Fic: We're Together Like Glue and Hands | Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas | NC-17
Title: We're Together Like Glue and Hands
Fandom: Bandom/Jonas Brothers
Pairing: Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas, OMCs/Kevin
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~2,000
Warnings: Prostitution, somewhat graphic depiction of sexual assault, underage sexual activity (Kevin is 16).
Summary: Homeless!AU. Kevin was living and working on the streets of Chicago when Mike rescued him.
Notes: This story is sort of a prequel to a 'verse that hasn't been written yet; it started from a discussion with akire_yta about this manip I made, but went in a somewhat darker direction than I had originally envisioned. Hopefully any further fics in this 'verse will skew more towards the fluffy co-dependence of the original idea! Many thanks to likeaglass, merelyn, la_dissonance and b_dsaint for their feedback and beta work! <3
The title for this story and partial inspiration are from this prompt at we_are_cities.
Kevin gave his first blowjob when he was sixteen. The truck driver was overweight and hairy and smelled like fast food and gasoline, and he held the back of Kevin's head and thrust into his throat while Kevin choked. But he was giving Kevin a ride from Newark to Chicago and Kevin had known what was expected of him when he climbed into the cab. He opened the passenger-side door to spit the driver's come out on the asphalt of the truck stop parking lot, then slept curled up around his backpack in the passenger seat while the driver snored in his bunk. The next day, the driver dropped him off on the outskirts of the city, where the smell wafting over from the factories in Gary, Indiana made Kevin's nose itch.
Mike says you never forget the first one, and he's right, but Kevin tries not to think about it too much. The thing is though, you do forget the ones after that. The only thing Kevin remembers about the second is how good it felt to shove the sweaty twenty-dollar bill into his jeans pocket.
The money he brought with him only lasted a few weeks -- food had never seemed so expensive before -- and he spent a couple of desperate days trying to ignore the painful spasms of his empty stomach, until the half-rotted food in the dumpster where he'd been sleeping started to look tempting. Then he gave up the last vestiges of the pride that had kept him out of the alleys behind the bars, where skinny boys and girls with dead eyes lurked after dark.
He remembers the feeling of having money again, the tangible power of a crumpled piece of linen paper. He remembers the taste of the dollar-menu burger and fries he purchased with it, hot and greasy and delicious, and the weight of the change in his pocket. But of the man who paid him, Kevin remembers almost nothing.
He made that first twenty last nearly a week, then went back to the alley and sucked his third dick. Either the previous guy overpaid or number three was cheap, because it netted him only five bucks, but number four gave him a ten and after that Kevin stopped counting the men and started counting how much he had and how long he could make it last.
~*~
He survived almost two months without Mike, which Kevin finds kind of shocking in retrospect. He was so new to the world back then, though earning his food on his knees made him grow up fast.
He found a place to sleep in a dirty alley behind a Chinese restaurant; basically a hole between the dumpster and the building, where a small overhang kept the dumpster from pressing flush against the wall. It was tiny, but Kevin was skinny and getting skinnier by the day, and it was better than sleeping in the open, even when the rodents and roaches skittering around inside the dumpster kept him up at night.
Kevin didn't have a price for his 'services', which was maybe what got him into trouble. He took what the johns offered and worked until he had enough to eat and maybe to go to the laundromat and toss his pathetically small wardrobe in to wash.
The john started out as just another faceless guy, but he handed Kevin a fifty, and Kevin did his best to give the guy his money's worth. He was doing good, too, until the john grabbed him by the hair and pulled Kevin off his dick. That wasn't too weird; Kevin had a couple of guys who paid extra to come on his face, and there was a gas station two blocks away that had an outdoor-access bathroom where he could wash off. But the john pulled Kevin to his feet and had him pinned face-first against the wall before he could even process what was going on.
He froze as the john's weight pressed him against the bricks, as the john's hand came around to unbutton his jeans and tug them down past his hips. Kevin felt like the air had thickened all around him; he couldn't find the strength to move his limbs, to struggle, to fight, until he felt the john's dick against his ass.
Whatever was holding him back snapped at that first brush of skin-on-skin, slick with Kevin's spit and the john's pre-come. Kevin fought, and he fought hard, kicking out at the john's legs as he tried to free himself from the john's grip. But the john was a big guy; big enough to quickly shove Kevin back against the bricks, scraping his face on the rough wall. Kevin yelped as his skin split, and he felt the john laugh.
"Yeah, that's it," the john pressed himself flush against Kevin's back, almost leisurely rubbing the head of his dick along the crack of Kevin's ass. "Scream for me, you little slut," he growled in Kevin's ear, and he started to push himself in.
Kevin doesn't know what would have happened to him, if Mike hadn't shown up. If the john would have torn him up inside, left him bleeding. It had happened to one of the other boys; one of the ones who sold everything they could. The john had been too rough, and he bled for a long time, and then he'd gotten sick. (And then he'd disappeared entirely, but Kevin doesn't like to think about that. He's gotten good at not-thinking about things.)
The important thing is that Mike did show up; he showed up and he pulled the john off Kevin and punched him in the face, and kept punching him until he dropped like a sack of bloodied meat.
Kevin was shaking too hard to do it himself, so Mike pulled his pants up for him, looking over the bloody scrape on Kevin's cheek with a critical eye.
"You need to get that cleaned up," Mike told him, and turned like he was going to leave. Kevin's hand snapped out of its own accord, grabbing the sleeve of Mike's hoodie and not letting go.
Mike cleaned out the scrape in the gas station bathroom, calloused fingers gentle on Kevin's skin, and Kevin thought about the hot stench of whiskey-scented breath on his face; the rough brick wall against his skin; the pain and fear of being trapped and struggling and what would have happened if Mike hadn't come along, or hadn't helped, or had joined in. Mike had knocked the guy out instead, and his fingers were gentle, and that was maybe the best Kevin was going to get. It wasn't maybe the most well-thought-out thing Kevin had ever done, but he thought it through enough to be sure.
Mike turned to toss the damp and bloody paper towel at the overflowing can in the corner, and when he turned back Kevin leaned forward and kissed him under the flickering florescent light.
"I don't want it to be like that, the first time," Kevin said, and Mike locked eyes with him for a long minute, then said, "Okay."
~*~
Mike took him to this old, rundown house he was squatting in with a bunch of other guys; Bill and Frank and Joe and Pete and Mikey and Mikey's brother Gerard (who Kevin didn't actually meet for a while, though he spotted him a few times, mostly when he was coming back from work and Gerard was waking up and shuffling around in the dark). There were foreclosure and utility shut-off notices stuck on the door, and Keep Out signs and a sagging chain-link fence with a hole cut into it standing sentry over a patch of dead grass out front. Mike had his own room on the second floor, with a door and everything. All that was in it was a ratty mattress covered with dingy sheets and an army-style duffel bag shoved against the wall, but it was an actual room, and after a month with concrete and cockroaches, it seemed like a palace.
Kevin let Mike lay him out on the mattress and strip him slowly; his touch stayed soft, and Kevin was glad of that -- he'd made the right choice. Mike kissed his way down Kevin's stomach (so much smaller than it had been a month before, though Kevin hadn't thought he had much extra weight to lose), took Kevin's cock in his hand and stroked him to hardness before swallowing him down. Kevin fought the urge to buck up into Mike's throat; he hated when johns did that, it always made him choke. For all however-many times he'd done this, he'd never been on the receiving end. It was amazing, Mike was amazing, swirling his tongue around the head of Kevin's dick as he sucked on it. Kevin whimpered as he came, tugging on Mike's hair maybe a little bit too hard.
Mike climbed up over Kevin to dig in the army duffel for a half-empty tube of lubricant and a foil-wrapped condom, and when Kevin looked at him in surprise Mike told him, "Never without one of these. Ever. Okay?" And Kevin nodded and gasped as Mike spread his legs wide and ran one lubed fingertip over his hole.
It wasn't anything like what the john had tried earlier; Kevin's dick even gave a half-hearted twitch toward being interested in the proceedings again. By the time Mike had three fingers working in him, Kevin was a puddle of slack limbs. He fumbled with the condom packet at first, but he finally got it open and carefully rolled it onto Mike's cock, and then Mike was right there over him, pushing Kevin's thighs up toward his ears and sliding into him, inch by inch until he was buried in Kevin's body.
"Oh," Kevin gasped, and Mike chuckled but his laugh was nothing like the john's. Mike's laugh was warm and a little sweet, and when he pulled out and slid home again he kissed the corner of Kevin's mouth. Mike set their rhythm, but Kevin urged him on with heels dug into his shoulders and fingers dug into his sides, canting his hips up so Mike could go deeper, harder. Kevin was hard again, and he reached between them to fist his own cock, knowing there was no way he was going to hold on for very long. Mike came with a long, drawn-out groan, tense all over. Kevin could feel Mike's dick twitching in his ass, and that alone was enough to send him over the edge, spilling come all over his belly.
Mike tied off the condom and tossed it into the far corner of the room, then used the edge of the grungy sheet to wipe them both off before collapsing half on top of Kevin. The room was quiet, punctuated by their breathing and the ambient noise of the city that was impossible to escape, the thin walls and rickety windows not quite able to muffle the sounds of cars going by, a dog barking, someone down the street yelling. A siren wailed, far off in the distance.
"I'm Kevin," Kevin said, and Mike rolled his eyes in the dim light.
"Mike," said Mike, and, "Go to sleep. You have to get out of here in the morning."
~*~
But Kevin didn't leave in the morning.
Instead he ended up in the gutted kitchen, eating shoplifted Pop Tarts and Nutri-Grain bars for breakfast with everyone else, because Bill and Pete caught him leaving Mike's room and decided they liked him. So he went to get his backpack from its safe spot behind the dumpster, and Frank spent the afternoon teaching Kevin the basics of picking pockets, with Joe as their willing victim.
Kevin still had the fifty from the john -- plenty to last him a while -- so that night instead of going out to the alley he normally worked, he headed up to Mike's room, where his backpack lay nestled next to Mike's army duffel. He fell asleep curled against Mike's chest, warm and comfortable and without the taste of sweat and jizz on his tongue.
He didn't leave the next day, either, or the next; until not-leaving became staying, and Mike's room became Kevin's room, too.
Fandom: Bandom/Jonas Brothers
Pairing: Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas, OMCs/Kevin
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~2,000
Warnings: Prostitution, somewhat graphic depiction of sexual assault, underage sexual activity (Kevin is 16).
Summary: Homeless!AU. Kevin was living and working on the streets of Chicago when Mike rescued him.
Notes: This story is sort of a prequel to a 'verse that hasn't been written yet; it started from a discussion with akire_yta about this manip I made, but went in a somewhat darker direction than I had originally envisioned. Hopefully any further fics in this 'verse will skew more towards the fluffy co-dependence of the original idea! Many thanks to likeaglass, merelyn, la_dissonance and b_dsaint for their feedback and beta work! <3
The title for this story and partial inspiration are from this prompt at we_are_cities.
Kevin gave his first blowjob when he was sixteen. The truck driver was overweight and hairy and smelled like fast food and gasoline, and he held the back of Kevin's head and thrust into his throat while Kevin choked. But he was giving Kevin a ride from Newark to Chicago and Kevin had known what was expected of him when he climbed into the cab. He opened the passenger-side door to spit the driver's come out on the asphalt of the truck stop parking lot, then slept curled up around his backpack in the passenger seat while the driver snored in his bunk. The next day, the driver dropped him off on the outskirts of the city, where the smell wafting over from the factories in Gary, Indiana made Kevin's nose itch.
Mike says you never forget the first one, and he's right, but Kevin tries not to think about it too much. The thing is though, you do forget the ones after that. The only thing Kevin remembers about the second is how good it felt to shove the sweaty twenty-dollar bill into his jeans pocket.
The money he brought with him only lasted a few weeks -- food had never seemed so expensive before -- and he spent a couple of desperate days trying to ignore the painful spasms of his empty stomach, until the half-rotted food in the dumpster where he'd been sleeping started to look tempting. Then he gave up the last vestiges of the pride that had kept him out of the alleys behind the bars, where skinny boys and girls with dead eyes lurked after dark.
He remembers the feeling of having money again, the tangible power of a crumpled piece of linen paper. He remembers the taste of the dollar-menu burger and fries he purchased with it, hot and greasy and delicious, and the weight of the change in his pocket. But of the man who paid him, Kevin remembers almost nothing.
He made that first twenty last nearly a week, then went back to the alley and sucked his third dick. Either the previous guy overpaid or number three was cheap, because it netted him only five bucks, but number four gave him a ten and after that Kevin stopped counting the men and started counting how much he had and how long he could make it last.
~*~
He survived almost two months without Mike, which Kevin finds kind of shocking in retrospect. He was so new to the world back then, though earning his food on his knees made him grow up fast.
He found a place to sleep in a dirty alley behind a Chinese restaurant; basically a hole between the dumpster and the building, where a small overhang kept the dumpster from pressing flush against the wall. It was tiny, but Kevin was skinny and getting skinnier by the day, and it was better than sleeping in the open, even when the rodents and roaches skittering around inside the dumpster kept him up at night.
Kevin didn't have a price for his 'services', which was maybe what got him into trouble. He took what the johns offered and worked until he had enough to eat and maybe to go to the laundromat and toss his pathetically small wardrobe in to wash.
The john started out as just another faceless guy, but he handed Kevin a fifty, and Kevin did his best to give the guy his money's worth. He was doing good, too, until the john grabbed him by the hair and pulled Kevin off his dick. That wasn't too weird; Kevin had a couple of guys who paid extra to come on his face, and there was a gas station two blocks away that had an outdoor-access bathroom where he could wash off. But the john pulled Kevin to his feet and had him pinned face-first against the wall before he could even process what was going on.
He froze as the john's weight pressed him against the bricks, as the john's hand came around to unbutton his jeans and tug them down past his hips. Kevin felt like the air had thickened all around him; he couldn't find the strength to move his limbs, to struggle, to fight, until he felt the john's dick against his ass.
Whatever was holding him back snapped at that first brush of skin-on-skin, slick with Kevin's spit and the john's pre-come. Kevin fought, and he fought hard, kicking out at the john's legs as he tried to free himself from the john's grip. But the john was a big guy; big enough to quickly shove Kevin back against the bricks, scraping his face on the rough wall. Kevin yelped as his skin split, and he felt the john laugh.
"Yeah, that's it," the john pressed himself flush against Kevin's back, almost leisurely rubbing the head of his dick along the crack of Kevin's ass. "Scream for me, you little slut," he growled in Kevin's ear, and he started to push himself in.
Kevin doesn't know what would have happened to him, if Mike hadn't shown up. If the john would have torn him up inside, left him bleeding. It had happened to one of the other boys; one of the ones who sold everything they could. The john had been too rough, and he bled for a long time, and then he'd gotten sick. (And then he'd disappeared entirely, but Kevin doesn't like to think about that. He's gotten good at not-thinking about things.)
The important thing is that Mike did show up; he showed up and he pulled the john off Kevin and punched him in the face, and kept punching him until he dropped like a sack of bloodied meat.
Kevin was shaking too hard to do it himself, so Mike pulled his pants up for him, looking over the bloody scrape on Kevin's cheek with a critical eye.
"You need to get that cleaned up," Mike told him, and turned like he was going to leave. Kevin's hand snapped out of its own accord, grabbing the sleeve of Mike's hoodie and not letting go.
Mike cleaned out the scrape in the gas station bathroom, calloused fingers gentle on Kevin's skin, and Kevin thought about the hot stench of whiskey-scented breath on his face; the rough brick wall against his skin; the pain and fear of being trapped and struggling and what would have happened if Mike hadn't come along, or hadn't helped, or had joined in. Mike had knocked the guy out instead, and his fingers were gentle, and that was maybe the best Kevin was going to get. It wasn't maybe the most well-thought-out thing Kevin had ever done, but he thought it through enough to be sure.
Mike turned to toss the damp and bloody paper towel at the overflowing can in the corner, and when he turned back Kevin leaned forward and kissed him under the flickering florescent light.
"I don't want it to be like that, the first time," Kevin said, and Mike locked eyes with him for a long minute, then said, "Okay."
~*~
Mike took him to this old, rundown house he was squatting in with a bunch of other guys; Bill and Frank and Joe and Pete and Mikey and Mikey's brother Gerard (who Kevin didn't actually meet for a while, though he spotted him a few times, mostly when he was coming back from work and Gerard was waking up and shuffling around in the dark). There were foreclosure and utility shut-off notices stuck on the door, and Keep Out signs and a sagging chain-link fence with a hole cut into it standing sentry over a patch of dead grass out front. Mike had his own room on the second floor, with a door and everything. All that was in it was a ratty mattress covered with dingy sheets and an army-style duffel bag shoved against the wall, but it was an actual room, and after a month with concrete and cockroaches, it seemed like a palace.
Kevin let Mike lay him out on the mattress and strip him slowly; his touch stayed soft, and Kevin was glad of that -- he'd made the right choice. Mike kissed his way down Kevin's stomach (so much smaller than it had been a month before, though Kevin hadn't thought he had much extra weight to lose), took Kevin's cock in his hand and stroked him to hardness before swallowing him down. Kevin fought the urge to buck up into Mike's throat; he hated when johns did that, it always made him choke. For all however-many times he'd done this, he'd never been on the receiving end. It was amazing, Mike was amazing, swirling his tongue around the head of Kevin's dick as he sucked on it. Kevin whimpered as he came, tugging on Mike's hair maybe a little bit too hard.
Mike climbed up over Kevin to dig in the army duffel for a half-empty tube of lubricant and a foil-wrapped condom, and when Kevin looked at him in surprise Mike told him, "Never without one of these. Ever. Okay?" And Kevin nodded and gasped as Mike spread his legs wide and ran one lubed fingertip over his hole.
It wasn't anything like what the john had tried earlier; Kevin's dick even gave a half-hearted twitch toward being interested in the proceedings again. By the time Mike had three fingers working in him, Kevin was a puddle of slack limbs. He fumbled with the condom packet at first, but he finally got it open and carefully rolled it onto Mike's cock, and then Mike was right there over him, pushing Kevin's thighs up toward his ears and sliding into him, inch by inch until he was buried in Kevin's body.
"Oh," Kevin gasped, and Mike chuckled but his laugh was nothing like the john's. Mike's laugh was warm and a little sweet, and when he pulled out and slid home again he kissed the corner of Kevin's mouth. Mike set their rhythm, but Kevin urged him on with heels dug into his shoulders and fingers dug into his sides, canting his hips up so Mike could go deeper, harder. Kevin was hard again, and he reached between them to fist his own cock, knowing there was no way he was going to hold on for very long. Mike came with a long, drawn-out groan, tense all over. Kevin could feel Mike's dick twitching in his ass, and that alone was enough to send him over the edge, spilling come all over his belly.
Mike tied off the condom and tossed it into the far corner of the room, then used the edge of the grungy sheet to wipe them both off before collapsing half on top of Kevin. The room was quiet, punctuated by their breathing and the ambient noise of the city that was impossible to escape, the thin walls and rickety windows not quite able to muffle the sounds of cars going by, a dog barking, someone down the street yelling. A siren wailed, far off in the distance.
"I'm Kevin," Kevin said, and Mike rolled his eyes in the dim light.
"Mike," said Mike, and, "Go to sleep. You have to get out of here in the morning."
~*~
But Kevin didn't leave in the morning.
Instead he ended up in the gutted kitchen, eating shoplifted Pop Tarts and Nutri-Grain bars for breakfast with everyone else, because Bill and Pete caught him leaving Mike's room and decided they liked him. So he went to get his backpack from its safe spot behind the dumpster, and Frank spent the afternoon teaching Kevin the basics of picking pockets, with Joe as their willing victim.
Kevin still had the fifty from the john -- plenty to last him a while -- so that night instead of going out to the alley he normally worked, he headed up to Mike's room, where his backpack lay nestled next to Mike's army duffel. He fell asleep curled against Mike's chest, warm and comfortable and without the taste of sweat and jizz on his tongue.
He didn't leave the next day, either, or the next; until not-leaving became staying, and Mike's room became Kevin's room, too.