A Clouded Dream On An Earthly Night
A/N: Sometimes, ssometimes?/s I write some really fucking weird shit. This is one of those times. I blame my mother for this, actually. I used to wake up on Sunday mornings to her listening to weird Celtic music (we are not even a hint of Irish). (Again, this is a reup, and I'm so sorry for spam. :( But this was originally posted on July 24, 2011).
James runs through the woods, boots crunching long dead leaves as he races to catch up. Kendall's a flicker in the distance, body parts silvered by the moonlight like flashes of armor. The clouds hang low in the sky, black creeping into the charcoal gray as the night wears on. Every now and then a shy star will peek through, burning bright and brilliant before disappearing beneath the downy blanket of cumulus.
Up ahead, there is an orange gold glint, the happy crackle of fire and the static rhythm of an old boom box. There are bodies that weave and wind together, dancing out their own versions of a pagan ritual. Glowsticks arc in the air, fireflies in neon pink, electric blue, and the most unnatural of yellows. Kendall dives into that crowd, and James gasps, trying to follow. When Kendall disappears from view, lost in a sea of teenagers with shadowed faces, James picks up speed. He'll follow him anywhere, this brave knight of a boy, to the end of the Earth or places that just feel like it. He thinks he could outrun a horse, or a herd of them; stallions and mares and the wind itself.
He has to catch Kendall. Its how the game works.
The clearing's marked off by smooth faced stones collected from the blue-black depths of a nearby lake. They're arranged in a fairy circle around the trees and the kids, the dancing flames of the bonfire making everything look eerie, like within those stones lies another dimension. James vaults over them, nearly slipping on a discarded aluminum can of Bud, amber liquid seeping into the dirt and the mud and the last of the autumn leaves.
A girl dances by with raven feathers in her hair. She's wearing a mask, like half the crowd, cheap plastic things from the dollar store. She smiles a predatory smile, circling James, trying to draw him into the beat of the music blasting through the chill night air.
James catches a glimpse of Kendall across the clearing. He's got a girl draped on either arm, his body outlined by firelight and magic. When he throws back his head to laugh, James wants to lick along the line of his throat. Kendall is majestic. James wants to kneel before him, to lay the world at his feet along with a crown and a sword. He thinks that Kendall can conquer anything.
Even him. He wants it so bad. He wants bruises on his hips and thunder in his veins. He wants to feel tonight a week from now, to press his fingers into the marks that Kendall has made and tremble in remembrance. He extricates himself from the girl with the nevermore grin and darts past drama geeks with flowers in their hair, tattoos lining their feet as they tip toe barefoot to spray an unsuspecting jock with liquor, their laughter sparkling. When James makes it across the clearing, Kendall is already gone.
The girls he stood with grin and hand James a red cup that shimmers with ambrosia gold, bubbles and the scent of hops. There is a box of plastic masks at their feet. James groans, downing the beer and then forging back into the crowd, into the crush of his classmates with their firefly Glowsticks and their half-hidden faces. He stands in the midst of them, empty cup clutched in his hand, trying to find the only face he wants to see.
James feels fingers trail electricity across his shoulders and back, increasing in voltage the lower the hands stray. Taking a shaky breath, James spins to grab at his attacker, but Kendall has already retreated. James catches a glimpse of a mischievous smirk and the bright green of his eyes before he vanishes in the crush again.
It happens two more times; a squeeze at his hip that feels like fire arcing across his skin, a fluttery kiss at the back of his neck, and then nothing. Desire is an uncomfortable ache in James's gut, warm and endless. It's a throb in his jeans, and he will win this game.
The first time he made love to Kendall it was in the bed of his dad's pickup. He remembers the blankets he brought, the isolated clearing and the abrupt hush of snowfall. The way they couldn't wait anymore, even though it was balls cold. Kendall had looked James straight in the eye and said, "I don't want to hurt you."
And James had laughed and told him that there was no way that was even possible; but in reality it was the moment that he'd realized he trusted Kendall with his life. That even if it did hurt, it was okay, as long as it was Kendall, always and forever.
He remembers the way Kendall hovered over him, his whole body trembling, because this was a line they had never crossed. For a minute, the only sound between them was their soft breathing and the snap of latex as, fumbling, Kendall rolled on a condom. Kendall's body was a space heater against his, and beneath the huge blanket it was like their own little world, James's breath like a whisper of a moccasin until Kendall slid inside him, and then it turned ragged and harsh, like Kendall was tearing the oxygen from his throat.
And god did it hurt, for the first few minutes; a sharp stinging pain that James will never forget. Eventually it became a dull ache as the feeling of Kendall moving inside of him overwhelmed the sting. It wasn't just the pleasure, the friction and the desire that made it good then. It was the intimacy of the shared space between them.
Now, the things they do don't hurt at all. The thought of it sparks like dry lightning in James's stomach, anticipation building in his bones.
He spots Kendall dancing with a girl from their math class across the bonfire, his fingers instinctively curling into fists. Kendall is holding a green Glowstick and the color shading his cheekbones makes his face look impish; almost demonic with the addition of the mask. But James can tell it's him, by the way his hair shines golden-orange in the reflection of the flames, like he's wearing a crown of fire and moonlight. His hips are pressed up against the girl's butt, and they're moving in time to the tinny radio, hips dipping, hearts pounding. James's ears begin to roar, and he loses the rhythm of the music, of the night around him.
All he can see is that every time Kendall moves, the girl's mouth drops open in a silent gasp. There is no space at all between her spine and Kendall's chest. They sway together, unsteady but graceful, and it doesn't look anything but sexual. It's not hard to imagine the whole thing going on without clothes. Kendall's hand wraps around her hip, in the same place he touched James, in the same spot where the ghost of his fingers still burns against James's skin. And then, like James's scent carried over on the wind like a warning, Kendall's head snaps up. He meets James's gaze, smile dark with shadows and a challenge.
James stalks towards them, absolutely intent on taking his prize.
"Can I cut in?" James growls, eyes focused on the places where Kendall's face indents, on the dimples that deepen with James's proximity. He's so fucking cocky.
The girl opens her mouth to say something. Maybe she thinks James's invitation is for her. He doesn't get to find out; Kendall pushes her away, winding his arms around James's neck, his skin glowing with a sheen of sweat and fire.
Possessively, James wraps his arms around Kendall's waist, holding him close enough that the hollow spaces between them vanish. He wants to get closer still, to ease the slice of envy in his chest and make sure that everyone knows who Kendall belongs to. James tightens his hold and glares at the girl, who is already scampering away.
Kendall laughs against James's neck and it rumbles in James's chest, warming his insides.
"Don't be jealous," he instructs.
The music changes to something unfamiliar, with a steady drumbeat and indistinguishable lyrics. Kendall hums along, his voice getting beneath James's skin.
When they were kids, Kendall's easy talent bothered him.
Now he appreciates its beauty, appreciates the way his veins shiver to the melody of it like a tuning fork and the way it sends tingles straight to his cock.
Kendall's hips press insistently into James's, swaying too slow to keep up with the radio's fast paced beat. It's like he's moving to something no one else can hear, a Druid chant thrumming through the air.
"I'm not jealous," James replies, but the venom in his voice is telling. No one else gets to touch Kendall like this; he is James's boy-king and knight; slayer of dragons, lover and best friend. There is not a part of Kendall that does not belong to him, and James has never been very good at sharing. "You did that on purpose."
He tightens his hold on Kendall's waist, and Kendall does not try to pull away from it. He knows full well that he is every bit as unhealthily possessive as James is.
Last time that James idly flirted with a girl he threatened to beat her down with a hockey stick. Maybe it will become a problem in the future, but for the moment they are content to own each other, wholly.
They're not really dancing, but Kendall acts like they are. He does something filthy with his hips all in the name of moving to the music, and James can feel how hard he is for him.
"I knew you did it on purpose," he repeats, voice going husky, and Kendall smirks. It's definitely a yes; nothing turns him on like James getting all growly and dominant. He rolls his hips again, and James groans, moving his hands lower so that his fingers dip beneath the waistband of Kendall's jeans. He's still got that fire-halo, and his eyes are blazing, intense.
James likes those eyes focused on him. His whole life, there has never been anyone he has loved as much or as passionately. There has never been anyone he's loved more than his own reflection in the mirror, until now.
It could consume him if he isn't careful.
"Come on," Kendall whispers. He presses his hand to James's, skin rough and callused, the Glowstick between them. He twines their fingers together, eyes dancing behind his mask. James follows, entranced, carefully treading in Kendall's footsteps.
Out of the corner of his eyes, James can see other couples dancing deeper into the woods, streaming from their fairy circle into the big bad darkness that threatens to swallow them whole. He can hear laughter and humming and the snap pop of beer cans fizzing open. The moonlight is cold steel in the sky, half buried in clouds. Nights like these are supernatural, are magic. James feels it in his blood, in his fingers and toes and the places where Kendall presses into him.
He follows Kendall out of the clearing, and as they go Kendall steals a blanket from the ground, a tattered thing abandoned by dancers. Kendall leads James out into the woods, past the shadowy shapes of the once familiar forest. The Glowstick clenched between their intertwined hands gives off a soft lime green light.
And then Kendall shoves James against a tree.
"I'm going to make you come so hard," he says with a wicked grin.
"Oh yeah?" James retorts, trying to sound snarky, but mostly his voice sounds rough. Kendall laughs, burying the sound in James's shoulder.
"I'm going to make you sing for me," he mumbles into James's skin, so low and husky that James can barely hear it. But he does hear it, and the words sit there, full of promise, burning against his collarbone long after Kendall's mouth has gone searching down his chest; sucking oaths against his nipples, his sternum, and each and every one of his ribs. All James can think is that from now on, every time he thinks of singing, he's going to associate it with this, with the obscene way Kendall is going to force moans from his body.
They've made love in every way, from sweet shared pleasure that builds like a storm to brutal fucking that leaves every part of James feeling raw. He wants both, tonight; the ferocity and the love, the glow and the catastrophe. The places we love become a part of us, and the woods turn James feral, unpredictable.
I'm half sick of shadows, James thinks.
"Take off that stupid mask," he says, grabbing the plastic from Kendall's face. And then he's laid bare, magnetic gaze and the freckles on his nose and the angles of his cheekbones.
Kendall is devastatingly gorgeous. Just looking at him makes James ache. And he doesn't know what to do when Kendall is looking at him like that, like he is a precious thing. He clutches the tree bark, fingers wending under vines, slipping on moss while Kendall kisses soft behind his ear.
Somehow, James has ended up with the Glowstick, and he traces the plastic along Kendall's cheek, over the shape of his lips when he pulls back, casting Kendall's face in witchlight. When he smiles, it's half soft, half vicious, and it makes James quake inside.
Kendall snatches the Glowstick away. He spreads out the stolen blanket on a blanket of leaves, dirt and twigs, guiding James down onto it. It's not comfortable, not at all, but there's something about the soft dirt beneath the layer of grime that makes James feel like he's living in a fairytale. This is what people used to do in the years before years existed. In the moonlight and the woods, James is becoming a wild thing, a creature of old.
The distant music thuds, moving the ground like the thunder of horses' hooves. Kendall pushes James's jeans and boxers down around his hips, the denim scraping against his flesh uncomfortably. He sucks on his own fingers and then kisses against James's throat, hand moving against the curve of his ass. Kendall's still got the Glowstick pressed against his index like a second finger. He works the both of them up inside of James until the combination of hard and soft and rigid have him squirming. He fucks back onto Kendall's hand and thick plastic, the surface of his skin alive with nerves, alive with the need to be touched more and harder. Kendall adds another digit, and another, smiling against James's chest.
"Get naked already," James groans, hands tugging at Kendall's shirt, and he can't concentrate, he feels full with Kendall's fingers spreading him open, pressure and heat and the alien sensation of plastic making his dick swell and redden against his belly. Obligingly, Kendall pulls away, tugging his shirt up and over his shoulders. He pushes down his jeans and starts digging around in the back pocket for a condom. James is watching, James is aching. He feels wide open and empty, and he needs Kendall buried so deep inside of him that he'll never feel this lonely twinge again. Kendall knows it, and he's up in James's space now, one hand pressed warm and large against his thigh, his cock poised against his asshole, pulse jumping in the head like a butterfly; a fluttery, breathing thing. A red flush has crept up Kendall's chest, overcoming the freckles and the scars and the moles that dot his skin. His heart is pounding so hard that James can feel it, between them, and he can feel his heart echoing in kind.
He loves this moment, the instant before Kendall slides in home. His dick twitches, pre-cum drizzling down the side of it all messy and hot like spilt tea. Kendall moves like he's got something to prove, inch by inch penetrating James so that he can feel himself being spread wide open. When his eyes try to close of their own accord, Kendall stops it, grabbing hold of his chin and forcing him to meet his gaze, too-green and too-intent, pupils wide enough that James can see universes inside of them.
The stars blaze overhead the same way they did hundreds of thousands of years ago. James can feel Kendall under his hands, skin moving across muscle, and he can hear the living, moving dance surrounding him, the heartbeats of classmates and strangers as they lose themselves around the fire. And then Kendall is deep; he's totally sheathed inside of James and for a beat it's just this, just being completely whole for a single second in all of space and time. Then Kendall's hips stutter back, and James can feel Kendall move inside of him in time with the rhythm of this bacchanalia.
He pushes in hard and James can feel the foreign edges of latex and beneath it, the heated flesh of Kendall's dick. He can feel Kendall's hands tracing the shape of his hipbones, can feel the weight of his own cock as it strains for some kind of contact other than the brief glancing brushes against Kendall's stomach. He tries to be helpful; to move against Kendall, to clench his muscles just right. He tries to line of the angles of their bodies until all Kendall can feel is James. But it's hard to keep it together when Kendall is fucking him, when he's pounding into James's body with his gaze trained right on James's face. Those eyes of his are going to tear James apart.
The Glowstick lies discarded but it is still bright green, and now both of their bodies are witch-lit and shadowy, fluorescent skin and electric eyes and places where the darkness threatens to overwhelm them both. Everywhere that Kendall is touching along James's legs and arms and ass feels skin-melting, pooled warmth, golden, like the sun, like Kendall is reducing James to pinpricks of light. His dick is this constant assault on his ass, and James thinks about what it looks like inside of him, about the angry red lines of it and the way it's probably leaking with pre-cum beneath the translucent latex. He can feel the ridge of the condom and the hair curling soft around the base of his shaft and the way that the skin of his balls smacks all tight and hot against James's ass. Inside of James's body, something is building; sparks of electricity and the empty ache metamorphosed into something this inevitable, overwhelming wave of lust and pleasure and damnit, Kendall was right. He's going to make James come so fucking hard.
James is groaning or moaning or singing, and he's not sure which but his voice is loud and Kendall's grunts accompany it, laying a foundation for the places where James's breath runs out and his moans get thread and weak. He thrusts up when James bucks down; he pulls out when James clenches at his shoulders and tries to keep him close, close; he's so fucking close.
Kendall leans down and kisses him, hard and wet and filthy. Their teeth click, his tongue pillaging James's mouth; one second wending soft against his, the next licking the outline of his molars. And James can't take it, can't take the way Kendall is pressed inside of him in more than one way, his tongue and his dick dipping and moving and forcing James apart. His hands claw at Kendall's back, at the constellation of his freckles and his hockey toned muscles. The distant music is a roar in James's ears; a backdrop to Kendall's panted breath, to the squelch of the condom and the slap of their skin and the night-magic sounds overhead. The length of Kendall is pressed against the surface of James's skin and his tongue is a soft caress against James's and his hands are squeezing bruises into James's thighs where he's keeping them stilled. James can't help it; he comes, and it's this blissed out moment of blackness where he can't see or feel anything but the pleasure wracking his body.
When his vision comes back Kendall is losing all tempo, his hips moving short and fast into James so very hard and James is still coming, still clenching around him in this involuntary rhythm-less pattern that paints the both of their stomachs white. Kendall loses it completely, shouting James so loud that it overtakes the music. He shudders into James's body, and James holds him close through it, feeling their hearts pound as one while he whispers, "I love you, I love you, I love you."
Over Kendall's shoulder, the clouds have gone completely, and James can see the stars laid out like a map of the kingdom they'll one day rule, together.