Fic: The Realm of You, 21/24
Title: The Realm of You
Part: 21/24
Genre: Big Time Rush - Drama / Angst
Pairings: Logan/Kendall, Kendall/Jo
Details: AU, Slash
Rating: MA/NC17
Warnings: Dark themes, sexual content
Post Word Count: 1380
Status: WIP
Summary: From friendship, to love, to something else entirely. When secrets are all they have, what is left when their lives become an open book? "I have no life but this."
Masterlist
Author's note: This chapter is mature. Also, it's probably sad. Sad smut is awful.
No idea, no idea, that I’m even here, Kendall sings, watching Logan make eyes at some chick in the third row.
They’re on tour, but things are a vast difference from the time with Logan.
Logan is leaving Kendall behind, each day the strain between them growing more normal, the absence of each other something expected.
Kendall hates it. He hates that he hates it. He should be glad Logan is flirtatious, taking steps forward and forward and forward some more. But does Logan have to be so goddamn good at it?
There’s this part of Kendall, the part filed away solely with memories and thoughts of Logan that always rears its head and urges Kendall to think, Mine. Just as he does now. The hundreds -- thousands -- of screaming fans looking at the stage, at Logan, at someone who belongs to Kendall, makes that same part almost feral with want, a need to claim unleashing.
He ignores it.
Ignores the tightening in his groin, ignores the bead of perspiration making its way down Logan’s temple, ignores the way he knows he could catch it with the tip of his tongue, the flavor of sweat and Logan and want exploding in his mouth.
Kendall fails to remember the words of the song, only for a moment. Oh yeah, Come back to me. How could he forget? He’s feeling shaky, overexertion and lack of sustenance clouding his mind.
Jo’s been talking about marriage. Houses. Babies. He’s not even twenty yet, and his future is already ridiculously out of his control.
A bite of strawberry yogurt for breakfast. Three crackers for lunch. Raw carrots for dinner, sometimes a half-teaspoon of peanut butter if he’s feeling especially shaky. Lots of water. He’s discovered drinking a ton of water before someone might see him with his shirt off makes them less suspicious -- a tiny bulge showing on his stomach. Sometimes, he throws it all up. Sometimes, he eats nothing.
Might as well marry Jo. Kendall loves her well enough. He can’t marry Logan.
Logan refuses to run with Kendall now. Logan is the only one who really notices, although he says nothing to Kendall about it. It’s all there though, in the worried pinch of his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, furrowed brow screaming pitypitypity.
Singing isn’t so fun now, not when all the lyrics speak of love. The ones on heartache he sings with a special kind of fury. It might not be fun, but it has become the only time he feels honest.
Logan turns to look at Kendall, as though Kendall projected his thoughts. The other man gives Kendall a look reminiscent of those they shared way back when. Back when Kendall sampled the only bit of perfection he’s sure he’ll ever have. Logan’s brows pull together as though he is confused, unsure why he would give Kendall a look so full of longing.
Kendall’s want flares, a feeling - once so familiar - now foreign. Logan moves about the stage and Kendall practically fucks the other man with his eyes. The lines of Logan’s hips, the slight swell of his ass, the way he moves. Kendall is struggling to hold it together. He sees the bulge in Logan’s pants and feels almost sick wondering who put it there.
Me, he thinks, hopes, maybe he is thinking of me.
Kendall can’t fathom Logan ever belonging to someone else. He doesn’t want to -- Logan has been Kendall’s since that day in the snow when they were eight. But it’s like Logan is the sun and Kendall the moon, always steps behind, a pale reflection of a light much brighter.
He follows Logan after the show, unsure exactly what he is doing, unsure what it is he is looking for. But Kendall has never remembered his hands feelings so empty, and he’s sure Logan can do something about that.
~K/L~
Logan should be perplexed when Kendall slips into his dressing room, but he’s not. He’s still breathless, still riding high from the attention, the dancing, maybe from the way Kendall was looking at him.
The door has barely closed, the lock barely turned with a menacing click, when Kendall fists Logan’s shirt, presses him against the wall and just looks at him. Kendall’s eyes are bright with lust and desperation and a need to claim, all jade and emerald and citrine. Logan knows what this is about.
“What about Jo?” Logan pants out, his breathlessness only worsened by the proximity of Kendall, the heat of his exerted flesh seeping into Logan’s. Kendall merely shakes his head, closes his eyes and leans in, placing hot, open mouthed kisses over Logan’s neck.
Trying to protest, Logan presses back on Kendall’s shoulders. Kendall ignores him and grabs his crotch, and Logan can’t help but move his hips forward into Kendall’s welcoming hand. He moans. So much for propriety.
And then Logan is not only willing, but a participant. He struggles with Kendall’s shirt, the sound of fabric ripping cutting through the silence. Kendall deftly unbuckles Logan’s belt, unzips Logan’s pants, movements so practiced and familiar, picked back up like riding a bicycle. Kendall drops to his knees, taking Logan into his mouth with a ferocity that is almost painful, so Logan bucks forward without thought.
Logan tries to still his hips, looks down at Kendall sucking him off. Putting his hands in Kendall’s hair, Logan grasps the sweaty strands a moment before his fingers travel down Kendall’s throat, his neck. And Logan feels the protrusion of each vertebrae. He wonders briefly if Kendall is worried about calories from whatever leaks from Logan’s dick.
As though Logan had spoken aloud, Kendall stands and presses Logan against the wall once more, Logan feeling each ridge of Kendall’s ribs, even through the shirt he still wears. Kendall lifts Logan’s top over his head as Logan pushes Kendall’s pants down his hips. Logan turns around and faces the wall.
“What are you doing?” Kendall whispers.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Logan offers in reply, arching his back, contradicting his statement with his position. Kendall doesn’t pause in reaching out, tracing his long middle finger down the valley of Logan’s backside. He removes it only to slicken it up. And then Logan feels that wonderful press, the invasion that doesn’t really feel like one at all.
Logan wants to look at Kendall while they do this, but he won’t. That would be too intimate, too personal, Kendall would see too much. It already seems like much too much as it is. Kendall’s free hand trails up and down Logan’s spine, fingers featherlight and devastatingly heavy. Logan doesn’t want this tender preparation anymore, this aching care in every touch, stretch, brush against that spot inside him.
“Just fuck me now,” Logan breathes, arching his back further, bearing back on Kendall’s fingers.
So Kendall does, scoffing, lining up and plunging in, arms encircling Logan’s waist, his chest. If he didn’t know better, Logan would think Kendall’s palm searched out the beat of his heart. Logan feels Kendall’s, the other man’s torso stretched flush over Logan’s back, the thunder of it so resonating Logan feels it in his arms, his head, his own heart.
He hides his face in the crook of his elbow so Kendall has no chance of seeing him.
Kendall straightens himself, hips snapping. It hurts and feels great, Logan’s body unused to these types of sensations anymore, the sting welcome because it is Kendall inflicting it, the pleasure even more so.
Logan feels Kendall press his forehead into the space between Logan’s shoulder blades, hot exhalations of Kendall’s breath creating gooseflesh across Logan’s back. “Say you’re mine,” Kendall pants, voice broken.
The words fly before Logan can stop them. “I’m yours.”
Kendall makes a sound, some emotion behind it Logan cannot decipher, and he wraps his fingers around Logan’s cock, tugs with the rhythm of his thrusts.
When Logan comes, spills himself over Kendall’s hand, feels Kendall’s body wracked with release, there is no joy it it. Nothing like it should be. Nothing like it was.
“Don’t touch me like that again,” Logan commands before heading to the bathroom and shutting himself in. He doesn’t come out until he hears the slamming of a door.
Part 20 Part 22
Part: 21/24
Genre: Big Time Rush - Drama / Angst
Pairings: Logan/Kendall, Kendall/Jo
Details: AU, Slash
Rating: MA/NC17
Warnings: Dark themes, sexual content
Post Word Count: 1380
Status: WIP
Summary: From friendship, to love, to something else entirely. When secrets are all they have, what is left when their lives become an open book? "I have no life but this."
Masterlist
Author's note: This chapter is mature. Also, it's probably sad. Sad smut is awful.
No idea, no idea, that I’m even here, Kendall sings, watching Logan make eyes at some chick in the third row.
They’re on tour, but things are a vast difference from the time with Logan.
Logan is leaving Kendall behind, each day the strain between them growing more normal, the absence of each other something expected.
Kendall hates it. He hates that he hates it. He should be glad Logan is flirtatious, taking steps forward and forward and forward some more. But does Logan have to be so goddamn good at it?
There’s this part of Kendall, the part filed away solely with memories and thoughts of Logan that always rears its head and urges Kendall to think, Mine. Just as he does now. The hundreds -- thousands -- of screaming fans looking at the stage, at Logan, at someone who belongs to Kendall, makes that same part almost feral with want, a need to claim unleashing.
He ignores it.
Ignores the tightening in his groin, ignores the bead of perspiration making its way down Logan’s temple, ignores the way he knows he could catch it with the tip of his tongue, the flavor of sweat and Logan and want exploding in his mouth.
Kendall fails to remember the words of the song, only for a moment. Oh yeah, Come back to me. How could he forget? He’s feeling shaky, overexertion and lack of sustenance clouding his mind.
Jo’s been talking about marriage. Houses. Babies. He’s not even twenty yet, and his future is already ridiculously out of his control.
A bite of strawberry yogurt for breakfast. Three crackers for lunch. Raw carrots for dinner, sometimes a half-teaspoon of peanut butter if he’s feeling especially shaky. Lots of water. He’s discovered drinking a ton of water before someone might see him with his shirt off makes them less suspicious -- a tiny bulge showing on his stomach. Sometimes, he throws it all up. Sometimes, he eats nothing.
Might as well marry Jo. Kendall loves her well enough. He can’t marry Logan.
Logan refuses to run with Kendall now. Logan is the only one who really notices, although he says nothing to Kendall about it. It’s all there though, in the worried pinch of his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, furrowed brow screaming pitypitypity.
Singing isn’t so fun now, not when all the lyrics speak of love. The ones on heartache he sings with a special kind of fury. It might not be fun, but it has become the only time he feels honest.
Logan turns to look at Kendall, as though Kendall projected his thoughts. The other man gives Kendall a look reminiscent of those they shared way back when. Back when Kendall sampled the only bit of perfection he’s sure he’ll ever have. Logan’s brows pull together as though he is confused, unsure why he would give Kendall a look so full of longing.
Kendall’s want flares, a feeling - once so familiar - now foreign. Logan moves about the stage and Kendall practically fucks the other man with his eyes. The lines of Logan’s hips, the slight swell of his ass, the way he moves. Kendall is struggling to hold it together. He sees the bulge in Logan’s pants and feels almost sick wondering who put it there.
Me, he thinks, hopes, maybe he is thinking of me.
Kendall can’t fathom Logan ever belonging to someone else. He doesn’t want to -- Logan has been Kendall’s since that day in the snow when they were eight. But it’s like Logan is the sun and Kendall the moon, always steps behind, a pale reflection of a light much brighter.
He follows Logan after the show, unsure exactly what he is doing, unsure what it is he is looking for. But Kendall has never remembered his hands feelings so empty, and he’s sure Logan can do something about that.
~K/L~
Logan should be perplexed when Kendall slips into his dressing room, but he’s not. He’s still breathless, still riding high from the attention, the dancing, maybe from the way Kendall was looking at him.
The door has barely closed, the lock barely turned with a menacing click, when Kendall fists Logan’s shirt, presses him against the wall and just looks at him. Kendall’s eyes are bright with lust and desperation and a need to claim, all jade and emerald and citrine. Logan knows what this is about.
“What about Jo?” Logan pants out, his breathlessness only worsened by the proximity of Kendall, the heat of his exerted flesh seeping into Logan’s. Kendall merely shakes his head, closes his eyes and leans in, placing hot, open mouthed kisses over Logan’s neck.
Trying to protest, Logan presses back on Kendall’s shoulders. Kendall ignores him and grabs his crotch, and Logan can’t help but move his hips forward into Kendall’s welcoming hand. He moans. So much for propriety.
And then Logan is not only willing, but a participant. He struggles with Kendall’s shirt, the sound of fabric ripping cutting through the silence. Kendall deftly unbuckles Logan’s belt, unzips Logan’s pants, movements so practiced and familiar, picked back up like riding a bicycle. Kendall drops to his knees, taking Logan into his mouth with a ferocity that is almost painful, so Logan bucks forward without thought.
Logan tries to still his hips, looks down at Kendall sucking him off. Putting his hands in Kendall’s hair, Logan grasps the sweaty strands a moment before his fingers travel down Kendall’s throat, his neck. And Logan feels the protrusion of each vertebrae. He wonders briefly if Kendall is worried about calories from whatever leaks from Logan’s dick.
As though Logan had spoken aloud, Kendall stands and presses Logan against the wall once more, Logan feeling each ridge of Kendall’s ribs, even through the shirt he still wears. Kendall lifts Logan’s top over his head as Logan pushes Kendall’s pants down his hips. Logan turns around and faces the wall.
“What are you doing?” Kendall whispers.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Logan offers in reply, arching his back, contradicting his statement with his position. Kendall doesn’t pause in reaching out, tracing his long middle finger down the valley of Logan’s backside. He removes it only to slicken it up. And then Logan feels that wonderful press, the invasion that doesn’t really feel like one at all.
Logan wants to look at Kendall while they do this, but he won’t. That would be too intimate, too personal, Kendall would see too much. It already seems like much too much as it is. Kendall’s free hand trails up and down Logan’s spine, fingers featherlight and devastatingly heavy. Logan doesn’t want this tender preparation anymore, this aching care in every touch, stretch, brush against that spot inside him.
“Just fuck me now,” Logan breathes, arching his back further, bearing back on Kendall’s fingers.
So Kendall does, scoffing, lining up and plunging in, arms encircling Logan’s waist, his chest. If he didn’t know better, Logan would think Kendall’s palm searched out the beat of his heart. Logan feels Kendall’s, the other man’s torso stretched flush over Logan’s back, the thunder of it so resonating Logan feels it in his arms, his head, his own heart.
He hides his face in the crook of his elbow so Kendall has no chance of seeing him.
Kendall straightens himself, hips snapping. It hurts and feels great, Logan’s body unused to these types of sensations anymore, the sting welcome because it is Kendall inflicting it, the pleasure even more so.
Logan feels Kendall press his forehead into the space between Logan’s shoulder blades, hot exhalations of Kendall’s breath creating gooseflesh across Logan’s back. “Say you’re mine,” Kendall pants, voice broken.
The words fly before Logan can stop them. “I’m yours.”
Kendall makes a sound, some emotion behind it Logan cannot decipher, and he wraps his fingers around Logan’s cock, tugs with the rhythm of his thrusts.
When Logan comes, spills himself over Kendall’s hand, feels Kendall’s body wracked with release, there is no joy it it. Nothing like it should be. Nothing like it was.
“Don’t touch me like that again,” Logan commands before heading to the bathroom and shutting himself in. He doesn’t come out until he hears the slamming of a door.
Part 20 Part 22