Fic: Before You Know Where You Are (You're Saying Goodbye), 2/4?
Title: Before You Know Where You Are (You’re Saying Goodbye)
Genre: Big Time Rush - Drama / Angst
Pairings: Logan/Kendall, small itty bitty Kendall/Jo and Logan/Camille
Details: Slash, showverse
Rating: MA/NC17
Warnings: Crossdressing, swearing, slash, homophobia, angst, not exactly HEA, smut, voyeurism, cheating (Kendall/Jo, Logan/Camille)
Status: WIP
Word Count: 3006
Summary: As children grow to adulthood, their friendships change. Sometimes those friendships evolve, twist and shift into something foreign. What’s left can be messy, unable to be salvaged. Logan has a secret he’s kept to himself for as long as he can remember. Kendall finds out about it.
Author's Note: I just realized this almost all internalized. Not much dialogue. Huh. And I know I though this was going to be 3 parts, but today it seems like there will be four.
It starts the day Logan wears the red dress.
Logan hates himself a little for being excited at Mrs. Knight’s suggestion to dress in her clothes, but he explains it away as excitement for the lecture he plans to attend at an all-girl’s school. When she holds up the dress, the panty-hose, the shoes, Logan feels obvious, blushing, a hot mess of rosy cheeks and Freudian flaws. But he can’t deny the anticipation coiling in his stomach, the flutter in his chest.
The material of the dress is heavy and cold when he slides it on. It flares out at his knees and swishes almost silently when he sways his hips, whispering and rustling just so against the black tights covering his legs. He rubs his hands over his thighs, his chest, and his eyes close before he realizes what he’s doing and stops himself. Logan stands up straight and slides on the three-inch, pointy-toed heels and grimaces. He likes the height but hates the pinch.
“What am I doing?” he mutters to the quiet, glad no one is home but Mrs. Knight in the living room. Maybe every other guy feels this way in girl clothes. Maybe the thrill jolting through his spine is commonplace, ubiquitous, average. Many people cross-dress as a matter of comfort or style, Logan reasons. He looks at his heel clad feet and knows this is anything but comfortable. “Stop thinking, Logan,” he adds, knowing, for him, how impossible that is.
The voice of his father echoes in his head, My son won’t be a fag, and he quickly steps out of the shoes, pulls the dress over his head and tosses it on his bed, staring it down as though it were a predator and he the prey.
But a few moments pass, the memory of his father’s words dying down to merely a painful hiss, and he lifts the dress from its piled folds on the bed. His desire to see the lecture from his favorite mathematician -- or maybe the absence of the weighty fabric on his skin -- pulls him back into the dress, moves the shoes back to his feet.
Just this once.
When Logan gets home, somewhat beaten, feet aching, and a story he doesn’t want to tell burning his lips, he doesn’t notice the way Kendall’s gaze darkens, his eyebrows pull in confusion. Funny, because Logan notices everything about Kendall on a normal day. This, however, is anything but normal.
Logan is honestly too busy wondering how he can get some lingerie that fits without having to try it on first. He winds up wrapping a string around his hips, his chest, and using his protractor to measure, afterwards placing a hopeful order online. Just a little something, something lovely, pressed against his skin underneath his clothes, something to remind him of what it is to feel pretty.
~oOo~
Kendall doesn’t stop thinking about the way Logan’s hips looked in that dress. He can’t stop wondering what kind of underwear Logan wore underneath it, or if he wore any at all. Kendall wonders if he’s sick to have these kinds of thoughts about his best friend, his roomie, his bandmate. Logan simply dressed that way as a means to an end, not to create some twisted masturbation material for Kendall.
Not that Kendall has jerked off or anything to thoughts of Logan in a dress. That would be too much, too far and Kendall wouldn’t be able to look Logan in the eye ever again; he is certain.
Kendall tries to do what’s expected and dates Jo. He likes girls, loves girls, of course, but his thoughts keep going back to Logan in that dress. Maybe it’s just because Logan would make such a pretty girl. Why then, does Kendall imagine peeling those layers off, the faux flair of the Logan’s hips removed and straight, masculine lines revealed? He thinks about it always, always, but avoids asking himself too many questions. What does it matter anyway?
They’re in this meeting with Gustavo, and Kendall’s brain feels numb. He makes every attempt to listen, but forgets when he realizes Logan’s legs are shaved. Logan’s feet are spread apart, toes stretched between the thong of a flip flop, legs sprawled wide. They look so pale without the dark hair Kendall is accustomed to seeing and he has this urge to cover Logan, protect him from exposure. Kendall shakes his head as Logan crosses an ankle over a knee and his shorts ride up higher. Kendall blinks once, twice, three times when he sees the lace of a garter just barely peeking below the khaki colored fabric.
Kendall knows the red lace is impossible to blink away.
And Kendall doesn’t want James or Carlos to see. He doesn’t want Gustavo to see, and he doesn’t want Kelly to see, so he makes a quiet move closer to Logan, tugs on the fabric of his shorts to keep the secret between them. Logan’s head snaps to meet Kendall’s, eyes wide and glossy, fear prominent as Kendall feels a tremor move through Logan and into him.
“It’s okay,” Kendall whispers, turning away because he can’t look at Logan anymore, not when he realizes he’s half hard and Logan’s vulnerable expression is only making him harder.
What the fuck?
Kendall feels Logan staring at him, feels those brown eyes boring into the side of his face, enticing a heated blush to rise from his chest to his cheeks. Kendall bites his lip. Since when does he fucking blush?
Later, when James asks Logan about his legs, Logan explains he’s taken to speed swimming at the Y.
Yeah, Kendall snorts, right.
While Logan lies to James, Kendall watches the words slip past his lips. Once, when they were thirteen, Logan borrowed Kendall’s chap stick after hockey practice. His lips had been so chapped they left tiny rivets in the normally smooth surface of the balm. Kendall remembers Logan seemed to smear the stuff all over his mouth, missing it in places. Kendall remembers how shiny the skin around his lips was, almost like he’d been eating something messy -- fried chicken or cheeseburgers. Kendall had laughed, but he wanted to smooth the shine away, push the lip balm back to Logan’s lips where it belonged.
Kendall wonders, now, if maybe that had been a strange want to have. He wonders if it was strange how he pressed the balm to his own lips until the rivets melted away.
He hears James suggest Logan should shave his arms and chest too.
Logan must’ve noticed Kendall staring because his eyebrows pull together. He turns on his heel and goes to their room, softly shuts the door. Kendall doesn’t miss the clicking of the lock.
~oOo~
Logan trusts that Kendall won’t say anything about what he saw. It’s better to simply trust than to actually have to bring up the subject. Hey, Kendall, did you really see my garter and try to cover it for me? Yeah, that would go over well. He’s scared though. Scared Kendall thinks he’s a freak, because the other boy stops talking to him about personal things. Kendall stops mentioning Jo, stops asking for help on his homework, stops the conversations they shared in the dark before they fell asleep. Now, instead of Kendall’s voice following him into dreams, Logan has to bear the constant stream of his own thoughts. He needs to snap out of it. He needs a few stolen moments on his own.
As soon as he finds himself alone, he rips into his newest package from a company called Intimate Expressions, a website he has come to frequent. Their boxes are discreet and Logan explains them away with mentioning a new chemistry set or advanced calculus book. No one tries to peek.
His fingers slide into satin, and he pulls the black fabric from the box, rubbing it against his cheek, pushing down the sick feeling in his stomach in favor of the rising exhilaration. Hurriedly, he undresses, raising his arms high and letting the chemise slick down his arms, smooth over his sides, the straps coming to rest on his shoulders. Inching the matching panties up past his shaven knees, he stands as pulls the small piece of cloth over his ass cheeks and cock, embracing him in an intimate hug. It all fits. Perfect. Logan sighs, and he’s not sure if it’s from relief or pleasure or both.
Moving to stand in front of the full length mirror in the corner, Logan pushes up to his tip toes, turning to the side and watching as his calf muscles flex, wondering if he could buy some heels without being disgusted by himself. Sometimes he thinks he is taking this too far. Sometimes, it’s not nearly far enough.
His fingertips trace his hip bones, the contours of his stomach. Watching his hands in the mirror, he tries not to ponder whose hands he would have replacing them were the world a kinder place. It’s a secret he’s kept from everyone: his family, his friends, the logical part of his brain. Logan is frighteningly good at keeping secrets. He’s never told how Carlos accidentally killed his own pet hamster in the fifth grade. He’s never told how James broke the vending machine at the rink when he hit it for stealing his quarter. He’s never told how he saw Kendall naked when they were twelve and realized what lust felt like for the very first time.
Kendall knows he’s invading Logan’s privacy, but he can’t move. He doesn’t really want to move, but the same instant he does, because Logan would be beyond pissed if he saw Kendall in the doorway, mouth agape, eyes unblinking, watching as the smaller boy fingers the straps of the black top, moves to his hips and smooths over the lacy edges of the panties he wears. Kendall’s mouth falls open wider still as he takes in the accentuated curves of Logan’s backside, the fabric stopping mid-cheek, flesh peeking out and begging to fill the sudden void in Kendall’s palms.
This is ridiculous, Kendall thinks, covering his eyes with his hand because his lids won’t seem to go down on their own, quietly shutting the door and leaving Logan on his own once again.
But Kendall can’t forget, and instead of the red dress, those frilly, black panties haunt his thoughts.
The next day, Kendall can’t help but wonder what Logan is wearing under his jeans, his loose-fitting sweater. Over the next several days, it becomes almost an obsession, Kendall looking closely when Logan has to raise his arms over his head, bend over to retrieve something from the floor. Kendall tries to be inconspicuous, but one can only hide so much of an intense stare. Logan must know; he has to, because Kendall catches spare glimpses of lace and satin and silk, blues and blacks and pinks and purples like a sky fading from twilight to night.
There comes an evening where Kendall has a date with Jo, James and Carlos are going to see a movie and Katie and Mrs. Knight are going to the mall. Kendall’s stomach flips with anticipation, because he knows Logan has plans when he repeatedly rejects the idea of going to the movies with James and Carlos.
Kendall tries to go on his date with Jo, he really does, because he doesn’t want to a creepy stalker, a peeping Tom, but that image of Logan is still burned into his brain and he wants, needs it replaced by something else. They make it all the way to the restaurant before Kendall feigns illness and they go back to the Palmwoods, Kendall insisting that Jo doesn’t need to come into 2J; she doesn’t need to take care of him; no, he will be fine on his own. He doesn’t mention to her Logan is home; he can’t explain why he doesn’t want her to know, or maybe he just doesn’t want to.
So much is happening to Kendall: he’s become a creeper and a liar and apparently somewhat gay for his best friend, and he has no desire to sort it out yet. And that’s what he’s doing, thinking about not thinking about sorting out his thoughts when he walks down the hall, stops at the door to his and Logan’s shared room. He places his ear against the wood of the door and waits, listens. His heart is rabbiting away in his chest and he tries not to press it to the door, worried Logan will hear him. Kendall stands there as long as he dares until he hears a slight rustling, the click of a heel. There’s no way he can keep still any longer, so Kendall turns the knob with an imperceptible click. The opening is only enough for Kendall to see in with one eye, and he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a moan.
Tonight, Logan stands in front of the mirror wearing a full garter belt, straps dangling and clutching nothing, a corset of blue and black fabric with strings dangling, useless, across Logan’s barely clothed backside. Kendall’s green eyes blaze a trail down Logan’s legs, elongated by the stilettos he wears, shining lean and smooth. Kendall thoughtlessly licks his lips.
Logan huffs as he reaches to the strings between his shoulder blades, tries to tighten and tie the corset, finding it difficult on his own. Kendall’s eyes want to roll back into his head, and with only a glance, he’s throbbing everywhere. The thrumming of his heart rises into his throat and he’s nearly choked by the sheer size of it. Kendall has always known sound, rhythm could fill a space, make something empty full, but music, no matter how lovely, has never threatened to smother him this way. This way the sight of Logan does.
The boy Kendall can’t tear his eyes from holds the laces at the base of his spine, just at the curve of his ass, and Kendall wishes he could help Logan. The tightness of the corset creates this amazing curve to Logan’s waist, his hips flaring only just, and Kendall longs to smooth his hands across that dip and flair, before letting him loose again, revealing the boy underneath.
Kendall is lost in his imaginings, eyes trained on that tortuous curve, only pulled back when a small sound comes from the other boy. His eyes dart to Logan’s face in the mirror, a doe-eyed stare meeting his own. He thinks of pulling the door closed, pretending he doesn’t notice Logan watching him watching, but Logan’s cheeks flame. He hides his face with his hands.
“Please, just leave, just leave,” Logan whispers, the sound quiet, defeated, humiliated. Kendall can’t bear the crack in Logan’s voice, the way his shoulders have slumped. Kendall stands, only just realizing he had fallen to his knees, and moves with trembling legs behind Logan. Without speaking, he pulls the laces of the corset tight, the boning gripping the smaller boy in a vice. Logan gasps at the constriction, and Kendall gently pulls Logan’s hands away from his face. Without a word, Kendall urges the other boy to look at himself.
Logan’s fingers seem to gravitate to the seams of his top, a sound half pleasure and half embarrassment slipping past his lips. Kendall’s hands cover Logan’s as they move across the expanse of his stomach, his sides, and their eyes meet in the mirror over Logan’s head. The flush deepens on Logan’s cheeks, something more than embarrassment coloring his face. His pupils are blown wide, the black center leaving merely a slim circle of brown. Heat rolls off the smaller boy, and Kendall moves closer to Logan still, pressing him forward into the mirrored glass. Without thought, he pushes his hips firmly against Logan’s ass, a wanton groan unfurling from his throat.
Kendall doesn’t recall a time he’s ever been so desperate, so overcome. He’d thought he knew what want was before -- the desire to see a girl’s breasts or buy a new hockey stick -- but he was wrong. But maybe what he’s wanted in the past was right and what he wants now is wrong; he won’t contemplate it now, maybe not ever.
A heavy breath from Logan fogs the mirror and his eyes close, his thoughts a myriad of images and conflicting emotions. I’m not a fag, I’m not, I’m not, Logan repeats to himself, even as he moans when Kendall rubs his obvious erection against Logan’s hip. Kendall’s traces the seams of Logan’s corset before going back to caress the webbing between Logan’s fingers, and each light touch sends shocks of lust through his stomach and lower, lower. Despite the sudden weight of his lids, Logan opens his eyes again, meets Kendall’s gaze and immediately closes them once more. Logan saw so much, more than too much, glinting from Kendall’s dilated pupils, shining in the gloss of his eyes. Things Logan can’t deal with. Kendall presses again, hard, until Logan finds himself with his cheek against the glass, the cool mirrored surface an intense contrast to the hot body against his back.
This can’t happen.
“I’m not letting you fuck me,” Logan pants, arching his back and pushing his backside against Kendall’s fully hardened dick. “I’m not gay.” The sound of Logan’s voice or his words or some kind of lingering sense seem to snap Kendall out of it, and he drops his hands, backs away. Logan thinks Kendall is gone until he moves from the mirror, sees Kendall’s reflection a few feet behind him. Logan can’t keep eye contact, even though this is only Kendall’s image staring him in the face, transferring a copy of a feeling from Kendall, to the mirror, to Logan.
“You look...” Kendall pauses, struggling for words, “mind-blowing, a-amazing. I can’t...” Kendall scrubs his hands over his face. “I just thought you should know,” he finishes. He leaves the room and closes the door behind him.
Part Three
Genre: Big Time Rush - Drama / Angst
Pairings: Logan/Kendall, small itty bitty Kendall/Jo and Logan/Camille
Details: Slash, showverse
Rating: MA/NC17
Warnings: Crossdressing, swearing, slash, homophobia, angst, not exactly HEA, smut, voyeurism, cheating (Kendall/Jo, Logan/Camille)
Status: WIP
Word Count: 3006
Summary: As children grow to adulthood, their friendships change. Sometimes those friendships evolve, twist and shift into something foreign. What’s left can be messy, unable to be salvaged. Logan has a secret he’s kept to himself for as long as he can remember. Kendall finds out about it.
Author's Note: I just realized this almost all internalized. Not much dialogue. Huh. And I know I though this was going to be 3 parts, but today it seems like there will be four.
It starts the day Logan wears the red dress.
Logan hates himself a little for being excited at Mrs. Knight’s suggestion to dress in her clothes, but he explains it away as excitement for the lecture he plans to attend at an all-girl’s school. When she holds up the dress, the panty-hose, the shoes, Logan feels obvious, blushing, a hot mess of rosy cheeks and Freudian flaws. But he can’t deny the anticipation coiling in his stomach, the flutter in his chest.
The material of the dress is heavy and cold when he slides it on. It flares out at his knees and swishes almost silently when he sways his hips, whispering and rustling just so against the black tights covering his legs. He rubs his hands over his thighs, his chest, and his eyes close before he realizes what he’s doing and stops himself. Logan stands up straight and slides on the three-inch, pointy-toed heels and grimaces. He likes the height but hates the pinch.
“What am I doing?” he mutters to the quiet, glad no one is home but Mrs. Knight in the living room. Maybe every other guy feels this way in girl clothes. Maybe the thrill jolting through his spine is commonplace, ubiquitous, average. Many people cross-dress as a matter of comfort or style, Logan reasons. He looks at his heel clad feet and knows this is anything but comfortable. “Stop thinking, Logan,” he adds, knowing, for him, how impossible that is.
The voice of his father echoes in his head, My son won’t be a fag, and he quickly steps out of the shoes, pulls the dress over his head and tosses it on his bed, staring it down as though it were a predator and he the prey.
But a few moments pass, the memory of his father’s words dying down to merely a painful hiss, and he lifts the dress from its piled folds on the bed. His desire to see the lecture from his favorite mathematician -- or maybe the absence of the weighty fabric on his skin -- pulls him back into the dress, moves the shoes back to his feet.
Just this once.
When Logan gets home, somewhat beaten, feet aching, and a story he doesn’t want to tell burning his lips, he doesn’t notice the way Kendall’s gaze darkens, his eyebrows pull in confusion. Funny, because Logan notices everything about Kendall on a normal day. This, however, is anything but normal.
Logan is honestly too busy wondering how he can get some lingerie that fits without having to try it on first. He winds up wrapping a string around his hips, his chest, and using his protractor to measure, afterwards placing a hopeful order online. Just a little something, something lovely, pressed against his skin underneath his clothes, something to remind him of what it is to feel pretty.
~oOo~
Kendall doesn’t stop thinking about the way Logan’s hips looked in that dress. He can’t stop wondering what kind of underwear Logan wore underneath it, or if he wore any at all. Kendall wonders if he’s sick to have these kinds of thoughts about his best friend, his roomie, his bandmate. Logan simply dressed that way as a means to an end, not to create some twisted masturbation material for Kendall.
Not that Kendall has jerked off or anything to thoughts of Logan in a dress. That would be too much, too far and Kendall wouldn’t be able to look Logan in the eye ever again; he is certain.
Kendall tries to do what’s expected and dates Jo. He likes girls, loves girls, of course, but his thoughts keep going back to Logan in that dress. Maybe it’s just because Logan would make such a pretty girl. Why then, does Kendall imagine peeling those layers off, the faux flair of the Logan’s hips removed and straight, masculine lines revealed? He thinks about it always, always, but avoids asking himself too many questions. What does it matter anyway?
They’re in this meeting with Gustavo, and Kendall’s brain feels numb. He makes every attempt to listen, but forgets when he realizes Logan’s legs are shaved. Logan’s feet are spread apart, toes stretched between the thong of a flip flop, legs sprawled wide. They look so pale without the dark hair Kendall is accustomed to seeing and he has this urge to cover Logan, protect him from exposure. Kendall shakes his head as Logan crosses an ankle over a knee and his shorts ride up higher. Kendall blinks once, twice, three times when he sees the lace of a garter just barely peeking below the khaki colored fabric.
Kendall knows the red lace is impossible to blink away.
And Kendall doesn’t want James or Carlos to see. He doesn’t want Gustavo to see, and he doesn’t want Kelly to see, so he makes a quiet move closer to Logan, tugs on the fabric of his shorts to keep the secret between them. Logan’s head snaps to meet Kendall’s, eyes wide and glossy, fear prominent as Kendall feels a tremor move through Logan and into him.
“It’s okay,” Kendall whispers, turning away because he can’t look at Logan anymore, not when he realizes he’s half hard and Logan’s vulnerable expression is only making him harder.
What the fuck?
Kendall feels Logan staring at him, feels those brown eyes boring into the side of his face, enticing a heated blush to rise from his chest to his cheeks. Kendall bites his lip. Since when does he fucking blush?
Later, when James asks Logan about his legs, Logan explains he’s taken to speed swimming at the Y.
Yeah, Kendall snorts, right.
While Logan lies to James, Kendall watches the words slip past his lips. Once, when they were thirteen, Logan borrowed Kendall’s chap stick after hockey practice. His lips had been so chapped they left tiny rivets in the normally smooth surface of the balm. Kendall remembers Logan seemed to smear the stuff all over his mouth, missing it in places. Kendall remembers how shiny the skin around his lips was, almost like he’d been eating something messy -- fried chicken or cheeseburgers. Kendall had laughed, but he wanted to smooth the shine away, push the lip balm back to Logan’s lips where it belonged.
Kendall wonders, now, if maybe that had been a strange want to have. He wonders if it was strange how he pressed the balm to his own lips until the rivets melted away.
He hears James suggest Logan should shave his arms and chest too.
Logan must’ve noticed Kendall staring because his eyebrows pull together. He turns on his heel and goes to their room, softly shuts the door. Kendall doesn’t miss the clicking of the lock.
~oOo~
Logan trusts that Kendall won’t say anything about what he saw. It’s better to simply trust than to actually have to bring up the subject. Hey, Kendall, did you really see my garter and try to cover it for me? Yeah, that would go over well. He’s scared though. Scared Kendall thinks he’s a freak, because the other boy stops talking to him about personal things. Kendall stops mentioning Jo, stops asking for help on his homework, stops the conversations they shared in the dark before they fell asleep. Now, instead of Kendall’s voice following him into dreams, Logan has to bear the constant stream of his own thoughts. He needs to snap out of it. He needs a few stolen moments on his own.
As soon as he finds himself alone, he rips into his newest package from a company called Intimate Expressions, a website he has come to frequent. Their boxes are discreet and Logan explains them away with mentioning a new chemistry set or advanced calculus book. No one tries to peek.
His fingers slide into satin, and he pulls the black fabric from the box, rubbing it against his cheek, pushing down the sick feeling in his stomach in favor of the rising exhilaration. Hurriedly, he undresses, raising his arms high and letting the chemise slick down his arms, smooth over his sides, the straps coming to rest on his shoulders. Inching the matching panties up past his shaven knees, he stands as pulls the small piece of cloth over his ass cheeks and cock, embracing him in an intimate hug. It all fits. Perfect. Logan sighs, and he’s not sure if it’s from relief or pleasure or both.
Moving to stand in front of the full length mirror in the corner, Logan pushes up to his tip toes, turning to the side and watching as his calf muscles flex, wondering if he could buy some heels without being disgusted by himself. Sometimes he thinks he is taking this too far. Sometimes, it’s not nearly far enough.
His fingertips trace his hip bones, the contours of his stomach. Watching his hands in the mirror, he tries not to ponder whose hands he would have replacing them were the world a kinder place. It’s a secret he’s kept from everyone: his family, his friends, the logical part of his brain. Logan is frighteningly good at keeping secrets. He’s never told how Carlos accidentally killed his own pet hamster in the fifth grade. He’s never told how James broke the vending machine at the rink when he hit it for stealing his quarter. He’s never told how he saw Kendall naked when they were twelve and realized what lust felt like for the very first time.
Kendall knows he’s invading Logan’s privacy, but he can’t move. He doesn’t really want to move, but the same instant he does, because Logan would be beyond pissed if he saw Kendall in the doorway, mouth agape, eyes unblinking, watching as the smaller boy fingers the straps of the black top, moves to his hips and smooths over the lacy edges of the panties he wears. Kendall’s mouth falls open wider still as he takes in the accentuated curves of Logan’s backside, the fabric stopping mid-cheek, flesh peeking out and begging to fill the sudden void in Kendall’s palms.
This is ridiculous, Kendall thinks, covering his eyes with his hand because his lids won’t seem to go down on their own, quietly shutting the door and leaving Logan on his own once again.
But Kendall can’t forget, and instead of the red dress, those frilly, black panties haunt his thoughts.
The next day, Kendall can’t help but wonder what Logan is wearing under his jeans, his loose-fitting sweater. Over the next several days, it becomes almost an obsession, Kendall looking closely when Logan has to raise his arms over his head, bend over to retrieve something from the floor. Kendall tries to be inconspicuous, but one can only hide so much of an intense stare. Logan must know; he has to, because Kendall catches spare glimpses of lace and satin and silk, blues and blacks and pinks and purples like a sky fading from twilight to night.
There comes an evening where Kendall has a date with Jo, James and Carlos are going to see a movie and Katie and Mrs. Knight are going to the mall. Kendall’s stomach flips with anticipation, because he knows Logan has plans when he repeatedly rejects the idea of going to the movies with James and Carlos.
Kendall tries to go on his date with Jo, he really does, because he doesn’t want to a creepy stalker, a peeping Tom, but that image of Logan is still burned into his brain and he wants, needs it replaced by something else. They make it all the way to the restaurant before Kendall feigns illness and they go back to the Palmwoods, Kendall insisting that Jo doesn’t need to come into 2J; she doesn’t need to take care of him; no, he will be fine on his own. He doesn’t mention to her Logan is home; he can’t explain why he doesn’t want her to know, or maybe he just doesn’t want to.
So much is happening to Kendall: he’s become a creeper and a liar and apparently somewhat gay for his best friend, and he has no desire to sort it out yet. And that’s what he’s doing, thinking about not thinking about sorting out his thoughts when he walks down the hall, stops at the door to his and Logan’s shared room. He places his ear against the wood of the door and waits, listens. His heart is rabbiting away in his chest and he tries not to press it to the door, worried Logan will hear him. Kendall stands there as long as he dares until he hears a slight rustling, the click of a heel. There’s no way he can keep still any longer, so Kendall turns the knob with an imperceptible click. The opening is only enough for Kendall to see in with one eye, and he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a moan.
Tonight, Logan stands in front of the mirror wearing a full garter belt, straps dangling and clutching nothing, a corset of blue and black fabric with strings dangling, useless, across Logan’s barely clothed backside. Kendall’s green eyes blaze a trail down Logan’s legs, elongated by the stilettos he wears, shining lean and smooth. Kendall thoughtlessly licks his lips.
Logan huffs as he reaches to the strings between his shoulder blades, tries to tighten and tie the corset, finding it difficult on his own. Kendall’s eyes want to roll back into his head, and with only a glance, he’s throbbing everywhere. The thrumming of his heart rises into his throat and he’s nearly choked by the sheer size of it. Kendall has always known sound, rhythm could fill a space, make something empty full, but music, no matter how lovely, has never threatened to smother him this way. This way the sight of Logan does.
The boy Kendall can’t tear his eyes from holds the laces at the base of his spine, just at the curve of his ass, and Kendall wishes he could help Logan. The tightness of the corset creates this amazing curve to Logan’s waist, his hips flaring only just, and Kendall longs to smooth his hands across that dip and flair, before letting him loose again, revealing the boy underneath.
Kendall is lost in his imaginings, eyes trained on that tortuous curve, only pulled back when a small sound comes from the other boy. His eyes dart to Logan’s face in the mirror, a doe-eyed stare meeting his own. He thinks of pulling the door closed, pretending he doesn’t notice Logan watching him watching, but Logan’s cheeks flame. He hides his face with his hands.
“Please, just leave, just leave,” Logan whispers, the sound quiet, defeated, humiliated. Kendall can’t bear the crack in Logan’s voice, the way his shoulders have slumped. Kendall stands, only just realizing he had fallen to his knees, and moves with trembling legs behind Logan. Without speaking, he pulls the laces of the corset tight, the boning gripping the smaller boy in a vice. Logan gasps at the constriction, and Kendall gently pulls Logan’s hands away from his face. Without a word, Kendall urges the other boy to look at himself.
Logan’s fingers seem to gravitate to the seams of his top, a sound half pleasure and half embarrassment slipping past his lips. Kendall’s hands cover Logan’s as they move across the expanse of his stomach, his sides, and their eyes meet in the mirror over Logan’s head. The flush deepens on Logan’s cheeks, something more than embarrassment coloring his face. His pupils are blown wide, the black center leaving merely a slim circle of brown. Heat rolls off the smaller boy, and Kendall moves closer to Logan still, pressing him forward into the mirrored glass. Without thought, he pushes his hips firmly against Logan’s ass, a wanton groan unfurling from his throat.
Kendall doesn’t recall a time he’s ever been so desperate, so overcome. He’d thought he knew what want was before -- the desire to see a girl’s breasts or buy a new hockey stick -- but he was wrong. But maybe what he’s wanted in the past was right and what he wants now is wrong; he won’t contemplate it now, maybe not ever.
A heavy breath from Logan fogs the mirror and his eyes close, his thoughts a myriad of images and conflicting emotions. I’m not a fag, I’m not, I’m not, Logan repeats to himself, even as he moans when Kendall rubs his obvious erection against Logan’s hip. Kendall’s traces the seams of Logan’s corset before going back to caress the webbing between Logan’s fingers, and each light touch sends shocks of lust through his stomach and lower, lower. Despite the sudden weight of his lids, Logan opens his eyes again, meets Kendall’s gaze and immediately closes them once more. Logan saw so much, more than too much, glinting from Kendall’s dilated pupils, shining in the gloss of his eyes. Things Logan can’t deal with. Kendall presses again, hard, until Logan finds himself with his cheek against the glass, the cool mirrored surface an intense contrast to the hot body against his back.
This can’t happen.
“I’m not letting you fuck me,” Logan pants, arching his back and pushing his backside against Kendall’s fully hardened dick. “I’m not gay.” The sound of Logan’s voice or his words or some kind of lingering sense seem to snap Kendall out of it, and he drops his hands, backs away. Logan thinks Kendall is gone until he moves from the mirror, sees Kendall’s reflection a few feet behind him. Logan can’t keep eye contact, even though this is only Kendall’s image staring him in the face, transferring a copy of a feeling from Kendall, to the mirror, to Logan.
“You look...” Kendall pauses, struggling for words, “mind-blowing, a-amazing. I can’t...” Kendall scrubs his hands over his face. “I just thought you should know,” he finishes. He leaves the room and closes the door behind him.
Part Three