I think when I was younger, I could box in what my sexuality was about, what's my type and all that. But as I've gotten older, and just learned more about myself and the world, it's not really about type anymore. I mean, if someone's hot, they're hot. If someone's interesting, they're interesting. If you have an energy and a chemistry with someone, then you have chemistry. Done. You can't really define that or explain it. It just is. You just meet people and you click, or you don't. You know? [Pauses.] Although - I like pretty boys. … And I'm generally drawn to [guys who are] younger than me.

- Adam Lambert, OUT Magazine, November 2009


CHAPTER FOUR

Adam didn't give him a choice, but he did offer him something to wear, other than his jeans and t-shirt from last night.

"I haven't been to temple in, like, six years," Puck said, frowning.

Adam smiled, fingers working their way up the buttons of his shirt. "Maybe it's time to start going again, then."

Puck held out the black shirt Adam had given him, fingering the stitching. "I don't think I even believe in God anymore."

"You don't go to temple for you," Adam scoffed. "You go for your community. It's tradition."

"Community? You don't know anybody here."

Adam's gaze was steady. "Community's bigger than the town you live in. It's part of connecting with where you come from, no matter what you believe." He put a hand on Puck's back. "Al tid'ag."

The hand burned through his shirt and made him tingle. I just want you to take me back to bed, he thought, but he didn't say it. "What's that mean?" he asked instead.

"Don't worry."

He took his arm and led him downstairs to the hotel lobby, waiting to be seated at the hotel restaurant. Puck eyeballed the woman at the desk, who was watching them suspiciously. Adam just gave her a cheerful wave, and she looked away in a hurry.

"You're way too awake for morning," Puck muttered.

"Somehow I slept well last night," Adam said, eyes wandering over the menu. His tone was light and teasing, but Puck felt a shiver of understanding pass between them. They chose a booth facing away from the door and sat beside each other, hands laced under the table. Adam ordered coffee, and, without asking, a pot of Darjeeling for Puck.

"I slept well, too," Puck admitted. "Way better than usual. I almost always wake up in the middle of the night."

Adam's fingers rubbed the knuckles of Puck's hand. "Any particular reason?"

"My dad. I told you about him. He did stuff to us, me and my brother and my mom." It was easier to say than he expected; today all the words were flowing easily, without any kind of hesitation. "I remember things at night, things I don't remember during the day. By the time I'm awake again, they're mostly gone, but every now and then, they stick with me. I wish they wouldn't."

Adam accepted the presspot of tea from the waitress with thanks, and set it aside, pouring the milk into Puck's cup. Puck watched him with a raised eyebrow, but Adam said nothing until Puck said, "Uh, I can do that."

"Just relax," Adam said, complacently, tapping the spoon off on his cup. "You're fine. How's your brother dealing with it? Is he younger or older?"

"Five years older. But I have a sister, too; she's five years younger. Timothy, and Sarah. Timothy - he took off when he was my age. Couldn't deal. But he came back to help with - my mom."

"What happened with your mom?"

Puck watched the funeral procession drive by in his mind. He'd been kind of impressed by the number of people there, considering what kind of a judgmental bitch she'd been. He'd sat at the park across the street and watched from his truck. Kurt had seen him, but when he'd tried to approach him, Puck had driven off in a hurry.

"She died."

Adam's hand found his under the table again. "I'm sorry."

Puck nodded. "It's hard to believe, still."

"When did it happen?"

He had to think about it for a minute, and then had to release the catch in his throat before he could speak. "Last Thursday."

Adam's eyes went wide and shocked, and he looked like he wanted to say something, but the waitress came by to take their order. Puck just shook his head once, and Adam turned to the waitress, calm as anything, and said, "The potato pancakes, please. And do you have turkey bacon?"

"French toast," Puck said, handing her the menu. "With bacon. Regular bacon. Not too crispy."

The silence between them went on for long enough that Puck felt like he had to look up at Adam to see what he was thinking. He couldn't be certain, even then, but there was compassion, and concern, and the thing he'd called love last night, but now he wasn't sure what to call it. He reached for his teapot, but Adam stilled his hand.

"I'll do it," Adam told him, and it wasn't a negotiation. Puck sat back, feeling antsy with nothing to focus on, and concentrated on the contact of Adam's thigh against his.

The tea was the perfect shade. He watched Adam pour it into the cup and stir until the white and the brown became tan. Adam picked up the cup and placed it into his hands; it was warm and comforting.

"Noah," he said, and Puck heard the concern in his voice. "What happened?"

He spoke automatically, the words he'd said two dozen times or more over the past week. "She was sick. We're still not exactly sure, but something in her brain. Probably a stroke."

Adam slid an arm between his back and the back of the bench, giving him a place to rest his head, and Puck did, listening to the beat of Adam's heart. "I'll bet that was really awful."

"The most awful part was how relieved I was," Puck said. "She was a grade-A bitch, nothing else to say about it. She kicked me out of the house; said I could choose between living there and being with Kurt and Finn."

Adam's arm tightened around him protectively, and Puck actually did feel protected within that circle. It was improbable how much he appreciated it.

"Sounds like you've had a lot of ultimatums in your life recently," Adam said. He sounded angry, but even without seeing his face, Puck could tell it wasn't about him.

The waitress slid their plates onto the table, but Puck barely noticed, with Adam's arm around him, so close against his body. He had a green, fresh smell, not like cologne or soap, but like cut grass, crisp and clean. Puck turned his head into Adam's neck and breathed him in, and felt him respond, like a vibration against him.

"I'm trying to be here for you," Adam murmured. "But you're damned distracting."

"I don't care," Puck said. "Fuck breakfast. I want you."

"Later," came Adam's silky reply. "You need to eat. Drink your tea." While Puck sipped, he reached a casual arm across the table, still curved around Puck's back, and snagged a couple plastic containers of butter. He peeled the plastic off each one and spread it on Puck's French toast, then cut them into neat squares.

"You're really going to make me go to temple with you," Puck said, stabbing a square of toast and dipping it into syrup before cramming it into his mouth. At least he's not trying to feed me, he thought irritably.

"I really am," Adam agreed. "Now, even more than before. It's still Hannukah, for one thing. And I'm guessing you haven't recited the Kaddish for your mother."

"Why?" Puck pushed the toast around on his plate. "It's stupid. It's not going to help her any. She's still going to be dead."

"In this case, it is for you." Adam's voice was brisk, but his hands were gentle. They touched his back and neck, feeling warm through the black cotton shirt Adam had lent him. "Expressing your devotion, in the face of your sorrow and anger. If you were serious about it, you'd recite it every day for the next eleven months, during avelut."

"Yeah, and I'd stop going to parties and listening to music for those eleven months, too," he said angrily. "That's not going to happen."

"So it's not going to hurt to do it once. And it might help." Adam smoothed his collar. "Do you trust me?"

That's a hell of a question. Puck closed his eyes. "Yes," he said, reluctantly.

"Then let me take care of this." He smeared some sour cream on his potato pancakes and took a bite, making a face. "Pity. All oil and no flavor."

"You should try mine. They're fucking amazing."

"I'm not at all surprised," said Adam, smiling. "Just like everything else about you."

"Whatever," he muttered, feeling the heat on his cheeks and neck. Adam watched him as he ate another forkful of French toast.

"What happened to the confident young man I met last night?" he asked. "You think so little of me that you'd assume I'd fall in love with someone who's less than amazing?"

Puck stopped chewing and put his fork down, barely able to swallow. His eyes took in Adam's placid expression with disbelief. "You said... last night, that you didn't know if...?"

"I think it's still too early to know for sure how things are going to turn out for us," he said quietly. "But I know how I feel, right now - not in the heat of the moment. Right now... there's definitely love here."

Puck steadied his trembling lips and willed himself not to cry in the middle of the restaurant. If some asshole is going to snap a picture of the two of us together, he prayed, don't let it be when I'm looking like a complete wuss. Instead he buried his face in Adam's shirt and tried to accommodate this new world, in which his box including all the most important people in his life had suddenly been expanded by one additional person, someone he barely knew, and might never see again after tomorrow.

"That's... pretty freaking terrifying," he said, his voice muffled by the soft fabric.

"It doesn't have to be, honey," Adam replied. "It's the beginning. Let's just take things as they come." Puck felt the pressure of his grip on his neck. "But don't try to hide from me, or lie to me. It won't... end... well for you."

Puck shifted on the vinyl seat, grateful for the padding, and nodded mute understanding.

"Eat," implored Adam. "We need to get going. Service starts at 9:30, and I'm not a fashionably late kind of guy."

But the elevator ended up being too close quarters and too long alone with Adam for Puck to handle, and as soon as the doors closed, he slammed Adam up against the wall and wrestled his mouth into a desperate, smoldering kiss. Adam went along with it for the ride up to the sixth floor, but when the bell dinged and the doors slid open again, Adam put a firm hand on his chest and pushed him away.

"I know what you're doing," he said, "and I don't take well to being topped from the bottom."

"I just want -" Puck said, reaching for him again, and Adam shook his head, taking him by the hand and walking him down the hall toward his room.

"Yes, I know very well what you want, and I've already said later. I'm susceptible to your charms, but I also know when I'm being manipulated. Even if you don't realize you're doing it." He stopped Puck in the hallway and looked hard at him. "You're going to have to let me set the agenda, honey, or else there's going to be consequences - and you're still not going to get what you want."

"Uh," said Puck, with a shiver, feeling the words travel down into his gut, and lower. "You do realize those kind of promises are not really going to get me to behave myself?"

"They'd better," Adam purred, stroking his face and giving Puck his most devastating glance from under his lowered lids. "Or you're not going to be up for much driving home when I'm done with you. You think that paddle was the worst thing I have in my bag of tricks?"

Puck felt curiosity warring with dread, but then he considered the discomfort he was already going to be in on that 23 hour drive. "Maybe I could just stay longer," he said, in what he'd planned to be a teasing tone, but what came out just as hopeful and fucking desperate as he was feeling. Shit. His embarrassed gaze dropped to his boots, hiding under the tops of the grey slacks Adam had lent him.

Adam's gentle hand guided his face back up to him, with one hand under his chin. His blue eyes were sad. "We're flying out late this afternoon," he said. "Or else you can bet I'd be keeping you, as long as I could. I have to be back in LA for the American Music Awards tonight."

"Th-this afternoon?" A frisson of panic raced through him and he clutched at Adam's arms. "No - I thought we had a whole day, another night -"

Adam shook his head, once. "So here's what we're going to do," he said. "Are you ready to listen to me now?"

Slowly, Puck's arms dropped, returned to his side. He took a few deep breaths. "Yeah," he said, finally.

"Try again," Adam said, the warning tone lurking beneath his loving voice.

"Yes, Adam," he said hastily. He gazed up at Adam, the scant inches between them seeming like miles. Adam stroked Puck's chest, speaking in a soft tone, calming him further with his words.

"We're going to get in my car and drive down to the synagogue for Shabbat services. Then we're going to come back here and spend a few hours getting to know each other better. We're going to use every moment we have, as best we can. Then I'm going to say goodbye to you, at 3:00. You're going to go back to Alex's house, eat a good dinner." His lips made a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Does Alex have a TV?"

"Yes - Adam." No, he was crying. No. We can't only have six hours left - and we're wasting two hours of it going to fucking temple?

"Good. The American Music Awards are on tonight. Then... you're going to watch me perform for you." His hand curled out and pulled Puck into his chest, and Puck was startled to feel Adam's own breath shuddering. "Just for you."

Puck's no's came out onto Adam's shirt, a litany of denial, and he clutched at him. "Yes," Adam insisted, his voice breaking. "Yes, honey. It's how it's going to have to be."

Through the blur of tears, his face turned to the side, Puck saw a young man in the hall, just a few doors down from where they stood. He watched them with clear regret and sadness, and let out a sigh as he slid the keycard into his door. "Adam," he said. "What are you doing?"

Adam's arms tightened on Puck. "Embracing love," he said. "This is it, Tommy. What I've been singing about all along. This is it."

"You're going to be useless tonight," he said. "And we've got a fucking live performance."

"You're wrong," he said defiantly, turning to face the young man, holding Puck securely in one arm. "I'm inspired. It's going to be... unforgettable."


Imma pick u up, Imma pick u up
We're gonna see where we can go
This is how I live, this is what I give
And you're the one I want to know

- Adam Lambert, "Pick U Up"