A/N: my second fic! (yes, it's unbetaed again. too lazy to actually find one…) it's exactly 1000 wordsss. anyways, enjoy.
pairing: James/Kendall (aka slash. yeah.) it's in James's POVish
warnings: underage sex alluded to?, boy cheating on girl with boy
rating: pg13
genre: flangsty –fluff+angst- romance
disclaimer: I definitely don't own this. Fellowverse may be slashy, but not onscreen.

You relish the stolen moments in between rehearsals, in the mornings before anyone else is up, during dinner when no one else is looking. When you aren't alone together, he'll still lean against you, taunting you with his close proximity, breathing on your neck and grinning. His smell is a mixture of coffee and chlorine and boy; it clogs your thoughts until all you can think about is the next time you can pull him off into an empty closet and claim him as yours, even if it's only for a little while.

You know that these moments are special and meant to be cherished but your body moves on autopilot as soon as you're alone with him, and when it's over you barely remember any of it. You try to remember, but he won't let you get a camera near him ever, let alone take pictures of him so exposed, so that's not an option. Instead you just focus on the tickling sensations of his skin on yours and those little noises he makes as you rock together. You'll always be able to see him, but it's rare that you can touch him.

He's sweet and smooth and vulnerable, pliable under your touch, his tall –but still shorter than your own- frame molding to fit to your hands. His pale skin is always warm and while he urges you to be faster "we're going to get caught", you always pause to press your check against his stomach, to kiss the curve of his hip, to breathe warm puffs of air against the splatters of freckles on his legs. You've been counting them as you unravel each new spread of skin but it's easy to get distracted and lose count so sometimes you have to start over (not that you mind). The highest you've counted is thirty two.

He's just so gorgeous, what with his bright eyes and his silky hair. Even his strange knobby knees and his bony shoulders are pretty to you. It's hard for you to keep control when he's under you, whimpering and pleading "hurry they're gonna catch us" and his freckly skin is right there, touchable, kissable. So you'll reassure him by kisses on his pink lips and soft caresses while laughing each time he tells you to hurry. He's always so paranoid that someone will walk in on you; instead of asking him "why do you even care so much wouldn't it be easier if everyone knew?" you say "okay i'll try".

You can't hold him in public and kiss him, or pull him away from the pool while your friends laugh knowingly "someone's getting lucky" though. Instead it's someone else –his girlfriend- pulling him away while you stare and he shrugs at you. You're never sure if he really means his apologies when you're rolling your hips against his later and he's moaning softly, punctuating each one with whispers of "sorry love i'm sorry you know we can't they'd get so mad". You aren't sure who 'they' are or why they'd be mad but he's been known to mumble strange things when you're hovering over him with your hand in his shorts so you don't think about it much.

And even if you do know that when you're alone with him he's yours, it still stings when you watch him flounce off with his girlfriend. He doesn't tell you what they do together, and you don't ask, but you still wonder.

(You wonder if she knows how much he loves when his back is rubbed, or when the soft skin behind his knees is licked, or when his hair is ruffled and his scalp is scratched. You wonder if she knows his favorite color –red-, his favorite television show –NCIS-, his favorite movie –Finding Nemo-, his favorite books –Lord of the Rings-, or his favorite food –scrambled eggs-.)

It's taken you years of questions to figure out his quirks and months of seduction to find out what raises his heartbeat. When you were younger, he was always closer with his other friends than you so it wasn't until Hollywood that you found out the majority of his secrets. You hope it takes her as long too.

But at the same time you know it won't.

He's open with her, telling her almost everything that isn't to do with you and your illegitimate relationship with him. You've heard them talk when he doesn't think you're listening, in the morning when you sneak into his room before anyone else is up and find her curled in his bed, his arms wrapped around her waist. You listen, catching things like "i miss my dad" and "have you seen that episode where gibbs totally freaks out on tony?" and "your hair is really soft".

So later when you're holding him on the floor of the shower, cold water pouring down on your heads, you ask him "has your dad called you lately?" and tell him "i cried like a baby when ziva got shot" and mumble "your hair is really soft too". His eyes grow all wide and bright and that's the moment you realize you've never really heard her ask him any questions, so you wrap an arm around his back and yank him forward to kiss him. He tastes so sweet it's intoxicating, and you tell him that.

He just laughs in response, gusts of air pushing against your face, warming your cold lips. You turn him around so he's facing you and rest your hands on his waist, then go to your task of kissing each one of his freckles while he snickers "stop stop that tickles" and "i don't think people usually take showers for this long". You know there's a dusting of them on his nose, so you save that for last and then sweep in to lay a last kiss on his lips when you're done.

He's not yours, but it's stolen moments like these when it feels like he is.