[fic] We Could Take To The Highway --- Four
Title: We Could Take To The Highway
Author: garnetice
Chapter: Four of ???
Pairing: Kendall Knight/James Diamond
Rating: T-ish
Word Count: 2954
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
---
Over the past few years, James had grown accustomed to nice hotel rooms. Gustavo Rocque only shelled out for the best, and the band never even thought to complain about living in the lap of luxury.
Maybe they should have, because Kendall's immediate reaction to the dingy motel James booked wasn't exactly reminiscent of their hockey playing years. Back then, they'd stayed in a gazillion rooms just like this, but apparently, fame made them outgrow roaches and water stains.
"I mean," the blond said lamely, gesturing at the yellowed wallpaper, "It sure is- uh, cozy."
He'd been talking like that for the past two hours, stilted, as they rolled through the darkness of the desert, past the hazy silhouettes of cacti and the negative space between.
"Right," James nodded, thinking that the rooms had looked bigger, cleaner on the website. At least they had cable. They'd passed a rundown joint or two that advertised color TV as a big draw.
"Look, man-"
"Do you want to shower first, or are you going to wait 'til morning?" the taller boy interjected, not wanting to hear it, any of it. It had been stupid, confronting Kendall in that place, the stupid National Park that had always represented romance in James's eyes and was now and forever more the spot where he'd been shot down so hard he should have a concussion from the impact.
It wasn't even Kendall's fault. If he didn't feel anything, if he didn't remember anything- well. Kendall was a good guy. A great guy. And James intended to view Kendall in that light, not negatively.
Not like he'd somehow participated in a betrayal.
All he wanted now was to wash the night off of him, the dust of the desert and the grime swept in by the car's open windows and the scent of Kendall underneath it all. He needed to rinse it all away, and when he did that- yeah, he'd be fine.
"I-" Kendall's eyes squeezed shut, and James wanted to trace his eyelids, ease the furrow in his brow, kiss the little crinkle in his nose, but he stayed stock still on the bedspread, pretending to be a statue to keep himself from moving, "I guess I'll go first."
James cast his friend a strained grin and flopped back on the comforter, not caring that a CSI team could probably find hundreds, thousands of semen and blood samples scattered across its surface. He kept his lips twisted into something that was supposed to resemble a happy expression until Kendall finished digging through his suitcase for a pair of clean boxers and finally, thankfully walked into the bathroom and shut the door. The fake smile fell away into a grimace, and his first fucking relevant thought for a long while was that Kendall hadn't grabbed James's carry case full of hair products.
He restrained himself from battering down the door to deliver shampoo and conditioner. The motel probably provided tiny bottles, and besides, the last thing he needed right now was to see Kendall naked.
Not that he hadn't before. They'd been friends forever and a day, it felt like.
James met Kendall on a Sunday when he was ten. His clearest memory of that day was not the blue of Kendall's eyes, the color of the stream near his trailer, dappled by sunlight, or of his smile, so impish he looked like a sprite.
No, the color James remembered was of the black-purple-blue of the bruise staining Kendall's cheekbone in the shape of James's knuckles. The smile he recalled was marred by three chipped teeth and bloodstained gums. And he remembered himself, standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror, touching the tender spots that marked the punches Kendall landed on him, the map of Kendall's fists on his body.
It was the first time anyone had evenly matched him, at anything.
Kendall had been there for a whole hell of a lot of firsts, after that. After they'd overcome their differences and realized the hockey team had room for more than one star, and that they could finish each other's sentences like their brains ran in sync, and that together it felt like they could rule their tiny backwater town.
Kendall had been the first person to believe James could make it in show business.
They'd snuck out to the bleachers at their new high school, barely fourteen with a six pack of James's adoptive father's Natty Ice. It was well past one in the morning, and winter was in full swing. The snow crunched under their boots as they cleared a spot on the highest bench, and they sat side by side, tucked into each other's parkas, theorizing about the future.
"Center forward," Kendall announced confidently, swigging back the beer and then coughing and sputtering a bit, "Wow, that's- your dad likes this?"
"Yeah," James shrugged, feeling the icy chill of the can through the palms of his gloves, "Kind of tastes like-"
"Piss," the blond made a face, "Bubbly, frozen piss."
James laughed, "You better get used to it if you want to get invited to any of Jenny Tinkler's parties."
Kendall winced and resumed drinking.
"Center forward?" James prompted.
"Oh! Right. Fuck yeah, I'm gonna be right out there in the middle of the ice, just me and the puck and a million gazillion fans."
"You're not gonna have a team back you up?"
"Eh, maybe- but everyone will know who the MVP is," the smaller boy threw him a cocky grin and began flicking the tab of his can back and forth until it snapped off.
"Oh yeah?" James could see it though, laid out in his head, this perfect image of Kendall in his hockey gear, playing for the Wild and a countless number of screaming faces, "Well, I'm going to be famous. Just you wait."
"I don't doubt it, man," Kendall's smile was easy, and the beer fizzed in James's throat, golden and warm.
"You're just saying that 'cause you're my friend, and you have to."
"No way!" Kendall laughed, setting his beer aside and grabbing James's wrist. James had cut the fingertips of his gloves off because he'd seen it in a magazine and they didn't sell things that could be labeled fashionable in the local sporting goods store, but he was beginning to regret it, because between the icy can of Natty Ice and the snowflakes beginning to descend around them, his hands were going numb. Right up until Kendall slid one of them up under his parka, under his shirt beneath it, so that James's fingers traced the lines of his chest.
"Dude," Kendall continued, "I'm completely serious. Feel my heartbeat. This is not the heartbeat of a liar!"
"…Are you drunk?" James demanded, trying to wrench his hand away, but Kendall held tight.
"No! I saw this on a spy show- they hook polygraphs up to your chest because your heart speeds up if you're lying. Is my heart speeding up?"
It wasn't. Kendall's heart was thudding like a kick drum, the strong, steady pulse of it beneath James's fingers as he dragged them along his friend's chest a perfect constant.
"See?" Kendall asked, earnestly, "You're going to make it. I know you are. You're gonna have stadiums full of people under your thrall."
"I have a thrall?" James teased, and just like that, Kendall let go. He retracted his hand, and they continued drinking into the night, but James would always remember- the feel of his friend's heart, the honesty in Kendall's eyes, and the feeling of being loyally supported.
Yeah, Kendall had taken part in a lot of James's firsts, but it was obvious there was one first he wanted nothing to do with- and it involved being James's first boyfriend.
By the time Kendall turned off the shower spigot, James had seriously considered pretending to be asleep at least three times. But he didn't like thinking that maybe he was a coward, because sometimes he got really scared that he could be. It would be really easy to curl into a ball and block out the rest of the world.
It'd always been sickeningly easy.
From landing a recording deal to their first concert, James faltered every step of the way, at least for a moment. He had recurring nightmares of failure and humiliation. Always, always, he refused to allow himself to cave, not because of Kendall or Logan or Carlos, but for himself. For his dreams.
The others didn't have that fear. They followed Kendall, and Kendall was full of unending courage and responsibility. In light of that, James tried to do his own thing, he really did. Following Kendall's every whim with blind faith was Logan's gig, and he was fantastic at it; he was pretty much Kendall's minion in all things because he believed in their leader. He had faith, and why wouldn't he? Kendall had never lead them wrong, whether it was a hockey game or a party or real life. He always had a strategy, and Logan liked strategies. He'd question them occasionally, he'd voice his doubts, but he'd never once say no.
Carlos followed Kendall too, not because he had this unshakable belief that everything the blond boy did was right and just and would get them out of trouble, but because it inevitably involved reckless behavior and getting into trouble too, which was Carlos's element. That's where he lived.
Which left James the non-minion-like behavior. He believed in Kendall, in everything he did, but he didn't want to be the same as Logan, and he wasn't particularly fond of trouble- it usually was hell on his hair and his complexion, although he definitely wouldn't ever back down from a fight if it came to that.
James couldn't be a minion or he'd blend in, and there wasn't really an option for a follower who had no doubts to voice, no desire to throw themselves headlong into some wacky plan, and a drawing need to be seen not just as an individual, but as someone separate and better than Carlos and Logan. And it was a problem, because sometimes James wanted to just blindly put his faith in someone other than himself. Especially times like these, when it would be so, so impossibly uncomplicated to lie back and pretend to be asleep. To let Kendall deal with the fallout of the past couple hours all by himself, because that was what Kendall was brilliant at.
His whole life, really, all James wanted was someone to take him in and try to fix him, or at least realize there was something that needed fixing in the first place, behind the smiles and the eyes and the masterful ability to lie about his whole reality. He wanted Kendall to fix him now, to fix this. He wanted to unshoulder the burden of being strong and aloof and untouchable, for his best friend in the whole wide world to smooth over this terrible, sinking feeling of misery that James had brought upon himself.
He knew exactly how it would go, if James let it. Kendall would spend the night mulling it over, and then, in the morning he'd sit James down, tell him that they needed to talk this through, to discover what signs Kendall had given James that made him think molesting him in a state park would be okay. Their friendship would change, guided by Kendall's hand, evolve into something less tactile, more acceptable. It would be Kendall's way of making things right, if only James turned off the light and closed his eyes.
His hands balled into fists, and to distract himself he fumbled for the TV remote. He couldn't let this change anything. He just couldn't.
He kept the TV blaring and the lights blazing and his eyes open, unblinking. He would make everything go back to the way it had always been. He wouldn't abide cowardice, no matter how tempting it was.
When the door swung open, Kendall stood in the frame, dried himself off, rivulets of water making the planes and lines of his body sheen. He was looking at James just how James knew he would, like he was ready to level out the wrinkles James had created in their relationship.
Then he hesitated, "Are you- watching BBC America?
Right. He could do this. James pasted on a smile, "H'yeah."
"But- I thought you hated British people. I thought you didn't like anyone with a sexier voice than you?"
"I don't. But I'm watching Doctor Who. It's about this time traveler who's all noble and tragic."
Like you, James wanted to add. The show made him weirdly, totally horny, and not just because everyone on it was ridiculously pretty. But he didn't mention that.
"I-uh, okay," Kendall inclined his head to the side, "We should really talk."
And there it was.
"Actually, I don't think we need to."
"James-"
"Obviously, I was totally off the mark, and in hindsight, yeah, I get that I made a huge mistake," he was grinning, but his teeth were grit so hard James could feel the grind of them all the way up through his skull, "But you know, you're supposed to learn from mistakes, and I learned that everything should stay perfectly, totally like it has been."
"But, dude, if I did-"
"You didn't do anything," James practically growled, "Can we just drop this? It's over, done. It won't happen again."
"James," Kendall sighed, and he looked oddly vulnerable standing there, water dripping from his bangs into his eyes, his body lean and naked, goosebumps lining his arms as he let himself be blasted by the motel's air conditioner. For a split second, he just looked- broken.
Then he straightened and he was Kendall again. He shrugged and said, "If that's what you want. Shower's all yours."
James jumped to his feet and practically ran into the bathroom. He wasn't a coward, no, but sometimes strategic retreat took precedence over valor.
---
It was well past midnight when James crawled out of the shower. The TV was still going, even though Kendall was definitely asleep, and the room was dark. James made his way to his bed by touch, body damp, and when he reached for the remote on the nightstand, his hands streaked moisture over wood, plastic. The television clicked off with a resolute buzz, and that was all there was. He was in the middle of a dingy motel in Arizona, cloaked in darkness and accompanied by his best friend's soft breaths, and nothing else.It was all so fucking surreal. James crawled beneath the sheets, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping for the first time that this trip would pass quickly. Maybe the distance, having Kendall in Minnesota would make things simpler. Maybe.
Probably not.
The blankets on Kendall's side rustled.
Something hit the floor, muted, like footfall on carpet, and James's eyes flicked open. There was darkness, and then it resolved into a shape, as familiar as the back of his own hand. He could see Kendall hovering by the side of his bed, fish-belly pale in the moonlight, outlined in silver. His eyes were luminous, mini universes unto themselves.
"Kend-"
Kendall was at his side, fingers brushing over his mouth and James's chest felt wide open, like his insides might spill out. The maid would find him in the morning, laid bare, intestines and kidneys, liver and everything vital, all exposed, for the world to see. He wondered if Kendall could feel the sudden onslaught of James's heart, racing so quickly, fluttering like a bird about to take flight.
He wasn't sure, he didn't know, and Kendall wasn't about to tell him.
Kendall was too busy kissing him.
James gasped on reflex, surprise and heat flooding his body as Kendall's callused hands pushed his shoulders back into the mattress. His best friend was devouring him, and there was no tenderness in the gesture, not a hint of gentle respect Kendall might've shown a girl. Their teeth cracked together, so hard James worried he might have to invest in veneers, and he could feel the burn of Kendall's fingertips as they traveled down his body, coming to rest on his hips all the way down to his bones.
It was too fast. It was too unexpected. It was too deliciously, sinfully good.
He kissed along James's chest, coded messages that James couldn't, wouldn't comprehend, and now Kendall was on the bed, straddling James, holding him prisoner between his thighs. He nipped his name along the rungs of James's ribs, each vicious bite followed by a brush of his tongue, abrasive and filling him with need.
James tried to card his fingers through Kendall's hair, to arc up into his friend's body, but it was like the blond was dead weight, pinning him from wrist to ankle. In the darkness, James could see the whites of Kendall's eyes, like an animal as his mouth moved along James's belly, lower and lower still. He licked along the waistline of James's boxers, tonguing at the trail of hair that lead down to better places. This wasn't- James knew this wasn't how hookups were supposed to go. There was usually more kissing before anyone got so close to his dick, but he didn't know how to complain when Kendall's lips mouthed nonsense words over the cloth of his boxers, the wet heat penetrating through the cloth, making James so hard he couldn't stand it.
His hips jutted up, pressing the length of his erection along Kendall's face, trying to escape the firmness of Kendall's hands on his thighs. His nerves were frayed, excitement bubbling through his veins as Kendall mouth ran along the length of him, and he wanted too many things all at once. To kiss, to hold, to have Kendall's lips around his cock right damn now. He couldn't choose, he could only grunt, "Please," and thrust up once more.
It must have worked, because Kendall's hand snaked into his boxers, freeing James so that he could swallow him whole.
---
Five
Author: garnetice
Chapter: Four of ???
Pairing: Kendall Knight/James Diamond
Rating: T-ish
Word Count: 2954
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
---
Over the past few years, James had grown accustomed to nice hotel rooms. Gustavo Rocque only shelled out for the best, and the band never even thought to complain about living in the lap of luxury.
Maybe they should have, because Kendall's immediate reaction to the dingy motel James booked wasn't exactly reminiscent of their hockey playing years. Back then, they'd stayed in a gazillion rooms just like this, but apparently, fame made them outgrow roaches and water stains.
"I mean," the blond said lamely, gesturing at the yellowed wallpaper, "It sure is- uh, cozy."
He'd been talking like that for the past two hours, stilted, as they rolled through the darkness of the desert, past the hazy silhouettes of cacti and the negative space between.
"Right," James nodded, thinking that the rooms had looked bigger, cleaner on the website. At least they had cable. They'd passed a rundown joint or two that advertised color TV as a big draw.
"Look, man-"
"Do you want to shower first, or are you going to wait 'til morning?" the taller boy interjected, not wanting to hear it, any of it. It had been stupid, confronting Kendall in that place, the stupid National Park that had always represented romance in James's eyes and was now and forever more the spot where he'd been shot down so hard he should have a concussion from the impact.
It wasn't even Kendall's fault. If he didn't feel anything, if he didn't remember anything- well. Kendall was a good guy. A great guy. And James intended to view Kendall in that light, not negatively.
Not like he'd somehow participated in a betrayal.
All he wanted now was to wash the night off of him, the dust of the desert and the grime swept in by the car's open windows and the scent of Kendall underneath it all. He needed to rinse it all away, and when he did that- yeah, he'd be fine.
"I-" Kendall's eyes squeezed shut, and James wanted to trace his eyelids, ease the furrow in his brow, kiss the little crinkle in his nose, but he stayed stock still on the bedspread, pretending to be a statue to keep himself from moving, "I guess I'll go first."
James cast his friend a strained grin and flopped back on the comforter, not caring that a CSI team could probably find hundreds, thousands of semen and blood samples scattered across its surface. He kept his lips twisted into something that was supposed to resemble a happy expression until Kendall finished digging through his suitcase for a pair of clean boxers and finally, thankfully walked into the bathroom and shut the door. The fake smile fell away into a grimace, and his first fucking relevant thought for a long while was that Kendall hadn't grabbed James's carry case full of hair products.
He restrained himself from battering down the door to deliver shampoo and conditioner. The motel probably provided tiny bottles, and besides, the last thing he needed right now was to see Kendall naked.
Not that he hadn't before. They'd been friends forever and a day, it felt like.
James met Kendall on a Sunday when he was ten. His clearest memory of that day was not the blue of Kendall's eyes, the color of the stream near his trailer, dappled by sunlight, or of his smile, so impish he looked like a sprite.
No, the color James remembered was of the black-purple-blue of the bruise staining Kendall's cheekbone in the shape of James's knuckles. The smile he recalled was marred by three chipped teeth and bloodstained gums. And he remembered himself, standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror, touching the tender spots that marked the punches Kendall landed on him, the map of Kendall's fists on his body.
It was the first time anyone had evenly matched him, at anything.
Kendall had been there for a whole hell of a lot of firsts, after that. After they'd overcome their differences and realized the hockey team had room for more than one star, and that they could finish each other's sentences like their brains ran in sync, and that together it felt like they could rule their tiny backwater town.
Kendall had been the first person to believe James could make it in show business.
They'd snuck out to the bleachers at their new high school, barely fourteen with a six pack of James's adoptive father's Natty Ice. It was well past one in the morning, and winter was in full swing. The snow crunched under their boots as they cleared a spot on the highest bench, and they sat side by side, tucked into each other's parkas, theorizing about the future.
"Center forward," Kendall announced confidently, swigging back the beer and then coughing and sputtering a bit, "Wow, that's- your dad likes this?"
"Yeah," James shrugged, feeling the icy chill of the can through the palms of his gloves, "Kind of tastes like-"
"Piss," the blond made a face, "Bubbly, frozen piss."
James laughed, "You better get used to it if you want to get invited to any of Jenny Tinkler's parties."
Kendall winced and resumed drinking.
"Center forward?" James prompted.
"Oh! Right. Fuck yeah, I'm gonna be right out there in the middle of the ice, just me and the puck and a million gazillion fans."
"You're not gonna have a team back you up?"
"Eh, maybe- but everyone will know who the MVP is," the smaller boy threw him a cocky grin and began flicking the tab of his can back and forth until it snapped off.
"Oh yeah?" James could see it though, laid out in his head, this perfect image of Kendall in his hockey gear, playing for the Wild and a countless number of screaming faces, "Well, I'm going to be famous. Just you wait."
"I don't doubt it, man," Kendall's smile was easy, and the beer fizzed in James's throat, golden and warm.
"You're just saying that 'cause you're my friend, and you have to."
"No way!" Kendall laughed, setting his beer aside and grabbing James's wrist. James had cut the fingertips of his gloves off because he'd seen it in a magazine and they didn't sell things that could be labeled fashionable in the local sporting goods store, but he was beginning to regret it, because between the icy can of Natty Ice and the snowflakes beginning to descend around them, his hands were going numb. Right up until Kendall slid one of them up under his parka, under his shirt beneath it, so that James's fingers traced the lines of his chest.
"Dude," Kendall continued, "I'm completely serious. Feel my heartbeat. This is not the heartbeat of a liar!"
"…Are you drunk?" James demanded, trying to wrench his hand away, but Kendall held tight.
"No! I saw this on a spy show- they hook polygraphs up to your chest because your heart speeds up if you're lying. Is my heart speeding up?"
It wasn't. Kendall's heart was thudding like a kick drum, the strong, steady pulse of it beneath James's fingers as he dragged them along his friend's chest a perfect constant.
"See?" Kendall asked, earnestly, "You're going to make it. I know you are. You're gonna have stadiums full of people under your thrall."
"I have a thrall?" James teased, and just like that, Kendall let go. He retracted his hand, and they continued drinking into the night, but James would always remember- the feel of his friend's heart, the honesty in Kendall's eyes, and the feeling of being loyally supported.
Yeah, Kendall had taken part in a lot of James's firsts, but it was obvious there was one first he wanted nothing to do with- and it involved being James's first boyfriend.
By the time Kendall turned off the shower spigot, James had seriously considered pretending to be asleep at least three times. But he didn't like thinking that maybe he was a coward, because sometimes he got really scared that he could be. It would be really easy to curl into a ball and block out the rest of the world.
It'd always been sickeningly easy.
From landing a recording deal to their first concert, James faltered every step of the way, at least for a moment. He had recurring nightmares of failure and humiliation. Always, always, he refused to allow himself to cave, not because of Kendall or Logan or Carlos, but for himself. For his dreams.
The others didn't have that fear. They followed Kendall, and Kendall was full of unending courage and responsibility. In light of that, James tried to do his own thing, he really did. Following Kendall's every whim with blind faith was Logan's gig, and he was fantastic at it; he was pretty much Kendall's minion in all things because he believed in their leader. He had faith, and why wouldn't he? Kendall had never lead them wrong, whether it was a hockey game or a party or real life. He always had a strategy, and Logan liked strategies. He'd question them occasionally, he'd voice his doubts, but he'd never once say no.
Carlos followed Kendall too, not because he had this unshakable belief that everything the blond boy did was right and just and would get them out of trouble, but because it inevitably involved reckless behavior and getting into trouble too, which was Carlos's element. That's where he lived.
Which left James the non-minion-like behavior. He believed in Kendall, in everything he did, but he didn't want to be the same as Logan, and he wasn't particularly fond of trouble- it usually was hell on his hair and his complexion, although he definitely wouldn't ever back down from a fight if it came to that.
James couldn't be a minion or he'd blend in, and there wasn't really an option for a follower who had no doubts to voice, no desire to throw themselves headlong into some wacky plan, and a drawing need to be seen not just as an individual, but as someone separate and better than Carlos and Logan. And it was a problem, because sometimes James wanted to just blindly put his faith in someone other than himself. Especially times like these, when it would be so, so impossibly uncomplicated to lie back and pretend to be asleep. To let Kendall deal with the fallout of the past couple hours all by himself, because that was what Kendall was brilliant at.
His whole life, really, all James wanted was someone to take him in and try to fix him, or at least realize there was something that needed fixing in the first place, behind the smiles and the eyes and the masterful ability to lie about his whole reality. He wanted Kendall to fix him now, to fix this. He wanted to unshoulder the burden of being strong and aloof and untouchable, for his best friend in the whole wide world to smooth over this terrible, sinking feeling of misery that James had brought upon himself.
He knew exactly how it would go, if James let it. Kendall would spend the night mulling it over, and then, in the morning he'd sit James down, tell him that they needed to talk this through, to discover what signs Kendall had given James that made him think molesting him in a state park would be okay. Their friendship would change, guided by Kendall's hand, evolve into something less tactile, more acceptable. It would be Kendall's way of making things right, if only James turned off the light and closed his eyes.
His hands balled into fists, and to distract himself he fumbled for the TV remote. He couldn't let this change anything. He just couldn't.
He kept the TV blaring and the lights blazing and his eyes open, unblinking. He would make everything go back to the way it had always been. He wouldn't abide cowardice, no matter how tempting it was.
When the door swung open, Kendall stood in the frame, dried himself off, rivulets of water making the planes and lines of his body sheen. He was looking at James just how James knew he would, like he was ready to level out the wrinkles James had created in their relationship.
Then he hesitated, "Are you- watching BBC America?
Right. He could do this. James pasted on a smile, "H'yeah."
"But- I thought you hated British people. I thought you didn't like anyone with a sexier voice than you?"
"I don't. But I'm watching Doctor Who. It's about this time traveler who's all noble and tragic."
Like you, James wanted to add. The show made him weirdly, totally horny, and not just because everyone on it was ridiculously pretty. But he didn't mention that.
"I-uh, okay," Kendall inclined his head to the side, "We should really talk."
And there it was.
"Actually, I don't think we need to."
"James-"
"Obviously, I was totally off the mark, and in hindsight, yeah, I get that I made a huge mistake," he was grinning, but his teeth were grit so hard James could feel the grind of them all the way up through his skull, "But you know, you're supposed to learn from mistakes, and I learned that everything should stay perfectly, totally like it has been."
"But, dude, if I did-"
"You didn't do anything," James practically growled, "Can we just drop this? It's over, done. It won't happen again."
"James," Kendall sighed, and he looked oddly vulnerable standing there, water dripping from his bangs into his eyes, his body lean and naked, goosebumps lining his arms as he let himself be blasted by the motel's air conditioner. For a split second, he just looked- broken.
Then he straightened and he was Kendall again. He shrugged and said, "If that's what you want. Shower's all yours."
James jumped to his feet and practically ran into the bathroom. He wasn't a coward, no, but sometimes strategic retreat took precedence over valor.
---
It was well past midnight when James crawled out of the shower. The TV was still going, even though Kendall was definitely asleep, and the room was dark. James made his way to his bed by touch, body damp, and when he reached for the remote on the nightstand, his hands streaked moisture over wood, plastic. The television clicked off with a resolute buzz, and that was all there was. He was in the middle of a dingy motel in Arizona, cloaked in darkness and accompanied by his best friend's soft breaths, and nothing else.It was all so fucking surreal. James crawled beneath the sheets, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping for the first time that this trip would pass quickly. Maybe the distance, having Kendall in Minnesota would make things simpler. Maybe.
Probably not.
The blankets on Kendall's side rustled.
Something hit the floor, muted, like footfall on carpet, and James's eyes flicked open. There was darkness, and then it resolved into a shape, as familiar as the back of his own hand. He could see Kendall hovering by the side of his bed, fish-belly pale in the moonlight, outlined in silver. His eyes were luminous, mini universes unto themselves.
"Kend-"
Kendall was at his side, fingers brushing over his mouth and James's chest felt wide open, like his insides might spill out. The maid would find him in the morning, laid bare, intestines and kidneys, liver and everything vital, all exposed, for the world to see. He wondered if Kendall could feel the sudden onslaught of James's heart, racing so quickly, fluttering like a bird about to take flight.
He wasn't sure, he didn't know, and Kendall wasn't about to tell him.
Kendall was too busy kissing him.
James gasped on reflex, surprise and heat flooding his body as Kendall's callused hands pushed his shoulders back into the mattress. His best friend was devouring him, and there was no tenderness in the gesture, not a hint of gentle respect Kendall might've shown a girl. Their teeth cracked together, so hard James worried he might have to invest in veneers, and he could feel the burn of Kendall's fingertips as they traveled down his body, coming to rest on his hips all the way down to his bones.
It was too fast. It was too unexpected. It was too deliciously, sinfully good.
He kissed along James's chest, coded messages that James couldn't, wouldn't comprehend, and now Kendall was on the bed, straddling James, holding him prisoner between his thighs. He nipped his name along the rungs of James's ribs, each vicious bite followed by a brush of his tongue, abrasive and filling him with need.
James tried to card his fingers through Kendall's hair, to arc up into his friend's body, but it was like the blond was dead weight, pinning him from wrist to ankle. In the darkness, James could see the whites of Kendall's eyes, like an animal as his mouth moved along James's belly, lower and lower still. He licked along the waistline of James's boxers, tonguing at the trail of hair that lead down to better places. This wasn't- James knew this wasn't how hookups were supposed to go. There was usually more kissing before anyone got so close to his dick, but he didn't know how to complain when Kendall's lips mouthed nonsense words over the cloth of his boxers, the wet heat penetrating through the cloth, making James so hard he couldn't stand it.
His hips jutted up, pressing the length of his erection along Kendall's face, trying to escape the firmness of Kendall's hands on his thighs. His nerves were frayed, excitement bubbling through his veins as Kendall mouth ran along the length of him, and he wanted too many things all at once. To kiss, to hold, to have Kendall's lips around his cock right damn now. He couldn't choose, he could only grunt, "Please," and thrust up once more.
It must have worked, because Kendall's hand snaked into his boxers, freeing James so that he could swallow him whole.
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Five