Adam and Lance in the studio

Fiction by Pen . . . . . not real, made up, purely intended for entertainment

The Adam Lambert Experience

"So. Chris is having a Halloween party."

"He is?" Adam said, startled. Lance knew about this before he did? "Wait, who?"

"My Chris, not yours. Chris Kirkpatrick. It's a charity thing for his foundation, he does it every year, calls it the Mask Care AID or some such. Everybody wears a mask. It's kinda fun. Anyhow, I said I'd go."

"Oh, okay. When is it?" Lance looked at him pityingly. "I mean, is it on Halloween or a different night?"

Lance smirked. "Actually it's October 26th. You want to go?"

"Sure. Well, I'll have to check my schedule, but if I'm free, sure."

"It's in Orlando."

"No kidding." Lance looked gratified, which he really didn't need to do because hey, of course Adam was going to go, if he could. It was one of the benefits of being well and truly out as a couple, they actually could be seen at clubs and parties together these days. He said so.

"Yeah, well, it also means that if I show up somewhere without the superstar on my arm, everyone has to pretend they aren't disappointed," Lance said, grinning, so Adam threw a cushion at him, and things deteriorated from there.


It was always good to come home and find Lance in his bedroom, but it was very, very strange to close in for a kiss and find he was looking up at him. The fuck? Adam paused on his way to Lance's lips, and scanned down.

"Why are you wearing my party boots?"

"Practice," said Lance. He took Adam's face between his hands and kissed him. Adam didn't remember ever being kissed—not this sort of kiss—by someone taller than himself. It was weird. Not bad weird, but. Weird.

"My feet are bigger than yours," he pointed out when he got his breath back. "You're going to break both your ankles."

"Yeah, probably," Lance said, and sat down on the bed with a grimace. "I'm going to have to get my own pair."

Adam assisted him out of the boots. "Shoe shopping," he said, happily. "I know just the place. Lance, not that I have any problem with you wanting major boots, but they are so very not your style. What are you doing?"

"My Halloween costume. I'm thinking of going as Adam Lambert," Lance said. Adam spluttered. "I figure I should be able to do a really authentic costume," Lance added, and smiled wickedly.

Adam thought it through. "I am not getting my hair cut like that," he said, ruffling his fingers through Lance's silly little spikes.

"You wanna go as Lance Bass? Isn't that a little tame for you? I thought you'd be going as Freddie Mercury, David Bowie, someone like that. Your perfect date?"

"Turns out Lance Bass is my perfect date, bizarre as that sounds."

"Only in reality. Halloween costumes are for fantasy. Who's your fantasy date?"

"Huh." Adam hadn't given it much thought. "Don't think I'd be a very convincing Lady Gaga. Madonna, maybe?"

"Still in your transvestite phase, then."

"I am not—ooh!" Of course! He smiled blissfully. The perfect Halloween costume. "Let's go shopping."


"Don't laugh! Damn, I forgot how much I hate heels," Lance muttered, as Adam lay snickering on the couch watching him stomp an ungainly path around the room. His new boots were awesome, black and multi-buckled and very shiny and made just for stomping. And the heels really weren't that high, and the platforms were solid. Adam's new shoes were definitely more of a challenge.

"I bet you never wore heels before in your life," he said.

"You'd lose," Lance said, scowling at him. "And don't ask. Seriously, you can dance in these things? I can barely walk in them."

"You gotta learn to strut, baby," said Adam, emptying the last of his vodka and tonic and levering himself up to get more. "It's all about the attitude. Can't be Adam Lambert if you don't get the attitude right."

Lance snorted, stuck his chin in the air, stole Adam's drink and clomped around the room again. It was like watching a duckling trying to be macho, especially when Lance fell over.


Lance was really into this whole Adam Lambert costume thing. He practiced with the new boots every day, and had taken to scrutinizing every outfit Adam wore with a covetous eye, and trying his clothes on every time he was at Adam's place. In retaliation, Adam refused to tell Lance what his own costume would be. "It's astounding," was all he would say.



The huge, corkscrew-curled wig was going to be horrendously hot, but it couldn't be helped. Eyelashes, makeup, glossy crimson lips. Adam looked at himself in the mirror, and was satisfied. He was completely fabulous.

"Now, this is all wrong," Lance declared.

Adam turned and looked him up and down. "You know what, I have to disagree. It's very, very strange, but it ain't wrong." It was beyond strange, because Lance and Adam were nothing alike, but here was Lance in Adam's favorite leather jacket, his specially-purchased hyper-snug jeans held onto his hips by Adam's best studded belt, his own AL tour T-shirt stretched very nicely across his chest, his fabulous new boots, and a black wig. His eyes, most disconcertingly of all, were blue. Adam would have said the contact lenses were a step too far for a simple Halloween costume if Lance had not also had his ears pierced just so he could borrow Adam's favorite onyx earrings. He had, however, refused to do his own makeup, on the grounds that Adam was far more experienced at it, and had bitched the whole time he was having his eyes done.

He looked amazing.

"It's all wrong," Lance explained, "because we don't have time for sex before we go to this party."

"Oh. I guess not. Damn. And I just got the lipstick right," Adam said with regret, "or I could have blown you."

"It all adds to the authenticity, I guess," said Lance, adjusting himself with some difficulty through the jeans. "Shall we go to the ball?"

"Wait a second." Adam pulled his last item of costume out of the closet, a shapeless green surgical gown, and put it on, carefully adjusting his necklace of gigantic white beads to show over the neckline. He giggled helplessly at the look on Lance's face when he rolled pink rubber gloves over his hands. "Ready."

"I was all ready to pinch your fanny," said Lance, "but I'm not so sure any more. At least now you won't be arrested the second we walk out the door."

Adam stuck out his tongue as lasciviously as he could. "You got the masks?"


Arm in arm, they strutted into the Gibson Showroom. Lance was definitely working the Adam Lambert swagger tonight. Adam was actually a little bit stunned. Was it narcissistic to think Lance was the hottest thing on the planet tonight, when Lance was dressed as, well, him? Adam couldn't figure out whether this was good for his ego, or really bad for it. But it was a hell of a lot of fun.

This had to be Chris. They hadn't met since, wow, middle of last year at that brunch of Lance's, but Adam remembered the machine-gun laugh, and the masked figure in the circus ringmaster costume definitely looked familiar.

Chris paused in front of them, and his uncertain "Adam?" was an honest tribute to Lance's costume. And strut. The two of them looked down at Chris haughtily for a moment before Lance broke, with a "Hey, Kirkpatrick," and a hug. Nobody could mistake Lance's voice for Adam's.

"Fuck me rigid," Chris announced as he emerged. "Hi, Adam, thanks for coming, man." Adam converted his outstretched hand into a manly embrace of greeting, and said it was a pleasure. "Jesus, you're, like, eight feet tall."

"The shoes help," Adam said, and they both contemplated his fabulous strappy black and silver sandals, Chris probably with less awe than Adam. Straight men just did not get shoes. Admittedly these were killing his calves, but sometimes you just had to suffer in the cause of glory.

"Fatone!" Chris yelled. "Get over here!"

A gorilla lumbered towards them, and Adam looked at Lance reproachfully. Lance shook his head, grinning.

"Come up to the lab, and let's see what's on the slab!" said the gorilla, and Adam beamed as they hugged hello. Joey was a sweetheart, and anyone who not only grasped the true genius of his costume but spontaneously quoted Rocky Horror was a winner in his book. "Man, you look amazing," Joey went on, with great enthusiasm. "You gonna sing later?"

"Oh, uh—" Adam hesitated. He didn't want to upstage the actual hosts.

"Sing? You'll sing?" said Chris, sounding genuinely eager. "We're only set up for karaoke, but talk to the guys, see what they have."

"I—sure, okay."

"We should auction it, take a collection before we let him sing. Adam Lambert doing Sweet Transvestite, everyone's going to pay to see that, right?" said Joey, with enormous enthusiasm. "And hi—uh—" He did the best triple take Adam had ever seen, from Lance's Adam face to Adam's own, and back, and back again. "Holy shit—Lance?"

Lance preened.


It was a crazy night. The Showroom soon filled up, and Adam and Lance were besieged by fans wanting photographs and the chance of a little conversation. There were two fans, quite separately, who'd come as "Adam Lambert", and Lance insisted on having his photo taken with them both before he'd agree to let Adam into the shot.

Lance was definitely getting into his role. Watching him and the gorilla and the ringmaster doing the Bye Bye Bye dance was completely hilarious. Adam did not think the original choreography had as much bump and grind as "Adam" was giving it. And then, when it was time for Adam to sing, Lance took over the microphone from Chris, and roused the crowd into a frenzy. He grudgingly allowed Adam to remove one pink rubber glove—revealing the way cooler glittery black fingerless glove underneath—when the count reached $250, and the second at $500, but insisted that the gown was not coming off until the total was $1,000.

"Y'all want to see what's underneath? Y'all want to hear him sing?" "Adam" ran his hand right the way down the front of the green gown, and Adam rippled in response. Then the shout came up, "We got it! One thousand and thirteen dollars!" and the crowd cheered.

"Adam" took his time untying the waist strings of the green surgical gown (and groped him surreptitiously underneath it) before he encouraged Adam to twirl out of the thing to reveal his full glory—glittery cross-laced vest, tiny black shorts, garter belt and sheer black stockings. "Adam" put the microphone firmly into his hand, kissed him hard on the mouth, smacked his butt and said, "Hit it, baby!" as the intro began to blare through the speakers.

And he let rip.

When—eventually—the excitement died down, he sashayed across to Chris, Joey, and Joey's tiny, curvy wife. Kelly applauded as he approached, and he beamed at her and bent for a hug. "Very nice," a voice growled into his ear, and there were impertinent hands on his bare thighs. Adam squirmed, and Lance laughed but did not let go until Chris passed each of them a tall glass of something gaudy with umbrellas and fruit.

"Get a room, guys," Chris advised.

"Mmm. Not until midnight," said Lance, sipping his drink.

Damn, Adam thought. It better be midnight soon.


"My poor feet," Adam moaned as they closed the hotel room door behind them. '"I have to get out of these shoes."


Gratefully, Adam sank onto the bed. Lance lifted one foot and carefully removed the shiny sandal, then gently massaged Adam's sole. It was bliss, and when he repeated the performance on the other foot Adam moaned with delight. "Babe, that's so good. Is there no end to your skills? Mmmm. I am so fucking hot in this wig." He pulled the curly monstrosity from his head and hurled it aside.

"You're fucking hot all the time."

"Is that why you kept feeling me up all night? Not that I object..."

""Authenticity is important," Lance said, blandly. "And we had to give the fans a thrill."

"I've created a monster," Adam said contentedly, lying back on the bed. "You were amazing tonight. Verrry sexy." Adam was probably all kinds of twisted for finding Lance-as-Adam so fucking hot, but now was not the time to worry about that. Now was the time to arch up on the bed so that Lance could not possibly fail to notice the effect he was having.

"Uh huh," said Lance, getting to his feet again. "Which brings us to the interesting question of the night, doesn't it?"

"What question is that?"

"Do I take the costume off before I fuck you, or after?"

"Oh," said Adam, weakly, "fuck." Lance noticed things.

Lance smiled, a disturbingly predatory smile that looked awfully familiar, that looked as if it belonged with that hair and those blue outlined eyes. It went straight to Adam's cock.

"Fuck," Adam said again. His brain seemed to have shorted out.

"I will," 'Adam' promised. "But first, you're going to blow me. Come here."


Adam lay on the bed, heavy-limbed and sated. He felt. He felt—ravished. Totally. His eyelids were too heavy to lift. Even the stickiness beneath his belly where he'd come wasn't enough to make him move. He tried a deep breath instead.

Above him, the warmth lifted, and there was a kiss on the back of his neck and a sigh as he pulled slowly out. Adam made a small noise of protest.

"Shhh, baby," said Lance, sounding like Lance again. "Shit. Now I have to get out of these ridiculous pants. I need a scalpel."

Adam felt he should watch, Lance getting naked was always worth seeing, but it seemed like way too much work to turn his head. He lay there instead, spreadeagled and spent, clutching the pillow, and breathed. There were rustles and grunts and sundry dismantling sounds, until at last Lance's hands at Adam's sides urged him onto his back, extracted the sodden towel from under him, and wiped him clean. A moment later, Lance was in the bed, radiating heat.

Little kiss on the lips. "How do you feel?"

"Like an invading army just went through," Adam muttered. He'd never, they'd never, not like that before, not overwhelming like that, not owned.


"Good?" Adam couldn't find the right way to describe how he felt right now, devastated, maybe, thoroughly fucked, certainly, but good was just... inadequate. His brain was still spinning.

"Now you know," said Lance. "The Adam Lambert Experience."

"Umm. Um. I, um."

"Babe? Are you okay?"

He laughed helplessly. "Okay? Yeah, I guess that about covers it. But. I. Do I—when I—do you always feel like—"

"Like an invading army just went through?" Adam wasn't sure if he wanted to know that he fucked like an invading army. He didn't think he did, but. He hadn't thought he was a total narcissist either, and he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off 'Adam' all night. "Adam? Don't think so loud. I love you. Everything's fine."

Lance's eyes were green again, and smeared with traces of eyeliner, and so beautiful, and just now looking kinda worried, which was all wrong, because Adam might be totally thrown by his own reactions but that didn't mean he wasn't completely satisfied with how things had turned out. He wriggled closer, and Lance wrapped his arms around him.

"You just keep surprising me, don't you?" Adam said. "I mean, how did you even—I didn't know I wanted to be, I mean, what was that?"

Lance smiled. "Every gay man in the world wants to be fucked by Adam Lambert. Why should you be an exception?"

"Er..." Actually, that sounded reasonable. "Hmm."

Lance grinned. "And every other gay man wishes he was Adam Lambert."

"Definitely bad for my ego," Adam grumbled. "I'll be unbearable to be around, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. Unbearable. Aren't you glad I love you anyway?"

"I really am."


On to Feast, or What every gay Jewish boy wants for Christmas



Back to Popslash Index
Back to Glambert Index
Back to Alternative Popslash Index