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Adam hadn’t thought when the game started that he’d end up losing more than a few hands. And yet, here he sat, down to boxer-briefs and a single sock, staring down Kris Allen, who had an intent look on his face, and a pile of Adam’s clothing in front of him. Looking up from his cards, Kris grins across the table.
“Face it, man,” he laughs, “you’re no Sean Connery.”
Adam looks down at his cards, which prove Kris’ point by failing to be anything better than a pair of threes. “I hate you,” Adam declares. “You are some kind of evil, poker-playing genius, and I despise and loathe you from the depths of my soul.”
“Ante up, man,” Kris orders. “I want your underwear, but I’ll settle for that last sock if I have to.”
“I can’t make the ante,” Adam points out. “We agreed socks only count for half, and you are not getting my underwear until you win the round.”
Kris nods, thoughtfully. “Maybe you have something else you could trade? Since I’ve got all your poker chips and most of your clothes, I mean.”
For a moment, Adam considers folding and admitting defeat. Kris wouldn’t tease him too much for failing to be as good at poker as James Bond--a claim Adam had made after Kris had coaxed him into watching Skyfall. He might have one thing acceptable for betting in a game of strip poker, but the thought of using it sort of makes him squirm a little. “There is one thing,” he finally says, slow and considering. “But if I bet with it, you can’t see what it is until after you win, and if I win, I want all of my clothing back.”
Kris pouts at him, and pulls the jacket he’d purloined with his first winning hand tighter around him. “But--warm?” he tries, then rolls his eyes and nods. “Okay, I can live with being all-in. But I do kinda want to know what it is I’m playing for. Might inspire me to greater heights of card sharkness.”
“I am not sure that is something I particularly want to inspire,” Adam points out, smirking a little. He thinks about it, though. “Okay. It’s something I’ve never given anyone before, something no one’s ever had from me. Something special, and something to go along with the whole ‘strip poker’ theme. Good enough?”
Kris’ eyes narrow. “Okay, now I have to beat you, if only to find out what exactly this is that I’m attempting to win.”
“I’m going to write it down,” Adam declares, waving at Kris to hand him pen and paper. When Kris obliges, Adam scrawls on the pad, I, Adam Lambert, do hereby bequeath my virginity to the winner of this poker hand, [Kris Allen or Adam Lambert], to do with as the winner should chose. As long as the winner doesn’t decided to out me to TMZ, or sell me on ebay. He looks at the scrap of paper for a moment, then nods and folds it in half and puts it on the table.
Suddenly, he feels nervous, edgy and unsure, like maybe this is not so much a joke after all, but Kris is awesome, and his best friend, and if there’s anyone Adam Lambert trusts to do this with, it’s him. Because yeah, he is a virgin, okay? It’s not that big a deal, really, just, he hasn’t found the right guy. Except Kris is kinda the perfect guy, and Adam used to say, when he was just out of high school and just out in general, that he was waiting for Brad Pitt to ride by on a white horse, but really, no one could be a better first than Kris. And oh god, now he’s blushing. Maybe Adam is the king of avant garde, ridiculous, and glam, but he is also nervous about Kris finding out he’s a virgin, too. Not that he thinks Kris will laugh, just--yeah, that’s a lot to admit when you’re someone who’s known for his sex appeal.
“Right. How many?” Kris asks, tapping the deck.
“Three, Adam sighs, sliding the other three cards across the table. Kris deals him three cards and Adam picks them up and adds them to his hand. Then he stares. He’s got a jack, a jack, and a jack. He just scored a full house. Holy shit, he might win this after all. Clothes! he thinks happily, trying to keep a straight face while there is so much internal jubilation.
“I’ll take two,” Kris says aloud--a rule they’d instated after they both had tried (and failed) to sneak more cards than they were allowed. Kris picks up two cards and studies his hand again carefully. “So,” he says casually. “You sure you want to go all-in?”
“I’m sure,” Adam nods. He looks for a moment at the piece of paper between them, then nods. “I’m pretty confident this round.”
“If that’s a bluff, I’m not biting,” Kris teases. “Inquiring minds need to know, Adam.”
“So show me what you got, hot stuff,” Adam challenges, grinning. He’s pretty sure he’s going to win, either way the hand plays out.
Kris lays down his cards slowly, one at a time. “Full house,” he says while Adam stares. “Ladies over Aces.”
“Well, fuck,” Adam complains. He turns his own cards face up. “Jacks and threes,” he sighs. “You couldn’t have lost, just this once?”
“Nope,” Kris says with a grin. “Not a chance.” He reaches for the paper, and Adam collapses forward onto the table, his arms cushioning his head. “Now then, ‘I, Adam Lambert, do hereby bequeath . . .’” He trails off as he keeps reading, and Adam feels his face flush pink. “Well. Wow. Cool?”
“Cool?” Adam mumbles.
“I mean--that’s one way to get a guy’s attention,” Kris says, carefully, like he’s not sure exactly what he’s supposed to do now.
“Look, I know you’re mostly straight, and I know you just ended the thing with Katy, but I figured, no time like the present, and I wasn’t actually supposed to lose, okay?” Adam explains in a rush. “I like you though, really, really like you, like-like you, and I trust you, and you’re it, okay? You’re the one I want first.”
“That’s--Adam, that’s--” Kris stops.
“I know, I know,” he groans. “I’m a thirty-year-old virgin, in Gay Years, that’s like being fifty and a virgin, and just--stop laughing, what?” Adam frowns at Kris as he lifts his head from his arms.
“You’re adorable. And you’re not old. And the answer is yes, I will be your first,” Kris smiles. “That would be amazing. But like. Don’t think you’re gonna get rid of me after. I’m sticking around, okay? And you can teach me how to use your ridiculous coffee maker, and I’ll fix us eggs, and eventually I’ll have a drawer, and then a closet, and then you’ll tell me to just move in. And all our friends will roll their eyes at how domestic we are. And eventually, one of us will use the L word, and then someone will propose to someone else, and you had better be down with all of that, if you really want me first, because I might just end up being your only, too.”
Adam can’t stop grinning. “You can make eggs?” he asks, because that is the part of Kris’ speech he latched onto, clearly.
Kris snorts and nods. “I can make eggs,” he repeats.
“Well,” Adam says, feeling a little teary but refusing to give in, “in that case, stay as long as you like.”