James looks up with interest from his bowl of cheerios as the familiar sound of the fridge door opening vibrates off his eardrums. A smile pulls at his lips as his hazel eyes fill with the cute image of Carlos searching the shelves and compartments like he's trying to find Narnia within the chilled interior.
It looks like he's having trouble finding something to eat, and there's a pout turning his lips down, something like a powerless gleam overpowering the usual shine and twinkle in his brown eyes, small whimpers of "no" and "waffles" and "bacon" falling past his lips. It's kind of sad to watch.
Being the great friend he is, James ignores the rest of his soggy cereal and goes to help the poor boy.
His version of helping is turning the boy around and crashing his lips onto Carlos', because his lips are absolutely magical and they help everyone and everything they touch.
Basically, this is how breakfast usually goes—at least, more often than not—for the two boys with neither of them complaining.
Kissing Carlos is his wake-up call, how he manages to get up so damn early every day for dance practice or harmonies or whatever other bull Gustavo wants the group to do. James thinks it's almost like mouthwash; minty, cool, and leaves an impression that refuses to fade until hours after.
Carlos does this thing with his tongue, this little thing that's kind of like a trill, like he's trying to speak Spanish into James' mouth, and oh, yeah, it always leaves James sighing into the Latino's mouth and pressing closer to the smaller, warm body against him.
When James finally goes off on his way, he feels all minty fresh.
James finds Logan in the living room, watching some documentary on the mating patterns of peacocks. Or maybe it's ostriches. James isn't actually paying enough attention to the television to tell. His eyes are locked on the skittish mammal resting on the couch.
That's his prey.
So he moves slowly, strutting over to the couch, and sitting down next to the boy. "Hey, Logan," he greets, shooting his most disarming smile at the genius.
"James," Logan echoes, but his eyes stay on the T.V. James peeks over and sees some weird type of bird getting it on; it's a mess of feathers and limbs and blobs of various colors and shades with the hideous sound of squawks and screeches like they're about to be killed.
Somehow it doesn't surprise James that this is how Logan spends his day.
James turns back to Logan who's still not looking at him. Which makes the pretty boy pout. Since when are two freaking penguins hotter than him? Because, you know, last time he checked, they weren't! So James does the one thing he knows will have Logan's undivided attention on him, where it belongs.
James kisses him.
Kissing Logan is like kissing a virgin, someone with no experience (because, well, let's be honestly, the most experience Logan's got under his belt is probably just kissing his mom goodnight). Logan barely moves his lips at all, letting James do all the work.
Which is totally fine with James. He likes that he's the only one who Logan gives this sort of dominance to, that when he slides his lips slowly and sensually, Logan's face completely flushes and he melts into the touch and opens his mouth for James' exploring pleasure.
It's almost like every time he connects his lips to Logan's, he's stealing the boy's virginity, and that's a rush that never fails to excite the pretty boy.
James smirks as he leaves the genius on the couch, still feeling Logan's burning eyes on his departing figure.
"Hey, James, help me practice my lines?"
James looks over to the aspiring actor with a smile. Camille is cool, Camille is nice, Camille's, like, his best female friend. So, yeah, he'll totally help her. "Sure, Camille," he says smoothly, sitting down next to her.
Since Camille is his best female friend, he has decided that he needs to treat her better than any other girl he knows (besides like Mama Knight or Katie, but they don't really count). And he, better than anyone else, knows what girls like.
Girls like him.
So when she passes him a script, he grabs it, pulls it and her forward, and seals their lips together in a hot kiss. He feels her smile into the kiss like it's all she's been waiting for all day (because she probably has).
Kissing Camille is always fun. One day, it's like they're wizards fighting with their slippery wands inside each other's mouth, the next they're ninjas, trying to best each other with sneaky moves and surprise attacks. Today, they're pirates. James is trying to get the booty, but he has to find it within the dangerous, wet cavern of Camille's mouth.
He can tell he's found it when she moans into the kiss.
And James smiles.
Yeah, kissing Camille is always fun.
On his way back inside the lobby from the pool, James runs into Jo in all her glam-ified glory. He greets her with a toothy grin; she greets him with fluttering blonde eyelashes, heated brown eyes, and a coy little smile on her pretty little lips.
And he can tell exactly what she wants, because even when she was going out with Kendall, she'd always check him out when he walked into a room with the "happy" couple or keep one eye on James when Kendall was kissing her. She so wants him.
His first thought is hooking up with your best friend's ex-girlfriend is weird. And probably wrong. And weird.
But then Jo trails her manicured nails up his toned arm, murmurs his name in this breathy tone that's surprisingly very hot, and lays her pretty, pretty little mouth on his.
Suddenly, hooking up with your best friend's ex-girlfriend isn't so weird.
After having some fun in the lobby, James goes down to the gym. Muscles like his don't just happen; they're formed after hours and hours of hard work, and if he can stare at himself in floor length mirrors as he's working, then all the better.
Somehow, Jett is always there when he gets there. The television star is usually working out his upper body on the bench press with no spotter (when you're that good, it's just not needed). There are beads of sweat running down his body until they disappear within his black wife beater and his body's all gleamy and shiny and it's oddly attractive.
So while James is on the treadmill, he lets his hazel eyes watch Jett's movements. Jett may not be as muscular or pretty as James, but it's almost a close call and James is a dedicated lover of all things beautiful.
Besides, he knows Jett is watching him, too.
He totally can't blame the guy, because he's hot and he prides himself on being so. He's okay with being a little eye candy if he gets some in return.
It's this game they play, the watching game. The two teens work out in silence with just the sound of running feet or grunting mouths or clinking weights, getting all wet and steamy. Then it's the waiting game. Waiting to see who'll cave first.
Who will rush across the room and lose themselves first.
Jett loses today, almost tackling James to the ground in his hurry to connect his lips to James' and slamming their sweaty bodies into each other, the contact of skin on skin heavenly delicious.
Kissing Jett is powerful, all lips and teeth and tongue and some wicked spirit. There's nothing soft about it because it's another one of their games; who can kiss better? That's what they're trying to prove.
James is pretty sure each time he wins, but he has to be positive, so he keeps going back to the gym every other day to play again.
James walks into his shared room, immediately flinging his shoes and socks off, stripping out of his dark wash skinny jeans and shirt in less than two point three seconds before jumping into bed and slipping under the covers.
A content smile turns his lips as the familiar scent wafts up and caresses his nose. The smile only widens when there's a sweet kiss pressed against his cheek. He turns to find Kendall clad only in a towel (that's hanging pretty damn low on his hips, to James' satisfaction).
"Hey, baby," Kendall's soft voice whispers, pressing another kiss on his boyfriend's soft skin, this time to his lips. "I missed you today."
"I missed you, too, babe," James replies, patting the bed next to him with a pout he knows Kendall can't resist. "Now get into bed so we can cuddle." He adds puppy dog eyes, too, just for good measure.
The blonde just laughs at him. "I'm always up for cuddling. Just let me get dressed."
James catches his hand, the one holding up the towel, and slowly pulls it away, so the white fabric falls to the ground with an inaudible plunk. That smile turns into a smirk as he takes in all of Kendall's body. "Skip the clothes," he offers with a waggle of his eyebrows. "If it makes you self-conscious, I'll get naked, too."
There's another amused laugh, and an eye roll, but Kendall listens and gets into bed. "Slut," he retorts fondly, wrapping both arms around the tanned boy for some good ol' fashioned cuddling, naked limbs tangling until there's no way to distinguish where James ends and where Kendall begins.
"Your slut," James corrects, grinning into Kendall's neck, trailing some butterfly kisses up and down the expense of his throat.
The blonde tightens his grip. "Yeah, mine." Then he puckers his lips to kiss the brunette's full lips lovingly.
And this is what James lives for. Kissing Kendall is like coming home, where he always wants to be; it's all loving, soft, safe. It's a kiss just like all the others, but it's nothing like kissing Carlos or Logan, Camille or Jo, and definitely not like kissing Jett. It's something James can't even explain, but it always leaves him wanting more, always leaves him falling farther and farther in love with the green-eyed boy.
It makes him feel like a kid in a candy store and like a man finally having all his dreams come true. It's like every time he kisses Kendall, his heart gets bigger or maybe it explodes. It's probably—actually, it's undeniably both.
Kendall pulls away with a dimpled smile, asking, "So what did you do today, baby?"
James just shrugs, snuggling deeper into the shelter of Kendall's arms. "Eh, same old, same old."
So I've noticed that I usually write Kendall as the bad guy which is weird, because he's my favorite (obviously lol), so I decided to write something where James is the "bad guy." And when he's the bad guy, he's a whore, because, well he's just a manwhore lol I sure had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you all enjoyed :)
I want to dedicate this to nic98ole because she's crazy and thinks the way I write James is amazing (when really how she writes James is better; like have you read Born This Way, Superheroes, or The Spy Who Loved Me? Freaking amazing) so I hope this slutty James is up to par, too and Sum1cooler because he's the only one who supports my addiction to Kamett (Kendall+James+Jett) and wrote an amazing one shot for me (James or Jett?) and he's just freaking amazing :) So out of everybody, I hope you guys like it the most ;) lol