laughed and laughed, before raising her eyes to meet Kris’ own amused ones.
“We played dress up, Unca Kris!” she exclaimed happily.
Adam’s sheepish smile met his own.
“I can see that, Abby. There’s only one problem,” Kris said.
“What’s that?” asked Adam curiously.
“I don’t think purple is quite your color, babe,” began Kris as he leaned in to pluck the shiny clip-on from Adam’s ear, ignoring Adam’s affronted look and Abby’s moan of “Uncle Kris!” as he continued, “But you’re both in luck.”
“And why is that?” Adam wanted to know.
“It just so happens to be my color,” said Kris as he plopped down to sit cross legged with Abby and Adam, completing their circle of three.
Later, after everyone had eaten and Abby had pleaded to spend the night with her Uncle Kris and Adam, the two took her up to the guestroom and helped her change into her Hello Kitty pajamas. Tucked in tight with her head pillowed high on the pillow, Abby had shyly requested a good night song. Kris, sitting on the white wicker chair beside the bed and Adam, standing behind Kris with one hand resting tenderly on Kris’ shoulder, were powerless to resist.
It was quite possibly one of the sweetest moments of Kris’ life. Now, as Kris continues to stare unobtrusively into the guestroom at his niece and his lover, he thinks he can add yet another moment to his master list, a list that has continued to grow and grow since he met Adam on the Idol stage two years prior.
It appears that Adam has finished the book and now Abby is looking up at him with big, imploring blue eyes, still awake and wanting another story.
“Tell me a story about how you and Unca Kris met,” she requests.
“Um,” Adam pauses, appearing at a loss as to how to formulate a story that would appeal to the little girl.
“Is it like Cinderella?” Abby asks, “Is it a fairy tale?”
Kris has to reign in the laugh that threatens to bubble from his chest when he sees the brief look of disgust pass over Adam’s face. Adam had always hated fairy tales. He thought they were completely unrealistic – full of magic spells and fairy godmothers; he claimed they were sexist and stereotypical, filled with helpless female characters in need of rescuing by handsome princes. Kris didn’t have the heart, or the energy for that matter, to tell Adam that that was the point of fairy tales. They weren’t supposed to be realistic.
“No, it’s not a fairy tale, Abby,” comes the answer Kris knew Adam would give.
Abby, however, is not dissuaded.
“But did it begin once upon a time?”
Kris thinks back over the two years and decides that it does seem like such a long time ago in a far off land that he and Adam met.
Adam, however, shakes his head no.
“Did you live in a castle?”
The American Idol mansion was pretty castle-like, Kris decides as he thinks back over the ornate staircases, marbled kitchen countertops and freaking bidet in their bathroom.
Adam’s response must be negative because Abby continues, “Was there good and evil?”
Kris thinks of Allison – innocent little Allison who blushed when the guys teased her about finding her a boyfriend and who made everyone laugh with lame knock-knock jokes and silly dances. He also thinks of protestors, paparazzi, and rude interviewers, trying to tear his friends down bit by bit, piece by piece. Yes, Kris thinks, there was definitely some good and some evil in their lives.
But Adam, clearly not thinking as much as Kris, says no.
“How about magic?”
Our first kiss was pretty magical, Kris muses. He remembers sitting with Adam on a rooftop of a Los Angeles hotel, bright lights illuminating the nighttime sky and a fierce wind whipping their hair into their eyes as their fingers traced over each other’s faces, as their lips met again and again in soft, tender caresses.
Adam doesn’t appear to be on the same wavelength as Kris, though, and responds, “Nope. No magic spells.”
“Were there fairies?”
This time, before Kris can think of anything, Adam beats him to the punch line: “Just me, baby.”
The joke is lost on Abby, who wrinkles an eyebrow and scrunches up her nose in confusion, but Kris gets it and laughs loud and sure, alerting the two to his presence.
“Unca Kris!” Abby shouts delightedly, “Come sit with me and Unca Adam!”
Smiling at Abby’s new name for Adam, Kris pushes the door open the rest of the way, crosses the threshold, and climbs into the small bed. He squishes his body up against the far wall and traces a tender hand across Abby’s forehead. Abby, lying in between Kris and Adam, grabs Kris’ left hand and entwines it with Adam’s right.
Then, she looks up at Adam.
“Do they live happily ever after?”
Kris’ breath catches a little at the question and he squeezes Adam’s hand hard before casting a loving smile to him over Abby’s head.
“I’ll give you that one, princess Abby,” Adam smiles at the little girl before widening his smile to include Kris, “Yes, I think they just might.”