neqs
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sodamnskippy
Bingo Fic: Great Expectations
Title: Great Expectations (square 3: mistaken to be gay)
Warnings: revisionist history, OOC, fluff, cheesiness − wow, this is one of *those* headers, isn’t it.
Words: 1000+
A/N: Sorry, not beta-read.
A lot of people thought Kevin Jonas was gay. They always had. His dad was probably the first; Kevin didn’t realize until later that this was why they’d left their first church. They only talked about it once, in roundabout terms that went way over little Kevin’s head, but the words were nevertheless engraved in his heart:
“God is love, son. It has many faces and none of them is better than the others, just different. We’re all different and God loves us anyway.”
Kevin sometimes had the guilty thought that his mother saw him less as a (gay) son and more as a daughter she never had. Kevin was the only Jonas brother who loved baking time with their mom. They had fun making cakes and cookies and all kinds of tasty, nice-smelling things, Kevin mostly listening and mixing dry ingredients while his mom measured and kneaded and rambled on earnestly.
“They say all kinds of things about women’s rights, but everyone has the right to take care of their family as they best know how. I pity those who never experience the joy of feeding the people they love something they made from flour and eggs up − though everyone shows their love differently. Men, women, they all have their own way of doing things, and don’t ever let anyone tell you something is men’s work or women’s work. We’re all just people.”
The teachers at school liked Kevin, for the most part. Even the ones who thought he was “a bit different” found him quiet and polite.
“You are a very special boy, Kevin. One day you will be a famous writer, but you will be fine because you are a good person. You will probably forget all about your silly old English teacher, but someday you will find a special person to keep your feet on the ground and to make a home with. Don’t twist your face at me, Kevin Jonas, or it’ll stay that way!”
It was a bit humiliating that even his girlfriends thought he was gay. He took them on dates and they hugged him, asked him for fashion tips, and gossiped. If he tried to protest, they awww’ed at him and thought him shy.
“You’re like the sweetest guy ever! It’s so not fair. I never thought it was true that all the good ones are taken or gay, but there you go! Now, what do you think of this skirt? And did you see Nicky Lee in those jeans today? Unf!”
The boys at school, well… Kevin never felt he needed guy friends anyway − his brothers were more than enough. And he had plenty of girl friends, who generally smelled nicer than teenaged boys anyway.
But none of those people, with the possible exception of his parents, really knew him. It was kind of sad that his brothers, the people who knew him best, also thought he was gay.
“You dress indecently well, you’re always polite, you’re social without being a ho, and though you spend a lot of time with girls, you never sleep with them. Face it, bro, you’re gay.”
He thought Danielle was different, but her reaction to his proposal was less then promising.
“Oh honey, don’t lose hope! I’d promise to accept if I’m still single when I’m 30, but I know you’ll find a great guy long before that. You’re the most beautiful person I know, and if you and your husband need a surrogate you can totally call me up!”
As for the fans… oddly enough, they seemed to enjoy thinking he was gay. They wrote about it on the internet a lot and it was hard to avoid reading it − especially since his brothers liked to send him links. He’d thought that gay celebrities were a no-no from the management point-of-view, but the suits just smiled at him, patted him on the head, and told him to keep up the good work.
“We appreciate you keeping a low profile, Kevin. Your clean image is important, and we’re glad you’re not going to the clubs, but we don’t expect you to be a monk. Find a nice boy, date a little. The fans like you gay, it makes you sweet and unthreatening. Just don’t end up half-naked in the tabloids, ok?”
With expectations like that, it was small wonder that Kevin ended up in a bar, gazing into his Purple Cosmopolitan.
Everyone from his family down thought he was gay. Okay, it was kind of depressing, but on the other hand he knew he was really lucky that they all loved and supported him no matter what. Even the girl he loved…well, liked a lot, thought he was gay, but strangely enough he found himself not minding being just friends. She was his best friend, besides his brothers, who were kind of awesome too, annoying as they were. But where was he going to find a girl who liked him romantically and didn’t think of him as her gay best friend?
His musings were interrupted by a long-limbed, loud, friendly-seeming presence.
“You’re a Jonas! No, you’re THE Jonas! My friend Mike thinks you’re hot, he wants to ravish you or actually maybe marry you and have your babies! He’d kill me for telling you so could you please just happen to walk by our table in a few minutes and recognize us and come say hi?”
Kevin blinked. “And you are…?”
“Our band is The Academy Is… and I’m William Beckett, and our table is right around that corner, and I’ll totally introduce everyone when you get there, including the future love of your life, our inimitable guitarist Mike Carden!”
Kevin smiled politely, which William Beckett took as assent, beamed at him, and bounced away. Kevin picked up the black raspberry on his cocktail stirrer and slowly ate it, contemplating.
Why the heck not? There was no shame in fulfilling everyone’s expectations of him. His family and friends loved him, God loved him, and Kevin had certainly been taught all his life to love and accept himself, no matter what. Love was as simple and as complicated as the crêpe soufflé au coulis d’abricot he’d struggled learning to make at age fourteen.
Maybe, Kevin thought as he stood up, checked the mirror, and headed for the table around the corner, maybe he’d make Mike some crêpes.
After all, the future love of his life deserved nothing less.
*the end*
(Wow. I wrote a Kevin/Mike fic where they don’t meet, or talk on the phone, or communicate in any way. *headdesk*)
Warnings: revisionist history, OOC, fluff, cheesiness − wow, this is one of *those* headers, isn’t it.
Words: 1000+
A/N: Sorry, not beta-read.
A lot of people thought Kevin Jonas was gay. They always had. His dad was probably the first; Kevin didn’t realize until later that this was why they’d left their first church. They only talked about it once, in roundabout terms that went way over little Kevin’s head, but the words were nevertheless engraved in his heart:
“God is love, son. It has many faces and none of them is better than the others, just different. We’re all different and God loves us anyway.”
Kevin sometimes had the guilty thought that his mother saw him less as a (gay) son and more as a daughter she never had. Kevin was the only Jonas brother who loved baking time with their mom. They had fun making cakes and cookies and all kinds of tasty, nice-smelling things, Kevin mostly listening and mixing dry ingredients while his mom measured and kneaded and rambled on earnestly.
“They say all kinds of things about women’s rights, but everyone has the right to take care of their family as they best know how. I pity those who never experience the joy of feeding the people they love something they made from flour and eggs up − though everyone shows their love differently. Men, women, they all have their own way of doing things, and don’t ever let anyone tell you something is men’s work or women’s work. We’re all just people.”
The teachers at school liked Kevin, for the most part. Even the ones who thought he was “a bit different” found him quiet and polite.
“You are a very special boy, Kevin. One day you will be a famous writer, but you will be fine because you are a good person. You will probably forget all about your silly old English teacher, but someday you will find a special person to keep your feet on the ground and to make a home with. Don’t twist your face at me, Kevin Jonas, or it’ll stay that way!”
It was a bit humiliating that even his girlfriends thought he was gay. He took them on dates and they hugged him, asked him for fashion tips, and gossiped. If he tried to protest, they awww’ed at him and thought him shy.
“You’re like the sweetest guy ever! It’s so not fair. I never thought it was true that all the good ones are taken or gay, but there you go! Now, what do you think of this skirt? And did you see Nicky Lee in those jeans today? Unf!”
The boys at school, well… Kevin never felt he needed guy friends anyway − his brothers were more than enough. And he had plenty of girl friends, who generally smelled nicer than teenaged boys anyway.
But none of those people, with the possible exception of his parents, really knew him. It was kind of sad that his brothers, the people who knew him best, also thought he was gay.
“You dress indecently well, you’re always polite, you’re social without being a ho, and though you spend a lot of time with girls, you never sleep with them. Face it, bro, you’re gay.”
He thought Danielle was different, but her reaction to his proposal was less then promising.
“Oh honey, don’t lose hope! I’d promise to accept if I’m still single when I’m 30, but I know you’ll find a great guy long before that. You’re the most beautiful person I know, and if you and your husband need a surrogate you can totally call me up!”
As for the fans… oddly enough, they seemed to enjoy thinking he was gay. They wrote about it on the internet a lot and it was hard to avoid reading it − especially since his brothers liked to send him links. He’d thought that gay celebrities were a no-no from the management point-of-view, but the suits just smiled at him, patted him on the head, and told him to keep up the good work.
“We appreciate you keeping a low profile, Kevin. Your clean image is important, and we’re glad you’re not going to the clubs, but we don’t expect you to be a monk. Find a nice boy, date a little. The fans like you gay, it makes you sweet and unthreatening. Just don’t end up half-naked in the tabloids, ok?”
With expectations like that, it was small wonder that Kevin ended up in a bar, gazing into his Purple Cosmopolitan.
Everyone from his family down thought he was gay. Okay, it was kind of depressing, but on the other hand he knew he was really lucky that they all loved and supported him no matter what. Even the girl he loved…well, liked a lot, thought he was gay, but strangely enough he found himself not minding being just friends. She was his best friend, besides his brothers, who were kind of awesome too, annoying as they were. But where was he going to find a girl who liked him romantically and didn’t think of him as her gay best friend?
His musings were interrupted by a long-limbed, loud, friendly-seeming presence.
“You’re a Jonas! No, you’re THE Jonas! My friend Mike thinks you’re hot, he wants to ravish you or actually maybe marry you and have your babies! He’d kill me for telling you so could you please just happen to walk by our table in a few minutes and recognize us and come say hi?”
Kevin blinked. “And you are…?”
“Our band is The Academy Is… and I’m William Beckett, and our table is right around that corner, and I’ll totally introduce everyone when you get there, including the future love of your life, our inimitable guitarist Mike Carden!”
Kevin smiled politely, which William Beckett took as assent, beamed at him, and bounced away. Kevin picked up the black raspberry on his cocktail stirrer and slowly ate it, contemplating.
Why the heck not? There was no shame in fulfilling everyone’s expectations of him. His family and friends loved him, God loved him, and Kevin had certainly been taught all his life to love and accept himself, no matter what. Love was as simple and as complicated as the crêpe soufflé au coulis d’abricot he’d struggled learning to make at age fourteen.
Maybe, Kevin thought as he stood up, checked the mirror, and headed for the table around the corner, maybe he’d make Mike some crêpes.
After all, the future love of his life deserved nothing less.
*the end*
(Wow. I wrote a Kevin/Mike fic where they don’t meet, or talk on the phone, or communicate in any way. *headdesk*)