Take Me to Bits (Put Me Together Again)

Pete’s parties are infamous on campus for one reason and one reason only: he knows everyone. Literally, everyone, through one friend or another, and admittedly theirs is a fairly small college but it’s still one heck of a lot of people to pack into one apartment.

Mike’s only here because Bill made him come, luring him with the promise of lots and lots of free booze. Mike’s never one to turn down anything free, especially alcohol, so here he is, in Pete Wentz’s apartment, chugging down a swiped bottle of vodka and watching with vague interest as Gabe Saporta licks something that looks suspiciously like chocolate off Bill’s stomach. Mike doesn’t even blink; he’s seen much weirder shit at Pete’s parties, especially when Gabe’s involved.

He’s about halfway through the bottle when someone slumps down next to him on the sofa. Mike looks up, fully ready to tell whoever it is to fuck off and find somewhere else to sit – it’s not like there are a whole lot of other options but Mike is a man who values his personal space – but the words die on his lips. The boy’s clutching his head in his hands and his shoulders are shaking like he’s trying not to cry and Mike refuses to be the guy who makes this kid’s bad day even worse.

Instead, he leans over, holds out the bottle in his hand and says, “Here. You look like you could use a drink.”

The boy lifts his head, blinking a few times, then shakes it. “No thanks,” he says, voice soft like his eyes, greeny-brown and very vaguely familiar. “I don’t drink.”

Mike arches an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. He has plenty of friends who are straight-edge so he knows better than to try and convert. Shrugging, he retracts his hand and takes a swig of his own. “Suit yourself,” he says.

“Thanks, though, I mean, for offering it to me,” the boy says, playing with a ring on his left hand. “It’s, um, it’s really nice of you.”

“It’s not mine,” Mike says, by way of explanation. There’s no way he’d have offered it to a virtual stranger if it was. “I’m not really sure whose it is, actually, I just got it from the kitchen.”

“Oh.” The boy sounds almost... disappointed? “Right, ‘course, sorry.”

Mike just nods, figuring that’s the end of the conversation. His good deed for the day, shot down in flames, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?

But then the boy says, “I’m Kevin, by the way,” and Mike’s eyes widen because he knew he looked familiar. He’s Kevin Jonas, friend of Demi Lovato, this girl who used to have a pretty gigantic and not at all subtle crush on Bill. He feels kind of bad for not remembering him but it’s not like they hung out at all or anything; Mike only knew him as a friend of someone who liked Bill, and it’s not like there’s ever a shortage of those kind of people.

“Mike,” he says, shaking his hair back off his face so his vague smile is visible.

“Yeah, I know,” Kevin says quickly. Mike raises an eyebrow and he ducks his head, a flush rising up his neck. “I mean, you’re friends with William and I’ve seen you around a lot and-”

Mike laughs; the kid’s awkwardness is sort of endearing. Kevin just looks even more humiliated, though, and for some reason that makes Mike’s gut churn with something unfamiliar.

“Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise, it’s just- kinda sweet, that’s all,” he assures Kevin, but it doesn’t seem to work because the other boy’s shoulders hunch up.

“Yeah,” Kevin says miserably. “That’s me. Sweet.”

Mike’s eyes narrow with confusion. “Sorry, is that a bad thing?”

“My girlfriend broke up with me a couple of hours ago,” Kevin says flatly. “She said it was because I was too sweet and that wasn’t what she needed so yeah, I figure it’s a bad thing.”

“She sounds like a bitch,” Mike observes.

Kevin shakes his head. “She’s awesome,” he says softly.

“I’m trying to cheer you up here, dude, come on,” Mike says, rolling his eyes. “What was her name?”

“Danielle,” Kevin says, biting his lip.

“Oh Danielle, don’t you smell,” Mike sings, kind of tunelessly. “Kevin thinks you should go to hell.”

Kevin laughs, sudden and sharp, and Mike can’t help the smile that spreads on his lips at the sound. “That is the most amazing song I have ever heard,” Kevin says, shaking his head. “Sing me another verse.”

At that, Mike gives Kevin a cursory once-over. The button-down he’s wearing screams harmless boy next door and he couldn’t look more wholesome if he had a box of cookies in his hands, but he’s not bad-looking. Mike kind of wants to run his fingers through Kevin’s hair, fist his hands in the curls and tug, just to see what kind of noise he would make.

“I play guitar,” he says casually, though his intentions are anything but. “If we go back to mine, I could play it for you too.”

“Oh,” Kevin says, startled. “Won’t your roommate mind?”

Mike searches out the crowd of people for Bill and finds him, unsurprisingly, dancing with Gabe.

“Pretty sure he won’t care,” Mike says matter-of-factly, lifting a finger to point at Bill on the other side of the room. There’s no way he’s coming home tonight; if by some miracle he doesn’t end up at Gabe’s, he’ll just crash at Pete’s with everyone else.

“That’d be great, then, sure,” Kevin says, his lips tugging up at the corners. He lets Mike lead him out of the apartment, blushing at the catcalls that follow them into the night.

***

“Nice place,” Kevin says, looking around Mike and Bill’s apartment. Mike snorts; it’s a complete mess, clothes and cases and general clutter covering every single surface, but he figures Kevin’s just being polite. “So, you play guitar?”

Mike produces it from its case with a flourish and grins at Kevin. “Yep,” he says, falling back onto his bed. “Had a band, back in high school, with Bill and a couple of friends.”

“Cool,” Kevin says, perching next to him. “Me and my brothers had a band, but when I started college it kinda fell apart.” He glances away, then back at Mike, smiling brightly. “Play me the song, then.”

Mike plucks aimlessly at a few strings, trying to find a melody that sounds vaguely decent. “Oh Danielle, don’t you smell, Kevin wants you to go to hell,” he sings, grimacing at the sound of his voice, scratchy and off-key. “Sorry, I’m not much of a singer.”

“Oh Danielle, don’t you smell, I want you to go to hell,” Kevin sings, perfectly on pitch but a beat out of time with what Mike’s playing. He holds the composed expression on his face for no more than five seconds before he bursts into helpless giggles.

“Feeling better?” Mike asks, amused.

“Yeah,” Kevin says, ducking his head. “Thank you.” Mike just shrugs. “Could you maybe play something else?”

Mike segues into a song Bill wrote, fingers moving deftly over the strings. He plays two verses and the chorus before stopping, stilling the vibrations with the flat of his palm.

“I haven’t really played in a while-” Mike starts but Kevin cuts him off, shaking his head hard.

“No, no, you’re really good,” he says, eyes wide and sincere, and Mike laughs softly.

“Thanks,” he says, gaze slanted sideways. And then, because he can’t really think of a reason not to, he leans over and kisses Kevin, putting the guitar down behind him. Kevin doesn’t even hesitate before kissing back and Mike grins, shifting just a little so he’s all but sitting in Kevin’s lap. His hand skates down Kevin’s body, skimming over smooth lines and flat planes, but just as his fingers graze the buckle of Kevin’s jeans the boy pulls away, breathing hard.

“I haven’t- I haven’t done this before,” Kevin confesses, twisting the ring around his finger.

Mike eyes him warily. “What, with a guy?”

Kevin shakes his head. “With anyone.”

“Oh,” Mike says, and bites his lip so he doesn’t laugh. “We don’t have to do this if, uh, if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I want to, I just- you sure you want to?” Kevin asks, a self-deprecating smile on his lips.

“You’re hot and I’m hard,” Mike says lazily, leaning forward to kiss him again. “I’m pretty sure.”

Kevin giggles, high and kind of hysterical, and he nearly chokes on his own breath when Mike’s hand slips underneath his jeans.

The sex is a lot better than Mike was expecting, if he’s honest. He’s slept with virgins before and it rarely works out well; it’s even more likely someone’ll get an elbow in the eye or a knee in the crotch when one of you hasn’t got a clue what they’re doing.

But what Kevin lacks in finesse – and he is seriously lacking; Mike’s going to have to check for bruises in the morning and not the good kind – he more than makes up for in enthusiasm, and he’s perfectly willing to let Mike take direction, which is refreshing from a top.

And he’s a quick study, Mike’ll give him that. After a few gasped instructions, it doesn’t take Kevin long to find a rhythm which drives him into Mike hard enough to make him moan like he’s getting paid for it but not hard enough for the burn to be unpleasant.

Kevin comes first, which isn’t a surprise, but when he pulls out he jerks Mike off until he comes too, which kind of is. He alternates between staring at his hand and staring at Mike, eyes wide and dark, and it’s that innocent kind of pride that finally pushes Mike over the edge.

Kevin’s not the best fuck he’s ever had but he’s far enough from the worst that when he pulls Mike close, Mike just lets himself be cuddled and closes his eyes, leaning back into Kevin’s warm arms.

When he wakes up in the morning, though, Kevin’s nowhere to be seen.

This surprises him more than it should; it’s rare that his hookups stick around and even rarer that he wants them to, but he kind of thought Kevin would be different, given the whole virginal Christian thing. Mike wouldn’t have pegged him as the type to just fuck and run. (If he’s honest, he wouldn’t have thought he’d be into the whole one-night stand thing either, actually. It’s not that he wanted Kevin to stay – it was never going to be more than a pity fuck on Mike’s end and he doesn’t even know what it was for Kevin, but he’s pretty sure the word ‘rebound’ is involved – he’s just surprised that he didn’t.)

Whatever, Mike doesn’t care. He rolls out of bed and trudges into the bathroom, oblivious to the piece of paper that flutters to the floor behind him.

***

Somehow, by the time he gets to class, the entire campus knows that he slept with Kevin Jonas. He’s willing to bet that Pete had something to do with it; everything comes back to Pete, eventually, and he’s mysteriously absent when he would normally be teasing Mike along with the rest.

Mike’s so used to the ribbing that he doesn’t even blink, just fends it off with his patented glare and a couple of cutting remarks for the more persistent ones who can’t take a hint. Distantly, he hopes that Kevin’s doing the same, but he sort of doubts it.

It’s safe to say that Kevin is not taking the situation as well as Mike is. When he walks into his first class of the day, the entire room goes silent and none of his friends will look at him.

“Faggot,” someone hisses when he sits down, by himself in a corner of the room.

Kevin flinches, face burning, and he doesn’t look up until the class is over.

***

“What the hell, Kevin?” Joe demands when he storms into their apartment a couple of hours later. Kevin’s sitting on the sofa, knees pulled up into his chest, staring into space. “I had to find out you slept with that Mike Carden dude from Pete Wentz. Pete. Do you know how that feels?”

“I have a pretty good idea, yeah,” Kevin says flatly.

Joe winces, and Kevin can almost feel his brother’s anger simmering away as he folds himself down next to him. “Sorry, Kev,” he says, sheepish, bumping Kevin’s shoulder with his own. “Today must have been hell for you.”

“You could say that,” Kevin says. in the same tone as before.

“How bad was it?” Joe asks hesitantly, like he’s not sure he wants to know. Kevin doesn’t blame him.

“My friends are pretending I’ve been sucked into a crack in time and space, everyone’s talking about me behind my back, I got called the f-word seven times and someone taped a kick-me sign to my back.” Kevin closes his eyes and rests his head against his knees. “It’s like being back in high-school.”

“You hadn’t had sex with one of the biggest sluts on campus in high-school,” Joe points out, matter-of-fact.

“Joe,” Kevin says sharply, “don’t call him that.”

“He’s worked his way through most of the student body, what else would you call him?” Joe retorts.

Kevin closes his eyes and tries not to think about what it means that Mike hasn’t called him, even though he wrote his number in the note that he left before he had to practically sprint across campus for his first class. Joe sighs and wraps his arms around him, squeezing tight like he thinks can squeeze all the hurt out of Kevin’s body. Kevin loves him trying, for not abandoning him when everyone else has, but he thinks it’ll take more than a hug to make things better this time.