Like Cherry Wine

Adam’s always had a sweet tooth, and alcohol is no exception. He likes it best when it tastes like candy, and finds it particularly gleeful to order something ridiculously named – Cherry Hooker – with bright food coloring, and four cherries stuck on the rim, an actual mini umbrella hanging off the side.

If he weren’t so ridiculously tall, and so ridiculously confident, and so ridiculously Adam, someone might have ribbed him for it. Someone who wasn’t Kris, that is.

Kris hates the stuff. Sends a painful tingle to his jaw, makes his teeth ache at a sighting of it.

He’s got it, though – he’s quite well-stocked in dessert booze, grapes and honeysuckles. Candy wine. It’s for every time Adam comes over, treats in the back of Kris’ cupboard – silent invitations for him to talk louder, laugh harder, stay a little longer. He never does for too long, though.

The stuff is disgusting, and Kris really should stop drinking it. He meant to just dump it, watch it swivel down the drain – he’s not really sure why he keeps shoving it down his throat between pouring it into his kitchen sink. It tastes like Adam, or what he always imagined Adam would taste like. Adam, Adam Lambert. Adam Lambert-Labry. Mr. Lambert-Labry. Drake Lambert-Labry. A great guy, a great couple, Adam Lambert loves Drake Labry so, so very much. Rolling Stone said so.

God damn it.

Kris takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently holding – lands on his tongue like sugar, peach-flavored sugar? – and turns it upside down over the sink. The wine splashes almost violently as it meets the metal, splattering in pretty red droplets on Kris’ counter, on his wall, red freckles on cream-colored skin… Kris peers curiously at the dots, runs a finger over one and licks it. Cherry. Adam. Adam Lambert-Labry.

No, really. God damn it.

He’s feeling a little numb by now, which explains the difficulty he has with the next bottle. He fumbles with the cork, fingers tight around the neck of it as if choking someone. It feels awesome, not being the nice one, for once. He’s distracted, but not deaf, so there’s no excuse for not hearing the creak of the door as it opens, closes, the easy footsteps on the tiles. He shouldn’t have been so surprised by the larger hand deftly taking the bottle from his own trembling grip.

“So, what’re we toasting?” Adam laughs at Kris’ expression, uncorking it with a happy little pop – it wasn’t champagne, so it didn’t bubble all over the place, which was good. Nothing would have darkened Kris mood more, and he usually loves bubbles.

Kris must have scowled. Frowned, whatever – but he didn’t mean to, really, he has no right draping a wet blanket on Adam’s engagement week. Even if his own divorce ‘anniversary’ was right around the corner. It’s a happy time.

But he did, so Adam’s not smiling anymore, a perfect reflection.

“The happy couple,” Kris says flatly, nabbing the bottle back and tipping its contents down the drain. Adam goes silent, propping himself on his elbows against the counter, watching him. Kris takes a deep gulp when it’s half-empty, allows Adam a sip to humor him, who then uncorks the next one for Kris when it’s all trickled out.

“Didn’t think it would bother you this much,” Adam starts, still quiet, and Kris decides he hates that cautious note in his voice – like he was expecting him to snap any second.

It doesn’t stop him from being bitter, though. “Me neither.” And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been genuinely happy at the engagement party, bearing witness to Adam’s flushed cheeks and that joyful glint in his eyes, even if it was while holding Drake’s hand. It’s only when he gets home, when the guests have cleaned out and the congratulations have faded, the happy couple going back to their apartment to celebrate the future and Kris… Kris alone in his too-big rock star penthouse, well-stocked in too-sweet wines and memories of him and Adam, promising to do everything together, to always be there for each other, romance be damned.

“Y’know, in my dream world,” Adam muses, and Kris has to give him credit for trying to cheer things up. “I have two twink boyfriends waiting for me at home.”

Kris rolls his eyes, as sardonic as he’ll ever get, letting the eighth bottle vomit into the sink. “Keep dreaming.”

“Hey,” Adam insists, that grin seeping back into his tone – and really, only Adam can have a voice that smiles. “No, seriously, best idea ever. Drake can do the decorating, I can order the takeout, and you and your guitar can provide the background music. Team effort, it’s totally Zen.”

Kris kind of wants to cry. “How is he?”

“He’s good.” Adam nods, not missing his cue. “Happy.”

Kris feels bad for that word, getting thrown around all the time, describing everything from songs to pandas to birthdays to fiancés. It must feel awfully tired, like how he’s awfully tired, of life and touring and everyone finding their happy endings just after he’d fucked up his own. It’s only when he feels Adam come up behind him that he realizes he’s gone off the counter, and only when Adam reaches over, pressing lightly down the lip of the bottle that he realizes his hand had been going lax, not pouring out the wine as much as stupidly holding it front of him. Adam laughs at his face again – he wonders how many times his face has done that, it’s not like it tries to look funny all the time – and tugs the bottle loose from his hand, sets it on the side.

And tilts his chin up, slides into his space and digs his nose into his cheek – and just like that they’re kissing. Kris can hardly remember that he’s waited years for this; it’s such a sweet kiss, sweeter than he ever thought it would be, replaying it a thousand times in his head. Sweet like the wine, like the breaths shared between their open mouths, and it leaves Kris somehow more lightheaded than before.

“You taste so good,” Adam tells him.

“I taste like you.” Kris turns his head, so that the second kiss lands on his cheek. He tries to hide how breathless he is, but his lungs betray him. He attempts to clear his head, but it seems he’s drunker than he thought. It feels like his buttons are undoing themselves – the little bastards, coming apart one at a time – and then there’s warmth taming the goose bumps on his flesh, wide hands mapping over his chest, possessive as they graze his sides. Adam nudges the shirt off his shoulder, lips soft and fitted perfectly on the hollow of his neck, the puzzle piece he never thought he’d lost.

Kris allows him, not fighting it but not arching back, arms braced against the sink. Adam seems to sense the hard lines of his muscles, and lets his hands slip to his back and rubs the tension from his skin; acting for all the world like his touch can do miracles, turn anything to gold. Kris wouldn’t put it past him.

“You want me to leave?” Adam says, not whispering as much as murmuring huskily.

Here he is, everything Kris has ever wanted, everything Kris has been too scared to want – and he still feels the need to ask. Kris breathes, melting into the pulses in Adam’s fingertips, letting them thrum in sync to the beat of his own heart.

“Does Drake know?”

Adam sighs, pulls back a little. His poker face, though wavering at the moment, is better than Kris’ will ever be. “He always did. Fuck, Kris, the entire fucking world knows, but you never – until…”

Kris is already quite aware that it’s his fault, always pining for things that aren’t meant for him, he doesn’t need to be reminded, come on – and he really should push Adam away, even if he’s been practically been begging for this all night. Drake is obviously a good guy, he’ll treat Adam right, he deserves better, and Adam… he deserves his chance at a happy marriage too.

“He gets it,” Adam replies, so apparently he said that last bit out loud? “I deserve to be happy, and so do you.”

Kris forgets Adam is older than him, sometimes. He wouldn’t be surprised if Adam believed unicorns were real. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not impossible.” And then Kris stops resisting completely, swallowing down tears and laughter and the taste of cherry wine as he kisses Adam hard, finally taking everything he’s ever wanted, everything that has always been his in the first place.