VEGAS, THE UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING

Adam sighed. It said something about his life that the weirdest part of him marrying his straight bass player on an impromptu trip to Vegas was that he wasn’t even drunk at the time – neither of them were.

Well, not really drunk, not “waking up in Vegas” drunk. Everybody was a little drunk because it started out – as these things often do – as a party. Adam kind of wished they really had gotten drunk-married because at least then he would have gotten laid, which might have taken some of the sting out of this post-nuptial shitstorm. Because, seriously, isn’t that the point of accidental marriage in Vegas? Hot wedding chapel sex followed by hot honeymoon suite sex?

He hadn’t shared this thought with Tommy though, because Tommy was pissed – mostly because everyone thought Adam really did fuck him this time. Adam’s a little offended that Tommy’s so upset, but he knows that even bendy straight boys who like to play are still straight when the sun comes out and the booze dries up.

Now Adam was left trying to explain how this all happened to Lane, Roger, and his mother – the troika that pretty much ran his life – and it was odd how he could just say tequila shooters and they would all get it, but he can’t because it didn't happen that way. He tries several times to stress that it wasn’t his fault; because he thinks that - given some past incidents - he deserves some credit here, but no such luck.

Fine.  He explains to his accusers that someone – not him – suggested that a good way to end the tour would be one last party in Vegas, just the band and a few close friends.  Well, everyone except Monte - he flew straight home to see his kids.

“Monte doesn’t seem to realize that his infant children are in less need of adult supervision than the infants in his band,” Roger muttered.

“May I continue?”

Roger waved a weary hand.

“So, around 3 a.m., someone (Alisan – but Adam has nobly decided not to name names since he’s clearly going down for this anyway) suggested we needed a wedding because, well, it is Vegas, right?  And everyone thought it was a great idea because they were all pretty wasted by then.”  Three pairs of skeptical eyes narrowed.  He sighed again.

“I had early radio interviews the next day and I was already running on no sleep. So I stopped drinking after midnight. Really.”  Everyone nodded at that - they were aware that a couple of recent incidents (one involving a bathroom stall, a camera phone, a gorgeous DJ and a traumatized intern) had left Adam particularly wary about doing press under the influence.

“And Tommy wasn’t nearly as drunk as he normally would have been because every time he gets really hammered, the girls dress him up and take pictures.”

Adam enjoyed it as much as the girls but there was no reason to get into that. It wasn’t his fault Tommy was literally doll-like.

His mother’s eyes narrowed again. “You’re usually in those pictures.”

Wow, his own Mom? “Yes, but I’m always wearing my own clothes, thank you, andI’m not exactly Tommy’s keeper.”  He looked down at his left hand. “Or at least I wasn’t two days ago.”

“Adam, the married part – how did that happen.” Lane’s hands were pressed against her eyes.

“Well, it turned out Tommy didn’t need to be as drunk as he thought to let the girls dress him up.”  Adam really wanted to get out his phone and show them how fantastic Tommy looked – one of the girls had donated a white lace corset top and another guest had offered up a small white skating skirt.

“Who?” Lane interrupted suspiciously. Adam spread his hands wide and shrugged. (Yeah, that was definitely not a name that needed to be added to this mix.)

“Anyways, Brad had some white go-go boots and someone else ripped down one of the curtain sheers to make a long veil.”  (LP, in fact, who had then proceeded to make bad Scarlett O’Hara jokes for an hour before passing out on Adam’s bed, curled up in what remained of the curtain.)  Finally, Danielle raided some giant floral arrangements in the lobby and made a white bouquet and a wreath of roses for Tommy to wear over the veil.”

Adam paused, remembering. “He really did look fucking amazing. You should have…”

“Adam?”

“Right.  So, of course, everyone decides that I have to play bridegroom - for obvious reasons - and I had the perfect suit for it – the gray silk with…” Adam caught his mother’s eye and cleared his throat.

“Someone (Cam actually – sweet, quiet Cam had caused all this) called the concierge and asked him to come up and play the minister, because no one else really looked the part.  And he did.”  Adam decided not to note that the ceremony had been slightly blasphemous and thoroughly obscene – Brad had written the vows.  They’d also gotten the concierge/minister drunk while Adam got ready.

“None of us realized that the overnight concierges at this hotel are also licensed ministers for just these occasions or, more specifically, for when guests decide to really get married in the middle of the night.  The manager told me it was his idea - a way to cut into the 24-hr wedding chapel market while expanding guest services. So really if you need someone to blame…”

“Anyway, the concierge – Paul - said he didn’t know it was supposed to be fake because he’d seen much stranger weddings go down and he doesn’t like to judge. I think he’s like Unitarian or something."

"So, that's it, he didn’t realize that we didn’t realize that he was...or wasn’t…”  Adam was slightly confused himself now.  “Well, you get the picture.”

He looked at the doleful faces around him.

“It was just a misunderstanding, a joke. Can’t we just forget it?”

“Adam, your conscientious concierge-slash-minister filed the paperwork; the marriage is a matter of public record.”  Apparently realizing vodka was the only rational response to this situation, Roger was raiding the mini-bar.

“Well, we have lawyers and publicists, can’t we just apologize, get divorced or annulled or something?”  Adam was exasperated – why did they have all these people if they didn’t make problems go away?

Roger was back.  “Adam, our real problem isn’t dissolving this marriage. That’s actually the easiest part. It’s avoiding a PR catastrophe you just can’t afford right now.”  He sighed.  “You know I normally agree with you that the truth is the best way to go, but I don’t think that’s the case this time.

“Openly-gay rock star inadvertently marries drunken, straight, cross-dressing bass player while desecrating the sacrament of marriage and trashing a hotel suite” is a headline you just can’t get away with these days.  It’s going to sound like you were all dancing around a golden calf.  And, sadly, that halcyon era of Rock and Roll has long since passed.”

Adam considered this for a moment. “Do you really think they’d say ‘Rock Star’?

*******

Hours of consultations later, Adam’s keepers decided the best course to follow would be to sell the press a variation of the standard Vegas fairytale.  (After all, the list of celebrities who had gotten married after cocktails in Vegas and then divorced within the next few weeks was fairly respectable.)

So the story would be that romantic Adam plus curious, star-struck Tommy plus the pressures of the road plus excess alcohol, yada yada yada, added up to an impromptu, but genuine marriage.

“WHAT?” Tommy’s silky fall of hair whipped back and forth as he shook his head vigorously.

“No way. No fucking way. Look, the whole ‘Glitterbaby’ thing has worked like a charm in getting chicks.  Adam pulls my hair and you can practically hear the panties hitting the floor.  But marrying him? That’s not decadent, that’s not bi-curious – that’s, that’s…well, that’s just gay.”

Tommy glanced over, “No offense, man.”

Adam lifted his martini glass, “None taken.”  He stared morosely at the huge floral arrangement Monte had sent with a card that read, “Mazel Tov!”  Fucker.  None of this would have happened if he’d been here instead of at home like real people. Real people didn’t belong in bands.

“The whole marriage thing,” Tommy stormed, “does NOT attract the type of woman you want to…” He paused, glancing at Leila’s expression, “you know…um, attract.”

Adam frowned, “Tommy, I don’t think that’s necessarily true. I…”

“Adam, dude, you have no idea.  Trust me when I say that the chicks who hit on you – and I’m talking about the hot ones - are in no way representative of those who hit on the average gay guy.  Especially the gay guy who was the fucking bride!!”

Tommy’s rant didn’t seem likely to ease up anytime soon so Adam smiled apologetically and wandered out to the balcony.  He glanced at his phone; he had so many missed calls and texts that the phone no longer seemed to process them. He didn’t know that could happen.  Adam had avoided the TV and internet coverage, but apparently this was the story of the moment and everyone wanted an interview.

He rubbed his face. He was trying to keep it light for everyone’s sake, but, in reality, he was fucking depressed to be at the center of a fake gay marriage scandal – so much for focusing the press on his music. And it had actually been working there for a while.  He sighed, grateful for the unconditional kindness of room service at least, and emptied his glass.

*******

Two days later Adam held a press conference in L.A. – no questions, please - where he managed to actually avoid lying in a performance that was the ice skating equivalent of a quintuple axel.  He deserved a medal – he really fucking did.  He hadn’t had to work very hard to look slightly embarrassed and had stressed that, while they hadn’t planned to get married at this point, he and Tommy cared deeply about each other and still had a lot to discuss about their future, but that anything else was not really anyone’s business.  He ended by thanking everyone for respecting their privacy, which, of course, no one planned on doing.

Still, he said it with enough charm that no one was too hard on him, though some of the shouted questions about their reported sex life would have given Tommy nightmares. (Tommy had been heavily self-medicating for the last couple of days and since he seemed fine - just very, very relaxed - everyone decided to overlook it.)

The plan was for the band to take their scheduled time off and then, in five or six weeks, Adam and Tommy would hold a joint press conference and both would admit to being carried away by tour-induced infatuation and exhaustion – a kind of romantic Stockholm Syndrome.  (Glumly, Adam thought he would almost certainly be cast as the hostage taker in this scenario.)  The story would run that, with rest and reflection, Adam had realized that, while he cared for and respected Tommy, he was not actually in love with him, while Tommy had realized the same, along with the fact that he was definitely straight, his curiosity was satisfied and he was now on a strictly hetero rebound.

Just thinking about this made Adam want to leave the whole nightmare behind and move to Canada – people were so much calmer there.

*******

Across town, someone was actually taking the news worse than Tommy.  Kris Allen stood watching his ridiculously large television, mouth agape.  Adam MARRIED Tommy?!  The last time Kris checked, Tommy was actually straight and the flirting thing was just fan service.  What the fuck?!

Katy was curled up on the sofa.  “Aren’t they adorable?  I’m so glad Adam found someone.  We need to send them a gift – do you know if they’re registered anywhere?”

Kris caught the malicious edge of Katy’s grin.  He stalked off to his studio where every effort to think about something else just brought him back to Adam and Tommy.  Or just Adam really.

What did he see in Tommy, besides the obvious? What about those tattoos and the Marilyn Manson stuff?  Although, he supposed Tommy didn’t really stand out among Adam’s array of friends.

Not like Kris.  Kris never felt comfortable at Adam’s L.A. parties; he always left early feeling like the Adam he knew only existed in the rare space between them. In fact, introduce either of their outside lives into the "Kradam" equation and their special connection seemed to falter, leaving each of them slightly bewildered by the stranger in front of him.

Still, he and Adam had remained close. They had ended up in the same foxhole on Idol and, because of that, got each other in a way no one else did. He knew more about Adam than he did friends he’d grown up with, his own family members even. He knew the when, where and how of every heartbreak. So he couldn’t believe Adam would have gotten in this deep with Tommy and not told him. What the actual fuck?

Kris tried calling and texting Adam, but it was a couple of days before he heard back.  When Kris saw his phone flashing Adam’s photo (he’d caught Adam laughing like an idiot at something Danny did on tour and secretly snapped the shot), he hesitated and then picked up.

“Adam?”

“Kris, man, I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I just had to get through that fucking press conference and about a million meetings.  Can we get together at my place for drinks?  I am in desperate need of large amounts of vodka and someone to talk to who won’t give me that ‘what the hell were you thinking’ look.  Which, by the way, would not be my assistant, my manager, my publicist, or my mother.”

Kris took a deep breath; how could Adam be so flippant about this?

“Adam, I don’t think I’m one of those people either. I mean, what the hell WERE you thinking?”

“Kris, do you really believe…?” Adam stopped himself.  He was a little hurt that Kris would just buy that crazy story without hearing his side at least; he thought he, at least, knew him better than that.  Still who could really blame him?  Apparently everyone saw Adam as something of a fuck-up.

“Kris, I can explain, but they told me not to say anything over the phone. So, can you come over?”

Kris really wanted to see Adam, but… “Is Tommy there?”

“Of course Tommy’s here, but he’ll probably be upstairs most of the time.”

Tommy had more or less barricaded himself in his room with a stack of DVDs and industrial-sized bottles of alcohol.  Adam went in at night and watched terrible movies with him because Tommy was genuinely miserable.  They ended most evenings with Adam stretched out on Tommy’s bed hiding his eyes from random Japanese horror movies while Tommy curled around him like a sweet, drunken lemur.

Kris knew he needed to rise above whatever the hell he was feeling.  Adam had been there for him before, during and after the divorce, talking Kris through the worst of it, night and day.  They hadn’t seen each other much in recent months because of the tour, but they still talked and texted all the time, about everything. Except apparently about whatever the hell had been going on between Adam and Tommy.

“Kris, c’mon.  I’ll explain everything.  I’ve been promising myself I’d laugh about this one day, maybe we could start early.  And don’t worry about Tommy; he won’t mind.  So, you’re coming, yeah?”

Something about Adam’s light tone and his suggestion that Kris would laugh with him about this seemed to fry some vital part of his brain, because Kris’ determination to be the better man here flew right out the window.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.  Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon right now?  If you have problems, shouldn’t you be bending the elfin ear of your new husband – not your best friend?  You know, the one you told you weren’t fucking your bass player!!”

Adam was stunned.  Suddenly he didn’t care if Kris didn’t know the real story.  So what if he wanted to marry Tommy?  Shouldn’t Kris just be happy for him? Especially given how lonely Adam had been the last couple of years and, well, other things that didn’t bear thinking about.  He knew Kris had his faults, but he never thought of him as petty.

“I cannot believe you are acting like an asshole because you weren’t first on the news alert.  What happened to ‘Adam, you can tell me anything’?  You know, if you would let me explain, I’d…”

Kris cut him off.  “NO. You don’t need to explain your choices to me just like I don’t need to explain my choices to you.  I hope you and ‘Glitterbaby’ will be very happy together!  And, by the way, how cliché is getting married in Vegas?  You’re taking life advice from fucking Katy Perry now!?”  Kris didn’t even know what he was saying anymore; he felt like his head was going to explode.  “Which reminds me, Katy wants to know if you’re registered because she wants to buy you a fucking toaster or something!”

Katy was standing at the door.  “Kris, honey, stop screaming at Adam; only dogs can hear you now anyway.”

Adam was talking again.  “Kris, I can’t understand half of what you’re saying.  Why the hell shouldn’t I marry Tommy anyway?  He’s a sweetheart.  And why does Katy Perry want to buy me a toaster?  She knows I have a toaster.  Hell, she’s eaten pop tarts at my place.  Fuck, Kris, I was hoping for more support and less psychosis…”

Katy worked the phone out of Kris’ clenched hand.  “Hi Adam, it’s Katy. Yeah, exactly, I was the one NOT thinking of buying you a toaster.  My ex-husband is a little confused today.”

Katy listened for a minute and glanced at Kris.  “Look, Adam, I’m just here for the big screen TV.  They haven’t delivered mine yet, but I think you may have to let Kris work through this a little.  You know, how he processes things.  Exactly.  Okay, take care sweetie, love to Tommy.”  She laughed and hung up.

“How do I process things?” Kris said, still rattled.

“Slowly.”  Katy shook a finger at him.  “And, by the way, don’t shout at me; you lost that privilege six alimony payments ago.  And I’m not the one you’re mad at anyway.”

She looked at Kris, a man she’d known almost half her life who apparently still didn’t know himself.

“Kris, did you expect him to wait forever?”

Kris sat down hard. “Yes.”

Katy sat beside him. “Well then, why don’t you go after him?”

Kris stared at her incredulously. “Are you kidding? He just got MARRIED!”

“Admittedly your timing sucks, per usual, but, at the end of a very long day, you didn’t let our marriage stand in your way.  Why should his?”

Kris winced and started to say something.  Katy grabbed his arm.  “We agreed we’re done apologizing.  I’m just sick of watching you do this to yourself while poor Adam has no idea.”

Kris looked at his feet.  “But what if he’s happy with Tommy?”

For a moment Katy genuinely wanted to smack Kris back to reality.  She might not know the details, but she was sure of a couple of things. One, Adam would never, regardless of how drunk he was, drag someone into a loveless marriage.  And, two, Adam couldn’t love Tommy because he was very much a one man guy and he’d been in love with Kris Allen since that first week in Hollywood.

Katy could have told Kris these things, but she didn’t.  She was a good person, but she was no saint and she thought it might do Kris some good to find out how it felt to watch the person you loved give his heart to someone else.  After all, she and Adam had both done it.

********

Adam was lounging on the terrace in his robe, listening to his iPod and trying to take comfort in the fact that at least having his career derailed by scandal gave him time to breathe again.  He was also trying not to call Kris since Katy seemed to think he needed a little space.  Nonetheless, Adam was thinking of going over to Kris’ place and sitting on him until he let Adam explain about the accidental marriage thing.
He missed talking to Kris, missed his stupid tweets and twitpics and all the texts during the day about things Kris found funny.  Somehow celebrity never seemed to cage Kris, he still got to wander around and marvel at life’s absurdity – he was like Adam’s connection to the real world.  Adam didn’t want to think lifeline, because what would that even mean?

Adam heard the door slam close.  A few minutes later Tommy stomped out to the terrace and flung himself into a chair.  Adam slipped his sunglasses down.

“So, how did it go?”

Tommy had decided to go see an old girlfriend – one of those reliable booty calls, the sexual equivalent of a safety school.  Adam knew management would go nuts if they knew, but Adam wasn’t really giving much of a fuck about management right now.

“She said no.”  Tommy looked strangely calm.  Adam wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not under the circumstances.

“She was glad to see me and we had a few drinks, but then, when I made my move, she said she couldn’t believe I would cheat on someone as sweet as you are. After that there was some more about what a good person you are, hot too by the way, and how disappointed she was in me.”

Tommy slipped on his own sunglasses and leaned back.  “She did, however, offer to blow me for old times’ sake.”

Adam perked up.  “Well, that was good, right?”

“I turned her down and left.  Seriously, who is she to judge me?  Like she’s never cheated on anyone before?”

Okay, Adam thought, this should clear up any questions people had about Tommy’s sexuality because only a straight guy would be stupid enough to let pride stand in the way of a blow job from a friendly ex.

“Tommy, I…”

Tommy interrupted him. “Don’t start with me.  Where are your booty calls?  I know you have a WeHo speed dial list.”  Tommy dragged Adam’s chair closer.  “You were practically celibate - for you - on tour.  We thought maybe it was some sort of athlete-in-competition thing, but tour’s over and you’re still sitting here alone.  So is it what-or should I say who-I think it is?”

Adam was not discussing this.

“I’m just taking some quality ‘me’ time.”  He smirked.  “And maybe, unlike some people, I take my marriage vows seriously.”

“Bullshit.  If you can’t talk to your husband about your unrequited love for your straight best friend, who can you talk to?”

Adam suddenly did want to talk about it, but then there would be crying and drinking and more crying.  He knew from experience this was not a good cycle, so he just smiled at Tommy.  “No comment.”

Tommy started to say something, but luckily the doorbell rang.  Tommy stood up and started up the stairs.

“You get the door.  I’m going to jerk off and then spend some time thinking about how I’m never having sex again because, even after we get divorced, I’m going to be the latest asshole to break your heart and women everywhere – and I mean globally – are going to hate me.  The fucking unfairness of this whole thing is epic.”

God, Adam thought, it was like living with Neil again.

Adam went to open the door, but not before yelling at Tommy’s retreating back. “You know, Tommy, it’s incredibly immature to sulk after turning down a perfectly good blow job!”

He opened the door to find Kris on his doorstep.

“Kris! I’m so glad you came; I was going to come over to your place later, but this is…”

Kris was practically stumbling back down the steps. He looked upset and flustered, very un-Kris-like in general.

“What’s wrong?”

Kris glanced at Adam, rumpled and in his robe, and kept backing away.  He was shaking his head.

“Bad time clearly.  Uh, I’m sorry about what I said on the phone.  I didn’t mean to interrupt… I mean I know this is your… “

Kris stopped and cleared his throat. He braced himself and raised his eyes to Adam’s confused face.

“I just want you to be happy; you deserve it more than anyone I know.  So, congratulations, really, but I need to go now.”

“Kris?”  Adam tried to catch him, but Kris was already in his car and pulling away.

“What…”  Adam ran the last few moments back in his head and looked back at the door.  Yeah, Kris had totally heard that comment to Tommy and…well, shit.

Adam sat on the steps and wondered when his life became a bad telenovela.  That reminded him, he should call Allison.  She would laugh her ass off, get him drunk, and then cry with him.  She was a good friend.

*******

Kris drove for a while, trying desperately to get different pictures out of his head – not least of which was Adam on his knees in front of Tommy, though it competed with pictures of Kris on his knees in front of Adam.  And there were other things mixed in there. All in all, it was surprising he hadn’t totaled the car yet.

Finally, he parked in empty lot and just watched the gulls.  Katy was right.  Why hadn’t he said something to Adam sooner?  Because he had always been a procrastinator and he was afraid that he’d misjudged Adam’s feelings – which clearly he had.

Mostly he’d just been afraid of everything changing.

Adam, on the other hand, was never afraid and Kris had depended on that fearlessness since the day they met.  Adam always convinced Kris to take the leaps that kept him in the game week after week and then just pulled him along afterwards.  Adam hungered for new experiences and was always quick to bounce back from the bad ones.  Kris wasn’t a risk taker by nature and this time it had cost him everything.

He thought back to that scene earlier in the day. Adam hadn’t just looked confused when Kris drove away - he’d looked hurt.  Kris owed him the truth even if it meant enduring the inevitably sweet, but pitying speech he was going to get in return.  He needed to get things back on track between them.  Hell, he’d even learn to like Tommy if that’s what it took.

Adam had decided to investigate Tommy’s hoard of alcohol. He felt vodka was rapidly becoming passé – maybe whiskey should be his new drink of choice.  That sounded more grown-up and Adam was determined to turn over a new leaf and lead a more serious life – there would still be fun, fashion and hopefully sex – just less material for late night comedians.

The doorbell rang.  Lane was coming over to go over the divorce/PR timeline again. They were particularly worried because Adam wouldn’t be the only speaking this time and Tommy had never been great with sound bites.

Adam poked Tommy who was absorbed in a zombie classic.

“Your turn to answer the door.  In fact, we may have to hire someone; I don’t think I’m ever doing it again.”

“Yeah, a butler should definitely fit right into your plans for a less bizarre life,” Tommy snarked as he headed out the door.

Tommy wasn’t surprised to find Kris Allen on the doorstep – again.  Unlike Adam, he’d pretty much expected it.  He leaned against the side of the door and stared at Kris coolly.

Kris tried not to clench his hands.  Tommy was wearing his usual black and white stripped sweater over black leggings and his toenails were painted black as well. And with his stupid hair and big doe eyes, he looked exactly like someone who should be lounging in Adam Lambert’s doorway.  In his bed.

“Hey, Tommy.  I was hoping I could talk to Adam?”

Tommy studied Kris.  “You don’t think it’s a little rude interrupting our honeymoon?”

Kris felt his face go warm as something snapped.  “No, actually, I don’t. And I just realized that I really want to talk to you right now, instead of Adam.”

Tommy lifted an eyebrow and stepped back, waving Kris into the house.  He shut the door behind Kris but didn’t go any farther into the living area, instead leaning back against the wall by the door and crossing his arms.

“So – talk.”

Kris stepped forward; he felt sure of himself for the first time in a long time.

“Tommy, I want us to be clear on some things.  First and foremost, you don’t deserve Adam, but, to be fair, I’m not sure anybody does.  He’s got the best heart of anyone I know.  He’s sweet and smart and loyal and funny.  He’s also a little vain, has too much leather and is obsessed with shiny things, but that’s just because Adam thinks the world should be a brighter, happier place than it is.  And the thing most people don’t get is that he really needs someone to look after him – he’s too trusting, too forgiving and, well, sometimes he has poor impulse control, especially when it comes to pretty boys and dessert.”

Kris took a breath.  Tommy was listening intently so he went on.

“You know that Adam gets carried away so you really need to double check all of his performance ideas.  Tommy, pyrotechnics are always, always going to be a bad idea and you’re going to have to really fight him on that. And he doesn’t know when to put his foot down with management so he ends up exhausted and sick trying to keep up with their ridiculous schedules, so you need to talk to Lane, she’ll run interference.  I called her every week while you guys were on tour.”

Kris frowned, thinking of other things.  “He is really confident, but things do get to him even when he pretends they don’t so you have to watch out for that.  And you need to remind his publicist that, no matter what Adam says, he doesn’t need to see every shitty, mean-spirited thing that bloggers or backwater newspapers say about him.  Keep him away from Google as much as possible.  And don’t let him go on crazy diets.  Buy him ice cream, especially when he's had a bad day.  And tell him he’s beautiful - a lot - because he is, but he doesn’t believe it – not really - so you have to tell him.  He needs to get it through his thick head that it really isn’t just smoke and mirrors the way he says.  Idiot.”

There was a moment of silence.  Tommy seemed to be considering what Kris had said.

“That all sounds like a lot of work and, really, I’m just the bass player.”

Kris was dumbfounded.  He’d been strongly repressing the desire to beat Tommy senseless for days, but now that he had just cause, there really didn’t seem to be any reason to hold back.

Tommy swept his hair out of his eyes, apparently unconcerned about the imminent ass-kicking headed his way.

“Kris, here’s the thing, I love Adam, but I’m not in love with him and I think there’s only one straight guy in this conversation and, newsflash, it’s not you.”

Tommy looked over Kris’ head.

“I think your telenovela has turned into some romantic comedy shit.  Could you get down here and do the Julia Roberts/Meg Ryan thing before I puke?”

Kris turned to see Adam standing at the top of the stairs staring at him.

“Yeah, I definitely don’t want to be here for this.  Adam, I’m going back to my ex’s; you were right, any day that features a blow job isn’t all bad.  What the hell was I thinking?”

With that, Tommy grabbed his boots and slammed out the door.

Adam came down the stairs and stood in front of Kris, fidgeting.

“Don’t you think it’s your turn to talk?” Kris could feel how red his face was.

“Well…there’s really no such thing as too much leather?” Adam actually looked a little shy – a possible first.  “And if I’m Julia Roberts, then who does that make you?”

Kris shrugged. “Tom Hanks? I don’t think I can manage the Hugh Grant hair/accent thing.”

Adam was smiling hesitantly - soon he’d start picking at his nail polish.

Fuck it.  Kris leaned up to kiss Adam, which was truthfully a little weird at first, but Adam’s lips were incredibly soft and sweet so he did it again, and Adam bent a little closer.  This time tongues were involved - tingling and wet and incredibly hot.

Adam pulled back suddenly.  “You know, I’ll be divorced in a few weeks. We could go out?”

Kris slipped his hands around Adam’s waist and stared at his six necklaces.

“In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that Katy says now that she has basis for comparison, I was terrible in bed.”

Adam leaned down and kissed Kris on the ear - just as he had once before about a million years ago - and whispered, “Baby, you weren’t bad in bed, you were just in the wrong one.”

******* 

Eight weeks later, Adam had made a believer out of him.  In fact, they were sitting in Adam’s giant bed while Kris looked through the morning press on his laptop.  Or tried to - Adam had slipped his hands under Kris’ t-shirt and was trying (successfully) to distract him by nipping and licking the back of his neck.

“Mmmm.  So what’s up today?  Has anyone new denounced me?  I thought it was nice that I could bring GLAAD and the Family Research Council together on something.”

The first couple of weeks after the divorce announcement had been hard, especially since that announcement was followed shortly – the same day actually - by TMZ footage of Adam and Kris holding hands after dinner out.  The initial backlash against Adam from multiple corners had been heavy, condemning him as a corruptive influence on young people and an embarrassment to the gay community.

Kris had convinced Adam to spend most of that time at a beach cottage with no television or internet access by pointing out that he had a lot to learn and wasn’t getting much help from the copy of ‘The Joy of Gay Sex’ he bought at Borders.  (It turned out the cashier was a fanboy so he bought two and signed one for the kid. He was determined to do his part on the gay role model front.)

“Adam, I told you – and Roger and Lane told you – the Lambert Effect is at work again.  Everything’s turning around – the majority of the press and public response is now positive.  Your album sales are through the roof and Roger says the label wants you touring again as soon as possible to take advantage of the momentum. Not to mention every talk show on the planet wants us.”

Adam had switched to Kris’ other ear and was biting now. “I think that press conference with you, me, Tommy, and Katy was probably the key factor – not my admittedly glittery charm.” 

It had been a strange press conference, to say the least, but the four of them basically just stuck to the main points: Adam didn’t love Tommy.  Tommy didn’t love Adam (but did love girls – that was kind of non-negotiable for Tommy).  Adam and Kris did love each other - very much.  Yes, the divorce was amicable.  No, Tommy wasn’t leaving the band or getting alimony.  Yes, Adam and Kris were dating, but had no marriage plans.  No, Adam never cheated on Tommy with Kris. No, Kris never cheated on Katy with Adam or anyone else.  Yes, Katy wished Kris and Adam the best.  Yes, she had a role in a new TV show and was dating another actor.  No, there had been no threesomes or foursomes.  (Adam started to say something at this point, but Kris kicked him.  He really didn't want to know.)

It was actually surprisingly easy.  This was the stuff of entertainment reporters’ dreams and they had been too overwhelmed to launch much of a counter-offensive. Adam and Katy fielded the tougher questions and generally charmed the crowd, while Kris and Tommy did their part by looking sweet and shy.

Now, Kris decided he’d seen enough of the morning news.  The tiny cat licks moving up along his ear had happily smashed his concentration and deserved his full attention. He started to close his laptop.

“Wait, what did that last one say?”

“Adam, it’s not important.”  The licking stopped.

“Okay, but please don’t start brooding.  It’s just one of those idiot bloggers.”

Kris dragged his laptop back open:  “‘Openly gay rock star Adam Lambert has in recent weeks again proven himself a poor role model for America’s children, while simultaneously undermining the movement for gay marriage.’”

“There’s more but that’s the gist.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Does it really say ‘Rock Star’?”

“Yeah, baby, it does.”

Adam went back to nuzzling the back of Kris’ neck. Kris could actually feel him smile.

“Well, okay then.”

Kris slipped back against the pillows, catching his arms around Adam’s neck and bringing him down with him.  After their first night together at the beach, he had asked Adam if he ever marveled at the fact that they might never have gotten together without the unlikely alignment of Las Vegas, tequila shots, a Unitarian concierge and an unusually petite bass player.  Adam had just smiled at him with those remarkable blue eyes and shrugged; he believed the Universe loved everyone.  Privately, Kris thought the Universe loved Adam Lambert just a little bit more - a sentiment he understood completely.