I'll Be Your Cryin' Fool
Title: I'll Be Your Cryin' Fool
Author: hector_rashbaum
Recipient: kalimai
Prompt: I'd love to read established relationship where Kevin is bent on staying a virgin till marriage. Mike is dying from sexual frustration and/or tension. Shenanigans happen. Bonus if Kevin is an oblivious tease. I love schmoop, crack, Mpreg (that one might be difficult!), Bill being crazy and harassing (and hooking up with) Nick, AU, and just about everything with a happy ending.
Genre: Slash
Fandom: Jonas Brothers, The Academy Is...
Main Characters: Kevin Jonas, Mike Carden
Adult Content: Nope
Words: 1235
Chapter: 1/1
Summary: Mike learns the value of patience.
Teaser: Sisky hangs a chart in the bus lounge, crayons taped to a sheet of poster board with MIKE'S BLUE BALL SCALE scrawled at the top. Mike hates everyone, seriously.
Notes: Merry Exchange-mas! Title comes from Tom Petty's "The Waiting". For reference, you can see the "Pixie Powder" crayon here (That part'll make sense once you read!)
Mike doesn't give too much thought to the purity ring thing, at first. It's not like that's even the biggest obstacle to getting laid, really, when they haven't actually met in person yet, when 90% of the time they're in different countries. And, y'know, considering this is a relationship invented by the combined brainpower of Bill Beckett, Pete Wentz, Demi Lovato, and Miley Cyrus, there are probably several thousand other things more pressing than what Kevin's got on his finger.
Because, seriously, Hannah Montana's got Mike's phone number. This is some kind of crazy experiment that's gonna be over in, like, a week.
(Kevin calls Mike a little over six months after they started talking, just the wrong side of tipsy after some awards show or other overseas. He giggles a little and says he likes Mike a lot, he'd probably kiss him if he were there right now. Mike stops even trying to tell himself this is just some dumb little doomed thing.)
Either way, Mike doesn't have to think about dating a guy with a fucking purity ring, 'cause the distance has the question of celibacy answered before anyone can ask it. So it kind of slips from his mind.
And then come the breaks; Fall Ball ends, they play a few shows and then that's over, and Mike's got months and months ahead of him with nothing to do but write, visit Bill a few times, do a couple special occasion kind of shows. And Kevin's been done for a while, but his plate doesn't even have the meager coverings Mike's does; Nick's doing his solo thing, and Kevin's schedule has maybe two appearances to promote that, however many of his brother's shows he feels like going to, and...nothing.
Mike hasn't dated, in the go-to-dinner-goodnight-kiss sense, since...fuck, probably since high school, but it's actually pretty nice. Probably 'cause they got all the awkward getting-to-know-you shit out of the way over six months of e-mails and phone calls and texts, but whatever, it's nice.
Well, right up until, "Wanna go back to my place?"
Kevin just smiles, a little shyly (which does absolutely nothing for the uncomfortable tightness in Mike's jeans, fuck), and wiggles his left hand.
Oh yeah. That.
- - - - - -
Sisky hangs a chart in the bus lounge, crayons taped to a sheet of poster board with MIKE'S BLUE BALL SCALE scrawled at the top. Mike hates everyone, seriously.
He hates everyone so much more when Kevin visits, when he realizes only after Kevin's eyes go wide and his mouth curves into a smirk he's forgotten to take the chart down. Motherfuck.
(If Mike didn't know Kevin so well, didn't know how genuine his innocence was, he'd assume Kevin got a vanilla ice-cream cone later as a deliberate "fuck you" to the asshole who'd let that chart slide.)
(In the morning, after the vanilla ice cream incident, after spending a night pressed together all over in a too-small bunk, Mike draws a big arrow to the "Pixie Powder" crayon.)
- - - - - -
When Kevin murmurs "I love you," between kisses, more breath and soft press of lips than words, Mike forgets himself for a second; head spinning, overwhelmed, he pushes Kevin down against the couch, kisses him deep and slow, works his thigh in between Kevin's, and -
"Mike," Kevin says, pushes him back a little, voice the exact opposite of what it had been just a second ago. "That doesn't mean - I'm not gonna - "
"No, shit," Mike says, sits up, pulls away. "I didn't mean - I wasn't."
Mike is apparently the kind of Lifetime-movie stereotype that thinks entirely with his dick, and he's probably just fucked up significantly. Shit.
"It's okay," Kevin says, and when Mike looks at him, he believes it.
"You, too," Mike mumbles, even though the conversation's moved on far enough Kevin probably won't get it. "I - you, too."
Kevin just smiles, cuddles up against Mike's side, presses a chaste kiss to his lips.
- - - - - -
"I want the couch," Mike says, arms crossed, mirroring Kevin's pose.
"It's falling apart. And it'd be ugly even if it weren't. And, seriously, we've got, like, four boxes otherwise? You wanna bother with a U-Haul for a broken, ugly couch?"
Mike's couch is hideous, and so worn down you have to cuddle on the one decent cushion to get more than one person on it. But it's a relic, it has, like, meaning. Mike's first kiss was on that couch, back when it was in the basement at his parents' house; three years later his first kiss with a guy (Bill, angry and awkward and the first step towards not hating the shit out of each other); every member of The Academy Is... and more than a few techs have left puke stains on the ugly old-lady floral print.
(There's a bloodstain, Tom's, on one arm of the couch, and one of Mike's at the opposite end. Those are probably just as important, but not anything he's gonna bring up with Kevin. Or anyone, really.)
"It ripped my favorite jeans," Kevin says, but he's already dropped his arms, lost all the confrontation from his stance, from his face, and Mike - for the love of fuck, it's just a couch, but there's a very clear voice in the back of his mind saying he gets it, he gets you and Kevin is turning Mike into one sappy-ass motherfucker.
- - - - - -
Mike is actually a lot more okay with the no-sex thing than he'd guessed he'd be; he doesn't really dwell on it that much, might not think about it at all if it weren't for one thing:
Kevin's a total slut for kissing. Like, the guy doesn't appear able to get within three feet of Mike's lips without making out. Normally, that would be awesome, 'cause he's an amazing kisser, but the inevitable pulling away, "time to stop, I - yeah, I need to stop" is just about the cruelest thing ever.
It gets worse when they move in together, when all of a sudden they're together all the time and Kevin feels the need to punctuate every encounter with those sweet slow way-too-sexy-for-their-own-good kisses. Mike wakes up to Kevin's lips soft against his, falls asleep to tickling little brushes of breath on his neck, can't walk two feet without getting accosted.
When they're back on tour, Mike's gonna have to make some corrections to Sisky's stupid chart. It doesn't even approach the right shade of blue anymore.
- - - - - -
It's Kevin who proposes, eventually, and even if Mike had seen that coming he wouldn't have expected something so simple. Kevin didn't even get down on one knee, just snuggled up against Mike, turned the tv off, and asked.
Mike says yes, and Kevin pulls away a little, looks down at him, and it takes Mike a second, just long enough to remember Kevin's tentative first "I love you," the way he reacted, and he sighs.
"You still make the rules, Kev."
- - - - - -
Kevin drags Mike off to the bathroom as soon as the cake is cut. Several hours later, Mike's kind of proud of himself for having the presence of mind to write an apologetic note to the cleaning staff.
Author: hector_rashbaum
Recipient: kalimai
Prompt: I'd love to read established relationship where Kevin is bent on staying a virgin till marriage. Mike is dying from sexual frustration and/or tension. Shenanigans happen. Bonus if Kevin is an oblivious tease. I love schmoop, crack, Mpreg (that one might be difficult!), Bill being crazy and harassing (and hooking up with) Nick, AU, and just about everything with a happy ending.
Genre: Slash
Fandom: Jonas Brothers, The Academy Is...
Main Characters: Kevin Jonas, Mike Carden
Adult Content: Nope
Words: 1235
Chapter: 1/1
Summary: Mike learns the value of patience.
Teaser: Sisky hangs a chart in the bus lounge, crayons taped to a sheet of poster board with MIKE'S BLUE BALL SCALE scrawled at the top. Mike hates everyone, seriously.
Notes: Merry Exchange-mas! Title comes from Tom Petty's "The Waiting". For reference, you can see the "Pixie Powder" crayon here (That part'll make sense once you read!)
Mike doesn't give too much thought to the purity ring thing, at first. It's not like that's even the biggest obstacle to getting laid, really, when they haven't actually met in person yet, when 90% of the time they're in different countries. And, y'know, considering this is a relationship invented by the combined brainpower of Bill Beckett, Pete Wentz, Demi Lovato, and Miley Cyrus, there are probably several thousand other things more pressing than what Kevin's got on his finger.
Because, seriously, Hannah Montana's got Mike's phone number. This is some kind of crazy experiment that's gonna be over in, like, a week.
(Kevin calls Mike a little over six months after they started talking, just the wrong side of tipsy after some awards show or other overseas. He giggles a little and says he likes Mike a lot, he'd probably kiss him if he were there right now. Mike stops even trying to tell himself this is just some dumb little doomed thing.)
Either way, Mike doesn't have to think about dating a guy with a fucking purity ring, 'cause the distance has the question of celibacy answered before anyone can ask it. So it kind of slips from his mind.
And then come the breaks; Fall Ball ends, they play a few shows and then that's over, and Mike's got months and months ahead of him with nothing to do but write, visit Bill a few times, do a couple special occasion kind of shows. And Kevin's been done for a while, but his plate doesn't even have the meager coverings Mike's does; Nick's doing his solo thing, and Kevin's schedule has maybe two appearances to promote that, however many of his brother's shows he feels like going to, and...nothing.
Mike hasn't dated, in the go-to-dinner-goodnight-kiss sense, since...fuck, probably since high school, but it's actually pretty nice. Probably 'cause they got all the awkward getting-to-know-you shit out of the way over six months of e-mails and phone calls and texts, but whatever, it's nice.
Well, right up until, "Wanna go back to my place?"
Kevin just smiles, a little shyly (which does absolutely nothing for the uncomfortable tightness in Mike's jeans, fuck), and wiggles his left hand.
Oh yeah. That.
- - - - - -
Sisky hangs a chart in the bus lounge, crayons taped to a sheet of poster board with MIKE'S BLUE BALL SCALE scrawled at the top. Mike hates everyone, seriously.
He hates everyone so much more when Kevin visits, when he realizes only after Kevin's eyes go wide and his mouth curves into a smirk he's forgotten to take the chart down. Motherfuck.
(If Mike didn't know Kevin so well, didn't know how genuine his innocence was, he'd assume Kevin got a vanilla ice-cream cone later as a deliberate "fuck you" to the asshole who'd let that chart slide.)
(In the morning, after the vanilla ice cream incident, after spending a night pressed together all over in a too-small bunk, Mike draws a big arrow to the "Pixie Powder" crayon.)
- - - - - -
When Kevin murmurs "I love you," between kisses, more breath and soft press of lips than words, Mike forgets himself for a second; head spinning, overwhelmed, he pushes Kevin down against the couch, kisses him deep and slow, works his thigh in between Kevin's, and -
"Mike," Kevin says, pushes him back a little, voice the exact opposite of what it had been just a second ago. "That doesn't mean - I'm not gonna - "
"No, shit," Mike says, sits up, pulls away. "I didn't mean - I wasn't."
Mike is apparently the kind of Lifetime-movie stereotype that thinks entirely with his dick, and he's probably just fucked up significantly. Shit.
"It's okay," Kevin says, and when Mike looks at him, he believes it.
"You, too," Mike mumbles, even though the conversation's moved on far enough Kevin probably won't get it. "I - you, too."
Kevin just smiles, cuddles up against Mike's side, presses a chaste kiss to his lips.
- - - - - -
"I want the couch," Mike says, arms crossed, mirroring Kevin's pose.
"It's falling apart. And it'd be ugly even if it weren't. And, seriously, we've got, like, four boxes otherwise? You wanna bother with a U-Haul for a broken, ugly couch?"
Mike's couch is hideous, and so worn down you have to cuddle on the one decent cushion to get more than one person on it. But it's a relic, it has, like, meaning. Mike's first kiss was on that couch, back when it was in the basement at his parents' house; three years later his first kiss with a guy (Bill, angry and awkward and the first step towards not hating the shit out of each other); every member of The Academy Is... and more than a few techs have left puke stains on the ugly old-lady floral print.
(There's a bloodstain, Tom's, on one arm of the couch, and one of Mike's at the opposite end. Those are probably just as important, but not anything he's gonna bring up with Kevin. Or anyone, really.)
"It ripped my favorite jeans," Kevin says, but he's already dropped his arms, lost all the confrontation from his stance, from his face, and Mike - for the love of fuck, it's just a couch, but there's a very clear voice in the back of his mind saying he gets it, he gets you and Kevin is turning Mike into one sappy-ass motherfucker.
- - - - - -
Mike is actually a lot more okay with the no-sex thing than he'd guessed he'd be; he doesn't really dwell on it that much, might not think about it at all if it weren't for one thing:
Kevin's a total slut for kissing. Like, the guy doesn't appear able to get within three feet of Mike's lips without making out. Normally, that would be awesome, 'cause he's an amazing kisser, but the inevitable pulling away, "time to stop, I - yeah, I need to stop" is just about the cruelest thing ever.
It gets worse when they move in together, when all of a sudden they're together all the time and Kevin feels the need to punctuate every encounter with those sweet slow way-too-sexy-for-their-own-good kisses. Mike wakes up to Kevin's lips soft against his, falls asleep to tickling little brushes of breath on his neck, can't walk two feet without getting accosted.
When they're back on tour, Mike's gonna have to make some corrections to Sisky's stupid chart. It doesn't even approach the right shade of blue anymore.
- - - - - -
It's Kevin who proposes, eventually, and even if Mike had seen that coming he wouldn't have expected something so simple. Kevin didn't even get down on one knee, just snuggled up against Mike, turned the tv off, and asked.
Mike says yes, and Kevin pulls away a little, looks down at him, and it takes Mike a second, just long enough to remember Kevin's tentative first "I love you," the way he reacted, and he sighs.
"You still make the rules, Kev."
- - - - - -
Kevin drags Mike off to the bathroom as soon as the cake is cut. Several hours later, Mike's kind of proud of himself for having the presence of mind to write an apologetic note to the cleaning staff.