A/N: I swear I have no self control. I need to finish my writing challenge over on LJ and instead I write porn. Goddamn.

Disclaimer: This would not be a Nick show if I owned it, believe you me.


Less Than Innocent


James sort of hates going to get ice cream.

Now, do not get him wrong, ice cream is seriously one of the greatest snack food inventions ever, kudos to whatever farmer out in Kansas or whatever came up with it (he assumes Kansas, because it seems like a very farmer kind of thing, yeah?) but, well, certain problems arise whenever they go out for some.

And by arise, he does mean arise, so to speak.

See, Carlos has this… this habit.

Most people, when they eat ice cream, they lick at it, or take small little bites and brave the brain freeze.

Since licking would be too dainty and Carlos really doesn't have to worry about brain freeze, he feels highly compelled to shove the whole thing in his mouth. Up to the brim of the cone.

Did he mention that Carlos' favorite flavor just happens to be vanilla?


It's not like James tries to notice or anything. It's just when Carlos has got a whole freaking ice cream in his mouth, like he's trying to prove something, with the edges of his mouth layered with white, James damns his choice of skinny jeans and makes a valiant attempt to cross his legs while still standing up. It wouldn't be such a problem if Carlos realized how freaking dirty his method of eating ice cream is.

And it's so innocent, too. Carlos is a overgrown boy, seriously, and whenever they go out for ice cream he's practically bouncing where he stands, up and down on the balls of his feet. Ice cream wasn't really appreciated in Minnesota, when the outside was basically as cold as the ice cream you were holding, but in L.A.? It's very much appreciated, thank you. After a long day of harmonies and dance practice, there's nothing like two scoops of cookies and cream with gummy bears on top.

Until Carlos orders, of course. Than James is more concerned about how fast his little friend can fucking finish the damn thing so he can run to the bathroom and jerk off before someone notices.

It only gets worse when Carlos remembers that he likes ice pops, too.

For fuck's sake, sometimes James wonders what he did to get God to hate him so much.

"Dude," Carlos says around a lemon-lime pop as they sit on the couch, "what's with the look?"

Maybe it's compensation for being so pretty.

"Nothing. There's no look." James makes a face, which actually does qualify as a look, but whatever. "What are you talking about?"

"You look… I dunno, uncomfortable?" Carlos sucks on the ice pop for a moment before tilting his head and the corner of his mouth twitches. "Did you walk in on Kendall and Logan or something? Because that'd be weird, like. Really weird."

"What the—no."

"Oh. 'Kay." Carlos resumes sucking on the damned thing and consequentially making James want to jump his bones. He needs to have a chat with Mrs. Knight about her grocery shopping. Because seriously. This is torture. There are few things in this world worse than this.

Because, yeah, James totally has a crush on Carlos, he admits it, and he also admits that he's okay with this fact. Being infatuated with your best friend is totally normal at the age of sixteen. You know, the fact that he likes girls aside. Carlos is the single exception.

More or less.

"Do you want one?"

James blinks.


Carlos waves the ice pop at him, an eyebrow perked and lips stained emerald. "You're staring at it like you're hot for it, dude. If you want one, Mrs. Knight put them in the freezer."


"Oh. No, no, I don't want one. Psh. Why would I want one?"

Carlos shrugs and returns to the snack. James wonders if it's the long sought after endless fucking ice pop, because seriously, the thing will not die. He tries to turn his attention to the screen—some teen soap opera, some group of kids dealing with problems that have nothing to do with wanting your best friend to do unspeakable things to you just to see if his lips are that talented—and voices his opinion out loud.

"I think Greg wants to do Troy. I mean, look at him."

Carlos snorts out a laugh. "Dude, no. Pete totally wants him."

James looks at him in shock. "Um, hel-lo, Greg's practically on his knees asking Troy to sex him up. Pete's just standing there trying to look all manly."

"If he wants Troy," Carlos counters, "then he's gonna take his time. But I still claim bullshit—everyone knows Troy is just going to go out with Alyssa."

"Pete and Greg should have hot reject sex, then."

Carlos nearly chokes on the ice pop, which really doesn't help James and all his unholy fantasies. He thumps Carlos on the back a few times until he's breathing again, and rests against the couch.

"Those things are apparently dangerous," he says dryly.

"You think? If you recall, my dad was ready to shank a bitch."

The sad part is that James remembers this vividly. Not because he was part of it, but rather because Mr. Garcia once gave him a serious talking-to about even considering stealing anything from his son. God help the poor soul who did so.

Did virginity count? Because he's just wondering.

James falls into silence as Carlos returns his attention to the stupid soap, still sucking on that godforsaken ice pop. It's making him really, really want to do horrible, dirty things to his best friend, but that's totally out of line, isn't it? Besides, he has no way of knowing if Carlos would even reciprocate.

"I still think Troy should get together with Pete," Carlos comments, and he's actually done with the thing. He twirls the wooden stick between his fingers, and he's probably all sticky. His lips are tinted green still, and it actually looks really sort of amusing.

Carlos turns to him, all wide eyes and bright smiles and James sort of loses himself for a moment.

"They ought to just admit it," Carlos continues, raising an eyebrow for James' response. "What'd you think they should do?"

James kisses him.

Admittedly, he's never tasted lemon-lime on someone else's lips, but damn, it tastes good.

Carlos goes completely still under him—when did James push him down into the couch?—and for one horrible second James panics, thinking oh c'mon God are you serious why do you hate me—but then Carlos tentatively slips his hands underneath the hem of James' shirt, almost quizzical, like he's not entirely sure what to do.


Carlos being uncertain.

That's new.

James pulls himself away to see that his friend is staring up at him, eyes wide like he's still not entirely sure of what's going on. He works a little smile on his face.


And then just like that Carlos is laughing, giddy and bright, lighting up the entire room, and he wraps his arms around James' neck.

"Okay," he concedes, "I agree. They'd do that." He then pulls James closer and initiates the next kiss himself, sliding his lips carefully over James' like he's still a little hesitant. James, in return, licks at his lips a little. Lemon-lime. Yeah. It tastes awesome. He brushes his fingers just beneath Carlos' shirt, feeling warm skin and the brush of hair above his waistline. Carlos shivers against him, his fingers squeezing a little over his shoulder blades.

"Shit," he breathes. James suddenly realizes that, oh yeah, Carlos doesn't exactly get around much. The slightest touch is probably electric.

A little test is in order, and James has heard enough from Logan to know the basics of the Scientific Method. Gather information. He runs the tips of his fingers up and under Carlos' shirt, dragging it up as he goes, and brushes the pads of his thumbs against both nipples. Carlos sucks in a breath and clutches at his shirt. Then he moves his lips down, trailing them lightly down the tanned skin of Carlos' neck at the same moment he presses down lightly with his thumbs and hips. This time, a squeak.

There's something really, really hot about that.

"Okay, yeah," Carlos manages. "I agree. A lot."

James laughs.

"You know this is all because of that fucking ice pop."

He expected confusion, or maybe flustered embarrassment. Instead, Carlos smirks. He fucking smirks. While his face is all flushed and his pupils are blown and James can feel the bulge against the side of his thigh and Jesus. Carlos should not be so hot, it's like a blatant defiance against nature or something when he's practically three years old half the time.

"Having dirty thoughts about my mouth, are we?" Carlos questions.

"Damned straight."

"Yeah, well, defiler of innocents, you—oh shit—should know I'm not exactly practiced."

"I think you're good at it," James protests in a low voice, grinding his hips down again and feeling stupidly pleased as Carlos' eyes flutter shut and he groans, pushing back against him. For someone who's not practiced, he sure knows exactly what to do to push all of James' buttons, and push them hard.

"Fine," James pretend-huffs. "This'll work." He runs his fingers over the denim of Carlos' jeans, popping the button, pulling down the zipper and sticking his hand down the front of his friend's pants. Never let it be said that James doesn't know how to get to the point. He can hear Carlos' breath catching and then Carlos is gripping his upper arms, hard, looking up at him in shock.


"Defiling the innocent?"

"Defile on."

James takes that as more than an invitation and swoops down to kiss Carlos hard, pressing him into the cushions of the pillow. He tugs at Carlos' jeans and boxers, bringing them only down to his hips, but Carlos doesn't seem to mind. James trails his fingers again, this time down the length of Carlos' dick before taking it in his hand and stroking smoothly. Carlos whimpers into his mouth, bucking his hips up almost naturally into James' grip.

It also happens to be the hottest thing James has ever seen, and previous to this he thought that thing might've been a mirror.

"We should do this more often," he murmurs, and Carlos manages a nod, eyes squeezed tightly shut as James continues, trying the same method he does when he jerks off. It's working, definitely, because the grip Carlos has on his biceps is getting tighter with each stroke, and James just knows he's going to have some hell-spawned bruises in the morning.

It only takes a few more strokes before Carlos comes, grip vice-like as he thrusts his hips into James' hand, throwing his head back, mouth slack.

And okay, no, James takes it back. That is the hottest thing he's ever seen.

He strokes Carlos through it until he stops shivering, and then Carlos looks up at him, looking tired but pretty damn satisfied.

"I do you now, right?"

James wants to say something snarky and smart, but frankly, the words dry in his throat.

"Not so innocent, are you?"

"Nope." Carlos reaches up, chin tucked into his chest so he can see what he's doing, and undoes James' pants as well. He's got better access, admittedly. James gasps at the first touch of skin, arms shaking a little. He can tell Carlos is trying to replicate what he'd just done, the strokes and the press of fingers and it's way too much, what with the mouth fucking Carlos gave that damned ice pop, it takes maybe three strokes at best before James is coming hard, gasping and panting and moaning curses through his teeth. Jesus.

He has to kiss Carlos again, and he can still taste the lingering lemon-lime, and he grins into the kiss.

Carlos pauses for a moment, and then James can feel him smiling too before he pulls back a little.

"You want that ice pop yet?"

"Yes," James says brightly, "I think I do."