If It's Not Me On Your Mind, Get Outta Here::NC-17::Vin Accardi/Kevin Devine
[Title] If It's Not Me On Your Mind, Get Outta Here
[Author] dejectedmadness
[Pairing] Vin Accardi/Kevin Devine
[Band] Kevin Devine and the Young Duns (or Brand New/Kevin Devine if you prefer)
[Prompt] 061 Nervous
[Rating] NC-17
[Summary] Vin's straight. Straight, straight, straight. He thinks.
[Warnings] Anilingus. It's brief, but it's there.
It makes his heart beat fast and his body shake, well mostly his hands. He can feel what he imagines are particles in the air as he struggles not to choke, but just to breathe. Gasp. He is gasping for the air that seems somehow thinner, somehow less substantial to him, despite everyone else's apparent breathing-ease. He hides his face; he hides his difficulty because he knows that if anyone sees him flushed, panting, and staring- oh no, if they see him staring!- they’ll know. They’ll know that it is Kevin who does this to him. It's Kevin who does it to him every goddamn time he sees him. And that's just not okay. That's not allowed because... because Kevin's with Jesse.
Jesse Lacey, a god among men, the most promiscuous thirty-year-old emo kid to walk, talk and sway those delectable hips at any and every available (or not) twenty-something (or thirty-something) in the business. He has slept around with as many people, male or female, as he can without getting noticed for it by anyone but his bandmates. His thing with Kevin isn't the first of Jesse's summer flings, nor will it be the last. It's just the most important in a really long time. After all, when your best friend, the love of your life gets married, what's a boy to do?
Kevin winks at Jesse from across the Brand New tour bus, but this isn't a booty call. He slumps down onto the chair next to Garrett and asks about his mom and dad. Vin can't help but look on. He knows Kevin's dig. He sees it every day, watches closely. He knows that Kevin feigns interest as well as
most girls fake orgasms: well enough that their male victims are utterly unsuspecting. Garrett, the least talkative of the bunch, has become Kevin's pet project. Every time he comes around, it's Kevin's goal to get Garrett excited about something, about some piece of news he's heard, about
something his brother has told him. Anything. Anything. He did the same thing with Brian. He got close, really close, because Kevin doesn't know, and Jesse would sure as hell never tell him. Kevin is just another fling. Kevin is just another body, just another voice, another talented pair of guitar-worn hands that won't, can't replace John Nolan's.
Vin feels his chest throb under the weight of his anxious heart as he watches Garrett's face become uncharacteristically animated. Even he’s becoming enamoured with the man. Jesse has to see that this is a bad plan. Jesse has to see that he is getting too close. Closer than anyone before. Hell, soon enough that sleek red hair and scruffy beard, those light, piercing eyes, they are going to be sitting right next to him as Kevin tries to break the unbreakable, and add a checkmark next to the "Vin's friendship" box on his To Do list.
He wants to vomit. He wants to cry. He does neither. Even when Kevin glances across the room at him, even when he holds his eyes until Vin shifts uncomfortably, and has to force his own away. But as discreet as he has attempted to be, he isn't pulling it off, not with Kevin, and not with Jesse, either, as luck would have it.
When Kevin's voice picks up the conversation again, when he's preoccupied, someone's breath tickles Vin's ear, and not just anyone's.
"You two in bed, Vin, that might be the sexiest thing anyone's ever seen."
He spins his head around to glare in false surprise at Jesse's comment. "Don't be an idiot." He moves, uncrosses his legs. He's going to stand, going to leave so that maybe Jesse won't think anything more of it, the covert gazes and the flush in his cheeks. Jesse's hand a little too close to his groin on his thigh stops Vin instantly.
"You're always looking at my boyfriend, Vinnie." He hates it, hates more than almost anything, when Jesse calls him Vinnie. Garrett, Brian, John, anyone else can call him that name, and it would be without connotation. Jesse's "Vinnie" is weighed down with implication. It's inflection, indescribable, is meant to make him remember that to Jesse, he is still a baby, still so inexperienced. Vin really isn't. Vin has really had more girlfriends than Jesse. He's pretty good in bed, too. Vin is in the process of gritting his teeth at the reminder of their age gap, when he realizes how justified his friend is in calling him such. After all, as many girls as he's fucked, Vin's technically still a virgin, where it counts.
"Don't be ridiculous," he hisses back quietly, as quietly as Jesse made his own observation. "I'm straight, Jess. You know that."
Jesse only chuckles and removes his hand, thankfully before it can make Vin inadvertently spring an erection like the twelve-year-old kid he made him feel. Vin rolls his eyes at the blue-eyed boy, and without so much as a glance toward the fiery red-head, Vin disembarks from the bus.
***
Vin's in the crowd, hiding in plain sight with his hat on and hood up, hands tucked in his pockets, and sticking near the entrance to backstage just in case someone indiscreet recognizes him. It's safe here. It feels safe, and Vin knows as well as any of them that that doesn't necessarily mean anything, but that he will be more easily caught offguard when something goes wrong. For now, though, he is content to stare through the throng of people standing ahead of the stage and at the man behind the guitar, front and centre.
He can almost imagine, with his soft face and smiling eyes, that he's a pretty redhead girl, but almost isn't enough. Not when his beard is seriously at risk of overtaking his face, and not when the angles of his hips, which Vin can see nicely from this position, and the broadness of his shoulders contrasting with the slim, breastless torso half-hidden from view by his instrument is shouting "masculine" into the crowd. Kevin can be fruity, he can be Fairy Fucker McFag, but he's impossible to mistake for a woman. So that when every move, every strum, every finger-picking riff, every caress of his guitar's long, slim neck makes Vin's heart race, it's somewhat disturbing to the formerly only straight member of Brand New.
It is about halfway through Kevin's set when he's spotted. The pretty boy on the stage looks over at him as he tunes up before the next song, and Vin swallows hard against the thrill that rises in his gut. Kevin smiles, head tilting down to glance at his fingers, but then his eyes flick back up, back at Vin, and he's got a look on his face that says he's figured out the game. When Kevin bites his lip, he has to look away.
It's unfortunate that Vin isn't the only one who's come out to watch the set and the delicious man performing on stage. He tries to sneak back through the door, but Jesse's hand on his shoulder stalls him.
***
"You know we're open, right?"
"Say what?"
Jesse repeats, "We're open. Our relationship. As open as-"
Vin holds his hand up. Jesse's fond of vulgar similes, and Vin doesn't want to know what his analogy for openness is.
"I like girls, Jesse."
"So do I. Kevin, too, I think, but that doesn't have to limit you."
"I don't want to have this conversation with you, Jesse."
Jesse sighs, shakes his head, and pats him on the back. "If you change your mind..." he smirks suggestively, "...I don't mind."
But Vin is sure. He storms away, annoyed with his friends for assuming such ridiculous things about him, more annoyed for how accurate his friends' assumptions are. He disappears into the bus, lies in his bunk, and when he's certain that no one is going to disturb him until at least stage-call, he undoes his jeans and sighs in relief with his dick in his hand.
***
It isn't an accident, and he knows it, when the door to the trailer clicks shut. Vin stares forward intently, willing the boxes and cases and containers to form a wall between him and the body he knows is standing mere feet away. He wants, with every fucking fibre of his being, not to react as he is. He's managed to avoid this incident for weeks, with no thanks to his so-called friend, whose only fantasy of late seemed to be hearing about Vin in bed with his boyfriend, and despite a handful of attempts on Kevin's part to speak to Vin all alone. Right now, though, he's swallowing with a dry throat, and willing his heart to a normal rate, his efforts lacking success.
It isn't long before he realizes he cannot ignore the other man any longer, not without confirming his suspicions once and for all. The silent treatment? Honestly, Vin is the baby, but he isn't six.
"You need somethin'?" he spits out without looking over.
He imagines, although doesn't see, Kevin's shoulder rolling back in a shrug, falling back into place as he realizes that his actions aren't being seen. A footstep brings Vin's heart back to his throat.
"Thought we could talk."
It's time, he realizes, to face his enemy, and he stubbornly stays standing where he is, body mostly turned toward the wall, glances up, head still tilted downward, and meets his nemesis' eyes. "Do you mind if I finish this while we're at it?"
Kevin shrugs again, like rolling water off his back, and it's all he can do not to picture his naked torso dripping wet. Vin turns casually back to his task, although what it was, he can barely remember. He glances down at the list in his hand. He was double checking the instruments, that they were all packed away. He pulls the pen along the paper, making note that Jesse's blue Fender Telecaster is in fact kicking around.
With his attention so focused on not-Kevin, he's managed to black out on the fact that the footsteps clicking along the wood floor mean Kevin's getting closer. When he turns around, and the boy is right there, he drops both the pen and clipboard.
"Sorry," Kevin whispers. The space between the walls of the trailer, lined with shelves for equipment, is minimal. He feels like if he breathes he might come into contact... and that just... no, that just isn't acceptable. Vin wonders where his composure’s gone, but only for a second before Kevin bends to pick up his things, and he manages to rein himself under control. That is, until Kevin stands again, and his face, his lips, wet because Kevin licks them a lot, his confident eyes, dilated in the dim light from the single bulb dangling from the ceiling, are so close that he can hardly focus on anything. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Vin wants to be able to say, at least to whisper, that it's okay. It's just that he's so breathless right now. He can't form the words. 'Control yourself,' he scolds. But he knows it's too late for that.
"Jesse told me... he said you don't do guys."
Vin wishes he could walk away, pretend to be offended by the suggestion, but he's so far from intolerant that the idea is laughable. His mouth hangs open soundlessly as he wishes he could remember English.
"But every time I see you, you're looking at me. And fuck if I don't want to stare right back."
Vin swallows hard. Kevin's so close. He's tall, so Vin feels vulnerable next to him, even though they're both thin, and he knows he could probably take Kevin if he really wanted to.
"Vin, you might be the hottest guy I've ever met, did you know that?"
Oh no! What’s happening? How has he transformed into a horny pubescent boy after only a few seconds of conversation?
Vin's face flushes, as he feels himself becoming aroused. He can't stop it, but he wishes to God that he could. He tries to lean back, but he's flush with the wall.
Kevin smirks, then, and Vin knows that there's nothing for it. The jig is up, so to speak. His inarticulacy, if not his behaviour, has given him away. "It's okay, Vinnie," and when he says it, Vin is not reminded of his youth; he doesn't feel childish beside this man, only endeared toward him. "I'm told I can be very gentle."
His mouth inches closer, a breath away, and finally Vin manages to find his voice. "I'm straight. I'm straight, Kevin." He stops. "I'm... I'm...." He tries again, but the words are stuck. The word is stuck. Vin never had a problem lying about anything before, but he can't spit it out. Maybe it has something to do with how hard his cock has just gotten. Maybe he doesn't really want Kevin to believe him. Vin doesn't trust himself right now.
Kevin gives him another inch of room, but no more. "That's what Jesse told me about you. Curiosity can be fun, Vin." He smiles, a flash of teeth. Vin wants his clothes off now. No. No. He holds back. "I can make you feel... like no one has ever made you feel."
God, does he want it! Vin closes his eyes. He feels Kevin breathing on his neck, his cheek. His lips hover over Vin's. All he wants is for the other man to close that gap. 'Please,' he thinks. Just 'Please.' Hands hover over Vin's chest, he can feel Kevin's heat radiating through them, through his shirt. He can almost feel them on him, but not quite. He opens his eyes.
"It doesn't have to mean you're not straight." Spoken directly into his mouth. Vin can't breathe.
The trailer rattles. Vin steps away, as the door comes flying open. He clips the pen to the clipboard in his hand, and without a glance at Kevin starts for the door.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Brian glances from Kevin to Vin. He doesn't look down, though. Vin thanks God for small favours. His cock is straining against his jeans, and there is no way to mistake it for anything else. "We're ready to fucking roll out here."
"Just finished up," Kevin says for him. "It's all here."
Brian looks at Vin. He can't hold his gaze, though, so shoving the clipboard into his hands, he jumps down onto the street and fishes frantically through his jeans for a fucking cigarette. He's around the corner before his shaking fingers manage to light a match.
***
In Texas, when they have a hotel to sleep in, Vin opts to flop on the bed with a TV remote rather than following the rest out to a club, where he knows without a doubt he will be completely uninhibited, and unable to fend off Kevin's increasingly more frequent advances. He watches Jesse tear apart his overnight bag looking for the right shirt and the best pair of pants for where they're going, before he slams the door on his way out, thinking that he'll be up until all hours of the morning with Springer and CSI while the others are going to come home close to their limit. He might even have to nurse Jesse's hangover tomorrow, but it doesn't matter. He's ready for a night off.
It's after midnight when a sound at the door awakens him. He turns off the television, which has long since turned into infomercials. He staggers sleepily to the door.
"Hey."
Vin stops, one hand rubbing his eye. He doesn't respond.
"We were dancing, and-" Vin blearily takes in what Kevin is babbling about. He's had a few drinks, that's for sure. "So," he continues, "the third time he came to the bar, I thought to drag me onto the floor again, all he has to say is, 'If it's not me you're thinking of, Kev, get outta here.' 'Get outta here,' like it's so easy... I mean... thinking and acting, they're different, Vinnie. They're so different, especially when I know that everything I'm thinking of, it's all so dependent on whether you're going to slam this door in my face." No response from the Italian in his wrinkled t-shirt and too-tight pants. "Every night with him, Vin, every night he knows it's not him, it's you who I'm fucking, in my head. He's said it before, he's said I've gotta get rid of you, get you outta there. I've gotta move past you to get back to him." A blink, and he scratches his head. Is he doubting what he's saying? Is he going to take it back? "I know that you watch me," he says to dissuade Vin's concern. "I know you've thought about me, Vinnie." 'Oh, say it again,' he begs internally, 'Say it again, just like that.' Wet lips meet a wetter tongue, nervous, and glisten temptingly. Vin's sleepiness is gone. Blood rushing through him, like the madness overwhelming his senses as they speak, finds a place to pool. Kevin leans closer, through the door, and Vin finds a second later that the movement precedes a step forward. His breath is lodged in his throat because right then Kevin does say it, "Vinnie," but not in the same way. "Vinnie," he whispers. "Vinnie," he pleads. And he breaks.
A lapse of sanity, that's what he'll call it. But lips! Oh lips. He pulls, a hand tugging shirt-fabric. The door slams. Oh God, lips. He's so hard. Please, please. "Oh, Kevin."
The lock clicks, but it's unheard. A wrinkled t-shirt meets the ground. A button-down follows, and a belt, two, after.
"Oh fuck, Vin!"
His nipples harden under surprisingly soft fingers. He wants this man. He wants him so badly that it's starting to ache. "No," he whispers, and Kevin stops. "Call me Vinnie," he insists. When Kevin looks puzzled he adds, "Please."
"Vinnie," he whispers. "Vinnie, I'm going to make you come harder than you ever have."
He doesn't even wait for assent. Or the moan Vin has prepared, all ready to burst out at the first sign of compliance. Instead, Kevin shoves him down onto the bed, albeit carefully, and undoes his very, very small pants and helps him wiggle out of them. Kevin's slacks fall to the floor much more easily.
Vin's hips lose control. He shouts. Kevin bites his inner thigh and makes him curse. Loudly. His cock is leaving trails of fluid on the inside of his boxers, as his hips shift, and move them around. He's forgotten how to speak, how to ask for more. All he can do is pant, moan.
"Vinnie... the things I want to do to you," he slides a tongue into his navel. "Please tell me it's okay."
A few false starts later and yes, he manages to mutter consent. "Do anything, Kevin, just... please touch me."
A touch? Much more. Oh, Jesus, so much more! Vin doesn't remember when Kevin took his boxers off, or when he removed his own. But with the devil's own mouth sucking out his soul, he can hardly be blamed.
"Oh fuck, Kevin!" he gasps. He knows, he knows for certain, this is hell. It feels too good to be anything but torture. Vin wants more. He wants everything. "Oh, God, please don't stop!"
Legs spread, Vin feels Kevin's fingers part his ass cheeks. He wants it. Badly. But Kevin stops. He slides his lips off to replace them with his hand. Vin doesn't understand at first, not until he feels it, the heat of breath somewhere he'd never felt it before. He tenses a little, but Kevin is as gentle as he promised, and in seconds his mouth is open wide in a speechless exclamation of bliss.
Kevin's tongue probes him, slides inside, despite how tight he knows he must be. He thinks how nice it would be to come to pieces with that wet heat inside of him, but unlike the pubescent boy Kevin always manages to turn him into, Vin holds himself in check.
"Vinnie," Kevin moans, "I want to be in you. I want you so badly, Vinnie."
"Kevin...." He pulls the other man down for a kiss, despite where his tongue’s just been. "I want you... show me. Show me, Kevin." Kevin has lube. He covers his fingers, and does his best to stretch Vin, and although it's a little uncomfortable, the distraction of Kevin's mouth around his dick is more than enough to keep him from tensing to painful proportions. It's soon that they're chest to chest, lips on lips, tongues battling for dominance as Kevin pushes gently inside.
It only hurts for a second, and by the time Vin realizes it, Kevin's pumping his cock again, and he's full and feeling so high he might as well be on uppers. Vin slides his legs around, grips him with his thighs, and he urges Kevin deeper because as strange as this feels, it's so fucking good. It's so fucking good!
"Ah!" He cries abruptly. His mouth is stuck, it's open in a perpetual silent scream of ecstasy. He doesn't know what that is, but it feels as though he's coming to pieces, as if with every single movement, Kevin is pressing the pleasure button lodged deep within him. Vin had no idea he could feel this good.
"Fuck, Vin, Vinnie, you're so fucking hot. Unh! Oh Vin, God, Vin. Vinnie. I'm so close, fuck! Fuck, I'm so fucking close!"
His thumb swipes casually across the end of Vin's erection, and every hair stands on end. He's on the precipice. He's ready to fall. And that's when Kevin hits that secret, magical spot inside of him, and coaxes him over.
"Kevin!" he screams, voice hoarse, as he's coming. He shoots so hard, fucking hard enough to splash both Kevin and himself in the face with it, and as though Kevin has a button, too, rigged so he would explode only an instant later, the redhead's mouth opens in a long moan, and Vin feels heat flood him from inside. He knows Kevin just came in him, and as odd as that feels, too, he finds he doesn't mind. He actually kind of likes it.
Kevin is careful with him when he pulls away. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I was a little rough. I just... I got so carried away." Vin can't listen to this. "I just... you looked like you were enjoying- I just... I'm sorry-" He cuts off the inane babble with the press of lips. Kevin is too shocked to respond immediately, but then he does, and Vin doesn't care about anything but how satisfied he feels, and how well Kevin kisses. Even tired, even spent, he kisses as if he's ready to fuck all over again.
They lie in bed like that, kissing lazily, touching and exploring with fascination, until Kevin asks what the time is. It's getting late. Jesse will be back soon, as will the others. Vin feels something sink inside of him. He just fucked his best friend's boyfriend. “Seventy Times Seven” had been written for as much. And what's worse? He isn't satisfied.
He doesn't want to say it. The words "don't go" are hovering on his lips for a long time before he can choke them down. But, Kevin is psychic, or Vin is less emotionally closed off than he imagined himself. "I don't want to, you know. It's just... Jesse."
"I know. I know. I knew that before-"
"No... I-I mean... Jesse and I sometimes... but no sleeping. That's the rule."
"No sleeping?"
Kevin nods. "So I have to go." It's clear that Vin doesn't understand the significance. "Sleeping... it means intimacy. Jesse isn't polyamorous, and really, neither am I. He's my boyfriend, so intimacy is... reserved for him."
Vin nods frantically. "Oh, yeah, no, I know. I get it. It's cool."
Kevin looks at him for a long time. His face is carefully blank. When he finally stops, it's done by pressing a kiss to his lips, a soft kiss. He slides his tongue tentatively between Vin's teeth. Vin feels his body melt into the other man's. Kevin pulls him closer, their chests are flush. He doesn't even notice when his fingers curl into Kevin's hair. It takes a long time to part.
Kevin pulls back. He has to go. But not yet. One more kiss, and one more after that. Vin wants to hold him there, but just one last one, and Kevin is sliding from the bed, and trying to find his boxers. Vin can't bring himself to get up and help. He watches naked Kevin searching, then dressing, then with one last embrace, Kevin slips back out the door, the way he came in, and leaves Vin to curl up alone with his sheets, pretending to be asleep when Jesse sneaks back in, pretending that his ass doesn't hurt, pretending he isn't lost amidst a whirlwind of confusion in his head. Pretending that it didn't mean anything.
[Author] dejectedmadness
[Pairing] Vin Accardi/Kevin Devine
[Band] Kevin Devine and the Young Duns (or Brand New/Kevin Devine if you prefer)
[Prompt] 061 Nervous
[Rating] NC-17
[Summary] Vin's straight. Straight, straight, straight. He thinks.
[Warnings] Anilingus. It's brief, but it's there.
It makes his heart beat fast and his body shake, well mostly his hands. He can feel what he imagines are particles in the air as he struggles not to choke, but just to breathe. Gasp. He is gasping for the air that seems somehow thinner, somehow less substantial to him, despite everyone else's apparent breathing-ease. He hides his face; he hides his difficulty because he knows that if anyone sees him flushed, panting, and staring- oh no, if they see him staring!- they’ll know. They’ll know that it is Kevin who does this to him. It's Kevin who does it to him every goddamn time he sees him. And that's just not okay. That's not allowed because... because Kevin's with Jesse.
Jesse Lacey, a god among men, the most promiscuous thirty-year-old emo kid to walk, talk and sway those delectable hips at any and every available (or not) twenty-something (or thirty-something) in the business. He has slept around with as many people, male or female, as he can without getting noticed for it by anyone but his bandmates. His thing with Kevin isn't the first of Jesse's summer flings, nor will it be the last. It's just the most important in a really long time. After all, when your best friend, the love of your life gets married, what's a boy to do?
Kevin winks at Jesse from across the Brand New tour bus, but this isn't a booty call. He slumps down onto the chair next to Garrett and asks about his mom and dad. Vin can't help but look on. He knows Kevin's dig. He sees it every day, watches closely. He knows that Kevin feigns interest as well as
most girls fake orgasms: well enough that their male victims are utterly unsuspecting. Garrett, the least talkative of the bunch, has become Kevin's pet project. Every time he comes around, it's Kevin's goal to get Garrett excited about something, about some piece of news he's heard, about
something his brother has told him. Anything. Anything. He did the same thing with Brian. He got close, really close, because Kevin doesn't know, and Jesse would sure as hell never tell him. Kevin is just another fling. Kevin is just another body, just another voice, another talented pair of guitar-worn hands that won't, can't replace John Nolan's.
Vin feels his chest throb under the weight of his anxious heart as he watches Garrett's face become uncharacteristically animated. Even he’s becoming enamoured with the man. Jesse has to see that this is a bad plan. Jesse has to see that he is getting too close. Closer than anyone before. Hell, soon enough that sleek red hair and scruffy beard, those light, piercing eyes, they are going to be sitting right next to him as Kevin tries to break the unbreakable, and add a checkmark next to the "Vin's friendship" box on his To Do list.
He wants to vomit. He wants to cry. He does neither. Even when Kevin glances across the room at him, even when he holds his eyes until Vin shifts uncomfortably, and has to force his own away. But as discreet as he has attempted to be, he isn't pulling it off, not with Kevin, and not with Jesse, either, as luck would have it.
When Kevin's voice picks up the conversation again, when he's preoccupied, someone's breath tickles Vin's ear, and not just anyone's.
"You two in bed, Vin, that might be the sexiest thing anyone's ever seen."
He spins his head around to glare in false surprise at Jesse's comment. "Don't be an idiot." He moves, uncrosses his legs. He's going to stand, going to leave so that maybe Jesse won't think anything more of it, the covert gazes and the flush in his cheeks. Jesse's hand a little too close to his groin on his thigh stops Vin instantly.
"You're always looking at my boyfriend, Vinnie." He hates it, hates more than almost anything, when Jesse calls him Vinnie. Garrett, Brian, John, anyone else can call him that name, and it would be without connotation. Jesse's "Vinnie" is weighed down with implication. It's inflection, indescribable, is meant to make him remember that to Jesse, he is still a baby, still so inexperienced. Vin really isn't. Vin has really had more girlfriends than Jesse. He's pretty good in bed, too. Vin is in the process of gritting his teeth at the reminder of their age gap, when he realizes how justified his friend is in calling him such. After all, as many girls as he's fucked, Vin's technically still a virgin, where it counts.
"Don't be ridiculous," he hisses back quietly, as quietly as Jesse made his own observation. "I'm straight, Jess. You know that."
Jesse only chuckles and removes his hand, thankfully before it can make Vin inadvertently spring an erection like the twelve-year-old kid he made him feel. Vin rolls his eyes at the blue-eyed boy, and without so much as a glance toward the fiery red-head, Vin disembarks from the bus.
***
Vin's in the crowd, hiding in plain sight with his hat on and hood up, hands tucked in his pockets, and sticking near the entrance to backstage just in case someone indiscreet recognizes him. It's safe here. It feels safe, and Vin knows as well as any of them that that doesn't necessarily mean anything, but that he will be more easily caught offguard when something goes wrong. For now, though, he is content to stare through the throng of people standing ahead of the stage and at the man behind the guitar, front and centre.
He can almost imagine, with his soft face and smiling eyes, that he's a pretty redhead girl, but almost isn't enough. Not when his beard is seriously at risk of overtaking his face, and not when the angles of his hips, which Vin can see nicely from this position, and the broadness of his shoulders contrasting with the slim, breastless torso half-hidden from view by his instrument is shouting "masculine" into the crowd. Kevin can be fruity, he can be Fairy Fucker McFag, but he's impossible to mistake for a woman. So that when every move, every strum, every finger-picking riff, every caress of his guitar's long, slim neck makes Vin's heart race, it's somewhat disturbing to the formerly only straight member of Brand New.
It is about halfway through Kevin's set when he's spotted. The pretty boy on the stage looks over at him as he tunes up before the next song, and Vin swallows hard against the thrill that rises in his gut. Kevin smiles, head tilting down to glance at his fingers, but then his eyes flick back up, back at Vin, and he's got a look on his face that says he's figured out the game. When Kevin bites his lip, he has to look away.
It's unfortunate that Vin isn't the only one who's come out to watch the set and the delicious man performing on stage. He tries to sneak back through the door, but Jesse's hand on his shoulder stalls him.
***
"You know we're open, right?"
"Say what?"
Jesse repeats, "We're open. Our relationship. As open as-"
Vin holds his hand up. Jesse's fond of vulgar similes, and Vin doesn't want to know what his analogy for openness is.
"I like girls, Jesse."
"So do I. Kevin, too, I think, but that doesn't have to limit you."
"I don't want to have this conversation with you, Jesse."
Jesse sighs, shakes his head, and pats him on the back. "If you change your mind..." he smirks suggestively, "...I don't mind."
But Vin is sure. He storms away, annoyed with his friends for assuming such ridiculous things about him, more annoyed for how accurate his friends' assumptions are. He disappears into the bus, lies in his bunk, and when he's certain that no one is going to disturb him until at least stage-call, he undoes his jeans and sighs in relief with his dick in his hand.
***
It isn't an accident, and he knows it, when the door to the trailer clicks shut. Vin stares forward intently, willing the boxes and cases and containers to form a wall between him and the body he knows is standing mere feet away. He wants, with every fucking fibre of his being, not to react as he is. He's managed to avoid this incident for weeks, with no thanks to his so-called friend, whose only fantasy of late seemed to be hearing about Vin in bed with his boyfriend, and despite a handful of attempts on Kevin's part to speak to Vin all alone. Right now, though, he's swallowing with a dry throat, and willing his heart to a normal rate, his efforts lacking success.
It isn't long before he realizes he cannot ignore the other man any longer, not without confirming his suspicions once and for all. The silent treatment? Honestly, Vin is the baby, but he isn't six.
"You need somethin'?" he spits out without looking over.
He imagines, although doesn't see, Kevin's shoulder rolling back in a shrug, falling back into place as he realizes that his actions aren't being seen. A footstep brings Vin's heart back to his throat.
"Thought we could talk."
It's time, he realizes, to face his enemy, and he stubbornly stays standing where he is, body mostly turned toward the wall, glances up, head still tilted downward, and meets his nemesis' eyes. "Do you mind if I finish this while we're at it?"
Kevin shrugs again, like rolling water off his back, and it's all he can do not to picture his naked torso dripping wet. Vin turns casually back to his task, although what it was, he can barely remember. He glances down at the list in his hand. He was double checking the instruments, that they were all packed away. He pulls the pen along the paper, making note that Jesse's blue Fender Telecaster is in fact kicking around.
With his attention so focused on not-Kevin, he's managed to black out on the fact that the footsteps clicking along the wood floor mean Kevin's getting closer. When he turns around, and the boy is right there, he drops both the pen and clipboard.
"Sorry," Kevin whispers. The space between the walls of the trailer, lined with shelves for equipment, is minimal. He feels like if he breathes he might come into contact... and that just... no, that just isn't acceptable. Vin wonders where his composure’s gone, but only for a second before Kevin bends to pick up his things, and he manages to rein himself under control. That is, until Kevin stands again, and his face, his lips, wet because Kevin licks them a lot, his confident eyes, dilated in the dim light from the single bulb dangling from the ceiling, are so close that he can hardly focus on anything. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Vin wants to be able to say, at least to whisper, that it's okay. It's just that he's so breathless right now. He can't form the words. 'Control yourself,' he scolds. But he knows it's too late for that.
"Jesse told me... he said you don't do guys."
Vin wishes he could walk away, pretend to be offended by the suggestion, but he's so far from intolerant that the idea is laughable. His mouth hangs open soundlessly as he wishes he could remember English.
"But every time I see you, you're looking at me. And fuck if I don't want to stare right back."
Vin swallows hard. Kevin's so close. He's tall, so Vin feels vulnerable next to him, even though they're both thin, and he knows he could probably take Kevin if he really wanted to.
"Vin, you might be the hottest guy I've ever met, did you know that?"
Oh no! What’s happening? How has he transformed into a horny pubescent boy after only a few seconds of conversation?
Vin's face flushes, as he feels himself becoming aroused. He can't stop it, but he wishes to God that he could. He tries to lean back, but he's flush with the wall.
Kevin smirks, then, and Vin knows that there's nothing for it. The jig is up, so to speak. His inarticulacy, if not his behaviour, has given him away. "It's okay, Vinnie," and when he says it, Vin is not reminded of his youth; he doesn't feel childish beside this man, only endeared toward him. "I'm told I can be very gentle."
His mouth inches closer, a breath away, and finally Vin manages to find his voice. "I'm straight. I'm straight, Kevin." He stops. "I'm... I'm...." He tries again, but the words are stuck. The word is stuck. Vin never had a problem lying about anything before, but he can't spit it out. Maybe it has something to do with how hard his cock has just gotten. Maybe he doesn't really want Kevin to believe him. Vin doesn't trust himself right now.
Kevin gives him another inch of room, but no more. "That's what Jesse told me about you. Curiosity can be fun, Vin." He smiles, a flash of teeth. Vin wants his clothes off now. No. No. He holds back. "I can make you feel... like no one has ever made you feel."
God, does he want it! Vin closes his eyes. He feels Kevin breathing on his neck, his cheek. His lips hover over Vin's. All he wants is for the other man to close that gap. 'Please,' he thinks. Just 'Please.' Hands hover over Vin's chest, he can feel Kevin's heat radiating through them, through his shirt. He can almost feel them on him, but not quite. He opens his eyes.
"It doesn't have to mean you're not straight." Spoken directly into his mouth. Vin can't breathe.
The trailer rattles. Vin steps away, as the door comes flying open. He clips the pen to the clipboard in his hand, and without a glance at Kevin starts for the door.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Brian glances from Kevin to Vin. He doesn't look down, though. Vin thanks God for small favours. His cock is straining against his jeans, and there is no way to mistake it for anything else. "We're ready to fucking roll out here."
"Just finished up," Kevin says for him. "It's all here."
Brian looks at Vin. He can't hold his gaze, though, so shoving the clipboard into his hands, he jumps down onto the street and fishes frantically through his jeans for a fucking cigarette. He's around the corner before his shaking fingers manage to light a match.
***
In Texas, when they have a hotel to sleep in, Vin opts to flop on the bed with a TV remote rather than following the rest out to a club, where he knows without a doubt he will be completely uninhibited, and unable to fend off Kevin's increasingly more frequent advances. He watches Jesse tear apart his overnight bag looking for the right shirt and the best pair of pants for where they're going, before he slams the door on his way out, thinking that he'll be up until all hours of the morning with Springer and CSI while the others are going to come home close to their limit. He might even have to nurse Jesse's hangover tomorrow, but it doesn't matter. He's ready for a night off.
It's after midnight when a sound at the door awakens him. He turns off the television, which has long since turned into infomercials. He staggers sleepily to the door.
"Hey."
Vin stops, one hand rubbing his eye. He doesn't respond.
"We were dancing, and-" Vin blearily takes in what Kevin is babbling about. He's had a few drinks, that's for sure. "So," he continues, "the third time he came to the bar, I thought to drag me onto the floor again, all he has to say is, 'If it's not me you're thinking of, Kev, get outta here.' 'Get outta here,' like it's so easy... I mean... thinking and acting, they're different, Vinnie. They're so different, especially when I know that everything I'm thinking of, it's all so dependent on whether you're going to slam this door in my face." No response from the Italian in his wrinkled t-shirt and too-tight pants. "Every night with him, Vin, every night he knows it's not him, it's you who I'm fucking, in my head. He's said it before, he's said I've gotta get rid of you, get you outta there. I've gotta move past you to get back to him." A blink, and he scratches his head. Is he doubting what he's saying? Is he going to take it back? "I know that you watch me," he says to dissuade Vin's concern. "I know you've thought about me, Vinnie." 'Oh, say it again,' he begs internally, 'Say it again, just like that.' Wet lips meet a wetter tongue, nervous, and glisten temptingly. Vin's sleepiness is gone. Blood rushing through him, like the madness overwhelming his senses as they speak, finds a place to pool. Kevin leans closer, through the door, and Vin finds a second later that the movement precedes a step forward. His breath is lodged in his throat because right then Kevin does say it, "Vinnie," but not in the same way. "Vinnie," he whispers. "Vinnie," he pleads. And he breaks.
A lapse of sanity, that's what he'll call it. But lips! Oh lips. He pulls, a hand tugging shirt-fabric. The door slams. Oh God, lips. He's so hard. Please, please. "Oh, Kevin."
The lock clicks, but it's unheard. A wrinkled t-shirt meets the ground. A button-down follows, and a belt, two, after.
"Oh fuck, Vin!"
His nipples harden under surprisingly soft fingers. He wants this man. He wants him so badly that it's starting to ache. "No," he whispers, and Kevin stops. "Call me Vinnie," he insists. When Kevin looks puzzled he adds, "Please."
"Vinnie," he whispers. "Vinnie, I'm going to make you come harder than you ever have."
He doesn't even wait for assent. Or the moan Vin has prepared, all ready to burst out at the first sign of compliance. Instead, Kevin shoves him down onto the bed, albeit carefully, and undoes his very, very small pants and helps him wiggle out of them. Kevin's slacks fall to the floor much more easily.
Vin's hips lose control. He shouts. Kevin bites his inner thigh and makes him curse. Loudly. His cock is leaving trails of fluid on the inside of his boxers, as his hips shift, and move them around. He's forgotten how to speak, how to ask for more. All he can do is pant, moan.
"Vinnie... the things I want to do to you," he slides a tongue into his navel. "Please tell me it's okay."
A few false starts later and yes, he manages to mutter consent. "Do anything, Kevin, just... please touch me."
A touch? Much more. Oh, Jesus, so much more! Vin doesn't remember when Kevin took his boxers off, or when he removed his own. But with the devil's own mouth sucking out his soul, he can hardly be blamed.
"Oh fuck, Kevin!" he gasps. He knows, he knows for certain, this is hell. It feels too good to be anything but torture. Vin wants more. He wants everything. "Oh, God, please don't stop!"
Legs spread, Vin feels Kevin's fingers part his ass cheeks. He wants it. Badly. But Kevin stops. He slides his lips off to replace them with his hand. Vin doesn't understand at first, not until he feels it, the heat of breath somewhere he'd never felt it before. He tenses a little, but Kevin is as gentle as he promised, and in seconds his mouth is open wide in a speechless exclamation of bliss.
Kevin's tongue probes him, slides inside, despite how tight he knows he must be. He thinks how nice it would be to come to pieces with that wet heat inside of him, but unlike the pubescent boy Kevin always manages to turn him into, Vin holds himself in check.
"Vinnie," Kevin moans, "I want to be in you. I want you so badly, Vinnie."
"Kevin...." He pulls the other man down for a kiss, despite where his tongue’s just been. "I want you... show me. Show me, Kevin." Kevin has lube. He covers his fingers, and does his best to stretch Vin, and although it's a little uncomfortable, the distraction of Kevin's mouth around his dick is more than enough to keep him from tensing to painful proportions. It's soon that they're chest to chest, lips on lips, tongues battling for dominance as Kevin pushes gently inside.
It only hurts for a second, and by the time Vin realizes it, Kevin's pumping his cock again, and he's full and feeling so high he might as well be on uppers. Vin slides his legs around, grips him with his thighs, and he urges Kevin deeper because as strange as this feels, it's so fucking good. It's so fucking good!
"Ah!" He cries abruptly. His mouth is stuck, it's open in a perpetual silent scream of ecstasy. He doesn't know what that is, but it feels as though he's coming to pieces, as if with every single movement, Kevin is pressing the pleasure button lodged deep within him. Vin had no idea he could feel this good.
"Fuck, Vin, Vinnie, you're so fucking hot. Unh! Oh Vin, God, Vin. Vinnie. I'm so close, fuck! Fuck, I'm so fucking close!"
His thumb swipes casually across the end of Vin's erection, and every hair stands on end. He's on the precipice. He's ready to fall. And that's when Kevin hits that secret, magical spot inside of him, and coaxes him over.
"Kevin!" he screams, voice hoarse, as he's coming. He shoots so hard, fucking hard enough to splash both Kevin and himself in the face with it, and as though Kevin has a button, too, rigged so he would explode only an instant later, the redhead's mouth opens in a long moan, and Vin feels heat flood him from inside. He knows Kevin just came in him, and as odd as that feels, too, he finds he doesn't mind. He actually kind of likes it.
Kevin is careful with him when he pulls away. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I was a little rough. I just... I got so carried away." Vin can't listen to this. "I just... you looked like you were enjoying- I just... I'm sorry-" He cuts off the inane babble with the press of lips. Kevin is too shocked to respond immediately, but then he does, and Vin doesn't care about anything but how satisfied he feels, and how well Kevin kisses. Even tired, even spent, he kisses as if he's ready to fuck all over again.
They lie in bed like that, kissing lazily, touching and exploring with fascination, until Kevin asks what the time is. It's getting late. Jesse will be back soon, as will the others. Vin feels something sink inside of him. He just fucked his best friend's boyfriend. “Seventy Times Seven” had been written for as much. And what's worse? He isn't satisfied.
He doesn't want to say it. The words "don't go" are hovering on his lips for a long time before he can choke them down. But, Kevin is psychic, or Vin is less emotionally closed off than he imagined himself. "I don't want to, you know. It's just... Jesse."
"I know. I know. I knew that before-"
"No... I-I mean... Jesse and I sometimes... but no sleeping. That's the rule."
"No sleeping?"
Kevin nods. "So I have to go." It's clear that Vin doesn't understand the significance. "Sleeping... it means intimacy. Jesse isn't polyamorous, and really, neither am I. He's my boyfriend, so intimacy is... reserved for him."
Vin nods frantically. "Oh, yeah, no, I know. I get it. It's cool."
Kevin looks at him for a long time. His face is carefully blank. When he finally stops, it's done by pressing a kiss to his lips, a soft kiss. He slides his tongue tentatively between Vin's teeth. Vin feels his body melt into the other man's. Kevin pulls him closer, their chests are flush. He doesn't even notice when his fingers curl into Kevin's hair. It takes a long time to part.
Kevin pulls back. He has to go. But not yet. One more kiss, and one more after that. Vin wants to hold him there, but just one last one, and Kevin is sliding from the bed, and trying to find his boxers. Vin can't bring himself to get up and help. He watches naked Kevin searching, then dressing, then with one last embrace, Kevin slips back out the door, the way he came in, and leaves Vin to curl up alone with his sheets, pretending to be asleep when Jesse sneaks back in, pretending that his ass doesn't hurt, pretending he isn't lost amidst a whirlwind of confusion in his head. Pretending that it didn't mean anything.