A/N: Fried. Brain. My. God.
First of all, new puppy. Holy shit is she a lotta work! Tiny terror... Next, David. Motherfucking. Wright. Like, seriously, he just needs to not. With his face and the scruff and the blue jersey and the dimples and the accent and just... everything. God, he's gorgeous! I just... UNF!
Anyway, this chapter actually wasn't in the original plan but it needed to be written in order to show their actual phone conversation after the voicemails and then to set up for later stuff. Probably why it was such a pain in the ass to write... But I wrote the first part first, got stuck on it, started working on the second part separately, so if things are weird or repeating or something, that's why. And my bad. Also forgive any missed typos. I was puppy sitting while proofreading, meaning I kept getting interrupted to clean up pee spots, stop her from chewing, and trying to calm her down when she went after our other dog. Again, my bad.
Lyrics in this are from "Dear God" by Avenged Sevenfold, credit to them, they are awesome. Don't sue me, Twitter, over name dropping you. Again. And whatever ass-covering needs to be done that I forgot about.
I'm off to cry over how it's not baseball season yet. Enjoy the update!
James didn't call that night.
Or the next day.
Or even the day after that.
It was Thursday by the time he actually dialed up Kendall. And it just happened to be while the blond was fucking working.
Kendall got the voicemail during his dinner break, nothing more than some bullshit about having been busy and unable to call until that moment. The blond knew it was a lie, recalling how the pop star told him that shit gets boring on the road, that he spends a lotta time waiting around backstage. Even if he had a million and one things to do that day, he could still find five minutes to call-or at least fucking text-and let the younger male know he got the message. But that was James for ya, unpredictable and nonsensical.
Staring down at his iPhone, Kendall let out a harsh sigh, seriously debating if he should call back. He'd gotten over the whole being hung up on, his anger shifting towards the amount of time it took the other male to call back or even acknowledge that Kendall had left him a voicemail. He'd told himself he was no longer gonna be the pathetic one, the loser who sat around waiting for the guy to call, doubting himself and feeling bad and/or depressed when his phone never rang with that number displayed. 'Course that meant it happened anyway, but that was beside the point. He was consciously making an effort to not do that, be that, trying to catch himself whenever self-deprecating thoughts entered his brain, paranoid or upsetting beliefs turning him back into that zombie he'd once been several times over the past few years-even more so frequently-trying to make sure he remained as an actual human.
Kind of an asshole of a human, but one nonetheless.
He sat down in the break room, glad he was alone, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward and continued to just stare at his phone, the screen now black. He kinda had the perfect out. He could just not call back or text or whatever. He highly doubted James would continue calling or anything, wouldn't be surprised if the pop star didn't pursue him, since most guys tended not to do that and so far, that was James' MO. But even if the singer did start up with the non-stop calls or texts, Kendall could just keep ignoring them or have the number blocked. There was nothing or no one saying he had to reply. And once the calls stopped-whether by James or by call blocking-the blond could do what he'd wanted for a long fucking time: try to get over the brunet.
He mentally snorted, both his head and heart agreeing that he was seriously fucking kidding himself.
With a sigh, he unlocked his phone and dialed James' number, leaning back in his seat, hand over his eyes, head resting against the back of his chair. He had a brief fleeting thought about how he once again called without practicing what he wanted to say, assuming he'd get the other male's messaging system, only to decide that if there was no answer, he was just gonna hang up.
"Hello?"
Shit.
Kendall lifted his head, remaining in his slouched position, hand going to the back of his neck. "Heeeey."
A relieved sigh came down the line, like the singer was glad the teen had called, like he was afraid it wasn't gonna happen. "Kendall." The blond totally didn't like how the brunet sounded when saying his name, totally didn't think the other male was pleased and alleviated and happy to be able to say the younger male's name at all. Nope. "Hey. Guess you got my message."
"Yup." He popped his lips on the "p", dropping his hand to his lap, getting his voice flat and free of any emotions. He wasn't about to admit that he was feeling just as glad or relieved or pleased at the presence of the other male's voice down his phone line.
The tone of his voice and attitude were clearly picked up on, James' own demeanor changing. "Uh, look, sorry it took so long to call back. I've just been real busy and didn't have time."
"Uh huh," Kendall replied, eyes cast downward as he watched the fingers of his right hand play with the bottom edge of his apron. "By the way, I have a bridge in Brooklyn. Maybe you could check it out sometime. Been thinking of selling it and I'm sure with your big pop star money, you can afford it."
There was a brief pause before the singer spoke. "Still regretting telling you to keep it real with me."
A short, humorless laugh left the blond as he released his apron, folding his arm over his torso. "Well, like I told you before, this is me. You want someone to constantly kiss your ass and tell you how fucking amazing you are all the time or to do that cliche 'how high' when you say 'jump' bullshit, you've called the wrong guy. I'm done doing shit to please others and acting like something I'm not, doing something I hate because I think it'll make someone else happy. And if you don't like it, now's your chance to leave."
Another pause, this one longer, James taking in what Kendall had said and seemingly thinking it over. The blond swallowed hard, fingers gripping the side of his apron as they folded up into a fist, his stomach clenching, his muscles going tense, his breathing forced as his lungs had stopped. This was it. This could be the very moment where the brunet decided he'd had enough, that it's not worth it, that he wanted out of... well, out of whatever the fuck was going on between them. It would be so easy for the pop star to turn around and tell the teen "You're right, this isn't what I want. I'm done" before hanging up and never calling again. The guy would have anyone he desired, male or female, countless fangirls waiting in the wings to kiss his ass or suck his dick or do whatever the singer wanted them to do. And they'd do it without question, without attitude, without any of the shit Kendall was giving him.
James really did deserve better than him.
The singer's voice was low as he finally spoke, once again seeming reluctant to admit what it was that he was saying. "I don't wanna leave." His voice got stronger as he said the next part of his reply. "And I don't want you to kiss my ass or tell me how amazing I already know I am-" Kendall rolled his eyes. "-or any of that other shit. I just." He paused, letting out a harsh sigh, followed by a muttered swear, before he continued in that quiet volume once more. "I just want you."
Kendall felt his heart clench in his chest, his skin tingling at the other male's words. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, right hand hanging between his legs, speaking low as he replied. "You have me."
A small laugh came down the phone line. "That might be scarier than not having you at all."
The blond swallowed hard, knowing exactly what the other male was saying. The only thing worse than not having something, was losing it.
Silence descended over the twosome, the weight and enormity of the moment crashing down on them both. What the brunet had said—regardless of how reluctantly he had said it—was a major fucking thing, a confession of sorts, something that could actually explain the elder's habit of running away.
Fear.
Although what exactly that fear was, Kendall wasn't sure. He knew what he himself was afraid of, but as for the brunet? It could've been anything. All the blond knew was that it involved actually being with the teen, alluding to countless possibilities as to what the issue was. And while the younger male was fucking dying to get to the truth, to figure out what exactly the problem was so he could solve it, so that shit could be sorted and they could be together, he knew that if he did, if he got the pop star to open up and explain everything, tell him everything, he'd have to do the same in return, have to open up and get all his own bullshit out there. It was only fair really, give as well as take.
Which was so not happening.
But he had to admit, somewhere inside of him, a teeny tiny, itsy bitsy, super microscopic part of him kinda did wanna tell him, if for no other reason than the hope that the singer would open up and give the teen some much needed answers to why all this bullshit was happening.
Kendall's eyes roamed the room he was currently in, the dark gray cement block walls, the vending machines, the old tables—one of which had an uneven leg and constantly wobbled—the mismatched chairs, and the door that could be opened at any moment, any other employee of Sherwood's Grocery free to just walk right in and he couldn't do shit to stop them. No one cared if you were on the phone having a potentially life-altering—or at least a relationship-altering—conversation. They just wanted their junk snack or their soft drink out the machine and to sit for a few minutes, rather than standing at whatever position their job required them to be at. He'd lost track of the number of times that he'd done just that, just waltzed right in on someone else's chat, not giving a fuck if it was rude or not, using the argument that it was an employees lounge and as an employee he was free to come and go as he pleased when he was on break. Meaning someone else could do the exact same thing to him, give him the same explanation, the same amount of shit.
So needless to say, it wasn't the right locale for that kinda talk he wanted to have with James. If he even wanted to have it.
Really fucking big "if" there.
But he never really got the chance to fully think it over. His supervisor, Mr. Smitty, popped his head in the door, looking around the room, stopping when his beady little eyes came across Kendall.
"Break's over, Knight," he stated sharply, pushing his round glasses up his nose. "There's shopping carts in the lot I need you to take in."
Kendall gave a sarcastic smile and a thumbs up, mentally puking at the cheesy ass grin he got in response, his hand gesture changing to a middle finger as Mr. Smitty disappeared back through the door.
"I gotta go," he said into his iPhone when all was clear.
"Yeah, I heard. Shopping carts call."
"Halfway tempted to just hit 'ignore' on that call to be honest," the blond somewhat joked, rubbing his eye with the heel of his left palm, arching his back to stretch.
The singer let out a small laugh. "Hope you won't ignore my call later."
Kendall froze in his arched position, eyes wide, before he recovered. Slumping his spine back, he sat normally, free hand on his lap. "You're gonna call later?"
"Yeah." The smile was in his voice, only to disappear and be replaced with a more hesitant tone. "That's okay, right? I can still call you. Right?"
The blond leaned forward, elbows on his knees once again, head tilted down, acting as though the other male was in the same room and he wanted to hide the smirk on his face. "Yeah. I told you, you can call anytime you want."
"What if I don't wanna call you at that time? Can I still call you then?"
The teen furrowed his brow before laughing, pushing himself up so his left hand was on his knee, propping his upper body up. "You weren't kidding when you said you were fucked up."
The laugh that left James was humorless, forced, and Kendall wondered if he'd said the wrong thing again. "Yeah. But I gotta go, too. Logan's doing this weird arm wave thing that generally means time to get off the phone and go. Yes, dude, I get the hint, I'm going. Christ."
Lips twisted up in a small smirk, the blond rose to his feet, stretching his back once more. "Guess I'll letcha go then," he stated, dropping back down to his regular stance.
"Yeah."
Neither spoke, but neither got off the phone. It was one of those moments were something should be said, three words that were way too early to be spoken, but the teen had a feeling they would be one day.
He swallowed hard, his chest tight with several emotions that continuously switched themselves around, never sticking long enough to be figured out and named.
James cleared his throat, seeming to wanna try and clear away the awkwardness with it. "Right so. Talk to you later."
"Right," Kendall nodded. "Later."
Another small pause, a "later", then the call was ended. The teen looked down at his iPhone, wishing things weren't so difficult, weren't so awkward, weren't so laborious. He wondered if things would ever be easier, where conversations just flowed, where neither were afraid to say something for fear of upsetting the other person or because it was something they just didn't wanna say. He wanted to fast-forward time, to whenever things were resolved between he and James, just to see if all this work would be worth it in the end, worth the awkwardness and the annoyance and the aches.
He had a feeling that no matter the outcome, he wouldn't care, that he'd deal with it all anyway. Because it was James.
With a heavy sigh, he slipped his iPhone up under his apron and into his jeans pocket, figuring he should get outside and grab the shopping carts. Conversations with gorgeous singers or not, he needed fucking money, which meant he needed this fucking job.
At least he had a phone call to look forward to later on.
Kendall wasn't about to do his usual pathetic ass routine of staring at that James Diamond concert update Twitter feed. Instead, he sat on his bed, guitar on his lap, determined to learn how to play Syn's solo in "Nightmare", only to get distracted by singing the words as he played the choruses and verses instead. But whatever. He still wasn't being some pansy ass motherfucker waiting around like a fucking loser for some guy to call and that was the important part. It wasn't the first time he'd had the thought of refusing to let James affect his mood and it probably wouldn't be the last. At that moment though, he truly meant it and was actually putting forth an effort to do so. He was doing something to make sure he wasn't being that sad lil puppy dog chasing after an owner who may not even want it.
Which was probably the saddest, most pathetic part of the whole fucking thing.
But no fucking more. Kendall wasn't gonna be the stray that kept getting kicked, only to continually return to its abuser. He was done with that shit, no matter what happened between him and James.
Only to immediately grab hold of his phone as soon as it started ringing.
Realizing what he was doing, Kendall waited for a moment, taking a deep breath-or four-to calm his nerves and not make it so fucking obvious that he was anxious to hear from James. Then he answered.
"Hello?"
"Hey." That smile was in James' voice and damn if it didn't make Kendall smile, too. "How are ya?"
The blond made a mental point not to say anything too cheesy or lame or something that would make the brunet immediately wanna run. "All right, I guess. You?"
"Good. Tired, but good."
"How'd the show go?"
"Good, good."
There was a pause, neither knowing what to say. Fuck this was awkward. Kendall wondered once again if all their conversations were gonna be like this, have these huge lulls in them. Then he decided he kinda didn't care, as long as he was actually on the phone with the other male.
"So what are you up to?" the elder male broke the silence, figuring out what to say.
"Not much, messin' on my guitar, tryna learn a new song," he replied, laying the instrument next to him on the bed.
"What song?"
The blond debated telling him, pretty much convinced the brunet wouldn't know it. After all, the guy was part of the whole bubblegum pop world, and despite Avenged Sevenfold briefly being on MTV a few years ago, this was a newer song, one he didn't think the singer would know.
"Doubt you've heard of it."
"Try me."
Kendall cocked an eyebrow before lowering it and shrugging. "'Nightmare' by Avenged Sevenfold."
A few seconds of silence before "Yeah, you were right, I don't know it." The teen smiled smugly, kinda bummed the elder male couldn't see it. "I do know a different song by them though," the pop star continued before he started singing. "'A lonely road, crossed another cold state line. Miles away from those I love, hope is hard to find.'"
Kendall closed his eyes, swallowing hard as he slumped back against his headboard, sliding down so he was in a laying position, James' voice washing over him. Not fucking fair, definitely not fucking okay either. The guy's voice was amazing enough, already able to move the blond in ways he didn't think were possible. But now he was singing that song? Of all the A7X songs in the world...
"I love that one," he confessed lowly, back of his left hand resting on his forehead, eyes still closed. "One of my faves."
"Yeah? It's really good. Kinda relatable." The last part was spoken in that low, reluctant voice James used when he said something Kendall figured the brunet didn't wanna say or have the blond hear, or maybe even both. The teen wondered if the singer would ever be able to speak his feelings at a normal volume and not be afraid of it.
He wondered if he'd ever be able to do that himself.
His mind went back to earlier thoughts in Sherwood's break room, thoughts of opening up himself in the hope that James would do the same. But really, there was no guarantee that would happen. There was always the huge chance that the singer could turn around and say "that sucks" but not give any information about himself that would lead to the teen understanding him better. There was an even greater chance of the brunet realizing just how fucked up the blond was and deciding to never speak to him again because of it. Which, in all honesty, was probably the biggest thing holding Kendall back. Sure there was the fact that he just flat out didn't wanna tell anyone at all, but with James, it went beyond that, to the point where he wanted to hide all the bad shit even further back in that proverbial closet and be the perfect person he felt the brunet deserved. Because as much as he wanted the elder male to like him for his true self, the younger knew that there were parts of him that were just flat out unlovable, unacceptable, and would make the singer run so far, so fast, never to return again.
So clearly, his decision to keep that shit to himself was the right choice, the only choice.
'Things are never gonna go anywhere between you two,' his brain oh so cheerfully pointed out. 'You're gonna be forever stuck in this limbo, both of you scared to make a move, neither of you helping things progress. Yeah, this relationship is gonna work out soooo well.'
'I seriously don't have time for this bullshit.'
'Too fuckin' bad. You're gonna get it anyw-'
"So," Kendall spoke out loud down the phone line, interrupting his own thoughts, desperately trying to get some sorta of conversation going. Partially so he didn't have to hear said thoughts, but also to prove himself wrong. "You gonna keep singing to me?" He smirked as he played with the edge of his t-shirt, looking down at his fingers as they moved.
A laugh sounded out in his ear, James seeming amused by the question. "You telling me you don't have my music on your iPod?"
The blond paused his actions, lips twisting as he thought of the right response, one that wouldn't piss off the singer or make him seem like an obsessed fanboy. "Not the same," he replied, mentally patting himself on the back for the diplomatic answer, fingers pulling at his tee once again. "Besides, you haven't recorded any Avenged Sevenfold covers."
"True," the elder male conceded. "Starting to think you're only with me for my vocal talents."
"Maybe I am," he joked with a smirk, folding his arm behind his head on the pillow.
A snort sounded down the line. "Well, when do I get to hear your vocal talents again?"
Kendall's brow furrowed in confusion, wondering what the fuck the other male was talking about. The blond wasn't really much of a singer, only having somewhat sung along with the radio or to himself when shoveling snow off driveways or in the shower. But he hadn't done that in years, not really in the mood for it anymore. Plus the music he listened to was a little hard to sing along to without busting a blood vessel in his brain or thrashing his throat.
And as he thought about it more, he realized he'd never sung in front of James, meaning the pop star had no idea of any "vocal talents" the blond may or may not possess. Unless he was referring to something else entirely.
Green eyes went wide as it hit him. Was the singer seriously suggesting what the teen thought he was?
"On that note," James continued, smirk in his voice. "What are you wearing?"
The blond chuckled in disbelief, somewhat surprised that he'd been right, but wondering why it shocked him. "Are you serious?"
"Hell yeah!" the singer replied, the teen able to picture the face he'd be making as he said that perfectly. "Why the hell not? Was a lotta fun last time. Plus I'm hoping to hear about every pair of boxers you own before we meet up again."
His eyes went over to his bureau, landing on the top drawer where he kept the mentioned clothing item, picturing them stashed within haphazardly, practically just shoved into the wooden confines. "I have a lot of 'em," he stated, lifting his head off the pillow and rubbing the back of it.
"Means a lotta phone sex then." That smirk was back in his voice, the brunet clearly more than okay with this plan. "Oh, first time we have sex, you gotta wear the ones with the skull on the ass like you wore last time we did this."
Several thoughts passed through Kendall's head as his eyebrows went up, the first being that James actually remembered what pair of boxers he'd mentioned last time. Second, was how the singer had pretty much assumed they were about to have phone sex again. Third was the pop star's other assumption that they were definitely gonna fuck, and apparently more than once judging by the phrase "first time".
He shifted on the bed as he felt a stirring in the current pair of boxers he was wearing-dark gray and black plaid if he remembered right.
"Thought I was supposed to be naked," he pointed out, scooting up slightly on the pillows so he was half-laying, half-slouched, left hand taking hold of the iPhone and pressing it to his left ear, as his right hand dropped unceremoniously onto his stomach.
"When we actually sleep, yeah." The singer was obviously planning for lots and lots of sex, the blond biting his bottom lip at the thought of all day fuck-fests in hotel rooms or on the bus the pop star traveled in. His dick started getting harder at the images flashing through his mind, his hips rolling on their own. "But you can't be naked all the time, which kinda sucks, but whatever. Besides, the thought of taking clothes off you sounds fun."
Kendall thought about it himself, picturing heated kisses as hands fought to take clothing off, lips parting to pull tees over heads. He imagined buttons flying as shirts were ripped open in a hurry, trembling hands anxious to undo belt buckles, fights with jean buttons and uncooperative zippers. He imagined his hair being pulled, neck being sucked on and nibbled, hands colliding between their bodies as they both fought to strip the other person, fought to gain control of the situation, fought to see the other male's skin first. He imagined the singer's lips traveling over newly exposed skin, kissing all over his own lean torso, teeth biting on his nipples, tongue swirling in his navel, James' hazel eyes locked on his green ones as the brunet mouthed over his cock through his boxers. He imagined cloth covered erections grinding together, both of them moaning at the contact of too much and not enough, loving the friction but needing more. He imagined all of it, worried that reality wouldn't live it up to it, feeling like it would be better, knowing that phone sex wasn't gonna be enough.
"So," James started, before his voice dropped an octave, becoming deeper, harsher, huskier, and altogether sexier. "What are you wearing?"
The blond palmed his now fully hard dick, wishing he hadn't put on sweats post-shower, wishing he was in just his boxers, wishing the singer was there to take all of it off of him. "Whatever you want me to wear."
A dark laugh came down the line, followed by an even darker voice. "Nice answer."