A/N: Um, wasn't actually gonna post this for a while... won't get into it or risk entering #WhinyAuthorMode again but... it's a special occasion so I'm posting it, solely 'cause IT'S LINDA'S BIRTHDAY! Yay! :D Happy birthday for the millionth time, hun! Love ya oodles! XOXOX
Next up... um... I LOATHE the f-word. Clearly not referring to "fuck" since that's my favorite word ever, but the other f-word. However... it's unfortunately necessary here. And the warnings do say "homophobic slurs" so...but that being said, I still hate it and I didn't want anyone getting their panties in a twist over me using it. Trust me, I didn't want to, but it was in my head and keeping up with tradition of just typing whatever is said to me, I had to put it in here. Sorry.
Kendall needs to stop tweeting while I'm writing about him having sex with his bandmates though. It's just getting weird.
Sorry. Off-topic.
Anyway, enjoy this update. Happy birthday Linda again! I'm off to continue working on this oneshot about drunken superheroes and avoid writing about a couple of them getting donuts and discussing sex...BUT OMFG NEW WINTER SOLDIER PICS I'M GONNA PASS OUT!
It'd started raining sometime while Kendall and Camille were eating. Not a huge downpour, but enough for you to actually feel drops hitting you. And apparently enough for Southern Californians to forget how to fucking drive, considering how fucking slow everyone was going. It was a fucking sprinkle, not a goddamn flash flood.
Apparently his rants over shitty driving in barely shitty weather was amusing to his female friend, who laughed as she steered her convertible—gift from her rich dad back in Connecticut who made up for his lack of presence by giving presents—down the road on the way back to the hotel Kendall was staying at. The two started a convo about absentee fathers, she mentioning her how her remarried mom hated her ex-husband trying to buy the love of their only child with materialistic objects that her hippie nature rebelled against. He countered with a comment over how she should just be glad that her pops even remembers she's alive and makes any sorta effort, no matter how superficial or costly.
"So you never hear from your dad?"
"Nope." His gaze was fixed out the window, elbow on the door, thumb rubbing his forehead. "Only word we got from him was when he sent papers turning over his parental rights and pretty much stating he'd never have anything to do with me."
"Wow. Pretty fucked up."
He shrugged, playing it off. A lotta shit was fucked up about that whole situation but he wasn't getting into it with her. He was barely able to think about how he was gonna confess this shit to James.
Then again, knowing the two of them, chances were he'd be pounced upon as soon as he entered the room, shoved against a wall with the singer's tongue in his mouth and a hand down his pants. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Okay, there was 'cause it meant there was no talking and nothing was resolved, hence the fact that they were still in a sort of relationship limbo, not knowing what was going on exactly. Or at least Kendall didn't know. He had no clue about James. Which proved they needed to talk.
And while he was desperate for answers and clarification about what the fuck was going on, part of him was kinda hoping for the whole being pounced and unable to talk scenario. For starters, he'd be getting laid—never a bad thing—and on top of that, he'd be able to keep shit to himself. Telling about his past was never appealing, especially when he had to tell it to the person he was into. But he knew it had to be done. If he was gonna get anything outta James, then he had to let some shit out himself. Quid pro quo, give and take, shit like that.
And didn't that just suck big, fat, hairy ones?
He shoved everything aside, focusing on the conversation at hand, rather than any possible future ones, listening to her tell about how her parents argued, corporate lawyer versus environmental one, that it wasn't as great as sitcoms make it out to be.
"Opposites don't attract," she stated sternly. "That shit only goes for magnets and we are not magnets."
Kendall nodded, figuring it was true. After all, he was attracted to the same sex, not the opposite one. Plus he and James both seemed to be matching fucked up mental cases with some sorta parental issue—if the singer's comment about the teen having a mom who actually wanted to talk to him was any sorta clue—and the two of them had felt drawn to each other. But who the fuck knew really. Maybe sometimes opposite personalities did work, since no two people in the world we exactly alike. But there had to be some sorta common link, a bond, an area where they were on equal ground, otherwise shit wouldn't work, wouldn't blend, oil and water, that sorta shit.
Whatever. None of it mattered. Chances were he and James weren't gonna work, given their totally different lifestyles and their inabilities to open up and allow themselves to get closer to the other person. He needed to just enjoy the rest of his weekend and the little amount of time he had left with the other male.
Camille pulled up along the sidewalk outside the hotel, putting the car in park before turning to Kendall and giving him yet another reminder to stop being a pussy and talk to James. "Not just for me," she stated, "Or for him or for you, but for both of you. Your relationship would be much healthier if you both knew where you stood and what kind of relationship it even is."
Kendall didn't say a word, just gave a noncommittal nod, still not sure what exactly he was gonna do, but not wanting to lie or break a promise to her. Which was fucking weird. He lied to pretty much everyone, including Carlos, his mom, Katie on occasion. And technically, he was kinda lying to James by keeping shit about his past hidden, by saying he was fine when he wasn't. Hell, he was even lying to himself by allowing his mind to think things would work between them and that they'd have a healthy, normal romantic relationship.
But at that moment, he didn't wanna tell Camille he'd talk to James and then puss out, not do it. He wasn't sure if it was because he was changing or if it was just because it was her; he just knew being dishonest with her—any more than he had been in the past anyway—didn't sit well with him.
No desire to discuss it further, he thanked her for the ride and suggesting they meet up. A bright smile formed on her face, painted lips stretching to reveal white teeth.
"Best idea I've had in a while," she stated honestly, before shrugging. "Well, that and you should talk to James." He rolled his eyes, hearing her giggle. "But hopefully you can come out here for a visit again, stay with me for a few days."
The grin that formed on his face was genuine, real, bright eyes taking in her porcelain features. "I'd like that."
The two exchanged goodbyes, Camille forcing Kendall to promise to call Monday and give her a rundown for the rest of the weekend. He gave her a "yeah, yeah" and a wave as he got out the car, stepping out into the drizzle. He tilted his head down as he walked, warm drops hitting the back of his neck, dampening his cotton covered shoulders, but he ignored it, focusing on making his way into the hotel.
His boots squeaked on the fancy floor, earning him a dirty look from the concierge behind the welcoming desk, but he paid her no attention, heading straight for the elevator. He had to wait, hands shoved in his pockets, iPhone pressed against his skin, and he pulled it out to find a text from his mom asking if he was coming home any time soon. He ignored it, deciding that was a convo to put off til later. If he was actually gonna discuss this shit with James like he was trying to psych himself up to do, then there was no way he could also deal with any maternal freak outs over where he was and why. Plus he still hadn't thought up a lie and the truth kinda seemed too surreal to explain to her, which would make him seem like he was lying to her anyway. Christ, being dishonest just seemed like the best choice really.
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open, and he got in, pressing the correct button for his floor. No one else boarded and the cart started its ascent, Kendall's mind racing. Did he really wanna put this shit out there, really wanna tell everything, about how he'd driven his dad off, how it was his fault his family had fallen apart? Did he really wanna explain to the man he was falling for about what it had done to him, about how he'd screwed up everything—including his own life—about how he was a selfish asshole who only seemed to care about himself, about getting drunk or high, about partying his ass off? Did he really wanna let any of those skeletons out? Lucy didn't know any of that shit, neither did Guitar Dude or any of the other people he'd been hanging out with the past couple years. Carlos knew because he was there and Kendall knew that no matter what, the Latino wasn't going anywhere. But James? James could totally be disgusted and turned off by it all, could easily tell him to pack his shit and head to the airport, that a ticket home would be waiting for him there.
A ding broke into his thoughts, the rumble of doors opening, and he stepped off the elevator. He dug the heel of his hand into the middle of his chest, his heart hurting, worry overtaking every other emotion inside his head. He couldn't handle being left again, especially not if it was James who was the one he was forced to part ways with. That would be the biggest blow ever, one he'd never recover from.
He turned down the hall, only to come across one of the last people he wanted to see.
"What the hell did you do to my friend?!" Okay, apparently Logan had gotten yet another stick lodged up his ass in the hour Kendall had been out.
The blond stopped walking when he reached the brunet, cocking an eyebrow at the angry glare being aimed at him. "What are you talking about?" he questioned, dropping his hand and using it to hitch up his jeans.
"James," the assistant stated, like the teen wouldn't know what friend he was referring to. "What did you do to him?"
The confusion stayed on the taller male's face, both eyebrows raised, mouth twisted. "I have no idea what you're talking about, considering the fact that I've been gone for an hour."
Apparently it was the wrong thing to say, since the brunet's body language became even more defensive. Logan folded his arms over his chest, jaw tense, hip sticking out, and if he were a couple inches taller, it might have been slightly intimidating, given the fire in his brown eyes. "Yeah, and in that hour, you somehow managed to break him. What the hell is going on between you two?"
Kendall mimicked the other male's body positioning, arms crossed over his own chest. But not the hip thing. That was a little too much for him. "That's between me and him so mind your own fucking business."
An eyeroll was the assistant's first response."Whatever. Just fix him," was the second.
The blond's usual habit of rebelling kicked in, eyes narrowing in a glare, hard eyes locked onto the smaller male. "Fuck you," he spat out. "Don't tell me what to do."
The elder male just stared back, eyes just as hard, stare just as fierce. Yet there was something analytical in those brown orbs, like he was searching the taller male for something, some sorta clue, trying to solve some sorta puzzle. "I still have no idea what the hell he sees in you."
'That makes two of us,' his mind spoke up, breaking down his defensiveness, his rebellion. Dropping his arms, he gripped the back of his neck, digging his fingers in as he let out a sigh. "Look," he started, calmer, voice without that angry edge it had moments ago. "I'll talk to James, see what's going on."
"Thanks." Logan's voice was softer, too, quieter, and he looked up and down the hall before continuing. "I'm just worried. He's not himself. Hasn't been for a while."
Kendall's own concern ratcheted up, brow drawn once again. "Hasn't been himself how?"
The assistant shrugged and shook his head, hands out to the side. "I can't explain it." He dropped his arms, hands slapping against his thighs, then spoke more. "I mean, sometimes him being different is a good thing. But right now?" He trailed off, another shake of the head and shrug of the shoulders.
The blond nodded, it seeming like the only response he could give. He didn't know James all that well, didn't know exactly who the singer was and what counted as him acting like himself. But if it was enough to have his lifelong best friend worried, then it clearly was cause for concern. "I'll talk to him," he repeated, clearing a raspiness from his voice, watching the brunet nod in return. Without another word, he walked around the other male and headed to his hotel room.
Using the keycard he'd been given earlier, he unlocked the door and headed inside, finding the main part of the suite empty. "James?" he called out as the door closed and locked behind him, stepping further into the living room.
"In here!"
Kendall's head turned to the left, seeing the bedroom door partially open, and he followed the other male's muffled voice inside.
James was sitting on the edge of the bed, gray pair of sweats covering long legs, black wifebeater clinging to his torso, bandanas around both wrists, thin sheen of sweat over his skin. But the blond couldn't appreciate the view—as boner inducing as it was—he was more focused on the body language the other male was sporting, the way he was gripping the edge of the mattress, the way his head was hanging, the way he wasn't looking at the younger male.
"How'd it go with your friend?" His voice was flat, not betraying any emotion. He didn't seem interested to actually hear the answer, didn't seem jealous the blond had gone out, didn't seem excited the teen was back. Definitely not the greeting Kendall had imagined coming back to.
The younger male cleared his throat, staying near the door, not sure what to do, where to go. Instead, he just shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, shrugging even though he was pretty sure the action wasn't seen. "Good."
"What'd you guys do?" The brunet hadn't moved either, hadn't changed his tone, just stared at the carpet between his sneaker clad feet.
"Talked."
"About?"
"Stuff." Because no way in hell was he telling the pop star that they sat and talked about him and how the teen needed to relocate his balls so the two of them could have a proper discussion about what the fuck was going on between them.
James just nodded, head still tilted down, teeth chewing on his bottom lip. "And it's a girl friend, right?"
Kendall's brow furrowed, confusion setting in, knowing they'd already been over this and not seeing the need to go over it again. "Yeah. Why?"
The singer didn't reply, not out loud anyway. He just shrugged, staring unseeing at the floor, face sporting that fucking mask the teen loathed.
"I'm gay," the blond pointed out, leaning over to try and get a better look at the other male's face, to see if there was any sorta twitch of a response, any sorta emotion in his eyes that could clue the younger male in to what was the fucking deal. "Fully gay. No questioning, no possibly, no 'I mostly like dudes, but I'm also kinda into chicks'. Gay."
"Okay." Which, given the tone and the lack of physical movement, was pretty much the same as not saying a word.
"I just felt like it should be said out loud since I haven't actually flat out said it."
"Okay."
A small disbelieving laugh left Kendall, arms folding over his chest, hip sticking out. This was some bullshit, that was for damn sure, and he sure as fuck didn't fly all the way out here to be ignored or given non-responses or stare at a blank face. He wasn't gonna stand for anyone's shit, especially not some pop star pulling a near silent treatment. He'd psyched himself up for a serious talk and fuck-dammit, they were gonna fucking have one!
"What the fuck is your deal?" he questioned. "I came back expecting to be slammed against a wall with a tongue down my throat, your usual greeting, but instead, I'm more or less ignored and getting pretty much zero response to anything I say. What the fuck?!" He threw his arms up in the air for emphasis during the last sentence, letting them drop so his hands slapped on his thighs, before refolding his arms once more.
James still didn't speak, still didn't move. His shoulders were rising and falling with each breath, a sign he was alive, so he obviously hadn't suddenly died or magically become frozen or some shit. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, before his teeth sank into his bottom one. Leaning forward, he kept his eyes on the ground as he rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as they hung there. "Maybe you were right."
Right. Still not the response he was expecting—if he was even expecting anything at all. But a total change of subject definitely wasn't what he thought would happen. Clearly he needed to stop trying to predict shit 'cause he kept being wrong every time. "Wha—" He shook his head, hoping to clear away the confusion. Didn't work. "Right about what?"
"It not working out between us," the singer explained, lifting his head and staring straight ahead at the wall. "We spent all this time together and neither one of us has opened up."
Cold dread washed over Kendall, tickling the back of his neck. He reached up, rubbing the skin there, hoping to wipe it away. "What are you saying?"
The brunet bit his lip, head hanging, eyes locked on the floor like a script was down there, telling him his next line. "I'm saying that maybe we should just—" He trailed off, leaving the implication hanging, allowing the blond to fill it in.
Something sharp stabbed at his heart, his stomach plummeting, nausea washing over him as his arms dropped to his sides. His chest grew tight, lungs struggling to breathe normally, each inhale shaky and shallow. His skin was tingling in a bad way, dread, anticipation of something really bad about to happen causing him to internally freak out as he realized what was going on.
"You. You're leaving me."
The elder male's head raised again but he still didn't look at the younger. "Technically you'll be leaving me to go home."
"No," the blond argued, head shaking rapidly. "No, you're leaving me." His voice dropped as he continued, rambling more to himself than actually speaking to the other male. "It always fucking happens. Everyone always fucking leaves."
The brunet finally turned to him, finally looked at him, but it was too late. The teen was unseeing, unthinking, uneverything at that point. He could barely see the other male turn his body, leg flat on the bed. He could barely see dark brows furrowed in confusion. He could barely see the lips he'd been kissing forming words as a distant voice spoke.
"What are you ta—?"
"My birth dad left cause he didn't wanna be stuck with a kid," Kendall interrupted, not caring, fingers digging into the back of his neck. He wasn't even aware that he was speaking, words tumbling out his mouth like a waterfall, the dam burst and unable to be repaired. "My step-dad left 'cause he didn't want a fag for a son. My first boyfriend left 'cause all he wanted was a fuck. And now you!" He motioned to the male in the room with his right hand, fingers no longer gripping his neck. "You're leaving me, too!" He dropped his hand with a resounding slap to his leg, shaking his head in disbelief, struggling to wrap his head around the fact that it was happening again.
"Ken—"
"Save it." More interrupting, more not giving a fuck about it. "You don't think it's gonna work so fuck it." Jaw tense and body hard, he took a couple steps over and snatched his shirt off the floor where it had been discarded the night before. He felt eyes on him, felt like he was being watched, but he'd long since run out of fucks to give about anything anymore. Anger fueling his motions, he stomped over to where his jeans were by the bed.
"So you're doing it?" James questioned, turning to face forward, eyes still on the blond. "You're actually leaving?"
"Thought that's what you wanted," the teen replied, bending down and grabbing his pants. "For me to leave physically so you can leave metaphorically." He straightened up, looking at the still seated male, eyes hard but questioning. "Right?"
The brunet held the eye contact for about three seconds before turning his head away and staring out in front of him.
The blond scoffed, shaking his head. "That's what I thought." With that, he turned and headed to his duffel, shoving his clothes in before grabbing the handles and leaving the room.
He didn't remember the trip downstairs, didn't remember how he got outside the hotel. His brain had shut down, only able to focus on one thought. James had left him.
And, okay, in all technicality, Kendall was the one who was leaving, but like he'd pointed out, the brunet was the one who left the relationship—if that's what they were in—not him. But no matter the details or the specifics of the whole situation, one thing was for sure. He'd been right. James was gonna leave, just like everyone else.
He adjusted his duffel on his shoulder, the rain pouring down harder than it had been, large drops falling at a rapid rate, soaking his skin, his clothes, everything. But he didn't feel anything. Not physically anyway. His entire body had gone numb and he wasn't entirely sure if anything was working inside of him anymore. His heart was shattered, dust in his aching chest, a hollowness inside that he hadn't felt in years. He felt dead, more than just the emotionless zombie he had been not too long ago. Just. Dead.
He sniffed, the sound swallowed by the rain pounding the pavement, his runny nose and blurry eyes the only way he knew he was crying. He couldn't actually feel it, and not just because the water falling from the sky was making his face wet. He just... couldn't feel.
Swallowing, he looked down the road to the right, then the left, staring at the empty drop-off zone, the lot that contained parked cars. He should call a cab, go to the airport, see if he could trade his ticket in for an earlier flight. If not, maybe he could stay with Camille. He was sure she'd be there for him, let him crash on the couch or some shit.
Another sniff and he adjusted his duffel strap, fingers wrapped around it and he kept his hand by his shoulder. He knew what he should do, knew he should just start walking, or at least take his phone out his pocket, but he couldn't seem to move anywhere.
Then again, dead things don't move.
Figuring he needed to actually do something, other than standing in a heavy downpour like an idiot, he stepped off the sidewalk and onto the road used for cars to drop people off or pick them up outside the front entrance of the hotel. He couldn't hear his footsteps, couldn't feel his feet make contact with the tarred ground. He damn sure couldn't feel his lungs move or his heart beat, mostly because he was sure they weren't working anymore. Shit, he just wanted to go home. He wanted his own bed in his own room. He wanted to bury himself under the covers for fifty years and only emerge when he was too old to fall in love. He wanted... fuck, he wanted his fucking mom.
The sound of his name being called hit his ears as he reached the grassy median that separated the road from the main part of the lot. He stopped, turning, seeing a familiar figure leave the hotel, running over.
James was drenched by the time he reached Kendall, brown hair sticking to his forehead, black tank a second skin as it suctioned itself to the contours of his torso. He was panting as he stood there, presumably because he'd ran after the blond, most likely took the stairs rather than waiting on an elevator. But the teen barely noticed any of those things. It was the look in the pop star's eyes as he stared at him, the mix of fear, panic, loss, guilt, a million things and more. And it was all directed at Kendall.
The smaller male never got a chance to ask anything, to even have any questions form in his head. The larger cupped his face, crashing their lips together in a kiss that spoke of desperation and a fear of loss. It was hard, passionate, needy, but not in a sexual way like all the others, but wordlessly telling of how much the brunet just needed the blond himself.
They parted when they needed air, James keeping their eyes locked together as they both breathed heavily. "I'm not your dads."
Kendall's head was spinning, a mix of confusion and a mind-blowing kiss from a male he thought he'd never see again—other than on the internet when another masochistic moment hit him and he looked the singer up, as he was apt to do. Brow furrowed, he stared at the pop star, wondering what the hell he was talking about, why he was there, what the fuck was going on now. "Huh?"
"I'm not your dads," the brunet repeated, hands still cupping the younger male's face, still holding him. "I'm not leaving, okay?" He looked back and forth between both green eyes, hands moving to slim hips, pulling the smaller male closer as he licked his lips. "I know I'm difficult to deal with and I don't open up or talk about shit but—" He trailed off, shaking his head slowly as he seemed to struggle to figure out where exactly he'd been going with that statement. "Fuck, I can't lose you. I care about you too much."
The blond swallowed hard, feeling his heart start back up again, hope causing his lungs to inflate and his stomach to flutter. "Really?" His voice was weak, not wanting to believe it too much for fear of having it all taken away once again.
A small smile played on the singer's lips, the corner of them turning up. "I chased you down, didn't I? And I'm standing outside in the pouring down rain begging you not to go."
"Ja—"
The elder male interrupted, much like how the younger had multiple times back in the room. "I know I don't—I can't talk about emotions but. There's something about you that pulls me in and makes me actually feel shit and I don't wanna lose that. Or lose you."
It's on the tip of Kendall's tongue and it would've been so easy, so perfect to just let those three little words roll off.
But instead, he wrapped his hands around James' neck and pulled the elder male's head closer, kissing the feeling.
The twosome headed back inside the hotel, ignoring the looks they were getting as they dripped everywhere. They pretended not to notice the stares, the silent questions, the probable thoughts about how that blond guy had just stormed out with every intention of leaving for good, only to return with the dark haired guy he was clearly bailing on.
Whatever. None of their fucking business really.
They made it back to the room, James patting the pockets of his damp sweat pants, muttering something about a "fuckin' key." Kendall reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out the keycard he hadn't even thought to leave behind, feeling glad for his sometime forgetfulness.
Door unlocked, they both entered the suite, the blond first, heading straight to the bedroom. He dumped his duffel unceremoniously where it had been previously, before walking over to the bed. Without hesitation, he flopped onto his back across it, letting out a huff as he landed. The brunet soon joined him, laying on the teen's right, both staring silently up at the ceiling. Reaching over blindly, the younger male took hold of the elder's hand, fingers tightening when he felt the singer start to pull away.
"Don't." His voice was weak, broken, just like how he felt. His eyes drifted closed, unable to look, to see the other male pull away, whether physically or emotionally.
James stilled for a second, before using their clasped hands to pull Kendall closer, making him roll onto his side and against the larger male's frame. Their hands released their grip as the blond laid his head on the brunet's chest, both with their arms around the other.
"I was a mistake," he confessed lowly, feeling the elder male inhale sharply and freeze, tensing up. "My parents, I mean," he clarified and the other male relaxed. "A broken condom and no birth control. My mom likes to say I was a surprise but I know better. Pregnant at eighteen is a mistake."
He snuggled more into the other male, fingers playing with the wide strap of his black tank, eyes focused on a broad chest. "My birth dad originally tried to do the right thing, get a job, provide for his family, all that shit, ya know? But a couple months after I was born, he decided he didn't wanna do it and just left."
"So you and Katie are half-siblings?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Never felt like that though. My mom got married when I was a toddler, so I don't remember my real dad. My step-dad seemed like my father in my eyes. At least he did." He gritted out the last sentence, eyes hard, glaring at nothing.
A large hand rubbed up and down his spine, soothing, calming. James kept his voice low, cautious, much like Kendall did when trying to get answers but not wanting to scare the other male off. "What happened there?"
"I did everything for that asshole," the teen stated, his own tone harsh, latent anger making itself known. "I got interested in all the shit he liked, joined hockey 'cause he coached it and it would be a bonding thing for us. I tried everything I could to try and make him love me, but it was never enough."
That old familiar hurt came back, an ache in his chest that never fully went away, but could be covered with other shit, whether it be alcohol or the hurt caused by someone else.
"It wasn't that he was uncaring," he clarified, continuing his story, the words just flowing. "Cause he fucking adored Katie. Not that I can blame him for that really."
James let out a small laugh, jostling the blond slightly. "Yeah, she's something all right."
"Not just that," the blond argued, shuffling slightly, slinging a leg over the other male's. "But she was his kid. Is his kid. I'm the bastard child of some other asshole that he was forced to deal with in order to be with my mom. I kinda always had a feeling he never liked me, much less loved me." His voice was small on the last sentence, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.
The singer wrapped his arms around the teen more, holding him closer. "You said he left because he didn't want a fag for a son?"
The blond nodded, sniffing, remembering that conversation perfectly, even three years later. "His exact words when I told him and my mom that I might be questioning my sexuality and wasn't sure I was into girls. Mom said she didn't want a bigoted asshole for a husband and it just led to this huge fight." He paused, recalling the pain he felt, the rejection, the hollow ache as the man he admired told him he was a piece of shit, unworthy of being able to call himself that man's son. He remembered the screams coming up the stairs and into his room as he lay in bed, crying as he tried to fall asleep. He remembered the angry statements of how his step-dad never actually loved him, never really wanted him around, that he was tolerated for his mom's sake but him being gay was the last straw. He wouldn't put up with a pansy for a kid and she needed to fix that shit right then and there.
And Kendall told James all of it.
"He left that night, got his shit the next day when me and Katie were at school," he concluded, sniffing, eyes blurry once more. Tears were falling down his face, onto a still damp tank, and he refused to wipe them away because it would mean he'd have to acknowledge that they were there, that they were happening, that he was still affected by it. "Only word we ever really get from him is some generic birthday card Katie gets with a fifty inside."
"Shit." The swear was muttered from beneath him, that hand rubbing his back again, lips pressed against his beanie covered head. "Sorry you had dicks for dads."
The teen just shrugged, not knowing what else to do or say. "Doesn't matter," he said with the hope that he could not only make the singer believe it, but himself, too. Because even after all that time, part of him was still truly upset that the man he looked up to, the man who he modeled himself after-or had anyway-the man he'd wanted to please and make proud and gain his affection, that man hated him all because of who he was attracted to.
"But it does," the elder male argued, moving his head to look at the younger male. "No one should hear that from a parent."
"Happens all the time," the teen pointing out, still trying to play the whole thing off and act like it was nothing, not wanting the hurt to show anymore than it already was, not wanting anyone-including the pop star-to know he was still affected. He had a reputation, one he'd built without even realizing it, as a hardass, as someone who just didn't give a shit. And while his mom, Katie, and Carlos knew different, the rest of the world had that idea that he truly didn't give a fuck. A part of him didn't wanna change that. Because if you acted like you didn't give a shit, then eventually it would become true and no one could hurt you, no one would even try.
Until James came along.
Not that he thought the brunet did it on purpose, but still. The blond had shown that he cared and had been hung up on, left alone in a dressing room, ignored for a few days only to be called back. He showed he wanted some sort of connection, an openness between them, that he cared and wanted to get closer, only to have the singer pull away metaphorically and then pretty much tell him to go home.
But the elder male chased him down, asked him not to go, admitted that he couldn't lose the younger male. He showed he cared, too.
Deciding that a new topic was in order, that he needed to try and cash in on this whole give and take thing and get some info of his own, he tilted his head up to look at the other male before speaking. "How'd your parents react when you told 'em?"
The singer swallowed hard, panic in his eyes, face flat. "They don't know. Logan's the only one I told that I'm bi-well, him and now you. Freight Train probably knows now though, but I trust him not to say anything." A smirk played on his lips. "Confidentiality agreements are a beautiful thing."
The blond didn't care about that-although he kinda figured the bodyguard would've had to had signed some sorta contract to keep his mouth shut, otherwise celeb protectors everywhere would be cashing in on their clients' dirty lil secrets all the time-focusing more on the first part of what he said. "You haven't told your parents?"
The singer lifted a hand, smearing it over his face before letting it drop onto the bed. "Shit with my folks is complicated, too. And I swear one day I'll tell you what's up, just not right now. Mostly cause I'm dying for a shower. And your smelly ass needs one, too."
A salacious smirk formed in the brunet's face, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and the blond couldn't help but grin back. That was the greeting he'd been expecting when he came back from meeting up with Camille.
"Ya know," he started, turning slightly so he was halfway laying on the other male. "We should save water and shower together."
"Oh, definitely," the singer agreed, face serious. "It's good for the environment."
"We're just being green."
"Being good people."
"Right."
Both started smiling at the same moment, both laughing before James slapped Kendall's ass.
"All right then, let's go, stinky," the brunet instructed as he sat up, forcing the blond to do the same.
"Hey!" the teen objected as he stood, glaring as he watched the elder male rise to his own feet. "If anyone's stinky here, it's you, gym rat."
The pop star just shrugged, before reaching his arms up and stretching, ending the action by flexing the limbs and admiring his own biceps with a smirk. The smaller male totally wasn't drooling. "Takes a lotta work to look this good."
Green eyes were rolled as boots were kicked off. "And it takes a big head to be that cocky."
The singer dropped his arms, feigning a confused look. "All I heard was 'head' and 'cock' and I can only assume you wanna suck my dick again."
Nope. Still not drooling. Denial might be more beautiful than confidentiality agreements.
Kendall hooked his fingers in the waistband of the elder male's sweats, pulling their bodies closer, grinding their cocks together. "Maybe you should get naked then."
A tongue darted out as hazel eyes dipped down, locking onto the teen's lips as he licked his own. "Sounds like a good idea to me," he stated lowly, husky edge to his words. Stepping back, he let the elastic waistband of his pants snap against his skin, tugging his wifebeater over his head and dropping it on the ground.
The blond licked his own lips as he stepped over again, pressing their crotches together as his hands roamed a ridged abdomen. Their lips connected in a heated kiss, only breaking to remove Kendall's tee, managing to keep contact as James toed off his sneakers.
The younger male slipped his hands under the elder's waistband, pushing the sweats down muscular thighs, purposely rubbing against a hardening dick through the boxers the singer was wearing. The brunet broke the kiss, rubbing his nose against the other's, both males panting. Another quick meeting of the lips-or three-and he sauntered into the bathroom.
Kendall stood there stunned as he realized what happened. He'd told about his dads, about his belief that everyone was gonna leave, that he was the reason why both of his paternal figures had bailed. He'd told those things and survived. And James was still around.
And throwing boxers at his head.
"Get your cute ass in here!" the singer's voice called through, audible over the running shower.
Kendall yanked the undies off his head, dropping them on the floor as he glare at the open bathroom door. Quickly removing his jeans, he tossed them aside before stomping into the en suite. "Stop calling me cute!"