A/N: First of all, I apologize to Vanilla Ice and Skype for the retarded ass chapter title but it's all I could come up with.

Secondly, yay me and my ability to plan ahead so this could be done in a timely manner. Had the dialogue pretty much all written out (minus a few alterations here and there), so all I had to do was add the narration and boom! Chapter! Amazing.

Third, belated birthday shout outs to mah girl Sophie! Love ya oodles and I swear that oneshot is in the works, whenever my brain allows me to work on it and isn't all "OMG WOULDN'T THIS MAKE AN ADORABLE DRABBLE YOU SHOULD WRITE IT RIGHT NOW!" Le sigh.

Fourth, I hit four-hundred reviews :D Thank you guys so so much for giving this silly lil story a shot and to everyone who took the time to tell me what you think. Means a lot.

Lastly...I have no lastly. Um, ass covering witty comments about not owning or even having Skype on computer because I have yet to figure out where my webcam is or how to work it. *pokes black strip I think is a webcam* It's fun to mess with friends about it though... Other than that, I believe that's it. Enjoy! Or not. I won't judge.

All they did was have phone sex.

Okay, Kendall shouldn't complain. It had been an entire week, seven whole days since that conversation at work and James had called every night. The singer hadn't freaked out, hadn't run, hadn't hid for a couple days to return with half-assed apologies and less than acceptable excuses. No, the brunet would text the blond letting the teen know approximately how long it would be before he called, the phone ringing pretty much when the singer said it would.

The routine continued throughout the conversation. They'd both start out smiling, repeating their "hey"s to each other, awkward impersonal "so how are you, how was your day, what are you up to" questions being asked, the same answers given. Then the phone sex, which James stated was necessary in order to finish learning Kendall's boxer collection. And the blond played along, not arguing, joining in and getting into it. Hard not to when the hottest guy you'd ever set eyes on was moaning down the phone line as he described what he wanted to do to you. The teen could be exhausted, nearly dead, totally not in the mood to deal with anyone or anything—well, more in that mood than usual—but he'd still be up for an x-rated conversation. No pun intended.

And while every time was different, James having quite an imagination and/or the Kama Sutra memorized, Kendall wanted more. They didn't have to have in-depth discussions over politics—bullshit—or religion—more bullshit—but he wished they'd talk about something other than what sexual acts they wish to perform on or with the other person. Because in all honesty, the blond was starting to feel a little taken advantage of, feeling like the only thing the singer was interested in was getting off and using the blond as a way to do it. Not that he needed phone calls with the teen for that, considering the countless groupies that were ready and more than willing to help ease whatever sexual aches the pop star would have. There was no point in him wasting his time with some teen back in Minnesota that he had no clue when he'd see the guy again.

But still, Kendall couldn't help but feel like that's all he was, just an auditory helper in aiding the other male's jack-off sessions. Because other than a supplier of some moans and a few comments about what he'd do in whatever sexual situation the singer was describing, the blond was pretty much useless. There was no point in keeping him around. All he was was a necessary partner in an x-rated conversation.

But once that was over, when the orgasms had dribbled over their hands and down their cocks, when the highs were wearing off and their breathing returning to normal, that's when James would shut down even more. The singer would state he was tired, about to fall asleep, when twenty-seconds prior he was awake and full of energy. And yeah, okay, coming kinda took a lot outta ya and you got to that happy blissful place where all you wanted to do was doze off, and yeah, a pop star's life was pretty hectic and the brunet was probably exhausted after all the dancing and singing he did. But he acted the same exact way on days off and nights when he didn't have a show, leading the blond to believe he was lying, that he was doing it as an exit strategy, as a way to get off the phone before he was forced into having an actual conversation, without seeming rude.

And Kendall was fucking sick of it, sick of dealing with all of it, sick of never actually saying anything to James about it for fear of making the elder male wanna run again. So when Camille asked him how things were going with the brunet male during a Skype call, it totally wasn't the blond's fault that he exploded with pent-up annoyance and anger. And like the perfect friend she was—and that he didn't deserve in the slightest—she just sat there and listened, letting him rant it all out, not interrupting, not getting pissed that he was taking it out on her, not caring that he was insulting her favorite singer.

And when he was finished, when he'd finally gotten all that shit off his chest, she remained sitting there, silently contemplating, taking everything in and mulling it over. And Kendall remained just as quiet, letting her think, hand repeatedly rubbing over the top of his beanie, elbows resting on his desk.

"Maybe he's afraid of intimacy," Camille suggested after a long couple moments, shrugging slightly as her lips turned down in a slight pout of sorts.

The blond cocked an eyebrow as he considered her idea, mind going over every conversation, every dirty comment, every swear word and dialogue that seemed like it was straight out of a porno. James never held back, going over every last detail of what he'd do to the younger male, describing body parts, describing actions, describing pretty much everything one could think of when it came to sex. And then some. Plus the guy had a habit of just throwing out the sex talk like it was nothing, leading Kendall to believe the singer had no issues when it came to anything relating to the bedroom.

"Considering the shit he says," Kendall started, dropping his hand so his forearm was laying across his desk in front of him, alongside his left arm. "I don't think that's it."

"There's more than one kind of intimacy," the brunette argued, leaning back in her seat, arms folded over her chest. "Yeah, there's the sex aspect of it-" she admitted, rolling her eyes slightly and tilting her head from side to side "-but there's also opening up, being vulnerable, letting someone in, telling them your inner-most secrets, that kind of intimacy."

The blond raised his eyebrows, seeing her point, mulling it over himself. Her reasoning was pretty logical and seemed to make a lotta sense. It was something he dealt with on a daily basis himself, the refusal to open up and tell exactly what was happening in his head for various reasons, including the fear of rejection from the other person once they learned what a fuck up he was. And James himself had even said he was fucked up, so it stood to good reason that the singer didn't wanna let anyone else in and see exactly how fucked up he truly was.

Camille continued, capturing Kendall's attention. "I mean, what do we know about his past? He grew up in Cali, was in a kid's choir, and his parents split, that's it. And for all we know, it could've been something pretty bad and ugly, something he doesn't wanna talk about with anyone else."

He nodded, once again understanding her and what she was saying, relating to the concept. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized something else.

"Bet he tells Logan though," he muttered, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest. And okay, maybe he was pouting and being a bit immature, but whatever. He'd earned that right.

At least he felt he had in his own head.

She rolled her eyes at him, dropping her hands onto the desk. "Logan's been there James' entire life. He probably saw all of it, like with Carlos and you. Opening up to new people can be scary, especially when it's someone you like and wanna impress."

Her words were wise and, once again, hit home, Kendall able to relate to what she was saying like before. And, like before, it made a lot of sense and seemed like a pretty damn good explanation for what was going on in James' head and why he was acting the way he was.

Impressed as hell, he nodded, showing the feeling on his face as he turned his lips down in a thoughtful manner, chin slightly sticking out. "You're good at this."

Camille simply shrugged once again, arms folded on the desk, humble yet smug smile on her face. "My dad's had four wives and three divorces. Not a lot I haven't seen."

A small snort left him. "If you say so," he replied, right hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing. "But thanks. For everything."

Another shrug from his female friend, this one wordlessly saying that it was nothing, that what she'd done wasn't a big deal. "I know we met over the internet or whatever, but we're friends, and that's what friends do. And I know that if we were friends in real life and not cyberspace, I'd be doing and saying the same exact thing. Oh, and hugging you." She wrapped up her statements with a smile, brown eyes sparkling despite the pixelization.

He cocked an eyebrow as he dropped his hand, arms folded over his chest once more. "Yeah, I'm not a hugger."

Her smirk stayed. "I could change that."

He snorted, eyebrow going back to its regular place. "No way in hell."

"You never know."

"I do. And it's not happening."

Camille's reply was drowned out by Kendall's iPhone sounding out, Avenged Sevenfold's "Dear God" blasting out, alerting the blond to who was calling. 'Cause there was the slight possibility that the day after James had sung the tune to the blond on the phone, the teen had changed the singer's ringtone to that song and had it set so that it played solely when the pop star dialed him. But whatever.

The brunette female raised an eyebrow of her own, lips twisting up in the corner in a smirk that was both suggestive and amused. "James calling, huh?"

The blond's eyes snapped from the iPhone on the desk to the laptop screen, the green orbs slightly wide in surprise at his friend knowing who had called. "How'd you know?" he questioned once he wiped the shock away, replacing it with a more curious look.

"The giant stupid smile that formed on your face. That, plus the cheesy song that started playing."

"Hey!" He pointed a finger at the screen, glaring. "Avenged is not cheesy!"

"Yeah, yeah." She dismissed him with a wave of the hand, rolling her eyes. "I'll letcha talk to your boyfriend then."

"He's not my bo-"

He didn't get a chance to finish his argument. She'd hung up before he'd even gotten the second word out. He couldn't help but smirk at her techniques, chuckling slightly as he grabbed hold of his iPhone and hit 'answer', stating his "hey" down the line.

"Hey, you." The smile was in James' voice, as it always was when their calls first started, always seeming glad to be talking to the blond. And, as always, Kendall smiled back. "What are you up to?"

The blond leaned back in his seat, left hand on top of his beanie-covered head. "Just got done Skyping with a friend."

"You have Skype?!" the singer's voice was a mix of excitement and disbelief, like he couldn't understand why the teen hadn't mentioned the webchat program before or why they hadn't considered using it instead of their nightly phone calls.

Kendall's brow furrowed in confusion at the other male's overreaction to that announcement, thinking it was kind of an obvious thing that he'd have the program, wondering why it hadn't been brought up before. "Uh, yeah," he replied somewhat cautiously, looking around in confusion, finger swirling the pad on his laptop and moving his cursor around.

"Gimme your number. We're Skyping."

Arousal hit the blond at the brunet's command, heat washing over him, rushing through his blood and causing him to squirm in his seat slightly. He cleared his throat, giving his number to the other male, and receiving a "call you soon" in response before being hung up on. Pulling the iPhone from his ear, he stared at it, letting out a "rude" before putting the device on his desk. No point in getting too pissed over that, not when he was about to get something even better instead. He was gonna be able to actually see James while they spoke, be able to watching his lips move to form words, see the smile that he heard so often in the brunet's voice. Definitely worth being hung up on.

But on the downside, it meant that James could see him, too. Shit.

Okay, the beanie covered any possible bad hair situations and a quick glance down at his black thermal revealed no stains, no dandruff, nothing embarrassing. Nothing he could do about his face, or the scruff covering it. Not that he'd shave even if he wanted to. Maybe tomorrow he might feel like it.

His laptop started ringing as a new Skype call started coming through. He dropped his hand from where he was rubbing his whisker covered jaw, answering, watching as his screen filled up with a shot of the brunet male he'd been dying to see again.

And the singer looked just as good as the teen remembered. His brown hair was slightly side-swept, eyes tired but bright, scruff covering his own jaw and cheeks, a black wifebeater over his muscular frame. But the best part was his smile, that same genuine smile Kendall had seen at the meet-n-greet, in the dressing room, when they were onstage together. That smile that seemed to be just for the blond and no one else. That smile that was making the teen's heart race, his stomach flip, and his feelings for the brunet grow.

"Hey, good looking."

Kendall cocked an eyebrow as he looked at the other male, fighting the smirk that threatened to break out on his face. "You talkin' to someone other than me?"

The grin stayed on James' face. "Nope."

"So, you're talking to yourself then."

The brunet rolled his eyes, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "So," he started, leaning back, the screen slightly shaking with the movement. Kendall could see pillows behind the singer's head, standard white ones, a light wooden headboard of no particular shape or style, leading him to believe the other male was at a hotel for the night. "That's your room, huh?"

The blond turned and looked around the room, before turning back to the screen. "Yup."

"Take me on a tour."

The eyebrow went up once again, the teen ignoring how the elder male's order affected him, pulling at his jeans on his thighs. "Why?"

James shrugged, finger-combing his bangs as he licked his lips. "You can learn a lot about someone from their room."

His eyebrow remained cocked as he took in what the singer said, figuring the only reason someone would say something like that would be because they wanted to actually get to know the person they requested the tour from. And while Kendall had been dying to learn more about James, his background, his past, his life outside of the public image shown in magazines and on the internet, it never occurred to him that the singer would want the same thing, would want to get to know Kendall more. Mostly because the brunet never asked, but also due to the fact that he kept hanging up, never actually wanted to have a conversation outside of sex talk.

"Really?" was his disbelieving response, eyebrow going back down, arms folded over his chest as he leaned back in his seat. "That mean I get a tour of your room?"

"I'm in a hotel right now so why'd you want a tour of that-?"

"Not that room," Kendall interrupted. "Your bedroom back home."

There was a pause, the singer finger-combing his hair as he head tilted down. A moment later, he raised it, eyes locked on the screen once again. "Not really much to see."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"You're a shit tour guide," James changed the subject, lips twisted up in a slight smirk. "Get to movin'."

Kendall rolled his eyes, forcing out a huff as he stood up, holding onto his laptop and turning it so the camera was pointed out and away from him. He made quick work on the bedroom, ignoring commentary coming from the device.

"Your entire closet is one color. And so disorganized! How are your t-shirts mixed in with your jeans? Don't you have anything nice?"

"Why are your walls so dark? It's depressing."

"The Metallica poster is so you."

That one caused Kendall to turn the laptop back to himself to show the quirked eyebrow he was wearing, seeing the confused look James wore in response.

"What?"

"Really? It's me? The St. Anger poster is me?"

"Yup."

Another eye roll, then the blond got back to his tour, still ignoring the comments about the mess and the lack of color. Well, mostly ignoring them.

"Even your window is colorless and depressing."

"It's night."

"Not a valid excuse."

"Shut up and let me give you a fuckin' tour, damn."

"Fiiiine."

He allowed the laptop to have a quick glance into the bathroom, not really seeing the point in showing that off too much, before ending the tour at his bed.

"And that's it," he wrapped up, making his way over to the piece of furniture.

"That's where the magic happens, huh?" James questioned, his tone suggestive and flirtatious.

"If by magic, you mean sleep," Kendall replied, sitting on the bed and putting his computer on his lap, the screen turned to himself. "Then yeah."

The singer rolled his eyes. "Considering how our phone calls go, I'm talking about more than sleep." His voice dropped an octave, smile salacious, tongue darting out to wet his lips once more.

The blond shifted in his seat, feeling his dick twitch as his mind went through various clips and phrases the singer had said during the mentioned conversations, snippets of the suggestive things the brunet had stated he wanted to do to the younger male. And while part of him actually wanted to experience Skype sex for the first time and actually see what the other male did while speaking those x-rated fantasies, he couldn't help but recall earlier concerns he had about being used solely for jack-off material, how he thought that that was all the elder male wanted from him, that despite the request for a tour so he could learn about the blond from the looks of his bedroom, the brunet still wasn't fully interested in using Kendall for anything that didn't involve his dick.

"Actually," he started, voice somewhat reluctant, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I was hoping we could talk."

James' brow furrowed, bottom lip sticking out in confusion, and damn if he didn't look adorable like that.

Whoa! 'Adorable'? Since when did Kendall use the word 'adorable'? And since when did he describe guys that way?

Fuck, his feminization was getting worse.

The loss of his balls certainly explained his inability to speak up at times though.

"What are you talking about?" the singer questioned, regaining the teen's attention. "We always talk. We've talked every night for the past week."

The blond dropped his hand, folding his arms over his chest as he settled back against his pillows. "Yeah, about what sexual acts we'd do together. I wanna talk about more than that."

The brunet's brown furrowed again, this time for something more than just confusion. A small sadness had washed over his face, the high quality of his webcam allowing the younger male to see the change, see his eyes darken and turn down at the sides, see the way he swallowed hard.

"Why?"

Kendall unfolded his arms in an attempt to seem less aggressive, seem friendlier, seem nicer, all in the hopes that if he appeared less confrontational, the elder male would be more cooperative and go along with his plan.

"I wanna get to know you." His voice was low but sincere, green eyes pleading as they looked at the laptop screen.

But what they viewed wasn't anything he wanted to see.

James visibly stiffened, body tensing up, his face becoming that emotionless mask he wore right before he left the dressing room. "Kendall—" he started, then trailed off, voice as flat as his face.

"Lemme guess," the younger male started, not bothering to hide his annoyance or aggravation in his tone or on his face. "You had a long day and you're really tired."

It was the same excuse the elder always gave and the singer knew it. Shoulders slumped, he hung his head, finger-combing his brunet locks. "Yeah," he breathed out, speaking quietly. "Sorry."

The blond snorted. "No, you're not. If you were, you'd actually talk to me."

The pop star's demeanor and body language shifted again, head raising as his eyes narrowed in a glare. He leaned back against his pillows, arms folded over his broad face, anger etched on his face as he clenched his jaw. "Pretty sure you have no room to say anything about my inability to open up."

The teen furrowed his brow, confused. "What?"

"Tell me about your dad, Kendall."

It was a simple, harmless request, one given with a slight shrug. But given the hard look in the brunet's eyes and the way the blond had tensed up, they both knew it wasn't as innocent as it may seem to others.

The younger male felt his own features turn into an expressionless mask of his own, voice flat. "He was a guy."

"Uh huh," the elder's tone showed he didn't believe the other male. "That's what I thought." He shifted on the bed, sitting up straighter, aggression rolling off his muscular frame. "Until you can open up about your past, don't push me about mine." With that, he reached his hand forward and ended their call.

Kendall yelled out a "fuck!", slamming his laptop shut and tossing it next to him on the bed. Placing his feet flat, he bent his knees up, elbows resting on them, clasped hands on top of his head as he tilted it down. He closed his eyes, replaying his latest fuck up in his mind, over and over and over. Both of them were fucked up, both of them were hypocrites. The twosome clearly wanted to get to know the other person, but neither wanted to open themselves up or let anyone else in.

Recipe for a successful relationship right there.

A long harsh sigh left Kendall, his body rising and falling with the action. He lifted his head, shoving his beanie off, scratching his fingers through his hair. Grabbing his laptop, he got off the bed, carrying the device over to his desk and laying it down on top. His finger traced over the smooth logo as he spaced out, thinking over his conversations with Camille and James, realizing they'd both made a lotta sense, which led to the further realization that he needed to do something he hadn't done in fuck knew how long.

Apologize. And actually mean it.