[Text Fic] If There's A Sonnet (That Makes You Feel Wanted)
Title: If There's A Sonnet (That Makes You Feel Wanted)
Author: garnetice
Pairing: James/Logan, background OT4
Rating: M
Word Count: 3,325
Summary: James doesn't like words. Logan writes really bad porn.
Author's Note: Uh, same dealio as the last post. Text fic (meaning manymanymany probabably spelling/grammar errors, some of which are my own fault, some because my phone is possibly Satan), written exclusively for jblostfan16's inbox because I love her. Need proof? Look at the pairing. Oh yeeeeah. ...no but really why have I written like, nine thousand words of text fic in the past week? Uh, lazy titling is lazy; it's from Sugar by Paper Route and has nothing to do with anything, other than being my theme song of the month.
---
"What are you reading?" He breathes hot, calculated, right on the curve of an ear and emphasizes it with a low, husky murmur. James makes sure his chin is sitting squarely on Logan's collarbone, his throat stretched against the sun-dappled skin of his shoulder.
"A book," Logan replies, words terse, expression completely unmoved. He's used to James, which isn't cool at all. James isn't supposed to be something you can get accustomed to. He's all about spontaneity. James takes it up a notch, licking out at Logan's earlobe.
"Words are boring. Come swim with me," he commands in his most salacious voice. Logan makes a choked sound, and at first James thinks his magic tongue has hit yet another home run. Now Logan will pay attention to him.
Except yeah, no, that's not what happens. Logan turns on him, setting his book down, completely aghast. "Words are not boring."
James sits back on his heels, giving Logan some breathing room on his lounge chair. He's already bored with this conversation. "Uh, yeah they are."
Logan looks even more horrified, mouth dropping open. James can see where this is headed. Boo. If he wanted a lecture, he would go talk to Mr. We Are In The Middle Of Our Third Album So No I Don't Have Time To Bang You In The Sound Booth, James Knight. He already lived through that rather disappointing chat, so maybe he'll just go find Carlos. He never has a problem letting James bend him over the side of furniture, even when they're pressed for time.
James juts out his lower lip, only a little, because Diamonds don't pout. His mom taught him that. She forgets the rule sometimes, like when she runs out of her fancy Parisian perfume, but James tries not to hold it against her. He makes special allowances for manspray, too.
"They are not! And I'll prove it!"
James backs away from the pool chaise like it's on fire.
"No thanks, not necessary, I'll just go find somewhere else to stick my dick," he says in a rush, because Logan's got that Professor Mitchell look on, the one that is pretty hot in the privacy of dimly lit bedrooms but generally sucks when applied to real life situations. James isn't interested in killing his potential boner with like, sentence diagrams.
Logan rolls his eyes in that special way he has. The one that indicates James is lucky Logan loves him, because he's an idiot and a half. Then he whips out his phone. James is going to skedaddle before he earns back Logan's teacher-face, he honestly is, but he gets a little distracted in that moment by a dripping wet Jennifer in a very teeny tiny bikini hoisting herself out of the pool. By the time he remembers that he's supposed to be backing slowly away from Dr. McFlaccid-Maker, his cell is buzzing. He's got a text from- Logan.
James frowns in the general direction of the chaise, where Logan is still typing furiously away at his phone, punching the keys like he's got a point to prove. James sighs and opens the message, calling, "I swear, if I see the word pronoun anywhere in this, you and your shitty book are going headfirst in the pool."
The word pronoun is nowhere to be found, but there are a lot of words. James has to reread the text twice just to figure out what it all means, and a third time for...for research purposes, okay? There is some big vocab that he's going to need to look up, like beneficence and aberration, but the gist of what Logan has sent is...smut.
Specifically about Camille and Lucy.
Logan has written up a shockingly accurate description of their mouths, of the way Camille tastes like strawberries and cream because of that weird balm she uses, of the bow shape of her top lip and the way she likes to nibble against skin when she kisses. Of the way the inside of Lucy's mouth is spicy like cinnamon, which James and Logan both know firsthand from kissing Kendall after his tongue's been probing around inside of her, but still. Its a little too realistic for comfort, especially when Camille begins biting at Lucy's cinnamon flavored lips.
James stares at his phone. Then he stares some more. Another text arrives. This one details Camille inching down Lucy's pants, and okay, James reminds himself. Words are boring. Boring.
He chances a guilty look towards the opposite end of the pool, where the real Camille stands reciting a monologue that sounds vaguely Shakespearean. James swallows. Imagining a pretty girl naked is not anything new for him, but. He marches over to Logan, who is still cross-legged on the lounge chair, merrily typing away.
He is way too into this.
Annoyed, James demands, "What are you doing?"
"Proving a point," Logan replies without looking up.
"Your point is stupid."
Without missing a beat, Logan retorts, "You're stupid."
He punches send, victorious, and James's phone vibrates in his hand. He refuses to look. Refuses!
"Aren't you going to get that?" Logan asks mildly. James runs his fingers over the plastic of his phone. It couldn't hurt to peek. So he does. And it hurts. Mostly because Logan has used the phrase swollen vagina, further proving that he has never ever not once in his life pulled off the straight act convincingly enough to get near anyone's lady parts.
James shakes his head fondly.
Then he gets to the part about Lucy's tongue and Camille's clitoris and it stops mattering that Logan's intimate knowledge of female anatomy is actually limited to what he's seen on HBO. James is plenty familiar with girls, and his mind fills in everything, from the pink flush high on Camille's thighs to the noises she makes when Lucy licks into her. When the text talks about Lucy's guitar roughened fingers scissoring open the slickwetheat of Camille, James can see it, perfectly imprinted on the back of his eyelids.
He slumps down on the lounge chair, guiltily, pulling Logan's paperback over his lap. His dick is straining against his swim shorts, and it's not even funny, because Logan is kind of winning a very important argument here. James is okay losing shit to Kendall all the time- okay is of course code for it drives him insane- but he's not even a little emotionally equipped for Logan to start one- upping him. There is a hierarchy in this band, damnit. Logan is supposed to know his place, acknowledge that James is a superior human being, and stay in his academic cave unless he's occupied with funner things, like learning how to deep throat.
James makes a pained noise, because his cock is not getting sucked, and he can't really think of a way to achieve that goal without admitting he may have been...wrong.
Eurgh.
James hisses, "I want you to stop."
Logan glances up from his phone, where he's probably typing away about fisting or something ridiculously not-hot but actually crazy hot and James thinks maybe throwing him in the pool really is the best solution. "Problem?"
James grabs at Logan's hand right there, in public, and presses it to his dick. He hisses, "What do you think?"
Logan isn't shy about copping a feel. He traces the outline of James's cock, squeezing, massaging through the orange fabric of his trunks. Then he lets his hand fall away.
"Wow. What's got you all hot and bothered? Is it Jennifer? That bikini is reeeeeally small. Or maybe Jett? I thought Bitters banned speedos." Logan looks towards the fire pit, where Jett Stetson is posing and flexing for some of Guitar Dude's chronic groupies.
James grits his teeth a little, because okay, he hates that guy. They don't have a lot of history together, except for, you know, the small matter of Kendall's anal virginity. But whatever, the past is in the past, and right now the more pressing matter is how James's dick is practically lifting Logan's book in the air.
Meanwhile, Logan is intent on being a jackass. He looks across the pool and says slyly, "Or could it be Camille?"
James breaks. He can't help it. He doesn't handle being turned on and hard up super gracefully. Is that even a surprise? Going without isn't something James has to do, like, ever.
"Okay fine, your terrible sext story was kind of hot."
"Terrible?" Logan sounds offended.
"A swollen vagina isn't a thing, unless you have, like, an allergic reaction to someone's tongue in your poon. You'd know that if you'd ever gotten any pussy. Ever." James emphasizes, because it can't hurt to point out that he's still sexually superior.
Logan snorts. "Why would I need pussy when I have you guys? Come on."
He takes James by the hand and leads him into one of the cabanas behind the lounge chairs, closing the curtains firmly behind them. Logan pushes James right onto one of the cabana chairs and slides into his lap, easy, practiced. He tangles his fingers in the laces of James's trunks, brushing the tips over his dick in the process.
James arches into it. It's about time he got some goddamned action. Logan leans forward, shimmying his hips up James's thighs. He's got no qualms about occupying James's airspace. With smiling eyes and a dimpled smirk he says, "So. How do you feel about words again?"
James feels a pout coming on. He does not give in. He rebuts, "Pssh. Lesbians make anything sexy. You haven't proven anything."
So there. Logan laughs, brushing the side of his hand against James's face, the line of his brow and the hollow of his cheekbone. "Stubborn ass. Kiss me."
James does, is happy to. He runs his tongue along Logan's lower lip, wets the places the sun has chapped. His hands explore over the shape of Logan's lower back, the dimples near his spine, his tailbone, his ass. James likes to kiss Logan soft, wet, deep. There's no fighting for dominance, no desperate rush, just time. Logan's mouth is pliant but firm, and his hands are clevercleverclever. He writes things into James's bare sides, words, and they're not bad like this either.
"Tickles," James mumbles. Logan smiles against him. James bites at the curve of that smile, growling the least intimidating puppy dog growl either of them have ever heard. Logan laughs for real now, but it's kind. He tugs open the front of James's swimsuit and does the same with his own. His palm wraps around the head of James, and he fucks into it. He's been waiting and waiting and waiting for this all day, ever since Kendall shot him down over breakfast.
Logan has a light touch. He sends shivery dry heat sizzling across James's nerve endings, raising the hair along his arms even as sweat drips down the back of his neck. It's better still when Logan frees himself from his own trunks, his dick springing from a complicated mass of ties and orange Hawaiian print. He presses it flush to James's dick, the sudden fever heat pulling a moan from his ribcage.
"Let me fuck you," James pleads, running his fingers against the line of Logan's ass crack.
"Neg," Logan mumbles. "Someone might walk in."
He strokes them together, using both of his hands with alternating pressure. He circles precum from the slits of their cocks on down with his thumbs, making each slide of his hands easier.
"So?" James kisses one of his dimples, gasping. "I thought you like that."
"I like living here, too. Caution isn't always unwarranted."
"You'd do it for Kendall," James whines, hitching his hips up so that they fit better, so that Logan can smooth his hands all the way down to the base of James, of himself. They're connected, rutting into the same space space between Logan's hands while his thighs squeeze against James's.
Outside the cabana, the future famous run, splash, shout. Inside, James drops his forehead against Logan's, panting.
"Kendall isn't scared to face down Bitters," Logan replies, hands stilling.
"I'm not scared," James mutters. "I have a healthy sense of self preservation." Then he adds, "Don't stop."
Logan starts pumping over them both again, in time to the distant strains of guitar dude's newest four chord progression. He smirks, tongue darting out to catch James's lips. "Must be why you like sex so much. Biological imperative."
James is pretty sure his only imperative right now is coming, and soon. He licks out at Logan's tongue, twining them in midair for a few seconds before deciding it's too much. The cabana is hot, the summer heat trapped by the curtains and the space between their bodies, crawling up their skin. Logan glistens with it.
James keeps their foreheads together despite the damp. He watches Logan's eyelashes fan across his skin, fluttering when James cups his ass and tries to gather him even closer. Soft, eager, he whispers, "Speed it up."
Logan shakes his head. "Not a chance."
"Why not?" James asks, nudging Logan with his nose, pressing kisses against his open mouth.
"Because you didn't admit I was right-" Logan's voice breaks off into a rasp as he fists his twined hands over them, a little erratically. He's got to be close, but the Professorial look is back, accompanied by a steely gaze. He murmurs, "These are words, right now, that I'm using. Kiss me."
James does, a quick brush of his lips, but-
"Not on paper. Doesn't count."
"Are you sure? Okay." And then Logan stops.
No more touching, no more kissing. He's fumbling his phone back out of his pocket, and okay, its a little harder to find with the pockets of his swimsuit scrunched down to make room for his dick. Which is still totally hard.
James checks.
"What the fuck, man?" He grits out, understandably pissed. His cock is leaking from how much he wants to come, an angry red. He feels completely gypped.
Logan holds up a finger to silence him.
James tries to bite that finger.
Logan announces, "You have a text message."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously." Logan crosses his arms, all bitch-faced. James feels like punching his teeth out.
Then he reads the text message. He decides, "I like words. Words are amazing."
And then he picks Logan up and lays him on the plastic covered cabana table. The text totally read: you can fuck me.
When James kisses Logan this time it is quick, and it is needy. A thin line of saliva stretches between their lips as James positions himself between Logan's legs, hands on his knees. He helps Logan out of his swimsuit, impatiently throwing it to the ground. There's a cracking noise that probably doesnt mean good things for Logan's cellphone, but James figures it's a preventative measure. Can't have Logan trying to text him in the middle of an orgasm.
He's all ready to get to the groundwork, but then Logan breaks the kiss as his fingers begin to probe. He puts an arm lazily over his face. It's only when he admits, "You dont have to," that James finds out why, that he fucked Carlos half an hour earlier.
Which.
James tests it out. He slides his fingers inside of Logan to find him still loose, and even marginally slick.
Rad.
"You are such a slut," James informs him, happily. All the better for James to get his rocks off. He arranges Logan's legs up over his shoulders, appreciating how, standing, the table is exactly the perfect height for what James wants. He lines his dick up with Logan and pushes inside, silently thanking all the gods he knows and Carlos for the prep. Logan is a moaner, and with how close they both already are, there's no way James would have lasted long enough to even get inside him.
Not that James doesn't have endurance. Just. He's also got visions of lesbians and fifteen minutes of friction already behind him, and it's a ridiculously hot sight, seeing Dr. Mitchell impaled on one's fingers.
Kind of like what he's doing now, with James's dick. He's already flush inside Logan, his balls pressed up against the smaller kid's ass, but Logan is still squirming around, looking for more. James presses down against Logan's belly button, his skin a dark tan in contrast to Logan's mole-man pallor.
He really should stop letting his friends drag him away for sex sessions and study by the pool more.
Affectionately James repeats, "Slut."
Then he draws his hips back, making sure Logan can feel every inch of the withdraw, keens for him, says, "James," all sharp and needy. James slams forward. The table legs scrape loud against concrete. Logan doesn't even seem to notice. James has to smother his yelp with the palm of his hand.
He fucks into Logan fast and hard, close and deathly aware that they are being way, way too loud. He can hear voices outside the cabana. It sounds like Camille is covering for them, temporarily. Poltergeists don't actually seem like her best excuse.
James rolls his hips faster, knowing from experience that Logan like to get it deep and rough, jolting through his bones. Logan uses his legs to rope James forward, as much as he can manage. He likes to look, likes watching James's face, and James likes being watched. "Touch yourself."
Logan obeys, working his hand over his dick so fast that James can hear the sound overlaid with the slap of their skin, the scrape of the table, Logan's muffled grunts, and the buzz of curiosity outside. It all builds to a hum that James can feel under his skin, in his veins, white noise. He drives forward, watching the red head of Logan's cock appear and vanish in the cave of his hand, watching his stomach muscles tense and the way he shouts James's name into the heartlines of James's hand as he lets go.
Cum catches the sunlight that filters through the cabana roof and it almost looks pretty, especially smeared all over Logan's stomach. His knees are practically locked around James's neck as he rides it out, James pumping into him at the same frantic pace. He hears Camille yell something, or maybe it's Lucy, and Logan is looking at him all happy and sated with those big Bambi eyes. James barely manages one last thrust, thinking something like lesbianswordsLogan before his mind goes utterly blank. His thighs tremble, his body floods with golden light, and he's gone, emptying out inside Logan for long seconds on end. And Logan just reaches out and ruffles his hair, lapping little kisses against James's hand, still covering his mouth.
James stays buried there until the skin of his dick turns painfully tender. He pulls out and tosses Logan his trunks. Logan plus them on, his expression entirely too smug for the shit they're in.
"Do you have a plan?" James asks, thinking that cuddling sounds like an awesome plan if they don't die.
"Not a one."
Well. James leans in for a kiss. Just in case. He links their hands. "Time to face the music."
But just before they step back out into the sunlight, they hear the sweet, sweet sound of salvation. Also known as Kendall and Carlos yelling, "Coming through, coming through. Gas leak!"
"In a cabana?" Someone else asks, confused.
Carlos launches into a lengthy explanation of something that makes no sense unless you're an alien, but just like always, it works. Kendall peeks his head inside the curtains. "Hi, guys. Noisy much? Just wait in here till we herd everyone out, 'kay?"
And then he's ducking out, leaving behind only a smirk and a conspiratorial wink.
"You know what this means," Logan tells James conversationally as they wait for their moment to slip through the dispersing crowd. "We're going to have to cover for them while they try this out."
Yeah, James is already plotting how to be an active participant on that occasion.
He thinks maybe it should involve lesbians.
---
Author: garnetice
Pairing: James/Logan, background OT4
Rating: M
Word Count: 3,325
Summary: James doesn't like words. Logan writes really bad porn.
Author's Note: Uh, same dealio as the last post. Text fic (meaning manymanymany probabably spelling/grammar errors, some of which are my own fault, some because my phone is possibly Satan), written exclusively for jblostfan16's inbox because I love her. Need proof? Look at the pairing. Oh yeeeeah. ...no but really why have I written like, nine thousand words of text fic in the past week? Uh, lazy titling is lazy; it's from Sugar by Paper Route and has nothing to do with anything, other than being my theme song of the month.
---
"What are you reading?" He breathes hot, calculated, right on the curve of an ear and emphasizes it with a low, husky murmur. James makes sure his chin is sitting squarely on Logan's collarbone, his throat stretched against the sun-dappled skin of his shoulder.
"A book," Logan replies, words terse, expression completely unmoved. He's used to James, which isn't cool at all. James isn't supposed to be something you can get accustomed to. He's all about spontaneity. James takes it up a notch, licking out at Logan's earlobe.
"Words are boring. Come swim with me," he commands in his most salacious voice. Logan makes a choked sound, and at first James thinks his magic tongue has hit yet another home run. Now Logan will pay attention to him.
Except yeah, no, that's not what happens. Logan turns on him, setting his book down, completely aghast. "Words are not boring."
James sits back on his heels, giving Logan some breathing room on his lounge chair. He's already bored with this conversation. "Uh, yeah they are."
Logan looks even more horrified, mouth dropping open. James can see where this is headed. Boo. If he wanted a lecture, he would go talk to Mr. We Are In The Middle Of Our Third Album So No I Don't Have Time To Bang You In The Sound Booth, James Knight. He already lived through that rather disappointing chat, so maybe he'll just go find Carlos. He never has a problem letting James bend him over the side of furniture, even when they're pressed for time.
James juts out his lower lip, only a little, because Diamonds don't pout. His mom taught him that. She forgets the rule sometimes, like when she runs out of her fancy Parisian perfume, but James tries not to hold it against her. He makes special allowances for manspray, too.
"They are not! And I'll prove it!"
James backs away from the pool chaise like it's on fire.
"No thanks, not necessary, I'll just go find somewhere else to stick my dick," he says in a rush, because Logan's got that Professor Mitchell look on, the one that is pretty hot in the privacy of dimly lit bedrooms but generally sucks when applied to real life situations. James isn't interested in killing his potential boner with like, sentence diagrams.
Logan rolls his eyes in that special way he has. The one that indicates James is lucky Logan loves him, because he's an idiot and a half. Then he whips out his phone. James is going to skedaddle before he earns back Logan's teacher-face, he honestly is, but he gets a little distracted in that moment by a dripping wet Jennifer in a very teeny tiny bikini hoisting herself out of the pool. By the time he remembers that he's supposed to be backing slowly away from Dr. McFlaccid-Maker, his cell is buzzing. He's got a text from- Logan.
James frowns in the general direction of the chaise, where Logan is still typing furiously away at his phone, punching the keys like he's got a point to prove. James sighs and opens the message, calling, "I swear, if I see the word pronoun anywhere in this, you and your shitty book are going headfirst in the pool."
The word pronoun is nowhere to be found, but there are a lot of words. James has to reread the text twice just to figure out what it all means, and a third time for...for research purposes, okay? There is some big vocab that he's going to need to look up, like beneficence and aberration, but the gist of what Logan has sent is...smut.
Specifically about Camille and Lucy.
Logan has written up a shockingly accurate description of their mouths, of the way Camille tastes like strawberries and cream because of that weird balm she uses, of the bow shape of her top lip and the way she likes to nibble against skin when she kisses. Of the way the inside of Lucy's mouth is spicy like cinnamon, which James and Logan both know firsthand from kissing Kendall after his tongue's been probing around inside of her, but still. Its a little too realistic for comfort, especially when Camille begins biting at Lucy's cinnamon flavored lips.
James stares at his phone. Then he stares some more. Another text arrives. This one details Camille inching down Lucy's pants, and okay, James reminds himself. Words are boring. Boring.
He chances a guilty look towards the opposite end of the pool, where the real Camille stands reciting a monologue that sounds vaguely Shakespearean. James swallows. Imagining a pretty girl naked is not anything new for him, but. He marches over to Logan, who is still cross-legged on the lounge chair, merrily typing away.
He is way too into this.
Annoyed, James demands, "What are you doing?"
"Proving a point," Logan replies without looking up.
"Your point is stupid."
Without missing a beat, Logan retorts, "You're stupid."
He punches send, victorious, and James's phone vibrates in his hand. He refuses to look. Refuses!
"Aren't you going to get that?" Logan asks mildly. James runs his fingers over the plastic of his phone. It couldn't hurt to peek. So he does. And it hurts. Mostly because Logan has used the phrase swollen vagina, further proving that he has never ever not once in his life pulled off the straight act convincingly enough to get near anyone's lady parts.
James shakes his head fondly.
Then he gets to the part about Lucy's tongue and Camille's clitoris and it stops mattering that Logan's intimate knowledge of female anatomy is actually limited to what he's seen on HBO. James is plenty familiar with girls, and his mind fills in everything, from the pink flush high on Camille's thighs to the noises she makes when Lucy licks into her. When the text talks about Lucy's guitar roughened fingers scissoring open the slickwetheat of Camille, James can see it, perfectly imprinted on the back of his eyelids.
He slumps down on the lounge chair, guiltily, pulling Logan's paperback over his lap. His dick is straining against his swim shorts, and it's not even funny, because Logan is kind of winning a very important argument here. James is okay losing shit to Kendall all the time- okay is of course code for it drives him insane- but he's not even a little emotionally equipped for Logan to start one- upping him. There is a hierarchy in this band, damnit. Logan is supposed to know his place, acknowledge that James is a superior human being, and stay in his academic cave unless he's occupied with funner things, like learning how to deep throat.
James makes a pained noise, because his cock is not getting sucked, and he can't really think of a way to achieve that goal without admitting he may have been...wrong.
Eurgh.
James hisses, "I want you to stop."
Logan glances up from his phone, where he's probably typing away about fisting or something ridiculously not-hot but actually crazy hot and James thinks maybe throwing him in the pool really is the best solution. "Problem?"
James grabs at Logan's hand right there, in public, and presses it to his dick. He hisses, "What do you think?"
Logan isn't shy about copping a feel. He traces the outline of James's cock, squeezing, massaging through the orange fabric of his trunks. Then he lets his hand fall away.
"Wow. What's got you all hot and bothered? Is it Jennifer? That bikini is reeeeeally small. Or maybe Jett? I thought Bitters banned speedos." Logan looks towards the fire pit, where Jett Stetson is posing and flexing for some of Guitar Dude's chronic groupies.
James grits his teeth a little, because okay, he hates that guy. They don't have a lot of history together, except for, you know, the small matter of Kendall's anal virginity. But whatever, the past is in the past, and right now the more pressing matter is how James's dick is practically lifting Logan's book in the air.
Meanwhile, Logan is intent on being a jackass. He looks across the pool and says slyly, "Or could it be Camille?"
James breaks. He can't help it. He doesn't handle being turned on and hard up super gracefully. Is that even a surprise? Going without isn't something James has to do, like, ever.
"Okay fine, your terrible sext story was kind of hot."
"Terrible?" Logan sounds offended.
"A swollen vagina isn't a thing, unless you have, like, an allergic reaction to someone's tongue in your poon. You'd know that if you'd ever gotten any pussy. Ever." James emphasizes, because it can't hurt to point out that he's still sexually superior.
Logan snorts. "Why would I need pussy when I have you guys? Come on."
He takes James by the hand and leads him into one of the cabanas behind the lounge chairs, closing the curtains firmly behind them. Logan pushes James right onto one of the cabana chairs and slides into his lap, easy, practiced. He tangles his fingers in the laces of James's trunks, brushing the tips over his dick in the process.
James arches into it. It's about time he got some goddamned action. Logan leans forward, shimmying his hips up James's thighs. He's got no qualms about occupying James's airspace. With smiling eyes and a dimpled smirk he says, "So. How do you feel about words again?"
James feels a pout coming on. He does not give in. He rebuts, "Pssh. Lesbians make anything sexy. You haven't proven anything."
So there. Logan laughs, brushing the side of his hand against James's face, the line of his brow and the hollow of his cheekbone. "Stubborn ass. Kiss me."
James does, is happy to. He runs his tongue along Logan's lower lip, wets the places the sun has chapped. His hands explore over the shape of Logan's lower back, the dimples near his spine, his tailbone, his ass. James likes to kiss Logan soft, wet, deep. There's no fighting for dominance, no desperate rush, just time. Logan's mouth is pliant but firm, and his hands are clevercleverclever. He writes things into James's bare sides, words, and they're not bad like this either.
"Tickles," James mumbles. Logan smiles against him. James bites at the curve of that smile, growling the least intimidating puppy dog growl either of them have ever heard. Logan laughs for real now, but it's kind. He tugs open the front of James's swimsuit and does the same with his own. His palm wraps around the head of James, and he fucks into it. He's been waiting and waiting and waiting for this all day, ever since Kendall shot him down over breakfast.
Logan has a light touch. He sends shivery dry heat sizzling across James's nerve endings, raising the hair along his arms even as sweat drips down the back of his neck. It's better still when Logan frees himself from his own trunks, his dick springing from a complicated mass of ties and orange Hawaiian print. He presses it flush to James's dick, the sudden fever heat pulling a moan from his ribcage.
"Let me fuck you," James pleads, running his fingers against the line of Logan's ass crack.
"Neg," Logan mumbles. "Someone might walk in."
He strokes them together, using both of his hands with alternating pressure. He circles precum from the slits of their cocks on down with his thumbs, making each slide of his hands easier.
"So?" James kisses one of his dimples, gasping. "I thought you like that."
"I like living here, too. Caution isn't always unwarranted."
"You'd do it for Kendall," James whines, hitching his hips up so that they fit better, so that Logan can smooth his hands all the way down to the base of James, of himself. They're connected, rutting into the same space space between Logan's hands while his thighs squeeze against James's.
Outside the cabana, the future famous run, splash, shout. Inside, James drops his forehead against Logan's, panting.
"Kendall isn't scared to face down Bitters," Logan replies, hands stilling.
"I'm not scared," James mutters. "I have a healthy sense of self preservation." Then he adds, "Don't stop."
Logan starts pumping over them both again, in time to the distant strains of guitar dude's newest four chord progression. He smirks, tongue darting out to catch James's lips. "Must be why you like sex so much. Biological imperative."
James is pretty sure his only imperative right now is coming, and soon. He licks out at Logan's tongue, twining them in midair for a few seconds before deciding it's too much. The cabana is hot, the summer heat trapped by the curtains and the space between their bodies, crawling up their skin. Logan glistens with it.
James keeps their foreheads together despite the damp. He watches Logan's eyelashes fan across his skin, fluttering when James cups his ass and tries to gather him even closer. Soft, eager, he whispers, "Speed it up."
Logan shakes his head. "Not a chance."
"Why not?" James asks, nudging Logan with his nose, pressing kisses against his open mouth.
"Because you didn't admit I was right-" Logan's voice breaks off into a rasp as he fists his twined hands over them, a little erratically. He's got to be close, but the Professorial look is back, accompanied by a steely gaze. He murmurs, "These are words, right now, that I'm using. Kiss me."
James does, a quick brush of his lips, but-
"Not on paper. Doesn't count."
"Are you sure? Okay." And then Logan stops.
No more touching, no more kissing. He's fumbling his phone back out of his pocket, and okay, its a little harder to find with the pockets of his swimsuit scrunched down to make room for his dick. Which is still totally hard.
James checks.
"What the fuck, man?" He grits out, understandably pissed. His cock is leaking from how much he wants to come, an angry red. He feels completely gypped.
Logan holds up a finger to silence him.
James tries to bite that finger.
Logan announces, "You have a text message."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously." Logan crosses his arms, all bitch-faced. James feels like punching his teeth out.
Then he reads the text message. He decides, "I like words. Words are amazing."
And then he picks Logan up and lays him on the plastic covered cabana table. The text totally read: you can fuck me.
When James kisses Logan this time it is quick, and it is needy. A thin line of saliva stretches between their lips as James positions himself between Logan's legs, hands on his knees. He helps Logan out of his swimsuit, impatiently throwing it to the ground. There's a cracking noise that probably doesnt mean good things for Logan's cellphone, but James figures it's a preventative measure. Can't have Logan trying to text him in the middle of an orgasm.
He's all ready to get to the groundwork, but then Logan breaks the kiss as his fingers begin to probe. He puts an arm lazily over his face. It's only when he admits, "You dont have to," that James finds out why, that he fucked Carlos half an hour earlier.
Which.
James tests it out. He slides his fingers inside of Logan to find him still loose, and even marginally slick.
Rad.
"You are such a slut," James informs him, happily. All the better for James to get his rocks off. He arranges Logan's legs up over his shoulders, appreciating how, standing, the table is exactly the perfect height for what James wants. He lines his dick up with Logan and pushes inside, silently thanking all the gods he knows and Carlos for the prep. Logan is a moaner, and with how close they both already are, there's no way James would have lasted long enough to even get inside him.
Not that James doesn't have endurance. Just. He's also got visions of lesbians and fifteen minutes of friction already behind him, and it's a ridiculously hot sight, seeing Dr. Mitchell impaled on one's fingers.
Kind of like what he's doing now, with James's dick. He's already flush inside Logan, his balls pressed up against the smaller kid's ass, but Logan is still squirming around, looking for more. James presses down against Logan's belly button, his skin a dark tan in contrast to Logan's mole-man pallor.
He really should stop letting his friends drag him away for sex sessions and study by the pool more.
Affectionately James repeats, "Slut."
Then he draws his hips back, making sure Logan can feel every inch of the withdraw, keens for him, says, "James," all sharp and needy. James slams forward. The table legs scrape loud against concrete. Logan doesn't even seem to notice. James has to smother his yelp with the palm of his hand.
He fucks into Logan fast and hard, close and deathly aware that they are being way, way too loud. He can hear voices outside the cabana. It sounds like Camille is covering for them, temporarily. Poltergeists don't actually seem like her best excuse.
James rolls his hips faster, knowing from experience that Logan like to get it deep and rough, jolting through his bones. Logan uses his legs to rope James forward, as much as he can manage. He likes to look, likes watching James's face, and James likes being watched. "Touch yourself."
Logan obeys, working his hand over his dick so fast that James can hear the sound overlaid with the slap of their skin, the scrape of the table, Logan's muffled grunts, and the buzz of curiosity outside. It all builds to a hum that James can feel under his skin, in his veins, white noise. He drives forward, watching the red head of Logan's cock appear and vanish in the cave of his hand, watching his stomach muscles tense and the way he shouts James's name into the heartlines of James's hand as he lets go.
Cum catches the sunlight that filters through the cabana roof and it almost looks pretty, especially smeared all over Logan's stomach. His knees are practically locked around James's neck as he rides it out, James pumping into him at the same frantic pace. He hears Camille yell something, or maybe it's Lucy, and Logan is looking at him all happy and sated with those big Bambi eyes. James barely manages one last thrust, thinking something like lesbianswordsLogan before his mind goes utterly blank. His thighs tremble, his body floods with golden light, and he's gone, emptying out inside Logan for long seconds on end. And Logan just reaches out and ruffles his hair, lapping little kisses against James's hand, still covering his mouth.
James stays buried there until the skin of his dick turns painfully tender. He pulls out and tosses Logan his trunks. Logan plus them on, his expression entirely too smug for the shit they're in.
"Do you have a plan?" James asks, thinking that cuddling sounds like an awesome plan if they don't die.
"Not a one."
Well. James leans in for a kiss. Just in case. He links their hands. "Time to face the music."
But just before they step back out into the sunlight, they hear the sweet, sweet sound of salvation. Also known as Kendall and Carlos yelling, "Coming through, coming through. Gas leak!"
"In a cabana?" Someone else asks, confused.
Carlos launches into a lengthy explanation of something that makes no sense unless you're an alien, but just like always, it works. Kendall peeks his head inside the curtains. "Hi, guys. Noisy much? Just wait in here till we herd everyone out, 'kay?"
And then he's ducking out, leaving behind only a smirk and a conspiratorial wink.
"You know what this means," Logan tells James conversationally as they wait for their moment to slip through the dispersing crowd. "We're going to have to cover for them while they try this out."
Yeah, James is already plotting how to be an active participant on that occasion.
He thinks maybe it should involve lesbians.
---