Kevin fic, part two
Same disclaimer applies! (I am too lazy to type it out again.)
one three four five six seven epilogue
Number dos!
Realistically, what one goth, angel Ridden, computer obsessed, sleepy boy will do when woken at four-thirty in the morning by screaming voices is scowl, stumble out of bed, slam open his door, and yell, “SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU TWO DICKWADS.”
So Star and Kevin really shouldn’t be surprised when this is exactly what Zan does do, though the thunderstruck looks on their faces sort of betray their utter shock. Their mouths flap open like drugged fishes, and their eyes widen almost comically.
“Good,” Zan grunts, satisfied. “This level of noise? Also known as silence? Good.” And he stumbles back into bed.
A few hours later, when his brain no longer quite feels as if it has been eaten by zombies, Zan will wonder just why it is that Kevin is in their apartment at four-thirty in the morning, just why it is that Star looks as if he hasn’t yet gone to bed, just why it is that there is that particular malingering odor of urine hanging lightly in the air.
But for just now, Zan sleeps.
*
Star rolls his eyes, grabs Kevin’s shirt-collar, and drags the younger man into his room. “You are so fucking bad at throwing a hissy-fit,” he remarks, casual. “A kitten could do a better job.”
Kevin scowls, breaks Star’s grip on his shirt. “You,” he says, “I am going to curse you so dead, you won’t even know you’re dead, you’ll just think everyone has just forgotten your existence.”
If anything, this makes Star’s face twist in amusement. “Jeeeee-zus,” he exhales, “I thought you throwing a hissy-fit was pathetic, but you trying to be threatening?” he chuckles, lightly.
His bed looks rumpled and inviting, so Star goes to sit on it, lounges; throws his legs over the side. Doesn’t care that he’s showing his vulnerable belly to the enemy, because this enemy is clawless; doesn’t worry about attack, because for all of Kevin’s vim, there is no vengeful fire to him. Kevin may get angry, but he won’t get even.
That’s something Star’s going to have to change for him.
“Why, why the HELL did you do that?”
Kevin paces. He’s warmed up via magic and the interior heating that Riverside is surprisingly good about keeping up despite its age, and so the extra movement is due to interior rage rather than any other reason.
“What?” Star drawls.
“YOU KNOW WHAT!”
“Hey!” Star cuts in sharply, “Keep your voice down. Zan’s not pretty when you interrupt his sleep.”
Kevin winces, because this is something he knows, of course he knows this, it just… annoys him that Star knows it too. “Fine,” he says, voice hushed. Eyes glaring. “I’m still waiting on an answer.”
“I gave one to you,” Star says. He puts on his bored face, though really he’s very amused. It’s fun to toy with some people.
“I don’t remember that,” Kevin says, face flushed. Star’s carpet is plush, soft against his toes.
Star rolls his eyes yet again. He somehow has the feeling that one day he’ll have hung out with Kevin too much, and his eyes will just stay perpetually rolling from overuse. “For someone supposedly smart, you sure don’t pay attention when people tell you things,” he says. “Right when I dropped you off. I said that this was your first test. You know - to get you off the ‘dead weight’ when it comes to hostile situations.” He scrutinizes Kevin for a moment, adds, “Though your place there might be permanent, come to think of it.”
Kevin scowls at him. “That is a ridiculous reason,” he says.
“No, actually,” Star says. He sits up, leans his elbows on his thighs, looks straight at Kevin with a smirk. “It’s the best reason there is.”
“You-!” Kevin points a finger, inarticulate with rage, “I!” He sputters a few more seconds, then says, “Oh my god, I cannot even speak to you right now, I am just going to go back to bed.”
He does an about-face and heads out the door. He’s not entirely sure, but he thinks he senses Star leering at his ass as he goes.
*
Star decides to sleep in that morning. It’s not a requirement, he can and has gone days without sleep, but it’s nice to do so when offered opportunity.
So he sleeps in, wanders out of his room at one in the afternoon, showers; heads for the kitchen while wearing a towel, smirks as he brushes inappropriately close to Zan - conscious of the sudden flush of body heat that has suddenly swept through Zan’s body, the red blush showing faint against dark skin - as Zan stirs a pot of soup warming on the stove. Star drips water on Zan’s neck as he leans over Zan’s shoulder (he feels Zan’s small shudder).
Zan clears his throat. “So. What was that about this morning?”
“Hmmm?” Star makes a questioning noise, thrums it from his throat, deep. “Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it. Some of this for me?”
Zan scowls, and stiffens his shoulders, and says, “No. It’s all mine.”
Lightning fast, Star dips the tips of his fingers in the soup - lukewarm, not burning - and brings them to his lips. He sucks his fingers clean, hums again, says, “Not bad, Skerry.”
Zan elbows him in the gut. “That’s disgusting, Star,” he says. But Star is close enough to feel Zan’s body temperature rise a few more degrees.
He grins.
*
Kevin is awake and pottering away in his living room, books spread open on the floor before him, thoughtful frown tacked onto his face and wrinkling his brow. Because Star is Star, he hasn’t bothered knocking on the door before entering; because Kevin is Kevin, he doesn’t notice his near-silent observer until Star throws a wadded up paper ball at his forehead.
“Hey!” Kevin scrambles to his feet. He immediately crosses his arms in front of his chest, defensive and angry and confrontational. “What are you doing here, you bastard?”
Star says, “That’s inaccurate. My parents were married when I was born. Dickweed.”
Kevin sputters for a second, then rejoins, “That’s inaccurate. My dick isn’t a weed.” As comebacks go, it’s weak; but still, Star sort of pauses to look at Kevin incredulously, before he bursts into a small explosion of chuckles that evolve into full-out laughter, hunching over his middle to hug his gut, gasping out not-manly-at-all giggles.
Kevin’s never thought that serial killers could sound so much like little kids. Against his will, he joins in the laughter.
It’s one of those situations where, whenever one person begins to calm down, the other catches his gaze and starts him off again. By the time both Kevin and Star have calmed themselves down, they’re lying on the floor, tears of mirth streaming from their eyes.
“So…” Star gasps. “Not a weed, huh.”
“That’s right,” Kevin says. “If it’s anything, it’s a tree.”
“Dick… tree,” Star says, laughing again, and it’s just very weird. As if Kevin has wandered into an alternate universe. Star leers. “I won’t believe you until you show me.”
Kevin curses his pale complexion. It always shows in the worst way whenever he blushes.
Star grins, bright, says, “Anyways, I’m here to teach you. And you’re going to learn.” For all that Star is smiling, his words carry that air of menace. Like a threat. Kevin is giddy with laughter, so he’s forgiven for not exactly noticing this.
*
Okay, so, in theory Kevin gets why Star feels it necessary to ‘educate’ him in the ways of survival. He even enjoyed the afternoon session with Star’s tutorial on lock-picking - beginning with crafting your own set of lock-picks, no less - because he’s always sort of enjoyed the thought of being able to get into and out of any room.
But there are limits.
Being kidnapped the second night in a row? Is one of them.
Waking up inside of a locked jewelry store? Pushes his limit right over the fucking edge.
There is a folded piece of paper tucked into the elastic of Kevin’s boxers; he pulls it out, trying not to think too hard about how it got there, and reads, ‘Dicktree, you got a lesson this afternoon. Here’s your test. If you fail it, I’m so not bailing you out of jail.’
Right. Right.
Fucking Star, Kevin thinks, and looks around for paperclips to bend into lock picks. By the time I’m through with you, they’ll need DNA evidence to tell that you used to be HUMAN.
Not that Kevin’s all too sure that Star is human, at all.
It’s a good thing Kevin is a fast study. He makes it out of the building in half an hour, tops, though always with a nervous frisson of tension curling up and down his spine, making it difficult to steady his hands. He’s fairly certain that the cut wires he found mean that the electronic alarms have been disarmed, because Star may be cruel but he’s not the kind of asshole who expects the utterly impossible from a wizard. Just the mostly impossible.
When the lock finally clicks open and Kevin has stepped out into the street, shivering in the cold night air, the first thing he does is walk very quickly to the nearest possible snowbank.
He’s pretty disgusted with having to step in his own pee for the second night in a row.
Fucking Star, he thinks, again, vindictive.
He’s SO going to get revenge for this.