Fic: All I Want for Christmas (4/4) | Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas | PG
Title: All I Want for Christmas (4/4)
Fandom: Bandom (The Academy Is..., Jonas Brothers)
Pairing: Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas
Rating: G
Wordcount: 776
Warnings: Pure fluff.
Summary: Kevin and Mike have a not-quite-perfect Christmas.
Notes: Written for Mundane Bingo "Trying to find candles when the electricity goes out", posted to count down to the sodamnskippy holiday fic exchange! <3 There are four ficlets, and I will be posting one per night. Happy Christmas, sodamnskippy!
"I'm really, really sure we have some in here," Kevin mutters from somewhere off to Mike's left, followed quickly by a loud thumping noise and Kevin saying, "Ow," in a small, pitiful voice, and "I found the door!"
"Which door?" Mike asks. He's taking his time, feeling his way around the breakfast bar and over the barstool that Kevin had knocked on its side when he ran into it. That had been ow number three.
"Oh. Laundry room. Never mind," Kevin says, then there's another thump and another ow, and he calls out, "Pantry!" in victory, like it hadn't just taken him ten minutes and a dozen bruises to make his way from the living room to the other end of the kitchen. Mike feels his way past the refrigerator, which means he's most of the way there, assuming Kevin hasn't accidentally put any more obstacles in his path. Everything is pitch black -- the outage took out the street lights as well as everything inside, and it's still snowing enough that any moonlight that might have filtered in through the Chicago high-rises is totally blocked.
"I think they were somewhere over here..." Kevin mutters over the sounds of him shuffling around. Mike doesn't really believe in ESP or any of that crap, but nonetheless, he has a vision of startling clarity as Kevin says, "Maybe they're up there...?"
"Hey, Kev, be careful, okay?" He warns, almost to the pantry door himself, and Kevin says, "Yeah, I am--" distractedly and then there's an almighty crash as what sounds like their entire supply of everything tumbles to the floor and Kevin breaks off with a shout.
"Fuck!" Mike scrambles the rest of the way over to the pantry, not actually caring if he trips and breaks a leg or something. "Kev! Kevin, are you okay?" Mike's foot connects with a can and he realizes he's hit the edge of the debris field. He drops down to his hands and knees so he can maneuver through the wreckage without too much incident. Fuck, he has no idea how Kevin managed to make their pantry explode, but that's what appears to have happened, based on the amount of stuff now scattered across the floor. Kevin makes a muffled noise of pained upset, but not, Mike thinks, actual, screaming pain. He finds Kevin by feel, his hand connecting with Kevin's socked foot and sliding up to locate the rest of him.
"I think I have a concussion," Kevin pouts as Mike runs his hands lightly over every part of Kevin he can reach, checking and re-checking to make sure he's all in one piece. "And I broke the shelf."
"Shelves," Mike corrects absently -- that has to be more than one shelf's worth of canned peas and boxes of pasta -- while he checks Kevin's head. He's got a bump, but it's a small one, and the rest of him is intact. Good. "And you probably don't have a concussion."
"I didn't find the candles," Kevin says sadly, prompting Mike to haul him closer for a tight hug.
"You have no idea how much I don't give a fuck about the candles right now," Mike says, and Kevin laughs shakily. "Come on," he says, and gets Kevin onto his hands and knees; boldly crawling away from the chaos. Once he's sure they're clear of wayward tripping hazards, he gives Kevin a hand up, and Kevin groans.
"I think I'm made of bruise," he says, in the same voice Mike had heard ow repeated in, over and over. He grabs Kevin's hand and slowly guides them both out of the kitchen and down the hall.
"What are we doing?" Kevin finally asks when they reach the bedroom door, though he doesn't resist at all when Mike pulls him inside.
"I am putting you to bed," Mike says, "Before you manage to hurt yourself any more."
"Oh." Kevin's voice is more than a little disappointed, and he drops Mike's hand, but that's fine, because Mike has other things he needs that hand for, anyway. He brackets Kevin's waist with his palms and slips his fingers under the hem of Kevin's sweater, pushing it up and, once Kevin gets the picture and raises his arms, pulling it over Kevin's head and tossing it away.
"And then," Mike continues, sliding a hand along Kevin's shoulder and up to hold his head in place so he can find Kevin's lips with his own, "I'm going to find every one of those bruises and kiss them all better."
Kevin smiles against his mouth and slips his fingers into Mike's waistband to tug him toward the bed.
Fandom: Bandom (The Academy Is..., Jonas Brothers)
Pairing: Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas
Rating: G
Wordcount: 776
Warnings: Pure fluff.
Summary: Kevin and Mike have a not-quite-perfect Christmas.
Notes: Written for Mundane Bingo "Trying to find candles when the electricity goes out", posted to count down to the sodamnskippy holiday fic exchange! <3 There are four ficlets, and I will be posting one per night. Happy Christmas, sodamnskippy!
"I'm really, really sure we have some in here," Kevin mutters from somewhere off to Mike's left, followed quickly by a loud thumping noise and Kevin saying, "Ow," in a small, pitiful voice, and "I found the door!"
"Which door?" Mike asks. He's taking his time, feeling his way around the breakfast bar and over the barstool that Kevin had knocked on its side when he ran into it. That had been ow number three.
"Oh. Laundry room. Never mind," Kevin says, then there's another thump and another ow, and he calls out, "Pantry!" in victory, like it hadn't just taken him ten minutes and a dozen bruises to make his way from the living room to the other end of the kitchen. Mike feels his way past the refrigerator, which means he's most of the way there, assuming Kevin hasn't accidentally put any more obstacles in his path. Everything is pitch black -- the outage took out the street lights as well as everything inside, and it's still snowing enough that any moonlight that might have filtered in through the Chicago high-rises is totally blocked.
"I think they were somewhere over here..." Kevin mutters over the sounds of him shuffling around. Mike doesn't really believe in ESP or any of that crap, but nonetheless, he has a vision of startling clarity as Kevin says, "Maybe they're up there...?"
"Hey, Kev, be careful, okay?" He warns, almost to the pantry door himself, and Kevin says, "Yeah, I am--" distractedly and then there's an almighty crash as what sounds like their entire supply of everything tumbles to the floor and Kevin breaks off with a shout.
"Fuck!" Mike scrambles the rest of the way over to the pantry, not actually caring if he trips and breaks a leg or something. "Kev! Kevin, are you okay?" Mike's foot connects with a can and he realizes he's hit the edge of the debris field. He drops down to his hands and knees so he can maneuver through the wreckage without too much incident. Fuck, he has no idea how Kevin managed to make their pantry explode, but that's what appears to have happened, based on the amount of stuff now scattered across the floor. Kevin makes a muffled noise of pained upset, but not, Mike thinks, actual, screaming pain. He finds Kevin by feel, his hand connecting with Kevin's socked foot and sliding up to locate the rest of him.
"I think I have a concussion," Kevin pouts as Mike runs his hands lightly over every part of Kevin he can reach, checking and re-checking to make sure he's all in one piece. "And I broke the shelf."
"Shelves," Mike corrects absently -- that has to be more than one shelf's worth of canned peas and boxes of pasta -- while he checks Kevin's head. He's got a bump, but it's a small one, and the rest of him is intact. Good. "And you probably don't have a concussion."
"I didn't find the candles," Kevin says sadly, prompting Mike to haul him closer for a tight hug.
"You have no idea how much I don't give a fuck about the candles right now," Mike says, and Kevin laughs shakily. "Come on," he says, and gets Kevin onto his hands and knees; boldly crawling away from the chaos. Once he's sure they're clear of wayward tripping hazards, he gives Kevin a hand up, and Kevin groans.
"I think I'm made of bruise," he says, in the same voice Mike had heard ow repeated in, over and over. He grabs Kevin's hand and slowly guides them both out of the kitchen and down the hall.
"What are we doing?" Kevin finally asks when they reach the bedroom door, though he doesn't resist at all when Mike pulls him inside.
"I am putting you to bed," Mike says, "Before you manage to hurt yourself any more."
"Oh." Kevin's voice is more than a little disappointed, and he drops Mike's hand, but that's fine, because Mike has other things he needs that hand for, anyway. He brackets Kevin's waist with his palms and slips his fingers under the hem of Kevin's sweater, pushing it up and, once Kevin gets the picture and raises his arms, pulling it over Kevin's head and tossing it away.
"And then," Mike continues, sliding a hand along Kevin's shoulder and up to hold his head in place so he can find Kevin's lips with his own, "I'm going to find every one of those bruises and kiss them all better."
Kevin smiles against his mouth and slips his fingers into Mike's waistband to tug him toward the bed.