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Glam Kink Meme Post #1

The Glam Kink Meme Post #1 is now open.

Have fun prompting, writing, reading, and feedbacking. :)

ETA: All prompts are listed here.

ETA2: All filled prompts are archived here.

ETA3 This post is now CLOSED to new prompts.

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(Anonymous)
Sep. 22nd, 2010 10:11 pm (UTC)
Adam/Kris
Kris works at a phone sex hotline to pay his bills. he's shy at first, but eventually starts to enjoy it. Rockstar Adam calls in while bored on tour and becomes a regular caller. They meet in real life, but only Kris realizes how he knows Adam.
janesgravity
Sep. 22nd, 2010 10:16 pm (UTC)
Re: Wicked and Divine 3/3
Lol thank you :)
(Anonymous)
Sep. 23rd, 2010 12:58 am (UTC)
FILL: Adam Lambert & the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, 1/??
It’s Neil’s fault.

Actually, if Adam’s to be completely honest with himself, it’s his own fault, but Neil still had a hand in it, so it’s at least partly Neil’s fault.

He knows from the minute he wakes up—by falling out of bed, which does nothing to help the hatpins the sun is stabbing through his poor defenceless eyes—that the day’s going to be an exercise in patience. His phone didn’t go off, for one, so he’s probably late to breakfast, and when he grabs it off his shelf to see why it didn’t ring he sees a message to Brooke, only half-typed, that he apparently fell asleep before finishing: neil is such a douchebag sometimes

Adam tries to remember what Neil did to deserve being called a douchebag and fails. Instead he hightails it down to the dining room (fervently praying to every higher power he knows the name of that nobody will get the bright idea to whip out their phone and take a picture of a hungover Adam Lambert in some truly horrendous plaid pyjama bottoms), where hotel staff are just cleaning up and flitting around half the tour crew. Adam manages to get a glass of orange juice and a bagel before getting shooed out of the kitchen area—not really enough to fill him up, but it’ll tide him over until he can pester someone to go get a box of Cheerios or something. Even if he doesn’t feel like eating, he has to have something on his stomach for soundcheck.

Brooke is already gone, probably out looking for a new pair of sneakers after the ones she brought on tour finally wore out, but Sasha, Terrence and the band are still there, accompanied by a Neil who glances up, sees Adam, and promptly looks in the other direction. Tommy is marinating in sleep-haze next to Terrence, both of them nursing coffee. Tommy looks marginally better than Adam feels.

Sasha giggles over her phone. Adam considers asking her to please be quiet until after one and decides asking would hurt worse than the giggling. He almost never gets hangovers, but in the annals of his hangover history this might be easily the worst.

“This one’s great,” Sasha tells Monte. “’Woke up in roommates bed & she said she wondered if i swung that way, this is going to be a great semester.’ I always wonder how you manage to not remember asking someone for sex.”

Something jostles uncomfortably in Adam’s head at the words, but he ignores it in favour of focusing very hard on eating very tiny of his bagel so he won’t be sick on it; on most days he could down the entire thing in half a dozen bites.

Ouch,” Sasha says. “This had to suck. ‘Hey kitty-cat get excited with all those . . . “ she slows down. “ . . . Adam?”

Adam looks up from his bagel, eyes slitted against the sun coming in from the patio. Sasha’s managed to turn a shade of red that shouldn’t even show up against her skin. “Adam, were you drunk-texting last night?”

“Huh?”

Sasha pushes her phone across the table. Adam squints at the screen: textsfromlastnight.com, and beneath that . . .

(714) hey kittycat get excited w/all those poeple screaming 2nite? Im in 224 if you feel like getting petted ; )
(1-714)this is ur brother douchebag


Adam groans, then regrets groaning because it makes his head hurt. “Neil!”

“You sent it,” is Neil’s only comment, and Adam gets up, leaving his bagel on the table—fuck the bagel, all he wants is another hour or two of sleep—and heads for the door. He just wants the quiet and privacy of the bus, that’s all, a place where Terrence isn’t snickering into his coffee and Sasha isn’t saying “wait a minute—“ at his retreating back.
janesgravity
Sep. 23rd, 2010 01:06 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Adam Lambert & the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, 1/??
*SNORT* I LOVE YOU. SO. MUCH.
shinywhimsy
Sep. 23rd, 2010 01:10 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Adam Lambert & the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, 1/??
OMG MOAR PLZ! *DIES*
valress
Sep. 23rd, 2010 01:18 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Adam Lambert & the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, 1/??
This is full of WIN!! More please!!! *giggle snort*
(Anonymous)
Sep. 23rd, 2010 01:25 am (UTC)
Re: FILL: Adam Lambert & the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, 1/??
XD I love it!

--OP
(Anonymous)
Sep. 23rd, 2010 01:35 am (UTC)
FILL: Adam Lambert & the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, 2/??
The door is one of those old heavy wooden ones that swing quickly when they close, and Adam isn’t quite fast enough to get his hand out of the way before the door slams shut on two of his fingers. The only thing keeping him from screaming—because there’s pain like getting cartilage piercings and then there’s pain like this—is the sure knowledge that if he does, his head will explode. He bumps the door back open with a shoulder and examines his throbbing fingers, one of which is already turning black and blue. The other is sporting a freshly-broken fingernail, which wouldn’t bother him so much if the broken part hadn’t just cut his finger open. A bead of blood wells up and trickles down the side of his nail.

Adam considers going to the front desk and asking for a first-aid kit, then decides he isn’t up to talking to people he doesn’t know when the closest thing he’s done to personal grooming is running a brush through his hair and the sun is still trying to kill him. Instead he gets some ice from the machine in the hall and cradles his hand in it on his way back to his room, because he can’t exactly go out to the buses in a pair of torn PJ bottoms and a T-shirt reading “don’t hate me because I’m gorgeous, hate me because your boyfriend thinks so” across the front and covered in signatures and good-luck messages from his friends all over the back. He appreciated the joke when it was given to him as a tour present; he’d also appreciate not seeing it in InTouch.

He’s on his way back to bed, knowing he won’t be able to sleep but hoping he can at least numb his hand enough to doze, when he feels something snap under his foot—something wooden that nearly spears right into the skin. He pulls his foot back and sees a brand-new eyeliner pencil, apparently brushed off the counter either last night or this morning and now in two splintered pieces.

“Damn it!” Definitely not a good day—11am and he’s already cursing at things.

Adam gives up on the idea of going back to bed and finds a pair of jeans and a baseball cap instead—he’ll toss his stuff on the bus and then maybe see if he feels like doing something, anything that doesn’t involve being pissy at Neil or talking to Tommy about that damned text, at least until his headache is gone and he can be sure nothing more sexually explicit actually made its way to Tommy’s phone.

“Fucking straight boys,” he mutters, hoisting his duffel bag onto one shoulder.

At least until the strap snaps.

Adam could cry, or scream, or both, but all of those options involve hurting his head, so instead he takes a couple of deep breaths and hoists the bag by its carryhandles before heading out to the elevator. He hits the down button, thinks about how his morning’s gone so far, and decides to take the stairs, instead.

He scrambles onto the bus, tosses his duffel onto his bed, and lies down with a pillow against his stomach. Eventually he hears a babble of voices, a quick head-count, and after the driver comes back and confirms Adam is indeed on the bus, they start off. Adam breathes a sigh of relief. He can take five minutes with an emery board and some nail polish to make sure he looks decent for tonight’s show, and then either nap or, if his head stops pounding, watch a couple of videos. With the bus on the road and nobody else on it, he doesn’t have to worry about certain younger brothers popping in to disparage his taste in adult entertainment, either.

At least until the bus makes an ominous rattling noise and draws to a stop.

Adam groans, but he has somewhere to be tonight, so he has to ask Dale what’s going on. There’s just no way around it. The answer he receives is far from satisfactory.

“Might be the transmission,” Dale says. Adam doesn’t know much about cars outside of how to put in gas and check the oil and windshield cleaner, but he was a starving artist long enough to translate ‘transmission’ into ‘something really bad that takes forever to fix and costs a lot of money.’ “There’s steam coming out the front. It’s definitely overheated.”
(Anonymous)
Sep. 23rd, 2010 01:47 am (UTC)
Re: Adam, Drunk!Tommy and non/extremely dub-con
Every once in a while over the last month, I think of this prompt. Yesterday, I thought about it a lot. I'm thinking that I'm going to write this, but I need parameters.

What are you looking for here? 'Cos this fic could be ~fucked up in the head. Shall I pull my punches a little or go scorched earth? You tell me.
(Anonymous)
Sep. 23rd, 2010 02:57 am (UTC)
Adam/teeny-boys-he-dates, size kink, borrowed clothing
Because c'mon, you know he'd go on a caveman kick if he saw any of them wearing (and being swamped in) his clothes.

As an alternative idea, maybe Tommy stumbles upon this bulletproof kink of Adam's totally by accident. And maybe the whole glamily notices.
(Anonymous)
Sep. 23rd, 2010 03:00 am (UTC)
teeny-boys-Adam-dates
They bump into each other somewhere where there's a lot of alcohol. It's a true meeting of minds and bitchiness. Also, they totally exchange Adam tips.

I'd rather they liked each other, in a kind of brothers-in-arms way.
(Anonymous)
Sep. 23rd, 2010 03:10 am (UTC)
Adam/Tommy, bad-influence!Tommy
Sex related cracks aside, Adam was pretty vanilla. And then Tommy came along.
Sometimes, Adam can't believe half the things he's done, and he really doesn't want to know what he'll do next.
(Anonymous)
Sep. 23rd, 2010 03:11 am (UTC)
FILL: Adam Lambert & the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, 3/??
It takes half an hour to get everything arranged, and by the time Adam boards the band’s and dancers’ bus he’s wondering if suicide in case of really annoying younger brother is considered honourable, or weak-willed. The last time Neil got under his skin this much was when he was fifteen and Neil was twelve and Adam couldn’t convince their parents that he needed a lock on his bedroom door.

There’s an awkward pause when Adam realises the only open seat is next to Tommy. He has two options: he can sit right next to him an hour and a half after Tommy found out Adam drunkenly tried to text him about a handjob, or he can—

“You look horrible, want to borrow a bunk?” Brooke asks, and Adam could just about kiss her. Instead he nods. She rifles through the bus first-aid, finds some ibuprofen and a bottle of water, and pushes them into his hand. “I don’t know if anybody actually has sheets on right now, they got washed last night—“

“I changed mine this morning,” Tommy says, so quietly Adam almost doesn’t hear him, and then he has to fight the urge to swear again.

Brooke apparently hasn’t heard about the text, because she shoos Adam to the back of the bus, pulls the blackout curtain, and then there’s just Adam and a series of bunks. Tommy’s is easy to spot—it’s the middle bunk in a tier of three, the only one with the sheets actually on it and a blanket tucked neatly at one end. Adam doesn’t even need the ladder to hoist himself into it, and in a matter of seconds he’s up and in.

He pulls up Tommy’s blanket, trying not to think too hard about Tommy tucking the sheets back where they belonged and smoothing everything down. Instead he closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, which slows and deepens and he has three blissful, unaware hours before he feels a hand on his arm and Terrence is telling him they’re stopping for lunch.

Adam slides out of the bunk, reaching automatically for his pocket to shut off his phone alarm. Then he stops.

Pats the pocket.

Darts past Terrence into the front of the bus.

“Have any of you guys seen my phone?” he asks, interrupting what looks like a truly fascinating game of Parcheesi and feeling a moment of dread when the response is a sea of shaking heads. Sasha pulls out her phone.

“I can call Dale and see if he can find it?” she suggests, and Adam nods while simultaneously rechecking all his pockets. A note from a fan, $2.16 entirely in pocket change, a tube of chapstick, one of the empty matchbooks Neil leaves around that Adam always has to bitch at him for. No phone.

Sasha looks up from her phone. “It’d be on your shelf, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah. In the—“ but he doesn’t remember putting it in the dock, and suddenly it occurs to him that he doesn’t remember actually picking it up after he brushed his hair in the hotel room. “Shit!”

So Brooke calls the hotel while Adam tries not to freak out and worries about whose phone numbers are in that thing. His iTunes he can access from a new phone—he thinks—if he has to, but meanwhile there’s a phone out there that has Allison’s number, and Brad’s, and a whole bunch of Idol numbers, not to mention his parents and friends the media would probably love to interview by fair means or foul. And then there are his pictures, most of them harmless or at best mildly irritating, but he’s fairly sure there’s one of Brooke and Sasha on there where he’s somewhere in the back with no shirt on and another that Neil would probably murder him for if it ever made its way into the tabloids.

The news Brooke comes back with isn’t promising: the phone hasn’t been found. But Neil hasn’t called to say their parents are being bombarded by news calls, so maybe, just maybe, there’s hope yet. Adam follows the rest of the crew into Denny’s and orders an all-day breakfast to make up for the meal he didn’t get that morning. He’s bracing for it to be cold or cooked totally wrong, and it doesn’t ease him any when it comes out just fine—the day’s been too bad for him to feel totally easy, even when they’re on their way after the waitress rings them out and shyly asks Adam if he’d sign a piece of register tape. He does, offering her a smile that makes her blush to the roots of her hair, then follows the rest of the group back to the bus.
(Anonymous)
Sep. 23rd, 2010 03:16 am (UTC)
Adommy, shaving
Anything that leaves Tommy hairless from the neck down, and flaunting those skinny, well shaped legs of his.

Alternatives, in case you want more prompting: birthday present, truth or dare, curiosity, helping fulfill a challenge (believ it or not, we had a wax-his-legs one in school), drag... and... um. That's it. Pick one, more or none, noonie author.
thezerbitz
Sep. 23rd, 2010 04:03 am (UTC)
Re: Jealous!Tommy
I'll start work on it tomorrow- though I haven't done and writing in a while so it will likely be horrible lol!
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