right and godly (ruby_fruit) wrote in glambert_fic,
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Fic: Strange Currencies

This fandom is reaaaally starting to cut into my gaming and lazy-ass tv watching time.

Title: Strange Currencies
Author: ruby_fruit
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kris Allen/Adam Lambert, Adam/OMC
Summary: Some people talk out their issues. Adam is not one of them.
Warnings Infidelity, public sex
Notes: This was supposed to be gen! (Ok, seriously, fuck you, stop laughing.) I should really know better than to insist I can write gen, especially to anandrine who betaed this indulgent mess. Because she's awesome. Standalone fic.



Kris just wants a new jacket, and he figures if he and Adam can slouch, embarrassed and trying not to be seen, outside Claire’s waiting for Allison to clean them out then the other two can be bored in American Apparel for a few minutes.

He was wrong.

Only Allison is bored, alternating between making puppy dog eyes at him, and the Orange Julius across the way. Adam, however, is making eyes at the buttoned-down hipster, who has refolded the same pair of jeans about a dozen times now. Adam is leaning against the table with his hands in his pockets – how, exactly, with jeans that tight Kris doesn’t know –hair falling in his eyes and smiling sweetly.

Kris raises an eyebrow when Adam reaches out and pushes up the guy’s sleeve, leaning in ostentatiously to check out a tattoo. Hipster guy goes pink around the ears and Adam’s grin gets distinctly more wolfish. Adam takes the abused jeans out of the clerk’s hand and leans down to say something. It’s too quiet for Kris to catch, but the clerk laughs, a surprisingly deep bass, and Adam follows him back towards the fitting rooms, jeans he’d never wear still in his hand.

Kris stares. He knows he can be a little naïve, and that Adam is an entirely different creature than most of his friends, but. That couldn’t have been what he thought it was. Absolutely not. The producers just raked Adam over the coals for those pictures, there’s no way.

Allison is safely engrossed in a rack of paisley socks, so Kris follows them. Just to be sure.

Kris is sure. The hipster has Adam pressed up against the mirror in the furthest fitting room. They haven’t even shut the door and the guy’s kissing Adam like he’s trying to crawl inside his mouth, Adam’s hands all over his ass. Adam’s eyes are open. Kris feels the blood rush to his face as Adam’s gaze locks with his. He doesn’t do what he should, which is tell Kris to fuck off, or even glare. The other guy’s head moves down to Adam’s neck, and Adam tilts his head up and moans softly, his legs spreading to let the clerk even closer. And he watches Kris watch him.

The thump of Adam’s belt hitting floor is loud, and Adam’s gaze moves from Kris to the guy standing between his legs. The clerk says something that Kris doesn’t catch in that low voice and Adam grins and – oh sweet Jesus – slides to his knees. Kris flees, but not fast enough to avoid hearing the rasp of a zipper coming down.

Back in the store, Allison has abandoned the socks and makes a bee line for Kris. She’s a sweet girl, but right now Kris wants her to go away maybe more than anything. He tries to think about nice simple, safe jackets, and not Adam twenty feet away and-

Jackets. Kris is thinking about jackets.

“Dude, are you having a heat stroke or something?” Allison thumps her shoulder into his.

“What?”

“You’re like, bright red.”

Kris shrugs, thinks a little harder about jackets. Allison bounces on her toes next to him, necklaces – some of which he’s pretty sure are Adam’s – jangling.

“You know what would fix that? Smoothies.” She grins at him, wide and infectious and he smiles back.

“Alli, we were standing outside Clair’s for about three years. Go look at socks some more.”

Allison sighs hugely, but wanders off towards the tee-shirts. Kris breaths a little easier, and leans his forehead on the rack in from of him. He’s going to murder Adam, and maybe the clerk too, for good measure.

It feels like days before Adam wanders out of the fitting area, looking a lot like a guy who just did what he did and popping a mint. Kris sort of wants to slap him. The thought probably shows on his face, because Adam gives him the sort of faux-polite look he gives the judges every time he hears ‘theatrical’. He leans against the jacket rack.

“Enjoy the show?”

Kris has never heard Adam’s voice sound raspy like that. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Kris’ face is starting to feel hot again.

Adam’s expression darkens and he crosses his arms over his chest. His tone is deceptively mild.

“I don’t know. What do you think about when you go down on your wife?”

“Fuck you, this is different.”

Kris knows immediately that this is the wrong thing to say. For a second, he’s sure Adam is going to hit him. Instead Adam takes a deep breath and closes his eyes briefly. It’s an effort not to back up when he steps into Kris’ space. This close Adam smells like clean sweat and musk, his breath is sharp with mint.

“You know what? What, and most especially who I do is none of your goddamn business. Stay out of it.”

“Adam-”

Kris tries to catch Adam’s sleeve but Adam avoids him, walking over to Allison and throwing an arm around her shoulders.

“Come on, girl. Let’s see if the cute smoothie guys are working today.”

Allison’s squeal makes every other shopper in the store look up. Kris grinds his teeth, glares at the completely unhelpful jackets, and follows them out.

*

“Domestic dispute?”

Megan – who had fled, handler in tow to the ladies’ room after they escaped Claire’s – asks dryly, glancing between Adam and Kris, who is being thoroughly ignored by everyone but her. Allison doesn’t know what’s happening, but the tension is obvious, and as Adam goes, so goes her army.

“Shut up.”

“Ooh, someone’s on the rag.”

Kris ignores that, staring at the menu even though it’s just Orange Julius and he knows what they have. Megan’s arm goes around his waist.

“Come on, tell auntie Megan. You guys were BFF ten minutes ago.”

Kris sighs and she leans her head on his shoulder, gives him a wide-eyed look.

“Oh god. You girls and that look. Are you taught that at birth or something-ow!”

Megan smoothes his shirt where she just pinched him.

“First, that was sexist. Second, way to avoid the question. Now spill.”

Kris rolls his eyes and glances around nervously at the people around them. No one’s paying them any attention, even accompanied by two Idol handlers in black and wearing earpieces. He doesn’t really want to explain this, but. Adam loves Megan, maybe he’ll listen to her.

Feeling a little like he’s in second grade and playing a particularly perverse game of Telephone, Kris whispers the whole story to Megan – except the part where he hadn’t turned and left the second he saw what was happening. That doesn’t have any bearing on it anyway.

“Oh my God.”

Kris feels briefly justified, then Megan pinches him again, hard.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You are such a moron.” Megan looks honestly angry with him. Kris is baffled.

“But, what-”

“Oh no, I am not getting in the middle of this. You’re on your own, cutie.”

Megan slips out from under his arm with a disbelieving shake of her head, and places her order. Kris thinks he might just hate everyone, ever.

Allison’s drink takes twice as long to order and three times as long to make, so the rest of them grab a table. Megan watches Adam – who is still ignoring Kris – as she carefully folds a napkin under her drink.

“So, how was the clerk?” she asks calmly.

Adam takes a long pull of his smoothie before answering, his voice just as bland as Megan’s.

“Less filling than this, but way more satisfying.”

Megan chokes and splutters, lapsing into a coughing fit as Allison bounces up. She pats Megan on the back in concern, dropping into a chair on Adam’s other side.

“Brain freeze?”

Megan nods, trying to give Adam the stink-eye without tipping Allison off. Their handlers – doing their best impressions of the deaf – crack tiny smiles. Kris puts his head on the table and wishes death on all of them.

*

Rehearsal is directly after their shopping trip, and is too busy to be awkward. Instead, all the awkwardness waits and accumulates until they’re back at the mansion, in their room, and Kris can barely keep from flinching every time Adam moves. The fact that Adam – Ipod tucked into the waistband of his boxers and earbuds in place - still isn’t even acknowledging Kris’ existence doesn’t help.

There’s a hickey on Adam’s neck, right where his neck meets his shoulder. Kris can’t stop looking.

It’s a long, stiflingly quiet night. Adam is always bitching about how Kris falls asleep at the drop of a hat but tonight his brain won’t turn off and he lays awake, listening to Adam toss and turn.

Finally Adam settles, and Kris thinks maybe now he can sleep. Then he hears a plastic snap, a slick noise, and a sigh. If he keeps blushing like this – Kris thinks distantly and under the panic – he going to break capillaries and give the makeup department a fit. He presses his face into the pillow and tries to breathe normally. When he realizes he’s trying to match his imagination to the soft hitches in Adam’s breathing and rustle of sheets Kris opens his eyes and concentrates on the varied blackness of the pillow until Adam gives one last sharp whimper and goes still.

Kris keeps up his staring contest with the pillow, keeps ignoring his erection digging into the mattress, and keeps listening as Adam gets up and goes to the bathroom, runs the water, and goes back to bed. Only Adam doesn’t go to his own bed. Kris tries futilely not to tense up all over when the bed dips, and Adam’s weight settles on his knees.

“Knock it off. You snore when you’re really sleeping.”

“I do not.”

What Kris really wants to say is ‘what the fuck was with the private porn show just now, then’ but he’s still hoping Adam will just bitch at him again and go away.

“Like a chainsaw. Tell me what you meant when you said it was different.”

The sudden change in topic makes Kris a little dizzy. He thinks for a minute. The heavy warmth of Adam’s weight wavers, shifts further up his thighs. The blood rushes in Kris’ ears and he blurts out,

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Hmm?”

Adam’s hand finds his in the dark, his fingers are water-cool and stroke up the back of Kris’ wrist, mirroring the way Adam had touched the clerk. Kris breathes out, shakily.

“They uh- they kicked that guy out last year. Just for dancing. In a club.”

Adam’s weight shifts off Kris’ legs and Kris tries not to gasp as the movement jostles him against the mattress. Adam leans over him, bracing one hand near Kris’ shoulder; Kris can see the gloss of his nailpolish in the dark. Goosebumps break out across his back as Adam’s other hand moves slowly and lightly up his arm.

“They kicked him out for stripping. In a gay bar.”

“I don’t want them to make you leave. Not over something like that.”

“How altruistic.”

Adam’s wandering hand slides up over the curve of Kris’ shoulder and settles gently over the back of his neck. Kris can’t help the noise he makes. Adam shifts over him again, and his breath warms Kris’ cheek.

“Is that why you stayed to watch?”

Kris squeezes his eyes shut. His own breathing seems impossibly loud in the dark.

Adam squeezes the back of neck gently, and jostles Kris against the mattress deliberately. Kris whimpers.

“Answer me. How long would you have stayed if I hadn’t looked away? Would you have watched me suck his dick? Watched him suck mine? He was good at it, you know.”

“Oh fuck. I-”

Kris is miles out of his depth, here. Adam’s mouth brushes the top of his cheek and he gasps.

“You would have, wouldn’t you? You straight boys are so transparent.” Adam kisses the corner of Kris’ mouth lightly, casually. “Now, you can come like this, humping the mattress like you’re fourteen, or I can show you what I did to that clerk.”

Fuck.”

Kris twists around and gets his hands on Adam’s bare shoulders – god, he’s naked – pushes and they’re both shoving the sheets out of the way. Adam anchors him with one arm around his waist and pushes his boxers down just enough to take Kris’ cock in his mouth.

Kris knows he’s being too rough, that he shouldn’t be doing this at all, never mind like this, but he can’t stop. Adam just tightens his arm around Kris’ waist and moans high and wild when Kris pushes too deep, too fast. It doesn’t take long, and he tries to push Adam away when he gets close but Adam just scrapes his fingernails across Kris’ back and looks up at him, almost sulky. Kris’ orgasm feels ripped out, and he curls around Adam, who groans, echoing his pleasure.

Their breathing is fast and loud in the dark. Adam looms up over Kris and kisses him. Kris recoils a little, but Adam holds the back of his head and bites his mouth until he opens. When he pulls back Kris’ mouth feels bruised, and he licks his lips, tastes himself and Adam. Adam watches him, eyes glittering in the dark, his voice has the same rasp as it did in the mall.

“I love doing that. I love getting fucked, and I really love it if I can make a boy beg.” He kisses Kris lightly, chastely. “I don’t go in the closet for anyone, not even America. And to me? It isn’t any different.”

He watches Kris for a moment longer. Kris manages to nod, and Adam grins suddenly, and winks. He stands up, and goes to his own bed. Kris stares at the ceiling until sleep swallows him up.
Tags: fic, pairing: adam/kris, pairing: adam/other, rating: nc-17
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