Fic: "Kiss Me, Smile For Me" (Brothers & Sisters)
Kevin/Jason, goodbye-fic, likely doomed to be jossed in, um, two hours. Rock on, me. Sliding in under the wire.
Rated R, I guess.
Jason is leaving in the morning.
Kevin has tried to think about this logically, rationally, analytically. He has tried to approach the situation like a legal problem, by taking careful notes and making an outline. He has tried to be practical and unemotional. He has tried to take things in stride.
It's not working. It's not working, because Jason is leaving in the morning and Kevin told him that he loves him and that's supposed to change things.
It isn't fair, and if he's not careful he's going to start sulking again and that's not being fair to Jason. This isn't his fault, or anyone else's, except the Bishop, and he gets a special dispensation from God. Everything about this sucks, for everyone except the Malaysian children. Kevin should probably be thinking about them and not himself, but he's never met them, and he has to live with himself.
"Let's get some ice cream," Jason says, closing his suitcase. "You're still upset. I have a firm belief in the healing power of ice cream."
"I'm not six." Kevin forces himself to keep his voice light, to smile. It gets easier, more genuine, when Jason smiles back.
"You don't have to be six to like ice cream."
"You do to think it'll solve all of your problems."
"Not solve them." Jason reaches for the duffel bag he's going to carry on the plane. "Just make them easier for a while."
Kevin keeps his gaze fixed on the blue nylon bag, picturing its contents. He knows them by heart, because he helped Jason make his packing list-a habit they both learned at their mothers' knees before being shipped off to camp every summer. Bible. Book of crossword puzzles. Sweatshirt. Pack of gum. He should have bought Jason some magazines, or a stupid spy novel, or...more gum. Something. He should have helped more. Should have done more. Maybe if he had, Jason wouldn't be leaving him.
"Come on," Jason says quietly, and Kevin blinks at the sharp whine of the zipper. "Let me buy you a cone or something."
**
He ends up with a pint of caramel coffee crunch, because they spent ten minutes in line at the ice cream parlor before realizing they couldn't stand to be there anymore. So they switched their plans to to-go and headed back to Jason's apartment, retreating to the couch and sitting with their legs tangled together under the coffee table.
"They switched the cable off this afternoon," Jason says apologetically, stabbing his spoon into his raspberry fudge marshmallow delight and churning it into a goopy mess before he takes a bite. "We could watch a movie if you want."
"It's okay," Kevin mumbles, pressing his tongue against the cold bottom of his spoon. He doesn't want to think about the cable being off, the phone that's been dead since yesterday, the empty refrigerator. Nobody lives here, not for a while. He needs a hell of a lot more ice cream before he can deal with that. He's not dealing with that at all. "This is fine. Sitting. Eating. Talking."
"Pouting." There's a small smile on Jason's face, sad and affectionate, and he offers Kevin a spoonful of raspberry marshmallow goop.
"I'm not pouting." Kevin sucks the ice cream off the spoon and closes his eyes against the fresh burst of cold. "I'm not. I'm fine. I mean, it would be the exact same thing the other way, right? If I went off to a firm in Chicago or New York or...whatever."
"Would you ever do that?" Jason licks some drips of chocolate off his hand, glancing at Kevin. He sounds like he's asking what they'll do next weekend if the weather is good, like it's idle speculation, like they have a next weekend. "Awfully far away from your family."
Kevin looks at him. "Do you mean that as a good thing or a bad thing?"
"You would miss them."
"I'm going to miss you." Kevin bites his tongue as soon as the words are out. "Sorry. We're not...doing that right now. We're eating and talking and--"
"Pouting." Jason sets his ice cream down on the table, pushing his spoon down in the center of it. He shifts on the couch, turning to face Kevin and then leaning in to carefully wipe ice cream off Kevin's bottom lip with his thumb. "I'm going to miss you too."
"You'll have all those Malaysian schoolchildren to keep you company," Kevin says, blinking sharply against the threat of a sting in his eyes. "And, you know, God. You're going to be building a whole school, I'm sure you'll be too busy to miss--"
Jason shakes his head, smiling a little, and presses his thumb against Kevin's lip hard enough to silence him. "Don't," he says softly, taking Kevin's ice cream away and setting it aside. "I'll miss you all the time." He slips off the couch and settles on his knees in front of Kevin, resting his hands on Kevin's thighs, holding his gaze for a moment before leaning in to kiss him.
"I wasn't pouting," Kevin says when Jason pulls back again, and Jason laughs softly, still close enough that his breath teases along Kevin's skin.
"You were. But you're cute when you pout." Jason moves in again, kissing lightly along Kevin's jaw. "Very cute."
Kevin closes his eyes and feels the soft press of Jason's lips, the slight sting of stubble, the warm huff of breath as Jason reaches the sensitive skin beneath Kevin's ear and nuzzles at it.
"I'll miss you being cute," Jason whispers, and Kevin clenches his jaw against another wave of heat behind his eyes. Jason's hand curves gently around Kevin's cheek, turning his face so they can kiss again. Kevin reaches out blindly, slipping his fingers into Jason's hair and holding them together.
Kevin refuses to let himself say don't go, but something about the kiss or the tension of his fingers against Jason's skull must say it anyway, because when Jason breaks the kiss that sad smile is on his face again. He runs his hands down Kevin's body slowly, from his face to his chest and down to his waist, fingers curving gently beneath the waistband of his trousers.
"Miss hearing you say my name," Jason says, his voice low and husky and warm now. His fingers slide across Kevin's torso, warm and tight between the fabric and skin, finally meeting at the fly and deftly slipping the button free.
"Jason," Kevin says, his throat feeling too tight for his voice, and Jason glances up at him and smiles.
"Say it again."
"Jason," Kevin repeats, which earns a soft laugh, buried warm against his thigh.
"Not that," Jason clarifies. "The other thing."
It takes Kevin a minute to get it. He runs his fingers through Jason's hair and swallows hard. "I love you."
Jason smiles at him again, his eyes warm and bright, his breath catching a little before he answers. "I love you too."
Jason tugs Kevin's trousers and boxers down and drags his nails back up Kevin's thighs before leaning in to plant a trail of soft kisses from his abdomen south. Kevin bites his lip hard, trying to keep quiet. He has two reasons, practical and selfish: Jason's apartment's walls are thin, and being quiet drives Jason absolutely crazy. He likes responses, likes Kevin to make noise, and they haven't had much time to learn each other but Kevin has learned this and uses it to his every advantage.
Jason gets what he wants in the end; short, ragged, whimpering breaths torn from Kevin's chest and carrying shreds of words, Jason and fuck and please until he tenses and comes.
He wants to say something stupid afterwards, can feel the potential for a going to miss you or a please don't go on his tongue, but something else he has learned about Jason takes precedence. That would be that Jason is a firm believer in the idea that God helps those who help themselves, and so as a good servant Jason's already shedding his clothes and crawling onto the couch and up Kevin's body, whispering feverish last wants like prayers.
**
In the morning, a cab comes to take Jason to the airport, and Kevin waits with him at the curb. Watching Jason lock the apartment door and push the keys back in through the letter slot hurts more than Kevin expected. It's the simple finality of it, the confirmation that Jason is leaving, and that if Kevin comes by here again, no one will be here to let him in.
There's nothing left to say, and they hold hands on the sidewalk in sharp-edged silence, except when one of them makes a helpless effort to overcome it with the trivial.
"You should keep going to services," is Jason's final try, just as the cab comes around the corner. "There's going to be a couple of people covering for me, taking turns, but they're all very good."
"Yeah," Kevin says, wrapping his hand around his car keys in his pocket, tightly enough that the metal bites into his palm. "I'll see what I can do."
Jason nods a little and shifts his bag on his shoulder as the cabbie puts his suitcase in the trunk. "Well." A last kiss. A farewell kiss. It sounds like it should be dramatic and meaningful, but this is soft and short and done. They did all the rest before. "Take care of yourself."
"You too." Kevin's throat is dry. He wishes his eyes were. "Really. Please."
He doesn't do any work for the first hour he's at the office. Then his phone chirps and buzzes, Sarah's number on the screen. He wipes his eyes, clears his throat, and gets ready to answer the first "How are you doing?" with a lie.
Rated R, I guess.
Jason is leaving in the morning.
Kevin has tried to think about this logically, rationally, analytically. He has tried to approach the situation like a legal problem, by taking careful notes and making an outline. He has tried to be practical and unemotional. He has tried to take things in stride.
It's not working. It's not working, because Jason is leaving in the morning and Kevin told him that he loves him and that's supposed to change things.
It isn't fair, and if he's not careful he's going to start sulking again and that's not being fair to Jason. This isn't his fault, or anyone else's, except the Bishop, and he gets a special dispensation from God. Everything about this sucks, for everyone except the Malaysian children. Kevin should probably be thinking about them and not himself, but he's never met them, and he has to live with himself.
"Let's get some ice cream," Jason says, closing his suitcase. "You're still upset. I have a firm belief in the healing power of ice cream."
"I'm not six." Kevin forces himself to keep his voice light, to smile. It gets easier, more genuine, when Jason smiles back.
"You don't have to be six to like ice cream."
"You do to think it'll solve all of your problems."
"Not solve them." Jason reaches for the duffel bag he's going to carry on the plane. "Just make them easier for a while."
Kevin keeps his gaze fixed on the blue nylon bag, picturing its contents. He knows them by heart, because he helped Jason make his packing list-a habit they both learned at their mothers' knees before being shipped off to camp every summer. Bible. Book of crossword puzzles. Sweatshirt. Pack of gum. He should have bought Jason some magazines, or a stupid spy novel, or...more gum. Something. He should have helped more. Should have done more. Maybe if he had, Jason wouldn't be leaving him.
"Come on," Jason says quietly, and Kevin blinks at the sharp whine of the zipper. "Let me buy you a cone or something."
**
He ends up with a pint of caramel coffee crunch, because they spent ten minutes in line at the ice cream parlor before realizing they couldn't stand to be there anymore. So they switched their plans to to-go and headed back to Jason's apartment, retreating to the couch and sitting with their legs tangled together under the coffee table.
"They switched the cable off this afternoon," Jason says apologetically, stabbing his spoon into his raspberry fudge marshmallow delight and churning it into a goopy mess before he takes a bite. "We could watch a movie if you want."
"It's okay," Kevin mumbles, pressing his tongue against the cold bottom of his spoon. He doesn't want to think about the cable being off, the phone that's been dead since yesterday, the empty refrigerator. Nobody lives here, not for a while. He needs a hell of a lot more ice cream before he can deal with that. He's not dealing with that at all. "This is fine. Sitting. Eating. Talking."
"Pouting." There's a small smile on Jason's face, sad and affectionate, and he offers Kevin a spoonful of raspberry marshmallow goop.
"I'm not pouting." Kevin sucks the ice cream off the spoon and closes his eyes against the fresh burst of cold. "I'm not. I'm fine. I mean, it would be the exact same thing the other way, right? If I went off to a firm in Chicago or New York or...whatever."
"Would you ever do that?" Jason licks some drips of chocolate off his hand, glancing at Kevin. He sounds like he's asking what they'll do next weekend if the weather is good, like it's idle speculation, like they have a next weekend. "Awfully far away from your family."
Kevin looks at him. "Do you mean that as a good thing or a bad thing?"
"You would miss them."
"I'm going to miss you." Kevin bites his tongue as soon as the words are out. "Sorry. We're not...doing that right now. We're eating and talking and--"
"Pouting." Jason sets his ice cream down on the table, pushing his spoon down in the center of it. He shifts on the couch, turning to face Kevin and then leaning in to carefully wipe ice cream off Kevin's bottom lip with his thumb. "I'm going to miss you too."
"You'll have all those Malaysian schoolchildren to keep you company," Kevin says, blinking sharply against the threat of a sting in his eyes. "And, you know, God. You're going to be building a whole school, I'm sure you'll be too busy to miss--"
Jason shakes his head, smiling a little, and presses his thumb against Kevin's lip hard enough to silence him. "Don't," he says softly, taking Kevin's ice cream away and setting it aside. "I'll miss you all the time." He slips off the couch and settles on his knees in front of Kevin, resting his hands on Kevin's thighs, holding his gaze for a moment before leaning in to kiss him.
"I wasn't pouting," Kevin says when Jason pulls back again, and Jason laughs softly, still close enough that his breath teases along Kevin's skin.
"You were. But you're cute when you pout." Jason moves in again, kissing lightly along Kevin's jaw. "Very cute."
Kevin closes his eyes and feels the soft press of Jason's lips, the slight sting of stubble, the warm huff of breath as Jason reaches the sensitive skin beneath Kevin's ear and nuzzles at it.
"I'll miss you being cute," Jason whispers, and Kevin clenches his jaw against another wave of heat behind his eyes. Jason's hand curves gently around Kevin's cheek, turning his face so they can kiss again. Kevin reaches out blindly, slipping his fingers into Jason's hair and holding them together.
Kevin refuses to let himself say don't go, but something about the kiss or the tension of his fingers against Jason's skull must say it anyway, because when Jason breaks the kiss that sad smile is on his face again. He runs his hands down Kevin's body slowly, from his face to his chest and down to his waist, fingers curving gently beneath the waistband of his trousers.
"Miss hearing you say my name," Jason says, his voice low and husky and warm now. His fingers slide across Kevin's torso, warm and tight between the fabric and skin, finally meeting at the fly and deftly slipping the button free.
"Jason," Kevin says, his throat feeling too tight for his voice, and Jason glances up at him and smiles.
"Say it again."
"Jason," Kevin repeats, which earns a soft laugh, buried warm against his thigh.
"Not that," Jason clarifies. "The other thing."
It takes Kevin a minute to get it. He runs his fingers through Jason's hair and swallows hard. "I love you."
Jason smiles at him again, his eyes warm and bright, his breath catching a little before he answers. "I love you too."
Jason tugs Kevin's trousers and boxers down and drags his nails back up Kevin's thighs before leaning in to plant a trail of soft kisses from his abdomen south. Kevin bites his lip hard, trying to keep quiet. He has two reasons, practical and selfish: Jason's apartment's walls are thin, and being quiet drives Jason absolutely crazy. He likes responses, likes Kevin to make noise, and they haven't had much time to learn each other but Kevin has learned this and uses it to his every advantage.
Jason gets what he wants in the end; short, ragged, whimpering breaths torn from Kevin's chest and carrying shreds of words, Jason and fuck and please until he tenses and comes.
He wants to say something stupid afterwards, can feel the potential for a going to miss you or a please don't go on his tongue, but something else he has learned about Jason takes precedence. That would be that Jason is a firm believer in the idea that God helps those who help themselves, and so as a good servant Jason's already shedding his clothes and crawling onto the couch and up Kevin's body, whispering feverish last wants like prayers.
**
In the morning, a cab comes to take Jason to the airport, and Kevin waits with him at the curb. Watching Jason lock the apartment door and push the keys back in through the letter slot hurts more than Kevin expected. It's the simple finality of it, the confirmation that Jason is leaving, and that if Kevin comes by here again, no one will be here to let him in.
There's nothing left to say, and they hold hands on the sidewalk in sharp-edged silence, except when one of them makes a helpless effort to overcome it with the trivial.
"You should keep going to services," is Jason's final try, just as the cab comes around the corner. "There's going to be a couple of people covering for me, taking turns, but they're all very good."
"Yeah," Kevin says, wrapping his hand around his car keys in his pocket, tightly enough that the metal bites into his palm. "I'll see what I can do."
Jason nods a little and shifts his bag on his shoulder as the cabbie puts his suitcase in the trunk. "Well." A last kiss. A farewell kiss. It sounds like it should be dramatic and meaningful, but this is soft and short and done. They did all the rest before. "Take care of yourself."
"You too." Kevin's throat is dry. He wishes his eyes were. "Really. Please."
He doesn't do any work for the first hour he's at the office. Then his phone chirps and buzzes, Sarah's number on the screen. He wipes his eyes, clears his throat, and gets ready to answer the first "How are you doing?" with a lie.