fifteendozentimes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fifteendozentimes) wrote2009-11-04 08:00 pm
fifteendozentimes) wrote2009-11-04 08:00 pm
WIP Amnesty: Untitled Kevin/Joe/Nick (Disney RPF)
This is another one I'm kind of sad I never finished. The one thing JoBros fandom really needed was way more hookerfic. There's a random POV switch at the end because I had realized how OOC my Kevin was getting and thought it might work better from Joe's POV.
Offscreen violence. Incest.
"Fucker," Joe grumbles, drops down into the empty chair like he weighs twice as much as he actually does, tosses his shirt on the table so it gets in the way of Kevin's budgeting. "Doesn't matter where the fucking boundaries are, my clothes get ripped. I could stop 'em at, like, holding hands and smooching and they'd find a way to wreck my shit."
Kevin shoves the shirt out of the way, finishes writing a too-big check to cover their electricity; he almost wishes he still straightened his hair, so he could stop again. Not that it had made much difference, but some is better than none. "You should learn to sew."
"I think you need, like, patience, and shit." Joe tilts his head, tries to read what Kevin's written in his little ledger, but Kevin's writing is small and Joe's not entirely sober so it doesn't really work. "How're we doing?"
"Fine," Kevin says, what he always says.
"Rich yet?'
That joke's supposed to be off-limits; Kevin can handle jokes about pretty much everything, any one of his shortcomings, insecurities, but jokes about the worry that nags at the back of his mind every waking second, probably some sleeping ones, those aren't okay. Kevin just scowls.
"Just checking. And we – Nicky all set?"
"Yeah," Kevin says, points to the check sticking out from the front of his ledger. It's the first one he writes every month when he sits down to do the bills, a habit left over from before they let Nick work, from the year of one-room apartments and flipping coins to see which bills got paid when. It's less of a worry, now, Nick more than makes enough to pay for all his medicine, but it's the one thing they can't afford not to afford, and Kevin writes it into their budget with red pen.
"Can I get a new shirt?"
Kevin frowns, chews on the end of his pen for a second. "Next week."
"Cool," Joe says, stands up and ruffles Kevin's hair, wanders down the hall to the bedroom. "Get some sleep, Mr. Treasurer," he calls, and that really doesn't sound like a bad idea.
- - - - - -
Joe's been gone for an hour when Nick looks up at him, eyes hard, lips pressed tight together,
"I'm not a baby."
"I know that," Kevin says, because he can't look at Nick without seeing it, that Nick's old enough to be doing this, that he stopped being young enough for Kevin and Joe to protect completely.
"I can take care of myself."
Kevin doesn't lie, but doesn't bother to tell the truth, either; Nick knows it, saying it'll just start a fight. Nick looks at him for a few seconds longer, sighs and looks back out towards the street.
"That car's gone by seven times, should I - ?"
"No," Kevin says, because he's been watching, because he's felt more and more sure with every go around the block this is a guy who's after breaking someone, not just fucking them, and a longer fight with Nick later about being overprotective is way better than him getting hurt.
"I can take - " Nick starts, but right then a car pulls to the curb, the woman driving it looks over at them, and Kevin nudges Nick a little, because he never really worries about women and they tend to like Nick better, anyway. Nick looks up at him, opens his mouth to say something else, but closes it without speaking, just sighs before he strides over.
Kevin watches him, doesn't stop looking until he's in the car and out of sight around the corner, then scrubs his hands through his hair and takes a few steps forward to wait for the persistent john.
- - - - - -
"- get up. Oh man, I smell coffee. It'd be so awesome if I could walk. Or if the coffee would just come to me. Or - "
Kevin wakes up in the middle of Joe's ramble, not sure if Joe thought he was awake or was talking just to hear himself. Joe's face is nuzzled into Kevin's neck, words coming out half-muffled, and he's got too much of his weight resting on a fresh bruise, but Kevin just shifts the blanket higher, burrows against him. Coffee that traveled to them would be kind of awesome, Joe might be onto something.
"You know," Nick says, sets a mug on the bedside table next to Kevin and another next to Joe, because he's the best brother ever and also is probably about to try to have the sort of talk they need coffee for, "I don't like seeing you two hurt any more than you like it with me."
"Rough sex is a privilege of age, Nicky," Joe mumbles, sits up to get his coffee, leaves Kevin's side cold. His hair is mussed up, eyes not quite open yet, and Kevin hates when he looks this young. He thinks about pointing out the difference between rough sex and flat-out violence, but that won't help their cause, and Joe knows it, anyway.
"I doubt Kevin was telling you who you couldn't fuck when you were my age."
"We couldn't afford to be so choosy. And he did, anyway, just...not as much." Joe says, takes a sip and lets out an exaggerated moan. "You are the coffee king."
Nick sighs, frustrated, and sits on the end of the bed; Kevin finally musters up the energy to sit up, look at him. He looks tired, more than usual, worn out with worrying about worrying. Life would be so, so much easier if Nick – Hell, if Kevin – were more like Joe, could manage to stress out about taking care of each other without the anxiety taking over everything.
"It's gotta be grocery day," Nick says, changes the subject out of the blue. "Fridge is pretty empty."
- - - - - -
Nick isn't stupid, not even close, but he's got a talent for rationalizing that sometimes ends up with him doing stupid things to prove a point. And Kevin's not stupid, either, but he can be a little oblivious, doesn't always see the inevitable coming.
Joe doesn't call them oblivious and stubborn when he gets home to find Kevin still cleaning Nick up; he calls them both stupid. Several times.
"There wasn't anyone else," Nick says, winces as Kevin dabs at the cut above his eye.
"I was gone for, like, ten minutes, since when is ten minutes too long to wait?"
"Why'd you even leave, dumbass?" Joe asks, sits on the couch next to Kevin and grazes his thumb over Nick's split lip.
"It was ten minutes, I was fifty feet away," Kevin protests.
"I don't need him to watch me every fucking minute," Nick says at the same time, drowns Kevin out.
"Obviously you do. Fuck, Nicky."
Nick sighs, shifts out of the chair he's been sitting in while Kevin takes care of him and burrows between his brothers. "It was just a mistake."
Joe frowns, opens his mouth, but Kevin reaches over Nick, rests a hand on his shoulder, and he closes it without saying anything. The more they push, the more likely Nick is to try and prove them wrong, the higher the chance of this happening again.
They sit there in silence that's weirdly tense for them, Kevin reassuring himself with the solid weight of Nick against him, same way he's sure Joe's doing, until Nick gets up and walks off towards the bedroom without a word.
Kevin drops his head to Joe's shoulder, waits for Joe to pull away, lecture him again. When Joe doesn't, just leans into him, Kevin shuts his eyes and tries not to worry about how they're going to buy food when Joe cancels on all his regulars this week 'cause he doesn't trust Kevin to protect Nick anymore.
- - - - - -
"Do you need to take something?" Joe asks, presses against Kevin's side, murmurs right into his ear. "You're supposed to look like you're enjoying yourself."
Joe'd finally moved up enough in one of his regulars' estimation to have some influence, enough to convince him that all three of them, not just Joe this time, were a total necessity for his All My Favorite Clients, Debauch Yourselves party. Which, okay, the money was incredible, but apparently this was a Debauch Yourself In Public party, and Kevin wasn't exactly having an easy time with the idea of being as exhibitionist as the john of the moment wanted.
"I'm not taking anything," Kevin says, focuses on letting his shoulders drop in some cheap imitation of relaxing.
"Shh," Joe says, lips dry against Kevin's ear. He tilts his head a little, presses his forehead into Kevin's curls until Kevin turns his head a little, sees the woman staring at them. "She's been looking, a little, but I think she likes, y'know, this."
Kevin nods, leans into Joe a little. Fucking Joe somewhere less public than the crowded deck might relax him; one person watching he could handle. It'd work better for him than whatever Joe intended to slip him, anyway.
"You seen Nick?" Joe asks, slips his hand around Kevin's waist, and Kevin lets his eyes flutter shut like Joe's being ridiculously sexy.
"He was leading someone downstairs about ten minutes ago." Kevin turns his head, lets his lips brush Joe's. "Older guy. Hawaiian shirt and a suit jacket, ugh."
"Oh, he'll be fine, then."
Joe pushes his hips against Kevin's, turns his head to catch their audience's eye, charm her over with a smile. Kevin rests his head on Joe's shoulder, turns his face into the crook of Joe's neck, wills himself not to check his watch.
= = = = = =
Joe is mostly in love with his life. He'd love it more if he didn't feel so often like he was watching Kevin struggle to sacrifice himself, if he didn't have to watch his face age before he did with the stress of handling their all-too-empty bank account; he'd love it completely if Nick's need to prove his independence didn't end so often with black eyes, split lips, angry bruises on his ribs. If he didn't have to worry so much that any night he wriggled into his jeans and went off to entertain some old fart with a need for pretty young things, some middle-aged businesswoman too overworked to date, that when he came home Kevin would've broken under the strain and taken off, that Nick would've finally gone too far in his only-the-johns-Kevin-doesn't-think-I-should-take experiment and gotten seriously hurt, Joe might use the word perfect.
Okay, no, because "perfect" would include enough money to buy himself new clothes when he needs them, an apartment with more than one bedroom, a couch where you sit on cushions, not springs. But, y'know, close.
"Fuck off, Kevin," Nick shouts, just loud enough to be heard over the door slamming; he's already disappeared down the hall when Kevin opens the door and walks in, confused-hurt painted all over his face, just in time to hear the bathroom door slamming.
Offscreen violence. Incest.
"Fucker," Joe grumbles, drops down into the empty chair like he weighs twice as much as he actually does, tosses his shirt on the table so it gets in the way of Kevin's budgeting. "Doesn't matter where the fucking boundaries are, my clothes get ripped. I could stop 'em at, like, holding hands and smooching and they'd find a way to wreck my shit."
Kevin shoves the shirt out of the way, finishes writing a too-big check to cover their electricity; he almost wishes he still straightened his hair, so he could stop again. Not that it had made much difference, but some is better than none. "You should learn to sew."
"I think you need, like, patience, and shit." Joe tilts his head, tries to read what Kevin's written in his little ledger, but Kevin's writing is small and Joe's not entirely sober so it doesn't really work. "How're we doing?"
"Fine," Kevin says, what he always says.
"Rich yet?'
That joke's supposed to be off-limits; Kevin can handle jokes about pretty much everything, any one of his shortcomings, insecurities, but jokes about the worry that nags at the back of his mind every waking second, probably some sleeping ones, those aren't okay. Kevin just scowls.
"Just checking. And we – Nicky all set?"
"Yeah," Kevin says, points to the check sticking out from the front of his ledger. It's the first one he writes every month when he sits down to do the bills, a habit left over from before they let Nick work, from the year of one-room apartments and flipping coins to see which bills got paid when. It's less of a worry, now, Nick more than makes enough to pay for all his medicine, but it's the one thing they can't afford not to afford, and Kevin writes it into their budget with red pen.
"Can I get a new shirt?"
Kevin frowns, chews on the end of his pen for a second. "Next week."
"Cool," Joe says, stands up and ruffles Kevin's hair, wanders down the hall to the bedroom. "Get some sleep, Mr. Treasurer," he calls, and that really doesn't sound like a bad idea.
- - - - - -
Joe's been gone for an hour when Nick looks up at him, eyes hard, lips pressed tight together,
"I'm not a baby."
"I know that," Kevin says, because he can't look at Nick without seeing it, that Nick's old enough to be doing this, that he stopped being young enough for Kevin and Joe to protect completely.
"I can take care of myself."
Kevin doesn't lie, but doesn't bother to tell the truth, either; Nick knows it, saying it'll just start a fight. Nick looks at him for a few seconds longer, sighs and looks back out towards the street.
"That car's gone by seven times, should I - ?"
"No," Kevin says, because he's been watching, because he's felt more and more sure with every go around the block this is a guy who's after breaking someone, not just fucking them, and a longer fight with Nick later about being overprotective is way better than him getting hurt.
"I can take - " Nick starts, but right then a car pulls to the curb, the woman driving it looks over at them, and Kevin nudges Nick a little, because he never really worries about women and they tend to like Nick better, anyway. Nick looks up at him, opens his mouth to say something else, but closes it without speaking, just sighs before he strides over.
Kevin watches him, doesn't stop looking until he's in the car and out of sight around the corner, then scrubs his hands through his hair and takes a few steps forward to wait for the persistent john.
- - - - - -
"- get up. Oh man, I smell coffee. It'd be so awesome if I could walk. Or if the coffee would just come to me. Or - "
Kevin wakes up in the middle of Joe's ramble, not sure if Joe thought he was awake or was talking just to hear himself. Joe's face is nuzzled into Kevin's neck, words coming out half-muffled, and he's got too much of his weight resting on a fresh bruise, but Kevin just shifts the blanket higher, burrows against him. Coffee that traveled to them would be kind of awesome, Joe might be onto something.
"You know," Nick says, sets a mug on the bedside table next to Kevin and another next to Joe, because he's the best brother ever and also is probably about to try to have the sort of talk they need coffee for, "I don't like seeing you two hurt any more than you like it with me."
"Rough sex is a privilege of age, Nicky," Joe mumbles, sits up to get his coffee, leaves Kevin's side cold. His hair is mussed up, eyes not quite open yet, and Kevin hates when he looks this young. He thinks about pointing out the difference between rough sex and flat-out violence, but that won't help their cause, and Joe knows it, anyway.
"I doubt Kevin was telling you who you couldn't fuck when you were my age."
"We couldn't afford to be so choosy. And he did, anyway, just...not as much." Joe says, takes a sip and lets out an exaggerated moan. "You are the coffee king."
Nick sighs, frustrated, and sits on the end of the bed; Kevin finally musters up the energy to sit up, look at him. He looks tired, more than usual, worn out with worrying about worrying. Life would be so, so much easier if Nick – Hell, if Kevin – were more like Joe, could manage to stress out about taking care of each other without the anxiety taking over everything.
"It's gotta be grocery day," Nick says, changes the subject out of the blue. "Fridge is pretty empty."
- - - - - -
Nick isn't stupid, not even close, but he's got a talent for rationalizing that sometimes ends up with him doing stupid things to prove a point. And Kevin's not stupid, either, but he can be a little oblivious, doesn't always see the inevitable coming.
Joe doesn't call them oblivious and stubborn when he gets home to find Kevin still cleaning Nick up; he calls them both stupid. Several times.
"There wasn't anyone else," Nick says, winces as Kevin dabs at the cut above his eye.
"I was gone for, like, ten minutes, since when is ten minutes too long to wait?"
"Why'd you even leave, dumbass?" Joe asks, sits on the couch next to Kevin and grazes his thumb over Nick's split lip.
"It was ten minutes, I was fifty feet away," Kevin protests.
"I don't need him to watch me every fucking minute," Nick says at the same time, drowns Kevin out.
"Obviously you do. Fuck, Nicky."
Nick sighs, shifts out of the chair he's been sitting in while Kevin takes care of him and burrows between his brothers. "It was just a mistake."
Joe frowns, opens his mouth, but Kevin reaches over Nick, rests a hand on his shoulder, and he closes it without saying anything. The more they push, the more likely Nick is to try and prove them wrong, the higher the chance of this happening again.
They sit there in silence that's weirdly tense for them, Kevin reassuring himself with the solid weight of Nick against him, same way he's sure Joe's doing, until Nick gets up and walks off towards the bedroom without a word.
Kevin drops his head to Joe's shoulder, waits for Joe to pull away, lecture him again. When Joe doesn't, just leans into him, Kevin shuts his eyes and tries not to worry about how they're going to buy food when Joe cancels on all his regulars this week 'cause he doesn't trust Kevin to protect Nick anymore.
- - - - - -
"Do you need to take something?" Joe asks, presses against Kevin's side, murmurs right into his ear. "You're supposed to look like you're enjoying yourself."
Joe'd finally moved up enough in one of his regulars' estimation to have some influence, enough to convince him that all three of them, not just Joe this time, were a total necessity for his All My Favorite Clients, Debauch Yourselves party. Which, okay, the money was incredible, but apparently this was a Debauch Yourself In Public party, and Kevin wasn't exactly having an easy time with the idea of being as exhibitionist as the john of the moment wanted.
"I'm not taking anything," Kevin says, focuses on letting his shoulders drop in some cheap imitation of relaxing.
"Shh," Joe says, lips dry against Kevin's ear. He tilts his head a little, presses his forehead into Kevin's curls until Kevin turns his head a little, sees the woman staring at them. "She's been looking, a little, but I think she likes, y'know, this."
Kevin nods, leans into Joe a little. Fucking Joe somewhere less public than the crowded deck might relax him; one person watching he could handle. It'd work better for him than whatever Joe intended to slip him, anyway.
"You seen Nick?" Joe asks, slips his hand around Kevin's waist, and Kevin lets his eyes flutter shut like Joe's being ridiculously sexy.
"He was leading someone downstairs about ten minutes ago." Kevin turns his head, lets his lips brush Joe's. "Older guy. Hawaiian shirt and a suit jacket, ugh."
"Oh, he'll be fine, then."
Joe pushes his hips against Kevin's, turns his head to catch their audience's eye, charm her over with a smile. Kevin rests his head on Joe's shoulder, turns his face into the crook of Joe's neck, wills himself not to check his watch.
= = = = = =
Joe is mostly in love with his life. He'd love it more if he didn't feel so often like he was watching Kevin struggle to sacrifice himself, if he didn't have to watch his face age before he did with the stress of handling their all-too-empty bank account; he'd love it completely if Nick's need to prove his independence didn't end so often with black eyes, split lips, angry bruises on his ribs. If he didn't have to worry so much that any night he wriggled into his jeans and went off to entertain some old fart with a need for pretty young things, some middle-aged businesswoman too overworked to date, that when he came home Kevin would've broken under the strain and taken off, that Nick would've finally gone too far in his only-the-johns-Kevin-doesn't-think-I-should-take experiment and gotten seriously hurt, Joe might use the word perfect.
Okay, no, because "perfect" would include enough money to buy himself new clothes when he needs them, an apartment with more than one bedroom, a couch where you sit on cushions, not springs. But, y'know, close.
"Fuck off, Kevin," Nick shouts, just loud enough to be heard over the door slamming; he's already disappeared down the hall when Kevin opens the door and walks in, confused-hurt painted all over his face, just in time to hear the bathroom door slamming.