Title: Fight or Flight
Pairing: Kris Allen/Adam Lambert
Warnings: Language. Kisses.
Disclaimer: I do not own Kris and Adam no matter how much I wish I did. None of this happened except in my crazy brain.
Summary: Written by request as an extension of #17 on my one-sentence fic One Need: Adam threw the packed duffel bag at Kris when he walked in the door after their Rock Week performances – “You told me you wouldn’t give up, but I guess that’s exactly what you’re doing!”
Adam’s body was still humming with post-performance adrenaline, and there was only one person that he wanted to share that feeling with.
It was Kris.
In the beginning, he was nervous about sharing a room with the baby-faced boy from Arkansas. This was his chance, maybe his last one, and he was not going to wreck it by wasting energy daydreaming about that lazy, southern smile. That was long ago, he told himself; the strength of their friendship had since pushed aside any simmering attraction Adam may have let linger in his too-open heart.
Except on Tuesday nights.
Tuesday nights were the rare time that the line between roommates and soulmates blurred until Adam couldn’t help but fall a little bit in love with every breath that Kris Allen took.
On Tuesday nights, they could fall asleep on his bed, Kris’s arms around Adam’s waist, Adam’s face buried in that soft, brown hair, and neither would think anything of it in the morning. They could blame it on the buzz that kept them talking until it was too late to move to separate beds. They could blame it on the uncertainty that shrouded Tuesday nights, the need to hold onto something stable for one more minute.
On this particular Tuesday, though, it seemed that Adam was the only one feeling uncertain. Walking into Kris’s room, it seemed that its occupant was perfectly sure of what his destiny would be the next day.
Defeat manifested itself in many different ways. Slumped shoulders. Downcast eyes.
A packed duffel bag.
Adam didn’t know why he was so furious to see the plaid shirts sticking out of the broken zipper. It wasn’t like Kris was going home.
But he thought he was, and that, to Adam, was almost worse. It meant he had given up. Lost faith. Broken the promise they had made on their first Tuesday night together.
“In the end, it’s just going to be you and me. Promise me you won’t be too nice, too much of a gentleman, to fight for that.”
Adam was so busy contemplating how Kris could just throw that away that he didn’t even notice those brown eyes watching him from the doorway.
“I just figured I’d better - ”
Before Kris could finish his sentence, his duffel bag came flying at him from across the room.
“So much for fighting for it, huh?” Adam knew he was being overly dramatic, but at least he still had pride. He was refusing to wave the white flag that Kris had draped over their dreams.
Kris loomed over Adam’s seated form, and for the first time in their friendship, the older singer felt small, overshadowed by the shocked anger resonating off Kris’s body.
“What the hell am I supposed to do, Adam? Lie to myself? Lie to you? Pretend like we all don’t know that I was the worst one out there tonight?”
Adam saw how afraid Kris was, and, in that moment, he would have given back every ounce of praise he’d ever gotten from the judges just to see him smile again.
“But you weren’t - ”
“Bullshit!” Kris turned on him, now almost matching Adam in the dramatics department. “At least everyone’s going to get the top three that they wanted. The judges, the fans, the media - ”
Adam’s whisper echoed through the tension in the small room. “Not me.”
Kris seemed honestly surprised to hear that, and it broke Adam’s heart a little to think that he didn’t already know.
“You’re just saying that because you’re my roommate,” Kris sighed, sulking onto the bed next to him.
Adam felt like he shouldn’t laugh in the face of someone so obviously distraught, but “desperate Kris” was both too adorable and too frustrating to be real. He knew this game – he’d played it enough times himself. All Kris wanted was to hear that he was loved, to be told that he was something special. Luckily for him, Adam had practiced this speech in his head an embarrassing number of times in the last few weeks.
“Of course I’m just saying that because you’re my roommate,” he said as he playfully ruffled Kris’s hair. “You know me better than anyone here – yes, even Allison. And I’m scared of being without you in this thing.”
He tentatively took Kris’s hand in his, brushing a dark-tipped thumb over his knuckles. The script in his head told him that this was Kris’s turn to talk, to offer a lame denial or a half-hearted laugh or something – anything – that told him it was okay to continue, to say it all.
Leave it to Kris Allen to ad lib the most important scene Adam had ever rehearsed.
There was no talking, there was no laughing, but there was Kris. Kris’s face a breath from his own, eyes closed, almost painful in its desperate beauty. Kris’s lips barely touching his, a flutter of recognition, a timid introduction. A first kiss.
Kris’s voice, shaking with something that Adam couldn’t define as fear or desire – perhaps a little of both. “I’ve never done this before,” he whispered against Adam’s mouth.
“It’s okay,” Adam breathed, pushing their foreheads together. “It's just me.”
He could feel Kris’s lips curve into a smile as their lips met again, and he almost wished that he was someone else, getting to watch this moment, getting to see how beautiful Kris looked as he kissed him, how beautiful they looked together. But then Kris opened his mouth, shyly grazing his tongue along Adam’s lower lip, and Adam realized that there was no way he would have ever traded his place right then for any other vantage point in the world.
This wasn’t the kind of first kiss Adam was used to. He was used to instant moans or the occasional tongue being thrust into his mouth like an overzealous handshake. He was used to hands on his ass or a thigh against his crotch. But this? This was slow and gentle and innocent. It was calloused fingers lost in his hair, whispers of praise and wonder incoherent amidst the sound of lips coming apart and easing back together. It was fluid and calm and sweet.
It was Kris.
“I – I think I’m in love with you,” Kris murmured against Adam’s cheekbone.
Adam brought his lips right to Kris’s ear. He didn’t want him to miss any of this. “Good…Because I know I’m in love with you.”
He knew that it was a Tuesday night and crazy things happened on Tuesday nights. But he also knew that how he felt wasn’t the kind of thing that changed with the day of the week. He loved Kris Allen on Tuesday nights, but he also loved him on Wednesday mornings and Saturday afternoons and every second in between.
One unpacked duffel bag and many sleepy kisses later, Adam realized that Kris Allen was a fighter. He just needed to know that he had something worth fighting for.