So I was practicing writing on command last night in prep for help_haiti fic, but no one would command me because my friends all suck--and you know who you are--so instead, I tried homage to loosen up the 'write on command' muscles by pretending someone told me to homage someone. I'm not actually good at this.
In tribute to rageprufrock's Bang (it was funny that I was less than three paragraphs in and Madelyn: OMG IS THIS LIKE BANG? Me: *GLEE* Madelyn: No one would recognize it but me. Me: DEFLATES.) But she's right. It's not as good. But it was fun and looking at my thread, I seriously need my A game in the next few weeks. Possibly my A, B, and C games, come to think. Which will potentially mean I will be drabbling randomly for exercise purposes. I promise only to post the ones that don't make me ashamed. The vampire one is making me ashamed.
Warnings: implications of non-existent abuse in humor. Basically, if anyone has taken a kid to the ER in the last ten years, you have probably experienced this as well and marveled at your life to date. And whoo, that was a fun night.
Adam thinks a lot of the more inexplicable changes in his life can be explained when you start with the fact Kris began his sexual life straight and never really got over some of the habits from it. Well, as applied to this exact situation, no, but the underpinnings are there. They come in a set of three default assumptions Kris makes about life, love, and unfortunately for all of them, media attention.
Because Kris does not get, on a very vital and deeply hilarious level, that dating a guy after several years of marriage and a fairly amicable divorce was going to be interesting to people who are the equivalent of professional stalkers with long-range lenses and backed by a major entertainment website. It's endearing and exasperating and kind of alien all three, Kris' eternal, genuine surprise when he's stalked by a variety of paparazzi who ask disturbingly intimate questions at very high volume. It's not that at this point in his life Adam's particularly ashamed of his sex life or anything in relation to it; it's more that occasionally, Kris will accidentally answer and that's a set of headlines to make coffee superfluous come morning.
It's cute to see Kris blush, though, so honestly, Adam has to admit he doesn't have a lot of complaints on that score.
But then there's this; the ER at one in the morning with a blank faced doctor asking a series of escalatingly pointed questions while examining Kris' black eye and sprained wrist, which Kris meets with more and more bewildered answers ("There's a loose step to the basement and I fell. Didn't I just say that?") while Adam imagines the headlines tomorrow will speculate IS THE AMERICAN IDOL THE VICTIM OF ABUSE? and IDOL SCANDAL: LAMBERT'S ANGER MANAGEMENT ISSUES REVEALED. Cue interviews with ex-PAs and it's like Christmas came early to the paparazzi.
"Are you sure you don't want Mr. Lambert to leave?" the doctor asks quietly (hopefully), and Adam gives up and sits down, controlling the urge to put his head between his knees and just scream or something. It's just been that kind of night.
A woman--and for that matter, probably anyone who isn't Kris at this point--would have figured out the point of these questions about an hour ago. This is one of the hidden dangers they don't warn you about when you start dating your ex-straight best friend; they need a translator sometimes, and usually at times you cannot possibly provide it yourself or the nice doctor will start making notations in that file that you seriously cannot deal with while sober. Resigned, Adam takes out his phone and texts his publicist beat boyfriend. at hospital. plz advise. before turning it off. It's weirdly cheering to think of her crying over her keyboard right now.
"Well," the doctor says, looking at Kris sympathetically, "let me get your prescriptions." Giving Adam a dark look--a "I am watching your ass with this fragile flower" look, both unmistakable and irritatingly common in relation to Kris--he leaves, and because this is fucking LA, of course he gets a doctor who wants into his boyfriend's pants. Wasn't like he didn't see that coming.
Kris watches after the doctor for a second, puzzled, before turning to Adam. "Do I have a head injury I didn't know about?" he asks, still pale from the surprisingly quick trip between the house and the ER because as it turns out, stop lights become more like suggestions when you just don't care about traffic laws anymore.
"Nope." Adam straightens, thinking about how to handle this and deciding not to bother. Getting up, he crosses to the bed, picking up Kris' bandaged wrist. The painkillers at least are finally hitting when it counts; Kris' pupils are blown wide, and he's swaying forward, head resting against Adam's chest with a little sigh. "Feeling better?"
Kris nods a little, breath warm through his shirt. "Mmm." His good arm slides around Adam's waist, pulling him to the edge of the bed and between cotton covered thighs, which really, Adam's favorite place to be, no complaints. "Sorry," he murmurs thickly. "Need to fix that step."
"Not your fault. I'll call tomorrow and get someone." More specifically, he'll call his PA and let her handle it by the end of the day or God help anyone who works for him in any capacity. Sliding his free arm around Kris' shoulders, Adam kisses the top of his head and feels Kris go boneless with a contented sigh as the Vicodin hits nice and hard. Over Kris' head, Adam watches the doctor come back in, step checking briefly as he looks at them in disapproval and seething jealousy. Adam wishes he weren't the kind of person who felt much more cheerful seeing that, but whatever, he is.
Adam smiles brightly and puts down Kris' wrist to hold out his hand. "Scripts?"
My thread on help_haiti is here. I actually forgot to add Star Trek Reboot (in my defense, I was posting my entry fast before I chickened out) so in case anyone is curious, I'd take that as a request I can write as well.
- airpsfic: one am