adam lambert looking dubious

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

Lucky Pretty Eyes

American Idol Season 8, or, more particularly, Adam Lambert,
prompted by a songfic meme and Liz Phair's Lucky Pretty Eyes

He'd been on the verge of throwing up all weekend, wondering if he'd still have a job next week. Simon had practically ripped him a new one at the end of Friday's shift, reminding him in pungent language that it was not his job to approve of what the customers ordered, it was his job to provide them with drinks. And a smile. If a customer complained about the service, it was because Adam was not doing his job properly, and he, Simon, would be thinking very hard about whether Adam could continue to work in the club if he couldn't do his job properly.

Adam had spent the weekend contemplating poverty and wondering whether his dad would advance him next month's rent on the strength of the next job he intended to get, or if he'd have to move back home again, twenty-four and living at home, damn it. But on Monday morning, Simon called and told Adam to be back behind the bar for his regular Tuesday shift. And not to do it again.

So here he was, checking the levels in the bottles and making sure there was enough beer and cutting up citrus, and he wasn't actually sure he could promise not to do it again, even though it hadn't done any good. It had been bad enough watching Puck, the most beautiful boy in the world, snuggling up to Mr fucking Universe all night. Puck liked tall, handsome guys, and Mr Universe was built, taller than Adam, and outrageously good-looking. He also had a nasty habit of ordering his drinks double-strength, and Adam had been bartending at the club long enough—three months, almost—to be aware that Puck was a lightweight and knew it, and, as a rule, drank accordingly.

So he'd added a glass of water to the order, carried the tray over himself, and made pointed mention of the fact that the tall glass he set down in front of Puck wasn't as innocuous as it looked. Puck had smiled a glazed smile up at him, and cooed that it was sweet of him to care, and Mr Universe had looked murderous and, apparently, complained to Simon about it.

And swaggered out of the club with Puck clinging to his mighty biceps a half hour later. Fucker.

It hadn't made any difference, but Adam still thought he'd done the right thing.

The place was never very busy on Tuesdays, and things quieted down even earlier than usual tonight. Just a few customers, more interested in making out in the dark corners than drinking. Adam took his tray to collect glasses, but when he got back to the bar there was a customer drooped over the counter. It was Puck. Who never came in on Tuesdays.

He looked up, all contrite, and Adam could tell it was an act, mostly an act, but it kinda worked on him anyway, he was a sucker for those pretty eyes. He poured vodka and tonic—regulation strength—and pushed it gently towards the faerie boy, who was resting his forehead on the bar.

"On the house."

Puck—he was going to have to watch his mouth, he mustn't actually call the guy Puck—looked up, startled. "Thanks." He sipped at his drink for a moment. "That's why I came in tonight, to say thanks. For watching out for me."

"You're welcome," Adam said.

"And what brought on the bartender in shining armor act?"

"I just..." Adam shrugged. "I know you don't drink that much usually, so."

"You noticed!" Bright brown eyes sparkled at him. Yeah, Puck wasn't quite as despondent as he pretended. Suddenly Adam was irritated. So he wasn't in Puck's league, it didn't mean he was happy to be used for flirting practice. Puck didn't even need to practice.

"Seemed like he was trying to get you drunk so you'd have sex with him," Adam went on, with a manufactured smile. "I could have told him he was wasting his time, but I thought that'd be rude." Puck sat up a little straighter on his bar stool. "I mean, if you wanted him, he didn't need to get you drunk, and if you didn't, it wouldn't have helped him any. Based on what I've seen."

The faerie boy stared quite hard at him for a moment, then laughed. "True on all counts," he said. "And I was grateful for the warning, and the water."

"You still went home with him."

"Honey, did you see the biceps on that man? Fabulous thighs, too, though it turned out his cock wasn't nearly as spectacular. He did some reality tv thing a while back, so he's slightly famous. But I should have listened to my big blue-eyed guardian angel, turned out he wanted to do me bareback, and I am so not that stupid, even when I'm quite a lot drunk."

"So... what happened?" Adam asked, though he knew he shouldn't.

"I said no, he said yes, I said no louder, he said yes, I kicked him in the balls, he fell down, I grabbed my stuff and ran out into the hallway with nothing on but a smile."

"Now that I'd have liked to see."

Puck smirked at him. "Wouldn't have done you much good, I swear I was moving like Tinkerbell. All blurry and shitting stars." Adam couldn't help laughing at that, and Puck's smile grew real and satisfied. "Or do I mean shooting stars? Never mind. I lost my best jacket, but, could have been worse." There was a touch of defiance on his face, though that cynical smile hadn't wavered. "Might've had to walk home without my pants."

Adam vowed right there that if Mr fucking Universe showed up in the bar again he was going to have him thrown out if he had to do it himself. He opened his mouth to speak, and realized he had no idea what to say.

"You know, you should do more with your eyeliner. That half-assed smudge is a start, but what you need is a thick black outline, really make a statement."

Adam tried not to grimace. Hiding his bad skin was one thing, and stage makeup was always fun, but he just wasn't sure—

"You have such pretty eyes."

"Uh. Thanks," Adam said, and hoped he wasn't blushing, or that if he was, it wouldn't show through the makeup.

"What star sign are you? No, wait, let me guess, I'm thinking... Aquarius." There was bright mischief in Puck's eyes now, and Adam was almost sure that hadn't been a guess at all, but how could Puck have found out?

"I'm Libra. So we're totally compatible," Puck said, tilting his head sideways. "Take me home with you tonight and I'll show you what I mean."


"You do want to take me home, right?"

"I, yes, I mean, sure." What? What?

Puck smiled at him, the best smile yet, and fuck, he was pretty. "I've had it with famous guys, anyway. You can be my good luck charm."


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