[fic] We Could Take To The Highway --- 9/9
Title: We Could Take To The Highway
Author: garnetice
Chapter: Nine of Nine
Pairing: Kendall Knight/James Diamond
Rating: T-ish
Word Count: 7012
Warnings: This is me, so...swearing/drinking/acting like a sailor at fleet week. Takes place post-show, so possible spoilers for all aired episodes? I can't think of anything specific, but I'm throwing this in here just in case.
Summary: He'd been all over the world, but he hadn't, not really. Not when his memories were painted in the pearlescent blues, pinks, and whites of shampoo bottles, the turquoise of chlorinated pools, and a million different shades of Kendall, Logan, and Carlos.
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine.
Author's Notes: Alriiiiight, so this is me, spamming your f-list again. Sorry!
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
---
"Do you want to stay over?"
"It's late," James shook his head, "I don't want to scare your grandma."
"You won't scare her. She's a tough old broad."
"Yeah, but," James bit his lip, and tried to string a sentence together in a way that would sound non-offensive. Less like, 'I can't wait to get you out of my sight' and more like, 'I'm trying to be polite and make our goodbye painless'.
Only, he wasn't very good with the whole tact thing.
Probably because tact was for dishonest losers who didn't have am-azing hair.
"Come on," Kendall goaded him, "I bet you a grand that she still only has a foldout couch for guests and no central heating. It'll be just like one of our old sleepovers."
They'd had countless sleepovers, lying tangled beneath flannel sheets, trying to make out shapes in the ceiling while snow drifted down to the earth in icy spirals. James remembered waking up with Kendall's warmth pressed against his then-skinny back, their legs twisted together and the smell of apple strudel in the air.
"I don't think it's a good idea," he said bluntly, a note of finality in his voice. Kendall's face fell.
"Alright," he said, voice gruff, "I guess I'll- see you in six months?"
He felt a sudden note of panic, strong and swift building up his spine. Six months was such a long time.
He nodded, "Yeah. Six months."
Kendall climbed out of the car and dug his bag out of the trunk. James listened to the sound of him moving and gripped the steering wheel tight, wanting this all to be over already.
And then it was.
Kendall said goodbye with his knuckles, rapping on the windshield and throwing him a half smile. He began his trek up the walk to the door, and wow, James hadn't even thought about how he was going to have to drive home alone. The car felt empty without Kendall's familiar weight.
When Kendall reached the door, he turned to wave, and James watched, quiet, soaking up one last image of his best friend, haloed in the golden porch light. He turned the key in the ignition.
It was time to man up. It was time to go home.
Or, actually, it was time to find somewhere to rest his head for the night, because it was long past an hour where reasonable human beings were up and about, and there was no way he was going to drive through the wilds of Middle America in the middle of the night. There was some freaky shit out there; axe murderers and cannibals and an endless train of dark thoughts. He pulled away from the curb, allowing himself one glance in the rearview mirror. Kendall was already inside.
James thought about heading to his house, to his dad and his stepmom and the warm glow of their love. It made him feel nauseous.
He could've headed up to his mom's. He loved his mom's house, with its wild colors and comfortable old couches and the spots of dust she missed when she went on a cleaning spree. He loved the feel of his old dog sitting on his toes and the rattling sound the kettle made when it was done boiling on the stove. He loved the taste of the weird teas she picked up in the health section of the grocery store and the way she could smile so wide even when she was so lonely. But he didn't want to go there. He didn't want to have to hurt in the face of her strength.
Besides, she moved out of town a while ago, and it was another three hours, at least, to her house. A hotel was his best option.
He didn't want to go to a hotel.
By and large, he wanted to emo out, to have one night to think about the past week and then never have to do it again. Because he was not going to let this bring him down. He was not going to go back to California looking like someone just ran over his puppy. He had a reputation to protect. And James knew that he was going to be fine. Maybe a little sad.
Maybe a lot sad, a lot of the time. But he was a half decent actor, and if you act happy long enough, you start to feel that way.
He hoped.
James parked on the side of the road near the high school. He thought about leaving the car running, if only because the idea of coming back to a working heater was more than tempting, but he sighed and twisted the key; listened to the engine die. The orange yellow glare of headlights against the snow faded.
At first, he tried crunching towards the bleachers in the football field, but he had too many memories there that made his heart pound. He'd given Kendall so many shards of his life, and he wondered if that would ever change. Like one day he'd be able to straighten up and say I'm done giving pieces of myself away. More likely, he'd grow old and empty and- okay.
Trying to be optimistic kind of sucked.
He wasn't very good at it at all.
James glared up at the sky, and was rewarded with a big fat snowflake to the eye. He blinked, and probably cursed a little more loudly than the late hour warranted, but it was cold. Stupid snow.
California didn't have this problem. The only snow they had there was up at Big Bear, or the fake stuff at Mountain High, where girls skied in their bikinis and they had those cool like, subway gates to get on to the lifts.
The clouds were so low he felt like maybe he could touch them, if he stretched enough, jumped high enough, could be enough. He wasn't enough for Kendall, but he didn't even bother thinking about that.
His feet took him before he could process what they were doing, and he was jogging, and then he was running, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ribcage, trying to break through bone and skin and escape out into the world. He was running so hard and so fast on the slippery ground that his breath was coming out in panty little gasps, and he ran every day, he knew how to regulate his breathing, but he didn't, wouldn't, couldn't, because if he stopped he would scream.
At the top of his lungs, he would scream and shout, and it would be joy and pain and everything. It would be like singing, exposing his soul to the whole wide world, to all of fucking Minnesota at three in the morning, and James wasn't sure he'd ever be able to hide it away again without the protective barrier of his friends crowding around him after a concert. It'd be like walking around with his insides exposed, and he didn't want that.
So he ran.
Faster, harder, until the houses and the dolphin shaped mailboxes and the trees, the pines and sycamores and maples and bare branched things he couldn't name blurred into formless streaks of color and shadow. This was it, this was a rush, this was what the band was all about. Adrenaline and emotion and color and sound all tied into one messy, amazing package, thrilling, terrifying. Crazy and fast and too much, over too soon.
When his feet stopped, he didn't know where he was.
Except he did. He could never forget this place.
Home. Or what used to pass for it, back when his mom and his dad were still together, and they locked up their lives in a tiny trailer park by a trickling creek. Back when James best remembered being happy.
The air felt deceptively warm, still, although he knew if he stood outside for more than ten minutes he'd probably start to feel the cold all the way to his bones. It was one of those nights where the only movement was the snowfall, the rustle of flakes hitting the ground and the crunch of his boots, imprinting the powder, slipping on icy asphalt. No cutting winter winds, no shifting leaves. No LA traffic or the hum of electric lights. James held out his hands, catching what he could, watching it melt. He probably looked like a bit of a moron, but there was no one to watch him except whatever critters were camped out in the forest, and he never really minded attention. He performed better in front of an audience, like he couldn't be real unless someone was watching. It was easier, that way. When he was alone his mind turned in circles, jumping from shallow subject to shallow subject to avoid thinking about anything that might hurt. There was too much out there that would cut you to shreds, if you let it, he knew.
Good thoughts, he reminded himself, happy thoughts. Pirates and mermaids and superstars and- beer.
Yeah, that was a happy thought.
James really wanted beer. Only, there wasn't a single convenience store open in the state of Minnesota; even the Seven Elevens closed too early for comfort.
Luckily, he grew up in this place, this acre long patch of land with its shining silver spaceship-like homes, with miniature recreations of houses, barely big enough for dolls. Even though he'd been gone a long time, it was rare that people changed around these parts.
No one hit it big or got discovered or even made something of themselves. He recognized the same sad plant pots buried under half an inch of snow, the same broken lawn furniture and rusted grills haphazardly covered by blue tarps. His parents broke the mold, marrying out into a semblance of normalcy.
James didn't think what they had here was ever really so bad.
Not that he'd give up his mansion.
Anyway, he happened to know that the guy in the trailer the third row down worked nights and never locked his door, and maybe it was a bit morally objectionable, being both underage and a thief, but James walked in like he owned the place.
He grabbed a can out of the pathetic mini fridge, it's interior warmer than it was outside, and left a twenty in its place, which was overpaying but would probably make up for the whole trespassing thing.
Maybe it would make the guy wisen up and realize that even in the middle of the dullest state in North America, they didn't live in the 1950s.
People could be dangerous. They could lay in wait and slit your throat or run off with your plasma screen TV (not that he could afford one).
Or slip you a twenty for a lukewarm can of Natty Ice, but whatever, the moral still held.
The dude probably wouldn't get the message.
James had been doing this since he was a kid, at first for his dad when he was too lazy to stop watching Jeopardy, and then for him and Kendall once they were old enough to be brave. He never left money before, but then, the guy never seemed to mind. Sharing was caring, and all that.
He slipped the can into his coat pocket and took care to shut the door carefully behind him, wary of the telltale clang. Beer dude might not care who trampled around his house, but the neighbors got suspicious, and some of them owned shotguns. They might not have minded James running around the old park, but they might've had an issue with him breaking and entering into an empty house. Why tempt fate?
He crunched his way over to the dull old trailer that used to be his. The façade was clapboard, faded, peeling white paint that his dad had covered with metal siding that made it easier to climb up onto the flat metal roof. It looked empty, which wasn't surprising. He was pretty sure his dad still paid for the spot, just in case of- something.
James wasn't sure what something was supposed to be. The day him and James's mom got back together, or when James's career failed, or- he didn't know. He'd never asked. He didn't want to.
The siding was rusted from disuse. The paint could barely even be called paint anymore. He stood next to an old pine tree, glancing between the shell of his old home and the word 'Diamond' etched onto the tree's base. His dad had written that, years before James was born. The grooves were formed painstakingly with his old pocket knife, but now it seemed that the scars he'd created in the bark were finally healing.
The word was barely legible, anymore.
James used to hate his last name. It invited way too much teasing. Kendall called him Sparkles for years. It got annoying, real fast. And god, the nicknames got more horrific from there; Blingster and Iceman and mother fucking Cubic Zirconia. Which really, unfortunately rhymed with pubic, and you can just imagine where that went.
James tried to retaliate, but seriously, funny plays on the last name knight were kind of hard to come by. Sir Lancelot wasn't all that insulting.
When they were fourteen and Kendall rolled out of his house with a smooth, 'Sup, Glitterati?', James may have finally just cracked. And by cracked, he meant punched Kendall so hard he lost two teeth and people started calling Child Services on the Knight family, which was only gratifying until he saw how pissed Mrs. Knight got.
He sighed and climbed to the top of the old trailer, just a husk now, devoid of any life. He did what he could to clear the metal surface of the roof of snow, but his efforts didn't yield much success. His jeans were going to soak through. Oh well.
Let the drinking commence.
He popped the tab of the beer, realizing that this wasn't exactly the best, memory free zone he could have visited either. He and Kendall had spent so much time up here.
It used to be enough, and he's not sure when that changed, and-
A dull thud caught his attention.
James peered over the edge of the trailer to see if he was about to get intimate with one of the neighbor's shotguns, beer balanced precariously in one hand.
It wasn't a neighbor.
Kendall was looking up at him, eyelashes coated with snowflakes, a sheepish grin playing over his lips.
"I figured I'd find you here," he toed the dull metallic siding, clumps of snow raining down from the roof. He had his hands shoved in the pocket of his too-tight jeans, and no coat at all. Like he'd decided to walk three miles on a whim. Like this was any other spur of the moment adventure, and not the most important conversation they were ever going to have.
Because it was, James was suddenly sure. This moment, right here, it was so, so important.
James watched, wary, as Kendall scrambled up to the roof, plopping down beside him, shivering.
"You. Are a moron," he said, and maybe that wasn't the best lead-in for a significant talk, but his voice sounded fond. He reached for James's beer.
"I'm a moron? I'm wearing a jacket," James tugged pointedly on his coat, even though it was thin and more than a little impractical for the weather.
After a beat, he offered Kendall the can, and his gloves, because even with the fingers cut off, it was better than resting his skin on wet, freezing metal.
He already knew his friend would turn down his jacket if he tried. That was the kind of guy he was.
With a quick flash of a grin, the blond accepted both. He took a long sip and then set the can down beside him. Kendall drew his knees up to his chest, boots squeaking against the surface, "We can never go back, can we?"
"To California?" James shrugged, swinging the car keys around his index finger, "Sure we can. It's easy."
"That's not what I mean, jerk."
"I know," James snorted, trying to look up past the canopy of trees that lined the park, trying to see through the fog-like clouds, all the way to the stars, "You have your mopey face on."
"I do not have a mopey face."
"Sure you do. Your puppy eyes give Katie a run for her money."
"Do me a favor? Shut up."
"But that would disrupt the melodramatic conversation we're trying to have," James slumped back against the trailer's roof, "Can we just not do this?"
"We've been not doing this across the better part of the country. James, I don't want our entire friendship to go down the drain just because of one stupid mistake."
"It wasn't stupid. A mistake, maybe," James said defensively.
"I'm not talking about that," Kendall sighed, "I'm talking about why I ki-"
"Don't," he said, voice strangled.
"Why I kissed you," Kendall barreled on, the words ringing in the still air long after they were said.
James scowled at his boots and refused to meet Kendall's eyes. He didn't want Kendall to take that away from him; that one perfect moment. He wanted to guard it, always.
But he didn't have a choice anymore.
"James, I didn't know you remembered. All this time, you never brought it up. I thought-"
"What exactly was I supposed to say?" James asked, chancing a look at his face. Kendall took another sip of the beer and frowned, dimples deepening.
"You have no idea how scared I was the next day. I kept waiting for you to, I don't know, punch me? I was terrified as fuck. But you never said anything at all."
"I was hung over. Talking made my head spin."
"Well," Kendall ducked his head, "I didn't- I still don't know why exactly I kissed you. That day. You were there, and you were- beautiful."
James glanced up again, and this time he let himself meet Kendall's green-gray gaze. He wasn't sure what to say, or if he was even supposed to say anything.
"And the thing was, I'd been thinking about how gorgeous you were, are, for a long time before that. I wasn't sure it meant anything. That night, I guess…It was stupid. I was fucking around, seeing how far I could go, and- I haven't thought of anything else since. You're the reason that things with Jo didn't work out, and it was fine as long as I thought you didn't remember."
"You really, honestly thought I could forget that?
"Well, you were acting like such a fucking lush. You said it yourself- you puked for like, eighty hours the next day. I could hope, couldn't I?"
James cracked a smile.
The snow was beginning to let up, but his pants and jacket were soaked through. He could feel the chill all the way to his core, but he didn't think he would've been able to move if he wanted to. He was morbidly fascinated by what Kendall was saying; the truth, after all this time.
It didn't make him any less scared of hearing it, of course. But there were no rowdy kids or giant boulders or static filled radios to ward off this conversation. There was nothing but him and Kendall, and the intense, steady weight of Kendall's gaze as he asked seriously, "Why didn't you ever say something?"
He shrugged, "I figured you'd bring it up when you were ready."
"Well," Kendall repeated, rueful, and now he wasn't looking at James at all. He was staring out into the shifting shadows of pine trees and trailers, the black on blue on gray of the park, silent and unmoving, "Afterwards- things with Jo went to shit, obviously. I had this whole- identity crisis, or whatever. The whole time, I figured you were totally oblivious. And the thing is, James, I got over it. I got myself back to a place where I was comfortable again."
"And then I kissed you."
"You kissed me," Kendall agreed, "And I realized you knew, and I thought maybe you hated me at first, that you were fucking with me somehow. But then- then you were so upset, and I knew it wasn't a joke."
"You should've known I would never fuck with you like that, Kendall."
"I know. It just- if you weren't joking, it meant that you'd had feelings for me for the past year and a half, feelings I was completely oblivious to. And then I made you think that I'd forgotten, and, god, I hated that I'd hurt you. So I…"
"Blew me?" James offered, and now he could remember Kendall's mouth on his dick with perfect clarity.
Kendall reddened, "That. All of a sudden I had all these feelings I hadn't thought about in over year. I was worried that I was gay. I was worried that you somehow, I don't know, liked me because of something I did. Because I'd somehow forced you to when I kissed you in that alley."
"You didn't force me to do anything."
"Yeah. Things weren't supposed to get this complicated," Kendall raked a hand through his hair, pale fingers and forearms a contrast against James's black gloves, "When I said yes to this trip, I didn't think this would happen. None of this was supposed to be about me and you."
James nodded, "I know. I didn't mean for it to turn out like this. Honestly, Kendall, I- all I wanted was for you to live your dream."
"Yeah. I know that too."
There was quiet, for a minute. Long enough that James's heart had dropped somewhere near his stomach. He was so damned tense. He hated it.
"So, what? We just…say goodbye? Get some space for a couple months and then pretend none of this ever happened?"
Kendall shook his head, "I don't think you get it."
"What do you mean?"
Kendall leaned back, elbows resting against the roof, "James, I liked you so much. But I couldn't- I didn't think it was enough. I couldn't figure out how to tell you without ruining our friendship. And the more I fell for you, the more I resented you for it, a little. More and more, with every day that passed. I told myself it was never going to happen, and I convinced myself of it. I had so many reasons."
James's shoulders were inching up near his ears, to ward off the chill, to ward off his words.
"And then you blew them all away. The weird thing is, I can't remember a single one anymore," Kendall looked at him. Really, really looked at him.
James felt his breath catch in his throat.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying- I still want you."
James swallowed. He'd been miserable for so many days in a row that he didn't know what to do with this, with happiness when it was so freely offered.
Kendall was still talking, "I mean, if you still- if you're, um, interested. Which I hope you are, but."
He watched Kendall nibble on his lip, and for the life of him, he couldn't think of a single appropriate response. Of course he still wanted Kendall. He'd never stopped wanting him. But James had spent the last week, the last epically, tragically long week convincing himself that it didn't matter what he wanted.
He knew he was supposed to be excited about this turn of events, but he didn't feel excited. He felt cold, and confused, and more than a little pissed off.
"So that's it? We go through all of this, and you expect to, what, kiss and make up?"
Kendall's eyes widened, "Dude, if you don't want to, say no. You don't have to get so angry."
"Yeah, actually, I really, really do. Do you even have any idea what I've been going through? The things I've been thinking?"
Instead of looking apologetic, Kendall sighed and said, "Probably. Some of it. A year and a half, remember? Maybe not the part where the guy you're in love with turns out to be a total asshole, but honestly, even if you had, I already know that you can be a diva sometimes, and you know I have this problem expressing myself, so you maybe should have expected-"
"Wait, what?"
"What?" Kendall scratched behind his ear, chugging down the last of the beer, "What did I say? I don't mean that you're a complete asshole, asshole. Just that most people wouldn't put up with some of the shit you pull, and me too, probably, and-"
"Not that part. We're both jerks, tell me something new."
"Valid. Okay, what part of my word vomit are you referring to? I babble when I'm nervous, alright?"
"Kendall."
"I honestly have no idea what you're-"
"The guy you're in love with? I never said anything about love. Not even once."
He'd thought it. A lot. He'd even let Kendall crack jokes about it. But James had never once personally given a voice to that word. He'd been too scared that everything would implode.
"Oh," Kendall ducked his head, crossing his arms over his knees to lean his chin on his forearms. With a sideways glance, he mumbled,
"Maybe that's just me then."
"Stop fucking with me."
"Haven't you been listening to anything I've been saying? I'm not."
Slowly, James said, "What you're talking about- it's impossible. We can't- you're going to be here, and I'm going to be in fucking Hollywood and-"
"I'll fly out on the weekends. We'll make it work."
"That's not-"
"James, if I didn't want to do this, I wouldn't do it," Kendall told him earnestly. And then, like something out of a fucking memory, Kendall lifted James's gloveless hand, slid it up beneath his t-shirt, up his goosebump covered chest and said, "Believe me."
Kendall's heartbeat was strong and steady as a bassline, a constant pulse beneath his fingertips, not the hummingbird flutter James was used to in girls. James swallowed again. He couldn't believe this. He couldn't believe how hard he'd wanted Kendall to say the words he was saying, to look at him the way he was looking at James right that second. He thought about all the times he'd wanted to punch Kendall, or pin him against the wall, or somehow force him to acknowledge the things James felt. How he never could have made this happen, because we never have true power over another person. Not really.
Oh sure, there are ways; fear and intimidation and the threat of death. But it's impossible to conquer someone completely, to take over every nook and crevice. At best, they submit and hide it all away. At worst, they break, and the shiny bits just...disappear. And sometimes, James thought, we want it, so damn much, the power to make someone else stay. Other times we're glad for not having it, because then, impossibly, people surprise you.
Kendall surprised him.
It came down to this, to all the almosts and near misses between them.
James was teetering on the edge, and he could choose to lean forward, to take what Kendall offered, or he could run away, all the way back across the country in a stream of blazing taillights and fear like a thundercloud, shading everything he'd ever do, for the rest of his life.
"You're really, really sure? Because this is a huge step and-" James said, and he hated the way his voice had pitched, but he felt small under Kendall's gaze, small and warm and infinitely precious, a gemstone, a freshly cut diamond.
"James? Shut up and kiss me."
He kept talking, "And I don't think that-"
Kendall grabbed hold of his chin, established eye contact and enunciated, "Shut. Up."
And then he kissed them. And James thought, okay, maybe he had a point.
Kendall kissed hot and wet and dirty, his tongue strong, his lips bruising, his lungs stealing the last of James's breath away. His mouth moved rough over the surface of James's, and he tasted like pine and snow and the bubble-fizz of stolen beer, like an ocean a thousand miles away and the metallic sizzle of a flashbulb. Kendall's hand carded through his hair. His fingertips felt like the crackle-hiss of neon lights, like the lung-crushing hit of a puck to the stomach.
"This doesn't make everything okay," James said, trying to pull away, strangled, "We have to- to talk, and um, stuff."
He was not ashamed to admit the last part came out a bit of a squeak, but Kendall's hands were resting against his belt buckle, grazing the shape of his half-interested cock through denim.
"Mm," Kendall agreed, biting the hollow of his neck, teeth gentle, tongue wet, mouth sucking, and wow that was intensely distracting, "I imagine we'll have to work at it. Talking, and…stuff. Practice, you know."
He emphasized his words with little flicks of his tongue that made James's mind go kind of blank.
"Practice is good."
"Practice is excellent," Kendall hummed against his throat, "We should start now."
"See," James tried to pull away, "Your blatant redirection is not helping."
Kendall huffed a laugh and said, "You've spent the last week doing everything you can to not talk to me, and you decide now is the opportune moment for a conversation? Seriously?"
"I have questions. They're important."
"I can think of plenty of things that are way more important right his minute," Kendall pushed him down flat against the roof of the trailer, following the movement. His fingers worked at the front of James's soaking wet coat, and James thought maybe he should reciprocate this, just a little bit, except then Kendall was kneeling in between his legs and it was a little bit frightening, the intensity in his eyes, but mostly it was just fucking hot. And when Kendall leaned down to kiss him James didn't care that it was zero below hell-already-froze-over, and he didn't care that he was probably making noises loud enough that the neighbors could hear, because then Kendall was completely on top of him, their hips fitted together like maybe they should have been doing this for ages now, because it was meant to be. James thrust up a little, tugging at Kendall's shirt and wondering if his friend would actually die of hypothermia if he took it off completely.
He didn't really get to finish the thought, because apparently Kendall didn't know the meaning of taking it slow. His hand was in James's pants, inside his boxers, the button of his jeans still done up and everything and James was thinking maybe he'd even get off on the voyeuristic aspect of it all.
"Come back to my place," Kendall said, and James was finding it really hard to think what with his hand shoved down the front of his jeans, fingers curled around his cock.
"Dude, your grandmother will hear."
"She's old," Kendall shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning into a devilish grin, "She won't hear a thing."
James dug his fingers into the skin over Kendall's hip, rubbing his thigh up, rocking against him, and he swallowed Kendall's groan, letting it vibrate down his throat, all the way to his stomach.
"We're not fucking in your grandmother's house. There is entirely too much wrong with that."
Kendall groaned again, but this time it sounded half pained. He mumbled into James's mouth, "High school is going to be such a cock block. Why am I going back again?"
"Not completely," James murmured, voice spiked with mischief, and with great, great reluctance, he extricated Kendall's hand from his boxers.
"Right," he breathed, dick throbbing with want, "Follow me."
Thank god for the cold. It kept him at bay, and allowed him to climb down the side of the trailer when moving was practically excruciating otherwise. They stumbled the mile or so back to the high school, to James's Saab, cheeks heated and laughing, feet crossing over like they'd just run a marathon.
Every time Kendall looked at him, James was struck by the urge to shove him against a tree and get this over with. But then Kendall would smile this slow, brilliant smile and James thought yeah, he could kind of see the merit of waiting until he could get him into the car; pin him down in the backseat and make him beg for-.
Well. His fingers trembled when he fussed with the keys.
It was freezing inside the Saab, but James couldn't concentrate on that. Kendall was crowding him into the backseat, and he fell back, calves hitting the inside ledge of the door. James let Kendall tumble on top of him, pushing his soaked jacket off of his shoulders in one movement.
Hands on Kendall's hips to catch him, James scooted as far back as he could go. His shoulders hit the door, and Kendall was already scrabbling to rip off his shirt. He obediently lifted his arms, watching the way Kendall's eyes devoured the tan stretch of his stomach, watched until he couldn't see for the fabric. Kendall pulled the tee over his head, and he was half straddling James, doing as best as he could on the uncomfortable seat, one of his legs down in the foot well, but it didn't even matter because they were kissing, and then Kendall was taking off his sopping wet shirt, and he was the most incredible sight in the world.
Never in his entire life had James been so happy for leather seats. They warmed against his skin in minutes, and even though his breath was a visible fog in front of him, he had a half naked Kendall staring at him, hungry, but with a smile pulling at his lips.
And yeah, James knew that sex wasn't the kind of thing a person should take too seriously. He'd done it both ways; laughing, joyful, a girl making him feel like they were sharing a joke, one they both enjoyed too much. He'd been ridden by serious faced girls who made the air go thick with passion, who gave new definitions to the word hot. But he'd never had both, both at the same time. The lightness and the intensity, tangled together like the threads of a dreamcatcher.
He'd never had a breathless laugh caught in his throat combined with a single minded focus on one person, like running through wide open country, screaming at the top of his lungs. Like a roller coaster, reaching its pinnacle, excitement and terror and so much adrenaline his heart felt like it might burst.
"Are your hands cold?" Kendall asked against his lips, and before he could say anything, he lifted James's palm to his mouth, kissing his lifeline. James shivered, and Kendall's mouth quirked. He flipped James's hand, the scratchy-soft fabric of the borrowed gloves he still wore tickling over James's skin.
Carefully, Kendall pulled one of James's fingers towards him, wrapping his lips around the digit. His tongue darted out, soft and wet on the pad of his fingertip, and then, painstakingly slow, he took the whole thing in his mouth, all the way until it bumped against the back of his throat. He looked up through his eyelashes in a move so deliberate, James couldn't help the way it went straight to his dick. He made a guttural noise, low in his chest, and Kendall's eyes were dancing, devilish.
He pulled his hand free of Kendall's warm, hot, tight fucking mouth, because yeah, he really remembered now exactly what that mouth felt like around him, and grabbed at Kendall's face, fingers folding to the shape of his cheekbones, thumbs pressing into his dimples, pulling his face forwards so hard his entire body had to follow.
James kissed him, rough and sloppy, not caring when he only caught half of Kendall's mouth. Kendall leaned into it, lips moving, correcting the angle, his hands pressing against James's chest to keep his precarious balance. The front of his jeans brushed against James's erection, but when James tried to arch into it, Kendall pulled his hips away, inches that James couldn't seem to cross.
Kendall was still kissing him, moving to the line of his jaw, the skin of his throat. James thrust his hips up, looking for friction, looking for a way to stop Kendall from fucking teasing. He felt Kendall bite the skin of his jugular, teeth sharp, tongue massaging away the pain, laughter in his breath.
His ear, still fucking frigid from the cold, brushed against James's shoulder, and he had an idea. He looked down at Kendall's other ear, at the pale shell right near James's chin, easily accessible. He nibbled at the top, relishing the way Kendall's body stiffened in surprise, hips dipping low so that James could rub his thigh up between them, catching the lower half of his body. He traced his tongue along the lines of his inner ear, blowing softly against the wet skin to feel Kendall tremble. James nipped at the lobe, and then placed his mouth just below where the bone of his jaw met his skull, kissing the pulse point. The blond stopped his onslaught on James's neck, forehead resting on his shoulder, breath a harsh pant.
Heat crept slowly into James's chest, starting in his stomach and engulfing his heart. He moved his mouth across Kendall's throat, dry kisses that were barely more than a light brush of his lips. He licked a line across the protrusion of bone at his collar, dipped his tongue in the triangle hollow that stretched up to his shoulder. Kendall groaned when he latched on, sucking out a red-purple bruise, the brand of his mouth a garish color against the smattering of freckles so light they were barely even visible. His right hand moved across the flesh of Kendall's stomach, less defined than his own, but somehow infinitely more perfect. A trail of blond hair stood on end when James gently scraped his fingernails against skin, and Kendall's grip on his hip turned bruising. He ran his thumb over the button of Kendall's jeans, trailing the rest of his fingers down the fly, the shape of how much Kendall actually wanted him.
This was so much better than a blowjob in some dark, shady motel. Kendall nipped at his lower lip, scraped his teeth against the skin hard enough that it hurt, soft enough that it made him hungry for more.
He undid the front of Kendall's jeans, slow, letting Kendall run his hands over his skin while he worked. James imagined that Kendall was leaving a mark wherever he touched him, blood reds and dusky blues and marigold orange, yellows so bright and vibrant they could be called gold, the colors of every place they'd passed through, the colors of the land that had given James this, this moment, this miracle.
He wanted to be a canvas, a long stretch of skin for Kendall to paint these fragile things they'd both been feeling for so long. There would be time later to analyze everything Kendall had ever said or done to him, to wonder what he'd missed, how he hadn't seen what was so obviously there. For now James couldn't do anything but push Kendall's jeans and boxers down around his thighs, couldn't shift enough so that Kendall could do more than unbutton James's pants and pull his dick out.
Inside the car, they had their own self contained world, and it was small and cramped and a little bit uncomfortable, but James wouldn't have had it any other way. Neither of them had ever done anything more, not with another guy, but they knew they needed supplies. Even though James hadn't cleaned out the Saab since roughly the day he'd gotten it, he was pretty sure he'd never stocked it with condoms or lube. He wasn't worried. They'd figure something out.
And they did.
It wasn't all that comfortable, and they couldn't do much more than rub up against each other, tiny undulations of their hips while spit-slick hands worked between the two of them. After a while, they were barely even kissing, just breathing against each other's mouths, the windows fogged and opaque around them. They murmured epithets that didn't mean anything at all, but make them both hotter, bodies flushed, need building up their spines.
James could feel electricity sparking at the base of his cock, persistent want spreading like the blush on his skin when he changed the angle, when the head of Kendall's dick moved just right across his.
When Kendall came, James had one thought in his mind.
Fucking finally.
He followed him over with a gasp.
Half an hour later, James finally agreed to sleep at Kendall's grandma's.
They didn't fuck.
They didn't even talk. They collapsed onto the bed in the guest room in a heap, legs and arms tangled, neither caring to rectify the situation.
When James left Minnesota the following morning, he could still feel Kendall's skin burning beneath his fingertips, hear the little hitched breaths and the way he chanted, "Fuck, James, please," like a prayer.
He left him shining and spent, ready to backtrack across the country to a state full of palm trees and supermodels, fully prepared to do something with his life. He wasn't sure what it would be, but he'd had offers for modeling gigs and acting parts, and the band would always be there if Kendall decided to come back.
And if not, maybe James could start a solo career. He thought about it on the road, from the Dakotas to Wyoming to Arizona to home, the deep green scrub fading to sandstone to red clay cliffs to the familiar blue of the Pacific. He had so many fucking options.
After all, somehow, miraculously, he'd gotten Kendall Knight to fall in love with him.
There wasn't anything he couldn't do.
---