Title: Before You Know Where You Are (You're Saying Goodbye)
Author's Note: So I'm making this one A/N and I promise not to interrupt with any others. This will probably be 3 parts, this prologue being exceptionally short compared to upcoming parts. And, yeah, the title comes from lyrics from The Crying Game, and I realize that might seem trite, but, hey, it works. This fic centers around crossdressing as a kink, folks, and if that bugs you, turn away now. Umm, I tried not to make this all angsty and more silly, but I have such a hard time with silly, so, yeah, this happened.
Warnings: Crossdressing, swearing, slash, homophobia, angst, not exactly HEA, smut, voyeurism, cheating (if that even bothers anyone when it's Kendall cheating on Jo and/or Logan cheating on Camille)
Disclaimer: I don't own BTR, but the writer's and I obviously both enjoy these guys in dresses. Ha.
The only thing marring the beauty of the landscape is the cracked, gray pavement as it winds, hugs the path laid out in front of them. The greenery reaches out over the road, sun slanting through and chasing shadows in the spring breeze.
Kendall stares at the profile of the driver: doe eyes covered by sunglasses, lashes - he is certain - touching the lenses with each blink, the perfect curve of a nose leading down to full lips painted the brightest of ruby. Perfect. A beauty to rival the bright California sunshine, the scenery laid out in mountainous curves.
As though he hasn't touched the driver dozens - maybe hundreds - of times, he stretches out a hand tentatively, fingers splayed and searching, yearning. First fingertips and then his palm meet a silken knee swathed in the finest of thigh-high stockings.
They were a gift.
Pushing up the flimsy material of a skirt, Kendall reveals an almost-polished thigh, garters clutching the lacy toppings of silk. He smooths a finger under the dark, frilly fabric, enticing a tremor from the leg underneath his touch. Wide brown eyes peek at him over the top of the lenses, reminding him where his heart resides as it speeds along with the car.
The driver rolls down the windows, the breeze ghosting in the car with an audible whoosh. Locks of hair colored as deeply as the driver's eyes begin reaching upwards, to the left and right, skipping over lightly-tanned, spaghetti-strapped shoulders. For Kendall, the tendrils hide too much. There's a scent in the air, something floral, something blooming in the heady, heated season, something Kendall can't name, but he's sure his companion could. His hand leaves its place on the other's thigh and reaches to cease the fluid movement of the driver's hair by pushing it behind an unpierced ear. He leans over, lips going as close to that ear as he dares, confident the heat of his breath will warrant another shiver.
"You missed a spot," Kendall breathes, fingers once again searching the skin of the driver's thigh, his eyes tracing the lines of a lean, muscled leg, ending at patent-leather heels with a rounded toe. He traces the tip of his finger around a patch of coarse, dark hair on the driver's leg, and the shudder he had meant to draw out of the other moves within himself.
"Because I know you like it," Kendall's companion replies. The voice speaking is deep - a voice Kendall finds himself falling into like a repeated chorus, a voice so masculine it contradicts the clothing the driver wears.
Kendall runs his nose along the driver's jaw, stopping under his ear, inhaling deeply as a sweet scent unfurls with each thump of his heart. The want rising in Kendall threatens to overtake him, the absolute, all-consuming need moving through him, threatening to steal his consciousness, throw him to the ether.
"What is that smell?" Kendall asks, mouth puckering and pressing against that spot, the thumpthump of Logan's pulse reverberating in Kendall's lips, making him dizzy.
Logan laughs, a boyish smirk curling the corner of his mouth. "It's just lavender soap," he offers.
As long as he can remember, Logan has known there are two hundred and six bones in the human body. He knows thirty-seven divided by three point seven equals three plus seven. He knows he could read about theories on quantum entanglement until he passes out. Logan knows a brain doesn't feel pain and runs on ten watts of power and that the higher a person's I.Q., the more dreams they have.
Logan dreams all the time, even when he's awake.
The driver knows when he was four, his older sister dressed him up like a princess. He easily recalls the sound of his mother's shiny, heart-shaped pendant being clasped by his sister's clumsy hands. He knows he loved the way the tutu she put on him flared and made it look like his hips were more rounded. Logan knows the crushed velvet of the top with a silky lining felt beautiful against his skin, his hands as he slid them up and down his belly. He can still remember how the tip of the lipstick was cool against his lips. He knows it all made him feel special.
Logan knows his father was furious. He knows until that day he had never been so ashamed of having a smile on his face.
He's never wanted to be a girl; that's not what this is about. The idea is to feel beautiful again, desired, lovely, cherished. Kendall makes Logan feel it all, even when he doesn't wear a stitch of clothing, but Logan has yet to admit this to himself. Maybe he never will.
Logan's eyes leave the road again, for a moment, but they remain hidden behind his dark glasses. This way, he can peer at Kendall without giving anything away: his desire, the dark need tightening his stomach, the emotion planted in his heart when they were nothing but children. Kendall only sees his own want in the reflective lenses. The driver turns back to the road and swallows as Kendall's hand palms the bulge burgeoning under Logan's clothes. The car's speed lessens as they turn left, a slow breath expelled past Logan's trembling lips.
The car is parked and Logan extracts Kendall's hand, straightens the lines of his skirt, nervously tugs the tops of his stockings. He checks his lipstick in the rearview mirror, puckering his lips, and - pretending he is perfectly calm – he aims a tiny kiss at his reflection. Kendall chuckles, grabs Logan's hand.
"We're here," Logan says.