But still, Kris would not be surprised if one day, he stumbled upon the definition of a Bad Relationship Decision in a textbook somewhere and beneath it, there was a picture of Adam. Eyeliner and all, and maybe swinging a pair of handcuffs around his finger. Because just – yeah.

Adam hates Thanksgiving. "There aren't even presents!" he grumbles, just like he has every year since he was five. "The best holidays have presents. We never even got to celebrate Christmas growing up, so I'm present deprived."

"Hanukkah has eight nights of presents, douche," says Neil. "You're so greedy."

Last Thanksgiving, Adam had punched Neil in the face by the end of the meal. This year, he doesn't know if he'll make it that far.

If Kris ever thought of bonding, he thought of Katy. Not the American Idol, an aloof, self-proclaimed rock star in too much eyeliner and leather. He thought of marriage and love, not a last minute desperate attempt from a stranger to save his life.

Adam loves being part of the Addams family – on his mom’s side, of course – and loves their quirky, eccentric, and macabre lifestyle. When they opened their home to him so that he could escape the limelight for a few months, he never imagined that he would have so much fun…and fall in love with the cute missionary boy living in the dungeon.

Kradam/The Addams Family Crossover!

It's his dream job; a chance at revenge and a payoff that will buy him the life he always wanted in one once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Adam 'Silverfyre' Lambert knows he's the best merc money can buy but for this job, he's going to need the very best systems-hacker/datarunner in the game. Lucky for him, he knows exactly who he's looking for...

Once upon a time, Kris Allen wasn't afraid of anything. That was then, this is now and Kris has resigned himself to a quiet, discreet life on the right side of the law. He thinks he's buried his past; right up until a big bad merc calling himself 'Silverfyre' comes crashing into his life. He wants Kris' help and he just won't take no for an answer.

One last job and they never have to see each other again.

They've just got to last that long...

When American's shiniest superstar disappears in Japan, management calls in the only person likely to find him. Too bad, he's also the last person who wants the job.

This month, the idolized rocker counted down his obsessions. Want to know his preferred eyeliner and condom? Click on.

Kris knew from the first moment he met Adam that they were supposed to be something important. But at ten years old, he had no idea what that would be. When Adam is turned at fifteen, Kris understands their connection. Adam is Kris' mate. His future husband. When tragedy strikes, Adam turns his back on them all, running from his own pain and leaving Kris floundering alone. Adam ran long and hard from his destiny and everything that he was supposed to be. From his clan and his responsibilities...and especially from Kris. Kris is his best friend, the person Adam loved most in his life and he can't risk what that loss would do to them. But when Kris finds him to tell him they are on the brink of losing everything he can't stay away anymore.

Tonight, they don't have to pretend to be okay with anything. Tonight, they can just relax.

"God, no more frat-types," she groaned. "I need the opposite of frat."

They'd come to the right place. "Take your pick," Kris said, gesturing to the room.

"No, no," she shook her head. "We've seen what I choose when I pick the guy—total losers. For once, I want a guy to just walk up and sweep me off my feet."

Kris took a sip of his beer and sighed, "You and me, both."

There are questions roommates should never ask. Where's the rent? or did it melt? or cops?

Or: "Dude, why’d you dye your cat?"

Kris' brain enjoys a familiar flash of blank horror. "What?"

"Listen, nobody’s judging," Cale says. "He's your cat. I'm sure Hilton’s rats go through worse. But, I mean, what was wrong with ginger?"

"Nothing," Kris says.

"Then why?" He holds up Kris'—ha!—cat for emphasis.

Adam's black ears twitch adorably.

xXx

"What was wrong with ginger?" Kris asks, brushing Adam's new coat a twinge brisker than the norm. Scales were so, so much easier.

"Boring," Adam huffs.

Kris was lost in the stars. Till there was Adam.

Kristopher Allen is a notorious thief, but not only that, he’s a lycanwolf. Adam Lambert is a wolf specialist hired by the museum to track down a stolen statue. Only a lycanwolf hunter can truly track down another of their kind and Adam is determined to catch the wolf thief – but will Kris allow Adam to catch him?

A wrong turn had Kris working in a diner in San Glam, California. He’s getting used to the little eclectic town, and its zany inhabitants. He’s doing great, he just wasn’t expecting to meet Mr. Right or that his rockstar looking crush would be quite so…crazy, really. What’s with Adam insisting that Kris is going to turn in a ball of fluffy teeth and desire for blood on the full moon?

So he didn’t have a puppy and everyone else in the world seemed to. So what. Adam didn’t care. He was famous and a fabulous singer and rich. If he wanted something he bought it. He could buy himself a puppy. All he had to do was…Adam stopped and stared at the door to the bus. Find one.

An AU in which Kris is the guitarist in Adam's band. They kiss on stage and "Kradam" is born as a fan service. Only, of course, it doesn't stop there.

The temple priests sacrificed their fattest sheep to the Winter God. They sacrificed the last bushel of fruits and low-carb snacks created by that famous ill-tempered Briton chef Gordon Ramsey, but even they didn’t appease the Winter God. They sacrificed jewels by that brilliant blacksmith Harry Winston; and gorgeously tailored suits by that little Italian fellow Giorgio Armani; and handcuffs donated by the Hollywoodland Police Department, all 2,000 of them – things that the Winter God loved and prized in the past – but to no avail. For a reason that they didn’t understand, the Winter God wasn’t accepting their sacrifices.

They considered sacrificing the most beautiful young virgin girl but the Winter God sent ice and hail in ruthless fury.

Adam is supposed to kill any wild wolf that strays into pack territory; he knows that even in human form. He is definitely not supposed to corner his foe in an old trucker's cafe, just north of the land his wolves think is safe, and offer to buy him a drink.

On the basis that it's better to have things out in the open - or at least as open as they can be - Adam comes out with it the moment he and Kris are alone in the room at the mansion. "So," he says conversationally, lining up his skincare products next to the bed he's claimed. "I'm gay. Just so you know."

Kris looks entirely unsurprised by the revelation. "Huh, and I thought it was just an LA thing," he says, apparently thoughtful. "So, I'm a werewolf. Just so you know."

Scene || Pornstar AU |
Stakes || Stalker Reporter!Kris |
Claim || Werewolf Fic |
Sleepy || Sleepy confessions |
Birds and Bees || The cockatoo who won't stay put |
Exotic || Alien!Adam |
Lambent || Genie!Adam

He was scared to begin with and the fact that he spent the entire ten hour plane ride reading My Spouse Became a Werewolf and Now We're Divorced Because I Didn't Smell Right certainly didn't help. It was much easier to be understanding over the phone before he really understood what might be at stake here. He doesn't care if Adam howls at the moon every night, if he barks at the mailman, or tries to bite the maid, but he honestly doesn't know what to do if Adam wakes up and looks at him as if he's all wrong.

"He's also my ex," Brad says with a peculiar sort of scowl. "So no, I don't particularly want to sit him down and tell him I had to pay someone to marry me."

In Adam's defense, it's not his fault. Kris is just so stubborn. Adam waited patiently at first, because come on, fate, right? And after a month of that he tried the sensible approach, where he went to Kris and tried to talk about it. After Kris derailed the conversations multiple times by monologuing on everything from lasagna to rabbits Adam started to clue in that maybe his avoidance wasn't so much cluelessness as actual, you know, avoidance.

Undeterred, Adam worked the sneaky approach for a while. He mixed his clothes in with Kris', he switched first their shampoo and then their laundry detergent, and he made sure they hugged and nuzzled each other as much as was feasible. He even managed to chew on Kris once or twice, when he was nice and fuzzy-drunk and Adam had an excuse. He may have had to bribe Tommy into issuing the dare that gave Adam that excuse, but Kris doesn't need to know that.

“For the last time, man, I’m not your long lost fishy fiancée, or whatever,” his Kris says..

“Not fishy: Mer! How many times do I have to tell you, we’re Mer?”

“And how many times do I have to tell you this is not romantic, this is called “stalking”?” Kris sighs and rubs his forehead, “And the naked thing doesn’t help either, buddy.”

“But I have legs!” Adam protests, raising up from the armchair and turning around so Kris can admire them. “And they’re amazing! So long and smooth and they end in fingers and everything! Ten fingers, like the ones on my hands. Isn’t it neat?” he says, looking down and moving all twenty fingers. This is never going to get old. He can move them! Yay! “I think it’s really efficient, because if they’re ten too, you can tell if you’ve lost one with just a glance.” He smiles. He loves it when things make sense. A sudden idea strikes him. “Do they grow back like a starfish arm if you lose one? Because that would be super cool!”

Kris-used-to-be-a-mermaid

They call Kris lucky.

It's not so bad, he figures. One side of it is the side he has in common with everyone else here. Lucky to have made it, lucky to be alive. And human. Lucky to be Immune, which tells how thin the optimism on the term really is.

Adam doesn’t mean to get a pet crab. All he wants is to throw a dinner party; but then there’s this chef who wants to boil a whole tank of crabs alive, and Adam just can’t let that happen. The crabs are moving and, like, doing things with their claws as they go about their business in the tank, and there’s no way Adam is letting anybody get boiled alive for something as trivial as a dinner party. Not on his watch.

He gets his people to set the crabs free, and that should be the end of it, except that—one of the crabs, one of the smaller ones, with his right claw larger than his left, just keeps staring at Adam.

So, yeah. That’s how Adam ends up with a pet crab.

When Adam draws back, breathless, Kris feels wobbly on his feet. “Is it always like this?” he asks, feeling slow and drunk. Has he been kissing wrong all this time or what?

"Kris," Katy catches up, "this is..."

"Adam," the guy fills in. He's still looking at Kris with a weird sort of focus -- if Kris were at home he'd think the guy was torn between jumping him and, well, jumping him. But he's still not solid on the signals, here, once he ended up with someone's tongue down his throat when he could've sworn they were exchanging insurance info after a fender-bender.

"I know him from back home," Katy finishes. "... Adam... this is my boss. Kris."

"Katy does a great job, here," Kris informs Adam. "You don't have to worry about her, she's doing fine. You can tell everybody on the farm she's taking LA by storm." And he rocks back on his heels to give the newcomer the patented Allen 'Aw Shucks,' thumbs hooked in his belt loops as he lays it on thick. Anyone who knows him knows he's not a natural beamer, but he's from the South. He can warmly welcome the crap outta people.

Part 1: http://kradamadness.dreamwidth.org/27201.html?thread=2872897#cmt2872897

: When the full moon comes, Kris Allen finds himself transforming into a fox, after an attack earlier that day by what he thoguht to be a rabid fox. Injured and confused, the tiny fox is picked up by a couple members of the local werewolf pack as a chewtoy gift for their Alpha, Adam Lambert. But when Adam lays eyes on the little ball of fluff, he decides to keep him instead...

Adam sighs. “I’m a struggling artist, but you don’t see me sleeping on a park bench.”

Kris shrugs again. “It’s not forever. I’ll find something soon enough.”

“You don’t get it,” Adam says, shaking his head. He gestures at the trees around them. They look downright scary with their dark nooks and their creepy creaking sounds. “This place is dangerous at night, and you’re . . . you’re . . . tiny!”

Kris raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t go all macho on me. You’re pocket-sized and you know it. And this place – is like the perfect hunting ground for a serial killer.”

Kris looks amused. “Hunting ground?”

Adam nods decisively. “Yes. Hunting ground.”

It wasn't an exceptional life. Kris didn't have a girlfriend or boyfriend and most of his friends were the guys and girls he worked with a few regulars at the bar and maybe he sometimes wishes for something more. It's just a typical, normal life, nothing that was going to set the world alight but Kris was more or less happy.

Then on Thursday night, when Kris is walking back from work with plans for a triple-tier chocolate cream and sponge cake, he Maces an alien. In the face.

His life gets considerably less boring after that.

When American's shiniest superstar disappears in Japan, management calls in the only person likely to find him. Too bad, he's also the last person who wants the job.

"Exact figures are impossible to ascertain. The Volunteers of the International Dragon Forces were never systematically counted during the war due in part to the fact that newly transformed dragons and other humans joined the IDF on an almost daily basis and also casualty rates among new recruits is believed to have been particularly high. Many of the attacks by bio-wops wiped out entire flights, leaving no surviving members to report the scale of the devastation. This report bases its estimate on testimony of IDF and allied personnel, physical evidence from scenes in Zambia, Holland and many other countries and the dedicated efforts of military intelligence from countries like the US.

This report estimates the IDF casualties during the three year period of hostilities to be not less than five million, six hundred and eighty five thousand, three hundred and ninety four."
-Report of the Secretary-General on the International Dragon Forces during the Other-Earth War, 15 November 2012

Kris is a stripper and Adam's an accidental recruit.

Kris thinks if the universe were fair it would at least let him work out his own issues before it threw boy problems at him.

His name is Adam, and like his namesake he was the first of his kind. A true pinnacle of cyberhuman evolution. An exemplar of the most creative technology ever conceived. A mesh of metal and meat, perfect in every way. Except one. He is uncontrollable. Even now, teams of our finest hunters are tracking down even the vaguest of rumours. But until he decides to step into the daylight, we may sit and wait.

His name is Adam, and like his namesake he was the first of his kind. A true pinnacle of cyberhuman evolution. An exemplar of the most creative technology ever conceived. A mesh of metal and meat, perfect in every way. Except one. He is uncontrollable. Even now, teams of our finest hunters are tracking down even the vaguest of rumours. But until he decides to step into the daylight, we may sit and wait.

The problems started with permission, or the lack thereof. Our scientists presented hours of testimony, studies and deductions to the relevant authorities but the Ethics Board turned down all our proposals. But that one single denial should stand before the march of scientific discovery was anathema to us. Completely unthinkable. We knew better than they. We were Cerberus. We would not be constrained by their cowardice and superstition. But now, I fear that the history books will hold the judgment. And that it will not be in our favor.

"Someone has to keep the paparazzi employed."

"Better you than me, dude," Kris says brightly. Then, softer, serious and a little cynical, "and you do such a great job."

There are about a dozen different ways to interpret that, or there would be if Adam didn't recognise the conspiratorial gleam in Kris's eyes. Five years on, the rules have changed, even if the people haven't.

When Adam's younger sister goes missing, the school makes it a requirement for him to spend an hour with Kris Allen at the student-to-student grief counsel office everyday, but Kris has his own problems to deal with.

"Uh, this isn't -- I'm not -- " Kris said, trying to decide if it would make things worse or better if he just dropped all the boxes.

"Mm hmm," Adam Lambert said, eyebrow raised.

"I work here!" Kris said. Which was a completely legitimate reason for holding nine dildos, two vibrators, and three cockrings, all part of the Glambulge line with the glittery silver foil-stamped signature of authenticity. "I'm -- restocking?"

Kris started recognizing him after the second show, because six foot tall guys in black hair and glitter were hard to miss even if they weren't, well, sort of insanely hot. After the third time he saw him, at the San Diego show, Kris started to keep a silent tally, and at the fifth show, after he came off stage, Kris leaned over to Janice on security and said, "Hey, can you invite that guy to the meet-and-greet? And anyone he's with, too. The tall guy, with the -- "

" -- black spiky hair and the eyeliner?" Janice said.

"-- yeah," Kris said, fighting down a blush for no reason; it wasn't like he was planning to -- it wasn't like he -- uh, anyway.

"So," he says dully, "basically, I have no control over my own life, I'm supposed to marry a man I barely know, for fucked up political reasons that I couldn't possibly care less about. What else is new?" In which personal is political and revolution is more complex than it seems.

If I’d known I was following some Middle Ages husband-finding potion I totally wouldn’t have listened to it!

Adam did hate the paperwork and the interviews and the repeated calls and faxes and emails about the hundred and sixty details that came with ordering Kri—his companion.

The Council hadn't been interested in his independence. Their summary was bloodless: Cale and he had been mated “informally”. The pregnancy that saved Kris from being traded off by his own tribe had bound him to Cale only; it forged no obligations between Kris and Cale's tribe, nor assigned protection. No tribe would bother with a breeder already carrying. A lifelong friendship had been turned to little more than dust by their rules.

Instead, the Council had given him exactly the choice he'd expected: give up the child or spend his term in exile. If during that time the child proved fur-bound then maybe, maybe, he could ask for a tribe's support. If the child was “toothless”—nothing.

Kris had listened to their verdict and their “mercy”, he'd stood in front the most powerful faces in his world, with his back turned defenselessly to strangers, to the curious and the judging and the bored, and after the last judge had spoken, he'd done what none expected.

He'd talked back.

“Honey, you can barely make mac & cheese from a box. What makes you think you can grow your own soulmate?”

Music speaks to young and old alike.

Kris accidentally becomes a rent boy:

It was long since dark, and Kris was having to stop playing every fifteen minutes or so to blow on his hands and warm them back up.

Kris has been fired forty-nine times. It wouldn't be so bad (probably) if not for the fact that forty-five of those occurred in the past year. Twelve occurred in the same month. He once got fired twice in an hour, and, really, that sort of thing is crap for anybody's ego.

Though the past year has also taught Kris to deal very, very well with taking crap.

It would still all be not so--ridiculous, if not for the fact that Kris has been fired forty-nine times, twelve in the same month, twice in an hour, by the same person every single bloody time.

Kris has only quit twice.

That math speaks eloquently of the difference between Kris Allen and Adam Lambert.

Then again, so does Kris' therapy bill.

Dear Adam Lambert. Hello! My name is Kristina Allen, and I live in Conway, Arkansas. My parents are Kim and Neil Allen, and I am a lesbian. What about you?

"The clinic won't let me drive home!" Adam said. "Because of the. Things. Drugs. You know." He waved a hand in the air next to his head, which was dumb because Kris wasn't actually looking at him through the phone, because that was not how phones worked. Unless you were in the Jetsons. Which they were not.

"What?" Kris said. "That's crazy! You're obviously completely fit to drive." And Adam might have felt totally vindicated, except it turned out that Kris was laughing at him.

"I am, though," he said sadly.

"Oh my God, this is so awesome. Don't you think this is awesome? Kris? Kris - "

Kris looks over, clutching the edges of the carpet and wow, he looks pale. "Can we. Um - "

"Okay, just - " Adam reaches over, uncurls Kris's fingers gently, there we go, "relax, okay? We're fine. See, look!" Adam rises to his knees and does a little shimmy, because these jeans look amazing on him and also anything to draw attention to his crotch: always good.

"Oh my God, please don't do that," Kris says, tightly panicked.

"Whoa." Adam pulls him up, rolls him backwards into the circle of his arms, back to chest, feeling the tense plains of muscle twitch against his hands. "I got you. It's okay."

"We're incredibly frigging high in the air sitting on a carpet, it's so not okay - "

"It's not gonna be that bad," Browder said. "These guys are going to roll over the second we land, and they get galactic citizenship and space travel out of the deal."

"After we rip out half their natural resources and draft every guy who can aim a gun to shove on our front lines," Kris said.

"Okay, yeah," Browder said. "So? We're screwed if we don't get more supply, and you think the Aristans won't move on to these guys the second they plow us under? You need to quit taking this stuff to heart. Now come on, you should be suiting up already."

Kris shook his head, but there wasn't any point in arguing. He'd made his case to Commander Cowell when the mission had first been laid out, and he'd been shut down. The best he'd managed was to get named to command the first landing. At least he'd be able to keep the men in line and not freak out the people they were invading too badly. Right.

The first time, it was two weeks and he was two hours late; he hadn't meant to be. He hadn't known how it much it would hurt.

It was too much for one body to have held, even Kris, slumped against the wall, bare feet slipping on the blood-smeared floor of their bathroom, walls painted in long rusting streaks, plaster gouged out inches deep between brighter splashes like sunbursts, the mirror scribbled over in minors like a guitar that had learned to scream. Even the overwhelming smell of it, sweet and metal-sharp, couldn't distract him from the way Kris looked up at him, skin bleached colorless as moonlight, a silver-handled paring knife stolen from the kitchen sliding between wet fingers as he said, confused, "I keep trying and trying and it doesn't work. It never works."

It's not actually happening. No, like - Kris knows what that little plus sign means, that little, evil plus sign, but - it's not really there. This is all a hallucination. It makes so much sense.

"If I'm dreaming," Kris announces to his empty bathroom, "then where the hell is Jake Gyllenhaal?"

Jake Gyllenhaal would be an awesome dream baby daddy, Kris knows. He'd give Kris foot massages and run out in the middle of the night to buy him weird food he craves and not care if Kris threw up on him, and he certainly wouldn't dump him for being too distant or whatever the fuck Adam had said.

It wasn't his fault, when he'd been going to put her back down, right after he walked over to Katy, except that it turned out Katy was scared too. He remembered scoffing, who could be afraid of a little baby like this, all clumsy, over-sized paws and wet, unwieldy wings? But Katy was, and he'd put his hand under Kaylenth's chin, just to guide her eyes up to meet Katy's and start the Impression. But in that crucial moment, Katy had ducked and Kaylenth had turned in his arms, convention and everything else he'd ever known vanishing behind a rainbow of gemstone color. The next thing K'ris remembered, truly remembered, was that Kaylenth was hungry, and he was dropping warm, dripping chunks of meat down her demanding little throat, and teaching her not to bite him.

A’dam smiled at him. It was kind of a relief to see him, and K’ris felt the tension in his shoulders unknot and drain away. A’dam had been away the past week, weather patrol. The winter was going to set in soon, and the Weyrleader liked for them to help the more distant holds prepare for the snows.

Living in the High Reaches wasn’t easy, but the dragonriders did their best to ease the burden.

Kris stopped taking slaves to his bed after his father died; he let them think it was grief, and then he let them think it was the burden of ruling, but he'd hated it all along. His master of house tried to tempt him with especially beautiful concubines, slave boys with downcast eyes that glanced up at him hopefully. Kris treated them all gently, because he was allowed to be kind to them, the way he wasn't allowed to be kind to his enemies, or his soldiers, or his court. But he didn't want their service, soft tentative voices asking him what he wanted, what they should do, reminding him with every syllable that he held their lives in his hands, that they weren't free to want anything from him.

A high school AU. Tommy is a bored senior counting down the days until freedom. Spring semester gets a lot more interesting when substitute teacher Mr. Lambert takes over in history class.

Being a singer has always been Kris's dream. Being a superhero is just an accident of birth.

Katy's pregnant, something goes wrong, and Adam wants to help.

Apparently one time he and Kris went out to dinner and they were walking outside to get to Charles's car. Kris was just bopping along to the music in his head and kept walking towards this car that kind of looked like Charles's car and hopped inside. Kris messed with the fuzzy dice hanging off the mirror, picked up the pack of cigarettes from the dashboard and inspected them, when Charles doesn't smoke. Then all of a sudden Kris realized he was in the wrong car and started flailing around, accidentally locking himself inside and setting off the alarm. Charles just watched the whole thing in amusement (because he's an awesome friend like that!) and then when the owner of the car came outside to see what was going on, explained that Kris was just a space cadet who got into the wrong car on accident. As they were walking away, Charles was like "So..." and Kris stared straight ahead and said, "Shut up. I don't want to talk about it" while Charles laughed. Best. Friend. Ever.

Adam's an architect sentenced to 100 hours community service, and Kris is building a womens center.

Kris has been trained as a companion, but he has gone years without an assignment being made. When it seems like one will never come, he is finally given an assignment. His joy at this is brief though when he learns that Adam doesn't want him. Adam has lived on his own for years now, and he doesn't like the idea of being forced to open his life and his home to a stranger thrust upon him. The two must learn to live together and figure out how to make this assignment work for the both of them.

Adam's an architect sentenced to 100 hours community service, and Kris is building a womens center.

College student Adam Lambert doesn't really believe in the magical powers of knitting needles until he meets Kris Allen, knitting shop owner by day and gay erotica writer by night. Kris is an enigma wrapped in an adorable package and Adam finds himself wanting to strip away his layers (literally as well as figuratively), but at the end of the day will that be enough to make Adam mess with his carefully laid plans, or will his desire to "make it" stand in the way of true love?

Kris shut the door to his dressing room, blocking out the noise of all the people who wanted to congratulate him, the same ones who'd looked straight past him yesterday. The women in their fine jewels suddenly eager to be introduced, the Opera managers suddenly talking loudly of his future engagements—it would be nice if they'd bothered to talk to Kris about those, first. Even Lady Katherine—he'd imagined sometimes seeing her again, talking to her again. It should've been amazing to have her come backstage on her father's arm, smiling at him, giving him her hand, recognizing him. Except she hadn't recognized him in the chorus, the last six months.

Adam is pretty horrible at being a personal assistant or receptionist or whatever it is that he is, exactly. But that's okay, because Kris is pretty horrible at being a rock star.

“It’s your bachelor party, and you’re making tea!” He gestures towards the living room, arms flailing wildly. “While there’s a stripper in there! Stripping!”

Kris shares an eye roll with Adam, then drops three cubes of sugar into his own cup. (Adam, apparently, doesn’t take any sugar in his, because he has to watch his weight—which is just bull, if you ask Kris.)

“I have one right here,” Kris tells Charles calmly. “And all to myself, too.”

Charles’ expression turns worried. “You realize that one was just a joke? Ha ha?” Then he realizes the joke is sitting right there and offers Adam an apologetic look. “No offense, man.”

Listening to his dad play when he thinks Dylan is asleep makes Dylan kind of sad and worried. His dad is good, that’s what everyone says. But no one ever gets discovered in Arkansas. Alfie says even Baltimore is better if you want to be famous, but he still thinks that city kind of stinks, so he doesn’t recommend it to Dylan. He says they need to move to Los Angeles. That’s where all the famous people live. And Alfie has an Aunt Madeleine there, and he can totally come and visit sometimes.

Dylan doesn’t have his own computer, but his dad lets him use the one in the living room. He even has his own account there, with his very own user picture (Batman) and password (robinsux). So he already looked Los Angeles up, and he’s pretty sure Alfie is right about this. Because Los Angeles is where Adam Lambert lives, and if his dad is ever going to make an album and give concerts and stuff, Adam Lambert is the guy to help.

Mermaid hooker AU: Adam is a mer-pimp, Kris is a mer-hooker, and there is a plotty plot of plottiness that doesn't have to do with either of these things directly. I'm told it's not, um, complete crap. As long as you aren't expecting kinky inter-species sex, or actually any sex at all, or, like, relationship angst or something.

Acclaimed songwriter Kris Allen is finally laying down his own recording of his songs. He's retired to the studio for a month, and he's taken a vow: until the recording's done, there'll be no drinking, no partying, and definitely no girls. Everything's going to be dedicated to the music. Until rock star Adam Lambert, recently returned from touring, turns up at the studio to remind Kris that he signed a contract to write a song to become Adam's next single release - and Adam prefers to collaborate on every song that's created for him.

Just as Kris gets up the courage to tell Adam how he feels about him, Adam mysteriously disappears from a bad neighborhood. Finding himself involved in a high-stakes investigation, Kris faces off with their record label, the FBI, and the demons of his and Adam's complicated past to uncover who, if anyone, could have taken Adam.

After years of desperately trying to break into the industry, Adam is starting to let his bill-paying waiter job become more like a career. And then American Idol winner Kris Allen comes into his restaurant.

Kris laughed, and then at Adam’s expression he said, “Wait, your bus really broke down?”

Adam nodded.

“That actually happens?”

“Third time this tour. I may have gone all diva on their asses and thrown a bit of a fit about it before calling a taxi to take me to the first bar I could find.”

Kris had to bite his lip to keep back a chuckle.

“What? Seriously, you’re giving me a complex here.”

“I just had this really strong urge to say, out of all the bars in Conway . . . ,” Kris said, and then broke off laughing when Adam laughed as well.

Kris Allen is tired of always being cast as the best friend in other people's lives. When he first meets doctor Adam Lambert and actually manages to ask him out on a date he thinks things will be different, but history repeats itself all over again and Kris is stuck pining over a guy that just wants to be his friend. But is it really only friendship Adam wants, and is Kris really just going to take it this time when there's so much at stake?

Kris made a decision he doesn't regret. Music's in his past, comfort and security in his future. But when an oddly spell-binding man gets caught in a raging storm outside his house, Kris finds himself bringing him in - damn his Southern hospitality - and by the end of the night questioning every choice he's ever made. Adam, recognizing Kris' talent, forces him to choose between the past and the future, between passion and sense, Adam's offer of his own love tied up in the middle of it. The problem is, Kris just can't seem to exist only for himself. He has to learn to be selfish to truly live.

In which Adam (a rock star) meets Kris (a single dad) at an Emergency Room in Arkansas at the end of a particularly shitty night. Also features: San Francisco, fresh starts, baked goods, OCs, cameo appearances by Matt and Megan, pirates, monsters with garbage heads and a recording studio.

Prince Kristopher gets a lot of proposals. In fact, he gets so many that his secretary filters through them all and forwards only the most interesting and amusing to him at breakfast.