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The summer after Jean transfers to USC, Kevin decides to make it a habit to visit California every May.
It works out perfectly: The timing falls right in that sweet spot between the end of the exy season and the beginning of summer boot camps. Though Kevin despises the thought of not being on the court all day, every day—and has to do some serious mental work with Betsy in preparation for this self-imposed tradition—he also recognizes the need for some time away. Betsy says it should be good for his healing; Coach says he needs a break from his racquet.
“Enjoy yourself,” his father says to him at the airport, one heavy hand falling onto his shoulder. “Or try to, for once.”
Kevin isn't really sure what that's supposed to mean, but he hugs Coach from over the console anyway, before hopping out of the truck. He pulls the baseball cap down tight on his head after grabbing his luggage from the bed, and commences what is by now the well-known path through the South Carolina airport.
It's overly crowded as usual, but Kevin has become accustomed enough to it that he weaves through without issue. The most unnerving part reveals itself in the way this is one of the first times he's gone through an airport on his own—or, really, been anywhere without someone by his side. No Riko, no Jean, no Andrew. Just him, his carry-on, and a duffel packed to the brim with everything except his gear. It feels as if parts of him are missing; like he's left something on the nightstand, but it's too late to turn back, or forgotten to turn off a light before shutting the door. Still, he shoulders on. Races through check-in, gives the border security guy that goes, “The Kevin Day?” a tight smile and a signature before pulling his mask back up. He spends the time before his flight reviewing game footage and taking notes. When the boarding agents prepare to start calling the groups, he sends it all to Neil. His phone pings twice on the walk to the aircraft.
[FROM] Neil J.: fuck off kevin
[FROM] Neil J.: have fun in california
[TO] Neil J.: Don't flake on practice just because I'm not there. Your drill #4 still needs some work.
[FROM] Neil J.: I hope your plane crashes
An audiobook on the rise of the Tokugawa clan and its establishment of the Edo Period keeps him company throughout the flight. Six hours goes by before he knows it. At some point Kevin had dozed off, so he makes a point to take the proffered mint and pop it into his mouth before stepping off of the plane.
LAX is disgustingly crowded. Kevin keeps one hand glued to his carry-on as he rolls it through the airport, the other held steadfast to his cap, pulled low enough on his head that he can only barely make out the very first few feet in front of him.
He bypasses baggage claim and hightails it to the designated pickup area. It takes him a minute of searching before he finally spots Jeremy.
Seeing Jeremy always feels a bit like having the breath punched out of his lungs. He's pretty in the way Kevin has always been told is best to look at from afar, don't touch, don't get too close. The urge still lives within him anyway, but years of bowing his head to unforgiving monsters have made Kevin a master at keeping his hands to himself.
Kevin has also never fancied touching Jean's things.
“Oh, Kevin!” Jeremy exclaims when he spots him in turn, just as Kevin is pulling his face mask down. The smile Jeremy displays is more blinding than the sun; 1000 killawatts, all turned on Kevin. He resists the urge to squint. Smiles back and finds that he means it. “It's been too long. How was the flight?”
“Two weeks?” Kevin questions, one eyebrow raising in Jeremy's direction. The Foxes versus Trojans championship game had been one for the books, and he's sure Jeremy knows it just as well. It felt both like yesterday, and like a lifetime ago.
The man only laughs, body coiling with the force of it. “What can I say? Distance makes the heart grow fonder. You didn't even stay the weekend after the game!”
The accusation makes Kevin turn his eyes away from the blonde. “Sorry,” he says, right hand running nervously over the fabric of his hat. “I—Well. I wouldn't want to have intruded on your… celebrations.”
Celebrations is putting it lightly, but if Jeremy realizes it, he doesn't comment. He's nice enough to smile, even, and say, “You would've been welcome to join regardless. You're basically an honorary Trojan.”
When Kevin slides his gaze back to the other man, Jeremy is smiling, but his expression is one Kevin has a hard time deciphering. The warm brown of his eyes roll over Kevin's form as if assessing, but whatever Jeremy might see, Kevin doesn't know. The attention makes sweat drip down his back. Kevin, suddenly, feels much too hot—the temperature dialed up under Jeremy's scrutinizing and unforgiving attention.
“Shall we?” Jeremy says, breaking the spell. With a swallow, Kevin nods and follows him out of the Los Angeles airport.
Jeremy's truck isn't parked far—he rolls Kevin's carry-on while chatting animatedly about all the things he wants to do, places he wants to show Kevin. Kevin is much more struck by the fact that he has no memory of Jeremy even taking the luggage from him, and barely registers the words coming out of his mouth even as he loads it into the back.
“It'll be so much fun!” Jeremy is saying when Kevin snaps out of it. He turns to Kevin, that radiant smile melting any remaining ice Kevin had carried from South Carolina. "We're really excited you're here, Kevin."
“We?” tumbles from his mouth before Kevin can stop himself.
An odd look crosses Jeremy's expression then. He tilts his head to the side just slightly, arms coming up to cross over his chest as he leans back against the truck. Kevin swears he hears him chuckle.
“Yes, we,” Jeremy emphasizes, that searching gaze falling over Kevin once more. "He may be—pardon my French—absolute shit at showing it, but Jean does… enjoy your company, Kevin. When you're around it's like—" He interrupts himself then, his eyes unfocused, cast on something in the distance. Kevin finds that he's holding his breath. It must only be a second before Jeremy's gaze finds his again, and he's smiling like normal once more. “Like he's a bit more himself with you.”
And—well. Kevin isn't sure how to respond to that.
The air in his chest punches itself out in a rattle of a breath. He coughs in an attempt to cover it up, turning slightly away from Jeremy, but subtlety has never been his strong suit. Jeremy is a good enough person not to make a big deal of it; only pats his back, and starts towards the driver's side of the truck. Kevin readjusts the strap of his duffel before mimicking him to the passenger side.
“So,” Jeremy says as they start on the path back to Jean's apartment. “I know I yapped about all the things we could do—but what do you want to do, Day?”
Without needing to think, Kevin says, “Go to the court.”
He expects a sigh, or a sidelong look—as he's become so accustomed to—but Jeremy only laughs, boisterous and full of warmth. “Jean figured you would say that,” he says, shaking his head. He props one elbow on the windowsill and leans his hand on his head. It's cliché to think of him as a daydream, but Kevin does it anyway. Couldn't help himself if he tried. Jeremy has always been something of a deity to him: unreachable, untouchable, perfect in all the ways that matter. Kevin swallows hard. “He said—verbatim—that taking you from the court for too long was the same as cutting off your air supply.”
Kevin can't help tensing. “He's right,” he concedes, forcing his gaze to the window. “Exy is my end all, be all.”
It isn't meant to sound so depressing; it is simply the truth. Kevin has spent his whole life only knowing exy. Had consumed it greedily, like it had all the nutrients he needed to keep going, since he had been introduced to the sport. Exy is as integral to Kevin's life as his lungs, or his heart. His arteries are a mismatch of muscle and netted racquets.
And yet, Jeremy is saying, “That can't be true.” When Kevin slides his gaze over, his mouth is pulled into a frown. He tries and fails to understand why. “Jean told me you're studying… history? Despite the fact that all Ravens were supposed to be in business.”
He bristles slightly, but Jeremy isn't wrong. Kevin doesn't know how much Jean has told him, though, so he placates Jeremy with, “I didn't see a need to study business. I knew there was never a possibility that I could own myself. History was the only thing that made me feel connected to the world.”
When Jeremy only frowns harder, Kevin surmises that he must not have said the right thing. Stupid, idiotic Kevin. “I don't believe that,” he says, shaking his head. It wrangles blond curls into his eyes, and he peers through that gold when he glances at Kevin and adjoins, “You have always been your own person, Kevin. You do not belong to anyone.”
It's been three years since Kevin left Evermore. Two years since he was able to pick up a racquet again without a tremor in his hand. One year since he'd watched Neil set fire to the Nest without asking if Jean or Kevin were ready to fly.
Independence has never been Kevin's forte; outside of exy, he isn't certain if he has ever truly known who he was. Prodigy, they call him. Tensai. Once in a generation talent. They'd kept him sheltered, chained, tethered to that basement of shadows. Told him to grow just enough to be incredible, but stop just short of brilliant. Kevin had lived his whole life until Palmetto—and, some—as the star in a balancing act, walking a tightrope with no net at the bottom. To fail, to fall, meant death. To win, to fly, meant punishment. Riko had chosen for him. His fingers idly trace over white scars, blunt nails digging in until it hurts.
Jeremy says you do not belong to anyone as if it's easy—as if it really is just that simple. But a leash is still a leash, and despite the transfer of ownership, it is still branded Moriyama. He is forever chained. Forever at the mercy of another, whims and all.
But oh, how to explain that to someone like Jeremy?
Kevin knows his story, albeit in pieces, and knows despite his own idolizations that Jeremy is cuffed in ways he cannot begin to comprehend. Jeremy is studying law, Jean had told him bitterly last year. Kevin was not so oblivious as to miss the way Jeremy had looked when he'd said it: as if Jean had betrayed him, or maybe he'd betrayed himself. His own outrage aside—because Jeremy was not someone who should be anywhere but Court—Kevin had been confused more than anything. It was one thing to plan for the future, when your body could no longer withstand the long practices and the cruel beatings that came with the sport. It was another to resign yourself to giving it up before you'd even really started, and from the look on Jeremy's face, it had seemed all too much like the latter.
Still, Kevin does not think the former Sunshine Captain longs to hear of the intricate makings of his shiny new collar. “Maybe,” Kevin offers, what feels like an age later.
Jeremy is so kind, Kevin thinks to himself, as the other man takes the preferred out and launches into a list of food places they should try. Kevin listens reverently, but keeps his gaze locked on the view passing through the window. Maybe if he doesn't look at Jeremy, he can keep up the illusion a little longer.
The apartment is nicer than Kevin expects, if he's honest.
Though it doesn't have the same homeliness their previous abode had, it's obvious all its inhabitants are trying to change that, slowly but surely. There are hooks on the wall with each tenant's name engraved in it: Cat, Laila, Jean, Jeremy, and stickers anointing each one. Decor litters the entryway, overripe with plants, photos and postcards. Kevin spots one that he had sent to Jean over the winter as he toes off his shoes. He looks away just as quickly.
“Honeys, we're home!” Jeremy announces as he pads down the hallway, wheeling Kevin's suitcase with him. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Kevin is following along. “C'mon, Kev, let's get you a tour of the place.”
Kevin obediently trails behind as they venture deeper into the apartment. Jeremy points out the coat closet adjacent to the bathroom. As they come out of the hall, the space opens up fully, showing off a nicely-sized kitchen and dining area parallel to an open living space.
The three roommates are found here. Cat is standing at the stove, stirring something with an aroma that immediately brings Kevin's attention to just how famished he is. Laila and Jean are sitting at the table, where Laila appears to be making drinks while Jean cuts a myriad of vegetables. Music plays low in the background, something jazzy and spirited that only adds to the life in the house.
“Kevin!” Cat exclaims, placing her spatula down on the counter. Her smile is easy and welcoming when she approaches him, arms outstretched. Kevin doesn't really understand where the sudden bout of camaraderie comes from, given he doesn't particularly know her, but he's accepting enough of it, anyway. He reciprocates the hug with a light hand to her back, the other still holding onto the strap of his duffel. “Welcome to our home 2.0! I hope you like paella. How have you been?”
“Good, thanks,” Kevin says, attempting to smile in a way he hopes comes across as genuine. “And thank you again for having me. Sorry for the intrusion.”
“Oh, don't sweat it,” Cat says with a swat to the air. “A friend of Jean's is a friend of ours!”
“Kevin is my friend, too,” inputs Jeremy as he settles into the chair across from Jean.
Cat ignores him. Kevin swallows the feelings that threaten to rise within him. “We're stoked to have you.”
“I can't wait until a few years from now when I can tell everyone I hosted the Kevin Day in my apartment,” chimes Laila. She doesn't get up to greet him like her partner, but the smile she sends his way is warm enough. “What's up, Day?”
Kevin tries not to think about how much he loathes small talk. “Not much, Dermott. I hope those have vodka,” he says with a nod towards the glasses set out.
“Bit early to start, non?”
Meeting Jean's gaze is something Kevin has always had trouble doing. Blame it on the history, of the brutality of knowing so much about someone and feeling as if you never really knew them at all. There was a time where the only person Kevin could understand was Jean.
When he looks at him now, Kevin suddenly feels as if he's meeting someone much, much different.
It doesn't matter that they'd spoken only two weeks ago—that hadn't been about anything of any real importance. Even their texts are sporadic, interspersed only with commentary on each other's games throughout the season, checking up on teammates when they get injured, confirming that it really is okay if Kevin comes to stay for a few weeks. Kevin had suggested it offhandedly to Jeremy once; said that he'd want to spend more time here, getting to know Jeremy and Jean's new home. Jeremy had been the one to encourage him to ask, but Kevin isn't completely convinced Jeremy hadn't told Jean to say yes, either.
“Hey, Jean,” Kevin says. “It's nice to see you, too.”
The Frenchman hums and sets his knife to the side. When he moves, Kevin is struck by how… different, it feels. The Jean he had known off of the court had always been masking some kind of injury: a limp, a dislocated arm, a throbbing head wound. The Jean that presents himself before Kevin now stands tall and certain, unhurt and… content, maybe.
Kevin wonders if he's always been such an idealist.
“Yes.” Jean agrees, and pulls him in for a hug.
It catches Kevin completely off-guard. Jean, the battered. Kevin, the broken. He can't remember the last time they'd held each other without the echoes of pain.
It feels—
“Shit, my paella!” Cat cries suddenly. She knocks into Jean on her way back to the stove, jostling the two of them. Jean is quick to pull away afterwards, refusing to meet Kevin's eyes.
“Jean,” calls Jeremy after a few seconds of awkward silence and even more awkward distance between the pair. The raven turns to look at him over his shoulder. Kevin notices that his hair is long enough to cover his ears, now, and wonders when he decided to stop shearing it short. “Why don't you finish showing Kevin around? I can cut these up for you.”
There's a mildly concerning look of shock on Cat's face when he says it, and though Jean opens his mouth to protest, Laila is the one that beats him to it. “Great idea, Knox. About time you helped out around here.”
“Hey.”
As they descend into an argument, Jean turns back to Kevin. There's apprehension on his face, but he steels it behind something Kevin can't quite name. “Well, it is not much, but alright.”
Jean steers them to the room to the immediate right of the entrance hall. “This is where you will sleep,” Jean says when they peer inside. It's small enough that Kevin doubts it's even meant to be used as a bedroom at all, but he'd survived in a typical college dorm for two years now—surely it couldn't get much worse than that. There isn’t much in it save for the bed and a small dresser, adjacent to an empty closet. They leave his duffel on the bed, and roll in the luggage that Jeremy had left just outside the door. “My room is right next door.”
He hesitates, as if he isn't sure if he should show Kevin—or maybe wondering if Kevin wants to look—before walking the few steps down to the adjoining room. Jean pushes the door open with a languid hand, and leans against the doorframe while Kevin cranes his neck to peer inside.
“There is not much,” Jean says.
Kevin glances back at him. “It's more than you had—there,” he tries to point out, but chokes at the end. He’s quick to look back inside, not wanting to see whatever emotion crosses Jean’s face at the allusion. Something on the bed, however, catches his eye. “What is that?”
“Jabberwocky,” says Jean, like it's obvious.
“You have—a dog?”
“Unfortunately.”
“When…?”
“After we moved in. Jab, viens.”
And just like that, two tiny ears perk up, as if having been waiting for the command. The small animal hops off the bed and sticks itself to Jean's side, like all this is—normal. Kevin can't help the shocked expression that overcomes his features. Jean has a dog. With Jeremy.
Oh, fuck.
Jean leans down just enough to scratch at the dog’s ears. Kevin can’t stop staring at him. Despite the reverent way he’d spoken, like he himself was resigned to the fact that they had a dog at all, there’s a fond look in his eyes as he pets the creature. A strand of hair falls in front of his face. Kevin can’t stop staring, bewildered as he is at the sight before him.
“Jab, this is Kevin,” Jean says to the dog. It takes everything in Kevin to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. Jean tilts his head up, cloudy grey meeting forest green like something out of a fantasy, or an illusion. “Introduce yourself, Kevin.”
“What?” Kevin can’t keep from exclaiming. “Introduce myself? To… the dog?”
The look Jean gives him is incredulous—as if Kevin were the one asking something ridiculous. “He lives here, does he not? He will be your roommate as much as I or the girls.”
There’s a snicker from behind, and a melancholic, “I basically live here, too, what the hell?” Kevin ignores it to turn his attention from Jean to… Jabberwocky.
Jabberwocky has taken to sticking himself to Jean’s leg, though he watches Kevin like a hawk. Kevin crouches down, because God is this dog tiny, and holds out a hand. If memory serves, he’d once listened to an informational video about how best to approach animals. He advances towards the dog slowly, watching the way its eyes go from his outstretched hand to his face. When he deems it close enough he stops, and waits. He must do well enough, though, as Jab sticks his snout out a little further and sniffs at the hand presented to him. Kevin isn’t sure what makes a dog deem someone trustworthy, but Jab must find him suitable, as he nudges Kevin’s knuckles beneath his chin.
“He likes you,” Jean comments. Kevin looks up to meet his eye, idly scratching at Jabberwocky’s small head, fingers rustling in the fur. Jean has taken to leaning against the door of his room, arms crossed over his chest. It only serves to emphasize the tightness of his shirt, his muscles pulled taut beneath the fabric.
“Does he?” Kevin asks, but he barely hears the words leave his own mouth. There’s something about the way Jean is looking at him, from so far above, that has his mouth going dry. Kevin forces himself to look away.
Movement at his side has Kevin’s attention pulled to the left. Jeremy is settling on his knees next to him, a smile tugging at his lips. “Jab is a good judge of character. Thanks to me, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Kevin repeats, the word feeling as if it’s being pulled from the depths of his throat. The room feels as if it’s gotten ten degrees hotter, stuck as he is between the two of them.
“Here,” Jeremy says suddenly, reaching out. Kevin freezes in place. He can only watch, awestruck, as Jeremy takes his wrist and moves his hand to the dog’s stomach. The dog is quicker to catch on than Kevin, rolling onto its side so he can have better access. Kevin can barely process what’s happening, his attention transfixed on the slope of Jeremy’s nose, the dip of his cupid’s bow, made much more prominent with his head turned so slightly. “He likes when you rub him here. Oui, Jab? T’aimes ça?”
If Kevin had been astonished before, he’s positively flabbergasted now.
“When did you learn French?” He asks, nearly choking on it. He looks up at Jean, unable to keep the shock and confusion out of his expression. Jean gives him a lazy look in return, mixed with something Kevin recognizes but refuses to name. “Did you teach him?”
A splint against steel. “No.”
“I wanted to learn,” pipes in Jeremy. Kevin nearly breaks his neck with the speed he turns his head to look at the blond once more. Jeremy’s got a curious look in his eye, and if Kevin were able to process anything that had happened in the past five minutes, maybe he’d notice the smirk edging up his mouth. Alas, his focus stays divided between the new information, Jeremy’s dream-like gaze, and the browned hand that still circles his wrist. “To make Jean feel more at ease. Plus, knowing more than one language is always a plus, right?”
“Of course,” Kevin forces himself to say. He feels as if he’s been submerged underwater with no idea as to where the surface may be. “That’s very—kind of you.”
Jeremy’s gaze flicks briefly to Jean. What he could be looking for, Kevin has no idea. He’s quick to shove that expression away, though, instead turning up the heat on that million-dollar smile once more. “I only do what I can. It’s helped that we’ve been training Jab in French, but I’ve still got a long way to go.”
“Your dog speaks French.”
“Must be why he never listens to us,” comments Laila from behind Kevin. He looks over his shoulder to see her still sitting at the table, and the pitcher she’d been stirring set aside. Cat has her arms wrapped loosely over her shoulders as they both seem to be watching the scene before them. “He isn’t all that bad, though. Rarely barks. And only stinks up Jean’s room, for the most part.”
“My room does not stink, much less of dog,” Jean argues. Kevin can practically hear the eyeroll from down here.
But Catalina only smirks then, leaning down to stage-whisper into Laila’s ear, “Oh babe, we all know it reeks of something else in there.”
It’s such a blatant innuendo that even Kevin can’t help feeling embarrassed. It was one thing to know that Jean and Jeremy had gotten together in the past year; it was another to have the facts of their entanglement laid out so plainly before him. As the girls descend into a fit of giggles, Kevin finds himself looking towards Jeremy, only to find the former captain already looking his way.
“Ignore them,” Jeremy says, the tips of his ears a bruising red. “They’re joking.”
A hum from above has Kevin’s attention pulled back towards Jean, who regards Jeremy with a look that Kevin has never seen on the man for as long as he’s known him. It’s eerily close to the way Andrew looks at Neil, and something in his chest coils at the sight.
“Okay.” The word comes out forced, though Kevin does his best to make it seem natural. He gives the dog one more leisurely pet before pulling his hand back, Jeremy’s own falling with the movement. Kevin stands, and avoids looking at Jean directly when he asks, “So, that tour?”
Jean flicks his gaze over to him before nodding towards Jeremy, still sitting on the floor. “Jeremy can show you. I have to make sure that he did not fuck up the julienne.”
“No faith,” Jeremy says with a dramatic sigh as he picks himself up, lips jutting out in a pout. “You said I was getting better the other day!”
“If you know how to peel an apple you can easily take on a potato,” Jean retorts. He pushes off of the doorframe to head back to the table. “Dicing vegetables is still a weak point of yours.”
“Do you see how he treats me?” Jeremy asks Kevin, shaking his head. “So cruel.”
Kevin laughs drily, his attention divided between the two men. “Jean is only mean to the people that he likes,” he says before he can think better of it.
There’s an intrigued look in Jeremy’s eye when Kevin looks at him once more. “Is he now?” says the blond, raising a brow. “That explains why he’s always talking shit about us.”
“Us—?”
“Jeremy,” Jean cuts in. The squeak of the chair against the floor is purposeful when he pulls it out. “The tour?”
“Yes, yes,” Jeremy concedes with a wave of his hand. He turns and says over his shoulder, “I’ll show you the girls room next, Kev. No promises as to what lies inside, though.”
“Jeremy!” squawks Catalina. “I’ll have you know—”
Kevin follows Jeremy to the upper right side of the apartment as he disputes, “You literally left your dildo on the nightstand, Cat.”
“That was one time—”
He tunes them out as Laila joins in on the argument. Jeremy nudges open a door identical to the other two and has a look around inside before moving for Kevin to see. “The girls got the bigger room with the ensuite,” he explains. “Since we moved here before—you know.”
“Right,” Kevin says, glancing around. He can fill in the obvious blank Jeremy had left there: That they’d moved in before he and Jean had gotten together. He swallows whatever emotion that reminder has swelling up within him and focuses on the room itself. “It’s nice.”
“I swear Cat has a hoarding problem,” Jeremy remarks with a resigned shake of his head. “Most of the trinkets are hers.”
Kevin hums in acknowledgement and lets Jeremy shut the door. He continues to follow as Jeremy leads them to a sliding door to the left of the living space, pushing it open. Kevin follows him out onto the balcony, breathing in deep. Afternoon light bathes everything in gold, from the assortment of armchairs to the coffee table placed in the centre. City sounds and birdsong surround them as Kevin finally feels some of the anxiety melt from his marrow.
“The balcony, obviously,” Jeremy explains, padding over to one of the armchairs. “It’s got a pretty nice view, all things considered. Jean and Laila will take their coffee out here sometimes.”
A pretty nice view is a modest way of putting it: The balcony overlooks the city from a viewpoint that’s nearly picturesque, even from miles into the more residential area. Tall buildings rise in the distance, shadowed only by mountains.
“It’s a lot better than South Carolina,” Kevin counters, following Jeremy’s lead and taking a seat in the spot adjacent. He keeps his gaze on the skyline as he settles onto the plush cushion. “It’s beautiful.”
“I guess it is,” Jeremy agrees. When Kevin turns his head to look at him, he finds that Jeremy’s sunkissed gaze is already on Kevin. Jeremy smiles when their eyes meet. “We’re really happy you’re here, Kevin.”
An odd feeling stirs in Kevin’s chest. He inhales deeply and pushes it down, down, down. “Me too,” he says, fighting against the hope that Jeremy may have meant anything else.
True to his word, Jeremy takes them to the court first. Kevin has always loved USC’s stadium. It’s more spacious than the Foxes, with ample amounts of top-of-the-line spare gear. The feel of freshly-waxed court floors beneath his soles is enough to make Kevin feel right at home.
It’s just the three of them today. Laila and Catalina had been happy to kick them out of the house for some time by themselves. Being sexiled is nothing new to Kevin, and he will happily take a trip to the court over being stuck inside any day.
They play a 2-on-1, with Jean against the two strikers. Kevin never imagined there would be a day before they made Court where he would be able to play with Jeremy. His shining personality aside, Jeremy’s gameplay is practically flawless; he manages to skirt around Jean with ease, lithe build propelling him forward. His technique is incredible too, given he’d never touched a Raven drill before last year. Every pass Jeremy sends Kevin’s way is precise and clean. Like he knows exactly what Kevin wants without him needing to ask.
Playing against Jean is something Kevin supposes he has gotten used to since transferring to the Foxes. Or, at least, that’s what he had thought. But Jean has changed tremendously as a player since the transfer. Though he’s still brutal and unforgiving to go up against, he’s all but kicked the nasty footwork that the master had drilled into him. His checks are all in-line, never toeing past the precipice of questionable legality. He’s faster now, too, given he no longer has to play the game while nursing a variety of wounds. No—the Jean before him is not only getting to play exy the Trojan way, but his way too. It’s a bewildering sight, yet Kevin can’t help but feel moved by it.
When he’d left Jean and the Nest, he’d known what fate he would be subjecting the other man to. He’d known it was cruel and unfair and he had done it anyway. It’s not that Kevin thinks that if he could, he would do anything different; Jean has never needed to be saved by him, and he knows it just as well. Kevin had placed his faith in the opportunities that would open up should he save himself. Renee’s heart, Neil’s will and Jeremy’s favour had served as Jean’s golden ticket. In the story that was the remaking of Jean Moreau, Kevin was nothing more than the thread tying them together.
Seeing Jean smile at the end of the scrimmage still makes it all feel worth it, somehow.
“Jesus, Kev,” Jeremy heaves at his side. He’s got both hands stacked on the butt of his racquet, using it as a headrest. “You know exy doesn’t pick up again until September, right?”
From in front of them, Jean snickers. “Exy would have no off season if it were up to him,” says the raven as he peels off his gloves. “His brain is made up of exy and nothing more.”
Kevin rolls his eyes but lets the insult wash over him. He rakes a hand through his hair, loosening the tangles that had formed beneath his helmet. “It’s important to maintain form even during the off-season.”
It pulls a soft laugh out of Jeremy. “You would say that,” Jeremy says. A smile curls his lip then, and Kevin feels his spine go ramrod straight. The temperature on the court seems to rise by ten degrees when Jeremy adds, “So insatiable, Kevin.”
He isn’t allotted the grace to process what Jeremy could possibly mean by that. “Didn’t you know, Jeremy?” Jean says with a pointed look towards Kevin. His skin feels alight under that gunmetal gaze, poised and ready to fire. “Kevin has always been greedy.”
“I—” Kevin starts, but nothing follows. Kevin has the sensation of, suddenly, being caught between two predators, and both of them have their eyes set on him. He isn’t sure what to do under the scrutiny, isn’t even sure what to think. Really, Kevin isn’t certain if he’s even able to think at all.
Unexpectedly, it’s Jeremy that gives him an out. “Heavy wears the crown,” he says as he stands up properly. He flashes Kevin one of his toothy smiles and playfully bumps against his shoulder, adding, “Isn’t that right, Queen?”
It’s enough to jostle Kevin out of—whatever that moment had been. He laughs with no real emotion behind it. “Right,” he says, turning his gaze towards the floor. Jean says something that Kevin doesn’t catch, too caught up in his own thoughts. The lone Fox follows behind them at a languid pace as they all head for the showers, unsure of what to make of what they could have possibly meant.
If Kevin tries to scrub away any thoughts he may have at all under the scorching spray of the shower, that’s for him to deal with, and him alone.
Because it can’t have meant anything. Not in the way he would ever hope.
Despite his initial reservations—and the conversation on the court that Kevin tries fervently to stop thinking about—the first two weeks pass without much of anything to note.
They go out shopping with Cat and Laila. Laila pushes for Kevin to try “boba,” which he quickly realizes he hates, overwhelmed by the suddenness of the tapioca. They get Kevin a pair of swim trunks when he reveals that he hadn’t actually thought to bring one, to Jeremy’s intense distress. “You’re in California,” he insists, hand circled around Kevin’s wrist as they drag him towards the nearest swimsuit store. “Obviously we’re going to the beach.” Cat forces him to model every option, with the group whooping and hollering each time he steps out of the changing room. Kevin doesn’t understand the importance nor relevance, and finds comfort only in the way Jean stays resolutely silent throughout the entire affair.
They visit an arcade; go out on walks with Jabberwocky, the French-speaking dog; take a trip to the Natural History Museum. Cat makes them take photos of Kevin against something apparently very famously known as the angel wall, swearing it as a rite of passage for any visitor to the State. Kevin doesn’t really understand, but he lets them take their pictures, shouting at him in the imitation of paparazzi.
It feels… Well, quite strange.
They’re so different from the Foxes. They’re lively and vibrant and treat Kevin the way he imagines normal friends probably would. Kevin hasn’t known normal since before he was adopted into the Nest. The memories are coated in sepia, vignette darkening the edges, blurring his focus. As if they happened to someone else and Kevin was only given the remnants. Nothing worth salvaging, nothing worth holding onto. Riko’s voice an echo in his ear: Who needs memories?
The closest he’d come to any semblance of normalcy since had been with Andrew and Neil, he supposes, but even that was entirely incomparable. Their issues aside, neither of them had ever known what it meant to be normal, either. He supposes that’s part of why their friendship had always worked: A mismatch of people and their discorded parts, learning how to make them fit.
With Jean, Jeremy, Cat and Laila, they slot Kevin into their life with ease. Though Jean knows him well—better than Kevin would like to face or admit—and Jeremy has been his acquaintance for the better part of four years, neither of them had needed to be in his presence for anything unrelated to exy. It’s the first time in a long time that anyone has gotten to know Kevin, the person, as opposed to Kevin Day, #2.
He wonders what kind of difference it makes.
The room he’s staying in is, to be honest, quite dark. Cat had attempted to spruce it up with something called a “sunset lamp,” but it still reminds Kevin eerily of darker shadows and close corners. He wakes the same way he always has: with resentment and displeasure. He yawns loudly as he stands from the bed, stretching his arms over his head. For the sake of rooming with two women he didn’t know very well, Kevin has taken to wearing a t-shirt to bed—some old, ratty thing he thinks might actually be Matt’s—but fuck if it isn’t hot. Summer hasn’t even officially started yet. Sweat sticks to his back, the fabric rubbing discomfortingly against his skin when he reaches to grab his glasses.
He’s rubbing at his eyes as he exits the dim room, which is probably why he doesn’t notice at first. Sleep crusts the edges, his vision blurred with the way he’s pushed up the lenses. Kevin’s feet go to take him to the bathroom first, but it’s the sound that stops him in his tracks.
His hand falls, and the wire-rim frames slot back into place. In full focus, Kevin notices then how Jean has pushed Jeremy up onto the kitchen counter, and is currently attempting to suck his lips off of his face.
“Oh,” Kevin blurts out before he has time to think. The pair pull away from each other quickly at the noise, though there isn’t much place for them to go. Not when Jeremy has all but locked Jean in place, legs wrapped around his waist and arms crossed behind his neck. Not when Jean has both hands gripped underneath Jeremy’s own shirt, curling into his skin. Twin looks of surprise take over their features, mouths fallen into mirroring o’s.
“Sorry,” Kevin continues, trying to avert his eyes but unsure of where the fuck he’s supposed to look. He turns his gaze to the floor, honing his focus on one of Jab’s toys. “Sorry, I—I’m just—going to the bathroom…”
Yet Kevin’s feet refuse to move. It feels as if he’s been chained to this spot, his body still trying to process what it is that he’s seeing. No, that wouldn’t be right. Kevin knows. He just hadn’t thought—
“It’s okay, Kev,” Jeremy says airily, like it doesn’t mean anything at all. Kevin forces himself to meet his gaze, noting how Jean has silently stepped to the side, leaning against the counter. Jeremy’s legs swing back and forth with the newfound freedom, an easy smile on his red-bitten lips. “Sorry. I promise nothing worse than kissing has occurred on this counter.”
“I would not promise that,” is the snide comment from Jean, who is staring very pointedly at the cabinet. One of Jeremy’s legs swings out and kicks him. Jean cuts a glare his way.
“Anyway!” Jeremy cheers, hoping down from his seat. Kevin makes a concentrated effort not to look at the way his shorts have ridden up his thighs, and does an even more impressive job of not thinking about how it might feel to be the one between them. He needs a cold shower, stat. “Good morning. Coffee? We just made a pot.”
Kevin swallows hard. A whirlwind of emotions are swirling inside of him, spinning so fast it feels as if there’s a tornado in his ribcage. “Sure,” he squeezes out, attempting to let the dust settle. “I’ll just—go brush my teeth.”
He shuffles away as Jeremy chirps out a too-bright, “Okay!” The door to the bathroom closes behind him with what feels like a death note. He turns the faucet on, and places his hands on each end of the sink as he stares at his reflection.
“Fuck my life,” Kevin tells the mirror, before dunking his head in the basin of water.
Thurs, May 15 at 11:07 AM
[TO] Andrew M.: how did you know you were gay
[TO] Andrew M.: actually no
[TO] Andrew M.: how did you know you were into neil
[TO] Andrew M.: scratch that
[TO] Andrew M.: how did you and neil start fucking
Thurs, May 15 at 2:36 PM
[TO] Andrew M.: ?
Thurs, May 15 at 5:15 PM
[TO] Andrew M.: seriously
Thurs, May 15 at 8:44 PM
[TO] Andrew M.: you’re the worst
[FROM] Andrew M.: thx
Kevin doesn’t understand the semantics that lead them to attending this party.
It’s hosted by one of the other Trojans, but that’s as much as Kevin knows. Cat had run into the room squealing about it a few days prior—the day of the kitchen incident, that Kevin adds to the list of things he tries to stop thinking about. Jean had been making lunch while Kevin and Jeremy watched old Trojan games when she had charged in, shouting, “Pat’s got a free house! We’re partying tonight, boys!”
There are few things Kevin dislikes more than parties with people he doesn’t know. The only saving grace is Laila’s promise of an ample supply of vodka, which is one of the only reasons Kevin is convinced to attend rather than sit alone in the apartment. Jeremy takes great pleasure in dressing him, since Kevin, in his words, hadn’t brought anything that truly “shows off his assets.” Kevin ends up in a too-tight black tee that’s slightly too short for his torso and a pair of black jeans. He’s adorned with necklaces and bracelets from every member of the house that itch at his skin, but Kevin tells himself that once he’s got some alcohol in his system the sensation will hopefully fade.
When they get there, the party is already in full swing. Music can be heard even from the street as they make their way up the drive. Inside is a sea of people, a combination of exy players and other USC students. It looks as if most of the team have made it out, and more trickle in as they make their way through the house. Cat and Laila disappear quickly, spotting some of their peers from their classes. Jean and Jeremy stay glued to Kevin’s side, though Jeremy is saying hello to nearly everyone they pass. Kevin is mystified at just how many people he knows; he’d figured Jeremy was popular—it was impossible to think he could be anything but—yet still, there must be at least 100 people crowded in here. Jeremy addresses them all by name.
“Has Jeremy studied the USC class list or something?” Kevin asks Jean, the two of them following behind the blond.
“You would think so,” Jean replies, gaze locked on his former captain. “But unfortunately he is just that nauseatingly friendly.”
Kevin hums, though he doubts Jean can hear it over the music. The trio make their way to the kitchen, where bottles upon bottles are piled on the island. Kevin reaches immediately for the Grey Goose. He locates an empty red solo and begins to pour while Jeremy opens a beer for himself and Jean, the two of them leaning against the counter.
“Jere!” a voice chimes in suddenly. From the other side of the kitchen, Patrick Toppings saunters in, a lazy, alcohol-fueled smile on his face. Ananya Deshmukh trails him, their hands clasped tightly together even as the man gestures wildly. “You made it! And I see you brought company,” he grins as he says it, gaze roaming over Jean and Kevin.
“I’d be a bad boyfriend if I left them behind,” Jeremy answers. Kevin is much too sober to process that choice of words, and chooses to drain his cup instead of joining the conversation. “You know how it is, Pat.”
“That I do,” Patrick says, laughing. “Happy wives, happy life, right?”
The wives nearly makes the bottle tip in Kevin’s hand as he goes to pour himself a second glass. He can feel Jean’s eyes on him, but chooses to ignore that inquiring gaze. “But of course,” Jeremy agrees. From the corner of his eye, he sees him snake a hand around Jean’s waist. “You guys have met Kevin, right?”
“Not officially,” Patrick says, finding his eye. Kevin forces himself to plaster a friendly smile on his face, nodding at the former Trojan backliner. “Kevin Day in the flesh, huh? Jeremy was right. You’re even more attractive without all the exy gear on.”
Kevin chokes. Ananya rolls her eyes. “Don’t pay him any mind,” she says, sliding a judgemental look towards Patrick. “He loses his filter when he starts drinking.”
Jean reaches over to give Kevin’s back a resounding smack. “No worries,” says Kevin when the coughs subside, placing his cup down. Jeremy is grinning into his beer as he sips. “Nice to meet you guys. Great party.”
“A compliment from the Queen of the Court himself,” Patrick grins, turning towards Ananya. “Did you hear that, babe? Oh my God, I need to tell Cody. They’ll be so jealous.”
“Whatever you say, baby,” she laughs. They share a kiss before Patrick pulls away, leaving her behind as he heads out of the room to, presumably, look for Cody Winter. Ananya watches him go, before turning back to the three of them. “Sorry about him,” she apologizes, walking further in to give Jeremy a quick side hug. “He and Cody have been… theorizing, I suppose.”
“About?” Jean asks, raising an eyebrow.
She takes a moment to think, head tilted slightly. “What Kevin off of the court would be like,” she decides on after a moment, her feline-like gaze locking onto Kevin. Her smile is all-too-knowing for Kevin’s liking. He gulps down the liquid in his cup and pours out a third. “Cody said you’d only have eyes for these two, but Pat thought he could get you to come around.”
“Come around to what?” Kevin can’t help asking, choosing to ignore the first portion.
A spike of terror shoots up his spine when she says, “To him, of course. He’s a very big fan.”
Kevin’s jaw drops, unable to fully comprehend the words that are being said to him. Surprisingly, though, it’s Jean who finds his voice first. “Patrick would do well to keep his attention on what he has, hm? Are you and Cody not enough for him?”
His voice is uncannily icy when he says it. Kevin knows him well enough to recognize the disapproval, but fails to understand where it comes from. Ananya regards Jean with a hardened look. “Now, now, Jean,” Jeremy says placatingly, hand rubbing soothingly at Jean’s waist. “You know she’s just joking. Kevin is off-limits.” Brown eyes cut to the side, meeting Kevin’s green with an indecipherable expression. “To them, at least.”
Now what could that mean?
“Does Patrick know that?” Jean asks, shrugging Jeremy off. Jeremy relinquishes his hold with ease, watching the raven curiously. “Perhaps he needs to be told.”
“Watch it, Jean,” Ananya says carefully as she eyes him. “Pat isn’t going to put a hand on your precious chess piece, if that’s what you’re so worried about.” A smirk curls her lip as she looks to Kevin, and gestures towards him. “Well, not if Kevin doesn’t want him to.”
“I’m good,” Kevin rasps.
“Then allow me to pass on the message,” Jean says, before heading out the same way Patrick had gone.
Jeremy watches him go with a sigh. “Must you always provoke him?” The blond says to Ananya, looking at her disapprovingly. “You know how he is.”
“It is not my fault your boyfriend is the possessive type,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe you should work on staking your claim so other people don’t get the wrong idea.”
“I think I was pretty clear.”
“Clear about what?” Kevin asks, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone. He’s been present for this entire exchange and yet feels at a complete loss for whatever they may be talking about—because surely it couldn’t be about him.
Ananya shares a look with Jeremy that he can’t decipher. Jeremy rolls his eyes before turning towards Kevin. He sets his beer on the counter, barely touched, and takes the few steps that separate them to grab at Kevin’s scarred hand. His touch is like kindle to Kevin’s too-warm skin. He reaches for his forgotten cup if only for some way to attempt to cool it down. “Nothing, Kev,” Jeremy says, giving him a closed-mouth smile. “Come on, let’s go dance.”
“I don’t really—”
“Have fun, you two,” Ananya bids them goodbye with a wave. “I need to make sure my partners are still alive.”
“Tell Jean to join us if you find him,” Jeremy calls over his shoulder as he drags Kevin back the way they came. Kevin stumbles trying to follow him, drink sloshing in his hand. If Jeremy wants to dance, though, Kevin deems it better to down it in one. He chugs the glass and leaves it on the first surface he can find as Jeremy pulls them to where the music is loudest, the crowd thick and heaving with bodies.
They join the fray and are quick to lose themselves in the sea. Kevin doesn’t dance anymore, but Jeremy leaves him little choice than to join him. He keeps their hands locked together as they sway to the beat. Jeremy’s smile is radiant even in the darkness of the room, lit up only by the fairy lights strung on the walls.
The song changes to something grittier, dirtier. Kevin keeps his eyes on Jeremy, following his lead. The switch has something inscrutable twinkling in Jeremy’s eyes. He pushes closer to Kevin, abandoning the grip on his hand to wrap his arms around the taller man’s neck. Up close, it’s easier for Kevin to make out the scatter of freckles across Jeremy's face, a constellation against tan skin more impressive than the night sky. Kevin’s hands wander down to Jeremy’s waist, keeping him near, his touch featherlight.
His breath hitches in his throat when Jeremy leans up, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Where’d you learn how to dance, Kev?” Jeremy asks, the clarity of his voice a shock to Kevin’s system. One of his legs slots between Kevin’s, following his rhythm.
Kevin swallows hard. He turns his head, blond curls tickling his nose, to answer, “The Foxes are the clubbing type.”
“Good to know,” Jeremy laughs. Kevin feels fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and struggles not to tighten his grip on Jeremy’s body. The cotton of his shirt feels like both a barrier and a warning. Not yours. “You’ll have to show us when we come out there.”
Maybe it’s the setting. Most likely it’s the alcohol. A rare stroke of bravery has Kevin saying, “And when will that be?”
He can feel Jeremy’s smile against his skin when he answers, “Whenever you’ll have us, of course.”
Jeremy pulls away just enough so they can look at each other once more. Kevin prays that when he meets Jeremy’s stare, the other man can’t see the effect his words have on Kevin.
“Well I never would’ve pegged you for the dancing type,” Laila’s voice cuts in suddenly from their left. Kevin takes longer to pull his gaze from Jeremy to her. Cat is at her back, a drink in one hand, and a smirk tugging at her mouth.
“You’re full of surprises, Kev,” Cat says. She steps around Laila and bumps Jeremy with her hip. “Move over, Cap. I wanna test out his skills.”
Jeremy laughs and concedes his spot, arms falling from around Kevin’s shoulders. Kevin’s own return to his sides, uncertain of whatever he’s supposed to do now that Cat’s in front of him. “Just don’t break him,” Jeremy says, winking at Kevin. “I’m going to see if I can find Jean.”
“No promises,” Laila says, moving over so Jeremy can pass through and leave the throng of people. Kevin tries very hard not to follow him with his eyes. “Show us how they do it on the east coast, Day.”
And just this once, Kevin decides maybe it’s okay to let loose, if only for a little bit. Here in this sea of people, where hardly anyone knows him. He joins Cat in her ridiculous dance moves—the robot, the sprinkler, even making a sad attempt at the moonwalk. Laila cheers them on, moving much more demurely to the music. Three songs pass without Kevin even noticing; he realizes, alongside his creeping thirst, that he may actually be having fun. Normal, every-day-person kind of fun.
“Time out,” he says, breathless, when the fourth song ends. He weirdly feels more exhausted from all the dancing than he would from the first half of a game. “I need another drink. And a piss.”
The girls laugh but make room for him to pass. “We’ll be right here,” Laila says as she tugs on Cat’s hand to bring her in close. “Bathroom should be upstairs, second door on the right.”
Kevin nods before forcing himself out of the crowd. It seems to have only gotten thicker as they’ve danced, with people filling every corner of the house. He recognizes nearly no one except for the stray Trojan as he heads towards the stairs.
He makes his way up leisurely, squeezing past strangers chatting and making out along the way. He mutters excuse me and sorry as he attempts to make his way to the washroom, shuffling past them all. On the second landing, all the doors are closed, but he can hear a mix of voices speaking and the arbitrary moan. He follows Laila’s directions and tugs on the handle of what should be the bathroom door, pushing it open.
And of course, because this would only ever happen to him, he walks in on Jeremy on his knees in front of Jean.
Jean’s eyes find him first, wide-eyed and mouth open on a broken-off moan. “Oh, shit,” Kevin yelps, before quickly pulling the door closed. He knows it’s too late, though. The image is burned into his retinas, and a fierce blush quickly takes over his face.
He turns tail swiftly and takes the stairs back down two at a time. A voice behind him calls out, “Kevin, wait,” but he ignores it. He speeds through the kitchen, grabbing the first bottle he can find and heading out the back door. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s just seen. He doesn’t want to remember.
It’s painful enough to acknowledge that Jean doesn’t need or want him anymore. It’s harsh to know that Jeremy has and always will be something he can only idolize and never have. But recognizing it all is one thing; living it is another.
Because how is he supposed to move on from this now? How is he supposed to pretend not to know what Jeremy looks like with his mouth stuffed to the brim, eyes hooded in bliss? How is he supposed to feign being unaware of what Jean sounds like when he feels good, hand fisted in a mop of hair, silently asking for more? It had only been a few seconds, but that was more than enough. The wet sound of Jeremy’s sucking, the bulge in his cheek, the way that Jean’s throat had worked trying not to be too loud—it’s all too much. He gets down two of the concrete steps before he forces himself to sit. The bottle is half empty before the sliding glass door is being pulled open again.
A voice he could pick out in any crowd rasps from behind him, “Kevin.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, unable to turn around. A group of people in the backyard are chatting animatedly by the firepit, a joint being passed around their circle. The sound isn’t enough to drown the tsunami of feelings swirling in Kevin’s chest. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to walk in.”
“You do not need to apologize,” Jean says. Careful steps tread towards him, a black boot stopping just short of his thigh. “We did not mean for you to…”
He trails off, but Kevin can fill in the rest of that sentence without his help. He takes another gulping swig from the bottle. “It’s fine,” he slurs, wiping at the trail of vodka that dribbles from the side of his mouth. “‘S not my place.”
“That is not what I meant,” Jean says, but it sounds as if it’s being choked out of him. Before Kevin can register what’s happening, he’s joining Kevin on the steps. His body heat is a salve against the cool night air that Kevin resents himself for finding familiar. “We–”
“Really, Jean, it’s okay,” Kevin cuts him off. The vodka is sloshing through his bloodstream with fervor now. His mind feels clouded with a light fog, his muscles losing their previously held rigidity. He keeps his gaze on the raging fire as he continues, “I’m happy for you. You deserve—someone like Jeremy. You suit each other.”
“This is not about what I deserve,” Jean says harshly. A rough hand reaches up to grab at the bottle. Kevin sputters as it’s taken from him and placed on Jean’s other side, out of his reach. He glares at his former teammate, but Jean holds it with his own scowl to match. “What about what you want?”
“What?” Kevin stammers, confused. “Does that matter?”
“When have you ever cared about whether or not it matters?” Jean retorts. It stings even through the haze. “You are the spokesperson for taking things into your own hands.”
Kevin shakes his head. Jean is wrong. This is something—they are something completely out of Kevin’s reach. “Not this. I can’t have this.”
“And what is ‘this’?” Jean asks. Kevin loves and loathes the meanness of him. Craves it as much as he abhors it.
He lowers his eyes to the grass. “You know what.”
Jean’s hand flies up to his jaw, catching it and turning Kevin’s face towards him again. Kevin goes wide-eyed, confronted by that hard steel, and the rough press of fingers against his skin. “No, I do not. You are as horrible of a communicator as I remember.”
“Is that all you remember?” He asks before he can stop himself. Memories buoy in the water of his mind, fighting to break through the surface.
When Jean’s gaze drifts down to his mouth, Kevin cannot help the swell of desire that surges in his chest. “As if I could forget,” Jean says, barely a whisper above the smoke-filled wind.
Kevn’s instincts are screaming at him to lean in, close the distance, see if Jean’s mouth is as soft as he remembers. His mind keeps him rooted where he is, unable to be the one to cross that line this time. Not yours, it recounts, over and over again, even as Jean seems to get impossibly closer.
It’s Jeremy’s voice that snaps them out of the moment. “There you are!” he exclaims, panting. Jean’s hand falls from his face. Kevin is slow to move away, even as the Frenchman looks over his shoulder to address Jeremy. “I was looking for you everywhere.”
“I believe it may be time to go,” Jean says, with a pointed glance in Kevin’s direction. Kevin averts his eyes, unable to face him. “Kevin is drunk.”
Kevin whips around to contest that. “I am not–”
“Aww,” Jeremy coos, skipping down to where they are. He ruffles a hand through Kevin’s hair even as he squawks. “Drunk Kevi! How cute.”
The nickname is one thing, but— “Cute–?”
“Are the girls staying?” Jean asks as he stands, dusting off his jeans.
“Probably,” Jeremy says. His hand curls in Kevin’s hair, scratching at his scalp. It sends a wave of pleasure down Kevin’s spine, making him lax; the struggle bleeding out, the liquor settling in. “Let’s get you home, hm?”
Jean offers Kevin a hand and helps him stand. The motion forces him to confront the level of his inebriety, stumbling up the steps. Jean keeps their hands locked all the while, through the house and into Jeremy’s truck.
Kevin passes out on his shoulder within minutes, his dreams a kaleidoscope of blond curls and silver eyes.
“Neil.”
“Did no one ever teach you how to pick up the phone?” Kevin says into the receiver, scowling. “Asshole.”
“Didn’t really have time between the runaway mother and mobster father. What do you want, Kevin?”
“What, I can’t just call you?”
There’s a long silence on the other end. “I guess.”
“I hate you so much,” Kevin says on a long exhale, pleading with whoever it is that may be up in the sky to give him some fucking patience. He slows to a walk as he reaches an intersection. He’d woken with a hangover, and the only cure he could think of was going for a run. Calling Neil had been an impulse decision he’d made on his trek back. “Have you been working on your drills?”
“Did you seriously call me to ask about practice? I can start recording them.”
He could be annoyingly quick on the uptake when he wanted to be, Kevin thinks to himself disappointedly. “No,” he concedes, starting up a jog when the walk light changes again. “I had… a question.”
“Okay?”
Christ fucking help him.
Kevin reins in the instinctual fuck you that threatens to tumble out, inhaling deeply. “When did you realize Andrew was into you?”
Silence.
His headphones are tangled when he tries to pull his phone out of his pocket to check that Neil hasn’t hung up. He hasn’t, if the flashing timer is anything to go by, so Kevin waits. It’s another thirty seconds before Neil says, “When he told me.”
Kevin’s brow furrows as he tries to think of when that could possibly have been. That, and the fact that Andrew had been painfully obvious, even to him. “That’s it?”
“Well, how else was I supposed to know?” Neil says. Kevin can picture him rolling his eyes. “Was a little more focused on the whole staying alive thing than whatever Andrew had going on.”
That, Kevin knows, is a flat out lie. Neil had forsaken the staying alive thing to ensure Andrew’s safety, but he keeps that thought to himself. If Neil was too stupid to realize it on his own, Kevin wouldn’t be the one to grant him that epiphany. “Riveting,” he drawls, turning onto the street of the apartment. “Then, if he hadn’t said anything, do you think you ever would have realized?”
The answering silence seems to be more of Neil pondering than purposefully leaving Kevin hanging. “I don’t know,” Neil answers honestly. “I guess… looking back, it felt inevitable.”
“That’s gross.”
“You literally asked.”
“Still gross,” Kevin heaves. He walks to the front door of the building, punching in the code. “But you two were made for each other, so maybe it checks out.”
On the other end, Neil snorts. “Are you some kind of romantic now, Kevin? I didn’t think you could have feelings for things other than exy.”
Ouch. “I have lots of feelings, asshole.”
“Uh huh,” Neil says sarcastically. “Tell your boyfriends I said hi.”
“They are not–”
The dial tone answers back. Kevin briefly considers throwing his phone at the wall, but settles for angrily punching in the floor number in the elevator instead.
The apartment is quiet when he enters. Kevin mimics it, silently removing his shoes as he heads to his bedroom. The run had helped, somewhat, but he longs desperately for a shower and a cup of coffee.
As he steps out of the hall, a small noise catches his attention. At first, Kevin thinks it’s Jab. The dog had a penchant for running into things and knocking objects over. But as he walks further in, he finds the animal sound asleep on its dog bed by the balcony, basking in the late morning sun. He furrows his brow as he creeps slowly in, until he hears it again.
Kevin is not stupid. Despite whatever they may think, or how heavy of a sleeper Kevin might be, he has heard Neil and Andrew enough to recognize the distinct sound of moaning. He shuffles along the wall, bypassing his appointed room, and notes that Jean’s bedroom door is just slightly ajar. Against his better judgement, Kevin finds himself peering inside.
His hand flies up to his mouth to keep himself quiet. The scene before him is something straight out of Kevin’s fantasies; something he has tried for weeks to keep on lockdown, freed only in the privacy of the shower, the evidence washed away.
Jeremy is facedown in the bed, one of Jean’s hands curled around the back of his neck. Sweat mats his hair to his forehead, his eyes shut tight while filthy moans spill from his mouth. Behind him, Jean grunts as he fucks into him, his boxers bunched at his knees. His other hand holds Jeremy’s hip with a deathly grip, dark bruises blossoming against the skin.
“Fuck,” Jeremy is saying, saliva spilling out of his mouth and onto the sheets. His cheeks are flushed bright red and beautiful, looking nearly angelic. “Yes, Jean. More, please, more.”
Kevin rips away from it, back sticking to the wall. Heat fills his entire body, in time with the desire racing through his veins. He feels dirty for it, as if he needs to be scrubbed clean. His two friends were fucking right there, and Kevin—well.
He wants… he wants to look. To watch. If this is the closest he’ll get, then Kevin wants to enjoy every second.
He cranes his neck around again. The hand not over his mouth falls to his waistband, rubbing at the edge of too-warm skin over his shorts. The sounds spilling out from the room alone are enough to fuel every wet dream Kevin could have for the rest of his lifetime, but the image makes it all that much more real. The press of Jeremy’s body into the mattress, so pliant and willing as Jean tries to keep him in place. The sweat that coats Jean’s back, dripping from his temple and onto the dimples at the bottom of Jeremy’s spine. The jingle of the cross against Jean’s toned chest, in time with his thrusts. Kevin’s hand ghosts down even further, rubbing over his sex. He bites down hard on his tongue to keep from joining in on the chorus.
Bashfully, he studies the scene before him. He wants to catalogue every movement, every clash of skin hitting skin. Jean is curiously fierce when he fucks Jeremy, all power, like this is a game he’s fighting to win. If Jeremy is fighting back, though, Jean can’t tell. He simply looks as if he’s enjoying every moment. As if he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, putty in Jean’s hands as he is.
It’s so desperately, horribly hot.
Kevin blinks hard, and presses down on his dick harder. Wetness bleeds even through the fabric of his boxers. It’s all too much. The urge to join, the disgust that tells him to leave. He digs his fingers in, willing himself to stop. But he can’t abandon the moment like this. Just… one more look, one more second—
Yet when he peeks through the crack in the door again, Jeremy is staring right back.
He freezes in place. Jeremy’s gaze chills him where he stands, even as it bleeds pure heat. Slowly, and with surety, a smirk curls its way across his face. He doesn’t look away even as Jean continues to fuck into him—no, Kevin swears he only gets louder.
“Mm,” he moans, fingers fisting in the sheets. He pushes his ass back, the arch of it so heavenly it makes Kevin feel delirious. Jean’s grip only tightens where it holds onto him, still unawares, even as Jeremy continues to have eyes solely for Kevin. “F-fucking me so good, Jean, oh–”
Kevin’s heart feels as if it’s going to beat out of his chest. Jeremy mewls, “Wanna come, please, Jean, ‘m so close, come on–”
“So loud, Jeremy,” Jean grunts as he changes the angle. The noise that emits from Jeremy is as sinful as it is angelic. “If you are not careful, Kevin will hear you.”
“Let him,” Jeremy nearly shouts. His attention doesn’t move from Kevin once, even as Jean pushes him to the edge. “Would you fuck him like this, too? W-wouldn’t he look so pretty here? Tell me, Jean. How much you w-want it.”
“Kevin is a different kind of slut than you,” says Jean, and oh, does it not go straight to Kevin’s core. He hates the feeling that rushes through him: The singular, solitary need to be with them. Jeremy moans as if he’s trying to speak for himself and Kevin both, his lethal gaze turning hooded as Jean fucks him straight into delirium. “He knows how to listen. What do you do better than mouth off, hm? Do you think he has any idea just how—mphff—greedy you are?”
“I think he has a great idea,” Jeremy says, voice turned raspy. “I think—he wants to be right here.”
Jean chuckles, something mean and lovely all at once. “When he realizes, he will have an open invite. Now,” he loosens his grip on Jeremy’s hip to reach for his cock, leaking beautifully all over the sheets. Jean jerks Jeremy off with a rough hand, all purpose. “Come for me, Captain.”
A scream rips from deep within Jeremy’s throat that has Kevin reeling back. Part of him wants to see, to know what Jeremy looks like when he’s gone off the edge, to memorize the way Jean sinks deep within him, filling him to the brink. But Kevin does not afford himself that luxury: not with the way his dick feels, heavy and aching behind the layers of clothes; not with the way his heart beats at a jackrabbit’s pace; not with the way that entire exchange swirls within his head, barely able to comprehend that—
That they wished he were there.
His socked feet make no noise as he scampers back to his room. He closes the door softly, unwilling to face the reality that is Jeremy knowing he had stood there and watched; that Jean had been none the wiser to his invasion. When he falls onto his bed, the comforter still in disarray, he’s quick to shed his clothes. His shorts and boxers tangle at his ankles, but Kevin doesn’t have it in himself to care. No, instead, he slathers three fingers with saliva before bringing them down over his dick, rubbing at his dripping clit with vigor. He’d barely had a chance to get his hands on it while watching, mesmerized as he had been by the sight before him. The first touch feels like an electrical current zipping up his spine, mixed with the clear, unadulterated sense of relief.
In his mind, he replays the entire event as if on a reel. The stench of it practically sticks to him, mixing with his own sweat and desperation. It takes little time before his middle finger is pushing into his pulsating hole, so wet and open and ready. He wonders if Jean would prefer it this way: would prefer him already prepared, no need to be stretched. Wonders how Jeremy’s tongue, lolling out of his mouth like a dog in summer, would feel lapping up at his slit. He drags his shirt up and into his mouth to muffle the sounds, not wanting them to hear—to know the effect they’ve had on him. Within his too-real imagination, the image of Jean and Jeremy goes on as if for hours. Kevin wonders how they would feel beneath his hands. How he would feel between theirs.
And then, a shock to the system—a sudden, booming bang against the wall.
Kevin jolts, his finger halting their frantic moments. He looks behind him towards the headboard as if expecting someone to be there, but only finds white paint. His chest heaves with adrenaline, brows pulling in as he tries to think of what that may have been.
He’s just about ready to start again when the sound comes once more: This time, three loud thuds hit the wall. The only reason Kevin doesn’t jerk completely off the bed is because they’re followed by a now, much too familiar, dulled, “Yes, Jean.”
Oh.
He’d been moving on account for them having finished; working on a sliver of time to have his fill before Jean realized he was home, or they could corner him into admission. But clearly, neither man had yet had enough. Some part of Kevin wonders if it’s intentional. The predominant part of him is much too turned on to care.
His fingers resume their journey at a much more languid pace. He times the thrust of them with the thuds against the wall. He even, insatiably, begins to enjoy the rhythm. Is this what it would sound like if he were in the room, too? Would they break the headboard with the fierceness of it? The bed?
Visions swim behind Kevin’s eyelids. His unoccupied right hand falls to rub over his dick, hungry for release. The need breeds an ache so deep within him it feels nearly immeasurable. He doesn’t care how it makes him look—if he’s sick for wanting, then he’d sooner rather be committed than admit fault.
The telltale sound of Jeremy’s approaching orgasm resounds even from behind the wall. Kevin feels his own begin to crest within him and chases it eagerly. He crooks the fingers pushing fervently inside of himself, pursuing his climax with urgency. Jeremy’s shout of, “Fuck!” is his undoing.
It feels like being wrecked from the inside. His thighs shake and quiver with the force of it, spurts of come washing over his already soaked hand. Blood pools in his mouth from how hard he bites down on his tongue, his canines piercing through the cotton. Yet Kevin doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good in his life. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming, and so incredibly perfect.
Until he opens his eyes, and is forcibly reminded that he’s alone.
Kevin bolts from the apartment.
Shame had swept over nearly as quick as the peak. Kevin’s heavy breathing had felt enormous in that small room, as if it would trap him there until he suffocated. He had clawed at his ankles, trying to get his shorts and underwear back on, and quietly darted out from the building.
He spends the next few hours wandering around and asking himself: What have I done?
Surely, this had been some kind of mistake—some kind of ruse, or weird roleplay that the pair were into. He refuses to let himself think otherwise. He’d told Jean only the night before: This wasn’t something he was allowed to have, no matter how hopelessly he wanted it. Behind him, the sun continues to rise, and fall.
If Kevin could, he would head straight to the airport and onto the first flight back to South Carolina right this second. Call him afraid, or a coward; how is he supposed to face them, now? Knowing what they’d done? What he’d done? He won’t be able to ask for forgiveness. This had crossed the line on so many levels, that he fears there is simply no turning back.
Unfortunately for him, he is faced with no other choice. He doesn’t have any money on his person, and his stomach soon begins to grumble. His phone battery displays a meek 11% when he looks down. The action makes him nauseous, and is worsened when he sees all the notifications that await him, starting from nearly 3 hours prior.
[FROM] Jeremy K.: Kev where are you?
[FROM] Jeremy K.: ???
[FROM] Jeremy K.: Kevin are you okay
[FROM] Jeremy K.: Can you please come back?
[FROM] Jeremy K.: I’m getting worried. Please call me. We can talk about this
[FROM] Jeremy K.: I’m sorry
Sorry? Kevin re-reads it over and over. He certainly can’t be reading that right. What could Jeremy possibly have to feel sorry about?
At the very top of the screen, his phone dings once again. 9%.
[FROM] Jean M.: Arrêtez ces dramatiques et revenez.
Kevin sighs something deep and agonizing. He reluctantly starts his trek back, and spends the entire time mentally preparing himself to have his heart broken.
The apartment is deathly silent when he swings the door open for the second time. Kevin can practically hear himself swallow, his heart a pounding rhythm in his ears. Everything will be fine, he tells himself as he toes his sneakers off once again. I’ll apologize and call Dad, tell him I’m flying home early. Everything will be fine.
When he comes out from the hallway, both Jean and Jeremy are sitting at the table, now fully clothed. Jeremy is the first to spot him, and springs up from his seat. “Kevin,” he breathes, an edge of relief colouring his voice. Kevin finds himself unable to meet his eyes; focuses instead on the blushing red circles forming around his neck, and then rebukes himself for it. He shifts to look at the pilling on Jeremy’s left shoulder instead. “We—We’ve been trying you for hours. Where were you?”
“I went for a run,” Kevin lies. Jean is slower to turn towards him, and even unfocused, Kevin can see the mask of indifference he’s pulled over his features. He takes a shuddering breath. Maybe this would be more difficult than he thought. “My phone died. Sorry.”
“No don’t—do not apologize,” Jeremy says. He looks to Jean and sighs. His usually warm gaze drops to the floor, lip pulled between his teeth, before he seems to figure out exactly how he wants to end this—thing they’ve started. “We should be the ones apologizing to you. I should apologize.”
Those are definitely not the words that Kevin had expected him to speak. He finally meets Jeremy’s eye, confusion taking over his expression. “What? No, you—you have nothing to apologize for I mean—” Kevin glances towards Jean, and then hangs his head, mortification washing over him. “I was out of line. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that. I’m sorry.”
There’s the sound of shuffling, and suddenly, Jean and Jeremy’s socked feet come into view. Kevin startles and backs up a step, raising his head. Jeremy looks confused; Jean looks borderline angry. Kevin keeps his eyes on his ex teammate, because that expression, at least, is familiar. That is, until Jean says, “Honestly, what are you talking about?”
“What?” Kevin asks, at a loss. “I don’t understand—”
“Did you not hear him?” Jean asks, tilting his head in Jeremy’s direction. “I figured he was quite clear with his intentions. Do you truly have no idea how badly we want you, Kevin?”
Kevin’s mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. He struggles to make sense of that surreal accusation, and grapples harder with trying to figure out what he should even say. He tries, “But I thought—”
“Thought what, you pompous fool? Really, Jeremy has been anything but subtle with his advances,” he turns a glare on Jeremy then with no true anger behind it. “I told you that you would scare him.”
“I’m sorry, okay?!” Jeremy exclaims, throwing his hands up. “I mean—come on, I really thought I was, you know, being pretty fucking explicit–”
“Because grinding on him on a dance floor is so direct—”
“You try to keep your hands off of someone that gorgeous when he’s right in front of you and see how well that works out—”
“Time out,” Kevin interrupts, putting a hand up. “You were—This whole time, you’ve been flirting with me?”
He is faced with twin looks of disbelief. “Duh? Oh, God—” Jeremy looks between them both with a stupefied air before turning towards his partner. “Jean, am I a bad flirt or something? All this time, I thought—”
“No, you are quite good,” Jean placates him with a hand on his shoulder. “Kevin is just very stupid.”
Kevin sputters. “I am not—”
“Then let's try a different approach,” Jeremy interrupts, facing Kevin once more. He sidles up even closer, nearly stepping on Kevin’s feet. Jeremy looks up at Kevin beneath unfairly long eyelashes, his mahogany gaze oozing pure—and, finally—transparent want. Kevin feels shackled by it, unable to tear his eyes away, lets it surge over him without fear of drowning. “We want to be with you, Kevin Day. Have wanted to for a long time now.” Light, calloused hands reach for his own, grasping them with something too close to tenderness. Jeremy raises Kevin’s knuckles to his mouth and slowly, without breaking eye contact, plants a kiss right on the joint. “How’s that?”
“Much better,” says Jean as he, too, gets closer. He uses his thumb and pointer finger to take Kevin’s chin and turn his face towards him. The look in Jean’s eyes is one Kevin has spent a lifetime running away from. “What do you say, Kevin? Will you stay?”
A million swirling thoughts in Kevin’s mind come to an abrupt halt. Standing here now, between the two people he’s yearned for ceaselessly for years on end, Kevin thinks that maybe, this can finally be it. Maybe this can be the time he lets himself have something that doesn’t start and end with exy. Maybe this can be the one thing he lets himself truly have.
With a bravery Kevin did not know he had within him, he surges up and captures Jean’s mouth with his. Jean does not startle—only holds his weight, one arm slinking around his waist, the other wrapping around his jaw.
Kissing Jean is not new to Kevin; when they’d been young and dumb and reckless, they’d made their fair attempts in the Nest. It had devastated Kevin to cut it off, but Riko’s temper had flared when Andrew had denied joining the Ravens. He’d stopped things before they could be found out lest they infuriate him further. Kevin remembers this as the first time he’d broken Jean’s heart.
He does his best, now, to hold it with care. He kisses Jean with everything he has: the apologies, the longing, the affection all wrapped within the push and pull of their mouths. Jean takes it all in stride. His tongue swipes at Kevin’s lip, encouraging him, willing for him to open up. Kevin does so happily: lets Jean lick and prod into his mouth, re-discovering the taste.
A light touch at his neck has Kevin startling, but Jeremy rubs soothing hands up and over his arms. “The two of you are so hot together,” he says into the flesh of Kevin’s throat, mouthing at the skin. “Fuck. Jean, save some for me, too.”
Jean pulls away enough to answer, “He is all yours.”
That same hand on his jaw turns Kevin’s face to Jeremy, latched onto his right side. Jeremy catches him with ease, like he’s been waiting for it. His mouth is pleasantly soft, enveloping Kevin’s own in that plush velvet. The way Jeremy kisses is much softer than Jean, but just as addictive. He sucks Kevin’s bottom lip into his mouth, biting at the skin. Kevin mewls, blood rushing from his head to his groin. He can’t help from reaching for Jeremy, arms wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. Jeremy, in turn, wraps his arms around Kevin’s neck, his fingers scratching at the nape of Kevin’s neck.
On his right, Jean takes his time taking Kevin apart. He sucks a bruising mark into the skin beneath Kevin’s jaw and trails kisses across the flesh. Kevin can feel him tugging at the fabric of his shirt, attempting to move it out of the way, a low growl emitting from his throat. Part of him wants to help, but his head is much more preoccupied with licking into Jeremy’s mouth. It’s taking more of his concentration than he can admit to keep up, falling into Jeremy’s rhythm with none of the finesse but all of the desire.
“Someone’s getting impatient,” Jeremy laughs into his mouth. He presses another chaste kiss to Kevin’s lips, pulling away slightly. His fingers continue to card through Kevin’s hair even as he looks to Jean. “Weren’t you the one saying he needed to be handled with care?”
“This is care for us,” Jean says, freeing his hand from Kevin’s jaw to grab Jeremy’s neck. Kevin watches, entranced, as they begin to makeout. Jeremy laughs into it, but the sound is swallowed by Jean. It quickly devolves to a moan, and God does it sound much better from up close.
Watching them has a fire igniting in Kevin’s core once more. It had been one thing to observe them from afar; it’s another to be able to see from only inches away as Jeremy’s body curls in towards Jean. Kevin is kept close with the grip Jeremy still has on his neck, as if he doesn’t want Kevin to look away. Like he’s giving him permission, or instructions: Pay attention.
And pay attention Kevin does. His own hands skim up and down Jeremy’s sides, rucking up his shirt. Jeremy moans again, as if the combination of Jean’s mouth and Kevin’s touch is giving him pleasure. It gives Kevin the encouragement he needs to press in further, taking inspiration from them and nuzzling into Jeremy’s neck. He smells like fresh laundry and only a dusting of cologne, and it goes straight to Kevin’s dick. It’s intoxicating because it’s Jeremy; because Kevin never imagined he’d be able to be this near, to hold this within his own two hands.
He plants a shy kiss behind the shell of Jeremy’s ear. Jeremy lets out a soft gasp into Jean’s mouth. Motivated by the reaction, Kevin takes to sucking into that same spot, and can’t help from smirking at the sound it pulls from Jeremy. He licks over the bruise in apology, starting on his own path down the side of his neck.
Jeremy stops him. “Nuh uh,” he says, pulling away just a fraction. One of his hands veers away from its hold to pull Kevin in by the chin so they’re all sharing the same air. “Wanna taste you both.”
It’s horribly messy, but Kevin falls into it anyway. He can’t tell whose mouth is whose anymore—can’t distinguish one tongue from another. It all just builds and builds and builds, pressure behind his navel, aching for some relief. He doesn’t know where the start of this want begins anymore—only holds onto it like a lifeline.
“So sweet, Kevin,” Jeremy says coyly, stroking along his jaw. “This okay?”
“Yes,” Kevin gasps, pulling away only to get some air. “Can we—more? Can I have more?”
“You can have whatever you want,” Jeremy smiles. His eyes are glazed over with lust as he looks at Kevin. Jean takes over sucking new marks into his throat, covering the ghosts of his own fingerprints. He angles his neck to give Jean more room, keeping his eyes locked on Kevin’s own. “What do you want, Kevin?”
It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Kevin answers. “You. Both of you.”
They share a look that has heat coiling deep in Kevin’s gut from the anticipation. “As you wish,” Jean says, leaning down to kiss Kevin in turn. “How do you want it?”
Kevin flushes. He can’t tell if they can identify the depth of his desire, of all the ways he’s imagined this moment. He wonders if they know just how far his imagination goes. Kevin tries to find the words to describe it, but all the attention is beginning to get to him. He musters a meek, “It felt—nice. Being between you.”
Another look passes between them, but this one Kevin can’t decipher. Whatever it is, it has Jeremy smirking, and Jean’s gaze turning hooded. When they face him again, Jeremy says, “Oh, well that can be arranged.”
Grabbing each of his hands, the pair lead him to Jean’s bedroom. Kevin wishes he could pinch himself; verify that this is real, this is happening, this isn’t just another embarrassing wet dream. Jean closing the door behind him makes it feel much, much more real.
He’s quick, too, to pull Kevin back in, hungry mouth searching for Kevin’s like a man starved. Jean kisses Kevin like he’s making up for lost time: from the past two weeks, from the time apart, from the Nest. Kevin’s head goes fuzzy with it, but he happily gives just as much back. The sincerity of it is familiar; the appetite is new.
Hands tug at his shirt. Kevin raises his arms, lets it get pulled over his head. Those same warm, gentle hands caress his torso, roaming over the skin. They thumb over his nipples, testing the waters, and he hears Jeremy’s satisfied chuckle when it causes him to moan into Jean’s mouth. Jean takes it in stride, keeping it open, as if he’s trying to devour him from the inside out. Jeremy keeps up the ministrations, and Kevin can feel him smiling against his skin. His tongue darts out to lick at Kevin’s nipple before his mouth closes over it, sucking hard. It elicits a sound from Kevin he didn’t think himself possible of making, his back arching into the feeling, chasing it.
“Ah,” he moans, pulling away from Jean if only to get more air into his lungs. His hands reach up to fist into Jean’s hair, tugging at the wavy strands. Jean doesn’t waste a moment, dipping his head to begin working on Kevin's neck once more. The unexpected neck fetish from the two of them leaves him reeling, yet Kevin can’t find it in himself to complain. He’d never realized it would feel this good, after all. “Oh, shit.”
“Didn’t think you’d be this sensitive,” Jeremy notes, popping off of his nipple. Kevin looks down to meet his eye, and nearly collapses from the sight. There’s a heady, intoxicating look in that gaze of his, like he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than stuck to Kevin’s body. He’s slow with his movements as he drags his lips across Kevin’s chest, kissing over the twin scars below his pecs, like he’s letting Kevin prepare for his second assault before it hits. “You make the cutest little sounds, did you know that?”
A gasp falls from his lips when Jeremy’s mouth closes around his untouched tit in time with a particularly hard suck from Jean at the base of his throat. It’s overwhelming and overstimulating; distantly, Kevin can feel the pool forming in his underwear. His head falls back as a consequent moan is ripped from his throat. Twin smiles tickle his flesh, teeth nipping at all the parts of him they can reach. Kevin has rarely ever felt so attended to—he doesn’t know what to do with himself other than struggle to stay standing.
“Bed,” Jean eventually murmurs against his collarbone. Jeremy takes the initiative, rising from his crouched stance to meet Kevin’s mouth once more. He places both hands against Kevin’s jaw as he walks them towards the bed. Kevin follows him down when his knees hit the mattress, unwilling and unable to pull away. Jeremy fits so perfectly between his knees like this that it only serves to excite Kevin more.
He runs his hands up and over Jeremy’s skin beneath his shirt. The fabric bunches at his arms with nowhere else to go. Kevin growls low in his throat, tugging at the cotton until Jeremy gets the hint. The shirt is tossed somewhere onto the floor, alongside the distinct sound of a drawer opening and closing. Kevin pays it no mind—focuses only on the man beneath him, all beautiful, dark, sun-kissed skin, freckles constellating from cheek to hip.
He starts a path down, imitating Jeremy. Beneath him, Jeremy squirms, his hands rubbing over Kevin’s back before fisting in his hair. He keeps Kevin tethered there, breathing hot against his nipple. Kevin gives it a tentative lick before closing his mouth around it, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud the way Jeremy had done to him. Jeremy gasps and throws his head back, curls spreading against the comforter. Pride swells in Kevin’s chest at being able to pull these reactions out of him, encourages him, pushes him to keep going.
Trying to go lower, Kevin shifts his hips back. The feeling of Jeremy’s very obvious erection against his ass has him moaning as he licks up the dip of his abs. He can’t stop himself from rocking back on it, grinding into it, chasing the feeling. He moves until he can find the perfect angle, lining their cocks up together even through the clothing. Sparks light up Kevin’s spine at the sensation, and they moan in sync.
“Merde,” comes the low curse from behind Kevin as he continues to rut on top of Jeremy. A strong hand works its way down the back of Kevin’s neck until it curves over his ass, finger pushing at the fabric. “The two of you together…”
Jeremy laughs. “Everything you thought it’d be?” he jokes, but it comes out too breathless to not ring true. Jean only hums in reply. Calloused, crooked fingers work up the back of Kevin's thighs, ghosting beneath the hem of his shorts. Kevin rocks back into it in time with frotting against Jeremy’s dick, but there’s too many layers, too much between them. It’s good, so good, but it isn’t enough.
“Off,” he heaves, looking at Jean over his shoulder. “It’s—in the way.”
Jean bites his lip, his heavy gaze roaming from Kevin’s face to his ass. He tugs at the waistband of Kevin’s shorts, pulling them down, and sucks in a sharp breath. Kevin knows how drenched he must be—how wet he must look from Jean’s point of view. He can’t help himself: he arches his back, leaning further over Jeremy, giving that ravenous scrutiny a better view. Jean manages, between the staring, to get his shorts completely off, lets them fall to the floor unceremoniously. Instantly, his hands are back on Kevin. He kneads the flesh of Kevin’s ass with unexpected care, fingers digging into the skin tenderly.
“Look at you,” Jean breathes. “You want it this bad, hm?”
“Yes,” Kevin admits, abandoning all shame. He drops his ass down again and doesn’t care about the wet trail it must leave on Jeremy’s own shorts. But it’s still not enough. “Can I–” he starts, gasping. He sucks in a deep breath, gaze turning half-lidded as he turns and tries to meet Jeremy’s eye. “Can I suck you off? Please?”
“Oh, fuck,” Jeremy moans, and laughs again. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Move over for me a sec?”
Kevin pouts as he stops his movements. He raises his leg to give Jeremy room to move. Jeremy is quick to shuck his shorts off before shuffling up the bed. Kevin is just starting to move, wanting to get his mouth on him as quickly as possible, but Jeremy doesn’t stop shifting. He positions himself instead so his head is at the end of the bed, hanging off just slightly. “C’mon, baby,” he says to Jean. Kevin can only stare, mouth agape. “Don’t think I forgot about you?”
Jean huffs but pushes his sweats and boxers down to his knees without a second thought. His cock springs free with an excited bounce, the tip a glaring red, smearing precum over his shirt. Jeremy raises his head just enough to smile at Jean. “More fun this way, right?” he says, before swallowing Jean whole.
It’s so lewd—the visual, the sound, the whole of it. Jeremy takes in Jean’s length like it’s nothing new, practiced and familiar. His throat works with minimal effort, sucking Jean down with ease. Jean grunts, hips rocking down to match Jeremy’s rhythm, holding the base to keep himself in place. Kevin finds himself bewitched by the scene, until Jeremy is popping off, using his hand to keep stroking at Jean’s cock. He uses the other to reach down towards his own, giving it a slow tug. Jeremy raises his head to meet Kevin’s unguarded stare. “Shy now, are we?”
Kevin tears his eyes away, his ears flaming with embarrassment. “Was enjoying the view,” he concedes. He looks towards where Jeremy’s own dick is resting against his stomach. Jeremy uses his now free hand to reach out for Kevin’s, clutching it and bringing it towards his leaking cock.
“I think you can multitask,” Jeremy says, wrapping their hands around the base. Kevin sucks in a deep breath as he guides him through the first few strokes. Kevin watches with reverence as they work Jeremy’s dick, precum budding at the tip. Enchanted, Kevin swipes at it, smearing it over Jeremy’s length. Jeremy moans at the sensation, hand falling away in time with his head falling back again. Jean is quick to put him back to use, tapping his cockhead against Jeremy’s lips. Jeremy takes him in once more, and, inspired, Kevin leans down.
He starts with a tentative lick to the tip. It’s so big, Kevin isn’t sure if he’ll be able to fit it all in his mouth. He doesn’t have nearly as much experience in this department. He tries to self-soothe, tells himself it’s okay to start off slow. He uses one hand to give himself leverage, curling it around the meat of Jeremy’s thigh. With the other he keeps Jeremy’s cock in place as he wraps his lips around the head and sucks.
Jeremy moans around the girth in his mouth. It causes Jean to follow suit, groaning and throwing his head back. Kevin watches them as he inches down Jeremy’s length, licking along the shaft. It’s curiously salty, and just a tad musky. Kevin finds that he likes it more than he’d anticipated, and goes for more. He sucks until he’s gagging, choking on the fullness and forced to pull off.
It doesn’t seem to bother Jeremy, though. He keens, loud even from around Jean’s cock, muscles flexing beneath Kevin’s hand. “Fuck,” Jean curses, leaning forward to drop a hand on Jeremy’s chest, like he needs it to keep himself upright. Breathless, he heaves, “So messy, Kevin. Where is all that technique you rave about on the court?”
That meanness goes straight to Kevin’s dick. He groans, rocking his hips back and meeting only air. The need for more is sudden and all-consuming. He removes his hand from Jeremy’s dick to rub shakily at his sex, mewling at the feeling. He hadn’t realized how bad he needed the pressure, the friction, too distracted by the task at hand.
Not that he’s forgotten. No, Kevin is reinvigorated by the need to prove Jean wrong—even if Jeremy had done anything but complain. He leans down to catch the tip into his mouth once more, lapping up the sides with renewed intensity. The lack of hold doesn’t make it easier, but the feeling of his fingers against his dick is too good to give up, even as his movements turn sloppy. The amount of spit makes the slide easier as Kevin gets accustomed to the strain.
He keeps sucking to the best of his ability, tears forming along his lashline. Kevin surmises that he must be doing a good enough job given the sounds Jeremy is making. It pushes him further and further until he’s pulling off and gasping for air, sucking in lungfuls. He moves his hand off of Jeremy’s thigh to continue stroking his dick, curious to see how far he can push the other man.
With his throat still full, Jeremy moans and gags on Jean’s cock. His hands have moved to wrap around Jean’s thighs as Jean fucks his throat, chasing release. “Jeremy,” Jean says in warning, even as he continues to fuck into that heat.
Kevin expects Jeremy to keep going, to suck Jean dry, but instead he pops off, the noise wet and obscene. “I know, I know,” he says, his voice gone completely hoarse. “Save the best for last, right?”
Jean lets out an exasperated huff but doesn’t disagree. He wraps a hand around the base of his cock and turns that sultry, half-drunk gaze on Kevin. Kevin finds his own movements slowing, as if that look alone can freeze him where he kneels. “I think he needs a bit more prep, no?”
A predatory smile takes over Jeremy’s face then. He sits up enough to pull at the leg closest to himself, guiding Kevin closer. “Up,” says Jeremy when Kevin doesn’t get the hint, and—oh.
He swings his leg over, straddling Jeremy once more, presenting his ass to the pair. Kevin plants his hands on either side of Jeremy’s knees to keep himself up. Having all this attention on his soaked dick makes Kevin feel self-conscious, but neither man gives him time to focus on that. Jean pushes on the dip of his spine so his ass falls back and onto Jeremy’s face.
His throbbing dick is relieved quickly with the lap of Jeremy’s tongue over his slit. Jeremy eats him out like he’s been starving for it: a man in a desert that’s finally stumbled upon an oasis. He tongues over Kevin’s aching hole as if it’s all he’s ever wanted to taste, a full-course meal prepped just to his liking. Kevin gasps at the feeling and can’t help from rocking back into it. Jeremy sucks on his cock with ferociousness, wet mouth licking lavishly at Kevin’s cock until all he can do is moan, “Fuck, Jeremy.” The sensation of having his clit worked with such frenzy has him going dizzy, his arms giving out until he can only lay with his head parallel to Jeremy’s abandoned cock.
From behind Kevin, Jean runs his hands over the curve of Kevin’s ass, humming slightly. “He is very skilled, no?” he asks. Kevin can’t tell if he’s expecting an answer, but he doesn’t have it in him to give one, anyway. Instead, he settles for pulling Jeremy’s dick back into his mouth.
Below him, Jeremy keens, the sound reverberating across Kevin’s skin, gooseflesh rising in its wake. He eats Kevin out with renewed intensity. His tongue dips into his hole, stretching him out—preparing him, as Jean had said. The feeling is indescribable—electric and freeing all at once.
“Ah, shit, Kev,” Jeremy moans, pulling off briefly when Kevin swallows him down again. “Gonna–gonna come if you keep that up.”
Kevin lets him out of his mouth enough to say, “Then do it,” before taking him back in.
“Fuck,” Jeremy nearly screams. It only takes a few more sucks before he’s coming, thick ropes shooting down Kevin’s throat. He chokes on it slightly, pulling off. The rest spurts across his face, catching on his lip, across the tattoo of his cheek. It’s obscene—but Kevin loves it.
He just needs more. His body covets it, craves it. Kevin can’t help from turning to face his partners: Jeremy, spent beneath him, and Jean, the picture of controlled patience behind him. “Am I ready yet?” Kevin asks, wiggling his ass back.
That seems to do the trick. Whatever leash Jean had placed on himself goes slack. He grabs roughly at Kevin’s hips, dragging him backwards until he can slip in without ease. No forewarning, no preamble; he slams straight home, with all the determination of aiming for the goal.
Kevin cries out, a mix of pleasure and pain and unfamiliarity. He feels so full, like all his life has been leading up to this: to become a place for Jean to seat himself, filling him to the max.
Jeremy’s hands knead at the meat of his thighs, trying to ease the discomfort. He peppers kisses along the skin he can reach, aiming to soothe, or at least distract. Jean stays right where he is, deep inside Kevin, the sound of their ragged breathing mixing and crowding the room. The smell of sex is so potent, the accumulation of three sets of arousal and want. Kevin drinks it all in greedily, puffing out harsh breaths through his nose. After what feels like ages, he finally manages to muster out, “Move.”
And Kevin, more than anyone, has always known how good Jean is at following orders. The leash snaps completely—his fingers dig bruisingly into the flesh of Kevin’s hips as he pulls out, only to thrust right back in. Kevin groans, hands fisting the sheets. Jean fucks him like he’s trying to break him—in the back of his mind, Kevin hopes that he does.
The feeling is unreal, unlike anything Kevin has ever felt before. Jean fucks him with vigor, his cock hitting so deep within Kevin he can practically feel it in his throat. Each thrust is harder than the last, like Jean doesn’t care for taking his time; only wants to push them both to that peak, like he’s making up for all the times he had wished he could.
It’s unrefined and crude. No finesse, no polish, only the destination. That pressure from earlier builds in Kevin’s gut once more, curling into something wretched, clawing at his walls to be unleashed. He doesn't know how to get there—how to overcome that hurdle.
Thankfully, he has Jeremy.
Without warning, Jeremy begins to suck on Kevin’s cock once more. A scream rips itself from Kevin’s throat as Jeremy’s licks over Kevin’s clit, that adept tongue of his giving Kevin everything that he needs. It doesn’t take much before that coil within him is snapping, and Kevin is finally, finally, coming.
It gushes out of him, squirt soaking everything in the vicinity. Jeremy laps it all up greedily, like he can’t get enough of the taste. Kevin’s legs shake and quiver with the force of it—he hadn’t even known he could do that. His head feels like its stuffed with cotton, body numb save for where Jean continues to pound into his tight hole.
Jean doesn’t take long to follow suit, though. It only takes a few more thrusts before he’s spilling inside of Kevin, hot, thick come covering his insides. Kevin is already so spent, but he thinks the feeling of being filled by Jean so wholly could make him climax again. The sensation is beyond comparison—something he never wants to give up, wants to hold onto for the rest of his life.
With slow, careful movements, Jean pulls out from Kevin’s wrecked hole. He tries not to bemoan the loss, focuses instead on the way his and Jean’s come mix and drip down his thighs. The effort it takes not to collapse onto Jeremy is momentous. Kevin barely manages to roll over before his legs give out, still shaking from the aftershocks. Jean falls over on Jeremy’s other side, chest heaving from exertion.
“Wow,” Jeremy breathes. He lifts a hand to rub a stray splatter of squirt from his face, sucking it into his mouth. The digit pops free with a lewd noise. The smile on his face is practically audible when he says, “That was awesome.”
“Awesome,” Jean echoes, like he can’t possibly believe Jeremy just said that.
“Awesome,” he repeats anyway, either unhearing or uncaring of Jean’s clear bewilderment. Using his hands to hold his weight, he sits up, looking between Kevin and Jean. “Ten out of ten, would do it again. We should do that again. Why haven’t we done that before?”
“Perhaps because you were too busy attempting to seduce Kevin to actually do anything about it,” Jean says cattily.
Jeremy opens his mouth to retort back, but Kevin cuts in, asking. “It worked out, didn’t it?”
They each turn their gazes on him, and Kevin tries not to shy under the weight of those mirroring adoring looks. “Yes,” Jean says eventually, reaching across Jeremy’s legs to grapple for Kevin’s hand. “I suppose it did.”