rec: starstruck (wip)

For the record, if the Taming of the Shrewesque fic isn't updated soon, something tragic is going to happen. I have no idea how the people who have been reading this since like, May aren't burning cities or threatening hunger strikes or something. Has no one attempted blackmail or bribery? What are you waiting for?

Wait, there may be people who aren't reading this yet. Oh, you.

Direct links to all four threads in the aianonlovefest:

Starstruck - thread one, thread two, thread three and thread four, AIRPS, Adam/Kris. Yes, you have to follow it through comments. Yes, that would in a sane world be annoying. This is not a sane world. This is an awesome world that trust me, you really won't care until you realize there is no more. Then you know, tragedy.

In which aivilo_18 hates me and sent me a link so I, too, could connect with feeling like a heroin addict in withdrawal in a really big way (I sent it to svmadelyn, so this is actually turning into a The Ring-like situation, except a.) giving it to other people doesn't help and b.) no one crawls out of any electronic devices, which is good, because now I'm creeping myself out, let's ignore this segue now, please). I love this story stupidly and I think have memorized key passages and have a Pavlovian response to the parts that involve food (ie I snack) and possibly an interest in wine? I don't--like wine. And yet.

Oh, and I posted In the Land of the Delta, AIRPS, Adam/Kris yesterday to LJ. Forgot about that.

Comments

Amnesia 3

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Adam is gone for about two hours, which gives Kris just enough time to learn google is not the best way to establish one's identity and start to panic. He's still staring at the minibar speculatively when the door opens and Adam comes back in with a fixed expression and taking the time to lock, deadbolt, and chain the door before grabbing Kris by the collar of his t-shirt and dragging him to the window.

"What the--" Kris tries to struggle--he has to be short why?--then he's trapped between Adam and the windowsill and Adam pokes up a blind warily. "Adam--"

"Look."

It's only a second, but it's enough. So google was right after all. "Oh my God," Kris breathes, jerking back against Adam's chest. "How many--"

"I don't know," Adam says, sounding a little nervous, "but I can tell you *they** know who we are. They have signs," he adds, so not helpfully. "And someone named Simon will kill us if we're late for rehearsal and someone named Katy left a message," Adam digs into the pocket of his jacket and holds up a folded piece of paper, "which is," and the asshole opens it, "'Honey, we need to talk, all right? Please call me'."

Kris stares at the paper for a second. "I think," he hazards from memories of Entertainment Weekly blurring together in his head, "that's my wife?"

Adam rolls his eyes and drops the paper, retreating to pick up the netbook, knocking the neatly organized piles of their known identities into a mess again when he settles himself against the headboard, combat boots crumpling what doesn't fall off the bed. "God, I just got that organized--"

"Anal retentive, check," Adam mutters, "whiny, check…" Adam looks at him with a little smile that Kris belatedly registers as *mean** before he says, "Just getting a personality assessment of you. I was told we're friends, so I'm trying to see the attraction."

Kris woke up this morning half-dressed and smelling of truly horrible things in bed with this guy and no memory how he got there; it had only slowly dawned he had no memory at all. Scrabbling through a blank canvas that was where a world was supposed to be, only two things made any kind of sense; one, he existed, even though his own mind seemed to doubt the fact, and two, when Adam woke up with a similarly shocked expression, he wasn't alone.

He can't move for a few seconds, even think; two things, and it might as well have been only one. It might have been *better** if it was only one, and it was a horrible thought, because honestly, he's not sure of the first thing nearly as much as he should be. Looking around the room, Kris tries to think through it; Adam was right, he didn't want to go down to breakfast, go out the door, go anywhere. His entire remembered life is four walls and two beds and this guy and--

"Kris, fuck," and suddenly, Adam slides his arms around him, nearly pulling him off his feet, voice muffled and weirdly tight, "get this, personality assessment, I'm a complete *asshole**, okay? Kris, Kris, don't--don't *look like that**, don't--"

"I'm scared to leave the room," Kris says blankly.

Adam laughs against his shoulder, sounding watery--pulling back, Kris tilts up his face, surprised by red-rimmed eyes and feels like crying himself. "You're not missing much," he manages, letting Kris down long enough to pull him to the bed and onto his lap, pushing aside the netbook. "You know, I get the feeling I don't like not being in a control of a situation," Adam says against his shoulder, and Kris has to laugh, because yeah, he'd gotten that impression as well. "I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Tentatively, Kris covers the arms around his waist with his own. "I can be anal," he says, thinking of reorganizing the pictures first by chronological order, then by type, then both, feeling Adam shake a little behind him. "Whiny, though, is crossing a line." Glancing at the netbook, he thinks he sees his name. "Hey, is that me--"