Jacaranda

Chapter Six

A/N: Yes, hi, still writing this. :) Much thanks to jblostfan16 for the beta.

With the blinds pulled, James's room is shaded in Etruscan colors, cracked clay and dark, rich earth. The shadows all have brown-gold edges, shot through with light, more friendly than sinister. In the midst of it all, James lies as still as a Greco-Roman statue and tries to formulate a plan of attack.

Dinner. With his dad. And Diana. It's a recipe for disaster if he's ever heard one. The last time his family tried eating out, together, in public, knives were thrown.

Alright, maybe they were only thrown within the confines of James's mind, but Diana was eyeing her steak cleaver pretty covetously. He absolutely, one hundred percent does not want a repeat of that.

Part of the problem, of course, is that James's dad knows that James and Diana were involved, once upon a time. He's too mature and dignified to be jealous – his words – but sometimes the glares he cuts towards James bear a striking resemblance to an emotion that is startlingly close to it. James has trouble figuring out if his dad's envy makes him a smart man, for sensing something's wrong, or a stupid one, for thinking the past stays past. Diana does nothing to discourage it. Around James, she becomes more, somehow. More vibrant, full of laughter, smile wider, prettier than every other girl in the room. She's not like that, with his dad alone. He makes her fade into the background. He wears her like an accessory, with no idea how to make her shine.

James bites down on his lip, fingers bunched into his comforter. Thinking about his dad and Diana has never done anything but piss him off. He can't afford that right now. Anger clouds his judgment, and James is mid-game. He can't let anything set him off-balance, or Kendall will notice, and after that, it will only be a matter of time before Kendall knows.

Wait.

Kendall.

James doesn't quite cry Eureka, but the triumphant noise he makes sounds a lot like it. He hunts down Kendall, fully intending to rope him into a tux, but he runs into an unexpected obstacle.

Specifically, Kendall is all dripping wet and mostly naked, having just stepped out of the shower.

"This is the bathroom," Kendall says dumbly. "I locked the door."

"I'm aware," James replies, dry mouthed and hypnotized by the bead of water beneath Kendall's right nipple. He's only human, here.

"No, but. This is the bathroom. And I locked the door," Kendall says, outraged. James tries to not to feel too victorious about it, but aggravating his best friend has always been one of his favorite hobbies.

"You didn't lock it very well," James tells him, even though it took him a whole five minutes to jimmy the thing open.

"James, get out," Kendall screeches, clutching his towel tight as steam billows behind him.

James does not get out, his bare feet sticking to the bathroom tile. He feels sort of stupid, standing there in his race car pajamas when Kendall is made of gold, peach, and rose, a living, breathing sculpture of a boy. He longs to reach out and touch, cannot help it when he does so. Kendall inhales sharp, through his nose. James doesn't really remember what it's like to breathe. His best friend's skin is damp and spongy beneath his fingertips, but soft and scented like a tropical forest.

He could bend down on his knees, tear that towel away, and lick the summer heat off Kendall's flesh.

He could, but he promised himself that he would not. Sex right now would be speedy and satisfying and over too quick, and it probably wouldn't be better than anything Jett Stetson has to offer. James needs to be mind-blowing, not desperate and needy. Right.

If only his mouth weren't so dry. He needs a drink, he thinks. Hot cocoa. Or vodka. Or maybe hot cocoa spiked with vodka.

James stands there, a little stunned, and finally Kendall takes charge of the situation. Kendall is very, very good at that. He cups James's cheek and smiles, splintered and uncertain but still mostly Kendall, brave and true.

"If you're not going to leave, you might as well do something," Kendall murmurs, coyer than James thought he knew how to be. He touches his lips to James's, softwet and oh-so-sweet. James's brain totally blanks out, short-circuited by the way Kendall presses their bodies together, leaving a long, soggy mark up James's pajamas. He clutches at Kendall's sides, trying to force him closer, trying to deepen the kiss, and he doesn't like it at all when Kendall pulls away laughing.

Why is there laughing? Laughing is not the usual response to James-kisses. James knows; he is usually an active participant in them, and he can't remember anyone ever laughing so blatantly in his face. Kendall shoves him back a few steps, still laughing hard. He says, "Get out," and then slams the door in James's face.

James looms right outside the bathroom, trying to fight off the inexplicable feeling that he's been had.

He would stay there all day, probably, if not for the throat that gets cleared somewhere in the vicinity of his right shoulder. Logan is standing behind him, clad in a pair of board shorts and about eighteen layers of sunscreen that are melting off him in tiny white beads. Someone spent the morning at the pool.

Logan blinks. And then he blinks again. "Were you just, uh. Making out with Kendall?"

"Yeah," James sighs, because convincing Logan that he's suffering from heat stroke is a lot more work than he's willing to put in right now. He totally forgot to ask Kendall to dinner. Being thwarted sucks.

Logan makes a ragged noise. Then another. He sounds out, "I'm not going to lie. I'm a little freaked out right now."

"Breathe," James recommends, not all that interested in Logan's freak-out. But, because he's a good friend, he asks, "Do you want me to get you a paper bag?"

"That would probably help," Logan agrees, hands turned to claws by his sides.

And for the next ten minutes, James rubs soothing circles into Logan's back while he hyperventilates about his world tilting on its axis.

"Are you guys gay now?" Logan finally asks bluntly, his voice too steady for someone who just had a virtual panic attack.

"No idea," James crosses his arms over his knees. "Kendall's giving me a lot of mixed signals. Don't you think he's been acting weird lately?"

Mostly those mixed signals are third grade and Jett Stetson, but Logan doesn't need to know that.

…No, but, really. James doesn't understand why Kendall would go gay for Jett. He's not even close to as pretty as James.

"You've been acting weird lately," Logan retorts. "Although I guess it makes sense now."

"What do you mean?"

"That smug smile, for one. I thought you landed a modeling job, or Gustavo was giving you a solo, or you banged Diana, which, by the way, would have been wrong on so many levels and-"

"Why would you think that last one?" James demands, sharper than he intends. Logan's too smart for his own good, always able to see right to the heart of every problem.

"Because you're hot for her. You have been for like, ever."

"I haven't."

"James, please. Every time your stepmom's in the room, you drool all over her. I'm glad that's not it. Kendall's a superior choice. Are you, uh, dating?" Logan runs a hand over his hair, making it stand on end in little spikes. "This conversation is surreal."

"Would it be awful if we were?" James asks, abruptly beleaguered by a knot of guilt in his stomach. Lying to Kendall is hard enough. He didn't even think about how he'd have to lie to Logan and Carlos too.

Logan stares at the carpet, his shoulders trembling. "I guess not. I can't say I didn't know this was coming."

"Me and Kendall?" James asks, more surprised than he wants to let on. Did everyone know about Kendall's crush but him? Is James really that oblivious?

"Not Kendall. That's unexpected." Logan bites his lip. "But you and guys…I knew it would happen eventually."

James objects, "I'm not that predictable."

Ruefully, Logan replies, "You are when it comes to sex. You've always liked pretty things, James. It never mattered what they were made up of. Glass. Diamond. Estrogen. Testosterone…I guess Kendall is a pretty thing too."

James nods his agreement, losing himself to the frozen image in his head of Kendall stepping out of a cloud of steam. Kendall is a very pretty thing.

Logan asks, "James?"

"Yeah?" James checks the corner of his mouth, just to make sure he's not salivating.

"Don't hurt him. He's still all messed up over Jo." Logan levels James with a gaze concocted of cinnamon and hazelnut and something stronger, more severe. "You know how he falls in love; fast, hard, and forever."

James shifts uncomfortably, the dim light of the hall darkening everything to dusky blue and purple and brown. Night colors, oil painting colors, and nothing at all like the brightness James prefers.

"Come on, man. It's Kendall. He's resilient."

"No. He's not." Logan meets James's gaze, his pupils huge, his irises coffee-comfort, Minnesota-earth, but also hard in a way that James rarely sees. "He tries so hard to be invincible. You should know better than anybody that he's not. Don't hurt him. Please."

"Okay." James swallows. "Alright."

He doesn't promise, because he can't. Diana's name is a mantra in his head, her smile, her dancing eyes, the curve of her breasts and the delicate arch of her ankles. Kendall is hot and real and his best friend in the whole world, but she is his fantasy, his make-believe, his dream girl. In the end, he knows who he will choose.

He stumbles upon Kendall and Carlos in the living room in the middle of the afternoon, shooting zombies in the head and crowing loud after each shot lands. The sun streaming through the window is merciless. James is baking, even with the air conditioning. He steps in close to the couch and smacks them both across the back of the head.

"Ow," Kendall says, shooting James an annoyed look before turning back to zombies. Carlos has less self-control, and leaps off the couch with his video game controller held high, an instrument of impending blunt force trauma.

He shouts, "What was that for?" and swings towards James.

"Not the face," Kendall instructs, fingers jabbing buttons, not moving to help.

James dodges to the left, and Carlos announces, "His face deserves it."

Another wild swing nearly gives James a wicked shiner, but he wasn't one of the best players on their hockey team for nothing. He's got reflexes like a panther, rawr.

"I like his face," Kendall says, but he still isn't offering an assist.

James finds that he's not nearly as enticing with clothes on. In fact, he's being kind of annoying. Why does James want to take him somewhere nice again?

Oh yeah. Dinner. Diana. Dad. James kicks out at Carlos's shins, knocking his legs from beneath him. In the interim, while Carlos catches his breath, James talks like a trainwreck, fast and messy. "Come out to dinner with me tonight, right, okay, please, I really want you to."

Kendall frowns, his thumbs finally paused. "Is that a good idea?" His avatar shrieks as a zombie sinks its teeth into his flesh, but Kendall still doesn't move.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Carlos groans. James plants his boot firmly on Carlos's abdomen and gives him a look that clearly means stay down.

"It's just. Your dad." Kendall is a perfect echo of James's earlier thoughts.

"Exactly. I don't know why you're so nervous about this. It's just my dad."

"Sure, yeah, fine." Kendall's cheeks redden, and he gestures for James to lean in close. When James does, he hisses, low enough that Carlos can't hear, "Last time I saw your dad you hadn't tried to stick your hand down my pants."

"He won't know." Carlos begins clawing at James's calf. It tickles.

"He might know," Kendall argues.

"Know what?" Carlos asks, still trying to pinch James's leg hairs, which tickles less. Then, "I want free dinner."

"You're not invited."

"Why does Kendall get to go and I don't?" He whines.

"Probably because Kendall's had his tongue in James's mouth," Logan announces, trotting into the room with a book and a smirk.

Carlos says, "I could do that, I could totally put my tongue in your- wait, what?"

"Wait, what?" Kendall echoes, his voice pitching higher than it's gone since they were thirteen. He throws a scandalized, gaping expression of horror James's way, and it takes on a desperate edge when he turns it towards Logan.

"Don't even try to hide it. I saw you two this morning. All steamy and naked." Logan's got a bit of a sadistic streak. James is really enjoying this aspect of him.

He watches Kendall's eyes get wider and wider, frantic, even. "That was- I mean- uh. It. You know."

"I know you and James are getting it on or going steady or whatever it is you young kids do these days," Logan agrees.

"Going steady?" Kendall mouths weakly. He gives James a despairing glower, which James answers with a Cheshire smile and a shrug. "You knew he knew? Thanks for the heads up, jerk."

"How long has there been anything to know?" Carlos asks, injured. He gives Logan big brown cow eyes. "And why am I always the last to know?"

Logan helps Carlos out from under James's boot and off the floor. "The important thing is they're happy. Right?"

Grudgingly, Carlos agrees, "Right. You guys aren't going to like, suck face in front of me, right?"

Kendall tells James, "You can punch him."

James tells Kendall, "Already on it," and cracks his knuckles. Carlos bolts from the room.

James taps his fingers against his dresser, bored with this game. He looks good. Duh. He's James Diamond. He always looks good.

But somehow he knows it won't be good enough for his dad. Some miniscule stain on his tie that most people would need a microscope to see, a hair out of place, a scuff on his shoes; all of it will be fodder for his dad's disapproval.

In his full-length mirror, James can see the reflection of the sun melting into the horizon, the cotton candy colors of California fading, drowned out by a glow so bright it's visible from space. The foothills loom in the distance, cradling the urban sprawl of houses and hotels and lounges hopping with life. Hollywood is not a city, it's a playground, it's an extension of Disney; Hollywoodland, all lit up in lights. James thinks it will be easier to exist in the steady glow of city neon, all that electricity outshining even the stars, turning James electric too.

Any other day, any other night, he would be out there with Kendall and Carlos and Logan, owning it, shiningshimmeringsplendid, dangling their feet off the rooftop of buildings and cat calling the whole wide underworld, trash filled alleys and traffic jammed streets, voices lost somewhere between the honk of cars and the howl of wind. Tonight, instead, he is dapper, dressed in a suit and ready to charm.

Probably. His dad's really hard to charm.

It must show on his face, because Kendall is standing in the doorframe of his room, watching with a fond smirk while James fumbles with his tie.

"I don't know why you're so nervous," he mimics softly, stepping inside, closer, to help. His fingers move deftly over the fabric, tying the knot his dad taught him, before he skipped town. James and Kendall have always had that on common, dads who prefer to be anywhere but here. "It's just your dad." He pauses, cupping James's cheek. "It'll be okay."

James says, "You don't know that."

"Have I ever let you down?" Kendall asks, his eyes big and green and so familiar that it aches.

"No," James admits sullenly. Kendall doesn't know how to be disappointing. He is the hero, the knight in shining armor, the prince charming that James has always wanted to be.

And right now, he's looking at James like he's all of those things and more.

James clears his throat, "Ugh, stop giving me feelings, alright?"

"Feelings?" Kendall cocks an eyebrow.

"The warm squishy kind," James makes a face, with a hint of grin, just to show he's joking. "I don't appreciate it at all."

With a reckless grin, Kendall leans in close and inquires, "I make you feel squishy?"

"I think this conversation has taken a wrong turn, somehow." Kendall's too close, and James is struck by how much he abruptly wants, more than anything, to back away. He can't play with Kendall like this. He can't flirt and kid around when Kendall won't stop being so damn good.

James doesn't know how to cope with it, the fear that trickles icy cold down his limbs He pecks Kendall on the lips, because that is in the script, that's what a real almost-boyfriend would do, but all the while he's thinking that everything about this is wrong.

On the walk to the hotel, James focuses on the dirt between the cracks on the unnaturally white sidewalk, sweat pooling in the palms of his hands. Kendall bumps their shoulders together, reminding him, "You can do this."

"I can do anything," James says with barely a trace of his usual cockiness.

Kendall stops, rubber soled sneakers skidding on the concrete. He is not wearing a suit, or anything even close. James isn't sure he owns anything other than skinny jeans.

"Yeah. You can," he agrees. He is utterly serious, utterly Kendall. James believes him, despite himself.

His dad and Diana emerge from their hotel in a blast of cold air from the lobby. She's pretty as a flower, fresh cut hydrangea, her pale indigo dress binding her breasts so tightly they spill over, golden tan. She's wearing her dark hair down, exactly the way James likes it, shower-clean and scented so sweet. He buries his nose against her throat when she hugs him, tight, too tight, how does no one notice how they cling to each other?

James's dad doesn't get a hug. A single nod of his head is good enough for that man, dressed in leather and denim and the dust of the road. He wants to be an urban cowboy, a renegade, anything but an old man.

James says, "Dad," voice ice-pick sharp.

"How's it hanging, kiddo? Good, I see," he talks right over James. "And you brought- Kendall. Interesting choice. I thought that Garcia kid was your favorite playmate."

"Dad, I'm too old to have playmates," James stresses at the same time as Kendall demands, "Carlos is your favorite?"

James nudges him with his foot. "Shut up, Carlos is your favorite too."

"Nuh uh," Kendall says emphatically. "You're my favorite."

James blinks. Then he does not blush, because James Diamond and blushing aren't things that happen in the same sentence, unless he's making it happen to someone else, but the tips of his ears might burn, just a bit.

Right up until Diana jams her stiletto right into his foot.

Even through the thick leather of James's boots, it hurts. He's about to ask her what the actual fuck, but he's distracted by his dad, telling Kendall, "That's a bit queer, son."

Kendall darts a glance towards James, his toothy grin reminiscent of a million sunny days of water balloon fights and prank wars and street hockey games. He's asking permission, James understands, and with the slightest of nods, James gives it to him. "Actually, uh, sir, I'm here as James's date."

It is a bomb in the midst of their social niceties, but only the pulsing vein in the side of James's dad's neck gives that away. He smiles ever-so-charmingly and jokes, "Welcome to the family."

Diana does not bat an eye, but if her lack of surprise raises Kendall's suspicions, he does not say so.

"How long have you two been together?" Mr. Diamond asks, because he has always liked to pretend that he is too cool for school. His grace and poise is an obvious front, and just to see if he can crack it, James wraps his arm around Kendall's shoulders.

"Seems like forever, now."

Kendall blinks, but doesn't give James away. He settles into his side and says, "It does, doesn't it?"

They make up a story, something boring and banal and completely untrue, falsifying their relationship into just that, a real relationship. Diana quirks her eyebrows, amused by the lies, gunmetal glitter twinkling over her lashes. Mr. Diamond buys into it all, hook, line, and sinker.

He is agitated, James can tell, but he's too polite to cause a scene in public. Not that Kendall or Diana represent the public; they've both had their fair share of watching James's dad chastise and belittle James. It's the busy street around the hotel that draws Mr. Diamond's eye, and invites his silence.

At least, for the moment.

Inside the restaurant, the windows are stained glass, or maybe just made to look like it, but they shine primary colors down on diners in geometric shapes. A man's silver hair is transformed into a deep, fiery red. A woman's high cheekbones are shaded a bright cobalt blue. A little girl's ruffled socks are seaweed green, and a waiter clothed all in black shines yellow as a daffodil.

James, his dad, Diana, and Kendall get a table in the back, near the faux-stone walls and more importantly, away from the over-loud chatter of most of the other patrons of the restaurant. Mr. Diamond seems pleased enough by the selection, but James hates it. In the middle of all the ornamentation, Diana is pale and flimsy as a breeze. She looks like she might turn into a specter if James tears his eyes away.

Besides, Kendall takes one look at the menu and hisses, "James, I don't know what half of these things are."

"Fake it," James mutters back, more than used to reading fancy restaurantese. His parents used to tote him around like a pet spaniel, guiding him from one fancy French brasserie to dimly lit bistro to fusion to whatever gastronomical delight took their fancy.

"I don't like to eat things I can't pronounce," Kendall objects, but he obediently buries his head in the menu and tries to work out what ceviche is.

They order and then make small talk, albeit stressed. James's dad talks about working with local clubs, while James and Kendall talk about working in stadiums. Mr. Diamond is proud, because he is not exactly the completely terrible father that James always likes to paint him as, but he is also keen to know all the details of popstardom. Especially the fiscal details, and particularly that James isn't being an idiot with his cash.

"Mom takes care of all of that."

"Your mother thinks that three thousand dollars is a reasonable price for shoes," Mr. Diamond replies easily. "Are you saving for college?"

James makes a dismissive noise. "I'm not going to college."

"You need to have a backup plan." James is over this conversation already.

He lets his father lecture him on the merits of education through the appetizers and well into the main course. Mr. Diamond is somewhere between you never know what the future might hold and you're in a boy band, son, and not getting any younger – all of which is pretty rich coming from the original lost boy – when James decides it's time for some fun. Surreptitiously, he kicks off one of his boots and nudges Kendall with his foot beneath the table.

Kendall kicks him.

Undeterred, James snakes the sole of his naked foot up Kendall's ankle. This has the somewhat negative effect of Kendall's eyes getting so big that James is scared his pupils are going to burst. He backs off hastily, scared that Kendall might choke on his steak. His knowledge of the Heimlich is rusty.

He waits until Kendall's done chewing for a second try, but he reaches the wrong feet, unless Kendall wore sky high stilettos to dinner and James just didn't notice. Diana, however, is not at all averse to James's advances, and slides her heel against the sensitive skin of James's shin. She takes over the game, slipping out of her Jimmy Choos, making it a tease.

Diana really knows how to tease. By the time she's got her toes massaging the inside of James's knee, his dick has taken a serious interest in the proceedings. He shudders, completely turned on, but no one else is any the wiser.

James manages not to feel guilty about that until Kendall's hand slides into his lap beneath the table, fingers lacing with James's.

Which Diana notices. Suddenly, her side of the conversation is full of barbed wire; one wrong step and James is tangled and cut. Her foot hasn't stopped its slow trek towards James's junk, the curl of her toes brushing electric over the inseam of his jeans. Kendall squeezes his fingers and Diana's foot inches higher still, fuck, fuck, James can't actually be this turned on right now. He can't, but he is, and he's arching into the ball of Diana's foot when it finally gets where he wants it, rutting up into bare skin he can't even feel through his jeans.

She smiles at him then, a sweet, bashful thing that is so shockingly reminiscent of the day he met her that James has trouble remembering why he ever let her go. Desperate love has him by the back of the neck, claws digging into his jugular, and by the time dessert comes around, he is staring at Diana so wanting and open that he's sure Kendall must notice.

But Kendall's completely absorbed in conversation with James's dad, only linked to James by his fingers, and James couldn't look away from the charcoal color of Diana's eyelashes even if he wanted to.

He's teetering on the edge of an orgasm when she pulls her foot away. She slides up out of her chair, begging pardon from Kendall and James's dad before wandering off the bathroom. James is left, bereft, wondering if it's poor form to palm his hand over his dick and send himself completely over the edge.

Kendall's fingers are still twined with his, sitting firmly on his thigh. If he edged them both a little to the right, it'd be exactly right. It'd also be entirely wrong, so James waits with gritted teeth for the tight grip of arousal on his balls and belly dies down. It sets him on edge, even his bones over-sensitized. The end of dinner can't come too soon.

Outside, the moonlight puddles on the concrete, yellow as corn, competing for space from the street lamps and headlights. When Diana hugs him goodbye, James leans in close and murmurs, "The hell was that? Are you jealous?"

She laughs, throaty and loud.

"Of some conquest? No."

James wants to tell her not to call Kendall a conquest, but he knows better. Diana needs the game to justify what she's doing. What she's feeling. It's weights and measures; it's a gamble. The anonymity and the idea that she's always, always in control are what makes everything worth it. If James reminds her that Kendall's a human being, a person with real worth, the chase is off.

James isn't ready to wave the white flag quite yet. He turns on his heel, waving an irreverent salute towards his dad, but that gets him about three steps away before Mr. Diamond's collared him by the back of the neck.

He murmurs, "Son, do you think this is wise?"

James knows exactly what this is about, but plays dumb anyway. "What?"

He waits to be told that a Diamond is not allowed to be gay for keeps, sees the words waiting in the stony, pinched expression his father's wearing. He's gotten this lecture before, about girls and boys and what's expected of him in the future.

So he's barely paying attention when his dad begins, "Well," choosing his words carefully, punctuates them with a meaningful glance towards Kendall, who is wishing Diana his own less tactile farewell. "You always break your playthings."

It's not what James is expecting to hear. He says, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know you. You're my boy." Mr. Diamond replies, his eyes dark and searching and exactly like James's. Everyone says so. "You're not careful."

Hypocrite.

Low and rough, James tells him, "Spare me the lecture. If I hurt him, that's my business."

His dad releases him, but James can still feel his fingertips against the back of his neck, stinging like a firebrand. "It's not Kendall Knight I'm worried about, James."

It sounds so damn fatherly.

He sounded the same the day he explained why Diana needed a man and not a boy. James knows better now. "Fuck you, Dad. Let's not do dinner again anytime soon."

If he had a door to slam, James would. In the absence of loud noises, James stomps towards Kendall, grabbing him by the elbow and forcibly dragging him away. He doesn't slow down until his father and the woman they both love have been swallowed by Hollywood's glowing embrace, faded to black in the distance.