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 4

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Adam stills. "Uh, you don't--" One hand flails out, trying to shut the cover and succeeds in sending it to the floor. Twisting around, Kris finds himself hanging half over the bed to try to get it while Adam says things like "It's not important!" and "Look, bears!" which, what the fuck, *bears?** before Kris can finally focus on the screen and figure out what the hell is going on.

Then, "Oh."

"You really can't believe everything you read," Adam is saying, hauling him upright by sheer will. "It's all lies. Exaggerations and--" Keeping an arm around Kris, Adam reaches down with his stupid height and longer arms, scooping up the netbook and depositing it on the bed. "--and stupid people with too much time on their hands--"

"I have a *publicist**?" Turning enough to look at Adam, Kris adds belatedly, "That is assuring everyone that my divorce was amicable."

"Lies and more lies," Adam says firmly. "Except the part where you have a publicist. Well, a former one, since--if this was true, which it's not--she's in Aruba with Katy and a lot of daiquiris. And there's a new one? Okay, what the fuck were you doing here while I was downstairs anyway?"

Kris stares at the wall behind Adam's head. "I was--looking up you."

Adam pauses. "I'm sure that's weird in some places that aren't here, but--"

"I got scared." Oh great, he just-- "You have a boyfriend named Drake and an ex named Brad and you should have won apparently. And there's this picture of you green that's--"

"--but here, that's normal, since that's pretty much what I did, too. With you." Sinking back into the pillows, Adam shuts his eyes, but the grip on Kris doesn't ease. "So. We're really bad at having amnesia."

Well, yeah. It's not something you can prepare for; even if you could, you'd *forget the preparation**. Kris stares at the netbook for a second. "Maybe I have catastrophic retrograde amnesia resulting from the shock of my wife leaving me for my publicist," he says speculatively. At Adams' eyebrow, he adds, "Wikipedia. You should check it out. Pretty much everything is in there. I bookmarked it."

"And I have it in sympathy for your terrible pain?" Adam asks skeptically. "Like, what, hysterical pregnancy? Except that--no, okay, I'm really uncomfortable with the turn of this conversation now. How did I even know about that? I can't even remember my *phone number**."

Kris is getting there too. "I'm sorry, did you have a better idea?"

"No," Adam admits, loosening his grip in favor of taking a death grip on the back of Kris' jeans. "Okay, so--rehearsal was canceled due to--" He looks at Kris cautious, "--the total lie. There's a lot of people scrambling around trying to rearrange our schedule and from what I can tell, we have a couple of days before our next performance, so--"

"Performance?" Kris says, voice cracking, flashing on the tabs about this *American Idol** thing that had, somehow, seemed really *theoretical**. And wasn't it over? "What do you mean--*performance**?"

Adam winces. "Apparently, we're on tour?"

Oh God.

Re: Amnesia 4

[blacksquirrel.livejournal.com]

And then you did this and my night got even better.

Re: Amnesia 4

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Awww, thank you! I didn't think anyone would see this one but akavertigo! It's actually done--a few versions of it are done, for that matter--but it's my idfic? So I never posted it.

Re: Amnesia 4

[wikken.livejournal.com]

Please post the rest of it:)

Re: Amnesia 4

[seperis.livejournal.com]

I actually opened it again tonight to try editing it out of idficness and into readableness. Because you know, writing is one thing, but even reading it it's a little too--something. I'm going to try this week to redo the ending and post it.

Re: Amnesia 4

[blacksquirrel.livejournal.com]

Yay! I'll look forward to that :)

Re: Amnesia 4

[perriotoi.livejournal.com]

Wait, there's more? (I'd totally read it!) :D This might be the one good thing that's happened today.

Re: Amnesia 4

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Minus scenes I cut, it's about 20K? With the cut scenes, 24K. But I repeat wildly, this one is soooo idfic for me. I took it out to re-read and see if I can get it more--other-people friendly. *g*

Re: Amnesia 4

[wikken.livejournal.com]

I loved what I read (other-people friendly) :) Can't wait!

Re: Amnesia 4

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

Minus scenes I cut, it's about 20K? With the cut scenes, 24K.

*drools*

Re: Amnesia 4

[horrorparties.livejournal.com]

24K? Oh my god. I approve of your idfic. I am making grabby hands at it.

Re: Amnesia 4

[perriotoi.livejournal.com]

But, but, how do you know if no one else has read it? It looks fine (and so, so intriguing) so far!

::innocent puppy eyes::

Re: Amnesia 4

[elizaria.livejournal.com]

Yes pls, can we have some more?! <3

I love amnesia fics, it's like blank canvas slapped into an old life and suddenly all possibilities for new choices. Of course the regular chaos that trails along with it also.

\0/ \0/ \0/

Re: Amnesia 4

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

BEING PART OF THE PROBLEM IS NOT THE SOLUTION, MA'AM!

NOT. AT. ALL.

I WILL NOT SURRENDER, I WILL NOT LAY DOWN AND DIE, OH NO, NOT I. I WILL SURVIVE. FOR AS LONG AS I KNOW HOW TO STALL I KNOW I'LL STAY--oh, f*ck it, who are we kidding here. Name your terms.

Re: Amnesia 4

[seperis.livejournal.com]

*smug* War is hell.

Re: Amnesia 4

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

I've got Cthulhu!Adam bits and I'm not afraid to abuse them!

Wait. That--that didn't come out right.

Re: Amnesia 4

[seperis.livejournal.com]

*eyes glaze over*

I'll see your morning freak out and raise you a disgruntled immortal!

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

In all honesty, Adam really should have known better.

Firstly, it's not as if a kid like Kris has a snowball's chance without getting the hell trained out of him, not with that honey-sweet latent power stuck on him like a tan--or steak sauce. Second, it's not as if Adam didn't stick him with the Paladins for (mostly) that very exact purpose. Train him, raise him, keep him from being swallowed alive until--until Adam decided otherwise. There was a deal made and Adam counted on the finicky zealots to keep the course.

He just didn't count on sweet, shiny Kris growing up to a contrary little fucker.

That all Paladins are fighters does not mean, per se, that every Paladin pursues active combat. Some study, some heal, some spend safe, pleasant lifetimes cocooned behind sanctuary doors. Adam might not celebrate the glamor of Kris growing a stoop and adopting 7th century runes as his private kink, but at least the kid would be in one piece doing it. It'd make for a good life.

Kris does not agree.

Kris, with his wicked doe-eyes and his rebellious hair and his quarter-moon smile, Kris takes to conflict like a tuna to open water. Adam overlooks the early commemorations on combat and warding. He's ridiculously tolerant of Kris' unflagging ranking in the dueling range. He even manages, more or less, to accept the occasional supervised field assignments. But when Kris is sanctioned for his ordained vigil into the Order, Adam puts his foot down.

—which totally sends the ritual chalice tumbling and splatters honeyed wine on his suede, damn it, because Paladin rites are absurd. He makes a point of saying so. Loudly.

Kris doesn't give a sign of noticing. He stays kneeling on the needlessly arctic floor, palms flat on his thighs, head bowed. His breathing is even as a dreamer's. Adam stops cursing.

He tries, “This is a fantastically stupid idea.”

He tries, “A great power meeting great responsibility does not automatically translate into a career of attempted suicide."

He tries, “If you die, I'll laugh. A lot.”

He tries, “If you die, I'll raze this whole order to the ground.”

Kris kneels and breaths, and does nothing.

Finally, Adam stomps near enough to kiss the idiot's fool neck (but doesn't), licks his pinky and wiggles it inside Kris' ear.

There's another slow, wasted moment of placid breathing before Kris' eyes open. “What, seriously?”

“Chinese water torture at a discount rate,” Adam says. He clasps his hands at his front and looks down. At Kris, always at Kris. “You shouldn't do this.”

“It's tradition,” Kris smiles. Actually smiles, the tiny lunatic. “Fasting, meditating...”

“Being on your knees for half the night isn't tradition, Kris; it's a date or a paid appointment. Or a hazing tradition. Also, not what I meant.”

“I know,” Kris says. “But I was hoping the idea of fraternities would distract you. Come on, want to make up spanking rumors for the acolytes to overhear?”

Watching the calm, small figure Kris makes--the steadiness of his gaze, the patience of his hands, the damn damn smile--makes Adam wonder when exactly he let himself get as distracted as he did.

Re: I'll see your morning freak out and raise you a disgruntled immortal!

[seperis.livejournal.com]

*makes inaudible noise* How is Kris so cute?

Finally, Adam stomps near enough to kiss the idiot's fool neck (but doesn't), licks his pinky and wiggles it inside Kris' ear.

Amazing Cosmic Powers == reduced to wet willy. That's so--IDEK.

Re: I'll see your morning freak out and raise you a disgruntled immortal!

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

The cuteness is rather less prominent in an earlier scene.

...where Adam kind'a beats the sh*t out of him.

(Also: in many ways, Adam is the ancient primordial power ever.)

Re: I'll see your morning freak out and raise you a disgruntled immortal!

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Now that's teasing.

Re: I'll see your morning freak out and raise you a disgruntled immortal!

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

Someone wicked and wise told me: war is hell'ish.

i've just accessed my wip folder in googledocs

[seperis.livejournal.com]

It's six hours between his dressing room and the hospital door, broken between two cars and a flight that he can't remember.

Katy's curled up in a chair by the bed, watching out the window, head turning honey-slow when he walks in. "He's sleeping."

Swallowing, Adam takes a careful breath, rewinding through the dozen voices that had told him he didn't need to worry to find the one who had known he would. He hadn't heard anything after *car accident**, because he'd read it all in a thousand tweets cut with the liveblog of his performance tonight; he'd just stepped onto the stage when Kris' publicist had told the world the hospital he was in.

"He's been in and out," Katy says, closing the unread magazine in her lap as she gets to her feet, shaking out folds of wrinkled scarlet silk around her feet. "I'll get some coffee."

She slides out behind him and closes the door with a flip of her wrist; privacy has never felt so much like an accusation. The click, though, does what their quiet voices didn't; Kris' eyes flicker open, pupils blown wide behind a narcotic glaze, blinking toward the door in confusion before he shuts his eyes again, wincing against the dim light. "Hey. You're not here."

Adam bites his lip. "It's all a drug-fueled dream." He thinks he can walk again now, crossing the room to ease down on the edge of the bed. Kris blinks up at him slowly from black-ringed eyes. "You know what comes next," he hums, fighting the urge to touch when he can't remember where it will hurt. "Rehab."

"No Winehouse in the hospital," Kris murmurs, rubbing his eyes with one hand, wincing at the pull of the IV. Adam wraps his fingers around the thin wrist, tape scraping against his palm as he eases it back before Kris can pull the needle free, then laces their fingers together. "Not ironic enough."

"So I hear your driver forgot how to drive?" Adam asks carefully, stroking his thumb over Kris' knuckles.

"LA doesn't know how to drive. Good company." Kris sighs, squinting slightly as he looks at Adam. "You're seriously not here."

"You're seriously stoned," Adam answers, pulling the IV closer when Kris shifts to his back, blinking in vague surprise at the sight of his own bandaged hand when it falls on his stomach. "Check it out; I'm off the hook for guitar lessons for a month."

Kris grins, starting to push his hair from his eyes when he discovers the cast all over again. "Ow."

"Let's not make it worse." Adam brushes his hair back, hoping Kris can't feel how his hand shakes as he trails his fingers down Kris' face. Two black eyes; he can imagine the jokes already, and that's just the ones from their friends. "You look like shit."

"You look amazing." Kris' eyes flicker shut, fighting morphine all the way down. "I really--just…a minute. Okay?"

He's out before Adam can wonder why he'd ever need to ask.

After this: hookers.

[akavertigo.livejournal.com]

"Listen," Adam says, laying a ringed hand on Kris' shoulder and Kris moves.

Energy knifes down his arm, heart to shoulder to hand, a scalding rush crystallizing at his fingertips. At fifteen Kris is untried and raw, but good. Good enough to rank top of his class, good enough to practice with full puissant knights and, sometimes, good enough to win.

Adam is tall, but Kris is close; the two-fingered jujitsu strike clips skin before Adam jerks back, throwing Kris aside like a rag. It's a weak toss, though, and Kris rolls to his feet with textbook ease ready for retaliation.

It doesn't come.

Adam is motionless, one hand over his face. Even with a gallon of adrenaline churning his system, Kris can't help freezing. In all the years he's known him, been with him, Kris has never touched Adam with force much less violence. And Adam--there's a decade of Adam's palm on his head, Adam's thumb near his wrist, Adam tapping his shoulder, Adam patting his back, Adam tugging his ear, Adam holding his hand. For a moment that decade drowns the room.

"Adam, I--"

The hand moves to show the smile underneath: small and sharp, as mocking as the perfect, unblemished cheek.

"Really, Kris," Adam says. "Who do you think you're dealing with?"


(AN:* The term "puissant" comes from M. French and means "powerful". A friendly source claims it sometimes popped up in descriptions of chivalry and rank. Personally I'm stealing it from the Faerie Queene.)

-+-+-

this is totally war

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Kris is mostly boneless after Adam sucks him off, slow and luxurious, taking his time with it. Kris' tells are visible from space, which is rare enough that Adam slows it down even more just to watch him. You don't get to adulthood without sexual hang-ups of some kind--the definition of adulthood could be considered the process of getting rid of hangups, sexual and otherwise--but he hadn't found anything Kris doesn't like or doesn't want. It's ridiculously hot, the kind of thing even porn couldn't pull off and yet it's here in his bed.

He learns: Kris likes to touch, all the time, skin to skin, and Adam can make him beg with two inches of heated space between them; he likes to kiss, open mouthed and messy and wet and lasting forever; he has zero inhibitions when it comes to where he likes to be touched or how, but just because it's new doesn't mean he's not going to do it; he's surprisingly vocal and isn't shy about it, like, at all; and he loves to be held down, pliable when he's pinned against the mattress and positioned and held.

It's not that Adam doesn't know what to do with this kind of checklist; this is what fantasies or lifetime obsessions are made of. But in general, it's something you either introduce gradually into a relationship or something that's cleared in its entirety in negotiation before a bed even makes an appearance.

Pushing over a pillow, Adam watches Kris' eyes flutter open, breath evening out as his fingers flex against Adam's hip. He threads his fingers through Kris' hair, waiting for him to surface, wondering if he can convince him to sleep a little while and ease some of the desperate exhaustion away. Adam strokes soothingly down the length of his back, skin smooth and warm, so relaxed he looks drugged, glazed eyes and sweetly pliant.

Shutting his eyes again, Kris licks his lips before opening them fully; Adam's not sure what to make of that look, but it's not regret and Kris isn't even trying to pull away. "Hey," Kris whispers, husky and thick and not tracking yet, not really. "Adam."

"Shh," Adam breathes against his ear, feeling Kris shiver. "Tired?"

"Always."

Where Kris is concerned, he apparently has a limitless of reservoir of anger. Pressing a kiss against Kris' forehead, he thinks about calm lakes and forests and pretends visualization exercises actually work. "Why don't you get some sleep, baby," he murmurs, cupping Kris' face, the faint trace of stubble rough against his hand.

"Mm." Kris turns into it, lips pressed to his palm, the answer slurred against his skin. "Have to--this afternoon--"

Adam runs his tongue along the shell of Kris' ear. "Cancel it." Hazy-eyed, Kris blinks up at him. "Where's your phone?"

"M'jeans."

In the kitchen, yeah, too far. Reaching backward, Adam fumbles his off his bedside table, thumbing it on. "Your PA?"

Kris nods slowly. Dialing the number from memory, Adam waits to hear it ring, then gives it to Kris, who looks at it blankly before slowly pressing it against his ear. "Hey," he says huskily after a few seconds. "Kris. I--uh, borrowed Adam's phone." He hesitates. "Yeah, sorry, it's charging."

Faintly, Adam can hear her voice, low and soft, and Kris, barely awake, leans into Adam's hand when he strokes his hair again, slow and careful, working through the tangles until it smoothes out beneath his fingers. "Yeah," he says breathily. "I know." He looks at Adam. "It's--I--"

"Not feeling well," Adam whispers, holding Kris' eyes. "Tell her."

"I'm not feeling that great," Kris says, not looking away. "This weekend?" Adam shakes his head. "I think--clear everything? Yeah, I will. Fluids. Bye." Letting Adam take the phone, Kris reaches for Adam again, fingers skidding uncertainly down his side before settling tentatively. "Adam--"

"Get some sleep," Adam murmurs, pleased, cupping the back of Kris' head and drawing him closer until he can feel Kris' breath against his skin. "I'll be here when you wake up."