astolat (astolat) wrote,

Drabbles: Idol RPF & SPN <3

Here are the short pieces I wrote for the second round of donations!

The ONTD_AI charity auction is chugging away, yay! (note that there are three pages of author auctions -- there are some total bargains going as a result if you hop along to the later pages. \o/)

ETA: ALSO, guys, if the auction is too rich for your blood or you are just impatient, don't forget that $1 buys you a drabble prompt and $5 a flashfic prompt over at the free-for-all, and I for one will indeed be poking around there to see if any prompts hit me. :D /ETA

Remember btw, with any bid on either of my offers (1000-word story, sponsoring finishing of longer story) you can submit a prompt for the choose-your-own-adventure story. :D

And I will casually mention that while I avoid locking myself into higher wordcounts for fear of getting stuck, if you hit me with the right thing it can go a lot longer. As, uh, evidenced by the "drabbles" below. *g*

Cook/Archie truth-or-dare-ish for for rajkumari905:

"Um, I don't -- think this is very fair," Archie said, wobbly. He hiccuped.

"You wanted to play a drinking game," David pointed out, trying not to grin. He'd gotten maybe halfway down his first bottle of beer, and he'd drunk most of that just because he was thirsty. Archie was on his third and looked more hammered than David had been the last time he'd done tequila shots with Michael Johns.

"Yeah, but," Archie said, and then paused and said, puzzledly, "um, what are we talking about?"

"You were going to tell me all about your secret crush on Allison Iraheta," David said. It was worth a shot. That would be some excellent teasing material.

Archie's brow furrowed. "I don't -- I have a crush on Allison?" he sounded doubtful but willing to believe if David said so.

"Don't you?" David said. "She's pretty cute."

"She's really nice," Archie said, "but I kind of, um. She writes really weird texts! Like before the Salt Lake concert -- " He scrabbled for his phone. "Archieeeee wazzzuppp," he read off his screen. "Utah izzz awesummm, lozerrr!" He put it down and flailed his arm around. David rescued the beer bottle before it could go the way of all flesh. "I don't -- um. It's nice she tweeted me, I guess? But -- I mean, what do I say? I don't want to call her a loser back, cause that would be rude, but if I'm polite, then I guess it seems all weird and lame and formal, and -- "

"Why exactly did I let all you guys talk me into getting a twitter?" David said.

"I don't know," Archie said, flopping his arms down dejectedly. "But, um, I like when you tweet me," he added.

"Aww, that's sweet," David said. "So who is your secret crush, then, if it's not Miz Iraheta?"

"Oh, I don't have one," Archie said, and blushed really hard.

Adam/Kris telepathy for [info - personal] jessikast:

Kris appreciated the fan presents a lot, he really did. And he felt like it was rude not to wear them, even though everybody always warned about waiting until they got checked out for razorblades or curses or whatever, but sometimes security got backed up—they'd had to do full-on exorcisms on three of Adam's presents so far just to be able to throw them out, not to mention the two dozen love spells people lobbed on stage at him every night. And when it was jewelry or a t-shirt or something small, Kris liked to wear it that night, when the fan might get to see it; he knew it mattered a whole lot to people, and he liked seeing how excited they got over it.

Anyway, so the girls seemed nice and not like crazies, filing along quietly in the meet and greet before the show; one of them handed over the gift bag all earnest and said, "I really hope you like it, we thought it was your style," and it was—a really cool bracelet, not too big or clunky, just a loose strap with some neat carved wooden beads on it, and a little card saying 10% of the proceeds went to the rainforest.

"We'll be in the front row, if, you wanted to wear it," she added, not in a demanding way, more hopeful. Polite, anyway, so like a dumbass, Kris slipped it on before his set, and as his intro started playing, he was knocked flat by the tidal wave of thoughts about him from the audience: KRIS, KRIS, KRIS and omg he's so cute with a side order of ugh, adam should've won and another side order of he would be so cute with adam.

"Oh, dammit," Kris said, putting his head between his knees until the first head-rush passed, and he spared a moment to be grateful that at this point he could do this set blind, drunk, backwards, and in his sleep.

He finished the show and got the hell over to security, where he got bitched out royally and told it would be a full day of spellcasting to get the bracelet off, since he'd given consent by putting it on in the first place. "Yeah, I know, sorry," Kris said tiredly, because he was getting not just the out-loud lecture but the jesus fucking CHRIST he could have gotten turned into a fucking PENGUIN why won't he LISTEN now I'm going to have to work late fucking SHIT backing track.

They let him skip the meet-and-greet, and he managed to duck onto the bus, where nobody was thinking about him at all. He was dozing off in the blessed mental silence as the others came back on and climbed into their bunks, until they pulled out of the lot and he felt a sort of half tickle against his head. Then a hmm, Kris tonight? sort of thoughtfully, followed by mm, yes, and Kris's eyes opened really wide and horrified.

Unfortunately, opening his eyes didn't help much. Adam had, uh, a really good imagination. Really—visual. Kris didn't watch a lot of porn and he'd never watched gay porn, but this was—uh. It was almost like an out-of-body experience. He was staring at himself sprawled out across a big comfy white bed, naked, with Adam's mouth on his thighs and Adam's fingers sliding inside him—

Kris choked down a whimper low in his throat and shoved his hand into his pants. Adam was pushing his legs back and up, and sinking into him, and it was fantastic—one smooth stroke in that made Adam's imaginary Kris moan and squirm around on the bed and beg for more. Kris started jerking himself hard and fast in time with the thrusts, almost sinking into the fantasy himself, and he opened his mouth helplessly to the empty air when Adam bent over for a kiss.

He came when Adam did, white-out of heat that slid comfortably down into lazy, pleased satisfaction, not an ounce of embarrassment or shame. Adam was—Adam was licking his fingers, and thinking idly how Kris would taste.

He yawned and stretched—Kris felt it down his own spine, how good it felt just being in his body and relaxed and sleepy, coming down off the high of being on, and Kris laughed a little, under his breath, and wiped his sticky hand on his sheets. He had to admit, maybe the circumstances were a little messed up, but jerking off was a great way to get to sleep. He felt ready to sink under right now, his eyes drooping.

And then Adam thought, God, I am so seducing him the last night of the tour, full of happy anticipation.

Kris didn't get any sleep after all.

Adam/Kris dating game for abusing_sarcasm:

"Hey—look, I need to tell you something," Kris said to Adam, low and quiet, because there was one commercial break to go and it was down to him and Anoop and Danny, and Kris had the bad feeling that Adam was going to pick him.

Which should've been awesome: they would each walk away with half a million, and Kris could name a lot of things worse than an all-expenses-paid two week luxury vacation in Hawaii with Adam, who apart from having a ridiculous crazy voice was funny and smart and almost brimming over with life. They weren't allowed to just hang out and talk, thanks to the crazy-ass show rules, but after twelve weeks Kris had gotten to know Adam enough to want to know him better, so there shouldn't have been a problem, except—

"I'm straight," Kris said low and fast, and let go of the breath he was holding.

Walking away from more money than he'd ever seen in his life or was likely to, and it felt crazy-stupid and good all at once: like getting a hard knot to come undone. He felt lighter, the weight of the lie coming off. "I'm sorry," he added. "I don't—I really like you. I didn't want to lie."

Adam tilted his head and looked at Kris thoughtfully. "So why did you sign up for the show?"

"I, uh, didn't, exactly," Kris said. "My friends signed me up for it. I had a bad breakup, a year ago—we were together seven years, and it fell apart, and—anyway. My friends thought I was taking too long to get over it."

The funny thing was, it had kind of worked. Kris didn't feel like he wanted to go crawl back into his bedroom and write more lame emo songs anymore. He wasn't sure what he did want, except maybe to jam with Adam again, the way they'd done two weeks before in the middle of filming an episode. He hoped maybe he'd still get the chance, after all of this.

"Hm," Adam said thoughtfully, and then the producers were yelling, "Places, everyone!" and it was back to the live show, and there was another round of stupid hypothetical questions—"If you were an inanimate object what would you be"—and then Adam was saying, "—I've thought about it really hard, and the guy I choose is Kris."

"What?" Kris said, with the cameras swinging around into his face, and then he was looking up at Adam, and Adam leaned in and murmured, "Two weeks to change your mind," and kissed him, long and sweet, his hands cradling Kris's head, and well, maybe it wouldn't take two weeks after all.

Kris appreciating Adam's ink for lferion:

Kris liked tattoos or at least thought they were neat, Adam knew: every once in a while they'd be sitting together and Kris's eyes would drift to his wrist and stay. But Kris didn't have any himself, though he'd slap on temporary tattoos and scribble on his own arms with a sharpie for the hell of it. Kris didn't have tattoos, or piercings, and didn't wear makeup unless he was sat down under hot lights and someone else put it on, and his idea of dressing up was to throw a sports jacket on over his jeans and t-shirt, and sometimes Adam had a half-loving, half-exasperated moment where he wondered what in Kris he'd latched on to that kept reeling him back in.

Even when Adam fought it, even when he tried so hard to be smart and sensible and protect himself, and got himself laid, and kept himself busy, and did everything right, and it still got him unexpected and out of nowhere, that same thump of helpless affection and want that went straight to his gut.

And it made him tired sometimes, pissed-off at himself and at Kris for being too adorable and too nice and too easy to love, and Adam was worn-out and a low-grade steady level of frantic anyway from all the madness around them. So when he caught Kris looking again, Adam held out his wrist, arm stretched out long and straight and regal, and he said, "You can take a closer look if you're that interested."

And Kris flushed a little, but Kris didn't have snide moments, and Kris trusted him, so Kris took it at face value and he reached up and touched it with his fingers, brushing the thick black lines of the Horus-eye. "It's funny how it's raised," he said softly, and oh, this hadn't been a good idea at all, Adam realized too late, until he noticed that Kris was licking his lips, and breathing a little quicker, and his eyes were still fixed on the tattoo.

Adam/Kris roadtrip for sprat

They were sprawled sort of groggily on the couch in one of the recording studio's back rooms, Adam lying with a warm washcloth over his face—steaming his sinuses, he said. "Redwoods are pretty cool, right?" Kris said idly, tracing whorls in the wood paneling on the wall.

"You're asking me?" Adam said muffled.

"Uh, aren't they in California?" Kris said.

"So I hear tell, but my personal experience is lacking," Adam said, and then he took off the washcloth and pulled out his phone and called his handler and said, "Lisa? I need to know where the nearest redwoods are. Yes, the trees."

"Wait, we're going now?" Kris said that night, when Adam blew past their exit and kept going north.

"Why not?" Adam said, grinning at Kris from behind his sunglasses. "We've got the top down, we've got drinks, we've got ACDC—"

"Isn't it going to be like ten hours?" Kris said.

"Bet we can make it in nine," Adam said.

"It's going to be two in the morning," Kris said. "We won't even be able to see them."

"We'll sleep under the trees!" Adam waved a hand in the air. "It'll be amazing. We'll see the sun rise through the forest, have sex up against a redwood—"

Kris glared at Adam.

"I thought I'd toss that in there, just an option," Adam said cheerfully. "You didn't think I was going to stop making passes at you just because the tour is over, did you?"

There hadn't been one for about a week now, so Kris had started to think yeah, maybe. "No such luck, huh?" he said.

"Oh, you missed them!" Adam said gleefully.

"I'm not going to have sex with you up against a redwood," Kris said. He was not blushing. That was just the wind.

"You never know," Adam said. "One of these days you'll have a moment of weakness." He patted Kris's thigh. Extensively. And squeezed.

"And you'll be lying in wait?" Kris said, fighting down the desperate urge to rock his hips forward into the side of Adam's hand.

"Exactly." Adam beamed at him.

Sam and Dean bickering for silksieve:

"So, Lucifer," Dean said, poking the small, wet pile of wood with a stick. The last of their matches were scattered over the ground.

"Yes," Sam said.

"As in Satan," Dean said.

"Yes," Sam said.

"The big D," Dean said.

"Uh," Sam said.

"Ollll' Nick," Dean said.

"Have you been drinking?" Sam said.

"I'm just trying to emphasize how completely fucking screwed we and the entire rest of the world are," Dean said.

"The world hasn't ended yet," Sam said.

"Emphasis on yet," Dean said.

"Do you need me to say I'm sorry again?" Sam said. He glared intently at the campfire. It burst into flames.

"Thank you," Dean said.

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Tags: adam lambert, american idol, david cook, fanfic, snippets, supernatural

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