So I just got this cracky idea -- and luckily I donated $5 last night so one of you brilliant people can bring it to reality.
Anyway, Kris and Adam (and/or the rest of the idols, whatever you want) somehow get swine flu/one of them gets swine flu/they are mistakenly quarantined because they MIGHT have swine flu. So essentially they have to spend a long period of time locked in a hotel room together, and maybe one or both is sick and so there is hurt/comfort and lulz and eventual sexytimes.
Or you know, anything involving swine flu quarantine.
Kris dragged himself out of bed and to the door. Adam was outside, sneezing into a wad of tissues. He waved the tissue box in his other hand. "You too, huh," Kris croaked.
Adam just nodded and made an exaggerated unhappy face. Kris let him in, trying not to be glad. Not that he'd have wished the damn flu on anyone, but there wasn't a lot more miserable than being sick, quarantined in a random hotel room, and lonely and bored all at once. "Tea?" he said, and Adam nodded; they ended up in the bed watching South Park and eating room service chicken soup, and then after a while Adam groaned softly and turned the set off. Kris was with him; his head was aching, stuffed and miserable, and they dragged all the blackout curtains shut and collapsed into the covers.
Kris kept waking up sticky and unhappy with sweat, trying to untangle himself from sheets that had gotten damp, flipping his pillow over to try and get a cooler side. Adam was barely visible, monochrome in the dim light that was leaking in around the windows, on his back and his legs stretched out bare over a squashed pile of covers. He got up a few times and came back with glasses full of water; Kris drank half, each swallow raspy and painful, and fumbled on the end table for advil to share.
Somewhere in the straggling hours, after it had gotten dark outside, Kris shook the fever loose: he woke up breathing a little clearer, and the worst of the aches were gone. He crawled out of the bed and got himself into the shower, leaning against the wall with his head bent forward and his eyes shut, water running down the sides of his neck and over his forehead, dripping, his legs and his back achy and tired.
He toweled off and drank some more water, and went out to get some into Adam, who gave a little moan and pressed his forehead into Kris's cupped hand after he'd drunk another glass, sounding so miserable Kris went and got a cold washcloth and sat down on the bed next to him to wipe off more of the dried sweat and heat. Adam tipped his head back and bared his throat for it, the smooth skin under his jaw, and squeezed Kris's knee in gratitude.
Kris fell asleep again, feeling like a wrung-out dishtowel after a dinner party, on top of the sheets; he woke up again with the clock saying 3:08 in pale glowing green, and Adam's eyes open and looking at him. "Hey," Adam said softly, only a little hoarse, and Kris said, "Better?" Adam nodded.
Twenty-four-hour room service brought them more tea and soup and even a steak. Kris didn't think he'd want any, but the second Adam cut into it and the juices were pooling on the plate, he was starving. "My steak!" Adam said indignantly when Kris reached over and snagged the fork to steal a bite, but he cut it in half anyway, and they both ended up eating it with their fingers. Afterwards they spread the coverlet over the bed and sprawled out on top of it to sleep some more. Adam was licking his fingers, slowly and lingeringly, getting the last bit of steak juices with his tongue. Kris swallowed, watching him. "How long till we get out of quarantine?" he asked.