Hoping For The Shore
By: Jondy Macmillan
A/N: This is a sequel. Apparently it's readable without reading Grab My Bags And Go (according to an LJ reviewer) because I'm a bit meticulous about some things, but. I was, admittedly, lazy elaborating on a few things here. The world will make a whole lot more sense if you've read that. If you insist on not doing so, then let me say that yes, the apocalypse has no origins, no, it is not a zombacalypse, and yes, Shells are zombies. Now. I wrote this for three reasons. The first of which being that I discovered the song If I Had A Boat by James Vincent McMorrow about two weeks after I posted Grab My Bags And Go. It's pretty much the theme song of this entire 'verse, whole thing was beta-d by jblostfan16, who not only was this thing's biggest cheerleader from the second she found out I'd written it, but who also agreed to put up with me and all my neuroses and did a magnificent job beta-ing this monstrosity. Seriously, she saved my life and my sanity and I'm so grateful.
When James is very small, before the world ends, his mother hugs him tight and asks if he will sing to her.
She teaches him the lyrics to all the best songs; those by Whitney and Madonnna, Tina, Arethra and Gloria. She teaches him how to hold a melody in his lungs and breathe it out like oxygen.
James likes the singing, but he also likes the tradeoff. He gets a story, afterwards.
Sometimes they're the classics; St. George and the Dragon, or the legends of King Arthur. Sometimes they're more fanciful; something from the Brothers Grimm or Anderson or a tale that his mom makes up off the top of her head.
Brooke Diamond is a tough woman. Hard is the word that James has heard people use. But she is not that woman when she tucks James in every night at bedtime.
She is his mother, who does all the voices for Harry and Hermione and Ron. She is the evil witch, the little mermaid, and the dashing prince, all wrapped into one. She makes shadow puppets and tells him that he will twinkle brighter than any diamond ever has. That he will drown out the darkness in this world.
There is nothing James loves more than her stories. Sometimes he tries to finagle his way out of singing and skip to the good part, to his favorite time of the night. When he does that, she frowns and says, "Stories aren't true, James. But songs- music. It's a reflection of what's in a person's heart."
"But," James bites his lip and asks, "Don't the stories you tell come from your heart?"
He thinks about his favorite tale, about Prince James and his field of unicorns and the brave knight at his side.
"They do," Mrs. Diamond says, "But with a song, you can't twist the notes. You can't lie."
James doesn't know if that's true. He thinks it's all just so much make believe. He thinks of his dad, singing to his mother and how there is a lie there. One that she can't seem to see.
Even thinking it makes him feel guilty, so he agrees to sing.
His mother listens to James belt out Black Velvet and tells him that he has a voice like an angel.
"One day, baby boy," she says, "You are going to outshine the stars."
And James believes her, because she is his mom. He doesn't know how to do anything else.
The day the world ends is not a day.
It's a month, a long stretch of days that are endless and awful, and the thing is, they don't really affect James at all until they do. He's too young to watch the news and too selfish to care about the things his mom and dad talk about over the dinner table.
What he does notice is the lipstick on his father's neck, a bright pink stamp just below the collar of his leather jacket. What he does see is the way his mother's mouth turns all stern when she spots the same thing. It's the same expression she wears when James breaks something expensive and irreplaceable in the house.
What James notices on the brink of the apocalypse is love, about to end, and that feels pretty apocalyptic.
He almost isn't surprised when the firebombs rain down on his home in a futile attempt to contain the contagion. He almost isn't surprised when his mother lights up like a birthday cake candle, all aflame.
Almost.
James is never quite able to erase the image of his mother's screaming face from his mind after that. Or that of his father, who survives just that little bit longer, who manages to get James out and away only to be overtaken by one of the hordes, skin blistering with plague at the slightest touch.
James barely escapes.
He squats in the shell of someone's home for the next three weeks, living off pop tab cans of Campbell's soup that he heats in a small fire in the backyard started from twigs. He's used to camping out with his dad during long summers, but he still nearly burns down the house he's chosen after the first try. It's only the thick picnic blanket and the mantra of stop drop and roll turning over in his head in the voice of his first grade teacher that helps him smother the thing to embers. He feels bad about the scorch marks on the topsoil, but he figures the family that used to live in the house is never coming back, and he barely has enough room left in his head for guilt on top of all the other things he feels; the loss and the grief and the absolute terror.
When the Mitchells find him, he's on his last can of soup and his ribs are starting to poke out of his skin like a Halloween skeleton.
James knows that he's lucky when he sees Logan's face. Over three quarters of their small town has already evacuated, and the only reason James hasn't even tried to get out is because he's heard about the toll the highwaymen are charging at the edge of town. If you can't pay it, they say bad things happen to you. James could sneak out past the forest, but he's only six and a half. He doesn't know where to go. Not until Logan arrives, face filthy with soot, clothes torn, but who is wearing the same smile that James has known his whole life. He tells James in his fiercest voice that he refused to let his parents leave until they found James.
Or whatever was left of him.
Mrs. Mitchell breaks down crying. James doesn't understand most of what she says, but he does get that she saw the fire. That she saw his mom and thought that James died the same way. That she's sorry for not believing.
James forgives her. He didn't really believe he'd survived either, not until he was wrapped in Logan's scrawny arms.
They head west to California, because people say that the world isn't so bad there. That there are still palm trees and birds of paradise and movie stars with pearly white smiles.
No one mentions the Shells or the toxic water or the dead zone ten miles long.
No one mentions that Los Angeles is a wasteland.
James is the one who finds Kendall and Carlos, playing catch in the middle of what used to be Rodeo Drive. He recognizes Kendall immediately, because he is golden and unchanged. James knows Kendall only has a vague recollection of who he is. Kendall thinks he's some kid from one of the town's opposing hockey teams, but James used to sit in the stands during Kendall's team's peewee practice, watching Knight play and wondering if he would ever get that good.
It doesn't seem fair that the apocalypse has happened and Kendall is still perfect, still charming and blessed. James gets the attention of the Mitchells, and he hides behind their legs as they reintroduce themselves.
After that, James chooses to ignore Kendall's existence in favor of Logan and Carlos, who used to be in the same Boy Scout troop as Logan before the big bang. But Kendall's not very good at being ignored. He's loud and he's brash and he does reckless things, and they've barely been reunited for two days before he runs into a collapsing discount warehouse on his tiny little legs to save as many crates of water as humanly possible.
Logan's brave, but not stupidly so, and he stares in abject horror as the ceiling begins to crumble, blocking the entrance that Kendall has disappeared through. Even Carlos, who as far as James can tell is pretty stupidly brave, is watching instead of running, eyes searching for another way in.
James spots it first, and before he can stop himself, he's dashing towards the hole in the wall, diving through and narrowly avoiding becoming a paraplegic for life as debris crashes down around him.
He finds Kendall sitting pretty at the back of the warehouse, where the ceiling has decided to stay perfectly intact. He's humming over what must be thirty cases of clean water, looking way too pleased with himself.
"You're a moron," James pants, trying to catch his breath and control his fear.
Kendall looks at him and smiles his impish little smile and says, "Maybe. But we're not going thirsty this week. Look at all this."
He's as proud as if he found a treasure trove of gold, and he should be. Water is worth infinitely more, now.
"How do we get it out?" James asks, looking skeptically at the barred back entrance. There's a heavy padlock and chain keeping the doors shut. The way he came in has vanished, and Kendall frowns, looking uncertain.
They end up trapped inside the warehouse for two days, surviving off of trail mix and nutria-grain bars while Logan hunts down a book on lock picking and then coaches them through it, his voice disembodied through a tiny hole that Carlos busted in the rubble.
Those two days are enough to convince James that Kendall really is a knight.
James tries to make himself useful.
He knows that the Garcias and the Mitchells and Mrs. Knight don't have to keep him around. There are so many homeless children now, wandering the street. James is constantly wondering what makes him any better than all of them, and it's a new feeling. He is no longer his mother's baby boy.
He is one of too many.
The thing James is best at is finding things to trade. He instinctively understands the barter system.
He grew up on it, after all; a song for a story and a story for a song.
James will hear Mrs. Knight tell her son and her daughter that she loves them, late in the night. He sometimes eavesdrops while the Garcias and the Mitchells do the same.
No one ever says anything like the word love to James.
His makeshift family has come to care about him; deeply. He knows it. He also knows that they all think to tell James that they love him is taboo. After all, he hasn't heard anyone say it since his mom and dad died.
Logan tries, sometimes. He opens his mouth, all brotherly affection, but right when his lips waver over the 'lo', he stops. He thinks better of it.
James wishes he wouldn't. But he won't beg for it. He thinks that if someone really loves him, they won't have a problem saying the words, all on their own.
James wonders if he will ever really live in anyone's heart again.
By the time James turns thirteen, there is not a single day that he doesn't remember waking up tired. He has nightmares now, about what he has lived through. He wakes up clawing at his skin, trying to dig out the imagined infection that's crawled inside of him. The god-awful dreams keep him up all hours; the images of the things that he has lost have turned to specters that haunt him.
He lives inside the body of an old subway car with his friends and their parents, with Katie and all of Carlos's siblings. They don't appreciate it when he screams through the night until his throat has gone raw. They don't appreciate it, but they don't try to fix it, either.
James isn't sure that they can.
Kendall is the one who takes the initiative. He keeps James awake until he's so exhausted that his eyelids feel like lead. They trade dirty jokes and contraband whiskey and stories over the fire until dawn touches the sky. It just serves to make them both so much more tired. One night, James is in the midst of recounting the legend of King Arthur to Kendall, thinking that this man with his destiny reminds him of the boy curled into his side, and then-
He falls asleep. It's too many sleepless nights catching up with him. It's the comfort of a warm body by his side, and this fleeting idea that he's safe when he's with Kendall.
James wakes up with his head pressed to Kendall's chest; the slow, steady beat of his heart pounding beneath his ribcage as soothing as any song. James doesn't get up. He is content to lie there, tangled with his best friend, feeling truly restful for the first time in ages. The fire has burned down to small, sparking embers, and James watches them dance with his chin tucked into Kendall's sternum. He imagines that he sees horses and knights and dragons and a brave once and future king.
He decides right there and then that if someone told him that Kendall was the reincarnation of King Arthur, he would believe it. After all, he never thought anyone but a king could make him feel safe again in this world, this terrible, hellish place; not ever again.
James thinks there must be a reason for it, but he's still sleepy, tucked into Kendall's body. He lets his dreams take him, and for the first time in a long time, James in unafraid.
The problem with sleeping next to another warm body is that James is making that subtle transformation from boy to teenager. He doesn't have a lot of self control over his body or his emotions.
At first he thinks it's a fluke when he springs a boner with Kendall pressed into his back. Then it happens again and again and again, every night, leaving James unable to do a damned thing about it until the morning, when he wakes up in the same state he fell asleep in. Except it's even worse, because he's got Kendall pressed just that much closer to him, so hard against his ass that he can't help but rock back into it at least once.
All the guys are used to morning wood at this point, and they're all a little bit ridiculously fascinated and pleased with their own cocks. No one thinks it's strange when James springs up and bolts down the street to the nearest abandoned office building. They've all done it; all those stewing teenage hormones get to them, and not even Carlos's sisters are stupid enough to call them out on it.
Honestly, it's not even the first time that James has done it.
But James knows that this time is different when he brings himself off, babbling Kendall's name as he comes.
Carlos's sisters like to braid James's hair. They tell James that he is bonito, that he is precioso.
When James asks Carlos about it, he laughs and says that they think he is pretty. Like a girl. Carlos thinks it's a joke, but James doesn't like the way the words make him feel. Pretty was the realm of his mother, with her elixirs of youth and her metallic eye shadows.
None of it saved her from the fire, from the storm.
James spends the night staring at himself in a shard of reflective glass he rescued from a mosaic in some office building. He looks at the hue of his cheeks, the shape of his bones beneath his skin, and then the sharp edges of the glass. He thinks about how Carlos's littlest sister was held ransom by highwaymen for two days last year, before Mr. Garcia went cowboy on them and stole her back in the night.
They'd taken her because she was the loveliest of all.
Beauty, in this world, is worthless. It makes a person into a victim.
James thinks about running the jagged edge of the mirror along his cheeks, about marring the image he sees.
He doesn't do it.
Instead, he decides to become strong. He starts to run, to do pushups and pull ups and whatever he can to prove that he is not a liability.
He will not let the way he looks make him weak. Not when he has so many other things that count against him.
He starts this tradition of morning jogs, and it kills two birds with one stone.
He gets into shape and no one even suspects that he's got so little willpower that he stops off to masturbate like clockwork, every single morning, always thinking of a boy with green eyes like the toxic sky. Everyone starts to think James has aged out of puberty more quickly and gracefully than the other boys, who are still a little shy and embarrassed about their lack of control.
The truth is, James is just better at hiding it.
He doesn't only like Kendall. He's got a whole stack of glossy magazines collected from seven elevens and groceries, gaming shops and adult video stores; full of soft-breasted women with spread legs. He doesn't have a problem imagining what those legs would feel like wrapped around his hips, what it would be like to have the trimmed crosshatch of bristly hair pressed up against the base of his cock when he's buried inside one of them.
But the thing is that when he thinks about Kendall's face, about having Kendall buried inside of him, he always comes so hard that he nearly blacks out.
James likes to raid the old thrift stores best.
Most people think they're useless; bits of fabric and plastic and vintage, which was really just code for garbage even before the fall of mankind. James doesn't see them that way. He likes to think that there's history in there. That he's touching the places and things that existed back when storytellers used to spin fables like spider webs, bringing things that weren't real to life on big silver screens.
He finds a pair of bronze sunglasses, the lenses gunmetal shiny and reflective like dragon's scales.
He finds a leather jacket, crumpled and creased and wrinkled, but still tough enough to withstand a bite from human teeth, from a ravenous Shell.
He finds boots with steel toes, made for stomping and kicking and crushing the things that James doesn't like to remember.
The one thing he never finds is peace, but he's sort of given up on looking.
The first time James hears Kendall sing, it's like something clicks in his head.
James isn't the only one who likes to pick up random bits of history. Kendall finds this old guitar, broken and useless. He brings it back to the subway car, even though carrying it means leaving something else behind. He ends up making his own strings out of fishing line and bungee cord and whatever he can find. James helps when he can; he doesn't know much about music outside of singing, but his dad had a guitar. James vaguely remembers when he was young, when things were still happy, that he would strum sweet ballads to James's mom after dinner.
By the time the world ended, the guitar hadn't been touched in at least a year.
Still, James remembers, and he helps, and one day he finds Kendall sitting in front of a fire, playing it, singing. And his voice? It's not fair. James has a routine now. He can deal with the fact that he's painfully attracted to his best friend. But the things that Kendall's voice makes him feel are something new. Every time Kendall deftly strums a chord, humming along, it's like it tugs directly on James's heartstrings, the sound vibrating in his blood.
James can't keep it in. He settles beside Kendall, warming his fingers by the fire and joining the chorus. He hasn't really used his voice much since his mother died, and it's only when he hits a high note that he realizes how much he has missed this.
James sings and watches the way Kendall's fingers wrap around the neck of the guitar and thinks about how they'd look wrapped around his dick. His whole body hums with the idea of it. When Kendall finally stops playing, it is to look at James, stunned, and say, "You can sing."
James cocks an eyebrow. "So can you."
"Yeah, but. You can. Your voice," Kendall tries again, but then he stutters to a stop, like he doesn't know what to say next. He finally blurts, "It's gorgeous."
Kendall's eyes are dancing in the firelight, and James isn't thinking about sex now, at all. He's thinking that there are so many more gorgeous things in this world. He's thinking that there is nothing he would like more than to kiss the voice straight out of Kendall.
He's thinking that this is so much worse than he ever suspected.
All his life, James has been waiting for love to strike him down like lightning. And now, in this moment, he thinks that it finally has, like something out of a fairytale.
And he knows that he will never feel anything so powerful ever again.
When it rains, people hide inside the shelters they eke out their livings in. The streets, already populated by little but ghosts and monsters, empty out completely.
People are scared that the contagion from the oceans will evaporate and turn into rain, will pour down on them like death knocking at their door. But so far the rain seems safe. Logan has this whole theory about why, but James doesn't really get it. All he knows is that he likes to walk then, when the sky is thundering down on him, old newspaper and cracked concrete under his feet.
He talks to his mom and dad when the downpours really get going, even though he knows they can't hear him. He doesn't really believe in things like the afterlife or God, or whatever. It just makes him feel better to think out loud.
He tells them about Kendall, once he's figured things out. James thinks his mom really would have liked him. He's straight out of her stories, and besides, Brooke Diamond appreciated people with a backbone.
They start holding concerts around town. At first it's for fun. Carlos can dance and Logan can sort of carry a tune, and people need a distraction.
It's when they find out that people are willing to pay for that distraction that things turn into a whole different ballgame.
When Carlos finds the ferry and Kendall schemes up the idea to fix it up, Logan calls him crazy. So does Carlos, actually, after he's had a minute to think on it.
Privately, James agrees.
Kendall's twisted logic actually makes sense. They can't cover very much ground when most of the roads are blocked by tribunals and war councils and highwaymen intent on charging tolls that most people can't afford to pay. It's nearly impossible to leave the city's boundaries without hitting the cannibal-lands, and they're going to have to leave soon. Almost anything worth having has already been pillaged. Rations are running low and tensions are running high, and Kendall will do anything to protect his mom and Katie.
Anything, even the stupidly dangerous thing.
James gets that, but he's terrified of the ocean and the contagion therein. It's a different disease than what killed his dad; the apocalypse brought down all kinds of viral outbreaks. He still doesn't want to be exposed to it. He's not as brave as Kendall. Few people are. But James won't say any of that out loud. He wants to be calm, composed. Cool. He wants Kendall to think he's courageous too.
So he helps him fix the ferry up. He helps Kendall arrange the watch, standing guard over the decrepit old boat day and night. He helps Kendall launch the ship for its first voyage, even though he's pretty much resigned to sinking straight into the ocean and dying by the end of the day.
When the ferry actually manages to set sail, Kendall beams at James so bright and beautiful that he sort of loses his breath. He thinks that maybe beauty is not completely worthless. Not always.
From the deck of the ferry, the city is also a kind of beautiful. It's hard to see the places where decay has crept in, the shambles of the business centers, or the colorful adornment of the shanty towns. It's dangerous; the illusion. For the first time in a long time, James thinks of Carlos's sisters' fingers threading through his hair. He thinks of all the times they teasingly told him that he was oh-so-lovely and realizes that perhaps it is not a curse after all. The way he looks will make people underestimate him. Maybe he can use that.
Maybe it will help him protect his friends.
That night, for the first time, Kendall and James fall asleep in the cabin of their new home. James curls into the hollows of Kendall's chest and wonders if there's any way he can ever get closer to this boy, this beautiful, brave creature that so completely owns his heart.
He wants to crawl inside of him and hide away from the world, forever.
The waves rock beneath the boat, and James realizes that with the ferry, maybe that's not so completely impossible.
They've been sailing for nearly a year, stopping off at home every few weeks to drop off whatever goods they've managed to scavenge or trade for their families. Since James doesn't really have a family, he likes to back off on shore days; to give everyone some time to catch up without him looming like sadness on the edges of their vision.
Everyone insists he doesn't need to make himself scarce, but James isn't big on trusting other people's words. He remembers what his mother told him as a little boy, about stories and lies, and thinks that his absence from the happy family fresco is probably for the best.
He's coming back from a walk one day when he overhears Kendall and his mom. The year on the sea has been harsh on Kendall. They've run into some things that James doesn't like to think about; pirates and Shells and people who are still people but are somehow so much more monstrous. It's been hardest on Kendall, because he thinks he has to be their saving grace.
No one ever bothers to correct him.
"Kendall, you're such a nice boy. I don't know what's hap-" Mrs. Knight hastily snatches back the words, quickly rerouting. "I hate to see you looking so unhappy."
The way Kendall flinches away makes it clear that the damage has already been done. What's happened to you? Those unsaid words ring in the air between them. Mrs. Knight makes to touch his cheek, but Kendall snatches her wrist from midair and gently lowers it. He says, "I have to go."
"Kendall," she tries, but he is already walking away. Mrs. Knight spots James staring, and she says, "I'm just so scared for him. He's gotten so hard."
James thinks of how people used to say that about his mother, the woman who read him bedtime stories and taught him about things like beauty. Useless things, but things that are necessary, like Kendall's smile is necessary to James. Meeting Mrs. Knight's eyes, James sees that Kendall is not a king or a legend or a story. He is a boy who bears too much weight, and doesn't know what to do with any of it.
James understands for the first time that Kendall does not see his life as any kind of blessing.
"He hasn't had a choice," James explains. He leaves it at that.
They've stopped off home to deliver some goods and gotten sidetracked. James meets a girl who is just passing through. She has tousled brown hair and bright eyes like honey that dance in the bonfire. They're at a party that someone's throwing for reasons that no one's cared to mention to James. He guesses no one really needs a reason to party anymore. It's the end of the world. What else is there to do?
The girl, she's wearing a blue dress, her skin creamy against the material, and she says her name is Camille. It reminds James of the flowers that used to grow in front of his home. They dance for hours, and she moves her body like she has never known how to do anything else.
When she kisses him in the flickering shadows of the fire, she tastes sweet and rich.
Kendall isn't paying attention when Camille leads James away from the party. James knows because he looks. He looks and he sees Kendall deep in conversation with this pretty blonde girl, dancing and swaying, and it's like James's feet turn wooden. He has to take a deep breath, the air thick with sea salt and the smoke of burning firewood and the slightly acrid taste that is the constant state of Los Angeles air nowadays before he can force himself to move.
Kendall is allowed to talk to whoever he wants to.
James is too. And he's going to, because Camille is pretty and funny and into James, and he's sixteen and so incredibly horny all the fucking time.
She takes him to the beach, to a long abandoned stretch of sand occupied by a few Shells, but none that look particularly hungry. She lights a fire in one of the crumbling pits that were set in the sand for wild nights when civilization was still grand and tall and people just wanted to grasp nature between their fingers for a few timeless moments.
"Don't they scare you?" James asks Camille, pointing at a Shell half drowned in the water, sunk up to his hips and staring at the horizon like he can actually see something out there, beyond the sea.
They don't scare James much. Not even the hungry ones, the ones that run fast and bite hard. He's seen so many things that are so much worse. He's seen people turn into the monsters that hide under children's beds without any hint of contagion, without even losing the spark of their soul. Empty Shells aren't nearly so terrifying.
The thought of becoming one still fills him with fear.
"Why should they?" She shrugs. "They were people once upon a time."
James likes that, likes the hint of grandeur in her voice, the echoes of a fairytale. Once upon a time.
In another life, he thinks this girl could have been magnificent. She would have danced and sang and smiled and whole worlds would have crumbled.
She is still magnificent, there in the crackling firelight. James spares a thought for Kendall, about the way he had looked dancing in a whirlwind around the huge bonfire, eyes alight with mischief and laughter and the universe, the whole damn universe. Like he could promise to lay it all at James's feet.
But he can't and he won't, and this, most of all, is what makes James press his mouth to Camille's.
Kissing turns to touching, and touching turns into Camille straddling his thighs, hiking her skirt up around her hips. She tastes like the night sky and bootleg liquor, and even though James's blood runs through his veins for a boy who is blocks away, his heart still races for this girl, so beautiful and willing.
When Camille lowers herself onto his dick, James sees stars in the sky for the first time in ten years.
Afterwards, he sneaks back to the subway car and snuggles up to Kendall. Even sated and happy, the love he feels for this boy is overwhelming. Until now, he's felt like nothing will ever overpower it. Like no one could ever feel more for him than James. But now that James has been with someone, really, honestly been with someone, he thinks that maybe he's wrong. Maybe someone will love Kendall more than he does, some day.
Maybe they'll even love Kendall the right way, without jealousy or covetousness or the possessive need to dominate him.
Maybe it will happen, because it is what Kendall deserves.
James falls asleep dreading the future.
Carlos confronts him the next day, when Logan and Kendall are deep in discussion about the best way to brave terrain that's not exactly known for friendliness. He looks James up and down a few times before he says seriously, "I don't think you're supposed to cuddle with another guy after you fuck someone. It's not really fair to him if he gets all the afterglow and none of the benefits."
"He doesn't want me like that," James says, and he hates how plaintive his voice sounds. He crosses his arms and tries to look authoritative.
Carlos does not look impressed. "Yeah. Dude. I've known Kendall my whole life, and he has no idea what the hell he wants. I do know that after you left, he missed you."
"He said that?"
"No. But every time the fire cracked he looked to see if it was you."
Carefully, James says, "He's always on his guard."
"This wasn't jumpy Shell-fear. He wasn't scared. He was just- lonely."
James thinks about the way Kendall was talking to that girl at the party. He thinks about the way he leaned in and brushed back her hair. He shrugs. "Like you said, you've been his friend the longest. Why didn't you-"
"Because he doesn't want me," Carlos says, and he actually looks frustrated by the knowledge. "Trust me. I've tried."
"You've. Tried?" James asks warily.
Carlos doesn't look ashamed. If anything, he perks up. "You don't want to-"
"No," James replies, without even thinking about it. He's not insulted by the offer. Carlos is handsome, and it's hard being a teenager without any outlet at all. They barely get the chance to masturbate on the ferry, much less meet girls. Their attendance at parties like the one the night before isn't frequent. So yeah. He's not insulted. He's even a little bit interested, because Carlos's body is sure to be harder than Camille's in all the right ways.
But Logan's been infatuated with Carlos since the second they found each other again.
Logan hasn't said so out loud, of course, but James has noticed. He's seen how Logan appreciates Carlos's impulsiveness, his bravery, and the way he can still laugh so easily when the rest of them find it so hard. Logan may not have admitted it to himself yet, but he would push James into the motherfucking ocean himself if he even tried to lay a finger on Carlos.
"You should ask Logan," he adds.
"Logan?" Carlos makes a face. "I mean. Yeah. I guess-"
"He'll go for it. He's just as sexually frustrated as you are."
"Hey!" Carlos jumps on James, tackling him to the ground. They wrestle like that for a minute or two before Carlos untangles himself and says, "I'm serious though."
"About what?"
"About the way Kendall keeps glaring at that hickey of yours like it's a Shell-bite."
James slaps a hand against his neck, remembering the press of Camille's lips right there, like a promise. He hadn't known she'd left a mark.
Kendall loses his virginity to a tall, willowy girl they meet in Palo Alto less than a month later. He comes back to the ferry reeking of sex and covered in hickeys, red-blue like flower blossoms all across his neck and collarbone and chest.
James knows, because in the early dawn hours Kendall curls up into bed next to him, sated and content and wearing nothing but his boxers. James hasn't closed his eyes all night, but he pretends to be asleep right then, because he doesn't want Kendall to know.
That he's scared of being alone.
That he's worried that this will change things.
That jealousy is a razor blade in his chest and that he has dark rings under his eyes because Kendall is the only one who keeps the monsters at bay.
James lies awake for another hour after that, thinking of Carlos's words. All the afterglow and none of the benefits. He was right. It doesn't feel very good. James doesn't fall asleep until Kendall winds an arm around his waist, snuggling in close and murmuring, "James."
And James thinks that he will try to be content with this.
It is all he has.
They're singing on stage and Kendall looks straight at him during the chorus. It's a hit to the chest; his quick exhalation of I Love You. It's the first time James has heard someone toss those words in his direction in years.
James thinks about his mom, and the way she told him that songs were always true.
He thinks that his mom didn't know very much at all.
Songs and stories, they are both make believe. But when it's his turn to sing those same words, the same chorus, he faces Kendall when he says it. Because he grew up on the trade system.
A truth for a lie.
Afterwards, James suggests that he and Kendall start sleeping in separate beds.
He doesn't want to, but James isn't thirteen anymore. It's enough to have Kendall breathing the same air, to let the rhythm lull him to sleep. He figures he has to wean himself off of Kendall's presence for the eventuality that he will meet a girl who will take James's place at Kendall's side.
Who will take his place in Kendall's bed.
James is pretty sure that Kendall thinks he's a pioneer. A privateer. A pirate.
Kendall is dauntless.
James likes that word. He isn't sure what it means the first time he hears Logan use it, but he finds it in the pages of an old dictionary in the depths of a boat; one of Logan's countless relics. The boy reads like he breathes, like words keep him moving. James thinks that his mom would have liked Logan; that she would have appreciated this boy who inhales and exhales fiction like it is the only way to grow strong.
Kendall is strong too, and dauntless, and amazing. He believes in strength and loyalty and so many good things because he has seen so many bad things. Because he has been weakened and betrayed and abandoned by the world. They are ideals that he holds onto because he needs them to exist, to be real. James envies that; his steadfast determination. His unwillingness to ever give up.
Kendall likes to wear the captain's hat when he's behind the wheel, even though the captain's hat is actually a Minnesota Wild cap that James salvaged for him at an empty sporting goods store. But whenever he wears that stupid hat, he gets all bossy and domineering.
Which is fine, until one day it backfires.
They're in some backwater town on the coast, some place that wasn't really a place even before the apocalypse hit. They're in the midst of clearing a warehouse that doesn't seem to really have been touched. Kendall's directing all the action from the doorway, loudly reprimanding Logan when he nearly drops a box full of soup cans, heavy and unwieldy. Carlos and James are trying to balance a crate containing several jugs of juice that may or may not be well past perishable between them. Everything's going fine until James spots a Shell creeping in through the entrance they're moving towards. Its skin sags in towards its cheekbones, mouth gaping wide, a few teeth missing. James doesn't think much of it, because the dead are aimless; they shift around like water, moving wherever the wind blows them. Except then the thing; it breaks into a dash. It's running for them, sprinting like an Olympian. And there are more behind it, maws gaping wide.
James drops the crate, shoving Carlos out of the way before one of the things nearly takes a chunk out of his neck. He kicks out, trying to keep the next few from tackling Carlos, and he hears Kendall shouting, yelling something at the top of his lungs. For a second, James is not scared for himself, but for Kendall, for the boy who stupidly does not know how to take care of himself. They don't know if a Shell-bite will spread the plague, and James does not want any of them to find out. He yanks Carlos up hard by his arm and drags him along, weaving between the animalistic dead with all the grace and skill he's learned from dancing, from running, from two years of hockey when the world still held strong. Carlos follows him through, obedient, like this a new kind of choreography he's trying to master. It's not until they get out, slamming the warehouse door shut and barring it closed that they turn to see the sidewalk is splashed crimson.
Kendall is clutching Logan tight to his chest, and there is a black-red stain on his jeans. Logan looks pale, but mostly okay. Carlos breaks from James and runs to him, running his fingers over the contours of his face, murmuring something in a language James doesn't really know. The three of them help Logan back to the ferry, terrified, wordless, and it's only when they've got him tucked in with Carlos worrying over his bedside that Kendall whirls on James. He walks across the deck to him with steady, purposeful intent.
"Are you okay? Are you okay?" Kendall demands, clutching at James's face, trying to look for any hint of blood or water or a bite.
"I'm fine." Kendall's still frantically scanning somewhere along James's forehead, and James has to grab at his face to get his attention. He strokes a thumb slow over his cheekbone and breathes, "Kendall. I'm okay."
Kendall's shoulders slump in visible relief, and he leans his forehead against James's, looking like he might cry.
Because he is dauntless, but everybody loses faith sometimes.
Logan does not turn into a monster. His leg heals, although there is a dent that he will always have to show for their work.
After the attack, though, things between Carlos and Logan change. They were already together, already sharing each other's beds since James first suggested it, but something shifts between them. James finds out when he accidentally walks in on them. Carlos is hovering over Logan's body, watching him like he's this delicate, fragile thing, and Logan is staring back entranced, breath hanging between them like a prayer. James stands there for a second, watching the whole thing unfold in front of him like a mural.
He thinks, this is what real love looks like before he backs out of the room and carefully closes the door.
Things change after that. Part of it is jealousy towards Logan and Carlos. Part of it is that he resents Kendall a little bit. James knows that it's not Kendall's fault that he doesn't feel the same things that James has been fighting off since puberty first hit, but. It's hard. Seeing Logan and Carlos so obviously deeply, madly in love. It's just hard.
It gets worse when they raid Gustavo Rocque's studio. It's supposed to be a treasure trove, tucked away in the dead-lands, the deserted no-man's-land where nothing lives or breathes. They don't find anything but spoiled pudding and the carcass of a long dead cat. Kendall was hinging a lot of hope that they'd find something there; a panacea for all their ills. When they don't, it's like something shuts down inside of him. He smiles half as often, as he's so much harder to please. It's like the weight on his shoulders has increased tenfold.
And then Jo enters the picture.
At first, when James meets her, he sees a lonely girl who just wants to find her father. She shows a little trepidation when they urge her onto the ferry, but she's brave. She finds her sea legs with ease.
Kendall doesn't seem to like her much, but that changes.
It changes so quickly that it makes James's head spin. Jo flits around the boat like she's grown up on it. She's a steady presence at Kendall's side, whether he's at the wheel or pouring over navigation charts or just sitting on his own, strumming his beat up old guitar. James used to be that person, Kendall's one-man audience. He used to be the one who would stare at Kendall's fingers poised over the frets like he wanted to suck every single one of them into his mouth. Now, it becomes Jo's place.
It is an ache in James's heart than he cannot fight.
She's been on the ferry for a little over two weeks when James finds himself locked out of his own cabin. Kendall warns him that it's going to happen. At the time, Kendall is lying on his bed, which is actually a cot hooked into the wall. There's another on the other side of the cabin, and that is where James has been sleeping for nearly two years, when he isn't being ousted into the dining hall so that someone can get busy. The cots are big enough for two people, but just barely, and Jo is cuddled into Kendall's side like James remembers doing so many times when he was younger. James feels nauseous, watching the two of them. He feels like he might actually vomit when Kendall explains that James can't sleep in his own room that night. It's like all the nightmares that Kendall has kept at bay for so many years are rushing back in, pricking at the back of James's neck. Kendall gives him this smile and a wink that make James feel worse than if he'd punched him in the gut. And then James is shoved out into the hall. Alone.
James stares at the door to the place that used to be his long after Kendall disappears from sight. He slumps down against the wood, letting it press so hard into his back that he thinks he can feel every grain of it.
Minutes pass, and then longer, and then he can hear every noise that Kendall and Jo are making. It becomes a song, woven into the constant, familiar turn of the paddle and the slap of water, the slap of their skin and Jo's moans and the groans that she is working from Kendall's throat.
James listens to his best friend come, only a few inches of wood between them; those few inches and a girl. She is sunshine and adventure and so, so lovely. James knows that he will never compare. He still does not leave. He listens for the stillness that means Jo and Kendall have fallen asleep, and once he hears it, he sticks his hand down the front of his jeans and brings himself off thinking of unreadable green eyes and the unshakeable courage of the boy he is so sure that he loves.
That night, he cannot sleep. He sees images of his mother turned to flame, nightmares of his father becoming something that is less than human. He sees bodies strung over the side of highways, heads on pikes, and men who have devolved to eating other men. He dreams that a Shell bites Kendall, and he screams.
James wakes up to Logan and Carlos hovering protectively over him, confusion and worry in their eyes. James tells them that it's nothing, that he's okay. Then he goes to the lower decks with a pack of cigarettes and an old lighter, plastic half cracked.
The things are awful for his voice, but cigarettes are his comfort food. He remembers some nights, falling asleep on the couch only to be woken by his father, wrapped in his strong arms and the smoky scent of nightclubs. Whenever they stumble upon old cartons of cigarettes, valuable as they are, James will pocket one pack. He deserves to be able to remember, he thinks. But he's never told Kendall or Carlos or Logan because there is also a part of him that thinks they will not understand. There is a part of him that is ashamed of being so weak.
Maybe he is. He let a single night alone break him into pieces.
James's eyes follow the path of the seagulls, their wings tracing the patterns of the breezes; pushy westerlies and the harsher winds of the north. A handful skim low to the waves, enjoying the salt spray against their feathers. Animals are immune to the splasher plague. They're immune to most of the manmade contagions the apocalypse unleashed.
Lucky them. James stares and stares, and he doesn't know whether to be surprised or angry or something else when Kendall appears on the deck, blocking the gulls from view.
He doesn't notice James at first; he's just staring out at the ocean like he's thinking about jumping in. James watches Kendall's silhouette and thinks it wouldn't take much for Kendall to teeter off the edge. When Kendall spots him, it's a moment of shock followed by weary resignation. He stares hard at the cigarette in James's hand.
"Can I have one?" Kendall finally asks, and James tries to hide his surprise. Kendall is so in control, all the time. He doesn't need to smoke.
"Sure," James says, offering the pack. He refuses to let his fingers tremble. He's so tired, already so, so tired, but he's not going to ask to go back to their room. It's pathetic.
It's also pathetic the way his voice shakes when he drawls, "So. You and Jo?"
"She's hot. And she likes me," Kendall says casually.
James winces. He's hot and he likes Kendall, but he would never say so out loud.
"That's all it takes?" he asks, forcing a laugh.
"Don't judge."
James squeezes his eyes shut and mumbles, "I would never."
"You're doing it right now," Kendall accuses. "Where's the harm? Did you want-"
"As if I want your seconds," James spits, before he can stop himself. He doesn't want Jo. Not even a little bit. He wants to reach out, to pull Kendall across the deck and show him exactly what it is that he wants. He clenches his hand into a fist, using the other to take a long drag off of his cigarette. He thinks calming thoughts that don't actually make him calm. He feels guilt flood his veins, because Jo hasn't ever done anything to hurt him. Not on purpose. He shouldn't talk about her that way, like she's leftover food. His mom would hate it.
But he still can't help wondering, does he not need Kendall enough? Is that the problem here?
"Sex is sex," Kendall says, gaze distant. "I mean, you'd have to ask her."
James feels his stomach turn. He's not even losing Kendall to a girl he has feelings for. Just a random fuck. That makes it so much worse. He holds up a hand and mutters, "You need to stop. Now. If I want to get laid, I'll do it. Alright?"
"Alright. Why're you still up?" Kendall asks.
James flounders, trying to think up something. He settles for, "Carlos- kicked me out."
He will not tell Kendall the truth. Not about this.
This small, frightened part of him thinks that he won't be able to take the consequences, if Kendall finds out. He's too kind to kick him off the ferry, too concerned about his livelihood to exile him from the band, but that doesn't mean it won't change things between them forever. James can't handle losing one more person.
Especially not the most important one.
"Wanted to be alone with Logan?" Kendall asks, eyes dancing.
"Something like that," James says, and the words taste like bile in his mouth.
Arthur, James reflects, always had Guinevere.
Jo's been on the boat for over a month and a half now. James wonders if Kendall will have his own Lancelot, poised to whisk her away.
Probably not. They're all too loyal, too in love with Kendall's charisma and leadership and the way it feels to be his friend. Besides, Logan and Carlos spend every waking minute making googly eyes at each other. James is reasonably sure that they've fucked on every manageable surface on the ferry, with the exception of maybe the lower deck, where Logan is too scared to go. Carlos can be pushy, but James thinks he'd defer to Logan on just that, because they all remember the bright stain of blood on his leg after that Shell bit him. They all remember fighting the rising tide of fear and panic at the very real idea that Logan might turn.
He's thinking about that, about the way Kendall knocked his forehead against James's and the relief that was so very evident in his eyes when a weight settles against the deck beside him, the scrape of metal indicating that someone's taken up the second rickety lawn chair set on the prow.
It's Jo.
Of course it is. She's wearing a sundress that James recognizes. Kendall picked it up at a home they ransacked. James knew who he was planning to give it to, but it doesn't lessen the anger he feels when he sees Jo wearing it, cheeks flushed, thighs bare.
But the girl doesn't pull her shots. Without preamble, she says, "You love him."
She doesn't sound too torn up about it.
James doesn't know what to say. He's not going to lie. He's not going to tell the truth, either. He settles for a shrug. He doesn't dislike Jo, but his pride isn't going to let him buddy up to her.
"If it's any consolation, he's not in love with me. He can't sleep- at night, without you there. He thinks I don't know." Jo bites her lip. James looks away. He doesn't want to pity her.
"Are you sleeping with him so he'll keep looking for your dad? Because he'll do it either way."
"I know that. Now." Jo sighs.
"So the first time was-"
"I didn't try to manipulate him. Girls have needs, okay? And Kendall is- he's nice to look at. I thought it would help convince him, and- I miss my dad so much."
"And now?"
"Now I think I see why you love him." Jo slumps in the lawn chair beside James. "Kendall is just like what I imagined when I was a little girl. When I thought the only thing I'd ever have to worry about was getting a prom date and finding a prince. But. He'll figure it out James. He cares about you more than he could ever care about me. He just can't see it yet."
James doesn't have any idea what to say. She's delusional, obviously. But she is also being very, very kind. He doesn't completely deserve it.
"My- um. My mom used to tell me stories about princes."
"What kind of stories?"
Jo looks interested. So James tells her, all these fables about castles and sleeping girls, dragons and dancing slippers, and how everything can be fixed with a kiss. Jo smiles and watches the waves and it's like there is a truce between them now. He doesn't want to like her, but she's sweet and nice, and she doesn't seem to mind that James has better hair than her.
And what she said about Kendall- James feels hope waver in his chest.
The pirates are a surprise.
They've gotten cocky; less careful. They're building a reputation up and down the coast. But even so, it's still a shock when a group of men easily overtake James and Kendall at the dock, looting what they can from the ferry before leaving to see what other hell they can raise. Carlos, Logan, and Jo are already long gone, carrying all the important goods back to the safety of the subway, blissfully unaware of the danger they've left behind.
The pirates leave James and Kendall alone with a cabin boy and a weathered seaman. Both are armed. James can take the kid, but he's not sure he can get to the old man before he pulls his gun on Kendall.
He can't, he won't let Kendall get hurt. But he knows Kendall's a moron, and he'll be stupidly brave on behalf of the ferry. James glances at his friend and sees the determination in his eyes. He nods, imperceptibly, because yeah. They're going to fight. It's that or lose their livelihood. They won't last long without the boat.
Kendall makes a move for his captor's gun.
James spins, knocking out the kid with ease.
When he hears a splash he whirls back around, fear making his mind blank. Then he sees that Kendall's still standing there, pistol in hand, staring at the spot where the old man was. James sees the shock in Kendall's eyes. He's never killed anyone before. Kendall is hard, but he's never been a murderer.
James strides forward, capturing Kendall's collar in his hands and holding him back from following the old man in.
"We'll get the boat back," James says, trying to distract him from the awful thing that's just happened. His fingers tighten in Kendall's shirt, making sure that he can't get away.
Kendall folds into him, but then, like a horror movie, the man's crawling back up onto the dock, eyes dead, hands turned to claws. James hears Kendall laugh, harsh and humorless into his collarbone, and then he's yanking free of James's grip, coming to stand in front of him. He raises his pistol.
They've practiced with guns on the bare sides of buildings. Mr. Garcia trained them all, day after day when they had nothing better to do. They even know how to make their own bullets. But they've never had to use them. Until now. Kendall shoots the Shell straight in the head with practiced ease. James feels something hit his cheek, and he's not sure if it's blood or water. He doesn't have time to think about it, because the kid, the one he knocked out is coming to and James is an idiot. He forgot to take his gun. He forgot.
How could he forget?
Because when he heard that splash, all he'd thought of was Kendall.
Of course. All he ever thinks of is Kendall.
Kendall turns the gun on the kid, and this is happening too fast, too fast for James to work through. He's not smart, he's not Logan goddamnit, and he doesn't want bloodshed and he doesn't want Kendall to feel any more guilt or hurt or any of the awful things that are reflected in his eyes.
James doesn't want Kendall to feel like a monster. So even though he's terrified, he turns his head ever so slightly and says, "Kendall."
Kendall's finger twitches on the gun and James shouts, "Kendall, stop."
Kendall does, looking at James with wide eyes. James says, "He's hungry."
And the kid is. James noticed it before he had a gun aimed at his face; the way the kid's ribs protrude from beneath the rags of his clothes, all sharp angles. He's got to be starving. Kendall pauses, squinting his eyes and thinking. He says, "Aren't we all?"
And then, because Kendall is like a fairytale king, noble, a hero; he tosses the can of soup they'd planned on eating for lunch towards the kid. The kid drops the gun, fumbling for the can, and James bends, deftly snatching the weapon up. Kendall says, "Find better friends. If I find any of you on my boat when we take it back-"
"You won't," the kid promises. James makes a motion for him to get the hell out of there before Kendall changes his mind.
Then he slings an arm around Kendall's trembling shoulders and helps him navigate the ferry into a different marina, hidden among the ruins of half-sunken yachts.
They're back on the boat, and James is putting away some ratty clothes he's picked up from the subway car, trying to focus on the steady motion of folding instead of how close he'd almost come to dying that very morning. He's trying so hard to keep it together, but he can feel Kendall's eyes on the back of his neck, and he's wondering if there's any way he can tell him that he won't be able to sleep alone tonight, not tonight, please. He stared down the barrel of a gun and he was terrified, so just not-
And then Kendall's hand is on the back of his neck, the other clenched in the front of his shirt, pulling James forward so that he stumbles against Kendall's body, seams ripping. James has a second to realize that he's pressed long and hard against the boy he's been dreaming about for nearly five years, a second to get out, "Kendall, what the f-" before Kendall is crashing their mouths together.
Its dry heat and this surge of want in his chest. James has no earthly idea what's going on, but he does know that he doesn't want Kendall to stop. He rakes a hand through Kendall's hair, grabbing hard at the roots and pressing them closer. Kendall nips at his bottom lip, teeth scraping over skin and tongue practically pillaging James's mouth. It's all he can do to stay upright, holding onto Kendall and not sure how much of the swaying in his body is the boat and how much of it is the way this boy moves him.
Then the door creaks open and there's Jo, standing in front of them. When Kendall pulls his mouth away from James's with visible reluctance, his lips are bruised red. He looks back and forth between James and Jo, horrified, and James feels his heart sink all the way down to his toes. He doesn't want to look at Jo.
He has to. He owes her that much.
He doesn't know what to expect, but when he does peek up out of the corner of his eyes, it's certainly not the smile that blooms over her lips.
The night they leave Jo with her dad in the ruins of San Fran, James stands in the doorframe of the cabin he calls home. Kendall is lying on his cot, clutching his pillow to his chest. Kendall's head lolls over the end of the bed, and his eyes snap up to meet James's.
"Why are you standing there?" He asks. Moonlight is shining in through the broad window that fronts the opposite end of the room, making Kendall's hair silver, his smile impish. He hops up off the bed, walking casually towards James and it's like something ignites beneath his ribs. He reaches out, pulling Kendall into his chest, and Kendall tips forward willingly. He looks up at James, smiling against his jaw line. He plants a kiss against the soft flesh between James's neck and his chin, murmuring, "Sleep with me tonight."
James feels his pulse speed up in his veins, turned thready and uncertain. "I-"
Kendall keeps kissing along his jaw, working up to his ear, nipping hard at the lobe, and James can't help but turn and capture his lips. He kisses Kendall slow, teasing moans from his throat. Kendall is pressed up against James's body, hard against James's thigh, and James knows that they're supposed to talk. That there's supposed to be a method, a right way to do this. But all he can think about is the fear he felt when he saw that gun pointed at his head and how much he has wanted this, for so very long.
Life is uncertain, and James does not want to have any regrets. When Kendall fumbles a hand into his jeans, James lets him. He arches into the hot, tight hand wrapped around his dick and kisses Kendall wet and messy. He lets him push his jeans down around his ankles, lets him guide James back until he's sitting on Kendall's cot, on the same sheets his best friend fucked Jo on.
Kendall kisses the inside of James's calf, untying James's butt-kicking boots, pulling them off like Cinderella's slippers. He untangles his jeans from the places they're caught, from the twist they've become at his ankles, pulling out one foot and then the other. He lays another kiss against James's instep, looking up at him with big, black pupils. And then Kendall works his way up James's body. By the time he reaches his inner thigh, James's breath is coming hot and fast. When Kendall presses a kiss to the base of James's cock, it is too gentle, too little.
Too much.
Not even close to enough.
"Can I?" Kendall asks. James nods, enthralled.
Kendall backs up, clambering to his feet so he can take off his own jeans, hands trembling. James takes in every inch of him, from the indents of his hips to the curve of his thighs to the places where his knees get knobby. Once he's fully naked, Kendall is just standing there, exposed, like he's not sure if this is okay.
Like he's not sure if this is something he's allowed to have.
James takes his own cock in hand and strokes it once, twice; quick sure pumps. He reaches out, fingertips brushing Kendall's hips and beckons him closer. Kendall steps into the space between James's legs, lips twisting into something more certain. He kisses him, soft and filthy, tilting him back onto the bed.
Kendall's hands smooth down James's sides the same way they run over the steering wheel up in the helm. He's sure of himself now that he's gotten permission twice over; sure of every twitch of his fingers and the reaction it will get from James. He runs his fingers along James's throat, feeling every groan reverberate there like the base of his old guitar. That's what it feels like, like James is a new instrument that Kendall is learning to play. He's already so good at it.
James lets Kendall work his fingers inside of him, lets him scissor him open in a way that makes him feel raw, vulnerable. His green eyes are bright, pupils huge, and he is watching, listening for every visceral sound that James makes when he moves. James is embarrassed, turned on, and he doesn't want to look but he can't not. He has to be a full participant for this; it's all he's ever wanted. When Kendall moves over him, dick poised at James's entrance, it feels heavy, momentous, like everything is about to change between them. But then he shoves his way inside, stinging pain and a distant echo of future pleasure.
"James," Kendall exhales, once he's fully seated inside of him. James winces, trying to adjust, trying to get used to his friend's foreign weight. Kendall lets him; he stills, trying not to move even though the grimace on his face shows how much he wants to. Kendall reaches out and strokes James's cheekbone, and the movement is too intimate while their bodies are so deeply connected.
"You're so beautiful," Kendall breathes, and it doesn't feel like a compliment. Every beautiful thing that James knows is sharp edged, like a razor, like the loveliness of the city or the acidic bay. And he's okay with that, with the comparison between him and toxic things out in the world, when he needs to be prickly and strong. But it isn't a comparison he wants made here. He wants to be a safe haven, a place where the weight on Kendall's shoulders dissipates. He wants- well.
No one ever loved a razor blade, and Kendall's love is the thing that James wants most of all. He tries to dismiss the words, ignoring the pain and rocking his hips down onto Kendall so that his cock moves further in, until his ass is bumping up against the hair curling around Kendall's shaft.
"Fuck, James." He shifts his hips, a slow withdraw followed by a quick thrust. "Could you be any tighter?"
James laughs, the sound simultaneously ironic and breathless. He's still trying to figure out a way to get comfortable with this, with another guy buried inside of him, but the ache is almost turning sweet with how much he wants it, with how much he wants Kendall to move again. He chokes out, "It's my first time," and it ends up all husky, like he's trying to be purposely sexy.
He's not.
Kendall gives him this half pained, half pleasured smirk and quivers. He says, "I'm not going to-"
"It's okay," James tells him, reaching up to cup his cheeks, to cradle Kendall's face and show him how much this isn't about endurance or impressiveness or anything except the way that they feel when they move together. Kendall seems to take heart from that. He drives forward again, and again, until James can't really concentrate on the way it stings. James lets Kendall work his way into his body, and it hurts, but it's a kind of pain that James never knew existed. A pain that he can almost enjoy, that's good in its intensity. It still burns like a mother fucker, but he doesn't care so much about that once Kendall's dick is bumping up against his prostate, building a slow rhythm between them and the boat and their shared breath, like a symphony for their ears alone. He feels Kendall inside of him, and it's not just his dick, scorching hot, unfamiliar, but somehow still right sheathed as it is. James can feel it rising in his stomach, in his chest, like a scream. Nothing in his life has ever felt so good.
It's this glow in his chest, like Kendall is living in his skin, even as he moves in short, stuttering thrusts. When James comes, he loses all sense of where he ends and Kendall begins.
It turns into a thing that they do; fucking, as a way to pass the time.
James is fascinated by every millimeter of Kendall's body, by every freckle on his wind weathered skin. He spends hours exploring it with his mouth, tonguing every scar and mole.
Kendall navigates James's flesh in turn. There is not a single place his mouth or his fingers are barred from. Not anymore.
The times James likes best are the parts afterwards, when Kendall rests his head against James's chest, listening to his heartbeat, drumming to the rhythm against James's ribs. When that happens, James feels like his heart is chanting Kendall's name, a constant mantra of Ken-dall, Ken-dall, Ken-dall spelled in patter thuds.
Sometimes, when Kendall thinks James has fallen asleep, Kendall seems to have the same idea. He traces the letters of his name onto James's skin, from the curve of the K to the straight lines of the l's, over and over until it's like a brand James can feel in his bones.
James does not know if he can drown out the darkness in this world when there is so very much. But sometimes he looks at Kendall and thinks that if he tried really hard, he could drown out the darkness in this boy's soul. And that might be enough. If Kendall will just let him do it.
"You look freakishly happy."
"I am," James agrees, refusing to be insulted by the taunt. He's tying the ferry to some mooring, hoping that his sailor's knots will pass muster with Logan. He's been making James study a book full of them, over and over again, ever since the time one almost came loose in a storm.
Carlos grins wryly. "Love's nice, isn't it?"
James opens his mouth to agree, but the words die in his throat. It occurs to him that he doesn't actually know if what is between him in Kendall is actually love.
He doesn't know how to ask Kendall what it is that they're actually doing. He's not sure that there is a place for questions like that in their lives. But he does know that he doesn't want meaningless sex.
Or, well, he won't lie. He enjoys the meaningless sex. He enjoys the way that Kendall devours him, enjoys being owned and penetrated and fucked until he can't see straight. Kendall's a lot rougher than any girl James has ever known, and there's this part of James that loves it, that has always known he would be.
But other than that, things haven't changed all that much. He has Kendall, the person he wants; but they still go home twice a month and James still feels like an outsider. He listens to Mrs. Knight tell Kendall that she loves him and still wonders if anyone will ever say those words out loud to him.
Because he thinks that maybe Kendall does love him.
When they're singing, sometimes, Kendall will look at him in a certain way, and he thinks that it's possible.
The nightmares James has are different now. They come whether or not Kendall is asleep next to him.
He dreams that Kendall falls into the sea, deep blue and depthless. His features change, metamorphoses into those of Shell, slack jawed and hungry eyed.
In the dream, James spends days on the deck of the ferry, watching Kendall shamble along the shoreline, watching over him like a guardian angel until Kendall melts into the landscape and ceases to exist.
Some days it's a simpler fear that creeps in. It's the idea that one day maybe he'll jump into the ocean himself, to get away from the world. And maybe, miraculously, he'll be the one person in the whole world who's immune to the contagion. He won't change. But he'll die all the same, face slipping beneath the surface, because James is no longer sure he remembers how to swim.
He wakes up one night from those terrors, panting, Kendall curled around him. His eyes are luminous in the darkness.
"James, are you okay?"
"I-" James says, and his voice sounds like a sob.
"What do you need? Tell me," Kendall shifts closer, holding him tighter.
James doesn't want to, but the dreams have shaken him. He does what he promised himself he never would. He asks. He thinks just here, just now, it will be okay, when they're tangled in the sheets in their cabin, curled together so tightly that James doesn't know which limbs belong to him.
"What are we doing?" He murmurs.
After a beat, Kendall pulls away from James. He puts distance between their bodies and says, "Dunno."
"Are we. Do you- is this lo-"
"Don't."
"Why not? I just-" James doesn't know where he's going with this, doesn't know what he wants. It's not like the words will mean anything if he forces them. He's known that since he was a little boy. "I wish I could trade you for it," James mumbles.
"Trade- for me to say-? With what?" Kendall laughs.
"I'd sing for you," James says. A song for a story, is what he thinks.
Kendall kisses the side of his neck and murmurs, "You'll sing for me either way."
The conversation becomes a routine.
"Would it be the end of the world if you said it?" James mumbles into Kendall's ribs. Kendall shrugs, stretching nonchalantly, and it is very obviously a maybe.
James's heart drops. He sits up, rocking back on his heels and clambering off of the bed.
"James. Come on, where are you-"
"The apocalypse has already come and gone, Kendall. And it didn't happen because you loved anybody."
James ends up marching out of the cabin, slamming the door in Kendall's face and walking straight into the dining hall. He announces to a half naked Logan and a fully naked Carlos that he's sleeping with them tonight.
He can't help but bring it up again on the deserted streets of some empty town they're scavenging.
"I waited for you." James says quietly. "I waited for this. Don't make it all for nothing."
"I don't know what you want from me."
"I want-" James bites his lip, nibbling over the chapped skin there from too many days of sun and sea. "Do you-" he looks down at their linked fingers. "Is this just sex?"
"No," Kendall says, and his voice is just as soft now.
"Then what it is it?" James meets his gaze, and it's a challenge. Tell me, he thinks. Please.
Kendall hesitates. "It's-"
He falls quiet.
On the one hand, James does not want to back down.
On the other, there is still a part of him that is thirteen and will not beg for someone to say I love you. Not even if hearing it will make it all worth it.
He debases himself. He begs, "Say it."
"No."
"Please?"
"I wouldn't mind it, if you hated me," Kendall says instead, sad eyed.
"I don't," James replies. It's a lie for a lie. "Just- say it."
"What's the point?" Kendall explodes. "The world is dying, James. If we make it to thirty, it's going to be a miracle. What difference does it make if I tell you-"
"It makes a difference, okay?"
"How?"
"It just does."
"That's not good enough."
"Say it."
"I can't," Kendall says. He kicks the debris of what used to be someone's home and keeps walking. James stares at his back until he can't see him anymore, his silhouette like a ghost.
This isn't some great, destined love like an Arthurian myth. It's visceral, and real, and so much scarier. There's so much more to lose than a kingdom and a crown. James starts to think it's not worth it.
They're playing at a concert, some gig up North where the nights get cold. He feels like he only exists up on stage these days, when he's this brilliant, unstoppable force, just like his mom always said he would be. It's easy to outshine the stars when he can't even see them, hidden far above the Earth's toxic atmosphere.
That night, James picks a girl in the crowd at random, and he sings to her. He knows that Kendall is watching him with narrowed eyes, so he funnels everything into it; all of his love and all of his hurt. All of the things that he wants to say out loud but can't, because he's too scared, too weak, too stupid. She stares up at him, wide eyed and awed, like he's Cernunnos dancing out of the woods, horned and powerful, ethereal and too supernatural for this world alone to hold. James likes the feeling.
He sings to her until Kendall catches the crook of his arm and hisses, "What are you doing?"
The expression on his face is furious. James glares back, long and hard.
Logan and Carlos have stepped in and picked up the verse, throwing it back out to the audience as a whole, like Kendall and James aren't standing stone still in the middle of the show, staring at each other with murder in their eyes.
"Performing," James says. "That thing we do to survive? Can I get back to it now?"
"No, you can't-" Kendall yanks hard on his arm again when James tries to turn away, so hard that James nearly stumbles.
James doesn't like that at all. He's not going to be bossed around, not even by His Excellency. He twists, pulls free. "What the fuck, man?"
Kendall glares at him, glares and jerks his head towards an empty side street, an obvious request for James to follow.
And James isn't sure why, but he does. He leaves Carlos and Logan to handle the show alone, no matter how much it will hurt their reputation. He follows Kendall into a deserted alley, glaring at him full force. "What?"
"Don't-" Kendall chokes out.
"Don't what?" James snaps.
"Don't ever look at anyone else like that again." Kendall's voice breaks. "Please, don't."
Kendall falls to his knees, and he's trembling, and James is at a loss for words. He drops down beside his best friend, trying to catch his eye. He lunges forward and kisses James, soft and wet and messy. James wrenches away, stumbling back.
"James, stop." Kendall grabs his wrists. He worms his fingers between James's clenched fists and mumbles, "I just. I didn't want to say it until I was sure."
That doesn't feel good; knowing that Kendall hasn't been sure when James has known forever. He lets his gaze snap up to meet Kendall's.
"And now?"
"I-" Kendall breathes deep, and James can see how scared he is, this boy who is not a king or a legend or anything at all. He can't say it, and James remembers all the times when he was young, when he was so sure that someone would tell him that they loved him if he just asked for it.
Now he is, he's asking, and it looks like he's waited too long.
"I l-"
"Stop. I don't want." James halts, trying to sort through the things he feels. "I don't want you to say it because you're jealous. I want you to say it because- it's all you can think about."
Because you're consumed by it, James thinks. It's how he feels about Kendall.
"But I-"
James thinks of stories. Songs. Lies. Truths. Aren't they all just stupid words to help a person make sense of the world? James doesn't really know the difference between any of them anymore.
He thinks he understands why his mother couldn't see the way his father was slowly leaving their lives.
He thinks that people create their fictions, and they live with them, because life is short, and there is nothing else to do. It's better to live in a fantasy. But James can't do it anymore. He shoves his hands in the front of his ratty jeans and says, "I think. This was a bad idea."
"What?"
"You and me. It- it's affecting our job. We need to sing to eat, Kendall. We need to eat if we want to live."
"I don't want to live without you!" Kendall screams at the top of his lungs, and James feels the words shake inside his chest. He tries to remember to breathe, because that- it almost sounded like Kendall means it.
"You won't be without me. I'll be by your side. Always."
James puts a hand on his shoulder, but Kendall smacks it away. He looks- devastated.
A huge part of James is surprised, but there is a small part, the best friend part, that has always known how much Kendall cares about him. That part of him isn't surprised at all.
James is shocked to realize that little section of him? It's scared.
Loving Kendall for so long and admitting it out loud, to him, when it is so easy to be rejected are two different things.
Kendall is not the one running away any longer.
James gets very good, very quickly, at avoiding Kendall. The ferry used to be a novelty; the kind of thing that people would book for wedding parties and business gatherings. It's not huge, but it's got enough storage supply closets and deck space that James doesn't have a problem keeping out of the way whenever they set sail. He doesn't head back to the cabin until it's so late that Kendall's already conked out, and he leaves early enough in the mornings that Kendall doesn't get the chance to trap him in a conversation.
Which might be why Kendall doesn't manage to pin him down for nearly half a week. It's his weakness that betrays him. James is so tense, so haggard all the time that all he really fucking wants is a cigarette. He can't smoke it near the engines or Logan will have his hide and the supply closets don't have nearly enough ventilation. He ends up perching in his chair on the lower deck, hoping that the heavens like him enough that he'll get peace and quiet, just this once.
He's not that lucky; not even close. Kendall finds him within minutes, so fast that James is almost certain that he's been following him.
"James- we need to talk," he says without preamble.
"We really don't."
Kendall is across the deck in three strides, fingers fisted in James's collar in a move that's weirdly parallel to the first time they kissed.
"You don't get to walk away from us," Kendall says, "You can't. You just can't-" and then he's got his arms wrapped around James's neck. He's kissing him, licking into his mouth, and James can't do anything, can't kiss back, can't even breathe.
When Kendall pulls back, he looks broken. He looks wrecked. He breathes in a shaky exhale, "I love you."
James doesn't know if he's exhilarated from the words he's gone so long without hearing, or the oxygen deprivation, or from the blazing green intensity of Kendall's eyes. All he knows is that he's sailing, swimming, floating above the Earth from it, the echo of Kendall's I love you ringing in his ears.
Kendall doesn't give him a chance to think about it, rolling his hips slow against James, mirroring the waves rolling into shore. The sky above them is gray green like Kendall's eyes, and they're not kissing. Just watching each other, watching every nuance of the other's face as their pleasure builds. It's weird, and almost too intimate, still fully clothed but somehow naked. Vulnerable.
"I love you," Kendall says again, and James still can't tell if it's true. He doesn't know whether there's a lie in it or not. He can't tell how much of it is the result of the surreal way they live every single day and how much of it is honest, straight from Kendall's heart. If they weren't standing on the cusp of total annihilation, would those words be a story or a song? True or false?
Does it even matter? Stories and songs are not just make believe, he thinks. They are a manifestation of a person's desires, subconscious and conscious, hidden and overt. Of course there are lies there, in the necessary self deceit people use to protect themselves from their own hidden desires, but there are also truths, secrets come to life. And when he leans in and kisses Kendall he think that he can taste both on his lips, the lie in the truth and the truth in the lie and how Kendall doesn't really have any idea if any of it is real, but how he wants it to be. It's the same way James feels, and he's okay with that. Now he gets what his mom meant when she said that music is real. People as a whole would cease to exist without pretend, without the fictions they pick and choose.
He wants to choose to believe Kendall. Life is too short not to.
And so he does. He chooses this boy with his eyes and his love, unspoken and spoken, and the way that he is like this puzzle that James keeps putting back together but can never get quite right.
After all, he's standing at the end of the world and he doesn't want anyone else by his side.
A/N: Ze end. Except not quite. Jblostfan16 wrote me apoca!porn that takes place in this 'verse. I will post a link to it in my profile. Please review!