[fic] Punk Bitch - 1/1
Title: Punk Bitch
Author:
garnetice
Pairing: James/Kendall
Rating: M
Word Count: 8,483
Warnings: sexy sexy sex, naughty words, angstiiiing
Summary: James keeps trying to beat Kendall.
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine.
Author Notes: Belated birthday gift (part deux) for my favorite homebitch,
jblostfan16. This is based off another prompt of hers. And I loooove her. And I hope no one holds it against me that this is unbeta-d. Like, I couldn't even do a solid read through because I have such a migraine. Apologies. BUT I WANTED TO SHARE THE KAMES LOOOOOVE.
---
Kendall Knight is made of kick ass. It’s like, not even up for argument.
Okay, yeah. He’s not the greatest looking guy in the universe and sometimes girls completely mystify him. But he is a winner.
Persistence is really key here. If Kendall owned a dictionary, the word surrender would not be anywhere in it. Hands down, he can beat anyone at anything. With some scheming and training and probably a lot more scheming, Kendall can and will conquer all.
Kendall hasn’t said any of this out loud. James knows it’s what he thinks, though, deep down. He knows because Kendall’s a cocky little shit, and when they were eight years old he basically declared himself the President Of Awesome. He has yet to relinquish the title.
Which is why James is determined to pry it from his cold, dead hands if necessary. Kendall doesn’t deserve to be the president of anything.
Wait, that’s not true. Kendall’s a pretty good leader. He can be president of the band.
But that doesn’t mean he should get to continue owning James at all things ever. There has got to be something that James can beat Kendall at.
He just hasn’t figured out what that something is.
Kendall’s ego has gotten a little insane lately, between constantly combating psychotic record producers and world tours where packed stadiums chant his name. He’s been walking around the apartment wearing this smirk that does things to James’s insides, tying his kidney and his livers and his stomach into jealous knots. And every time Kendall kicks the guys’ butts in foosball or schemes up a new plan or wins Gustavo’s approval for any reason, it gets worse. That smirk gets a little bit wider and annoys James a little bit more.
Now is the opportune time to knock Kendall down a few pegs.
Kendall, for his part, is completely aware of what James is doing. He encourages it, even. Every day, they have a hundred tiny, simple competitions.
Every day, Kendall wins.
And gets smugger.
Basically, James needs to think of a way to kick Kendall’s ass.
Much to James’s chagrin, it’s not going to be hockey or singing, because James hasn’t been the best player around since Kendall moved to town in first grade, and he obviously lost the singing competition the day that Gustavo Rocque chose Kendall over him.
Being a fabulous dresser doesn’t count, because Kendall doesn’t care. What fun is winning if it doesn’t wipe Kendall’s smirk off his face?
It’s not going to be cooking, or chess, or acing one of Miss Collin’s pop quizzes either. Not that Kendall exactly wins at any of those things, but his last batch of cookies was marginally less burnt than James’s, and they both gave up on chess on account of it being boring, and Kendall scored a seventy four when James got a seventy three during their most recent math test, so.
Victory’s so close that James can taste it. He just doesn’t have it in his mouth yet, or whatever.
…James isn’t going to win any games involving words either. So what? Words are silly. James isn’t planning on writing a book. Just owning Kendall for all time.
It’s prom season at the Palm Woods, and all anyone can talk about is the epic ridiculousness that was last year’s prom. But James has something else entirely in mind.
Prom. It’s a gift horse that James will not be looking in the mouth. He’s not going to even try to beat Kendall at winning prom king, because, well…look what happened last time.
But girls.
Kendall’s single this year, what with Jo long out of the picture.
James can totally beat Kendall at girls.
He starts compiling a list of all the lovely ladies at the hotel who are desperate to score a date with James Diamond. It’s a long, well-rounded list. There are blondes and redheads and brunettes. Tall girls, short girls, thin girls, and curvy girls. There are girls who like acting and girls who like singing and Camille- wait. James shakes his head and crosses her off the list, because breaking the bro-code and getting murdered by Logan is not his idea of fun.
Still. Even without Camille fluffing up his list, James’s plan is unbeatable. He’s going to score a super hot date for prom, and Kendall is going to cry loser-tears all over his dinner when he finds out.
That’s what James thinks right up until he sees Kendall and Lucy canoodling on the couch, their fingertips so close that they might as well be touching.
They’re arguing about something because they’re always arguing about something, but Lucy’s got this look on her face that almost resembles infatuation, and Kendall’s watching her like she’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
Kendall used to look at James like that in Minnesota, when the nights were long and the sky was high and clear and filled with stars. James has more than one memory of snuggling up to Kendall with a steaming hot cup of hot chocolate folded in his hands, lazily watching lights trek across the sky.
He has more than one memory of kisses that tasted like cocoa and marshmallow; of Kendall’s lips unnaturally hot against his.
That was eons ago, and James ruined it.
He thinks about bad pop music and punch that tasted like tropical fruit and girl’s perfume. He thinks about the way Kendall’s voice sounds when it cracks, when he’s so angry that he yells and yells until he can’t anymore.
James suddenly isn’t so keen on the idea of bringing a girl to prom.
Beating Kendall at this one thing seems cruel in hindsight, and besides. Girls aren’t trophies. His mom’s been trying to hammer that into his head for years. Maybe it’s time that James listened.
He stays in the lobby for close to an hour, trying to suss out a new plan. Every once in a while he’ll look back over towards Kendall and Lucy, who seem to be gravitating closer and closer still. James imagines it’s only a matter of time before Kendall asks her out.
Seeing as he’s a total serial monogamist, that will take him off the market for the next fifty years or so and ensure his smug grin stays in place forever.
That just makes James more determined to kick his ass, and no, the jealous spike in his stomach has nothing to do with it. James is fully aware that the past is so over. Whatever he had with Kendall back in Minnesota; it’s gone. He doesn’t even miss it.
He doesn’t.
James is in the midst of formulating a complicated idea involving rope, super soakers, and pie when-
“Hey, dude. Wanna grab some street tacos? I can’t find Carlos or Logan anywhere.”
James nearly jumps out of his own skin.
He whirls on the voice, but it’s just Kendall, smirking that stupid little smirk of his. Of course.
“Where’s- What happened to Lucy?”
Kendall’s smirk gets broader, like James just presented him with proof positive that he was spying.
For the record, James was not spying. He was reconnoitering. It’s a totally different thing.
“She’s got a meeting with her producer. They’re trying to market her to a broader demographic. You can imagine how pleased she is about that.” Kendall rolls his eyes, all fond. “I’m starving. You up for food, or are you busy?”
James is very busy planning how to dominate Kendall, but he sees this for the opportunity it is. He beams. “Sure.”
He happens to know that Carlos and Logan are hiding at the studio. They had a little talk with James about what a competitive d-bag he was being just this morning, after James’s wrestling match with Kendall ended up breaking Logan’s telescope.
Which he’s sorry for, but, as James told Carlos and Logan in a completely rational, reasonable, not-maniacal voice: victory will be his.
That’s about when Carlos and Logan figured out that harassing Gustavo would be safer.
Kendall stares at James for a second, like he’s actually able to read James’s mind. Like he knows that he’s all James can think about. Then his eyebrow quirks in challenge, and he suggests, “Race?”
Before the word is even fully out of his mouth, James vaults over the couch and bolts through the lobby, his sneakers slipping against the carpet.
Kendall’s already gaining on him, his pace measured, his breathing easy. It’s not fair. Kendall spends no time at all at the gym, and still James is the one whose breathing is taxed and whose steps are clumsy.
James pictures Kendall at eight years old, running through the woods.
“Catch me,” he would yell. And James would run and run and run, but he could never catch up to the brilliant, shining, wild thing that Kendall was as a kid. He still can’t, even as a man.
James trips over a potted palm, and that’s all it takes for him to lose his edge. By the time he reaches the taco stand, Kendall’s already leaning against the closest tree to the cart, his hand a pale contrast to the bark.
Right below the curve of his thumb, James can see the shape of a tiny heart with the initials KK and JT. He feels something hot and hard spike in his stomach, touching his throat with sick.
“Beat you,” Kendall says with a grin.
“You cheated,” James challenges, even though Kendall hasn’t cheated at anything ever. He schemes, he tilts the odds in his favor, and he causes all sorts of chaos. But cheat? Never. Kendall’s outrage is immediate. “I did not!”
“Did too,” James argues, panting.
“How?” Kendall demands. He’s seething mad, anger practically radiating from his pores. He looks like he wants to wrap his fingers around James’s throat and wring his neck.
The grass is still muddy from the recent rain, and James can feel that, can feel it squish beneath the soles of his sneakers, but he doesn’t actually think anything of it until Kendall takes a step forward and slips. His hands windmill backwards, trying to catch his balance, and he’s going to fall. He’s going to land flat in the mud, and it will serve him right for being a snarky little bitch, but.
James is a better person than he likes to let on, sometimes.
At the last second, he catches Kendall, an arm behind his back, a hand wrapped tight around his bicep. It’s a little awkward, because James is supporting at least eighty percent of his weight, and Kendall still seems to be processing the fact that he’s not covered in icky mud. He exhales, slow and shaky. “Thanks, man.”
“Yeah, well.” James can taste Kendall’s breath on his lips. He smells kind of like the greasy fries they had for a midmorning snack, salty and a little sour. When he looks up, questioning, James can’t even see the color of his irises; his eyes reflect back silver-blue. Nothing but sky.
“Um.” Kendall bites his lip, nibbles at the skin in this really distracting way. “You should. Uh.”
James doesn’t know what he should do. He hasn’t been this close to Kendall- this close and this still- in a long, long time. James thinks of dance music and silver streamers and Kendall looking at him in a different way; hard, hurt.
Maybe Kendall’s thinking of that too.
He shakes his hand free of James’s grip and takes hold of his shoulder, just to regain his footing. But even when he lets go and steps back, James can still feel the place where Kendall grabbed hold of him; the ghost of a handprint burning through the thin cloth of his t-shirt.
“Tacos?” Kendall asks, and his voice is totally normal. It’s like whatever that was, that tiny, fragile moment; it just dissolved into thin air.
“Tacos,” James agrees, but his voice trembles a little.
And look at that; keeping a level head under stress is just one more competition that James has lost.
---
Around five, Carlos and Logan still haven’t returned from their foray to the studio.
Either they’re really, really scared that James is suffering a psychotic break or Gustavo’s roped them into some zany scheme.
In which case, James has decided he really doesn’t want to know.
What James does want to know is what he can beat Kendall at.
He lost their spitting contest when he accidentally hit Mr. Bitters’ shoe.
He lost their Warhead sucking contest when he caved, spitting four into the sink and devouring an entire six pack of pudding, desperate for something to make the overwhelming taste of sour go away.
He also lost their milk-chugging contest and their video game play off and yet another game of foosball. James even lost their Palm Woods pool splash-off when the Jennifers judged that James was too graceful and athletic to pull off a proper cannonball.
As if it’s his fault he had actual diving lessons and can hit water like a knife slicing through bread.
James needs to win something. He walks into the living room, pondering that idea. Except there, like he really wants to rub salt in the wound, is Kendall. Playing guitar.
Kendall’s aptitude with music is the one thing James will never be able to forgive. James is the one with the rocker dad. He’s the one with years of vocal training. Hell, until they moved to California, James was the only one of them that knew how to play an actual instrument. But Kendall picked up guitar the same way he picked up singing; with a ridiculous grace that speaks volumes of his inherent talent.
Now he’s sitting there on the couch, strumming away like it’s the easiest thing in the world. James scowls and picks up the mail from the kitchen counter, shuffling through it to see if anything’s come for him. At the very top of the pile is a big envelope addressed with fancy black calligraphy.
James decides the universe hates him.
“Is that an invite for prom?” Kendall asks, pausing mid-song when he sees James pick the thing up between his thumb and his forefinger.
“Yeah. The Jennifers are hosting it at some big hotel.” James scowls down at the egg cream color of the envelope. “It will probably go better than last year.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible. You looked pretty hot in that dress.”
“You must be joking,” is James’s first reaction. But then he reconsiders, because yeah, he always looks hot.
Kendall shakes his head happily, obviously stuck in remembrance. He riffs into Burning Up by the Jonas Brothers, singing along, “High heels, red dress-“
James stalks forward and grabs the neck of the guitar. “Stop. Stop immediately.
Kendall laughs. “Do you still have it?”
It takes a minute for him to figure out what Kendall’s talking about.
“The dress? Yeah. It’s not like I could give it back to Camille.” James is a little embarrassed to admit, “I stretched it out.”
He’s acutely uncomfortable with the way Kendall is staring at him, now. James thinks about the way he was in the lobby earlier; less intense. More carefree. Carefully, James says, “You know who might look good in that dress? Lucy.”
“Maybe,” Kendall shrugs, leaning his head back on his hands, all sprawled out on the couch like he couldn’t ever be more comfortable than he is in James’s presence. Which. “We’ll never know.”
James blinks. “What do you mean, we’ll never know? I thought you wanted to…you know.”
“I mean, she terrifies me.” Kendall focuses on his guitar, tapping his fingers against the wood so that the room is filled with a hollow echo.
“What? Why?” James knows why Lucy scares him, but Kendall’s usually pretty unshakeable.
“I don’t want to die,” Kendall enunciates. “She has a guitar shaped like an axe. An actual axe. And have you seen those German knives she keeps in her kitchenette? Dude, Lucy’s fantastic, but- I don’t know. We had this talk, and she made some valid points.”
“About?”
“This and that.” Kendall shrugs, but his eyes have gone all shifty.
James stares at him.
“She thinks I’m too competitive, okay? She said the way I fixate on Jett and Gustavo and, um. You. Is weird. But that’s not why we decided it wouldn’t work out,” Kendall says quickly, covering his wounded pride. “She’s a great girl, and I’m willing to risk a lot to be with her, but not. You know. My life. Which I’m pretty sure would be in danger the first time we got in a real fight.”
“Well…Good for you buddy. I like it when you’re breathing.” James tries not to show how pleased he is. Beating Kendall at scoring a prom date is still up for grabs, if he wants.
Not that he wants.
“Me too. But I’m still going to hunt down that picture of you and Logan from last year and stick it on the fridge. Where did mom hide it?”
“Kendall!” Kendall completely ignores him in favor of digging through the photo albums Mrs. Knight stores beneath the coffee table.
“Don’t be a jerk.”
Kendall is not obliging with that command. He shifts the guitar from his lap to the nearest couch cushion so that he has more room to stretch.
Because James has a legitimate fear that Kendall is sadistic enough to actually showcase that picture, he changes the subject.
“Give me the remote.”
“What? No. I’m watching this.”
“You’re watching the history channel?” James raises an eyebrow. “And playing guitar?”
“It’s the history of hockey,” Kendall objects. “And I can multitask.”
James makes a face. “It’s in black and white.”
“So? It’s still hockey.”
James disagrees. Hockey is loud cheering and vivid color and a rush of blood in his body. It is not black and white; jerky figures or silly uniforms. “Give it.”
“Make me,” Kendall sticks out his tongue.
Oh no he did not.
James feels like his eyes might pop out of his head. That is definitely a challenge.
He lunges. For a few minutes, they wrestle for control of the remote control. James is actually winning, straddling Kendall, one hand pinning down his arm while the other reaches for the remote; just out of reach. Except.
Kendall likes girls now.
Kendall likes people who aren’t James.
But Kendall is breathing hard, panting even, and James can feel him, half-hard against his thigh.
James goes completely still, a move so completely not subtle that Kendall has to catch it, and he does. James can tell; Kendall’s eyes are cataloguing every shift of James’s body. He’s watching James’s face like it’s more interesting than any television.
James thinks about ducking his head down and kissing Kendall, about cocoa-flavored kisses and the hot, soft, press of Kendall’s mouth. But between them lies a memory; sequins and glitter, and James doesn’t know how to cross that.
Not yet.
Not without a sign.
This is why Kendall always wins; James can never make the first move.
He lets go of Kendall’s arm and hops up, adjusting the places where his own jeans have gone tight and saying, “Never mind. I’ll go watch TV in my room.”
Kendall frowns, like he would have been perfectly content wrestling on the couch, rubbing up against James.
“So you’re giving up?” His mouth thins into a line. Then he brightens. “Good!”
“Good? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re getting a little ridiculous with all the competitions, James.” Kendall’s lips curve and James knows that look. He’s definitely planning on saying something cocky as hell. “Just accept it. You’ll never win.”
Oh. James’s eyes narrow. Kendal is going down. Hard.
James thinks about lunging at him again. His jeans are still tight, his dick fighting for his attention, and no. That is a bad, bad plan.
James props his elbow on the table instead, wiggling his fingers in the air. Kendall’s forehead furrows. “What are you doing?”
“Arm wrestling.” James might sound a little prissy about it, but come on. Hi, isn’t that obvious?
Kendall’s laughter is sharp and insulting. “I’m not arm wrestling you.”
James scowls. What’s wrong with arm wrestling? Arm wrestling is awesome. Arm wrestling is considerably safer than actual wrestling, which involves too much…friction.
“Because you know you’ll lose,” James challenges.
“I will not.” Kendall sounds offended.
“You have biceps made out of spaghetti. You’re totally going down this time.”
“Right,” Kendall says dubiously. Then he props his arm on the table, completely unable to turn down a challenge.
Minutes later, Kendall beats James at arm wrestling.
Like. How is that even possible? James can’t get over it.
Okay, sure, he did get distracted by Mrs. Knight arriving home with a bag full of Marie Calendar’s pie; the spicy scent of apple and cinnamon warming the air. But still. Even half hearted, James should still be able to take Kendall and his scrawny little arms down.
He demands a rematch.
“No.” Kendall enunciates, digging a fork into the pie (James’s pie!).
“What do you mean, no?” James asks, furious. His fingers hurt a little from how hard Kendall was squeezing, and god, he’s totally pouting.
Stupid Mrs. Knight and her stupid pie.
Except Mrs. Knight isn’t stupid, she’s awesome, and so is the pie. Even if James is sulking while he eats it.
“Oh, stop crying into your plate. Bet I can eat more pie than you,” Kendall singsongs.
James considers how mortified he’s going to be if he loses this competition.
Way less than he is over failing at arm wrestling with beanpole-Knight. “You’re on.”
---
What happened was, James and Kendall were together. Kind of. Back in Minnesota.
Neither of them ever said it out loud, but they had a thing; shared looks and soft, stolen kisses and unspoken want.
James thinks maybe- okay, no, he knows- that the way it ended is his fault. He’s never dealt well with insecurity. It makes him feel like his skin is on too tight, like he’s becoming small and unattractive. He’s too into himself to ever just let that feeling stand.
Not knowing what his relationship with Kendall was supposed to be? That made James very, very insecure. Every time a girl batted her eyes at Kendall, James was jealous and angry and a little lost. He felt like he didn’t fit anymore; not in his skin, not in the group, and especially not in Kendall’s arms.
He scored a date for prom the day of, a pretty blonde that even got the stamp of approval from his mom. The guys had planned on going stag, doing a group thing. Carlos had whined about that a bit, but they were just barely fifteen; all too obsessed with the idea of being wild and free to commit to a real relationship anyway. It had seemed like the perfect solution. So when James turned up with his date in her sequined dress and her never ending legs, he’d been completely proud of himself.
She was the hottest girl at the dance, and she looked fucking amazing beneath all the silvery decorations; all the streamers and glitter like fairy dust coating the floor. He’d almost felt triumphant about it, when Kendall turned to face him, like look. Somebody wants me.
James remembers it so clearly; how the smile Kendall always wore just for him melted right off his face. How his green eyes went dark and narrow. How in the watery light of the stupid high school dance disco ball, the hottest girl in school kissed James, and Kendall’s face crumpled.
Kendall spent the rest of the night shutting down every attempt James made to talk to him, and at first, god, James had been stupid enough to believe that it was just envy; just Kendall hating that James had beat him at something for once. He fooled himself into thinking it was some kind of victory.
It took a while for James to figure out that actually, he’d lost. Badly.
The next time he tried to slip his hand into Kendall’s at a movie, or crawl into his bed during a sleepover on a chilly night, or kiss him over hot cocoa, Kendall pushed him away. Whatever that nameless, wonderful thing they’d had was; it was over. Pretty girls batted their eyelashes at Kendall, and instead of ignoring them in favor of James, he’d turn that brilliant, electric smile of his on; that special smile James used to think was solely his.
James and Kendall have been at each other’s throats ever since.
They’re still best friends, of course. The thing about best friends is that they bicker. They fight. James is constantly wrestling with Carlos, constantly arguing with Logan, and constantly having some huge, blowout brawls with Kendall. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t lessen their ability to enjoy each other’s company. They still have all these wacky hijinks, despite whatever history lies between them. And James knows Kendall will always be there for him.
But.
James misses the before-days. Hollywood has helped him figure a lot of things out. Like how all the insecurity he used to blame on Kendall had nothing at all to do with anyone else. It came from inside James, from all the places he’d grown up thinking weren’t formed quite right; all the shadows and cobwebs in his head. He’s over that, mostly; over thinking he’s not good enough, or that he’s not actually worthy of getting the things he wants. Over the course of the past two years in California, James has figured out that he’s more than a vacant-eyed, pretty little rich boy with a fantastic music collection and a dream. He’s strong in ways he never really knew about until he was tested.
Kendall’s been a huge part of that, actually. He’s always at James’s side, supporting him, challenging him, helping him learn to be better and stronger. But he’s only a part; James is strong even without him. When Kendall gave up on James and the band, James kept going. James was able to keep standing tall.
Sure, the sight of sequins and silver tinsel still makes him cringe, and sure, he still has plenty of insecure moments. But James thinks he needed the last few years to find his confidence and his strength. Now he’s ready; to prove to Kendall that he can win at something without breaking anything (like a heart).
And maybe, one day, he’ll even be ready to say he’s sorry.
---
It’s close to midnight, and Kendall’s smug smirk is still playing over his lips like it’s been pasted there. He might as well be wearing a sign that says you can’t win, James. As it is, he keeps humming it under his breath, and it doesn’t matter how many times James tells him that nobody likes a sore winner.
“I think it’s time for sleep,” Kendall says. He’s tallying up his pastel-colored monopoly money like it’s real currency, gathering up the game and getting ready to put on his pajamas or whatever, not realizing that James hasn’t given up yet on anything. He can’t sleep like this; his shoulders are tense, hard muscle all the way down to his spine.
James feels like a guitar string, wound close to snapping, but he has no idea what to do about it. He’s got years and years and years of losing to Kendall, always losing, behind him, but every loss; even the stupid pie-eating contest earlier is like a physical blow. James doesn’t know why it matters so much; if it’s Kendall’s self-satisfied expression or the vague idea in the back of his head that Kendall’s out-run him, so fast and so far that James will never be able to catch up.
“Hey, wait,” James orders, and for a second Kendall pauses, but then he shakes his head.
“We’re done for the night.”
“No, we’re not.”
“James, I’m tired.”
“And I’m fucking not,” James retorts, climbing to his feet. His knees are numb from kneeling on the floor of his bedroom for so long, and there’s this terrible second where he thinks he might actually fall. Kendall won’t catch him, he thinks, he knows. But the ground is there to catch him, steady under his feet, and the pins and needles in his knees aren’t nearly as powerful as James’s desire to make Kendall stay. He stands.
Kendall shoves a hand through his hair, and there is this weariness at the edge of his eyes; dark skin and lines. He’s not lying about being exhausted. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Because I want to win?”
“What does it even matter if you do? It’s not going to change-“ Kendall stops, exhales sharply, and continues, like he can pretend the misstep didn’t happen, “-anything.”
“What do you think I’m trying to change?” James asks, and his confusion is genuine.
“You know,” Kendall replies, because that’s not all obscure at all. If James knew, he wouldn’t have fucking asked. He shoves his hands in his back pockets for lack of anything better to do with them; when Kendall is looking at James like that, all fierce and focused, he’s got this urge to palm his own cock or to punch him in the face. Whichever comes first, but neither is really appropriate for this situation.
“I really don’t.” James steps in close, across the monopoly board with its overturned plastic houses. He feels like Godzilla, trampling cities. “What are you talking about?”
Kendall doesn’t answer; he just keeps watching James with his stupidly gorgeous eyes, and James’s hands get away from him. He extricates them from his pockets and reaches out, touching Kendall’s shoulder, not thinking about the reasons why he shouldn’t.
He just wants to make sense of things, because sometimes James has trouble with that.
Kendall stops dead in his tracks, like James has just aimed a spotlight right at him and he’s got stage fright. It’s illogical; Kendall has been on stage a million times, and he never gets frightened, not once, not ever. James is struck by genuine concern when he sees the fine tremor in Kendall’s hands, in his fingers, curled into fists.
He’s scared.
James digs his fingers into Kendall’s shoulder. He prefers the indulgent smirk to this, whatever this is. It’s foreign to James; Kendall doesn’t get scared. Not when he broke his arm in first grade or when he faced down a bunch of bullies in third or even when Carlos got his learner’s permit, which is generally accepted to be the scariest moment the band has ever faced.
“What’s wrong?” James asks, voice soft, like he’s talking to a kid or a small furry animal.
“Let me go.” Kendall says, and he sounds furious.
“No.”
“Let me go, James.”
James’s hand falls to his side. He curls his fingers into his jeans; he can still feel Kendall tingling across his skin, like his nerve endings are on fire. He repeats, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Kendall replies, color high in his cheeks. He’s flustered, working himself into something like angry to cover up his deer-in-headlights moment. James doesn’t want him to get mad. James wants…
Something.
It’s dangerous, the way his thoughts are going. The way he’s thinking that maybe this is why he’s never gotten a sign; Kendall is not as fearless as he lets on.
“Nothing? Really?” James demands.
“Really.” Kendall’s eyes blaze. “I’m sick of all this competition. You’re never going to beat me. Get over it.”
The smirk is back now, but it’s not right; it’s not the self-important expression Kendall’s been pimping for weeks. It’s just fear, twisted a different way, and James doesn’t like it. At all.
“There’s one thing I know I’m better than you at,” James grits out, and it’s the spark of an idea in his mind; crazy, but so completely tempting.
“What?” Kendall’s fake smirk is so fucking infuriating that James takes a step forward, trying to intimidate him. He gets up in Kendall’s face until they’re breathing the same air, oxygen ragged in their lungs.
And the weird thing is, it works. James is up in Kendall’s face for all of two seconds, and then Kendall falls back, pressing himself against the wall.
It makes no sense; the kid thrives on competition. Then;
“You don’t get to do this.” Kendall says quietly. “You don’t get to make me like you, again.”
His voice breaks on the last word, and it hangs there in the air between them. There is nothing else, no glitter or tinsel, no streamers or sequins. It’s just Kendall and James, like it always should have been. One of Kendall’s hands covers his face, and
James can only see glimpses of him through the space between his fingers; the fan of his eyelashes, the arch of his eyebrow, and the jut of his lower lip.
“James,” Kendall says, and James can tell that he’s ready to launch into some kind of backwards pep talk; an easy let down that James has gotten so many times before. But James doesn’t want to hear all the reason this won’t work; he wants to show Kendall the reasons it will. James takes a step forward, and Kendall steps to the side, sliding along the wall, like they’ve choreographed this. But it’s nothing at all like dancing; on stage Kendall is fire, he blazes light and sound. Now he is shadows, arms crossed over his chest, like he’s keeping his heart from jumping ship.
“Let me show you,” James insists, and he has no idea what he’s doing; this isn’t sane at all. But he drops to his knees in front of Kendall like he’s kneeling at an altar, like Kendall is something he can worship instead of a boy.
Kendall’s body language is strained, back pressed into the wall like maybe he can sink through it and get away from James, eyes desperate and needy and filled with want. James hesitates, thrown by the mixed signals. In a voice as level as he can muster, which isn’t very, he asks, “You want this?”
Kendall stares at him, frozen. James presses his face into the front of Kendall’s jeans, breathing hot against the denim. Firmly, he repeats, “Do you want this?”
After a long moment, Kendall nods. It’s like his eyes are daring, catch me, but he’s not running. He’s standing stock still, waiting for James to make a move. James inhales sharp through his nose, inexplicably turned on by this, by Kendall surrendering for once.
“Then relax.” James reaches up and palms a hand over Kendall’s dick, measuring how interested he is in the proceedings. He can feel Kendall there, half hard but not quite desperate. That can be fixed. James takes the zipper of Kendall’s jeans and pulls it down, slow, meticulous; everything calculated. He thinks that this is like a concert, like being on stage with an audience cataloguing his every move. Except the audience is Kendall, whose eyes make him more nervous than a million screaming girls’ ever could, and
James plans on putting on the best show of his life. He tugs Kendall’s jeans and boxers down, a slow striptease that has Kendall hypnotized; like he’s never seen anyone else take off his pants in his entire life. James knows that isn’t true. He ignores the jealous heat in his chest and smoothes his fingers up across Kendall’s knobby knees, kneading across the inside of his thighs. James wishes he was Kendall’s first, but that ship sailed a long time ago. Now he has this; and this isn’t so bad. He ghosts his mouth over the front of Kendall’s left thigh, tasting his skin for the first time in ages. James moves his hands up, smoothing out and back, squeezing Kendall’s ass briefly before digging his fingers into the skin above Kendall’s hips, scraping gentle down the indents where his back dimples. Kendall hisses and bucks forward, dick bumping against James’s cheek.
Kendall’s getting harder by the second; filling out and fattening, a tiny bead of precum starting to form at the tip. He still looks a little dubious about what’s going down though. “You’re not actually going to-“
“Semen has remarkable restorative properties,” James tells him conversationally, licking the inside of Kendall’s thigh; soft golden hair and salty sweat under his tongue. He bites down as he inches up, little nips that make Kendall wince and thrust up into empty air at the same time. He continues, “It’s protein. It makes your hair shiny and your teeth stronger.”
He presses a kiss to the side of Kendall’s dick, listening to Kendall hiss air through his teeth. James’s tongue darts out, curling upward until he reaches the head. His licks without hesitation, circling around the slit, flesh fever hot against his tongue. When Kendall bucks forward, James catches him between his lips and holds him there, molding his mouth to the shape of Kendall’s cock.
“James,” Kendall tries to force his way into James’s mouth, all of his objections obviously forgotten.
Kendall’s such an impatient bastard, and James has no intention of letting him get his way. He scrapes his teeth over the shaft, gentle as possible, in warning. All the girls he’s ever fingered, panties soaked through, and all the dicks he’s ever sucked, hard, thick, fucking his mouth; all of it was practice, leading up to this.
Like maybe he knew one day Kendall would give him another chance.
James swallows him down slow, relaxing his throat until he’s got Kendall deep. He wants to taste every inch of him, wants to memorize the shape and the contour of Kendall against his lips. He pulls back, making a show of it; curling his tongue around the shaft of him, sucking the same way he would a popsicle, until his lips are spit-shiny and red. Kendall is thick and hot in his mouth, bumping up against his fucking tonsils, but James takes it; an in-out slide that has Kendall fisting his fingers in James’s hair, twisting, making a total mess as he tries to guide James’s face, mumbling, “So good, fuck, so good.”
James laughs; he can’t help it, and the reverberations of it make Kendall moan and glare, simultaneously. James arches an eyebrow like, you want me to stop? Kendall’s fingers latch behind James’s ears, guiding him forward again with an intent expression. James watches him, watches through his eyelashes as Kendall’s mouth drops open, silent utterances spilling from his lips.
Kendall’s sexy this way; with all of his attention focused on James, right where it belongs. James closes his eyes and thinks of all the times they could have been doing this; all the times he missed out on because he was too stupid and too insecure to accept what Kendall was trying to give. He lets Kendall take over for a little bit, lets him rut into James’s mouth because it’s hot seeing what Kendall likes; the pace and the roll of his hips as he gets really into it.
James works his fingers up into the action, twisting along the base of Kendall’s cock while his other hand creeps up the curve of Kendall’s ass. He tongues soft over Kendall’s dick every time he pulls back, making an audibly filthy noise on purpose; the smack of his mouth against skin too loud in the still room, too obscene. Kendall’s losing it, trying to thrust forward and fuck into James while tugging on his head, on his hair, trying to build a rhythm that Kendall can’t quite manage on his own. James dips a finger against Kendall’s asshole, just to listen to the surprised yelp he makes, and then he uses both of his hands to get a grip on Kendall’s hips; to take back all of the control he’s given up.
Whenever Kendall tries to push forward now, James is there, holding him back, sucking him down. He keeps Kendall pinned with his hands and his mouth and his eyes, always watching; straining to see what Kendall looks like when he’s on the brink of breaking. He hums, the noise mostly involuntary when the head of Kendall’s dick hits what feels like his fucking esophagus. James can feel the tension in Kendall’s muscles, the sudden tremble in his knees, and he can hear him whimper as James swallows around Kendall’s cock.
“James, fuck,” Kendall gets out, and then he’s coming, pulsing into James’s throat. James gulps down what he can; the taste sharp and salty, but it’s too much. He pulls off right before it’s over, cum splashing down the side of Kendall’s dick as tremors wrack his body. Kendall arches into the air, looking for the lost heat of James’s mouth, his eyes shut, expression slack. And then it’s over. James smoothes his hand through the mess, cupping his hands around Kendall’s balls so that he can feel the drip down, lethargic in its path; already drying.
Voice measured, he says, “I’m going to fuck you now.”
Kendall makes a weak noise, high in the back of his throat. James traces back, behind Kendall’s balls and up, past his perineum; slick against the pads of James cum-soaked fingers.
It’s not James’s first time with a boy, and he secretly suspects that it’s not Kendall’s either. He’s still careful, only teasing around Kendall’s ass before grabbing a bottle of lube from his sock drawer. He’s cautious when he slicks up his fingers for real, gentle when he presses them into Kendall’s heat. When Kendall’s ready, James steers him away from the wall and presses him back against James’s bed. He can have Kendall on his hands and knees, but it won’t prove anything. And James needs to prove this; that he can beat Kendall at this.
That he can be exactly what Kendall needs.
He strips Kendall’s jeans the rest of the way off, and helps him out of his shirt. Then James strips, shirt first, and then his jeans.
He’s slow about it, making sure that Kendall’s watching; giving him time to recover. And Kendall is definitely, definitely watching.
His eyes are glassy, his breathing slow and deep, and he’s watching James like he’s the only thing that exists in the entire universe; like his world is limited to this, to James’s room and James as he steps out of his jeans.
James crawls over him, kissing his neck, kissing the pulse in his throat and the shell of Kendall’s ear. He works his fingers back inside of Kendall, just to be sure, and Kendall fucks back on them with a gasp that James catches against his lips.
Sex isn’t only about trigonometry; which angles feel the best and hit all the right spots. It’s about eye contact and sweat-slick skin and the sensory overload of being touched everywhere. James makes sure to touch Kendall everywhere; the curve of his knee and the arch of his foot and the dip in his spine where sweat pools during every single concert and rehearsal. He murmurs, “You ready?” and Kendall nods, his green eyes gone sharp and focused with arousal once more.
James coats himself with lube, his hands shaking. He arranges Kendall around him, looping his legs over his shoulder like he’s a contortionist, and Kendall doesn’t even complain. He just waits, patient, until James presses the tip of his dick up against Kendall’s asshole. He has to keep himself from pushing forward, into the inviting warmth. Kendall moaning and thrusting into his mouth was hot; hot enough that on a normal day, James would do whatever it takes to come. But this isn’t a normal day, and Kendall isn’t a normal person, and James isn’t going to just act like this is an easy lay and get it over with. He holds back, even though it’s torture, pressing inside of Kendall a centimeter at a time. Kendall grunts, squirming to adjust to the pressure.
“James, come on. Come on,” Kendall prompts, and that ruins all of James’s restraint.
Maybe it’s because Kendall’s been mostly quiet until now, or maybe it’s because James doesn’t draw it out or take it slow. He swivels his hips, one long thrust until he’s sheathed inside of Kendall. Kendall clenches down around him, unbearably tight, and fuck, how many nights has James thought of doing exactly this? James strokes down the inside of one of Kendall’s knees, traces along the hair of his thigh. He looks down, where he can see himself entering Kendall over and over and over again, a steady pulse.
Kendall’s dick bobs between them, keeping the rhythm, angry and red, and Kendall is desperate for it now, begging, asking James to go faster and harder and please. And James does, because he wants to give Kendall everything he wants, but at the same time he won’t go too hard or too fast. He won’t let this turn into something that could be misconstrued as a casual rough fuck. James keeps one arm wrapped around Kendall’s waist, even though it’s uncomfortable; even though his fingers go numb with Kendall’s weight. His other moves, sometimes supporting his own body, sometimes letting his fingers twist into the sweaty curl of hair at the base of Kendall’s neck.
“James,” Kendall groans, bending his body in half, clinging to him so that he can suck the word straight into James’s flesh. “Missed this. Missed you.”
James nuzzles into Kendall’s throat, sucking a bright spot into his skin, a hickey that will turn from red to a dark purple-blue by the time they’re done. “Missed you too,” he mumbles into the mark, “You’ve got no idea- missed you so much.”
He thrusts up into Kendall, rolling his hips, gasping for breath. “Why did you- why, if you missed me…”
“James,” Kendall reaches out and touches his face, and it’s this soft, tender gesture that has no place in the middle of what they’re doing. James stills, buried inside of Kendall; this crazy heat and tightness pressed all around him. All he can feel is this; all he can see or think or smell or touch is Kendall. “I thought you didn’t want me.”
There is this sweet, hollow ache in James’s chest. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, and I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, feeling destroyed inside.
“Okay,” Kendall says, his hand falling to James’s throat, gripping the intersection between his shoulder and his neck, “Just move, please, James, please.”
James can’t say no when Kendall is begging so nicely. He moves, fucking forward, burying himself so hard and deep inside of Kendall that he forces noised out of both of them, groans and exhalations and swear words that sound like music. Kendall doesn’t reach between them to bring himself off and neither does James, but with every slap of his balls against Kendall’s ass he can feel Kendall’s body go tighter and tighter, and he clings onto James like he’s the only thing anchoring him to the bed. James’s fingers aren’t numb anymore because Kendall is arching is back, and how is he even doing that? Maybe he is a fucking contortionist, but he’s grinding down on James and begging James to keep going, like James’s body will allow him to do anything else. He has momentum now; he has Kendall in his arms and pressing tight around him and sucking all the air from his lungs.
He has Kendall; the only thing he’s ever wanted more than popstardom or fame or admiration.
Kendall cries out something like a curse, or James’s name, or for all James knows it might be Gustavo, because he’s coming, clear-white drizzling down the side of his dick; too worn out from before for it to really spurt. And he’s spasming around James in this ridiculously sexy way, full body shudders that James can feel up in his own spine.
It doesn’t take more than a thrust for James to follow him right over the edge.
James collapses on top of him, not even caring that he’s still got Kendall’s legs trapped at the awkwardest angle ever around his neck or the semen drying all flaky across his stomach. All he wants now is to listen to the machine gun rhythm of Kendall’s heart as it slows to something steadier, surer.
He stays like that until Kendall groans and shoves him off.
“Hey,” James complains lazily. He rolls onto his back, wondering how he’s going to explain his sheets to Mrs. Knight.
“You were crushing me,” Kendall points out. He rubs his knees, curling them into his chest. James wonders what to do; whether to pull Kendall in close or leave him be. But Kendall takes the decision out of his hands, stretching out and throwing his arm over James’s chest. He says, “I didn’t think I was ever going to do this again.”
“Have fantastic sex?” James asks.
Kendall rolls his eyes. “Idiot. This. Laying here with you. Listening to your heartbeat. I missed it.”
“So you said.”
Kendall’s face reddened. “I wasn’t in my right mind. You can’t hold that against me.”
“But what if I want to?” James grabs at Kendall’s hips, pulling Kendall completely on top of him. Softly, he says, “I want you to have missed me.”
Amused, Kendall replies, “I figured, after all the competitions.”
“Um, those have nothing to do with anything.”
“Right.”
“They don’t. I was just trying to prove that you’re not the President of Awesome, okay?”
“James.” Kendall laughs, bright and sunny; delighted. “We were eight. You need to get over that.”
“Pssh, no. Just because you kick my ass at…okay, at a lot of stuff, doesn’t mean you get to be the president.” He grins, feeling sly. Grabbing Kendall’s ass, James says, “I guess I showed you.”
“Did you?” Kendall asks, sounding completely uninterested. He muses, “I don’t know if you were the best…”
“Excuse me?” James yelps.
Kendall turns on his side, eye serious. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you were good, but the best ever? Good enough to beat me?”
Kendall smirks, but it’s already turning into a smile, one of those electric ones that maybe is meant just for James again. James thinks that he will do anything to make that smile stick around.
He kisses Kendall then, partially to shut him up, but partly because he can. He draws it out until neither of them can breathe, until Kendall is pressing his body into James’s and making that high, sexy, keening noise in the back of his throat. When James pulls back, gasping, Kendall’s mouth gapes open like he’s still looking for the more. His lips are bruised red and spit slick, eyes glazed over.
“What were you saying?” James asks.
“Uh.” Kendall chokes out. “Um. You win.”
“That’s what I thought.”
---
Author:
garnetice
Pairing: James/Kendall
Rating: M
Word Count: 8,483
Warnings: sexy sexy sex, naughty words, angstiiiing
Summary: James keeps trying to beat Kendall.
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine.
Author Notes: Belated birthday gift (part deux) for my favorite homebitch,
jblostfan16. This is based off another prompt of hers. And I loooove her. And I hope no one holds it against me that this is unbeta-d. Like, I couldn't even do a solid read through because I have such a migraine. Apologies. BUT I WANTED TO SHARE THE KAMES LOOOOOVE.
---
Kendall Knight is made of kick ass. It’s like, not even up for argument.
Okay, yeah. He’s not the greatest looking guy in the universe and sometimes girls completely mystify him. But he is a winner.
Persistence is really key here. If Kendall owned a dictionary, the word surrender would not be anywhere in it. Hands down, he can beat anyone at anything. With some scheming and training and probably a lot more scheming, Kendall can and will conquer all.
Kendall hasn’t said any of this out loud. James knows it’s what he thinks, though, deep down. He knows because Kendall’s a cocky little shit, and when they were eight years old he basically declared himself the President Of Awesome. He has yet to relinquish the title.
Which is why James is determined to pry it from his cold, dead hands if necessary. Kendall doesn’t deserve to be the president of anything.
Wait, that’s not true. Kendall’s a pretty good leader. He can be president of the band.
But that doesn’t mean he should get to continue owning James at all things ever. There has got to be something that James can beat Kendall at.
He just hasn’t figured out what that something is.
Kendall’s ego has gotten a little insane lately, between constantly combating psychotic record producers and world tours where packed stadiums chant his name. He’s been walking around the apartment wearing this smirk that does things to James’s insides, tying his kidney and his livers and his stomach into jealous knots. And every time Kendall kicks the guys’ butts in foosball or schemes up a new plan or wins Gustavo’s approval for any reason, it gets worse. That smirk gets a little bit wider and annoys James a little bit more.
Now is the opportune time to knock Kendall down a few pegs.
Kendall, for his part, is completely aware of what James is doing. He encourages it, even. Every day, they have a hundred tiny, simple competitions.
Every day, Kendall wins.
And gets smugger.
Basically, James needs to think of a way to kick Kendall’s ass.
Much to James’s chagrin, it’s not going to be hockey or singing, because James hasn’t been the best player around since Kendall moved to town in first grade, and he obviously lost the singing competition the day that Gustavo Rocque chose Kendall over him.
Being a fabulous dresser doesn’t count, because Kendall doesn’t care. What fun is winning if it doesn’t wipe Kendall’s smirk off his face?
It’s not going to be cooking, or chess, or acing one of Miss Collin’s pop quizzes either. Not that Kendall exactly wins at any of those things, but his last batch of cookies was marginally less burnt than James’s, and they both gave up on chess on account of it being boring, and Kendall scored a seventy four when James got a seventy three during their most recent math test, so.
Victory’s so close that James can taste it. He just doesn’t have it in his mouth yet, or whatever.
…James isn’t going to win any games involving words either. So what? Words are silly. James isn’t planning on writing a book. Just owning Kendall for all time.
It’s prom season at the Palm Woods, and all anyone can talk about is the epic ridiculousness that was last year’s prom. But James has something else entirely in mind.
Prom. It’s a gift horse that James will not be looking in the mouth. He’s not going to even try to beat Kendall at winning prom king, because, well…look what happened last time.
But girls.
Kendall’s single this year, what with Jo long out of the picture.
James can totally beat Kendall at girls.
He starts compiling a list of all the lovely ladies at the hotel who are desperate to score a date with James Diamond. It’s a long, well-rounded list. There are blondes and redheads and brunettes. Tall girls, short girls, thin girls, and curvy girls. There are girls who like acting and girls who like singing and Camille- wait. James shakes his head and crosses her off the list, because breaking the bro-code and getting murdered by Logan is not his idea of fun.
Still. Even without Camille fluffing up his list, James’s plan is unbeatable. He’s going to score a super hot date for prom, and Kendall is going to cry loser-tears all over his dinner when he finds out.
That’s what James thinks right up until he sees Kendall and Lucy canoodling on the couch, their fingertips so close that they might as well be touching.
They’re arguing about something because they’re always arguing about something, but Lucy’s got this look on her face that almost resembles infatuation, and Kendall’s watching her like she’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
Kendall used to look at James like that in Minnesota, when the nights were long and the sky was high and clear and filled with stars. James has more than one memory of snuggling up to Kendall with a steaming hot cup of hot chocolate folded in his hands, lazily watching lights trek across the sky.
He has more than one memory of kisses that tasted like cocoa and marshmallow; of Kendall’s lips unnaturally hot against his.
That was eons ago, and James ruined it.
He thinks about bad pop music and punch that tasted like tropical fruit and girl’s perfume. He thinks about the way Kendall’s voice sounds when it cracks, when he’s so angry that he yells and yells until he can’t anymore.
James suddenly isn’t so keen on the idea of bringing a girl to prom.
Beating Kendall at this one thing seems cruel in hindsight, and besides. Girls aren’t trophies. His mom’s been trying to hammer that into his head for years. Maybe it’s time that James listened.
He stays in the lobby for close to an hour, trying to suss out a new plan. Every once in a while he’ll look back over towards Kendall and Lucy, who seem to be gravitating closer and closer still. James imagines it’s only a matter of time before Kendall asks her out.
Seeing as he’s a total serial monogamist, that will take him off the market for the next fifty years or so and ensure his smug grin stays in place forever.
That just makes James more determined to kick his ass, and no, the jealous spike in his stomach has nothing to do with it. James is fully aware that the past is so over. Whatever he had with Kendall back in Minnesota; it’s gone. He doesn’t even miss it.
He doesn’t.
James is in the midst of formulating a complicated idea involving rope, super soakers, and pie when-
“Hey, dude. Wanna grab some street tacos? I can’t find Carlos or Logan anywhere.”
James nearly jumps out of his own skin.
He whirls on the voice, but it’s just Kendall, smirking that stupid little smirk of his. Of course.
“Where’s- What happened to Lucy?”
Kendall’s smirk gets broader, like James just presented him with proof positive that he was spying.
For the record, James was not spying. He was reconnoitering. It’s a totally different thing.
“She’s got a meeting with her producer. They’re trying to market her to a broader demographic. You can imagine how pleased she is about that.” Kendall rolls his eyes, all fond. “I’m starving. You up for food, or are you busy?”
James is very busy planning how to dominate Kendall, but he sees this for the opportunity it is. He beams. “Sure.”
He happens to know that Carlos and Logan are hiding at the studio. They had a little talk with James about what a competitive d-bag he was being just this morning, after James’s wrestling match with Kendall ended up breaking Logan’s telescope.
Which he’s sorry for, but, as James told Carlos and Logan in a completely rational, reasonable, not-maniacal voice: victory will be his.
That’s about when Carlos and Logan figured out that harassing Gustavo would be safer.
Kendall stares at James for a second, like he’s actually able to read James’s mind. Like he knows that he’s all James can think about. Then his eyebrow quirks in challenge, and he suggests, “Race?”
Before the word is even fully out of his mouth, James vaults over the couch and bolts through the lobby, his sneakers slipping against the carpet.
Kendall’s already gaining on him, his pace measured, his breathing easy. It’s not fair. Kendall spends no time at all at the gym, and still James is the one whose breathing is taxed and whose steps are clumsy.
James pictures Kendall at eight years old, running through the woods.
“Catch me,” he would yell. And James would run and run and run, but he could never catch up to the brilliant, shining, wild thing that Kendall was as a kid. He still can’t, even as a man.
James trips over a potted palm, and that’s all it takes for him to lose his edge. By the time he reaches the taco stand, Kendall’s already leaning against the closest tree to the cart, his hand a pale contrast to the bark.
Right below the curve of his thumb, James can see the shape of a tiny heart with the initials KK and JT. He feels something hot and hard spike in his stomach, touching his throat with sick.
“Beat you,” Kendall says with a grin.
“You cheated,” James challenges, even though Kendall hasn’t cheated at anything ever. He schemes, he tilts the odds in his favor, and he causes all sorts of chaos. But cheat? Never. Kendall’s outrage is immediate. “I did not!”
“Did too,” James argues, panting.
“How?” Kendall demands. He’s seething mad, anger practically radiating from his pores. He looks like he wants to wrap his fingers around James’s throat and wring his neck.
The grass is still muddy from the recent rain, and James can feel that, can feel it squish beneath the soles of his sneakers, but he doesn’t actually think anything of it until Kendall takes a step forward and slips. His hands windmill backwards, trying to catch his balance, and he’s going to fall. He’s going to land flat in the mud, and it will serve him right for being a snarky little bitch, but.
James is a better person than he likes to let on, sometimes.
At the last second, he catches Kendall, an arm behind his back, a hand wrapped tight around his bicep. It’s a little awkward, because James is supporting at least eighty percent of his weight, and Kendall still seems to be processing the fact that he’s not covered in icky mud. He exhales, slow and shaky. “Thanks, man.”
“Yeah, well.” James can taste Kendall’s breath on his lips. He smells kind of like the greasy fries they had for a midmorning snack, salty and a little sour. When he looks up, questioning, James can’t even see the color of his irises; his eyes reflect back silver-blue. Nothing but sky.
“Um.” Kendall bites his lip, nibbles at the skin in this really distracting way. “You should. Uh.”
James doesn’t know what he should do. He hasn’t been this close to Kendall- this close and this still- in a long, long time. James thinks of dance music and silver streamers and Kendall looking at him in a different way; hard, hurt.
Maybe Kendall’s thinking of that too.
He shakes his hand free of James’s grip and takes hold of his shoulder, just to regain his footing. But even when he lets go and steps back, James can still feel the place where Kendall grabbed hold of him; the ghost of a handprint burning through the thin cloth of his t-shirt.
“Tacos?” Kendall asks, and his voice is totally normal. It’s like whatever that was, that tiny, fragile moment; it just dissolved into thin air.
“Tacos,” James agrees, but his voice trembles a little.
And look at that; keeping a level head under stress is just one more competition that James has lost.
---
Around five, Carlos and Logan still haven’t returned from their foray to the studio.
Either they’re really, really scared that James is suffering a psychotic break or Gustavo’s roped them into some zany scheme.
In which case, James has decided he really doesn’t want to know.
What James does want to know is what he can beat Kendall at.
He lost their spitting contest when he accidentally hit Mr. Bitters’ shoe.
He lost their Warhead sucking contest when he caved, spitting four into the sink and devouring an entire six pack of pudding, desperate for something to make the overwhelming taste of sour go away.
He also lost their milk-chugging contest and their video game play off and yet another game of foosball. James even lost their Palm Woods pool splash-off when the Jennifers judged that James was too graceful and athletic to pull off a proper cannonball.
As if it’s his fault he had actual diving lessons and can hit water like a knife slicing through bread.
James needs to win something. He walks into the living room, pondering that idea. Except there, like he really wants to rub salt in the wound, is Kendall. Playing guitar.
Kendall’s aptitude with music is the one thing James will never be able to forgive. James is the one with the rocker dad. He’s the one with years of vocal training. Hell, until they moved to California, James was the only one of them that knew how to play an actual instrument. But Kendall picked up guitar the same way he picked up singing; with a ridiculous grace that speaks volumes of his inherent talent.
Now he’s sitting there on the couch, strumming away like it’s the easiest thing in the world. James scowls and picks up the mail from the kitchen counter, shuffling through it to see if anything’s come for him. At the very top of the pile is a big envelope addressed with fancy black calligraphy.
James decides the universe hates him.
“Is that an invite for prom?” Kendall asks, pausing mid-song when he sees James pick the thing up between his thumb and his forefinger.
“Yeah. The Jennifers are hosting it at some big hotel.” James scowls down at the egg cream color of the envelope. “It will probably go better than last year.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible. You looked pretty hot in that dress.”
“You must be joking,” is James’s first reaction. But then he reconsiders, because yeah, he always looks hot.
Kendall shakes his head happily, obviously stuck in remembrance. He riffs into Burning Up by the Jonas Brothers, singing along, “High heels, red dress-“
James stalks forward and grabs the neck of the guitar. “Stop. Stop immediately.
Kendall laughs. “Do you still have it?”
It takes a minute for him to figure out what Kendall’s talking about.
“The dress? Yeah. It’s not like I could give it back to Camille.” James is a little embarrassed to admit, “I stretched it out.”
He’s acutely uncomfortable with the way Kendall is staring at him, now. James thinks about the way he was in the lobby earlier; less intense. More carefree. Carefully, James says, “You know who might look good in that dress? Lucy.”
“Maybe,” Kendall shrugs, leaning his head back on his hands, all sprawled out on the couch like he couldn’t ever be more comfortable than he is in James’s presence. Which. “We’ll never know.”
James blinks. “What do you mean, we’ll never know? I thought you wanted to…you know.”
“I mean, she terrifies me.” Kendall focuses on his guitar, tapping his fingers against the wood so that the room is filled with a hollow echo.
“What? Why?” James knows why Lucy scares him, but Kendall’s usually pretty unshakeable.
“I don’t want to die,” Kendall enunciates. “She has a guitar shaped like an axe. An actual axe. And have you seen those German knives she keeps in her kitchenette? Dude, Lucy’s fantastic, but- I don’t know. We had this talk, and she made some valid points.”
“About?”
“This and that.” Kendall shrugs, but his eyes have gone all shifty.
James stares at him.
“She thinks I’m too competitive, okay? She said the way I fixate on Jett and Gustavo and, um. You. Is weird. But that’s not why we decided it wouldn’t work out,” Kendall says quickly, covering his wounded pride. “She’s a great girl, and I’m willing to risk a lot to be with her, but not. You know. My life. Which I’m pretty sure would be in danger the first time we got in a real fight.”
“Well…Good for you buddy. I like it when you’re breathing.” James tries not to show how pleased he is. Beating Kendall at scoring a prom date is still up for grabs, if he wants.
Not that he wants.
“Me too. But I’m still going to hunt down that picture of you and Logan from last year and stick it on the fridge. Where did mom hide it?”
“Kendall!” Kendall completely ignores him in favor of digging through the photo albums Mrs. Knight stores beneath the coffee table.
“Don’t be a jerk.”
Kendall is not obliging with that command. He shifts the guitar from his lap to the nearest couch cushion so that he has more room to stretch.
Because James has a legitimate fear that Kendall is sadistic enough to actually showcase that picture, he changes the subject.
“Give me the remote.”
“What? No. I’m watching this.”
“You’re watching the history channel?” James raises an eyebrow. “And playing guitar?”
“It’s the history of hockey,” Kendall objects. “And I can multitask.”
James makes a face. “It’s in black and white.”
“So? It’s still hockey.”
James disagrees. Hockey is loud cheering and vivid color and a rush of blood in his body. It is not black and white; jerky figures or silly uniforms. “Give it.”
“Make me,” Kendall sticks out his tongue.
Oh no he did not.
James feels like his eyes might pop out of his head. That is definitely a challenge.
He lunges. For a few minutes, they wrestle for control of the remote control. James is actually winning, straddling Kendall, one hand pinning down his arm while the other reaches for the remote; just out of reach. Except.
Kendall likes girls now.
Kendall likes people who aren’t James.
But Kendall is breathing hard, panting even, and James can feel him, half-hard against his thigh.
James goes completely still, a move so completely not subtle that Kendall has to catch it, and he does. James can tell; Kendall’s eyes are cataloguing every shift of James’s body. He’s watching James’s face like it’s more interesting than any television.
James thinks about ducking his head down and kissing Kendall, about cocoa-flavored kisses and the hot, soft, press of Kendall’s mouth. But between them lies a memory; sequins and glitter, and James doesn’t know how to cross that.
Not yet.
Not without a sign.
This is why Kendall always wins; James can never make the first move.
He lets go of Kendall’s arm and hops up, adjusting the places where his own jeans have gone tight and saying, “Never mind. I’ll go watch TV in my room.”
Kendall frowns, like he would have been perfectly content wrestling on the couch, rubbing up against James.
“So you’re giving up?” His mouth thins into a line. Then he brightens. “Good!”
“Good? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re getting a little ridiculous with all the competitions, James.” Kendall’s lips curve and James knows that look. He’s definitely planning on saying something cocky as hell. “Just accept it. You’ll never win.”
Oh. James’s eyes narrow. Kendal is going down. Hard.
James thinks about lunging at him again. His jeans are still tight, his dick fighting for his attention, and no. That is a bad, bad plan.
James props his elbow on the table instead, wiggling his fingers in the air. Kendall’s forehead furrows. “What are you doing?”
“Arm wrestling.” James might sound a little prissy about it, but come on. Hi, isn’t that obvious?
Kendall’s laughter is sharp and insulting. “I’m not arm wrestling you.”
James scowls. What’s wrong with arm wrestling? Arm wrestling is awesome. Arm wrestling is considerably safer than actual wrestling, which involves too much…friction.
“Because you know you’ll lose,” James challenges.
“I will not.” Kendall sounds offended.
“You have biceps made out of spaghetti. You’re totally going down this time.”
“Right,” Kendall says dubiously. Then he props his arm on the table, completely unable to turn down a challenge.
Minutes later, Kendall beats James at arm wrestling.
Like. How is that even possible? James can’t get over it.
Okay, sure, he did get distracted by Mrs. Knight arriving home with a bag full of Marie Calendar’s pie; the spicy scent of apple and cinnamon warming the air. But still. Even half hearted, James should still be able to take Kendall and his scrawny little arms down.
He demands a rematch.
“No.” Kendall enunciates, digging a fork into the pie (James’s pie!).
“What do you mean, no?” James asks, furious. His fingers hurt a little from how hard Kendall was squeezing, and god, he’s totally pouting.
Stupid Mrs. Knight and her stupid pie.
Except Mrs. Knight isn’t stupid, she’s awesome, and so is the pie. Even if James is sulking while he eats it.
“Oh, stop crying into your plate. Bet I can eat more pie than you,” Kendall singsongs.
James considers how mortified he’s going to be if he loses this competition.
Way less than he is over failing at arm wrestling with beanpole-Knight. “You’re on.”
---
What happened was, James and Kendall were together. Kind of. Back in Minnesota.
Neither of them ever said it out loud, but they had a thing; shared looks and soft, stolen kisses and unspoken want.
James thinks maybe- okay, no, he knows- that the way it ended is his fault. He’s never dealt well with insecurity. It makes him feel like his skin is on too tight, like he’s becoming small and unattractive. He’s too into himself to ever just let that feeling stand.
Not knowing what his relationship with Kendall was supposed to be? That made James very, very insecure. Every time a girl batted her eyes at Kendall, James was jealous and angry and a little lost. He felt like he didn’t fit anymore; not in his skin, not in the group, and especially not in Kendall’s arms.
He scored a date for prom the day of, a pretty blonde that even got the stamp of approval from his mom. The guys had planned on going stag, doing a group thing. Carlos had whined about that a bit, but they were just barely fifteen; all too obsessed with the idea of being wild and free to commit to a real relationship anyway. It had seemed like the perfect solution. So when James turned up with his date in her sequined dress and her never ending legs, he’d been completely proud of himself.
She was the hottest girl at the dance, and she looked fucking amazing beneath all the silvery decorations; all the streamers and glitter like fairy dust coating the floor. He’d almost felt triumphant about it, when Kendall turned to face him, like look. Somebody wants me.
James remembers it so clearly; how the smile Kendall always wore just for him melted right off his face. How his green eyes went dark and narrow. How in the watery light of the stupid high school dance disco ball, the hottest girl in school kissed James, and Kendall’s face crumpled.
Kendall spent the rest of the night shutting down every attempt James made to talk to him, and at first, god, James had been stupid enough to believe that it was just envy; just Kendall hating that James had beat him at something for once. He fooled himself into thinking it was some kind of victory.
It took a while for James to figure out that actually, he’d lost. Badly.
The next time he tried to slip his hand into Kendall’s at a movie, or crawl into his bed during a sleepover on a chilly night, or kiss him over hot cocoa, Kendall pushed him away. Whatever that nameless, wonderful thing they’d had was; it was over. Pretty girls batted their eyelashes at Kendall, and instead of ignoring them in favor of James, he’d turn that brilliant, electric smile of his on; that special smile James used to think was solely his.
James and Kendall have been at each other’s throats ever since.
They’re still best friends, of course. The thing about best friends is that they bicker. They fight. James is constantly wrestling with Carlos, constantly arguing with Logan, and constantly having some huge, blowout brawls with Kendall. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t lessen their ability to enjoy each other’s company. They still have all these wacky hijinks, despite whatever history lies between them. And James knows Kendall will always be there for him.
But.
James misses the before-days. Hollywood has helped him figure a lot of things out. Like how all the insecurity he used to blame on Kendall had nothing at all to do with anyone else. It came from inside James, from all the places he’d grown up thinking weren’t formed quite right; all the shadows and cobwebs in his head. He’s over that, mostly; over thinking he’s not good enough, or that he’s not actually worthy of getting the things he wants. Over the course of the past two years in California, James has figured out that he’s more than a vacant-eyed, pretty little rich boy with a fantastic music collection and a dream. He’s strong in ways he never really knew about until he was tested.
Kendall’s been a huge part of that, actually. He’s always at James’s side, supporting him, challenging him, helping him learn to be better and stronger. But he’s only a part; James is strong even without him. When Kendall gave up on James and the band, James kept going. James was able to keep standing tall.
Sure, the sight of sequins and silver tinsel still makes him cringe, and sure, he still has plenty of insecure moments. But James thinks he needed the last few years to find his confidence and his strength. Now he’s ready; to prove to Kendall that he can win at something without breaking anything (like a heart).
And maybe, one day, he’ll even be ready to say he’s sorry.
---
It’s close to midnight, and Kendall’s smug smirk is still playing over his lips like it’s been pasted there. He might as well be wearing a sign that says you can’t win, James. As it is, he keeps humming it under his breath, and it doesn’t matter how many times James tells him that nobody likes a sore winner.
“I think it’s time for sleep,” Kendall says. He’s tallying up his pastel-colored monopoly money like it’s real currency, gathering up the game and getting ready to put on his pajamas or whatever, not realizing that James hasn’t given up yet on anything. He can’t sleep like this; his shoulders are tense, hard muscle all the way down to his spine.
James feels like a guitar string, wound close to snapping, but he has no idea what to do about it. He’s got years and years and years of losing to Kendall, always losing, behind him, but every loss; even the stupid pie-eating contest earlier is like a physical blow. James doesn’t know why it matters so much; if it’s Kendall’s self-satisfied expression or the vague idea in the back of his head that Kendall’s out-run him, so fast and so far that James will never be able to catch up.
“Hey, wait,” James orders, and for a second Kendall pauses, but then he shakes his head.
“We’re done for the night.”
“No, we’re not.”
“James, I’m tired.”
“And I’m fucking not,” James retorts, climbing to his feet. His knees are numb from kneeling on the floor of his bedroom for so long, and there’s this terrible second where he thinks he might actually fall. Kendall won’t catch him, he thinks, he knows. But the ground is there to catch him, steady under his feet, and the pins and needles in his knees aren’t nearly as powerful as James’s desire to make Kendall stay. He stands.
Kendall shoves a hand through his hair, and there is this weariness at the edge of his eyes; dark skin and lines. He’s not lying about being exhausted. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Because I want to win?”
“What does it even matter if you do? It’s not going to change-“ Kendall stops, exhales sharply, and continues, like he can pretend the misstep didn’t happen, “-anything.”
“What do you think I’m trying to change?” James asks, and his confusion is genuine.
“You know,” Kendall replies, because that’s not all obscure at all. If James knew, he wouldn’t have fucking asked. He shoves his hands in his back pockets for lack of anything better to do with them; when Kendall is looking at James like that, all fierce and focused, he’s got this urge to palm his own cock or to punch him in the face. Whichever comes first, but neither is really appropriate for this situation.
“I really don’t.” James steps in close, across the monopoly board with its overturned plastic houses. He feels like Godzilla, trampling cities. “What are you talking about?”
Kendall doesn’t answer; he just keeps watching James with his stupidly gorgeous eyes, and James’s hands get away from him. He extricates them from his pockets and reaches out, touching Kendall’s shoulder, not thinking about the reasons why he shouldn’t.
He just wants to make sense of things, because sometimes James has trouble with that.
Kendall stops dead in his tracks, like James has just aimed a spotlight right at him and he’s got stage fright. It’s illogical; Kendall has been on stage a million times, and he never gets frightened, not once, not ever. James is struck by genuine concern when he sees the fine tremor in Kendall’s hands, in his fingers, curled into fists.
He’s scared.
James digs his fingers into Kendall’s shoulder. He prefers the indulgent smirk to this, whatever this is. It’s foreign to James; Kendall doesn’t get scared. Not when he broke his arm in first grade or when he faced down a bunch of bullies in third or even when Carlos got his learner’s permit, which is generally accepted to be the scariest moment the band has ever faced.
“What’s wrong?” James asks, voice soft, like he’s talking to a kid or a small furry animal.
“Let me go.” Kendall says, and he sounds furious.
“No.”
“Let me go, James.”
James’s hand falls to his side. He curls his fingers into his jeans; he can still feel Kendall tingling across his skin, like his nerve endings are on fire. He repeats, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Kendall replies, color high in his cheeks. He’s flustered, working himself into something like angry to cover up his deer-in-headlights moment. James doesn’t want him to get mad. James wants…
Something.
It’s dangerous, the way his thoughts are going. The way he’s thinking that maybe this is why he’s never gotten a sign; Kendall is not as fearless as he lets on.
“Nothing? Really?” James demands.
“Really.” Kendall’s eyes blaze. “I’m sick of all this competition. You’re never going to beat me. Get over it.”
The smirk is back now, but it’s not right; it’s not the self-important expression Kendall’s been pimping for weeks. It’s just fear, twisted a different way, and James doesn’t like it. At all.
“There’s one thing I know I’m better than you at,” James grits out, and it’s the spark of an idea in his mind; crazy, but so completely tempting.
“What?” Kendall’s fake smirk is so fucking infuriating that James takes a step forward, trying to intimidate him. He gets up in Kendall’s face until they’re breathing the same air, oxygen ragged in their lungs.
And the weird thing is, it works. James is up in Kendall’s face for all of two seconds, and then Kendall falls back, pressing himself against the wall.
It makes no sense; the kid thrives on competition. Then;
“You don’t get to do this.” Kendall says quietly. “You don’t get to make me like you, again.”
His voice breaks on the last word, and it hangs there in the air between them. There is nothing else, no glitter or tinsel, no streamers or sequins. It’s just Kendall and James, like it always should have been. One of Kendall’s hands covers his face, and
James can only see glimpses of him through the space between his fingers; the fan of his eyelashes, the arch of his eyebrow, and the jut of his lower lip.
“James,” Kendall says, and James can tell that he’s ready to launch into some kind of backwards pep talk; an easy let down that James has gotten so many times before. But James doesn’t want to hear all the reason this won’t work; he wants to show Kendall the reasons it will. James takes a step forward, and Kendall steps to the side, sliding along the wall, like they’ve choreographed this. But it’s nothing at all like dancing; on stage Kendall is fire, he blazes light and sound. Now he is shadows, arms crossed over his chest, like he’s keeping his heart from jumping ship.
“Let me show you,” James insists, and he has no idea what he’s doing; this isn’t sane at all. But he drops to his knees in front of Kendall like he’s kneeling at an altar, like Kendall is something he can worship instead of a boy.
Kendall’s body language is strained, back pressed into the wall like maybe he can sink through it and get away from James, eyes desperate and needy and filled with want. James hesitates, thrown by the mixed signals. In a voice as level as he can muster, which isn’t very, he asks, “You want this?”
Kendall stares at him, frozen. James presses his face into the front of Kendall’s jeans, breathing hot against the denim. Firmly, he repeats, “Do you want this?”
After a long moment, Kendall nods. It’s like his eyes are daring, catch me, but he’s not running. He’s standing stock still, waiting for James to make a move. James inhales sharp through his nose, inexplicably turned on by this, by Kendall surrendering for once.
“Then relax.” James reaches up and palms a hand over Kendall’s dick, measuring how interested he is in the proceedings. He can feel Kendall there, half hard but not quite desperate. That can be fixed. James takes the zipper of Kendall’s jeans and pulls it down, slow, meticulous; everything calculated. He thinks that this is like a concert, like being on stage with an audience cataloguing his every move. Except the audience is Kendall, whose eyes make him more nervous than a million screaming girls’ ever could, and
James plans on putting on the best show of his life. He tugs Kendall’s jeans and boxers down, a slow striptease that has Kendall hypnotized; like he’s never seen anyone else take off his pants in his entire life. James knows that isn’t true. He ignores the jealous heat in his chest and smoothes his fingers up across Kendall’s knobby knees, kneading across the inside of his thighs. James wishes he was Kendall’s first, but that ship sailed a long time ago. Now he has this; and this isn’t so bad. He ghosts his mouth over the front of Kendall’s left thigh, tasting his skin for the first time in ages. James moves his hands up, smoothing out and back, squeezing Kendall’s ass briefly before digging his fingers into the skin above Kendall’s hips, scraping gentle down the indents where his back dimples. Kendall hisses and bucks forward, dick bumping against James’s cheek.
Kendall’s getting harder by the second; filling out and fattening, a tiny bead of precum starting to form at the tip. He still looks a little dubious about what’s going down though. “You’re not actually going to-“
“Semen has remarkable restorative properties,” James tells him conversationally, licking the inside of Kendall’s thigh; soft golden hair and salty sweat under his tongue. He bites down as he inches up, little nips that make Kendall wince and thrust up into empty air at the same time. He continues, “It’s protein. It makes your hair shiny and your teeth stronger.”
He presses a kiss to the side of Kendall’s dick, listening to Kendall hiss air through his teeth. James’s tongue darts out, curling upward until he reaches the head. His licks without hesitation, circling around the slit, flesh fever hot against his tongue. When Kendall bucks forward, James catches him between his lips and holds him there, molding his mouth to the shape of Kendall’s cock.
“James,” Kendall tries to force his way into James’s mouth, all of his objections obviously forgotten.
Kendall’s such an impatient bastard, and James has no intention of letting him get his way. He scrapes his teeth over the shaft, gentle as possible, in warning. All the girls he’s ever fingered, panties soaked through, and all the dicks he’s ever sucked, hard, thick, fucking his mouth; all of it was practice, leading up to this.
Like maybe he knew one day Kendall would give him another chance.
James swallows him down slow, relaxing his throat until he’s got Kendall deep. He wants to taste every inch of him, wants to memorize the shape and the contour of Kendall against his lips. He pulls back, making a show of it; curling his tongue around the shaft of him, sucking the same way he would a popsicle, until his lips are spit-shiny and red. Kendall is thick and hot in his mouth, bumping up against his fucking tonsils, but James takes it; an in-out slide that has Kendall fisting his fingers in James’s hair, twisting, making a total mess as he tries to guide James’s face, mumbling, “So good, fuck, so good.”
James laughs; he can’t help it, and the reverberations of it make Kendall moan and glare, simultaneously. James arches an eyebrow like, you want me to stop? Kendall’s fingers latch behind James’s ears, guiding him forward again with an intent expression. James watches him, watches through his eyelashes as Kendall’s mouth drops open, silent utterances spilling from his lips.
Kendall’s sexy this way; with all of his attention focused on James, right where it belongs. James closes his eyes and thinks of all the times they could have been doing this; all the times he missed out on because he was too stupid and too insecure to accept what Kendall was trying to give. He lets Kendall take over for a little bit, lets him rut into James’s mouth because it’s hot seeing what Kendall likes; the pace and the roll of his hips as he gets really into it.
James works his fingers up into the action, twisting along the base of Kendall’s cock while his other hand creeps up the curve of Kendall’s ass. He tongues soft over Kendall’s dick every time he pulls back, making an audibly filthy noise on purpose; the smack of his mouth against skin too loud in the still room, too obscene. Kendall’s losing it, trying to thrust forward and fuck into James while tugging on his head, on his hair, trying to build a rhythm that Kendall can’t quite manage on his own. James dips a finger against Kendall’s asshole, just to listen to the surprised yelp he makes, and then he uses both of his hands to get a grip on Kendall’s hips; to take back all of the control he’s given up.
Whenever Kendall tries to push forward now, James is there, holding him back, sucking him down. He keeps Kendall pinned with his hands and his mouth and his eyes, always watching; straining to see what Kendall looks like when he’s on the brink of breaking. He hums, the noise mostly involuntary when the head of Kendall’s dick hits what feels like his fucking esophagus. James can feel the tension in Kendall’s muscles, the sudden tremble in his knees, and he can hear him whimper as James swallows around Kendall’s cock.
“James, fuck,” Kendall gets out, and then he’s coming, pulsing into James’s throat. James gulps down what he can; the taste sharp and salty, but it’s too much. He pulls off right before it’s over, cum splashing down the side of Kendall’s dick as tremors wrack his body. Kendall arches into the air, looking for the lost heat of James’s mouth, his eyes shut, expression slack. And then it’s over. James smoothes his hand through the mess, cupping his hands around Kendall’s balls so that he can feel the drip down, lethargic in its path; already drying.
Voice measured, he says, “I’m going to fuck you now.”
Kendall makes a weak noise, high in the back of his throat. James traces back, behind Kendall’s balls and up, past his perineum; slick against the pads of James cum-soaked fingers.
It’s not James’s first time with a boy, and he secretly suspects that it’s not Kendall’s either. He’s still careful, only teasing around Kendall’s ass before grabbing a bottle of lube from his sock drawer. He’s cautious when he slicks up his fingers for real, gentle when he presses them into Kendall’s heat. When Kendall’s ready, James steers him away from the wall and presses him back against James’s bed. He can have Kendall on his hands and knees, but it won’t prove anything. And James needs to prove this; that he can beat Kendall at this.
That he can be exactly what Kendall needs.
He strips Kendall’s jeans the rest of the way off, and helps him out of his shirt. Then James strips, shirt first, and then his jeans.
He’s slow about it, making sure that Kendall’s watching; giving him time to recover. And Kendall is definitely, definitely watching.
His eyes are glassy, his breathing slow and deep, and he’s watching James like he’s the only thing that exists in the entire universe; like his world is limited to this, to James’s room and James as he steps out of his jeans.
James crawls over him, kissing his neck, kissing the pulse in his throat and the shell of Kendall’s ear. He works his fingers back inside of Kendall, just to be sure, and Kendall fucks back on them with a gasp that James catches against his lips.
Sex isn’t only about trigonometry; which angles feel the best and hit all the right spots. It’s about eye contact and sweat-slick skin and the sensory overload of being touched everywhere. James makes sure to touch Kendall everywhere; the curve of his knee and the arch of his foot and the dip in his spine where sweat pools during every single concert and rehearsal. He murmurs, “You ready?” and Kendall nods, his green eyes gone sharp and focused with arousal once more.
James coats himself with lube, his hands shaking. He arranges Kendall around him, looping his legs over his shoulder like he’s a contortionist, and Kendall doesn’t even complain. He just waits, patient, until James presses the tip of his dick up against Kendall’s asshole. He has to keep himself from pushing forward, into the inviting warmth. Kendall moaning and thrusting into his mouth was hot; hot enough that on a normal day, James would do whatever it takes to come. But this isn’t a normal day, and Kendall isn’t a normal person, and James isn’t going to just act like this is an easy lay and get it over with. He holds back, even though it’s torture, pressing inside of Kendall a centimeter at a time. Kendall grunts, squirming to adjust to the pressure.
“James, come on. Come on,” Kendall prompts, and that ruins all of James’s restraint.
Maybe it’s because Kendall’s been mostly quiet until now, or maybe it’s because James doesn’t draw it out or take it slow. He swivels his hips, one long thrust until he’s sheathed inside of Kendall. Kendall clenches down around him, unbearably tight, and fuck, how many nights has James thought of doing exactly this? James strokes down the inside of one of Kendall’s knees, traces along the hair of his thigh. He looks down, where he can see himself entering Kendall over and over and over again, a steady pulse.
Kendall’s dick bobs between them, keeping the rhythm, angry and red, and Kendall is desperate for it now, begging, asking James to go faster and harder and please. And James does, because he wants to give Kendall everything he wants, but at the same time he won’t go too hard or too fast. He won’t let this turn into something that could be misconstrued as a casual rough fuck. James keeps one arm wrapped around Kendall’s waist, even though it’s uncomfortable; even though his fingers go numb with Kendall’s weight. His other moves, sometimes supporting his own body, sometimes letting his fingers twist into the sweaty curl of hair at the base of Kendall’s neck.
“James,” Kendall groans, bending his body in half, clinging to him so that he can suck the word straight into James’s flesh. “Missed this. Missed you.”
James nuzzles into Kendall’s throat, sucking a bright spot into his skin, a hickey that will turn from red to a dark purple-blue by the time they’re done. “Missed you too,” he mumbles into the mark, “You’ve got no idea- missed you so much.”
He thrusts up into Kendall, rolling his hips, gasping for breath. “Why did you- why, if you missed me…”
“James,” Kendall reaches out and touches his face, and it’s this soft, tender gesture that has no place in the middle of what they’re doing. James stills, buried inside of Kendall; this crazy heat and tightness pressed all around him. All he can feel is this; all he can see or think or smell or touch is Kendall. “I thought you didn’t want me.”
There is this sweet, hollow ache in James’s chest. “I didn’t mean- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, and I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, feeling destroyed inside.
“Okay,” Kendall says, his hand falling to James’s throat, gripping the intersection between his shoulder and his neck, “Just move, please, James, please.”
James can’t say no when Kendall is begging so nicely. He moves, fucking forward, burying himself so hard and deep inside of Kendall that he forces noised out of both of them, groans and exhalations and swear words that sound like music. Kendall doesn’t reach between them to bring himself off and neither does James, but with every slap of his balls against Kendall’s ass he can feel Kendall’s body go tighter and tighter, and he clings onto James like he’s the only thing anchoring him to the bed. James’s fingers aren’t numb anymore because Kendall is arching is back, and how is he even doing that? Maybe he is a fucking contortionist, but he’s grinding down on James and begging James to keep going, like James’s body will allow him to do anything else. He has momentum now; he has Kendall in his arms and pressing tight around him and sucking all the air from his lungs.
He has Kendall; the only thing he’s ever wanted more than popstardom or fame or admiration.
Kendall cries out something like a curse, or James’s name, or for all James knows it might be Gustavo, because he’s coming, clear-white drizzling down the side of his dick; too worn out from before for it to really spurt. And he’s spasming around James in this ridiculously sexy way, full body shudders that James can feel up in his own spine.
It doesn’t take more than a thrust for James to follow him right over the edge.
James collapses on top of him, not even caring that he’s still got Kendall’s legs trapped at the awkwardest angle ever around his neck or the semen drying all flaky across his stomach. All he wants now is to listen to the machine gun rhythm of Kendall’s heart as it slows to something steadier, surer.
He stays like that until Kendall groans and shoves him off.
“Hey,” James complains lazily. He rolls onto his back, wondering how he’s going to explain his sheets to Mrs. Knight.
“You were crushing me,” Kendall points out. He rubs his knees, curling them into his chest. James wonders what to do; whether to pull Kendall in close or leave him be. But Kendall takes the decision out of his hands, stretching out and throwing his arm over James’s chest. He says, “I didn’t think I was ever going to do this again.”
“Have fantastic sex?” James asks.
Kendall rolls his eyes. “Idiot. This. Laying here with you. Listening to your heartbeat. I missed it.”
“So you said.”
Kendall’s face reddened. “I wasn’t in my right mind. You can’t hold that against me.”
“But what if I want to?” James grabs at Kendall’s hips, pulling Kendall completely on top of him. Softly, he says, “I want you to have missed me.”
Amused, Kendall replies, “I figured, after all the competitions.”
“Um, those have nothing to do with anything.”
“Right.”
“They don’t. I was just trying to prove that you’re not the President of Awesome, okay?”
“James.” Kendall laughs, bright and sunny; delighted. “We were eight. You need to get over that.”
“Pssh, no. Just because you kick my ass at…okay, at a lot of stuff, doesn’t mean you get to be the president.” He grins, feeling sly. Grabbing Kendall’s ass, James says, “I guess I showed you.”
“Did you?” Kendall asks, sounding completely uninterested. He muses, “I don’t know if you were the best…”
“Excuse me?” James yelps.
Kendall turns on his side, eye serious. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you were good, but the best ever? Good enough to beat me?”
Kendall smirks, but it’s already turning into a smile, one of those electric ones that maybe is meant just for James again. James thinks that he will do anything to make that smile stick around.
He kisses Kendall then, partially to shut him up, but partly because he can. He draws it out until neither of them can breathe, until Kendall is pressing his body into James’s and making that high, sexy, keening noise in the back of his throat. When James pulls back, gasping, Kendall’s mouth gapes open like he’s still looking for the more. His lips are bruised red and spit slick, eyes glazed over.
“What were you saying?” James asks.
“Uh.” Kendall chokes out. “Um. You win.”
“That’s what I thought.”
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