Soooo. Yeah. I don't quite have an explanation for this fic. It was something I wanted to try, because the prompt was really fantastic, and I thought that I could try it. It's not your typical noncon scenario, which I think makes it kind of creepier. It's nice, Kendall is nice about it and that's not something that shows up in fic too much. It's more your standard victim is raped, rapist is a scary asshole, end of story. This is a little different, a lot different, and bear with me people, I just wanted to give it a shot. I don't in any way think this is in character. Kendall isn't a rapist so I'm not going to pretend this is something that could ever happen on the show. This was just a writing exercise.

Warnings for semi-graphic noncon, disturbing themes, general creepiness. Kendall's character is a little off, as I mentioned, simply because he's raping someone, which never, never, would ever happen. 'Nuff said about that.

I know this fic is going to seem strange to some of you, and that's okay. I'd appreciate some feedback, because I kind of have an idea of where I'd like to continue this, but I want to know if you guys would be interested in something like that. It's cool if you aren't, I'll probably just stick to posting on my livejournal, which is what I mostly do anyways. Oh and if anyone wants I have some James/Carlos porn that I posted over there the other day, just PM me or leave a comment asking for it and I'll give you the link.

Carlos' hands are shaking a little and his legs don't feel like they work quite right. He's twitchy inside, nervous and fluttery, butterflies and bubbles in his bones and blood. His mouth is sour like he's nauseous, like he's going to puke any second, but there's excitement in him too, deep down in his core, excitement that bursts forth from his chest, warms the rest of him. He can't believe he's here, even though he's done this all before. This isn't his first concert and he's as nervous as he was for their first. The jitters fade away the second the spotlight hits him, though, and he comes alive there, fills out and becomes someone brave and confident and new, a special, secret Carlos. He's the best he can be when he's out on stage, he's what everyone expects him to be, perfect and energetic and smiling, a great dancer, someone with bright eyes and a cheerful voice.

"Are you ready for this?" Kendall never gets nervous, not visibly. Kendall is smooth and aloof and cool, made for this in all the ways Carlos isn't. There are times, even now, when he's not quite sure if this is what he is meant to do. He's just a goofy guy from Minnesota who wears a helmet when he shouldn't and loves to dance and hang around with his best friends.

"Yeah." He is; the butterflies in him are slowly dying, crumbling at the wings, turning to nothing more than happiness that collects in the back of his skull and buzzes, makes him vibrate alive with ecstasy. He wants to go out, dance and sing, strut his stuff, watch thousands of girls he's never seen and will never know smile and scream and giggle, swoon on the spot. Out on the stage he's more than himself, he's Super Carlos, his favorite version of himself. "I love concerts."

"They're pretty awesome." Kendall nods, stretching liquid and languid like a cat, scratching absently at his belly, the sliver of skin exposed when his shirt rides up. "You look good, by the way. The wardrobe people picked well." He hates the tightness of the denim in his jeans, the uncomfortable way it clings to him, but Kendall likes it, so he likes it a little more now too.

"Thanks. I like your shirt."

Kendall laughs softly, a low rumble in his throat, and Carlos doesn't get why he's laughing at something that isn't a joke and isn't intended to be funny. "What?" He asks, wondering how what he said could be funny, only most of the question dies in his throat, cut off and turned into a very surprised, undignified squeak. His face burns and his mouth is ten degrees too warm because Kendall is kissing him, one of his best friends, one of his buds is kissing him. Carlos has never kissed anyone before, let alone another guy, and the heat that blooms in his belly is from something other than arousal, heavy like dread and confusion intertwined, tumbling together inside him. "Huh." He breathes, gulping room temperature, stale air as Kendall pulls away.

Kendall leans in to kiss him again, curls a hand around his cheek, finger stroking gentle and reverent, like Carlos is something he's always wanted to touch. "Please don't kiss me again, we're just friends." Kendall knows that, he has to, but they're both too close and the room is too warm and this could just be Kendall's way of relaxing, blowing off his excess steam.

"We both know this is going to happen anyways." Kendall tells him, somber and serious, his voice light and stern, the tone someone uses when they're talking to a child, explaining how the world does and doesn't work and how it will always be. "Don't fight it." Kendall tries to kiss him and he turns his face away so all that Kendall's mouth comes into contact with is the side of his cheek. He mouths the skin there, wet and playful, flicks out his tongue.

"Seriously, get off me."

Kendall doesn't get off him; Kendall doesn't do a damn thing.

"Don't be like that, man." Kendall cups his face, moves it how he wants it, forces Carlos to turn his neck, to meet his eyes. There is nothing recognizably Kendall in his face and yet he's completely and utterly Kendall, the same as he's always been, smiling a tiny, disappointed grin. "You know you want it. You're always hugging me, clinging to me, jumping into my arms. I know you want it." He doesn't want it, whatever it is, though, he's almost positive he knows exactly what it is and is has his stomach doing a slow, uncomfortable roll, too hot and liquid, burning him alive with fear and dread.

"Kendall, come on, this isn't funny." His chest is starting to feel too tight and this is the worst joke anyone has ever played on him. He's secretly hoping for James and Logan to pop out of the corner, a video camera in their hands, laughing and high fiving Kendall while they record his expression. This isn't a joke, there's no one in the room but himself and Kendall, the world too quiet and too empty and too small for him to ever be safe.

"You can't tease a guy forever Carlos, it's just not cool." Kendall kisses him, lips firm and demanding against his. Kendall wrecks his mouth until it's slippery and shiny, swollen and damp with a mixture of their spit. He wants to shout for help but part of him can't believe it, because this is Kendall, his best friend, his best friend.

"Kendall, you're scaring me."

"Don't be afraid, I love you Carlos, we're best friends." Kendall says the words like they're part of a beloved promise. "I love you way more than James or Logan; they're not good enough friends to give you what you've always been asking for."

Kendall pushes him back against the makeup counter, lifts him onto it, pawing and kissing him everywhere his mouth and hands can reach. Carlos is motionless and dazed for most of it, watching the florescent lights flicker on the ceiling, counting every crack in the plaster above his head. Kendall slips his pants down past his knees and this is really happening, isn't a crazy, warped dream, so he starts to struggle, desperate and panicked, only for Kendall to slam him back so hard his head cracks against the mirror. There is a loud thud, a smack, not rough enough to do any lasting damage, but there's pain and his vision goes white for a second, long enough for Kendall to unzip his pants, spit loud and obscene onto his palm. "Don't be like that." Kendall whispers, sounding strangely sad and brutally honest. "I don't want to have to get rough with you. I don't think you'll like that."

He doesn't like any of it, not a single bit. Kendall slimes his hand up with spit and presses fingers inside him, to loosen him up, work out his tension, and it's horrible and intrusive, a violation of his personal space. He thinks he's going to cry then, his thighs held apart by Kendall's waist in-between them, Kendall's fingers twisting where they don't have permission to be. He swallows hard, counting cracks in the ceiling again, letting his eyes fall shut as Kendall pushes in. It feels like he's being torn in two but he knows he isn't, Kendall's too gentle, too sweet, kisses a necklace of kisses across his throat, each more loving than the last. "That good?" He asks, moving, thrusting in a steady rhythm, a glide and slide of his hips. "You like that?" Kendall touches his cock and he wishes he was being split in two, torn apart at the seams, shredded awful and messy, then this would seem worse than it is, it'd feel physically as bad as it feels inside. His wounds are on the inside, in the frayed, shattered ruins of his heart. Kendall gives up touching him when it becomes apparent that Carlos isn't going to get hard, not for Kendall, not during this.

Kendall takes what seem like hours to finish. Sweat collects messy and sticky at Carlos' temples, on his thighs, everywhere Kendall touches him, his body flushed with too much heat. Kendall comes silently, the falter in his rhythm giving him away; as does the lazy, hot trickle of come dribbling down Carlos' thighs, out from inside him. He could scream, bite through his tongue, fill his mouth with the bitterness of his own blood and hurt like he wants to, like he needs to. He wants to hurt in a way that everyone can see. No one is going to look at him, see the pink in his cheeks and perspiration on his face and think anything of it. No one is going to ask and if no one asks there's no way he can tell them, because Kendall's his friend, always and forever, just like they agreed when they were six years old. "I knew you wanted it." Kendall smirks, kissing his shoulder, wiping him clean with tissues, mopping up the mess he left on Carlos' thighs, the mess in his hole. "Come on, the show's starting in ten minutes." Kendall pulls his pants up for him, does the zipper and the button, acting no differently than he always has. "Get a move on, Carlos."

"Hey." James clasps him on the shoulder and Carlos doesn't get how he can't see what is as obvious as the color of the sky. "You okay?"

No, he wants to say, wants to shout, wants to sob. He's not okay, but the curtain is going up and the crowd starts cheering, and he puts on his most convincing face and lets Super Carlos take over, because real Carlos is a windshield full of cracks, one bump in the road away from breaking.

Kendall touches him throughout the show, little things, hands on his shoulders, on his hip, pushing him into his place on the stage. It's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing Kendall hasn't done, yet each time Kendall's hand makes contact with a part of him he thinks he can feel his skin burning, smell the bacon sizzle scent of burning flesh. He plays along, however, sings like he means it, loses himself in his work, in the art of faking smiles, dancing despite the ache down between his thighs where he's fucked and sore.

"That was great!" Logan laughs, putting his hand up, waiting for a high five from Carlos that never comes. He goes straight into the dressing room, the one that smells like his sweat and Kendall's come and the salt of sex, and shuts the door behind him.

He dissolves then, little by little, crack by crack. Soon enough he's sobbing, shuddering from head to toe, his shoulders and chest heaving, crying like he hasn't in years and years, harder than he ever has in his life. He presses his forehead against the wall, so that he has something to lean against, something to hold him up, something to keep him from falling. He cries and he wants his mother and his friends and for James to shake him awake back in his bed, for this to be a nightmare born from the land the worst dreams are forged from. He has no such luck, but suddenly someone is up against his back, arms around him, holding him close, chin resting on his shoulder blade.

"Kendall—" He starts, unsure of how to begin, what to say. James, and he knows it's James, knows because James is tall enough to have to lean down to hold him properly, comfort him like no one has since Carlos was young.

"Yeah?" Kendall asks, the relief in Carlos' throat decomposing into malice, sick and bittersweet. "I'm sorry." Kendall means it, he can tell, and the malice drips away until he can breathe properly again. Kendall is his friend and they'll get past this somehow and Kendall's arms are warm and safe around him.

He's about to say I forgive you, because he always will, he'll forgive Kendall of anything so long as he means it, honestly and truly.

Kendall grinds up against him, erection hard and insistent against the back of his thigh, up near his ass. He freezes, reliving it all again as Kendall scoots impossibly closer, holds him tighter than the two people who first invented hugging could have dreamed.

"No." He whines, tasting salt from his tears on his lips.

"Shh, don't worry dude, this time it'll be better." Kendall nuzzles his lips into the curve of Carlos' throat, breath too warm across his skin. "I'll make it so good for you." Kendall turns him around, cradles both his cheeks in his hands. "I'll always give you what you want, what else are best friends for?"

Again, feedback would really help me decide what to do with this. You guys are awesome.

;)