[fic] Before Summer's Over - 1/2
Title: Before Summer's Over
Author: garnetice
Pairing: Kendall/James
Rating: M
Word Count: 3,217 (9,505 total)
Part: One of Two
Warnings: Drinking, sex, naughty words, boys being dicks to girls and each other
Summary: James is a virgin. James is not super pleased about that.
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine.
Author Notes: Old fic. I fully acknowledge this is a highly unrealistic premise. Although, you never know. Sometimes the players are the ones with the most to prove. Props to goten0040 for being the best beta a girl could ask for.
---
I: Autumn
Kendall walks into gym class with a conspicuous bruise on his neck.
It’s not perfectly round, or all one color. In the center it’s a deep purple with pinpricks of black. The edges are hazy, borders unclear, the bright crimson red turning into actual skin. It’s roughly the size of a girl’s mouth.
James knows, because he can’t stop staring at it.
Even after class ends, when they’re in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by shower steam and naked bodies, guys kicking back or joking about how hard they just pounded the opposing dodge ball team or even just going about the usual routine of returning to a day full of classes and boredom. James can’t focus on any of it, because he’s got his gaze trained like a sniper rifle on the big red mark that is a brand on Kendall’s neck.
He wonders when Kendall started wearing his conquests like a badge.
James’s eyes trace down the contours of Kendall’s chest to the indents of his hipbones, following a line of sandy hair where it dips beneath his boxers. He feels weirdly uncomfortable, like when he takes a peek at his dad’s porn collection. Kendall is bouncing back on his heels, chattering on and on about how much they’re going to own at hockey come the season. And James just can’t stop staring. He’s not sure how to.
He wants to ask Kendall what it was like, the hickey, or maybe the things that came after it. He wants to, but he won’t, because it’s embarrassing to admit out loud that he doesn’t have a lot of…experience. With girls. James has a reputation, and the truth is, he’s not entirely sure how he got it.
That doesn’t mean he plans on letting it go. He likes being popular and mysterious and flirty. He likes when girls look at him and giggle and blush. He likes the way he has all the guys’ on the football team’s respect.
So what if he’s let this reputation of his perpetuate for so long that even Kendall thinks it’s true? It makes James feel powerful. Confessing in the middle of the locker room that he doesn’t know squat about what another person’s mouth feels like on his neck?
Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
“Dude, are you even listening to me?” Kendall knocks a hand against James’s head, more a fond pet than a punch. His lips curve, and James is frozen where he stands; Kendall’s smile is electric. Whenever he talks to another human being, it’s like something switches on behind his irises. The wattage of his happiness turns blinding, and he becomes the boy that he is on skates, confident and charismatic.
The worst part is, Kendall doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He has no idea that he can turn magnetic in an instant, drawing the eyes of every single person around him.
Including James.
Especially James.
“Sure, yeah. Lunch,” James agrees half-heartedly.
It’s not even fair. James is way better looking than Kendall. He should have the magnetic personality and the electric eyes. He should be the one that hypnotizes girls, like moths near a flame.
At the very least, he should be the first of them to lose his virginity. If only his stupid mother hadn’t instilled all these silly, romantic notions in his head about true love and respect and waiting until he’s ready.
What does that even mean? If Kendall’s ready, James is too.
Isn’t he?
He has to be.
“Dude, pizza?” Kendall asks, beaming that brilliant smile at him, and James wonders if Kendall really is ready. Has he already gone through with it? James doesn’t know how to ask.
“Pizza,” James agrees. He lets Kendall swing an arm up over his shoulders. Kendall smells clean, like soap and shampoo. He’s got his jacket dangling over one arm, a backpack on his shoulder, and he looks strong. He looks like the kind of guy girls would fall all over themselves to fuck. James can see the hickey peeking out of Kendall’s t-shirt, and it makes him feel small.
Over a pepperoni slice in the middle of the cafeteria, Carlos notices the mark on Kendall’s neck. “Woohoo, did you get some last night?”
James stiffens.
“Tactful,” Logan comments, not even paying attention. He’s got his nose in a book, because he’s always got his nose in books. Logan thinks reading is like, the best thing ever.
James privately thinks Logan has been body checked too many times.
“No,” Kendall retorts. Then his face splits into a grin, “But. I think I’m going to.”
James chokes on his pizza. “What?”
Logan actually lifts his face just enough to give James a weird look. Then he pounds on James’s back, hard, until James can breathe again.
Kendall doesn’t even notice it.
“I have her exactly where I want her, dude. Last night we got to third base.”
Carlos gasps, all awed by the magic idea of a girl’s lips on cock. James feels the same way, but also kind of itchy inside, anger heating his skin. He tries not to let it show. According to local legend, he’s been to third and beyond.
He aims for an expression that is somewhere between impressed and exasperated, a finally grin that doesn’t belie the sudden twitch in his eye. He wants to tell Kendall that going any further is a bad idea, but once the boy gets an idea into his head, there’s no stopping him. Even if James- the man, the myth, the clandestine virgin- tells him not to rush, it won’t matter. Kendall obviously wants it over and done with.
Kendall smirks at James, looking for solidarity. James doesn’t have anything like solidarity to give him. “Her parents are going to be out this weekend, and then- I think it’s happening, dude.”
Carlos is all excited, like a small child. Even Logan looks up from his textbook long enough to give Kendall a fist bump. But James doesn’t have anything to say. He only has one thought in his head:
Kendall’s ready.
James thinks about that once he’s home, fingers twitching over the key pad of his cell phone. If he wants it, all he has to do is pick a girl and call. But. Every time James makes to dial a number, his hands refuse to obey, and okay, Kendall might be ready, but maybe James isn’t.
He totally would be…if sex didn’t have so many scary consequences. James remembers the last awkward, horrifying lecture his mother delivered about sexually transmitted ick and all the care that goes into raising a baby. He winces.
James doesn’t do well with consequences. He knows that there are ways to be safe, but what if he forgets in the heat of the moment? Worse, what if the girl he chooses is more experienced than him and laughs in his face?
Usually, in situations like this, James relies on Kendall to act as a buffer. Kendall’s always protected him when he’s scared. Hell, James’s first kiss was a dare at a party in sixth grade. All he remembers about it is the warm-wet of the girl’s lips, the way her hair felt tangled in his fingertips, and Kendall’s palm resting firm on his lower back, urging James on.
Sex probably won’t be the same kind of deal. Kendall can’t hold his hand until he gets the first time over with.
Unfortunately.
Maybe sex can be something he builds up to. James is the kind of guy who likes to ease into the pool instead of cannonball on a sunny, clear day. He likes procedure. He mostly blames it on Logan; they’ve been friends for so long that all his caution has rubbed off. And sex has to happen in steps, right? Steps are good. James is excellent at following directions. He put together some of the Knights’ Ikea furniture all on his own and everything.
So maybe he can ease into some kissing here, some touching there, and when the time comes, he really will be ready.
He has to be.
James doesn’t want pure or virginal anymore. He wants the man everyone says he is. He wants to be the kind of man that Kendall can’t leave behind.
---
The day after Kendall officially loses it, James calls Clara. She’s a pretty blonde who spends most of her time daydreaming her way through the history class she shares with James. She’s ecstatic about their date; James can hear it in her voice.
He first calls her out with the vague idea of making something happen, but it turns out, he doesn’t need to do anything at all. They spend Saturday afternoon in an empty matinee showing of some kids’ movie, her mouth sucking red into his throat, her hands massaging deftly over the front of James’s jeans. James thinks he should touch her back; he can feel the damp heat of her through the knee of his denim, but he doesn’t. He holds her close, and kisses her soft until she drops out of his lap and to her knees on the gross, sticky movie theater floor.
James nearly jumps out of his skin when she begins to pull down his zipper.
“You’re really tense.” She observes, looking up at him from beneath a shock of blonde bangs.
“Uh. Too much caffeine,” James explains lamely, sliding his hand over the paper soda cup sitting in the armrest holder, slick with condensation.
“Relax,” she purrs, her thumbs tracing circles into the bony part of his knee. She leans forward and kisses the exposed pattern of his boxers, and he can feel the heat of her mouth too close, too amazing. He makes this high, nervous sound, and she pulls back. This weirdly bashful look flits across her face, a beautiful kind of vulnerability. “Um. This is my first time. I might not be very good.”
If James was anything like kind, he’d tell her the truth right then and there. But he doesn’t, closed mouthed and mostly awed by this thing she’d prepared to do. Instead, he cups a hand under her chin, and in the dancing cartoonish light of the one o’clock showing of Dancing With Unicorns, he guides her home.
Step by step, giving up.
Step by step, letting go.
---
II. Winter
Kendall’s making him go to this party. Because of a girl. James is not pleased.
“Why do you even want to go? It’s not like you can’t bang someone more attractive.”
He doesn’t sound bitter. Not even a little bit.
“Her face is…okay, it’s unfortunate,” Kendall agrees, smirking, “But she’s an animal in bed.”
James stares at him.
Kendall doesn’t talk about girls like this. He’s all gentlemanly and whatever. James is supposed to be the one who’s constantly measuring one standard of beauty against another. But ever since Kendall lost it, that night a few months back, he’s like a whole new boy, one James can’t always wrap his head around.
It’s not like Kendall is a slut now. Once he hooks a relationship, he fights to hold onto it like a rabid dog. But over the course of the year, Kendall’s been in at least three relationships, and maintained one interim fuck buddy, and James just can’t keep up. He tries, of course. He’s at the point where he goes out with five different girls a week, but he hasn’t lost it to a single one of them. He knows what a hickey is like, now, and a hand down his pants, and a mouth wrapped sweet around his dick, but he hasn’t been able to get past that. James just doesn’t get into it the way that he’s supposed to.
There might actually be something wrong with him.
“Who even are you? I can’t believe you just said that. Out loud. Where other people can hear.”
Kendall shrugs. “I’m between girlfriends, and we both get something out of it. Where’s the harm?”
“I don’t want to go,” James tells Kendall, adamant.
“Dude. Please?” Kendall taps his fingers against the counter, which is totally cheating. James likes Kendall’s hands. He likes the way they’re always moving, drumming against tables or fidgeting with silverware or just wending through the air when he tries to explain some crazy new plan. It’s like his fingers articulate a language of their own, callus-roughened and lovely. Sometimes, when they’re lying next to each other at sleepovers, James and Kendall will lazily measure the growth of their hands against each other, palm to palm, finger to finger. They will catalogue the differences between them, the scars and the length and the places where soft flesh and bone make unfamiliar shapes. James always observes as long as possible, fascinated by the heat Kendall can generate in that single point of contact, like a whisper of summer over his skin.
He folds like a deck of cards.
At first, the party isn’t bad. There’s a keg full of icy cold beer and a table for pong and James pretty much knows everyone there. It’s a good time for a Friday night, right up until the girl Kendall’s after makes her presence known.
She’s not even anything special, just a puck fuck with a sweet smile who watches all of their practices. James thinks she compensates for her unfortunate face by treating Kendall like a god that she wants to worship on her knees.
With her mouth, probably.
Kendall is up in her personal space, getting really, really handsy, and James hasn’t been this uncomfortable since the last fight between his parents, when his dad repeatedly yelled blow me, you stupid cunt at his mom. When the kissing starts, it’s even worse, because James dreams about being kissed like that; tongue and teeth and saliva and naked desire and the absolute certainty that the night is going to end one way.
On a normal day, he likes to watch the way Kendall kisses girls, the way his lips are butterfly gentle, the way he’s a fucking artist with his tongue. But today, half-drunk from piss-water beer and his own self-loathing, James is less than interested in being a casual observer. He realizes he has never seen Kendall look so focused, so crazy intense off the ice, and he’s not sure what to do with himself, with his eyes, or with his hands. His heart is hammering, spastic in his chest, and his palms are sweaty like he’s nervous. The place where Kendall should be is negative space at his side.
James thinks that it probably wouldn’t be the same, if he ever did get a kiss like that. For one, Kendall would have to crane his head up instead of down, which would probably mess up everything and- yeah. James frowns at shoes. It probably wouldn’t be any good at all.
Which is totally fine. James doesn’t want to be kissed by Kendall. That would be stupid, because Kendall’s got a dick, and James isn’t into that.
Probably.
No, definitely.
The girl breaks the kiss and trails her fingers along Kendall’s arm. James wants to hurt her.
Kendall pants, “What’s wrong?” and nudges his nose along the line of her throat.
“This is a party.” She shrugs. “We should enjoy it.”
Kendall palms over her butt, murmurs, “I am enjoying it,” just loud enough that James can hear.
“Right, but, before we have a private party, you need to do something for me.” The girl grins, and James doesn’t like that look at all. He takes a sip of his beer, feels it burn in his stomach, coughs. He wants to go home.
“Name it.” Kendall licks the girl’s earlobe. “Anything. I’ll do anything.”
“Great. I want to see you do body shots. Off of him.” She points at James, giggling, impressed by her own brilliance.
James nearly spits out his drink. “Excuse me?”
“Okay.” Kendall shrugs, like it’s no big deal. He smirks at James, pretty and insolent, and honestly, James thinks he’s kidding.
James keeps on thinking he’s kidding until he’s sprawled across the kitchen counter, his shirt rucked up beneath his armpits, and Kendall’s mouth is closing over his navel. There’s a wet suck, and all the girls are cheering. James thinks that’s going to be the end of it, because he can tell that Kendall is wincing from the burn of tequila in his throat, but then his tongue darts out, dipping into James’s belly button and licking up whatever droplets remain.
James can’t even help the sudden fatness to his dick. And Kendall is suddenly so, so close, his mouth latching onto the wedge of lime sticking from James’s lips. Their mouths are nearly touching, and then they are touching, a light brush as Kendall gets hold of the lime. It is an electric thrill that James can feel in his bones.
When Kendall pulls back, he grins at James, like this whole thing is funny.
It’s not funny. It’s not funny that James is half hard because of his best friend’s stupid fucking mouth, and it’s not funny that Kendall turns away to pull that bitchy girl into a kiss, like she’s his prize for turning James on. It just makes James mad, from the press of their lips to the way Kendall palms her ass, his fingers bunching in her skirt and then deftly slipping beneath it.
“Kendall,” James says sharply, because it’s not fair.
He is a child having a fit, and he doesn’t care. Why should he be forced to put up with something when he doesn’t want to? Because it’s the nice thing to do? It’s James’s life.
Kendall pulls back, his lips red. He blinks and asks, “Why are you being so squeamish? It’s not like you’re exactly a vestigial virgin, dude.”
James flushes, this horrible, icky, itchy blush that glows beneath his skin like a bad sunburn.
Kendall’s mouth drops open, and for this long moment James thinks he’s going to ask what’s wrong, but then the girl is burying her face into Kendall’s collarbone, her arms like octopus tentacles around his middle, drawing him against her, drawing him away.
It’s like James isn’t even there.
---
Faith is this preppy cheerleader that James meets at the party. She’s halfway to wasted and more than a little friendly, and even though James knows it’s wrong, he takes advantage of it. Kendall is upstairs, pounding his fuck buddy into a mattress, and James is lonely and plastered and he wants the heat of Kendall’s mouth back on his skin. He hooks up with Faith on this grotesque looking paisley print couch in the basement of the house they’re in, rubbing their bodies together until this ridiculous friction and dry heat builds between their hips.
James comes embarrassingly quickly in his jeans, sticky-wet against his boxers and shame burning across his cheeks and his collarbone, Faith panting his name over and over again.
He never ends up talking to her after that, at school or any subsequent parties, too humiliated by his own inexperience to find the right words.
Later on, James acknowledges it’s a pretty dickish thing to do, but at least he’s catching up to Kendall.
James feels like that’s really important.
---
Author: garnetice
Pairing: Kendall/James
Rating: M
Word Count: 3,217 (9,505 total)
Part: One of Two
Warnings: Drinking, sex, naughty words, boys being dicks to girls and each other
Summary: James is a virgin. James is not super pleased about that.
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine.
Author Notes: Old fic. I fully acknowledge this is a highly unrealistic premise. Although, you never know. Sometimes the players are the ones with the most to prove. Props to goten0040 for being the best beta a girl could ask for.
---
I: Autumn
Kendall walks into gym class with a conspicuous bruise on his neck.
It’s not perfectly round, or all one color. In the center it’s a deep purple with pinpricks of black. The edges are hazy, borders unclear, the bright crimson red turning into actual skin. It’s roughly the size of a girl’s mouth.
James knows, because he can’t stop staring at it.
Even after class ends, when they’re in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by shower steam and naked bodies, guys kicking back or joking about how hard they just pounded the opposing dodge ball team or even just going about the usual routine of returning to a day full of classes and boredom. James can’t focus on any of it, because he’s got his gaze trained like a sniper rifle on the big red mark that is a brand on Kendall’s neck.
He wonders when Kendall started wearing his conquests like a badge.
James’s eyes trace down the contours of Kendall’s chest to the indents of his hipbones, following a line of sandy hair where it dips beneath his boxers. He feels weirdly uncomfortable, like when he takes a peek at his dad’s porn collection. Kendall is bouncing back on his heels, chattering on and on about how much they’re going to own at hockey come the season. And James just can’t stop staring. He’s not sure how to.
He wants to ask Kendall what it was like, the hickey, or maybe the things that came after it. He wants to, but he won’t, because it’s embarrassing to admit out loud that he doesn’t have a lot of…experience. With girls. James has a reputation, and the truth is, he’s not entirely sure how he got it.
That doesn’t mean he plans on letting it go. He likes being popular and mysterious and flirty. He likes when girls look at him and giggle and blush. He likes the way he has all the guys’ on the football team’s respect.
So what if he’s let this reputation of his perpetuate for so long that even Kendall thinks it’s true? It makes James feel powerful. Confessing in the middle of the locker room that he doesn’t know squat about what another person’s mouth feels like on his neck?
Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
“Dude, are you even listening to me?” Kendall knocks a hand against James’s head, more a fond pet than a punch. His lips curve, and James is frozen where he stands; Kendall’s smile is electric. Whenever he talks to another human being, it’s like something switches on behind his irises. The wattage of his happiness turns blinding, and he becomes the boy that he is on skates, confident and charismatic.
The worst part is, Kendall doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He has no idea that he can turn magnetic in an instant, drawing the eyes of every single person around him.
Including James.
Especially James.
“Sure, yeah. Lunch,” James agrees half-heartedly.
It’s not even fair. James is way better looking than Kendall. He should have the magnetic personality and the electric eyes. He should be the one that hypnotizes girls, like moths near a flame.
At the very least, he should be the first of them to lose his virginity. If only his stupid mother hadn’t instilled all these silly, romantic notions in his head about true love and respect and waiting until he’s ready.
What does that even mean? If Kendall’s ready, James is too.
Isn’t he?
He has to be.
“Dude, pizza?” Kendall asks, beaming that brilliant smile at him, and James wonders if Kendall really is ready. Has he already gone through with it? James doesn’t know how to ask.
“Pizza,” James agrees. He lets Kendall swing an arm up over his shoulders. Kendall smells clean, like soap and shampoo. He’s got his jacket dangling over one arm, a backpack on his shoulder, and he looks strong. He looks like the kind of guy girls would fall all over themselves to fuck. James can see the hickey peeking out of Kendall’s t-shirt, and it makes him feel small.
Over a pepperoni slice in the middle of the cafeteria, Carlos notices the mark on Kendall’s neck. “Woohoo, did you get some last night?”
James stiffens.
“Tactful,” Logan comments, not even paying attention. He’s got his nose in a book, because he’s always got his nose in books. Logan thinks reading is like, the best thing ever.
James privately thinks Logan has been body checked too many times.
“No,” Kendall retorts. Then his face splits into a grin, “But. I think I’m going to.”
James chokes on his pizza. “What?”
Logan actually lifts his face just enough to give James a weird look. Then he pounds on James’s back, hard, until James can breathe again.
Kendall doesn’t even notice it.
“I have her exactly where I want her, dude. Last night we got to third base.”
Carlos gasps, all awed by the magic idea of a girl’s lips on cock. James feels the same way, but also kind of itchy inside, anger heating his skin. He tries not to let it show. According to local legend, he’s been to third and beyond.
He aims for an expression that is somewhere between impressed and exasperated, a finally grin that doesn’t belie the sudden twitch in his eye. He wants to tell Kendall that going any further is a bad idea, but once the boy gets an idea into his head, there’s no stopping him. Even if James- the man, the myth, the clandestine virgin- tells him not to rush, it won’t matter. Kendall obviously wants it over and done with.
Kendall smirks at James, looking for solidarity. James doesn’t have anything like solidarity to give him. “Her parents are going to be out this weekend, and then- I think it’s happening, dude.”
Carlos is all excited, like a small child. Even Logan looks up from his textbook long enough to give Kendall a fist bump. But James doesn’t have anything to say. He only has one thought in his head:
Kendall’s ready.
James thinks about that once he’s home, fingers twitching over the key pad of his cell phone. If he wants it, all he has to do is pick a girl and call. But. Every time James makes to dial a number, his hands refuse to obey, and okay, Kendall might be ready, but maybe James isn’t.
He totally would be…if sex didn’t have so many scary consequences. James remembers the last awkward, horrifying lecture his mother delivered about sexually transmitted ick and all the care that goes into raising a baby. He winces.
James doesn’t do well with consequences. He knows that there are ways to be safe, but what if he forgets in the heat of the moment? Worse, what if the girl he chooses is more experienced than him and laughs in his face?
Usually, in situations like this, James relies on Kendall to act as a buffer. Kendall’s always protected him when he’s scared. Hell, James’s first kiss was a dare at a party in sixth grade. All he remembers about it is the warm-wet of the girl’s lips, the way her hair felt tangled in his fingertips, and Kendall’s palm resting firm on his lower back, urging James on.
Sex probably won’t be the same kind of deal. Kendall can’t hold his hand until he gets the first time over with.
Unfortunately.
Maybe sex can be something he builds up to. James is the kind of guy who likes to ease into the pool instead of cannonball on a sunny, clear day. He likes procedure. He mostly blames it on Logan; they’ve been friends for so long that all his caution has rubbed off. And sex has to happen in steps, right? Steps are good. James is excellent at following directions. He put together some of the Knights’ Ikea furniture all on his own and everything.
So maybe he can ease into some kissing here, some touching there, and when the time comes, he really will be ready.
He has to be.
James doesn’t want pure or virginal anymore. He wants the man everyone says he is. He wants to be the kind of man that Kendall can’t leave behind.
---
The day after Kendall officially loses it, James calls Clara. She’s a pretty blonde who spends most of her time daydreaming her way through the history class she shares with James. She’s ecstatic about their date; James can hear it in her voice.
He first calls her out with the vague idea of making something happen, but it turns out, he doesn’t need to do anything at all. They spend Saturday afternoon in an empty matinee showing of some kids’ movie, her mouth sucking red into his throat, her hands massaging deftly over the front of James’s jeans. James thinks he should touch her back; he can feel the damp heat of her through the knee of his denim, but he doesn’t. He holds her close, and kisses her soft until she drops out of his lap and to her knees on the gross, sticky movie theater floor.
James nearly jumps out of his skin when she begins to pull down his zipper.
“You’re really tense.” She observes, looking up at him from beneath a shock of blonde bangs.
“Uh. Too much caffeine,” James explains lamely, sliding his hand over the paper soda cup sitting in the armrest holder, slick with condensation.
“Relax,” she purrs, her thumbs tracing circles into the bony part of his knee. She leans forward and kisses the exposed pattern of his boxers, and he can feel the heat of her mouth too close, too amazing. He makes this high, nervous sound, and she pulls back. This weirdly bashful look flits across her face, a beautiful kind of vulnerability. “Um. This is my first time. I might not be very good.”
If James was anything like kind, he’d tell her the truth right then and there. But he doesn’t, closed mouthed and mostly awed by this thing she’d prepared to do. Instead, he cups a hand under her chin, and in the dancing cartoonish light of the one o’clock showing of Dancing With Unicorns, he guides her home.
Step by step, giving up.
Step by step, letting go.
---
II. Winter
Kendall’s making him go to this party. Because of a girl. James is not pleased.
“Why do you even want to go? It’s not like you can’t bang someone more attractive.”
He doesn’t sound bitter. Not even a little bit.
“Her face is…okay, it’s unfortunate,” Kendall agrees, smirking, “But she’s an animal in bed.”
James stares at him.
Kendall doesn’t talk about girls like this. He’s all gentlemanly and whatever. James is supposed to be the one who’s constantly measuring one standard of beauty against another. But ever since Kendall lost it, that night a few months back, he’s like a whole new boy, one James can’t always wrap his head around.
It’s not like Kendall is a slut now. Once he hooks a relationship, he fights to hold onto it like a rabid dog. But over the course of the year, Kendall’s been in at least three relationships, and maintained one interim fuck buddy, and James just can’t keep up. He tries, of course. He’s at the point where he goes out with five different girls a week, but he hasn’t lost it to a single one of them. He knows what a hickey is like, now, and a hand down his pants, and a mouth wrapped sweet around his dick, but he hasn’t been able to get past that. James just doesn’t get into it the way that he’s supposed to.
There might actually be something wrong with him.
“Who even are you? I can’t believe you just said that. Out loud. Where other people can hear.”
Kendall shrugs. “I’m between girlfriends, and we both get something out of it. Where’s the harm?”
“I don’t want to go,” James tells Kendall, adamant.
“Dude. Please?” Kendall taps his fingers against the counter, which is totally cheating. James likes Kendall’s hands. He likes the way they’re always moving, drumming against tables or fidgeting with silverware or just wending through the air when he tries to explain some crazy new plan. It’s like his fingers articulate a language of their own, callus-roughened and lovely. Sometimes, when they’re lying next to each other at sleepovers, James and Kendall will lazily measure the growth of their hands against each other, palm to palm, finger to finger. They will catalogue the differences between them, the scars and the length and the places where soft flesh and bone make unfamiliar shapes. James always observes as long as possible, fascinated by the heat Kendall can generate in that single point of contact, like a whisper of summer over his skin.
He folds like a deck of cards.
At first, the party isn’t bad. There’s a keg full of icy cold beer and a table for pong and James pretty much knows everyone there. It’s a good time for a Friday night, right up until the girl Kendall’s after makes her presence known.
She’s not even anything special, just a puck fuck with a sweet smile who watches all of their practices. James thinks she compensates for her unfortunate face by treating Kendall like a god that she wants to worship on her knees.
With her mouth, probably.
Kendall is up in her personal space, getting really, really handsy, and James hasn’t been this uncomfortable since the last fight between his parents, when his dad repeatedly yelled blow me, you stupid cunt at his mom. When the kissing starts, it’s even worse, because James dreams about being kissed like that; tongue and teeth and saliva and naked desire and the absolute certainty that the night is going to end one way.
On a normal day, he likes to watch the way Kendall kisses girls, the way his lips are butterfly gentle, the way he’s a fucking artist with his tongue. But today, half-drunk from piss-water beer and his own self-loathing, James is less than interested in being a casual observer. He realizes he has never seen Kendall look so focused, so crazy intense off the ice, and he’s not sure what to do with himself, with his eyes, or with his hands. His heart is hammering, spastic in his chest, and his palms are sweaty like he’s nervous. The place where Kendall should be is negative space at his side.
James thinks that it probably wouldn’t be the same, if he ever did get a kiss like that. For one, Kendall would have to crane his head up instead of down, which would probably mess up everything and- yeah. James frowns at shoes. It probably wouldn’t be any good at all.
Which is totally fine. James doesn’t want to be kissed by Kendall. That would be stupid, because Kendall’s got a dick, and James isn’t into that.
Probably.
No, definitely.
The girl breaks the kiss and trails her fingers along Kendall’s arm. James wants to hurt her.
Kendall pants, “What’s wrong?” and nudges his nose along the line of her throat.
“This is a party.” She shrugs. “We should enjoy it.”
Kendall palms over her butt, murmurs, “I am enjoying it,” just loud enough that James can hear.
“Right, but, before we have a private party, you need to do something for me.” The girl grins, and James doesn’t like that look at all. He takes a sip of his beer, feels it burn in his stomach, coughs. He wants to go home.
“Name it.” Kendall licks the girl’s earlobe. “Anything. I’ll do anything.”
“Great. I want to see you do body shots. Off of him.” She points at James, giggling, impressed by her own brilliance.
James nearly spits out his drink. “Excuse me?”
“Okay.” Kendall shrugs, like it’s no big deal. He smirks at James, pretty and insolent, and honestly, James thinks he’s kidding.
James keeps on thinking he’s kidding until he’s sprawled across the kitchen counter, his shirt rucked up beneath his armpits, and Kendall’s mouth is closing over his navel. There’s a wet suck, and all the girls are cheering. James thinks that’s going to be the end of it, because he can tell that Kendall is wincing from the burn of tequila in his throat, but then his tongue darts out, dipping into James’s belly button and licking up whatever droplets remain.
James can’t even help the sudden fatness to his dick. And Kendall is suddenly so, so close, his mouth latching onto the wedge of lime sticking from James’s lips. Their mouths are nearly touching, and then they are touching, a light brush as Kendall gets hold of the lime. It is an electric thrill that James can feel in his bones.
When Kendall pulls back, he grins at James, like this whole thing is funny.
It’s not funny. It’s not funny that James is half hard because of his best friend’s stupid fucking mouth, and it’s not funny that Kendall turns away to pull that bitchy girl into a kiss, like she’s his prize for turning James on. It just makes James mad, from the press of their lips to the way Kendall palms her ass, his fingers bunching in her skirt and then deftly slipping beneath it.
“Kendall,” James says sharply, because it’s not fair.
He is a child having a fit, and he doesn’t care. Why should he be forced to put up with something when he doesn’t want to? Because it’s the nice thing to do? It’s James’s life.
Kendall pulls back, his lips red. He blinks and asks, “Why are you being so squeamish? It’s not like you’re exactly a vestigial virgin, dude.”
James flushes, this horrible, icky, itchy blush that glows beneath his skin like a bad sunburn.
Kendall’s mouth drops open, and for this long moment James thinks he’s going to ask what’s wrong, but then the girl is burying her face into Kendall’s collarbone, her arms like octopus tentacles around his middle, drawing him against her, drawing him away.
It’s like James isn’t even there.
---
Faith is this preppy cheerleader that James meets at the party. She’s halfway to wasted and more than a little friendly, and even though James knows it’s wrong, he takes advantage of it. Kendall is upstairs, pounding his fuck buddy into a mattress, and James is lonely and plastered and he wants the heat of Kendall’s mouth back on his skin. He hooks up with Faith on this grotesque looking paisley print couch in the basement of the house they’re in, rubbing their bodies together until this ridiculous friction and dry heat builds between their hips.
James comes embarrassingly quickly in his jeans, sticky-wet against his boxers and shame burning across his cheeks and his collarbone, Faith panting his name over and over again.
He never ends up talking to her after that, at school or any subsequent parties, too humiliated by his own inexperience to find the right words.
Later on, James acknowledges it’s a pretty dickish thing to do, but at least he’s catching up to Kendall.
James feels like that’s really important.
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