Jacaranda
Chapter Four
By: Jondy Macmillan
A/N: All my love to jblostfan16 for the beta. She is wonderful.
The first time James and Diana had sex, they were talking about the future.
James dreams about it. Often.
"One day, we'll rule the world," Diana says, kissing James soundly on the lips.
James can feel the light of daybreak pressing in around his room, but he bats it away, trying to focus on the dream.
It's his favorite dream.
"Yeah?" James laughs, arms circling her waist. He wants it. More than anything, he wants to rule the world with this girl who makes him feel like he can conquer anything.
"Yeah," she says, except she isn't Diana anymore. It's Kendall lying across from him, Kendall who pushes up off the grass and straddles James's hips.
"Didn't I give you everything?" He asks with a smirk, and this is no longer a memory, but Kendall's right. Diana promised the world without delivering. Kendall handed it to him on a silver platter.
"I'm the reason you're famous," Kendall continues.
"So?" James challenges, meeting his green gaze head on.
"So sing for me, Jamie," Kendall cups his face between his hands.
James leans up to kiss him, but his smirk is melting, transforming into Diana's sure grin. He should have known; she's the only one who calls him that.
His phone rings. Light is pressing against his eyelids. James sighs and wakes up, the threads of the dream clinging to him like spider webs.
"'Lo?" James asks, his voice raw from sleep.
"It's been a week," Diana drawls. She's chewing gum. James can hear the click and the snap of it.
"I need more time," James admits, shading his eyes. It really actually pains him to say that, but Kendall isn't one of the flighty girls he usually toys with. He's not going to drop the L word after some flirting and a kiss.
"How much?" Diana doesn't even sound interested. James can hear noise in the background and he would bet anything she's got ESPN on.
"Depends."
"On what?" She snaps her gum, purposely obnoxious. She loves it when James sweats, and he is, he's desperate to hear if she cares.
James glances to the left. It's late, and Carlos is already out of the room for the day. He sighs. "You told me to make him fall in love. If you just want me to fuck him…?"
He pitches the question just right.
Diana snaps her gum again, and James hears a wild cheer, like whatever team she's watching on ESPN just scored a goal. Then, slowly, she drawls, "I think not. All the way, James. Or the deal's off. Is that what you want?"
For a second, James is actually tempted to say yes. None of this sits right with him. But…
"Of course not."
"Good." Diana sounds pleased. "Oh, and your father wants to get dinner somewhere fancy tonight. You're invited."
"Pass," James snorts.
"You've barely seen him this whole trip."
"He's a douchebag."
"He loves you, James."
"Right."
"He does," she insists, and in an abstract way James knows she's right. He doesn't like to think about his relationship with his dad; the man always feels like this larger than life silhouette in the background of his mind. He has this vague recollection of being carried on broad shoulders and the sound of booming laughter, but it makes no sense. The father that James knows does not laugh, at least not at anything that James says. When James was a kid, yes, maybe his father was his hero, but now he is just this man that James cannot ever measure up to.
James hangs up. He's got more important shit to focus on, like how Kendall has spent the past week prowling around the Palm Woods in something like a rage. James catches his reflection in the blank screen of his phone and frowns. Still gorgeous.
So what the hell is Kendall's problem? He should be like, honored, to have kissed James. His pissy attitude is actually pretty entertaining, because Kendall refuses to admit he's being anything like mad. He's trying for stoic and strong, of course. People become the places they live in, and Kendall has always been ice and fortitude. But right now, he's mostly fire and anger.
At first, James didn't even try anything. Fucking with Kendall is always an all-around good time. He made it a point to be everywhere that Kendall went, stalking him to the borderline of creepiness just so he could see Kendall's bitchface. Kendall does great bitchface. Unfortunately, that turned on him, and now Kendall is avoiding James.
In the beginning, James liked that too. It made him feel powerful.
Now he's just bored. It is still unbearably hot outside, muggy to the point where James's insides feel sluggish and bloated. Tramping around the Palmwoods like he's a part of a hotel-wide scavenger hunt, searching for a glint of blond hair and a clever smile has been his whole existence for the past week. James even routinely checks the air ducts, metal boiling hot beneath his fingers and knees as he crawls on through.
Today he can't rouse up enough interest to do that. Outside, the sun burns so bright it looks like it might take the whole city with it in a blaze of gold-orange flames. James stays splayed across his bed, one arm heavy over his eyes, the heat so thick and ridiculous that it's made every part of him torpid and languorous. It's much too hot for games, no matter what Diana says.
He fools around, plays Angry Birds on his phone before deciding that even that involves too much movement. James hums to himself, lets music blossom in his chest, a thorned thing, rubbing his insides blood red. It makes him feel better, because that is what music does. Since he was small, James has used singing to get it out, whatever it was, to vent the anger and the pain and the things he otherwise wouldn't know how to articulate. James is not an eloquent person, but he can sing until his throat goes raw.
He got it from his dad, who lives and breathes Hendrix and Cobain, Jagger and Lennon, but his dad never really got James's appreciation for musical theater. Fuck him. James rolls over in his bed.
His door is open just enough for him to see Kendall dart by with a basket full of laundry.
"Gotcha," he murmurs to himself or to Kendall's retreating back, or to both.
Maybe it's because the haze of sleep is finally dissipating, or because thoughts of his dad make him angry in ways that pump adrenaline through him, but James manages to get up slow, stretching lazy and leonine. It's not like Kendall is going to get far.
The apartment door clicks closed and James is on his feet now, lips pulling back in a grin. Kendall has to be desperate for a hiding place if he's planning on separating his own whites from his colors, and James likes that, likes that he's backing Kendall into a corner, despite himself. The thrill of being closer than he's been in a week takes the edge off his boredom. He whispers, "Go on, run for me," like Kendall can actually hear it, like Kendall hasn't rabbited into some hole, into the coin laundry room in the basement of the hotel. Now James has got a destination, a goal, and he can work with that.
Sure enough, James finds Kendall in the basement, in the back room that smells like bleach and old gym socks.
He knocks on the door frame and announces, "You really need to stop avoiding me."
Kendall nearly jumps out of his skin. "I'm not avoiding you."
Pointedly, James says, "You're doing laundry."
"I, uh, ran out of clean boxers," Kendall shifts nervously, grabs at some dirty clothes so that he's got something to do with his hands.
"Isn't that what your mom is for?"
Kendall scowls at the t-shirt he's got balled in his hand. "Thought I'd give her a break. It's mother's day in like…a year."
James snorts. "Just admit that you're avoiding me."
"I'm not," Kendall insists stubbornly. "I'm doing laundry."
James steps into the room, and Kendall takes a step back, and it's like they're dancing, except for the skittish, feral look in Kendall's eyes.
"You hate laundry," James says, and there is barely a foot between them.
It's now or never. He's getting more than a little sick of chasing Kendall around. James thinks they've both outgrown hide-and-seek.
So he kisses him.
Kendall's reaction is immediate. He shoves James back so hard that James nearly trips over a pile of clothes.
"Try that again and I'll knock your teeth out," Kendall warns, and even despite the red high on his cheekbones James believes him.
James also does not care. "I don't get what your problem is."
"You! Fucking you. Just leave me alone, already," Kendall says.
"You kissed me."
"That was dumb."
"I don't think it was dumb. I think it was fantastic!" James protests, backing Kendall up until he's pressed against the dryer, already running with someone else's clothes. The vibrations shake through both of them. "So why can't we try being fantastic together, again? It's not like I'm looking to cuddle, dude."
"Did you ever think that maybe that's the problem?" Kendall snaps, and then he turns red in earnest.
James blinks. Kendall is a horrible hopeless romantic underneath all that bravado, but. He's confused here.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing," Kendall replies, resolute.
"That didn't sound like…nothing." James stops, reaches out, curls his fingers into the curve of Kendall's cheekbone. Kendall's eyes are bright, green like the moss that grew on the trees around James's house back in Minnesota. He is so familiar. He is home. James tries kissing Kendall, fitting their mouths together in this way that is almost shy, completely chaste, and this time Kendall is not violent. He stands completely and totally still, letting James's lips work over his own. He is barely breathing.
James is about to quit, because he will not force anyone to kiss him. Just thinking that Kendall really doesn't want it makes his stomach clench painfully, like gravel rolling over and over again inside of him. But then Kendall moves, tentative at first, his tongue testing and tasting the skin of James's lower lip. James is content with that, really, he is; he will treat Kendall like a skittish animal if that's what it takes to move things along.
Kendall has not gotten the memo. He mumbles something, a noise, a cry, a sob and wraps his arms around James's neck, pulling him in so close that he's all that James can breathe, think, smell. James pushes him back and up until he's sitting on the dryer, until James is standing between Kendall's legs, mouths crushed together, fingers fisted in the side of Kendall's shirt. The dryer roars and rumbles, thudding against James's knees.
James is at the point where he's beginning to think he will make Kendall beg; make him sweat it until he can't even remember his own name. Kendall has different ideas. His lips are bruised red and spit slick. He's breathing hard, and when he speaks, it comes out shaky. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but you need to stop."
"Why? You like it." James sucks on his earlobe, perfectly content with the way Kendall has turned all malleable under his fingers. His knees are tight at James's hips, hands light on his waist. He doesn't actually seem interested in anything like stopping. James wants to touch him, wants to shove his pants down around his hips and run his thumb over the slit of Kendall's dick.
But before he can do anything, Kendall demands, "Why are you doing this?"
"I like you."
"No you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't." Kendall argues, forever an adamant bitch.
"Yes, I do," James says, and his surprise is genuine, because he does like Kendall. Maybe not the way he's trying to spin it, but enough that Kendall shouldn't be arguing. "Why are you fighting it?"
"You've never shown any interest in me before. At all. Ever." He actually sounds a little…bitter. "So what is this? A game?"
James swallows. He forces himself to lie, "No."
Kendall shakes his head, and he looks disgusted. James is still fitted between his legs, still hovering in Kendall's airspace, but, gently, Kendall pushes him back. He hops off the dryer and says, "I'm not a pawn, James. Don't treat me like one. Mess with whoever you want. Just- not me. I deserve more than that."
James hesitates. And then he says, "This isn't a game."
It's not the first time he's lied to Kendall, but it's the first time he's honestly hated himself for doing it. The weird thing is, the words don't even really feel like a lie. He just wants to kiss him again. James darts forward, sticks his hands in Kendall's back pockets, squeezing his ass. He rests their foreheads together and says, "I'm not faking this, dude. I like you."
Kendall's shoulders slump, and he takes this great shuddering breath that James can feel in his own lungs. "I don't believe you."
"Why not?" James asks, genuinely curious. In his own humble opinion, James Diamond is the greatest actor the world has ever seen. Why isn't Kendall totally fooled?
"You've never shown an ounce of interest in me before."
"How do you know? Maybe you just weren't paying attention," he makes his voice playful, flirty, but Kendall isn't having any of it.
Seriously, he says, "I was, though."
James reels back, still attached to Kendall from the way his fingers are tangled in the back pockets of his jeans; it makes them both lose their balance, just for a second. "What?"
James almost doesn't want to know, because that might make things complicated, but he is also desperately curious. It isn't often that Kendall fluffs his ego, and the idea that maybe he likes more about James than he's ever said before is thrilling in this way that James can't quite put his finger on. He says, "Kendall," almost expecting Kendall to drop his eyes like a girl would, but it's Kendall, and he's never known how to back down.
He meets James's gaze head on and he says, "I was paying attention, so don't try to pretend like this has been a long time coming, okay?"
James feels like Kendall has slapped him, like he can feel the sting of skin against his cheek, like all his nerve endings are on fire. He stares and stares and stares, feeling hollow-eyed and raw. Kendall can't mean…but if he does, then…James doesn't even know. He's too many things at once; shocked and ashamed and most of all, intrigued. He's honestly charmed by the admission, by the way Kendall is always so freaky genuine, even when that had to have been a very scary thing to say.
More than that, he's enthralled by the idea that maybe Kendall likes him, and James hasn't even had to do anything other than be himself. That's not the kind of thing he takes for granted.
Love has always been something he's felt like he needs to work at.
Carefully, Kendall reaches behind him and extricates James's hands from his pockets. "I don't know what kind of angle you're playing, but…don't use me, okay?"
"I'm not." James answers immediately, and he doesn't even register that it's a lie this time around. He twists his wrists so that he can catch Kendall's hands in his, rub his thumbs against Kendall's palms. He repeats, "I like you. A lot. I just want you to like me back."
"Oh." Kendall's eyes widen, and James wonders if maybe that light in them is hope. "Alright, then. Um. Attacking me with kisses probably isn't the way to show me that."
"You started it!" James protests, breaking into a smile. He laces his fingers with Kendall's until they are holding hands in earnest. He squeezes, and Kendall watches the movement, a little hypnotized. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, um. Gotten aggressive. I guess. Even though you liked it."
"James," Kendall huffs.
"You did. But…start over?"
Kendall narrows his eyes. "How do we do that?"
Easy, James thinks. Too easy. "Well, for one, you stop avoiding me. And two, I take you on a date."
He's good at dates.
"Um, I was avoiding you because you were stalking me."
"Was not," James counters.
"You were too! You hacked into my Scuttlebutter account, James."
"I did not hack anything, I'm not smart enough for that." James shrugs, still holding tight to Kendall's hands, and okay, maybe he took fucking with Kendall a little bit too far. "I guessed your password. And you blocked me!"
"Because you were leaving me creepy messages! Stalking is not okay, James."
"I was not stalking, I was wooing," James insists. Kendall makes a face, fluorescent lighting playing over the bridge of his nose, and James concedes, "Alright, I might have come on a little strong. I'm not used to you avoiding me. Usually, you're always there when I need you."
"That still doesn't make it okay."
"I know."
"And?" Kendall prompts. He's doing that bitch face thing again. He really is entirely too good at it.
"And I'm sorry, okay, ugh," James sulks. "It won't happen again."
"Good. And…if you ever need me, I promise, I will be there. So. Um. You said something about a…" Kendall actually does turn a little red when he spits out- "date?" He looks mortified. "I'm not a girl, you know."
"Guys still go on dates. It'll be great," James promises. "I'll take you somewhere really nice."
Kendall's face falls a little. "Not that lame steakhouse you're always taking slu- people to."
"Not there," James replies, even though he'd sort of been thinking of it. Whatever, he can adapt. "Where we go…it'll be a surprise. It'll be the best surprise ever."
Kendall cocks an eyebrow. "If you say so."
"I do. I'm going to go start planning right now." James extricates his hands from Kendall's, ready to march back up to 2J and start a serious google search on stellar date spots.
"Actually, um. Could you help me with all this?" Kendall points to the laundry basket, looking a little bit terrified. "I think I'm dangerously close to turning everything pink and toddler-sized."
"Did you read the labels?"
"…No? Is that something I'm supposed to do?" Kendall asks helplessly.
Exasperate, James says, "Dude. This is what god invented moms for, okay? Did you even separate the colors?"
"Come again?"
"You get a freebie because I think you're cute." No such thing as laying it on thick if Kendall already likes him.
Kendall likes him. James feels that inside, a bright warmth, like he's swallowed the sun. His bones feel like they're melting, turned to honey, and everything feels weirdly wonderful. To ward it off, James picks up one of Kendall's plaid travesties, balling it up and throwing it right in his face.
Kendall mumbles something through a mouthful of fabric. It sounds like a bad word.
James claps his hands together and announces, "Right, so I'm going to go through this once and only once. Listen up."
Teaching Kendall how to do his own laundry ends up being kind of useless. After the third shirt to the face, he starts channeling Carlos and pretending he's the flannel monster. He tackles James into the dryer, and that turns into wrestling, and that turns into an almost make-out session among the folds of Kendall's dirty laundry. James restrains himself at the last second, because he kind of wants to see where this date thing goes. But when he pulls away, Kendall's head follows his, just for a beat, like maybe he was waiting for a kiss that never came.
James so has him exactly where he wants him.
It is a flash of heat in his chest, in his heart; lightning and thunder and an oncoming storm.