picfor1000 | Lesson One: On How to Avert the Apocalypse

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Title: Lesson One: On How to Avert the Apocalypse
Author: Elandria Lore
Fandom:Supernatural/American Idol
Pairing Dean Winchester/Adam Lambert (yeah, I don't know either)
Spoilers: The Song Remains the Same, My Bloody Valentine
Rating: NC-17

Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he totally watched an episode of American Idol once. He didn’t mean to, but on one more night of drinking whiskey and idly surfing the internet while Sam slept or slunk off to some clandestine meeting that Dean wasn’t supposed to know about, he caught a clip of some kid singing the hell out of Zeppelin. Now Dean was pretty much a purest when it came to music and he fucking hated most covers, but the kid had a damn set of pipes on him that sent shivers right the hell up his spine and anything that could get a rise out of him these days was a good thing.

But that was almost a year ago, and before the Apocalypse, and so Adam Lambert was pretty much the last fucking person on earth he expected to see when he walked into a dive bar in Georgia.
***
“You don’t exactly look like a typical fan,” Adam said, yanking Dean through the doorway to his hotel room, already breathing hard.

“Not saying I don’t like your voice,” Dean said, shoving a hand under Adam’s shirt, “But right now it’s mostly about the fact that I want throw someone against a wall and know they won’t break.” Adam looked startled at his abrupt stop against the bedroom wall, and Dean smirked and pressed in close, “You don’t look like you’d break easy.”

Adam raised one perfect eyebrow and gave Dean a long, slow look. “What makes you think I’m going to be the one against a wall?” he asked, and then twisted them in a move Dean hadn’t seem coming and slithered down until he was on his knees, his hands already opening Dean’s jeans, his mouth hot and ready.

“Fuck,” Dean cursed, figuring it’d be rude to protest, and then grabbed two handfuls of Adam’s thick, dark hair and held on for the ride.

Adam’s mouth was just as good as advertised, and he was moaning and humming and making such beautiful fucking music around Dean’s cock that Dean wasn’t even that embarrassed about how fast he was coming. Or the fact that he had to slide down to the floor, pants bunched uncomfortably around his thighs, before he fell over.

Adam grinned at him, somehow both delighted and wicked at the same time, and then hauled Dean up with surprising strength only to strip him and toss him unceremoniously on the bed.

“You only blew me so you could fuck me,” Dean accused, but it was hard to work up a scowl when Adam was stripping off his own clothes and slinking up the bed until he was straddling Dean’s hips.

“Got me,” Adam purred, and then kissed him lush and deep. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said, smirking as he spread Dean’s thighs, his teeth sharp against Dean’s nipple, “I think you can take it.”

Dean could take a lot of things, he was learning, but nothing quite as good as this: the stretch and burn of Adam’s fingers, the long, hot length of his cock. He felt lit up from the inside: burning and fierce and Famine could go fuck himself because there was nothing cold or dead about him now.

Nothing empty when Adam shuddered against him and then didn’t let go. “Hey,” he said, sounding as shaky as Dean felt, “I don’t usually do this, and security’s going to kill me, but…stay.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and then rolled over to kiss him softly.

Dean didn’t do this either. Ever. He didn’t talk to the people he fucked on a one off, but Adam was interesting and he had a ribald sense of humor and he argued passionately when Dean brought up his questionable taste in music.

He was fun and smart and nothing Dean thought he’d get, even for one night, and so Dean stayed. Stayed until the early morning light crept across the floor and the bodyguard banged on the door, clearly suspicious, and he watched Adam get dressed, one layer at a time.

“What would you say,” he asked, as he traced his fingertips lightly over the familiar four-pronged edges of one of the necklaces that Adam had yet to put on, “if an Angel came down from heaven and told you that to save the world you had to kill your brother?”

Adam laughed and said, “Between the two of us, my brother’s way more likely to save the world than I am.” He uncapped a tube of eyeliner and leaned in close to the mirror to reapply it.

Dean shifted, annoyed with himself at finding that hot, and said, “Hypothetically: what would you say if someone said that you had to play Cain and Able and off your own brother?”

“I’d say that your Angel should look at the Bible a little more closely.”

“What?” Dean asked, startled.

Adam’s mouth curled up at the corner but his eyes were steady as he looked at Dean’s reflection in the mirror. “I may not be your stereotypical Jewish boy,” he said, “but even I know that the whole moral of Cain and Able was that you don’t kill your brother, no matter how much you might think it’s a good idea at the time.”

“Huh,” Dean said, because that had honestly never occurred to him.

Adam turned away from the mirror, his freckles hidden behind some sort of powder and his blue eyes startlingly bright and clear surrounded by all that black. “You’re really kind of crazy,” Adam said thoughtfully, then strode forward and kissed Dean, wet and filthy. “And a little scary. It’s a good thing I like that.”
***
Six months later, Adam found an unmarked postcard on his pillow and freaked out for a good five minutes before picking it up by the corner and flipping it over to read it.

Turns out you were right. Congratulations, you’re officially smarter than those douchebags in Heaven.
-Dean

P.S. I owe you a beer.

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Lesson One: On How to Avert the Apocalypse

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