[fic] It's So Hard To Breathe - 2/2
Title: It's So Hard To Breathe
Author: garnetice
Pairing: Kendall/James, Kendall/Dak
Rating: M
Word Count: 4,007 (Part 2)
Warnings: Angst, a handful of naughty words.
Summary: “So you let Dak Zevon fuck you,” James says, and this time he doesn’t bother amending his word choice. “Interesting decision.”
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine. Obvs.
Author Notes: So this is part one of, uh, three birthday stories for jblostfan16 that I never got a chance to post in November because of my European vacay, Hurricane Sandy, and then me promptly breaking my laptop forever. I actually told Chris I'd post this one weeks ago and then I sort of died of the plague and couldn't double check edits or do much more than scroll listlessly through Tumblr. FORGIVE ME??? But yes, here. This is actually the newest prompt of the three she gave me, having originated sometime in October, I believe? The prompt was REVENGE PORN. It was interesting writing this along side We Trudged Along Through The Mud, because both revolve around media outings, but the circumstances and people are so totally different. Ahem. Anyway, Chris, dearheart, I hope you enjoy it, and I swear I have other fic for you that just needs to be polished up. ♥ (Part Two notes: I...I forgot to post the second part and no one told me? D: I'm actually unhappy with the fic from this point on, so that's probably slightly freudian. THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BANG AND IT DEVOLVED INTO HANDJOBS because of time constraints. Mea culpa, man.)
---
Hockey was a pipe dream, and maybe Kendall always knew it, because from the second he met James, Carlos, and Logan on, he figured making their future happen would come first.
When Gustavo came around, it was a lot like everything finally fit into place.
But he still mourns hockey from time to time, and now he will probably mourn James too. Kendall Knight is charmed, blessed, lucky, but Kendall Knight is also very, very used to letting go of the things he wants most. He’s not sure why his heart thought it was okay to transition from friend-land to The Border That Is Never To Be Crossed, even though boys are allowed now.
Boys are allowed, but James is not, never mind that James implied he wanted it. James’s wants change every other week, and Kendall is not fooled into thinking that petty jealousy can be an adequate basis for anything in the realm of badgood touching. James has been on at least eight dates since that whole incident happened, for Chris’sake.
In retrospect, though, everything makes a lot more sense on a personal level.
Why Kendall chose Dak at that party, for one, with his broad shoulders, dark hair, and astounding confidence. He could be James’s double in the dark.
Kendall does not wonder why he’s been so blind. Sometimes standing in a spotlight makes it hard to see out into the darkness beyond it. He never knows if his feet will find the hard stage floor or a cliff to fall off of. This is simply one more drop-off he inexplicably missed.
Now he needs to figure out how to fix it.
He’s relatively certain that shopping is not the answer.
“I don’t feel very incognito.”
“The baseball cap is a classic disguise. No one will recognize you beneath the emblem of the Anaheim Angels.” James is using a great many hand gestures and emphatic eye movements to heighten his point. A little boy with an ice cream cone standing near them is giving him very suspicious looks.
Kendall sighs. “They’re from Los Angeles now.”
Not that he cares. Teams from any state that is not Minnesota are not teams that deserve his recognition. Besides, baseball is lame.
“That is a ploy by The Man to widen their brand. Their stadium is in Anaheim, so they’re from Anaheim, damnit.” Okay, so James cares.
Why? Kendall says, “You don’t even like the Angels.”
“I don’t cope well with change,” James explains, which is entirely too introspective to have actually come from his mouth. Kendall begins searching for hidden cameras, or like, a script.
Kendall does not find a hidden camera. He does think he sees a shiny glint out of the corner of his eye, but it’s probably the reflection off the fountain, or something. He rakes a hand over his cap, forgetting, fleetingly, that it’s there. “Which stores do you want to hit up first?”
James grins. This is not a good sign. Kendall would run, but the only place he has to go is back to 2J, and James was right. He’s going stir-crazy. Anything’s better than being trapped like a rat in what he once considered their super awesome crib and now feels exactly like a cage. Even one of James’s marathon shopping sprees.
They buy jeans. They buy shirts. They buy belts, wallets, sneakers, and man jewelry, which James will only refer to as accessories. Kendall is not sure if it’s supposed to be more masculine terminology or less. The whole time, he can’t shake the idea that they’re being followed, but it’s probably paranoia. Just because he’s the media’s darling scapegoat doesn’t mean that the entire world is out to get him.
“I don’t even get why it’s such a big deal,” Kendall blurts out at one point, while James is modeling a graphic tee that looks identical to every other one in the store, as far as Kendall is concerned. This is why his mom and his stylist still buy all his clothes. “I’m gay. So what? Lots of people are.”
James stops, props his hands on his hips, and scowls. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this. You’re supposed to be reveling in your liberty.”
“I’m reveling,” Kendall replies, and he is, whining aside. Hanging out with James is fun, even when they’re doing something that Kendall hates, and being outside the apartment is even better. But isn’t whining honestly his prerogative at this point? “I just. I hate this hat. I hate hiding. I’m…not the biggest fan of shopping, but I’m really glad you skipped your date to take me. I want to be able to go outside without worrying about, I don’t know, punching a reporter and getting charged with aggravated assault.”
“That does sound like something you’d do,” James agrees. He shucks the shirt, and instead of picking up another one, stands there, deliberating between his choices. He’s all tan and strong, back muscles bunching with what could be stress, but isn’t, because James is giving off every other appearance of cool, calm, and collected.
At least he’s talking to Kendall. Lately that has not been the norm. Like, at all.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Kendall stares at the shape of James’s abs in the reflection of the department store’s three-way communal mirror and wonders if they’ve always been this amazing.
“I’m confident that you’d really make that reporter hurt. You really don’t know why everyone’s so interested?”
“No,” Kendall answers plaintively. “Everyone keeps joking about how guys in boy bands are always gay. On the news. All the time. So…I don’t get what’s up with all the shock.”
James meets Kendall’s gaze in the mirror. “Dude, people are surprised because it’s you.”
Kendall stares at James, uncomprehendingly. He also stares at James’s biceps, and might drool a little, and wow, he really needs to work on this giving up thing.
James continues, “They’ve been waiting for Logan to come out for like, ever. Or me. Or even Carlos. You’ve always been the straight one.” Maybe considering Kendall’s mom’s blasé reaction, he tacks on, “In the media, anyway.”
“Um.”
James rolls his eyes, but does not put a shirt on. The line of his clavicle is really distracting. “You played hockey. You have no fashion sense. You dated Jo for like eight thousand years. You’re notoriously short-tempered, you don’t give a damn if your hair’s even been combed, and you do really awful in interviews.”
“What does any of that have to do with anything?”
“They’re all really…straight.”
“You’re stereotyping me?” Or is James stereotyping gay people? Wait, Kendall’s definitely got his questions mixed up here.
“The public is. Was. Whatever, you ducked everyone’s gaydar, and now they’re all trying to figure out how that happened. It will die down, eventually.”
“It hasn’t.”
“But it will.” James turns to face Kendall, plopping his hands firmly on his shoulders. “Promise. Tomorrow or next week, something more interesting will come along, and you’ll be old news.”
“I can’t figure out if you’re trying to reassure me or insult me.” Kendall can’t quite break James’s stare, his eyes too green-gold, honey brown and earth-toned. He guesses, “Both?”
James responds with a grin and a shrug, neither of which answer Kendall’s question.
He also takes a really long time putting on his next shirt.
---
They’re at the food court when things go south. Someone, somewhere, must not have been fooled by Kendall’s Angels’ cap, because a horde of paparazzi fall upon the mall like vultures with very, very shiny eyes.
Kendall is the one who spots them first, moving in behind James and his tray full of hamburger. He jumps to his feet and commands, “Run.”
James blinks up at him, confused. Through a mouthful of fries, he mumbles, “You can’t tell me what to do. I might be a bitch, but I’m not yours.”
“Yeah, no, it’s serious-time. James, run.” Kendall jabs a finger in the air pointedly.
James slowly turns to peek behind him. Then he curses profusely. Stuffing the rest of his burger in his mouth, James hops up. “Running is good.”
Only, in a mall, there aren’t many places to run. After circling the same small cluster of boutiques twice, the paps completely keeping pace, James yanks Kendall by the arm into this tiny hole in the wall, decorated with a whole hell of a lot of baby blue.
Kendall yelps, “You want us to be trapped?”
“We need disguises,” James declares, barely panting, which is so not fair, because Kendall can’t even breathe. Those photographers are quick on their feet, man. James gives Kendall’s outfit a disparaging look and adds, “Also, you could afford a new wardrobe.”
“Not the time, James.”
“There is always time for fashion.”
Kendall rolls his eyes, ducking behind a circular rack when a man with a camera runs by. The pack has got to be right behind them. “Okay, okay, grab some clothes already.”
“Pushy,” James mutters, but in a matter of seconds he’s gotten quite the selection. He herds Kendall ahead of him into a corner of the store, shoving the goods into his arms and then pulling the dressing room curtain closed behind him.
Immediately, the curtain swings back, an irritated salesgirl glaring up at them. “Sirs, we don’t allow two people in a dressing room.”
James smiles at her, sweetly, eyes flicking to her nametag. “Cherie. There’s a whole horde of paparazzo out there, about to come down on this store with all the fury of the media behind them. You want us to be in that dressing room before then. We’d go in separate, but as you can see, sweetie, you only have the one.”
Cherie glances outside the window, where another camera man is running by. “Um.” She looks back at them and makes the decision. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks. Hey, you know you’re pretty cute. What are you doing on Saturda-“
“James,” Kendall grits out, yanking James into the dressing room and swishing the curtain closed behind them.
“Rude,” James says. “That was rude.”
“Reporters?” Kendall reminds him, surveying their new terrain. As far as hiding spots go, it’s not great, roughly the size of Kendall’s closet back in Minnesota, and only barely concealed by a blue curtain that moves in time with the store’s air conditioning. Their feet stick out inches beneath the fabric, were anyone to get close enough to look. Kendall feels very, very exposed.
“Right.” James shoves his armful of goodies into Kendall’s hands with a smile that is way too chipper. “I forgot.”
Kendall frowns down at the clothes. He’s not sure what an infinity scarf is, or why he needs one when they live in Southern California. “I’m not actually trying all this stuff on.”
“Why not? You haven’t got anything better to do.”
“We could…we could…” Kendall glances around helplessly. His fingers dig into the clothes that he will legitimately never wear. “We could hang out. Talk.”
“Talk,” James repeats skeptically. “About?”
Uh. Okay. Kendall’s never actually had to force a conversation with James before. He’s usually happy to patter on and on about his latest hair products or whatever. Almost immediately, that thought fills him with guilt, because he probably should not expect James’s shallow to compensate for how Kendall did or did not hurt him. They’ve barely spoken since that night in Kendall’s room, straight on until today, which has been fun.
Which was fun, anyway, until now.
“You’re still mad at me.”
James’s lips thin and turn white at the corners. He never bites at his mouth unless he’s nervous or upset. “I’m not…mad. I’m jealous and spiteful, remember?”
So, yeah, definitely still pissed. “James, I never said that.”
Verbatim, anyway. He might have come close.
“But you meant it. And I don’t think it’s a bad thing.” James crowds in on him, skin bruised gold by the sun, eyes chipped from limestone and red clay. “I don’t actually love being jealous and spiteful, okay, but I am because. Because…”
Kendall’s first impulse when being manhandled is to shove right back, but he keeps his hands to himself, bunched in the clothes, and watches James warily. “Because?”
James glares at him.
“Trying to make me explode with your mind isn’t an answer, James.”
“You are incredibly dense. You are so incredibly dense that you make me look bright, and I cannot believe you’re making me spell this out for you.”
Kendall waits. And waits. And waits.
James is all about the dramatic timing.
He is up in Kendall’s face, the red-brown-gold of autumn in Minnesota, the bronze-serpentine of the California coastline. He is Kendall’s entire world, wrapped up in a single boy, and his breath tastes like cherry cola and wintergreen gum.
James leans in closer still and says, “I think about you all the time, and it makes me crazy.”
The curtain sways. The tinny music playing throughout the store switches to a Top 40s hit, heavy on the bass. Kendall inhales sharply. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but this isn’t it.
Kendall laughs, albeit a little nervously. “Stop kidding around,” he says, and he means it. James is kidding because he has to be, because Kendall isn’t interested in accepting any answer except that one, the one that leaves their friendship whole and intact.
“Who’s kidding?” James’s hand makes a slow trek up the side of Kendall’s bicep, the clothes between them creating a clumsy obstacle course. His fingers curl around the base of Kendall’s neck, stroking upwards, until there is some serious cheek-cupping action. Kendall is really confused about all his life decisions.
“James.”
James presses his hand closer, the heat of his palm searing against Kendall’s skin. “You know when you hear a song on the radio, and you can taste it in your throat? It pricks in your chest and shivers up your spine and curls your fingers and your toes? It makes everything right with the world - maybe not perfect, maybe it even hurts, a little - but right, for a little while?”
Kendall does know, can’t help but know, because music and hockey are the only places he’s been able to find himself. Music and hockey and…
“That’s what this is like, me and you. That’s what you make me feel,” James tells him, somehow reading Kendall’s mind, and all the clothes piled in his arms fall straight to the ground.
James’s gaze follows their path, resting on the sharp black button down that crowns the mountain. He makes a tsk-ing sound with his tongue. “Sloppy. I hope you’re not planning on making Cherie pick all that up.”
Kendall glowers. “You can’t just drop all of that in my lap and then change the subject.”
“I think I just did,” James replies, tracking his hand idly back across Kendall’s throat, over his sternum and down, until his fingertips are bunched in the hem of Kendall’s shirt. He lifts it, toying with the fabric, turning Kendall’s breath staccato in his chest. “How’d it feel, giving it up to Dak? Was it everything you thought it would be?”
“I dunno,” Kendall says, refusing to be cowed. “I was drunk.”
“Are you drunk now?” James asks nonsensically.
“You’ve been with me all afternoon. What do you-“
James tugs. Buttons pop off the front of Kendall’s button down, ricocheting off the wall and mirror with tinny-sounding clicks. Suddenly, Kendall understands everything all too well.
“James. No. You don’t want to do this.” The protest is automatic, because he made a decision this morning, damnit, and he’s not going to take that lightly. James needs to be protected from his own reckless whims.
Even if they line up exactly with Kendall’s selfish desires.
Except James doesn’t appreciate the help. His fingers still, unnaturally stiff where they curl into Kendall’s hips. He’s shaking, except for his hands. They hover above skin and cloth with a surety that speaks of utter determination.
“You have no idea what I want, or how long I’ve wanted it, or- fuck. This isn’t some impulsive thing, Kendall!” His voice is low, husky, and raw. At once his features crumple, his shoulders slanting down. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his abdomen heaves with exertion that looks a lot like exhaustion, like a scream held in for much too long. “You don’t know anything.”
He’s beautiful, Kendall thinks then, and his beauty is both heart wrenching and terrible. It spikes hard and visceral in Kendall’s gut, spurs long-honed, headstrong courage to drip into his bloodstream. He’d already decided to give James up, without even giving the idea of them a chance, but this wasn’t part of his game plan.
James wasn’t supposed to be quite so…devastated.
Kendall recognizes when he’s making a mistake. In that moment, beneath harsh fluorescent lighting and the banshee wail on the radio, he is able to acknowledge that surrendering James would be a big one. He swallows his pride and throws caution to the wind. He prompts, “So tell me.”
James meets his gaze headlong, vulnerable in a way that Kendall rarely gets to see. But he’s brave. No one ever gives James enough credit. He’s got backbone in spades. Steadily, he says, “It’s not like I saw you with Dak and then figured out what I was missing, okay?”
“So what is it like?”
“Like I’ve been waiting forever,” James answers evenly. “All you had to do was open your eyes and look at me.”
Kendall inhales sharply. “I’m looking now.”
James grins. “Like what you see?”
Kendall does. For all his muscles and dazzling smile, James is still a gigantic dork. He makes Kendall happy, this fluttery, bright thing in his stomach. He’s loyal. He’s beautiful. But he’s also so easy to break. Recycled air sours on Kendall’s tongue. His pants are tight and uncomfortable.
“Just because you like me doesn’t mean I have to like you back.”
“But you do.” Doubt chases itself across James’s features, here and gone in an instant. He glances down between them and, daringly, palms over the front of Kendall’s jeans, while asking ever so hesitantly, “Right?”
James’s hand is big and warm, and Kendall arches into it instinctively. Decision time. What to do, what to do.
Come on, there’s actually only one choice to make. Kendall asks through shuddering breaths, “Do you want all of those reporters to hear us?”
“So what if they do? What else do you have to hide?” The knuckles of James’s other hand scrape against Kendall’s cheekbone, the hollow of skin and bone, down. There is a press of a fingertip against the place where his smile dimples.
Kendall leans into that too, because; well, why the hell shouldn’t he? “Are we really doing this right here?”
James’s eyebrows creep up his forehead. Gruffly, he asks, “Is that a problem?”
Eh. Kendall’s done worse things in public. He wraps his hands around the back of James’s neck, cupping hot skin, prickled with goosebumps. “Not really, no,” he decides, crushing their mouths together.
As far as kisses go, it’s not the best one Kendall’s ever had, but it’s definitely top tier. James knows exactly what he’s doing with his lips - he’s had plenty of practice - and he happily attempts to teach Kendall too. He wastes zero time molding their bodies together, trying for friction, and his hands are freaking everywhere. Honestly, Kendall wonders if James grew an extra set of arms when he wasn’t looking, but he can’t be bothered to check, because hi, kissing.
It’s so distracting that Kendall almost misses it when James’s fingers on the front of his pants move up a few inches, thumbing open the button of his jeans with casual ease. A quick tug on the zipper, and Kendall pants fall down around his thighs.
The sound he makes vaguely resembles a walrus’s mating call.
“Changed your mind?” James demands raggedly, biting each word into Kendall’s mouth.
“Are you kidding me?” Kendall licks out, sucks James’s lower lip lightly before moving on. There’s so much to explore, from the pink corners of James’s self-satisfied smirk to his jawline and down. His throat is a finely tuned instrument; Kendall wants to make him sing. Against James’s jugular, he mumbles, “No backing down now.”
James runs his fingers across Kendall’s thigh, the touch shiver-inducing even through the thin fabric of his boxers. He inquires, low and level, “Did you look at him?” And Kendall knows exactly what he’s asking.
They’re both breathing too hard, and Kendall’s unable to stop his heart from pounding, but he still manages to huff out, “No” and make it sound as fondly exasperated as he’s supposed to when dealing with James’s ridiculousness. James already knew the answer to that, obviously, the whole damn world does.
But James is not planning on letting him off easy, or even getting him off easily. He growls, “Then look at me,” and shoves his hand down the front of Kendall’s underwear.
It’s fast and messy and James is not nearly as adept as Dak was. Only none of that matters, because it’s James stroking him too rough, James’s slender fingers and James’s calluses and through it all, James’s eyes, watching him bright and lustful. If Cherie the shop girl thought to look through the gaps between the dressing room curtain and the wall, she’d see everything, but it never even occurs to Kendall that she might. He’s got flashbulbs going off in his field of vision, his entire world reduced to the determined expression that’s overtaken his best friend’s face. He’s melting into James’s hand, his knees turned to pudding, and the clothes on the floor between them present a tripwire that Kendall’s about topple over.
He slumps his head against James’s shoulder, ineffectually mouthing against the skin he can reach between James’s neck and his shirt. There is not nearly enough nudity involved in this handjob, because James should be naked always, but there’s also not a lot he can do about it. He clutches at James’s sides, fingers digging into ribs as his spine goes ramrod straight. Kendall is coming, coming, coming, drenched in the sight and the smell and the taste of James.
It takes an entire minute for Kendall’s body to calm, and when he does, he reaches towards the bulge in James’s jeans without actually knowing what he’s going to do. He wants the weight of James’s dick in his hand, but James has other plans. He stills Kendall’s wrist and says, “Later. Trust me, I have so many plans for you later. You have a lot of apologizing to do.”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely,” James breathes. “I hear blowjobs are an awesome way to show you’re sorry.”
Kendall arches an eyebrow. “Why stop now? I could get on my knees right here.”
Immediately, a wrinkle springs to James’s forehead. “Dude. Do you even know what kind of things happen in mall dressing rooms? That is so unsanitary.”
“I think I’ve got a vague idea,” Kendall snorts. He gestures to the poor plaid shirt at the top of the mountain of clothes, the hapless victim of Kendall’s orgasm. “We’re going to have to buy that now.”
“Do you think the coast is clear yet?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Kendall yanks up his jeans, fussing with the zipper than James may or may not have broken. Once he’s got it figured out, he goes to step outside.
James says, “Hold up,” and whips out his phone. He clicks on the camera feature and murmurs, “I’ve got a picture I want to send to Dak Zevon.”
“James,” Kendall warns, because he’s had enough of incriminating photos and jealousy and Dak.
James kisses his cheek, snapping the image with lightning speed. Then, to Kendall’s infinite surprise, he beams. “Maybe I’ll just make it my background instead.”
So Kendall’s naked ass is still on the cover of Starspotter, but his face is on James’s phone. As far as consequences go, he thinks he can live with this one.
---
Author: garnetice
Pairing: Kendall/James, Kendall/Dak
Rating: M
Word Count: 4,007 (Part 2)
Warnings: Angst, a handful of naughty words.
Summary: “So you let Dak Zevon fuck you,” James says, and this time he doesn’t bother amending his word choice. “Interesting decision.”
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine. Obvs.
Author Notes: So this is part one of, uh, three birthday stories for jblostfan16 that I never got a chance to post in November because of my European vacay, Hurricane Sandy, and then me promptly breaking my laptop forever. I actually told Chris I'd post this one weeks ago and then I sort of died of the plague and couldn't double check edits or do much more than scroll listlessly through Tumblr. FORGIVE ME??? But yes, here. This is actually the newest prompt of the three she gave me, having originated sometime in October, I believe? The prompt was REVENGE PORN. It was interesting writing this along side We Trudged Along Through The Mud, because both revolve around media outings, but the circumstances and people are so totally different. Ahem. Anyway, Chris, dearheart, I hope you enjoy it, and I swear I have other fic for you that just needs to be polished up. ♥ (Part Two notes: I...I forgot to post the second part and no one told me? D: I'm actually unhappy with the fic from this point on, so that's probably slightly freudian. THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BANG AND IT DEVOLVED INTO HANDJOBS because of time constraints. Mea culpa, man.)
---
Hockey was a pipe dream, and maybe Kendall always knew it, because from the second he met James, Carlos, and Logan on, he figured making their future happen would come first.
When Gustavo came around, it was a lot like everything finally fit into place.
But he still mourns hockey from time to time, and now he will probably mourn James too. Kendall Knight is charmed, blessed, lucky, but Kendall Knight is also very, very used to letting go of the things he wants most. He’s not sure why his heart thought it was okay to transition from friend-land to The Border That Is Never To Be Crossed, even though boys are allowed now.
Boys are allowed, but James is not, never mind that James implied he wanted it. James’s wants change every other week, and Kendall is not fooled into thinking that petty jealousy can be an adequate basis for anything in the realm of badgood touching. James has been on at least eight dates since that whole incident happened, for Chris’sake.
In retrospect, though, everything makes a lot more sense on a personal level.
Why Kendall chose Dak at that party, for one, with his broad shoulders, dark hair, and astounding confidence. He could be James’s double in the dark.
Kendall does not wonder why he’s been so blind. Sometimes standing in a spotlight makes it hard to see out into the darkness beyond it. He never knows if his feet will find the hard stage floor or a cliff to fall off of. This is simply one more drop-off he inexplicably missed.
Now he needs to figure out how to fix it.
He’s relatively certain that shopping is not the answer.
“I don’t feel very incognito.”
“The baseball cap is a classic disguise. No one will recognize you beneath the emblem of the Anaheim Angels.” James is using a great many hand gestures and emphatic eye movements to heighten his point. A little boy with an ice cream cone standing near them is giving him very suspicious looks.
Kendall sighs. “They’re from Los Angeles now.”
Not that he cares. Teams from any state that is not Minnesota are not teams that deserve his recognition. Besides, baseball is lame.
“That is a ploy by The Man to widen their brand. Their stadium is in Anaheim, so they’re from Anaheim, damnit.” Okay, so James cares.
Why? Kendall says, “You don’t even like the Angels.”
“I don’t cope well with change,” James explains, which is entirely too introspective to have actually come from his mouth. Kendall begins searching for hidden cameras, or like, a script.
Kendall does not find a hidden camera. He does think he sees a shiny glint out of the corner of his eye, but it’s probably the reflection off the fountain, or something. He rakes a hand over his cap, forgetting, fleetingly, that it’s there. “Which stores do you want to hit up first?”
James grins. This is not a good sign. Kendall would run, but the only place he has to go is back to 2J, and James was right. He’s going stir-crazy. Anything’s better than being trapped like a rat in what he once considered their super awesome crib and now feels exactly like a cage. Even one of James’s marathon shopping sprees.
They buy jeans. They buy shirts. They buy belts, wallets, sneakers, and man jewelry, which James will only refer to as accessories. Kendall is not sure if it’s supposed to be more masculine terminology or less. The whole time, he can’t shake the idea that they’re being followed, but it’s probably paranoia. Just because he’s the media’s darling scapegoat doesn’t mean that the entire world is out to get him.
“I don’t even get why it’s such a big deal,” Kendall blurts out at one point, while James is modeling a graphic tee that looks identical to every other one in the store, as far as Kendall is concerned. This is why his mom and his stylist still buy all his clothes. “I’m gay. So what? Lots of people are.”
James stops, props his hands on his hips, and scowls. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this. You’re supposed to be reveling in your liberty.”
“I’m reveling,” Kendall replies, and he is, whining aside. Hanging out with James is fun, even when they’re doing something that Kendall hates, and being outside the apartment is even better. But isn’t whining honestly his prerogative at this point? “I just. I hate this hat. I hate hiding. I’m…not the biggest fan of shopping, but I’m really glad you skipped your date to take me. I want to be able to go outside without worrying about, I don’t know, punching a reporter and getting charged with aggravated assault.”
“That does sound like something you’d do,” James agrees. He shucks the shirt, and instead of picking up another one, stands there, deliberating between his choices. He’s all tan and strong, back muscles bunching with what could be stress, but isn’t, because James is giving off every other appearance of cool, calm, and collected.
At least he’s talking to Kendall. Lately that has not been the norm. Like, at all.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Kendall stares at the shape of James’s abs in the reflection of the department store’s three-way communal mirror and wonders if they’ve always been this amazing.
“I’m confident that you’d really make that reporter hurt. You really don’t know why everyone’s so interested?”
“No,” Kendall answers plaintively. “Everyone keeps joking about how guys in boy bands are always gay. On the news. All the time. So…I don’t get what’s up with all the shock.”
James meets Kendall’s gaze in the mirror. “Dude, people are surprised because it’s you.”
Kendall stares at James, uncomprehendingly. He also stares at James’s biceps, and might drool a little, and wow, he really needs to work on this giving up thing.
James continues, “They’ve been waiting for Logan to come out for like, ever. Or me. Or even Carlos. You’ve always been the straight one.” Maybe considering Kendall’s mom’s blasé reaction, he tacks on, “In the media, anyway.”
“Um.”
James rolls his eyes, but does not put a shirt on. The line of his clavicle is really distracting. “You played hockey. You have no fashion sense. You dated Jo for like eight thousand years. You’re notoriously short-tempered, you don’t give a damn if your hair’s even been combed, and you do really awful in interviews.”
“What does any of that have to do with anything?”
“They’re all really…straight.”
“You’re stereotyping me?” Or is James stereotyping gay people? Wait, Kendall’s definitely got his questions mixed up here.
“The public is. Was. Whatever, you ducked everyone’s gaydar, and now they’re all trying to figure out how that happened. It will die down, eventually.”
“It hasn’t.”
“But it will.” James turns to face Kendall, plopping his hands firmly on his shoulders. “Promise. Tomorrow or next week, something more interesting will come along, and you’ll be old news.”
“I can’t figure out if you’re trying to reassure me or insult me.” Kendall can’t quite break James’s stare, his eyes too green-gold, honey brown and earth-toned. He guesses, “Both?”
James responds with a grin and a shrug, neither of which answer Kendall’s question.
He also takes a really long time putting on his next shirt.
---
They’re at the food court when things go south. Someone, somewhere, must not have been fooled by Kendall’s Angels’ cap, because a horde of paparazzi fall upon the mall like vultures with very, very shiny eyes.
Kendall is the one who spots them first, moving in behind James and his tray full of hamburger. He jumps to his feet and commands, “Run.”
James blinks up at him, confused. Through a mouthful of fries, he mumbles, “You can’t tell me what to do. I might be a bitch, but I’m not yours.”
“Yeah, no, it’s serious-time. James, run.” Kendall jabs a finger in the air pointedly.
James slowly turns to peek behind him. Then he curses profusely. Stuffing the rest of his burger in his mouth, James hops up. “Running is good.”
Only, in a mall, there aren’t many places to run. After circling the same small cluster of boutiques twice, the paps completely keeping pace, James yanks Kendall by the arm into this tiny hole in the wall, decorated with a whole hell of a lot of baby blue.
Kendall yelps, “You want us to be trapped?”
“We need disguises,” James declares, barely panting, which is so not fair, because Kendall can’t even breathe. Those photographers are quick on their feet, man. James gives Kendall’s outfit a disparaging look and adds, “Also, you could afford a new wardrobe.”
“Not the time, James.”
“There is always time for fashion.”
Kendall rolls his eyes, ducking behind a circular rack when a man with a camera runs by. The pack has got to be right behind them. “Okay, okay, grab some clothes already.”
“Pushy,” James mutters, but in a matter of seconds he’s gotten quite the selection. He herds Kendall ahead of him into a corner of the store, shoving the goods into his arms and then pulling the dressing room curtain closed behind him.
Immediately, the curtain swings back, an irritated salesgirl glaring up at them. “Sirs, we don’t allow two people in a dressing room.”
James smiles at her, sweetly, eyes flicking to her nametag. “Cherie. There’s a whole horde of paparazzo out there, about to come down on this store with all the fury of the media behind them. You want us to be in that dressing room before then. We’d go in separate, but as you can see, sweetie, you only have the one.”
Cherie glances outside the window, where another camera man is running by. “Um.” She looks back at them and makes the decision. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks. Hey, you know you’re pretty cute. What are you doing on Saturda-“
“James,” Kendall grits out, yanking James into the dressing room and swishing the curtain closed behind them.
“Rude,” James says. “That was rude.”
“Reporters?” Kendall reminds him, surveying their new terrain. As far as hiding spots go, it’s not great, roughly the size of Kendall’s closet back in Minnesota, and only barely concealed by a blue curtain that moves in time with the store’s air conditioning. Their feet stick out inches beneath the fabric, were anyone to get close enough to look. Kendall feels very, very exposed.
“Right.” James shoves his armful of goodies into Kendall’s hands with a smile that is way too chipper. “I forgot.”
Kendall frowns down at the clothes. He’s not sure what an infinity scarf is, or why he needs one when they live in Southern California. “I’m not actually trying all this stuff on.”
“Why not? You haven’t got anything better to do.”
“We could…we could…” Kendall glances around helplessly. His fingers dig into the clothes that he will legitimately never wear. “We could hang out. Talk.”
“Talk,” James repeats skeptically. “About?”
Uh. Okay. Kendall’s never actually had to force a conversation with James before. He’s usually happy to patter on and on about his latest hair products or whatever. Almost immediately, that thought fills him with guilt, because he probably should not expect James’s shallow to compensate for how Kendall did or did not hurt him. They’ve barely spoken since that night in Kendall’s room, straight on until today, which has been fun.
Which was fun, anyway, until now.
“You’re still mad at me.”
James’s lips thin and turn white at the corners. He never bites at his mouth unless he’s nervous or upset. “I’m not…mad. I’m jealous and spiteful, remember?”
So, yeah, definitely still pissed. “James, I never said that.”
Verbatim, anyway. He might have come close.
“But you meant it. And I don’t think it’s a bad thing.” James crowds in on him, skin bruised gold by the sun, eyes chipped from limestone and red clay. “I don’t actually love being jealous and spiteful, okay, but I am because. Because…”
Kendall’s first impulse when being manhandled is to shove right back, but he keeps his hands to himself, bunched in the clothes, and watches James warily. “Because?”
James glares at him.
“Trying to make me explode with your mind isn’t an answer, James.”
“You are incredibly dense. You are so incredibly dense that you make me look bright, and I cannot believe you’re making me spell this out for you.”
Kendall waits. And waits. And waits.
James is all about the dramatic timing.
He is up in Kendall’s face, the red-brown-gold of autumn in Minnesota, the bronze-serpentine of the California coastline. He is Kendall’s entire world, wrapped up in a single boy, and his breath tastes like cherry cola and wintergreen gum.
James leans in closer still and says, “I think about you all the time, and it makes me crazy.”
The curtain sways. The tinny music playing throughout the store switches to a Top 40s hit, heavy on the bass. Kendall inhales sharply. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but this isn’t it.
Kendall laughs, albeit a little nervously. “Stop kidding around,” he says, and he means it. James is kidding because he has to be, because Kendall isn’t interested in accepting any answer except that one, the one that leaves their friendship whole and intact.
“Who’s kidding?” James’s hand makes a slow trek up the side of Kendall’s bicep, the clothes between them creating a clumsy obstacle course. His fingers curl around the base of Kendall’s neck, stroking upwards, until there is some serious cheek-cupping action. Kendall is really confused about all his life decisions.
“James.”
James presses his hand closer, the heat of his palm searing against Kendall’s skin. “You know when you hear a song on the radio, and you can taste it in your throat? It pricks in your chest and shivers up your spine and curls your fingers and your toes? It makes everything right with the world - maybe not perfect, maybe it even hurts, a little - but right, for a little while?”
Kendall does know, can’t help but know, because music and hockey are the only places he’s been able to find himself. Music and hockey and…
“That’s what this is like, me and you. That’s what you make me feel,” James tells him, somehow reading Kendall’s mind, and all the clothes piled in his arms fall straight to the ground.
James’s gaze follows their path, resting on the sharp black button down that crowns the mountain. He makes a tsk-ing sound with his tongue. “Sloppy. I hope you’re not planning on making Cherie pick all that up.”
Kendall glowers. “You can’t just drop all of that in my lap and then change the subject.”
“I think I just did,” James replies, tracking his hand idly back across Kendall’s throat, over his sternum and down, until his fingertips are bunched in the hem of Kendall’s shirt. He lifts it, toying with the fabric, turning Kendall’s breath staccato in his chest. “How’d it feel, giving it up to Dak? Was it everything you thought it would be?”
“I dunno,” Kendall says, refusing to be cowed. “I was drunk.”
“Are you drunk now?” James asks nonsensically.
“You’ve been with me all afternoon. What do you-“
James tugs. Buttons pop off the front of Kendall’s button down, ricocheting off the wall and mirror with tinny-sounding clicks. Suddenly, Kendall understands everything all too well.
“James. No. You don’t want to do this.” The protest is automatic, because he made a decision this morning, damnit, and he’s not going to take that lightly. James needs to be protected from his own reckless whims.
Even if they line up exactly with Kendall’s selfish desires.
Except James doesn’t appreciate the help. His fingers still, unnaturally stiff where they curl into Kendall’s hips. He’s shaking, except for his hands. They hover above skin and cloth with a surety that speaks of utter determination.
“You have no idea what I want, or how long I’ve wanted it, or- fuck. This isn’t some impulsive thing, Kendall!” His voice is low, husky, and raw. At once his features crumple, his shoulders slanting down. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his abdomen heaves with exertion that looks a lot like exhaustion, like a scream held in for much too long. “You don’t know anything.”
He’s beautiful, Kendall thinks then, and his beauty is both heart wrenching and terrible. It spikes hard and visceral in Kendall’s gut, spurs long-honed, headstrong courage to drip into his bloodstream. He’d already decided to give James up, without even giving the idea of them a chance, but this wasn’t part of his game plan.
James wasn’t supposed to be quite so…devastated.
Kendall recognizes when he’s making a mistake. In that moment, beneath harsh fluorescent lighting and the banshee wail on the radio, he is able to acknowledge that surrendering James would be a big one. He swallows his pride and throws caution to the wind. He prompts, “So tell me.”
James meets his gaze headlong, vulnerable in a way that Kendall rarely gets to see. But he’s brave. No one ever gives James enough credit. He’s got backbone in spades. Steadily, he says, “It’s not like I saw you with Dak and then figured out what I was missing, okay?”
“So what is it like?”
“Like I’ve been waiting forever,” James answers evenly. “All you had to do was open your eyes and look at me.”
Kendall inhales sharply. “I’m looking now.”
James grins. “Like what you see?”
Kendall does. For all his muscles and dazzling smile, James is still a gigantic dork. He makes Kendall happy, this fluttery, bright thing in his stomach. He’s loyal. He’s beautiful. But he’s also so easy to break. Recycled air sours on Kendall’s tongue. His pants are tight and uncomfortable.
“Just because you like me doesn’t mean I have to like you back.”
“But you do.” Doubt chases itself across James’s features, here and gone in an instant. He glances down between them and, daringly, palms over the front of Kendall’s jeans, while asking ever so hesitantly, “Right?”
James’s hand is big and warm, and Kendall arches into it instinctively. Decision time. What to do, what to do.
Come on, there’s actually only one choice to make. Kendall asks through shuddering breaths, “Do you want all of those reporters to hear us?”
“So what if they do? What else do you have to hide?” The knuckles of James’s other hand scrape against Kendall’s cheekbone, the hollow of skin and bone, down. There is a press of a fingertip against the place where his smile dimples.
Kendall leans into that too, because; well, why the hell shouldn’t he? “Are we really doing this right here?”
James’s eyebrows creep up his forehead. Gruffly, he asks, “Is that a problem?”
Eh. Kendall’s done worse things in public. He wraps his hands around the back of James’s neck, cupping hot skin, prickled with goosebumps. “Not really, no,” he decides, crushing their mouths together.
As far as kisses go, it’s not the best one Kendall’s ever had, but it’s definitely top tier. James knows exactly what he’s doing with his lips - he’s had plenty of practice - and he happily attempts to teach Kendall too. He wastes zero time molding their bodies together, trying for friction, and his hands are freaking everywhere. Honestly, Kendall wonders if James grew an extra set of arms when he wasn’t looking, but he can’t be bothered to check, because hi, kissing.
It’s so distracting that Kendall almost misses it when James’s fingers on the front of his pants move up a few inches, thumbing open the button of his jeans with casual ease. A quick tug on the zipper, and Kendall pants fall down around his thighs.
The sound he makes vaguely resembles a walrus’s mating call.
“Changed your mind?” James demands raggedly, biting each word into Kendall’s mouth.
“Are you kidding me?” Kendall licks out, sucks James’s lower lip lightly before moving on. There’s so much to explore, from the pink corners of James’s self-satisfied smirk to his jawline and down. His throat is a finely tuned instrument; Kendall wants to make him sing. Against James’s jugular, he mumbles, “No backing down now.”
James runs his fingers across Kendall’s thigh, the touch shiver-inducing even through the thin fabric of his boxers. He inquires, low and level, “Did you look at him?” And Kendall knows exactly what he’s asking.
They’re both breathing too hard, and Kendall’s unable to stop his heart from pounding, but he still manages to huff out, “No” and make it sound as fondly exasperated as he’s supposed to when dealing with James’s ridiculousness. James already knew the answer to that, obviously, the whole damn world does.
But James is not planning on letting him off easy, or even getting him off easily. He growls, “Then look at me,” and shoves his hand down the front of Kendall’s underwear.
It’s fast and messy and James is not nearly as adept as Dak was. Only none of that matters, because it’s James stroking him too rough, James’s slender fingers and James’s calluses and through it all, James’s eyes, watching him bright and lustful. If Cherie the shop girl thought to look through the gaps between the dressing room curtain and the wall, she’d see everything, but it never even occurs to Kendall that she might. He’s got flashbulbs going off in his field of vision, his entire world reduced to the determined expression that’s overtaken his best friend’s face. He’s melting into James’s hand, his knees turned to pudding, and the clothes on the floor between them present a tripwire that Kendall’s about topple over.
He slumps his head against James’s shoulder, ineffectually mouthing against the skin he can reach between James’s neck and his shirt. There is not nearly enough nudity involved in this handjob, because James should be naked always, but there’s also not a lot he can do about it. He clutches at James’s sides, fingers digging into ribs as his spine goes ramrod straight. Kendall is coming, coming, coming, drenched in the sight and the smell and the taste of James.
It takes an entire minute for Kendall’s body to calm, and when he does, he reaches towards the bulge in James’s jeans without actually knowing what he’s going to do. He wants the weight of James’s dick in his hand, but James has other plans. He stills Kendall’s wrist and says, “Later. Trust me, I have so many plans for you later. You have a lot of apologizing to do.”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely,” James breathes. “I hear blowjobs are an awesome way to show you’re sorry.”
Kendall arches an eyebrow. “Why stop now? I could get on my knees right here.”
Immediately, a wrinkle springs to James’s forehead. “Dude. Do you even know what kind of things happen in mall dressing rooms? That is so unsanitary.”
“I think I’ve got a vague idea,” Kendall snorts. He gestures to the poor plaid shirt at the top of the mountain of clothes, the hapless victim of Kendall’s orgasm. “We’re going to have to buy that now.”
“Do you think the coast is clear yet?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Kendall yanks up his jeans, fussing with the zipper than James may or may not have broken. Once he’s got it figured out, he goes to step outside.
James says, “Hold up,” and whips out his phone. He clicks on the camera feature and murmurs, “I’ve got a picture I want to send to Dak Zevon.”
“James,” Kendall warns, because he’s had enough of incriminating photos and jealousy and Dak.
James kisses his cheek, snapping the image with lightning speed. Then, to Kendall’s infinite surprise, he beams. “Maybe I’ll just make it my background instead.”
So Kendall’s naked ass is still on the cover of Starspotter, but his face is on James’s phone. As far as consequences go, he thinks he can live with this one.
---