(Author's note: This started as a PWP prompt for some hot Puck/Adam action. I was, like, "Adam Lambert who?" So I listened to some of his music, read some interviews - and wrote 9,000 words without them even having kissed. It was then I knew Adam was going to impact the Donutverse in a big way.
This story takes place during Bending in the Archer's Hand, story #8 of the Glee Donutverse. If you haven't yet read any of the previous Donutverse stories, you have three options. One is to read the other stories first; links, summaries and suggested reading order can be found at http:/ gleeslash. livejournal. . Two is to read the summary, found at http:/ archiveofourown. org/works/292318. Three is to blunder on bravely and deal with spoilers and confusing character references - and, trust me, there are lots and lots.
This story contains, among other things, m/m sexual exploits, domestic discipline, Dominant/submissive dynamics, polyamory, schmoopy romance, unrealistic teenage dialogue, religious musings, singing, liberal use of the "f" word (Puck) and rather a lot more angst than I would have expected. No donuts, though there is a mention of cream-cheese brownies.
Adam's album release, the 2009 American Music Awards and all the other current events referred to in this story were originally in November, but I had to move them to December to work for the Donutverse timeline, so thanks for extending some latitude there. Do note that Adam's an interesting person, but this is really just my own take on a possible incarnation of him, and no commentary on who he might be in real life. Also, Adam himself has stated he's not very Jewish, but it works for my purposes, so I went with that.
If you've never fallen into Adam's rabbit hole, do take time during this story to watch the Youtube links and get to know his music; I hope you will be as astonished and mesmerized as I was at his talent. The music in this story, as is true for all my fiction, is completely inextricable from the story itself. I recommend you listen to the music as you read, if your brain works that way. You can find the Youtube playlist here: http:/ www. youtube. com/playlist?list=PLD240CD7441F64E8C
Thank you, as always, to songirl77 for inspiration, beta-reading and tireless support. I couldn't have written this story without the support of my cowriter knittycat99. The two Tess chapters were a collaborative effort between myself and Flynn Anthony, and I'm tickled to note that Adam is now leaking over into all her 'verses as well. Thanks also to deeniebee for early read-throughs, fantastic encouragement and the suggestion for Sarah's pet name for Burt.
I am very proud to present this story to you. Please, enjoy. -amy)
Great music is personal and real.
- Adam Lambert, PopEater, February 2011
CHAPTER ONE
The Santa Fe coffeehouse was pretty much exactly like all the other coffeehouses Puck had visited over the past week – same muted hum of the espresso machine, same smell of almonds and caramel syrup, same bored, black-clad crowd – except for the security detail outside. Puck raised his arms, bemused, as they patted him down his ribs and legs before giving him the green light. He glanced around with suspicion.
"Why the goon squad?" he asked Nicole quietly. She grinned and hoisted her bass over the table and settled it along the wall, safely out of the way of stepping feet.
"That would be because of Adam," she said.
"Adam," he echoed.
"Lambert," she confirmed, pointing at the other end of the coffee shop. A young man with black hair cut in an angular style was hunched over a steaming mug across from a slim, gorgeous boy with a goatee. He wore a black t-shirt and a heavy silver chain, and as Puck watched, he laughed at something the boy with the goatee said.
"Is he wearing eyeliner?" Puck said, wrinkling his nose. "Dude."
"Don't you watch American Idol?" Nicole raised a pierced brow when he shrugged. "You might be the only one who doesn't, then. I thought everybody knew who he was by now. He was one of the final two contestants last year."
"I've been a little busy lately," Puck muttered, setting his own guitar case down and snapping open the latches. He'd been playing the Taylor every day, sometimes a couple times a day, for the past week, but he found himself wanting it even more, almost to the point of craving it.
It reminded him of another craving, one he'd had for longer than a week, and one that was not likely to be fulfilled in the near future. So you might as well stuff those visions of being on your knees back into your head, where they belong, he told himself sternly. It's just not fucking going to happen.
Having the Taylor in his hands made him feel safe, another familiar part of the universal coffeehouse environment. As he played a few harmonics to check the tuning, the dark-haired man – Adam – looked his way. He took in Puck's mohawk, his leather jacket, the ripped jeans and boots, his guitar, his haunted eyes, all in one glance. His lips tipped up in a surprisingly aware and understanding smile.
Puck didn't smile back, but he thought he might consider it. He'd had precious few reasons to smile over the past few days. His visit was nearly over; on Sunday it would be time for him to head back to Ohio. But not to go home. No, home was a concept that didn't exist for him anymore, and wouldn't likely have again for a long while. He clutched the neck of his guitar and closed his eyes as he was rocked by an unexpected blast of pain. It had been so long since he hadn't hurt, it almost felt like the default setting, now, but sometimes it just got unbearable.
"How about some coffee?" Nicole suggested, stroking the back of his neck with one hand. He felt himself tense, then forced his shoulders to relax. His instinct had said wrong hands, but that was silly, wasn't it? Nicole was his lover as much as… as much as…
But he wasn't Puck's, anymore.
"Tea, please," he said dully. His fingers found the strings and picked a default pattern, without him thinking about it. Freight train, freight train, goin' so fast… He'd learned that when he was eight, when his brother still lived at home, when his father was still wreaking havoc in his life. When he still had a mother.
Then he realized he'd shifted to picking a different pattern on the strings, Asus2, A, D, repeating endlessly… he hummed Kurt's melody, feeling the ache penetrate his skin and set up residence in his gut. It wasn't possible for him to play the other melody, the one that fit alongside it, that formed the backbone, the structure around which the suspended chords made a perfect fit. That melody had been relegated to his dreams, from which he always woke crying. He was pretty sure he wouldn't ever play it again.
"Play it," said the boy with the goatee at the table with Adam, echoing Puck's thoughts, and he looked up. Adam was declining politely, but he wasn't trying very hard, and eventually he gave in, laughing.
"Okay, okay!" he said. "I'll play it. World premiere. No cameras, right?"
The words set off a flurry of action around Puck, and he realized at least a quarter of the patrons in the coffeehouse must be part of the goon squad, too, because they were checking the other three-quarters of the patrons for phones and cameras. "All clear," said a woman with a nose ring and pink frizzy hair.
"Fine. You're such a bitch," he added to the boy with the goatee who hung on Adam's arm like he owned him, and kissed his cheek with a smirk.
The boy scanned the tables. "Is Tommy going to play it, or do I need to scrape up an accompanist from somewhere?"
Adam shook his head. "Tommy's at the hotel with a headache."
The boy cast his eyes around the coffeehouse and landed on Puck. "How about him?" he said, jerking a thumb at him.
Adam's gaze met Puck's once more, and this time when he smiled, Puck nodded back at him. "You read tablature?" Adam asked, his voice mild.
"Yeah," Puck replied cautiously. He wasn't sure he was up for anything much beyond coffee tonight. Knowing he was going to have to get back on the road on Sunday for the 23 hour drive was making him antsy.
Adam sorted through the papers in his satchel and came up with a sheaf of tablature. "I've got a request," he said, with a conspiratorial smile at Puck, and held out the papers. "Drake isn't going to leave me alone until I play him this song. Technically I'm not supposed to play it live until December 18th, but we've only got a few more days." He tipped his head at Puck. "You won't tell, will you?"
"Dude, I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Puck said, leafing through the tab, "but I can play whatever you want me to play. What's the tempo?"
Adam broke into a couple bars of song, and the tables around them fell silent, watching and listening. His voice was rich and vibrant. He'd give Mr. Schue a run for his money, Puck thought, and laid the music on the table in front of him, strumming tentatively at first, then with more confidence.
"That's it," Adam nodded, smiling in admiration. Drake came over and sat across from them, clearly not liking the attention Adam was paying to Puck, but not really having a leg to stand on, since they were just singing, for fuck's sake. Puck gave him a smirk and considered rubbing up against Adam in a totally inappropriate way, just to make Drake twitch.
Then Adam started to sing, and Puck just shut the hell up and listened.
http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=JKXyAJG5Wbo
Hey, slow it down
Whataya want from me
Yeah, I'm afraid
Whataya want from me
There might have been a time
When I would give myself away
Once upon a time
I didn't give a damn
But now here we are
So whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
Just don't give up
I'm working it out
Please don't give in
I won't let you down
It messed me up, need a second to breathe
Just keep coming around
Hey, whataya want from me
Whataya want from me
Adam's voice was liquid, with plenty of expression and an impressive range. The song was simple, but Puck felt the lyrics resonate inside. When he began the second verse, it was like Adam was holding up a mirror to the way things had been, with Kurt and… other people… When he compared it to the way things looked now, it made his chest tight.
Yeah, it's plain to see
That baby you're beautiful
And there's nothing wrong with you
It's me, I'm a freak
Yeah, thanks for lovin' me
Cause you're doing it perfectly
There might have been a time
When I would let you slip away
I wouldn't even try but I think
You could save my life
He ached, all the time – but this was like the worst kind of torture, Adam's strong voice stripping off the barriers he'd erected, and here he was, in a fucking Santa Fe coffeehouse, playing guitar for some pop star, and feeling the tears lurking behind the thin veneer of self-control he had left.
Just don't give up
I'm workin' it out
Please don't give in
I won't let you down –
Adam stopped singing and put a concerned hand on Puck's shoulder. "Are you okay, kid?" he said, softly, and that was more than Puck could handle. He cradled his Taylor close to his chest and made a dash for the door, pushing past Nicole and the startled security, out into the cool December desert night. It was chilly enough that there weren't many people outside, other than Adam's goons, so Puck could have his freak-out in private.
It was short-lived privacy. Puck felt a touch, and when he tried to brush it off, the soft voice was back, disarming him: "Hey, kid, I'm sorry, whatever it was – I didn't mean to open old wounds or whatever."
"No," Puck said, with a bitter chuckle; "believe me, they're pretty new wounds. It's okay. I'm – I didn't know it was gonna affect me like that. Those lyrics… fuck, man."
He heard the smile in Adam's voice. "Hey, that's good, though. Music should affect you, touch you, or why bother?" He hesitated. "Was that your girlfriend inside? You want me to get her for you?"
"Puck." The deep voice, as always, made his heart stand still just for a moment, and he stiffened, straightening his back and coming to attention. Adam took this in, and he stepped back a few paces, watching the big man approach. Alex couldn't avoid drawing attention if he tried, with his back-length red curls and his barrel chest.
"Sir," Puck whispered.
"Nicole said you were upset," he said, but did not approach. "Do you need to go home?"
"No, sir, thank you," he said, flickering eyes to Adam, whose face was registering understanding on a different level than Puck had expected. Puck knew he had every right to feel anxious about having a stranger witness this, but all he felt was calm and protected in Alex's presence.
Alex regarded Adam with impassive judgment. "He's been through a lot lately," he said, and Adam nodded slowly.
"I think – I can be of help," he said, and Puck jerked his eyes up to the dark-haired man's, which were suddenly topaz and glittering in the light of the street. "If it's desired."
"That's up to Puck," Alex said, dismissively. "He's a grown boy. He can make his own decisions about that."
But I can't, not always, Puck thought desperately, even as he glowed with the praise from his lover. No one else had ever treated him so much like a man as Alex had. He curled himself more tightly around his guitar and wiped his eyes on the side of his hand.
"He needs – a firm hand," Alex added, and Adam hummed understanding, crossing his arms across his chest. He suddenly reminded Puck strikingly of Kurt, and he felt the ache return, doubled. He heard himself make a quiet noise.
"I think we can start with just talking," Adam suggested, and he put a hand on Puck's arm, tugging him back toward the coffeehouse. "But I appreciate the... insight, and also knowing he's got his freedom to make decisions for himself."
"He's always had that capability." Alex did approach now, and put a big, warm hand on the small of Puck's back. Puck felt the curtain of submission overtake him, and he closed his eyes, wondering vaguely if this was a good idea, but trusting Alex to take care of him.
"You want this?" Alex asked in a low voice, against Puck's head. It was just loud enough for Puck to hear, and it made him shiver.
"I –" Puck felt his brow contract, and his gaze was drawn down the neck of his guitar to where Adam stood, watching him. His face was enigmatic, but he wasn't looking away.
"I can take you home now," Alex went on, just a murmur in his ear. "You know I'll take care of you. But – you get to choose, freely, and no matter what you pick, we will all love you just the same."
He's not Kurt, he made himself think. No matter how much he reminds you of him, he's not him. You'll see him in three days. You don't even know for sure if Kurt – that he doesn't – he might still – He took a shuddering breath. Adam's hand was warm on his arm.
"I want to stay," he said, and his voice was small and plaintive, and not at all like his.
Alex's hand swept up to his neck and, briefly, tightened there. "You will call me, tonight, and let me know where you are."
"Yes sir," Puck said quickly.
"And I'll expect to see you tomorrow, if you don't end up staying with us, before you drive home." Lips pressed to his forehead, and Alex patted his bottom, once. Again, the thought passed through his mind that he should have been mortified, but Adam just smiled faintly and nodded at Alex.
"Trust me, this is about the safest place in the country right now," Adam said, and he sounded so amused and wry and normal that Puck felt at ease. "After some of the homophobic threats people have made against me, my security's on alert, and they'll be watching me and everyone else who comes through here."
Puck wanted to say he understood, that it was all right, that he felt safe, but the truth was he wasn't at all sure it was all right. It wasn't Adam – not precisely. It was him, Puck himself, that wasn't all right. And any idiot who wants me, he thought. Whatever they want – they deserve what they get.
"I could use a fucking drink," he muttered, and Adam chuckled, his hand on Puck's arm guiding him without seeming to as they walked together back to the warmth of the coffee shop.
"How about something sweet?" Adam suggested. Puck's mouth twitched into something approximating a smile, and he looked sideways at the dark-haired man. Adam's lips parted and he tilted his head at the unspoken innuendo, but again, he didn't look away. Puck liked that he didn't.
"I'm a little… picky… about the things I put into my body," Puck said at last. "Most of them I cook or bake myself."
Adam nodded and held open the door for Puck, swinging it wide to make room for his guitar. "I got that… but you can't depend on yourself all the time. Sometimes, you have to trust someone else to take care of you."
Stepping through the door, Puck had to step in close to fit as others were on their way out, and his chest brushed Adam's. He saw the boy with the goatee, Drake, give an angry start, at the same time that someone from the goon squad made a move toward them, but Adam held out a hand that seemed to be sufficient to quell both his security and the jealous… lover?
"Your pretty boy's not happy with this," Puck observed, nodding at Drake. He paused in the doorway, facing Adam, tilting his head up to meet his astonishing blue eyes.
Adam laughed. "Drake's not my keeper. He'll deal. And you're much prettier than he is. What about your girlfriend? She's watching you like a hawk."
"Just being Alex's eyes when he's not here," Puck shrugged. "They all – they kind of come as a set, Alex and Nicole."
"And you? You're part of the set?" Adam looked curious, but Puck shook his head.
"I've got – my own set. Back home. I'm just visiting."
They took a seat across a tiny table in the back. It was funny how Adam just walking through the place cleared a space for them to be, everyone else making room for him, as though he had an invisible circle of privacy around him. Puck was glad to be the only one allowed inside, as Drake seemed to have given up, and everyone else in the coffee house looked a little awed to even be across the room from him. Adam's curiosity had increased, though, and it was all trained on Puck.
"Your own set of what?" he said. Puck hesitated for only a moment before pulling out his phone and bringing up his favorite photo of Kurt and Finn, sleeping curled up together in Finn's guest room bed, looking very much the picture of two people in love. Adam made a cooing noise when he saw it, and he put a hand to his mouth in a gesture that was so Kurt that Puck felt his chin wobble. He took a deep breath and didn't look at the picture.
"My God, they're beautiful," Adam whispered, touching Finn, then Kurt, and finally passed the phone back to Puck. Their hands brushed, and Puck took his time ending the contact.
"Yeah, well… we'll see if they still want to see me at all when I get back into town. Finn, he made it pretty clear we were through. And Kurt… "
"You love them." Adam wasn't asking. "That can fill in a lot of holes, even when you've made the holes yourself. I've been there… though it's been a while."
"Drake…?" Puck gestured at him, now sitting mere inches from a tall boy and trading smiles. Adam shook his head and glanced at his lap.
"No, I'm single. Things with Drake were too hectic; the press had a field day when we were together, and I don't want to put anyone else through that. Speaking of press…" Adam grimaced. "You should be prepared. I hope we've cleared out this place pretty well, but there's always the possibility of photos getting leaked, or something."
Puck imagined what Kurt would probably say if he knew he was having coffee with a pop star from American Idol, and he grinned. "Hey, I don't fucking care what people say about me. They can think what they want, because they're probably wrong."
"A complex man," Adam said, grinning back. "I appreciate that. And a brave man. Also a worthwhile attribute."
"Brave, I don't know." Puck thought this over while Adam ordered a double mocha latte. He shook his head when Adam offered him one.
"Come on," he wheedled, taking Puck's hand across the table. "You said you wanted a drink. The drug of choice here? Caffeine. Everybody's doing it."
"Darjeeling," Puck said to the waitress, giving in, and his hand tingled when Adam squeezed it. "Dude - that's not exactly what I had in mind when I said a drink."
Adam coughed delicately and let his eyes wander around the coffee house. "I haven't been forward enough to ask your exact age," he said, "and honestly? It's probably better I don't know. But I'm certain you're not twenty-one."
"My ID says I am," Puck contested, and Adam dissolved into fucking adorable giggles.
"Does your ID also include the name 'Puck?'" he countered. "Because that? Super cute to be named after a famous fairy."
"It's part of my last name," Puck explained. "My real first name is…" He hesitated, thinking of the last time he'd heard the name, in bed with Kurt, the way he'd moaned it aloud, repeating it over and over… "Noah. I'm Noah."
"Mmmmm," Adam approved. "A good Jewish name." He ran a thumb over Puck's, tracing the muscles in his hand, the calluses on the pads of his fingers. "You're quite a guitarist, Noah."
They let go when the waitress brought their drinks, Puck thanking her for the offered cream, and appreciating the presspot. "You've got to add the cream first," he explained, pouring it into his cup, letting his tea steep.
"You weren't kidding about being a food snob." Adam pointed at the glass pastry case across the room. "Are you willing to let me get you a scone or something to go with that?"
"I'm not hungry," he said, but he caught Adam's expression, sensual lips pressed together in amusement, dark-lined eyes watching him, and he felt compelled to add, "for a scone. Maybe one of those cream cheese brownies."
"Good man," Adam approved. "I was hoping to feed you little pieces with my fingers across the table, just to piss Drake off."
"Uh," Puck blinked, and Adam lost it again, pressing a hand to his mouth to cover the giggles. Puck gave himself a stern reminder – not Kurt – and grabbed Adam's hand again. "If you want to."
Adam looked a little surprised, but he recovered quickly, sipping his mocha with his free hand. "Oh, sweetheart, there's lots I want to."
Puck stiffened and closed his eyes, flinching away involuntarily. When he opened them again, Adam was watching him anxiously, hands steepled in front of his mouth. "Too much?" he guessed.
"No – just the 'sweetheart,'" Puck said, through gritted teeth. "I can't – only –" Only Kurt gets to call me that.
"Of course," he soothed. "It's me. I'm a little familiar with people. I'll try again." He watched while Puck poured his tea, properly steeped for three minutes, with shaking hands. "Why don't you play me something on that guitar."
"Sure," Puck agreed, feeling calmer already as he touched the Taylor's neck. Adam's smiling response made him calmer still, and he strummed a few chords. "What do you want to hear?"
"Hey, I don't know. Do you sing?" Puck nodded, and Adam smiled bigger. "Fabulous. Well… you heard what I've got. I can't play guitar or anything worth a damn, so you're one up on me."
"Dude, you're fucking awesome," Puck protested. "I don't think it's really a competition."
"Dude," Adam mocked, and Puck laughed, making Adam's eyes go soft. "I like that laugh. All right, just play me something amazing, then. Don't worry about what."
Puck ran his hand over his mohawk and, after a thought, launched into one of his favorite Steve Howe solo guitar pieces, Mood for a Day. It was technically challenging, but he'd practiced it a million times, and it was one of the best pieces for showing off his classical technique.
http:/ www. youtube. com/watch?v=FP7J8ONfIfs
He enjoyed seeing Adam's expression go from polite to surprised, and then, even better, a little hungry. Yeah, he thought with satisfaction. I can make guys cream their pants, too. The conversations around them had gone silent, and they were all listening to Puck play as attentively as though he'd been a performer at an open mic.
He saw Nicole on the other side of the room, watching him, and it made him relax a little more when she caught his eye and pointed at Adam and mouthed the word hot! He felt his face heat up, but he nodded in return, because, eyeliner notwithstanding, there was no fucking doubt about that.
When he was done, Adam started clapping, and a couple other people around them clapped, too. Puck was flushed with success and the heat of the moment, and he sipped his tea before suggesting, "Maybe I should get that brownie now."
Adam laughed and nibbled at his lip. "If that's where you are, we should get out of here before we do something in public we'll regret." He put his hand in his pocket momentarily, then reached for Puck's hand across the table, shaking it, and when he let go, there was a piece of paper there.
"Just in case I get followed by the press," Adam whispered. "I'll go now. You come in about ten minutes. And bring the guitar – I still want to hear you sing."
Puck nodded, watching him as he gulped back the rest of his mocha and pushed his chair out. He moved with an easy grace, but still seemed surprisingly ordinary. I met this guy at the coffee shop, he imagined saying. His name was Adam. He was pretty hot. He reminded me of you, baby.
Adam wasn't even all the way out the door before Puck was pressing a hand to his mouth, the tears already streaming down his face. Nicole was there, right behind him, her slender arms wrapping around his neck as she drew him into a hug. "Jesus," she sighed. "Did he brush you off? I thought that song was inspired. He doesn't know what he's missing."
"No, it's not that." Puck rubbed his face on his arm in frustration. "I'm – it's Kurt, Nicole. I just miss him so fucking much."
She watched him unhappily. "You know, it's kind of bad form to sleep with someone and pretend he's someone else."
"Who said I was planning to sleep with him?" he snapped, glaring ferociously at the cup of tea.
"Oh, Puck, you didn't have to," she said. "I got it. I know how you're feeling – you just better be really clear with yourself, and him, why you're doing it."
Puck found some little crumbs of biscotti on the table, left over from Adam's mocha. He pulverized them with the side of his thumb. "Why am I doing it?"
"Well, for one thing, hot." She grinned at him. "Let's not pretend that's not a big part of it, okay? The rest – well. Only you know for sure, but I can guess. He reminds you of Kurt. He's got something you want. He's famous."
"I don't care about that," he objected.
"The rest, though." She shrugged. "Do you need more than that?"
He put his head on the table, cradling his guitar. "Fuck me," he moaned. "I just feel like a total – I mean, why would I go looking for another guy when I have you and Alex and Daph –"
"Because attraction doesn't work that way," she said patiently. "You want what you want. It doesn't mean you stop wanting the other things. And it doesn't mean anything bad about you, okay?" She kicked him under the table. "Stop judging yourself by society's fucked up moral standards. You know better than that. Just honor your desires. Right?"
"Right – okay, okay!" He shielded himself from further kicks, but he was smiling now. "You know best."
"Fucking right I do. Well, I guess it's a moot point, since he took off, but – "
"Um," he said, holding up the paper. When he unfolded it, it turned out to be directions to his hotel, and a phone number.
Nicole's eyes widened, and she glanced around the coffee house. "Do not let anybody else have that," she whispered. "I bet some rabid fans would give various body parts for it."
"Whatever," he said. "He's just a guy. Okay, yeah, he's hot." He found himself standing, feeling more himself than he had in days. "I guess – I want this. Whatever this is."
"Don't forget to call," she reminded him, kissing him thoroughly. "I can't be held responsible for what Alex might do to you if you forget."
Your skin is burning at the sight of me
Your mask can't hide what you're thinking
Don't ask, don't tell
Just take what you need
I'm an open book
So go on and take a look
- Adam Lambert, "Master Plan"