samanthahirr (samanthahirr) wrote,
samanthahirr
samanthahirr

Fic: James Dean of the Music Scene

Title: James Dean of the Music Scene
Fandom: American Idol
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Genre: future!fic
Word Count:
2,500
Rating:
PG-13
Disclaimer: Total fiction. No infringement on the rights of real people intended. Not profiting in any way.

Kris leaned toward him as far as his seatbelt allowed and said clearly, “You’re jealous.”

Adam’s mouth dropped for an incriminating second before he managed to rush out a sleazy “Damn right I’m jealous. If you didn’t want a piece of that guy you should’ve at least gotten
me his number.”
 


The flights from Melbourne had been a bitch and a half, with the valium wearing off somewhere outside Tokyo and the rest of the trip a hell of overly-solicitous first-class stewardesses and no guys worth fucking in the bathroom. Adam should’ve headed straight home to sleep off the jetlag and persistent headache, but Kris had left him a voice message, invited him to dinner.

They were both in the same city for the first time in two months, and Kris’s voice had sounded so relaxed and happy that Adam couldn’t say no. He’d missed Kris. Infrequent phone calls and joke-forward emails sucked compared to face-to-face Kris-time. So Adam had texted him back and left his checked bags at LAX for the label’s staff to sort out, hopped a cab to Malibu and walked onto the set of his friend’s latest video shoot.

Zuma Beach was pretty, whatever. But with the sun only a foot above the waves, he couldn’t scan the beach set for Kris without causing retinal damage. Adam squinted in his custom-tinted Ed Hardy shades for a second and gave up, leaned against a catering van and listened to a bride yell at the wardrobe assistants about the sand in her veil.

An engine revved, too loud for modern sound ordinances, and Adam looked up the street and finally spotted Kris straddling a vintage CZ motorcycle in sunglasses, jeans, and an absolutely delicious leather jacket. Adam would’ve enjoyed the view if it hadn’t been for the tall blond guy sitting on the seat behind his friend, hips grinding against Kris’s as he leaned them both forward, reached past Kris to rev the engine again.

Adam’s headache went from 5 to 60 mph. What the fuck did that asshole think he was doing? Kris laughed and Adam’s temples pounded as the guy dropped a hand onto Kris’s thigh. Kris should’ve shoved it off, should’ve told the guy to step off. Should’ve said ‘No.’ But Kris was oblivious when it came to flirting, wouldn’t know a come on if a guy was literally rubbing his cock all over Kris’s ass.

Adam wanted to rip the guy limb from limb but he knew better than to risk another damages payout. So he pulled out his phone and dialed Kris’s number, watched Kris squirm on the seat and work a hand down between their melded bodies—right up against the guy’s fly for fuck’s sake—to pull out his phone.

“Hello?”

“Baby, it’s not nice to lead a guy on like that.”

“Adam? Where are you?”

“Catering truck.” Kris looked around, spotted him, and waved, grinning. Adam scowled and said, “You really shouldn’t let guys rub their junk on you unless you plan on putting out.”

“What? I’m learning how to drive this thing-”

“I bet you are. And he’ll let you ride it all night long if you let him. He’ll grip the throttle and work the pedals, pump the brakes hard and fast, bend you over around all the curves-”

“You… Shut up. I’ll be done in a few,” Kris growled. Adam could see the flush spreading across Kris’s skin from 40 feet away.

Satisfied, he put his phone away, folded his arms and waited.

Kris leaned forward over the bike, let the guy put hands on his waist and rock him to the right, then to the left, simulating a number of things, only one of which was steering around a sharp corner. Their hips shifted against each other, Kris’s shoulders hunched uncomfortably, and less than a minute later Kris stood up and swung his leg off the bike, walking quickly up the street, away from the set and Adam.

Adam grinned and followed.

Kris whipped off his jacket and stuffed it in the rear window well of his new Dodge Challenger, slouched into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. Adam jogged around the back of the car and pulled open the passenger door before Kris could lock it. He slid in and smiled at his flustered friend.

“Hey, babe. Miss me?”

Kris put on his sunglasses and didn’t look at Adam, muttered, “Ass,” and pressed down on the accelerator too fast, jerking the car into motion.

Adam bit back a surprised curse and fastened his seatbelt.

“That was a shitty thing to do,” Kris said as they eased through pedestrian-filled intersections, heading for the PCH on-ramp.

“What was?” Adam asked innocently.

“You deliberately embarrassed me. I have to learn how to drive a motorcycle by Wednesday and now I can’t even look that dude in the face.”

“He liked your backside well enough,” Adam needled, “so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

Kris glowered. “You’re hilarious. I’m so glad I asked to spend this time with you.”

“Come on, Kris. I was looking out for you. How am I supposed to explain to Katy that I let some asshole dry hump her husband where anybody with a phone could snap a picture?”

Kris went silent, his jaw clenched. And Adam was maybe pushing too hard, but he was still pissed at Kris for his latest display of cluelessness, so he let him sulk. Adam nudged his shades up his nose and pulled down the sun visor, swung it to the right to block the sunset as they headed south.

He didn’t realize he’d drifted off until Kris hit the brakes kind of hard and Adam opened his eyes to a mass of brake lights in front of them, bumper to bumper.

“Shit.” Kris switched on his turn signal and eased off onto the shoulder, crawled forward a quarter mile to the turn off for Malibu Road.

Adam shook his head a little to wake up, lowered his window and straightened up in his seat. “So tell me about the shoot,” he mumbled. “What’s the treatment?”

Kris glanced over at him and then back to the road. “We’re doing a James Dean thing. You know, when his actress-girlfriend up and married another guy out of nowhere, and he watched the wedding from his motorcycle across the street. Beach wedding, me driving around on a motorcycle, romance, longing, etc.” He shrugged his shoulders, a move Adam would bet was accompanied by an eye roll. “The label’s angling to make it the next big wedding song.”

Adam blinked and cleared his throat, a lot more awake. “Um.”

“I know, totally corny. But the director’s supposed to be awesome. It’ll turn out good. If I can drive the motorcycle.”

“You know that story’s bullshit, right?”

Kris looked at him again, his lips turning down.

“James Dean denied that was him at the wedding. James Dean’s boyfriend denied it was him.”

“Adam-” Kris started.

“No, I mean, come on. Everybody knows he was banging his old college roommate the whole time he was in Hollywood. All those stories about him dating actresses were drummed up by the studio to protect his box office value.”

“That’s not what this video’s about,” Kris gritted out.

“James Dean was gay,” Adam pressed meanly. “It’s kinda hard to get away from that. No wonder that guy thought he could get a free ride off you.”

The rumors about James Dean were mostly true. Or at least probably true. But that was good enough material for Adam, who was still having a majorly hard time forgetting about the jackass working himself all over his friend. If Adam wasn’t even allowed to touch Kris, he’d be damned if some stranger was gonna lay a finger on him.

Kris didn’t even signal this time, just turned the wheel sharply and threw the car in park on the side of the two-lane residential strip. Through the open window Adam could hear the ocean waves just the other side of the mansions lining the street.

“Why are you such a bitch today?” Kris demanded.

“I’m not-”

“Seriously! What is your problem?”

Adam couldn’t very well tell him the truth, so he shrugged and tried to look innocent behind his glasses. “I’m totally cool, what?”

Kris leaned toward him as far as his seatbelt allowed and said clearly, “You’re jealous.”

Adam’s mouth dropped for an incriminating second before he managed to rush out a sleazy “Damn right I’m jealous. If you didn’t want a piece of that guy you should’ve at least gotten me his number.” Because they didn’t talk about this; about Adam’s frustratingly abiding crush on his friend. Unless they were doing an interview, in which case everybody assumed they were joking, including Kris. So one-on-one like this? Never. Ever.

Kris’s jaw jutted sideways and Adam just knew Kris wasn’t buying it.

“Let’s see,” Kris glared. “Where should I start? I should tell you that you don’t have the right to be jealous. I should tell you that I hate it when you lie to my face. I should tell you that I’m not as dumb as you seem to think I am.”

Adam’s head throbbed with guilt and the urge to flee the car and the conversation. He breathed in deep, opened his mouth for the mammoth apology he owed him.

I should tell you…” Kris continued firmly, cutting Adam off before he could start, “that I already knew all that shit about James Dean. And that I invited you to the set today for a reason. And that if you hadn’t been such a bitch and ruined the lesson, you would’ve been riding behind me on that bike right now, but you had to go and get me worked up until I was too hard to concentrate. I should start with any of those things. But if you’re just gonna sit there and lie and act all innocent, I’m not even gonna bother.”

Adam gaped.

Kris put the car in drive, turned on the radio, and roared the engine as he accelerated above the speed limit.

Adam reached for the grab handle above his head and ordered, over the music, the wind, the engine, “Kristopher Neil Allen, you stop this fucking car right the fuck now!”

“What? I can’t hear you,” Kris shouted, not looking at him.

Adam switched off the loud hip hop station and repeated, “Kris!” in his most threatening tone.

Kris scowled and straight-armed the steering wheel, but he pulled over again.

Adam twisted in his seat to stare at Kris’s profile, rubbed at his face and said, “So what you’re saying is…” he trailed off, unable to say it, to even let himself think it.

Kris’s eyebrows crashed together above his sunglasses. “This is all on you, man. I’ve done my part.”

Adam floundered for a painfully long, painfully silent minute and all he could come up with was “But. Katy….”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Kris huffed impatiently, threw his sunglasses on the dash and grabbed Adam’s black-on-black layered shirts, dragged him in for a hard kiss.

He didn’t manage to react before it was already over, before Kris had pushed him away and turned back to the steering wheel in the orange glow of sunset.

Adam lunged belatedly, grabbed Kris’s wrist as he reached for the sunglasses. “What the actual fuck,” he demanded.

Kris shook his hand off, got the shades on. “Will you just use your fucking brain already?”

But Adam’s brain had gotten lost somewhere over Hawaii; he really should’ve gotten a nap before walking into…whatever this was. “You kissed me,” he said.

Kris nodded, eyes inscrutable behind the dark lenses.

“And you invited me to the set.”

Another nod.

“And you knew about James Dean…”

“I think we’re finally getting somewhere,” Kris said, corner of his mouth twitching.

“And you…you’re playing me right now!” Adam realized too late.

Kris finally grinned, big and bright. “Now you’re up to speed.”

“Wait. You’re not actually pissed at me?”

“I should be, the way you ruined my big plan, but you’re so obvious when you’re jealous.”

He totally was not; he was completely subtle in his pining. And anyway, that didn’t explain the part where “You kissed me!” And if Kris’d meant that as a joke, Adam was gonna have to accidentally post Kris’s private number on Twitter again.

Kris paused with a tart reply visible on his tongue, and then he frowned. “You didn’t kiss me back. So…”

“I’m not allowed to,” Adam protested, although why he was defending that point at the risk of betraying how desperately he wanted to, he didn’t even know.

“Says who?”

“Says everybody!”

“Since when do you care what everybody thinks?” Kris challenged.

“I…” Adam said, strangled and tongue tied.

“Adam,” Kris sighed. “Just kiss me already. Or if not…. I’m sorry. I apologize.”

And Kris apologizing for what Adam wanted was unacceptable. Adam unbuckled his seatbelt with his right hand, pulled Kris in with his left in one fluid motion, his smooth finally getting in late from the other side of the Pacific. He kissed Kris with his mouth already open, tongue-first, and Kris didn’t even hesitate, opened for him, moaned and grabbed his shoulders, tipped his head and sucked on Adam’s tongue. It was a hell of a first—no, second—kiss and Adam lost track of time, biting and sucking on Kris’s full bottom lip until it was swollen and red, Kris’s glasses askew and his styled-hair a wreck, Kris gasping and scrabbling at his own seatbelt.

And then Adam pulled back slowly, a last lick across Kris’s lips for one more taste, and let go.

Kris pulled off his sunglasses and stalked him with his eyes, pupils blown black with heat. Adam ached to devour him then and there but that would be…

“Indecent.”

“What?” Kris blinked.

“Um. I mean. Holy crap.”

Kris grinned and bit his swollen lip, white teeth gleaming in the last of the sunlight. “So about why I wanted to see you tonight…”

Adam shook his head and removed his own sunglasses, folded them carefully and set them on the dash, and pressed his palms against his eyes. “If I wake up and I’m still on that plane, I’m gonna be so pissed.”

“Baby,” Kris purred, voice low and husky, “If you’re dreaming, prepare to have all your dreams come true.”

Adam snorted and rolled his eyes. “So now you think you’re fucking James Dean.”

Kris smiled slyly. “Play your cards right and you’ll be fucking James Dean.”

Adam choked, “Dude, I don’t even... We seriously have to have, like, an epic conversation about all this, Kristopher.” Innocent, oblivious Kris, who never squirmed away in embarrassment when guys flirted with him. Jesus fucking Christ, how clueless had Adam been? “This whole video shoot was your idea?”

“I had to get your attention somehow, and I figured you’d go for the motorcycle and leather. I didn’t think it’d be as easy as this, though. Jealous much?” Kris snickered. And he was fucking gloating, stealing a hand past the gear shift to squeeze Adam’s thigh.

“You’re. I don’t.” Adam gave up. He was totally still on the plane. Someone had switched his valium with acid and this was the best trip ever. “Alright. What’s the rest of your plan?”

Kris slid his palm a little higher and revved the engine.
Tags: american idol / glam rock rpf, fiction
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