Kangaroos are Delicious
So, the night before last, I had this dream, no lie. In this dream, Mike was some sort of, like, aboriginal Australian, and he was shooting kangaroos. With arrows. And Kevin was crouched in the grass next to him, being all like "Mike, why are you killing kangaroos?" and Mike is like, "Because they're delicious, Jonas."
And then I woke up, and I went to my computer, because I HAD to write a fic where Mike kills kangaroos and eats them and they are delicious. So I did-- I figured it would be, like, a plotbunny for someone else, or maybe a drabble.
No, it's like 11,000 words. So yeah. Here it is. Also, it's crappy and crackfic and unbetaed, so if you see things that suck, feel free to mention them .^_^
Also, I know I haven't tagged this right. Someone tell me how to tag it appropriately?
Title: Kangaroos are Delicious
Rating: Um. I don't know? PG-13. Does not-especially-descriptive hand-jobbery count as R? Ehh.
Pairings: Mike/Kevin, Sisky/Butcher, Bill/Nick, and sort of hair!love for Joe/Chiz.
Summary: TAI are Australians. Kevin is not.
(Also, I am not used to lj cuts, to I hope this works...)
Kevin knows, he really does, that it's dangerous to take anything from Frankie. Don't drink juice Frankie hands you-- obvious. Don't eat food Frankie makes for you-- a well known Jonas fact. Don't sleep in your bed if Frankie has been in your room alone-- of course not. But in his defense, he was really, really sleepy when Frankie handed him the boomerang at breakfast. Frankie was just holding it, and was like, "Here, Kevin, take this totally innocuous boomerang which is totally new Jonas merch or something," and Kevin, well, Kevin took it, because he was tired, and that.
That is why he is currently standing in what might be Australia, surrounded by mostly naked men holding spears. What gives him the clue that it's Australia, however, is not the mostly naked men, the spears, or the open air-- it's the herd of kangaroos in the distance, and he kinda can't help himself.
"Wow, that is so pretty."
And then one of them knocks him over the head, and when he gets back, he is going to kill Frankie. Even if that means he'll go to hell or something, it'll be worth it.
--
When he wakes up, it's really, really dark, and Kevin is not actually especially fond of the dark, so he maybe makes a noise. Not, like, a scream or anything, but it might not be the most dignified or manly noise to ever come out of his throat.
"Chill, kid, no one's gonna hurt you." A light flares to his left, and Kevin breathes a little. It's a small torch, held by a guy with dark, scraggly hair and kind of creepy, staring eyes. He's one of the mostly-naked ones from earlier, Kevin is pretty sure, but he can't see more than his chest, so he's not sure if he's mostly-naked or all-naked, but he's hoping for the former, since this guy looks kind of like he could eat him.
"W--" he starts to ask where he is, but his voice squeaks and cracks, and wow, okay, he's really thirsty.
The guy seems to get it, though, and hands him a little wooden cup, filled with something that looks really awesomely like water. Kevin smiles at him, a little hesitantly, and takes a sip.
He nearly spits it back out, because oh god, oh god, it tastes like paint thinner, but he manages to force it down with only a little spluttering. "Wha--what is that?"
The guy grins at him, sharp toothed, and takes the cup back. "It's theoretically rum." He doesn't quite have an Australian accent, but he doesn't quite not have one, either.
Kevin would say that it doesn't taste like rum, but the only alcohol he's ever had was at Joe's last birthday party, and that was half a beer, before he realized that he was kind of a lightweight. Fortunately he realized this before Efron got his hands all the way down his pants, but still. "So," he says, collecting himself a little, "where exactly am I?"
The guy squints at him like he might maybe be crazy, and Kevin cringes. "You're in the village," he says, like it's obvious.
"Yes, but, um. Which village?" Kevin scratches his head, and winces, because, ow, okay, that's where they hit him, maybe he shouldn't touch that. He hopes he doesn't have a concussion or anything.
The guy is still looking at him like he's grown a second head. "The only village, kid, there's nothing else here but camps for a damn long ways. How the hell did you get here if you don't know where you are?"
That, Kevin thinks, would be an awesome question for him to have an answer to. Because he doesn't, he just shrugs. The guy apparently accepts this, however, and shrugs back.
"Well, I assume that means that Gabe didn't send you." He lifts a questioning eyebrow.
Kevin blinks. "Who?
The guy's face breaks into an honest-to-goodness grin, and he sighs through his teeth in what might be relief. "Awesome. This means we get to keep you. I've a bet on with Bill."
"Who?" Kevin says again, but the guy is gone, leaving the torch burning in what presumably is some sort of stand, and Kevin is alone in the hut. Deciding that this may be the only chance he has to sleep before they kill him and eat his flesh or something, he closes his eyes and nods off.
--
When he wakes up this time, it's to the chatter of male voices and better light. There's a small window in the little grass hut, and daylight is shining through it. It's kind of hot, and he's sweating a little, his pajamas-- embarrassingly, his Aladdin ones-- sticking to him uncomfortably. He distantly hopes that he doesn't smell bad or anything.
"Hello?" he calls out after a minute, since no one's in the hut with him and it's kind of boring. He'd rather them kill him and get it over with if they're going to-- not that he really thinks they will, with that whole weird interaction with the guy last night. He was kind of creepy, but in a hot savage sort of way, and Kevin thinks he would have maybe been a little more intimidating if he was planning to kill him and eat his flesh.
A head, half of which is covered in curly blond hair, pokes itself into the hut. "Hey, prisoner dude, what's up?" His voice is a little more Australian sounding than the other guy's, but it's also higher and younger sounding. He definitely doesn't seem like he wants to kill Kevin or anything.
"I, uh." Kevin isn't actually sure what to say, now that someone's in here.
The blonde guy just smiles cheekily, though, and waits. After a minute, when Kevin still can't figure out what to say, the head vanishes and yells, "MIKE! Come play with your prisoner!" He throws Kevin another smile and pops back outside.
Then there are footsteps, and Kevin's stomach clenches involuntarily. But when another head pokes through the door, it's just the guy from last night, and he relaxes.
"So I'm apparently your prisoner?" Kevin asks, his mouth getting the better of him, and oh, wow, Jonas, maybe you shouldn't irritate the guy whose prisoner you apparently are.
The guy just gives him a sharp half-smile and shrugs. "Apparently carrying you back gives me property rights," he says, and Kevin hopes he isn't just imagining the note of teasing. The guy ducks all the way into the hut, and comes to stand by Kevin's cot--palette? It's hard to see what he's laying on, but it's something sort of like a bed, only slightly less comfortable and smelling way more like animals.
"What's your name, kid?" the guy asks, crouching down beside him. He's wearing some sort of wrap skirt, patterned in brown, black, and red, and he tucks it down between his knees.
"Kevin," he replies automatically, like a kindergartener.
"Kevin...?" the guy prompts, arching an eyebrow, and wow, huh, Kevin hadn't known that his stomach could move like that, but it's apparently now somewhere in the region of his ribcage.
"Uh. Jonas. Kevin Jonas." The guy is leaning towards him a little now, hair falling in a fringe around his face, hand on the edge of the cot, and Kevin feels like he should maybe sit up and move him away or something, but he thinks that might be rude.
"Mike," the guy says, grinning with all his teeth. "Carden." He puts a hand out, reaching for Kevin's face, and Kevin involuntarily flinches back. The grin fades, and Mike looks exasperated. "Relax, Kevin Jonas, I'm checking your head."
Kevin warily leans forward, but that really is all that he does-- he cards his hand through Kevin's hair, finding the bump and probing carefully around the edges, feeling for blood. There isn't any, though, Kevin's checked himself, and the guy sits back on his haunches, satisfied.
"Doesn't look like we broke you," he says, with a more tentative smile this time.
Kevin shakes his head, and okay, that maybe hurts a little, but he doesn't say so.
Mike looks like he notices, though, and offers him the same cup as last night. "A drink'll help with your head, kid."
"Um, no, I'm uh. Kind of a lightweight."
Mike presses the cup into his hand, though, and glares at him until he takes a sip. It tastes just as horrible as before, but he manages a couple of swallows.
"So," Mike says, when he's finished, "Do you think you can manage to stand up and put on some real clothes now?"
Kevin wants to say something about how funky manskirts are not necessarily anything like real clothes, but he remembers the knot on his head and that one of the people here gave it to him, so he doesn't protest, just goes along with it, taking Mike's hand and standing up.
"Awesome," Mike says, "We're gonna go steal a wrap from the Butcher."
This doesn't exactly sound like an awesome plan to Kevin, but again, the knot on his head-- and maybe the glint in Mike's eye-- makes him go with it.
"Yeah, okay."
--
The Butcher is apparently actually a butcher, as his hut is right next to one that smells really strongly of meat-- raw meat, smoked meat, cooking meat, blood. It makes Kevin kind of nauseous, but the Butcher himself seems pretty okay, as people go.
He's got tattoos, for one thing-- awesome tattoos. There's a rainbow colored bird on his chest, and a tree growing up his arm, and those are just the first ones Kevin sees. He also has what Joe would call a "rockin' beard, man," but Joe isn't here, so Kevin says it for him. He immediately feels like an idiot, of course, because he doesn't actually say things like that, but the Butcher just laughs and scratches at it self consciously. Kevin's not sure why he's at all self conscious, as he doesn't seem to be about anything else-- he's not even wearing a wrap skirt, just some sort of weird, butt-baring loincloth.
Also, they're apparently not actually stealing a wrap from him, just borrowing one, which puts Kevin slightly more at ease. The part where Mike is suddenly taking off his clothes, however, is kind of unnerving.
"Um, I can do that myself, you know--" he says, trying to push Mike off, but Mike is poking determinedly at the buttons on his pajama top.
"Well, you could, Jonas, but then you'd get all weird and self conscious and then put the wrap on wrong, so you might as well just shut the hell up and let me take off your clothes." Mike glares at him once, through thick bangs, and Kevin gives in.
The Butcher, on the other hand, is holding Kevin's new wrap-- a manskirt of his very own, hoorah-- and smirking like a crazy smirking thing, arms crossed over his chest.
"So what the hell are these things you're wearing, anyway?" Mike grouses, trying to figure out his pants. They're drawstring, buttoned, and elastic, which is maybe kind of elaborate, but they're comfortable, which is enough for Kevin.
"They're, um. Pants?" he tries, but Mike and the Butcher just look at him blankly, and he gives up.
"They're like a wrap sewn down the middle."
The Butcher squints at him. "Why?"
Kevin shrugs, at a loss. He doesn't know why, they're pants, they just are. "Because...then you can run better? I don't know, they just make them this way."
Both Mike and the Butcher make a harrumphing noise at that, but Mike successfully frees him from his pants.
This, however, results in the both of them looking utterly confounded at the existence of his boxer briefs. The Butcher is squinting at them like they're some sort of alien artifact, and Mike is-- well, Mike is squinting at them in an entirely different way, in a way that makes Kevin wish he was wearing slightly more than just boxer briefs.
"Um, so, that wrap--"
Mike grins, wolfish. "In good time, Jonas, in good time."
--
The village is exactly that-- a tiny, grass hut village, somewhere in the Australian outback. And Kevin is kind of guessing that he's maybe not in 2009 anymore, either, what with the grass huts, skirts, and lack of indoor plumbing anywhere. He's less concerned about this than he maybe ought to be, but Mike is kind of distracting. He would be concerned about Mike's distractingness, too, but since he's already going to hell for killing Frankie when he gets back, he figures that staring at another guy isn't really so bad. Besides, Joe's been doing it for ages.
Mike is talking. "…And that's Bill's place, and that's-- oh hang on, there's Sisky."
It's the curly blonde boy from earlier-- he's bouncing towards them, sort of like an aboriginal Tigger, waving. "Mike, Mike," he says, almost vibrating, "The herd is totally here, you've gotta go get one."
Another blonde guy ducks out of the closest hut, nodding nonchalantly at Kevin as though strangers popped into the village and borrowed clothes every day. His hair is longer, a soft, gold fringe around his face, and he has wide blue eyes. He's really, really pretty, and if Mike weren't glowering at him, would totally be the most attractive one there, but Mike's glower is making Kevin's insides do weird things. "I've just finished a new batch of arrows, you can take 'em if you go now," he says, and wow, okay, he has a real Australian accent. Kevin feels like he's actually in the right place for the first time since he woke up, which is really probably kind of screwed up, actually, but he's okay with that.
"Jonas," Mike says, nodding at him. "You're with me, I don't want Guy or Bill breaking you while I'm gone."
Kevin appreciates this, he does, but Sisky looks vaguely wounded. "What," he says, pouting, "You don't think I could break him?"
Mike grins and ruffles his hair. "Oh, you could, but I think Butcher's got you well enough preoccupied." Sisky sticks his tongue out, but looks over Mike's shoulder to where the Butcher is standing, arms still crossed, and doesn't bother to argue. His eyes kind of glaze over a little, and oh. Oh.
Huh, yeah, okay, Kevin can kind of see it now, and huh. Judging from the way Sisky is attempting to wrap himself around the Butcher, Kevin isn't the only one here who's going to hell for ogling other guys. That's kind of oddly comforting.
Mike claps him on the shoulder, startling him out of his reverie, and jerks his head at the really-Australian-y blonde guy. "Jonas, Michael Guy. And Sisky is the one trying to climb the Butcher, but you may have noticed that."
The Butcher laughs, and wow, yep, okay, Sisky does have some mad climbing skills, because he's halfway up the Butcher's torso with his arms around his head. "Wooo, yeah, I claim this land in the name of England, bitches!" he yells, planting an imaginary flag in the top of Butcher's head.
Then the Butcher bites him on the stomach.
--
"So wait... Why are we trying to shoot kangaroos?" Kevin is crouched in the grass next to Mike, his wrap-skirt thing tucked up between his knees. It still feels weird to have so much air around his man-parts, and he keeps getting the disconcerting feeling that the skirt is randomly going to unwrap and flash his pieces parts for everyone to see.
"Not trying, kid." Mike is on one knee, the other knee bracing his left arm as he pulls back the long arrow, right elbow high. He squints, but keeps both eyes open, as the herd of kangaroos nonchalantly munches grass like no one is hiding with a bow and arrow, waiting to kill them.
"Oh, good. But I thought-- holy-- Mike, you just shot it, I thought you said we weren't trying!" One kangaroo falls, twitching, and the rest bolt like startled deer-- or, Kevin supposes, like startled kangaroos, but he's not really familiar with kangaroos on the whole, so.
"Not trying," Mike confirms with an air of grim satisfaction, pushing his way out of the tall grass to the writhing body of the kangaroo. "Just shooting." He jerks the fluffy-tipped arrow out with a grunt and slits the throat matter-of-factly, bleeding the body. He holds the gourd from his belt underneath the wound, catching some of the blood, and when it's full, he hands it to Kevin.
It's heavy, and it makes a sick sloshing sound when he takes it. It doesn't smell like normal blood, like when he skins his knee or nicks his hand; no, it smells thicker, sweeter, more like a freshly mowed lawn. Kevin feels vaguely ill. Mike, on the other hand, looks sort of disgustingly pleased with himself.
"You look disgustingly pleased with yourself," Kevin tells him, because it bears mentioning. He narrows his eyes at Mike. "What if that kangaroo was a baby kangaroo's father or something?"
"Joey," Mike says, lightly slitting the stomach open. Shiny, grey-pink masses of something bulge outward, and if Kevin wasn't nauseous before, he certainly is now.
"What?" He blinks, he'd forgotten what he was saying. He stands, mesmerized, as Mike carefully sticks his hands into the body cavity and pulls the organs out. It's gross, but since so much of the blood is gone-- is in the gourd in his hands, oh god-- it's not as horrible as he supposes it could be. The sun glints on the steaming entrails, and the smell is suddenly sort of overpowering.
"A baby kangaroo is called a joey," Mike explains, jerking Kevin from what was possibly developing into a full on, Victorian-lady swoon. Mike doesn't look up, just goes on wiping his bloody hands on the matted grass around the body. He pulls a long, sharp stick from the pack of arrows on his back-- it could be called a quiver, but Kevin doesn't think it much resembles anything from, like, Robin Hood. At least not Disney's Robin Hood. Then, precise as a surgeon, he uses it to pin the slit in the belly closed.
"R--Yes, right," Kevin says, remembering himself, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to look. "What if this kangaroo was the father of some poor, uh, joey? Huh, what then, Mike, you've deprived it of its father." He opens one eye into a squint, to see what Mike has to say for himself.
He's grinning, unrepentant, up into Kevin's eyes, and it's sort of almost blinding. He swipes his fringe away from his eyes with the back of a bloody hand, grin turning into something a little more feral-- and Kevin, all of a sudden, feels sort of like the kangaroo. Gutted, overheated, and about to be eaten.
"Well then the mother kangaroo will have to marry another lonely mother kangaroo and they'll raise their joeys in a happy, alternative-kangaroo lifestyle, without judgment." He sounds sarcastic, but Kevin kind of hopes that that actually happens. It would be nice, if a little sad for the joeys, who won't have any male role models. But then, it was kind of a big herd, maybe they'll have uncle kangaroos who will step in and teach them manly kangaroo things, like how to flirt with lady kangaroos and how to pee standing up. Can kangaroos even not stand up? Kevin isn't really sure, but Mike is looking at him kind of funny.
"Um, yes, what?" Kevin blinks at him.
Mike snorts and kneels further down, tying the kangaroo's hands and feet-- paws?-- to the long pole he'd brought with him. With a grunt, he heaves the pole over his shoulders and stands up.
He's slightly sunburned, sweaty, and splotched with kangaroo gore. Kevin isn't sure whether to be horrified or impressed. His body seems to have a preference for the latter, and all of a sudden, he is deeply, deeply grateful for his new manskirt.
He's not sure it's hiding as much as he would like for it to, considering the smirk Mike is sporting, but he just clears his throat and hoists the blood-filled gourd higher up in his arms.
"Uh. Uh, right, so, why did we kill a kangaroo?" he asks, and ignores the way his voice cracks a little.
Mike just grunts and rolls his eyes, walking back towards the village. "Because, Jonas, they're delicious."
--
It's almost dark when he and Mike get back to the village, and Mike promptly leaves him at the firepit in the center while he goes to do whatever one does to a dead kangaroo before eating it. So Kevin decides to entertain himself by bothering the others.
There's something that looks like a spear stabbed into the ground by the fire, taller than he is, crossed with an arrow-- one end is sharp, the other is fletched with a plume of what might be ostrich feathers. Emu? He's pretty sure there are emus in Australia, and that ostriches live in, like, Africa. "What is that?"
"It's a woomera." Michael Guy is lounging on a rock by the fire pit, twirling a flat, stout piece of wood with a hook on the end of it between his hands. He smiles up at Kevin through his blond fringe. "It's also called an amirre."
Another guy is sprawled at his feet, playing with another one of the spear things. Kevin is assuming that this is Bill, as he's the only other person Mike has mentioned, and he seems like the sort of person Mike would have bets with regarding his ownership. He just has that look about him. His skirt is rucked up around his knees, and Kevin can see a long, reddish weal on his calf. "Technically, that's the spear for it. The woomera is the thing he's holding." He tucks a strand of long, brown hair behind his ear, and wow, okay, Kevin kind of wishes his ears were pierced, because the funky red-and-yellow wooden loops are more than a little bit fantastic looking.
Michael Guy nods, flipping the wood-- the woomera, Kevin tries out the word in his head-- up into the air and catching it.
"What do you do with it?" he asks, curious.
"You kill things with it," a chirpy voice says from behind him, and Kevin almost has a heart attack. Sisky giggles at him and goes to sit with the others, a woomera of his own, painted red and yellow, hooked through his belt. The Butcher is right behind him, and Sisky scoots himself up into his lap as soon as he sits down. The Butcher doesn't looks as though he minds terribly.
"Like kangaroos," Mike supplies helpfully, and perhaps a little too cheerfully, stepping out of the little grass hut where the boys keep their food. He's cleaner now, having wiped the kangaroo detritus from his arms, but his hair is limp with sweat, dangling over his eyes. Kevin is fully aware that that should not be in any way hot. He shoots Kevin a half-smile, and Kevin is pretty sure that most of his organs are jammed up into his throat now, yep.
Sisky is nodding cheerfully, his mouth wide in a completely honest grin. "Kangaroos are delicious, man. Seriously fucking delicious."
--
Kevin hates to admit it, but the kangaroo meat is actually kind of delicious. He can't bring himself to eat the gravy that the Butcher made from the blood, but he gives himself points for being able to eat the meat at all. Admittedly, the smell is pretty awesome, and he's not sure he could have resisted for very long against Sisky's pitiful eyes and Mike's glower, anyways. He's not entirely sure what it tastes like, but it definitely does not taste like chicken.
They have some sort of white root vegetable that might be a cousin to the potato roasting on the hot rocks by the fire. It looks pretty tasty, too, so Kevin reaches out to snag one. He, however, is not quite as graceful and practiced at it as the others, and manages to burn the everliving goodness out of his fingers. He maybe makes a weird, strangled noise.
Kevin feels the blush taking over his face like some sort of crazy blush ninja as Mike turns to look at him. He's not glaring, though, or even glowering, which is a plus. He even looks kind of concerned.
"Dude, don't damage Mike's property, Jonas," William teases from across the fire, making a light tsk-ing noise.
Mike growls at him, but otherwise ignores him, turning to examine Kevin's hand. "Gonna live, Jonas?" he asks, mock gravely.
Kevin's fingers actually hurt pretty badly, but he's seen the scars all over everyone here, and he feels like he'd be a giant wuss if he admitted that, so he just nods. "I think so."
"Alright then," Mike says, patting him on the knee and returning to his conversation with the Butcher.
Kevin feels kind of left out, and suddenly remembers that, oh, he's in some random point in history, in Australia, and he should maybe be figuring out a way home or something. Also, he kind of misses Joe and Nick.
"Um," he says, quietly, and no one looks at him. He clears his throat, then tries again. "Um, so, I'm uh. Really tired, do you think that there's somewhere I could, uh, sleep?"
Everyone goes quiet, blinking at him. There's silence for a minute, like they're all saying something Kevin can't hear, and then Michael Guy clears his throat.
"Well, if you're Mike's, I guess you get to crash in his hut, huh?"
Mike snorts, but brushes his hands off on his wrap and stands up. He grabs a torch from some magical torch stash or something nearby and lights it in the fire. "Yeah, I guess. C'mon, Jonas."
Kevin stands up, self conscious, and follows Mike out into the dark.
--
"Are you okay, Jonas?" Mike asks, putting the torch in the stand on the floor of the hut so Kevin can see to find his way to the bed.
Kevin shrugs, sitting on the edge of the cot. "Yeah, I guess." He clears his throat again. "I mean, yeah. I'm fine."
Mike arches an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, and eyes him narrowly. "Or you could tell me what's actually going the fuck on."
Kevin flinches, but doesn't say anything, and the silence stretches out.
"Yeah, okay, kid," Mike says, sighing through his teeth. "G'night."
And then he's gone, torch with him, and Kevin is alone in the dark. Again. He really hates the dark. And Frankie. And he wants to go home, where he doesn't have to wear a skirt and eat kangaroo meat.
--
Kevin wakes up in the night, the moon shining through the little window in the hut, and makes up his mind. He's going to leave the village, okay, right. And then he's going to find the spot where he showed up, and he's going to go back there, and. And demand that the universe send him back or something.
He's not really sure what he's going to do when he gets there, but he'll worry about that when he actually gets there. The trick, of course, is going to be sneaking out of the little village without anyone noticing. For all he knows, they could all still be around the fire. Or they could be asleep. Or they could be out with their weird weebly-darts or whatever they're called, killing things. Kevin doesn't know, but the point is that he can't get caught, because he's pretty sure that, no matter how nice they are, they won't hesitate to hit him on the head again, and his head still kind of hurts.
But when he's decided this, and goes to sit up, an iron bar clenches around his stomach. He yelps and falls backwards. Onto something soft. And warm. And breathing. Kevin's heart is pretty much hammering behind his eyeballs now.
There's a low growling noise, and then. "Jonas, it is the middle of the night in the wilderness, and I swear to everything you hold holy, if you get out of this bed and go anywhere but right outside for a piss, you will be eaten by dingoes." Mike yanks him back, pressed tight against him, his arm apparently the iron bar from before. "On the other hand, if you stay here, you will not be eaten by dingoes, and I won't have to go looking for your corpse in the morning." He tucks his leg over Kevin's and nuzzles his nose against the back of Kevin's neck, raising goosebumps. "It’s up to you."
"Um," Kevin says articulately.
Something warm and wet sweeps over the nape of his neck, and Kevin shudders, because god, that's Mike's tongue. "That is not an answer, Jonas." Mike's voice is low and gravelly with sleep, and Kevin is pretty sure he has never actually been this turned on before, which is ridiculous, because he's a prisoner in a grass hut in Australia in god-knows-when, being molested by a savage. And yet.
"I, um. I guess, uh. Being eaten by dingoes would be, um. Bad?" The last word is a squeak as Mike bites down on his earlobe. Kevin's entire body spangles, and oh, okay, he can maybe understand why Joe is kind of a slut now, because this, this is nice. This is kind of more than nice, but Kevin doesn't actually have a word for this, so nice will have to do.
"Bad," Mike agrees, breath hot against the damp skin of Kevin's neck. "Decidedly bad. Painful, too." He nips at a spot just behind Kevin's ear, and oh, oh, okay.
"Hnnnnn," Kevin agrees, and wow. Mike's hand skims across his belly, fingers rough and callused--presumably from hunting and killing kangaroos, Kevin should totally be keeping in mind that Mike is some sort of, like, aboriginal savage or something. But then his hand is on Kevin's hipbone, and his leg is crooked around Kevin's thigh, pulling him back against things, and Kevin can feel his heartbeat going crazy behind his eyes.
"Goodnight, Jonas," Mike says, giving one last bite to his neck, and then the evil jerk falls asleep.
Kevin, on the other hand, lays awake for at least an hour, trying to get his heartbeat--and other things-- back to normal. It isn't easy.
--
The next morning is really hot. Kevin wakes up plastered to Mike, sticky and sweaty and pretty gross smelling, if he wants to be honest with himself.
"Mike," he says, shoving at Mike's shoulder.
Mike just grunts and doesn't open his eyes.
"Miiiike," he whines louder, imitating Nick's annoying younger brother voice. "Miiiiiikeeeeeee." He pokes him hard in the ribs.
Mike growls and opens an eye. "What, Jonas?"
"Where can I get a shower?"
"A what?" Both eyes open now, peering at him quizzically.
"A shower--like--oh god you don't have showers." Kevin might be kind of heartbroken at this. "Do you at least have some sort of like, river?"
Mike raises both eyebrows. "For what, exactly? Are you planning to drown yourself?" He narrows one eye. "I doubt our company is that bad, Jonas, you just have to get used to us."
Kevin snorts, he can't help it. "No, to like. Get clean. So I stop, yknow. Smelling like this."
Mike sniffs at him, which is oh dear god embarrassing, because Kevin smells, he can smell himself, but Mike just shrugs and says, "Smelling like what?"
"Gross. Like sweat. Like gross, stinky sweat Mike oh holy crap what are you doing?" Mike has pinned him to the bed and has buried his face in the crook of Kevin's armpit.
"Jonas," he says, voice muffled, "You smell like a human being. With sweat. Shut the hell up and go back to sleep."
But Kevin. Kevin cannot handle smelling gross. He can maybe handle not having actual deodorant, but as soon as he finds some, he's going to rub his armpits with flowers or something, because ugh. So he shoves at Mike, and rolls out from underneath him.
"I. Need. A. BATH." He glares his fiercest glare at Mike, which is pretty fierce, if he says so himself.
Mike looks at him for a long moment, then bursts into hysterical laughter.
Kevin doesn't actually think his smell is very funny, personally, but Mike is a psychotic savage from the Australian wilderness, so is clearly no decent judge of what is and isn't funny. When he tells Mike this, he just laughs harder.
--
Eventually, Kevin finds the Butcher, who seems the least inclined of all of them to be a pain in the butt. This impression holds true when he just shrugs, gets a couple of things that look like sheets from his hut, and leads Kevin down to a small spring-fed pond.
Kevin looks on the clear, beautiful water with something akin to divine worship. The Butcher just laughs at him, takes off his loincloth, and jumps in.
Kevin blinks, because the Butcher is naked, and it's quite possible that Sisky will tear out Kevin's eyes for having seen the Butcher naked. This, of course, means that the wisest course of action would be to turn around and leave the Butcher to swim. However, Kevin smells terrible and wants a bath, so.
He very, very gingerly takes off his wrap, facing away from the Butcher, and gets in.
It's really, really, really really really cold.
Nonetheless, it's possibly the most satisfying bath he's ever had.
--
They have kangaroo for breakfast-- cold this time, and really salty. It kind of reminds Kevin of bacon, but stringier and less fatty. It's pretty darn delicious, as long as he doesn't think of the harmless, adorable kangaroo it came from. He drinks juice with it, and he's not even really sure what kind it is, he's just glad that it isn't the raw, nasty rum from yesterday.
Mike is up for breakfast, sitting across the smoldering ashes of the firepit, eyeing Kevin in some sort of weirdo way that Kevin is completely at a loss to define. It's almost like he's annoyed, but at the same time amused. Huh. Actually, Nick gives Kevin that look a lot, too, and he can't tell what he means by it, either.
--
Bill and Sisky are of the opinion that, as Mike-the-strong-kangaroo-killer's prisoner/property/thing, Kevin should learn how to kill things and provide for the village. (And yeah, okay, it's not really a village, the more he looks at it, it's a cluster of like ten huts, only five of which people actually live in, but he's not sure what else to call it, and that's what they call it, so.)
Kevin is not exactly pleased by this idea, but he supposes that, as long as the things they want him to kill aren't especially cute and hold the lure of being delicious, he can at least try. Barring that, he could at least, like, forage for berries or something.
So Sisky and Michael Guy and Bill all steal him away from Mike for the day, armed with their woomeras and spears-- because Mike is apparently the only one with a bow and actual arrows-- and some other weird bits of rope and things.
It's a really, really long walk to wherever it is they're going, and Kevin is used to the city, so his feet-- which are, admittedly, in nothing but the weird sandals the others are wearing-- are kind of killing him by the time they get to the place that apparently magically has animals for him to kill. There are about a dozen giant birds-- not ostriches, emus-- clucking around the plain, far enough apart from one another that, theoretically, startling one probably wouldn't send them all flipping out everywhere.
"Okay," Michael Guy explains, holding up the woomera and a spear, "this is how you do it." And he shows Kevin how to notch the indented end of the spear into the little hook on the woomera, and then, like lightning, he arches his arm back over his head and flicks the wrist holding the woomera, which sends the spear hurtling forward, into a very startled emu.
The bird crashes to the ground, and Kevin makes a sort of strangled yelping noise, he can't help it, because yes, the birds are really creepy looking, but he's pretty sure he can't actually bring himself to do that.
But Michael Guy is holding the woomera out to him, and he kind of wants to come back to camp with a dead bird to impress Mike.
So he takes it. And he fits the spear to the hook. And he holds his arm back, and he snaps his wrist like Michael Guy had.
And he manages to flick the spear about three feet. Into a tree.
He hopes Mike will be impressed with a bunch of bark and some sap.
--
Kevin tries all day-- like, literally all day, until the sun is going down and Bill declares that it's time for them, all of whom have dropped a bird except for Kevin, to head back to the village.
Kevin at least doesn't have to carry one, since he didn't manage to kill one.
They're almost all the way back to the village when something scuttles in the brush by Kevin's feet. His heart stops, because god, Australia has snakes, he knows this, they have like ten billion poisonous snakes, and he's going to be bitten and die.
Someone fumbles a spear into his hand, silent. He takes it, palm sweating, and stabs blindly where he heard the scuffle. There's a horrible noise like a scream, and when he yanks back the spear, there's a round, brownish bird with a long beak stabbed onto it, still struggling.
"Awesome," Sisky says, clapping him on the back. "It's a fucking woodhen."
"Are they, um, delicious?" Kevin asks hopefully, entranced by the squalling thing.
"Pretty delicious, yep," Michael Guy says, and neatly breaks its neck.
--
Kevin takes a certain kind of evil glee in dropping the dead bird straight into Mike's lap when they get back to the village.
Mike doesn't squawk like Nick or Joe would, he just peers at the feathery mass and raises an eyebrow. "It's a woodhen."
"I killed it," Kevin says proudly, puffing up his chest a little.
Mike looks at him. "Slightly smaller than an emu, kid."
"Bill says it's tastier," he says, deflating a little.
Mike smiles, and it's a slow, sweet thing, completely different from his normal, animal grin. "Bill is right. They're pretty hard to find, too. How'd you see it in the dark?"
"I um. I thought it was a snake?" Kevin crosses his arms defensively as Mike snickers. "I don't come from around here, okay. I'm not magically full of your wilderness knowledge."
"I'm getting that," Mike mutters, rolling his eyes, then stands up. He holds up the bird. "Come on, kid, I'll show you how to pluck it." He brushes a kiss over Kevin's cheek, feather light, as he goes, and Kevin freezes, blinking. "Thanks for the bird, kid."
When he can manage to get himself together enough to turn and follow Mike, Kevin yells, "Who even said the bird was for you?" Mike just laughs back at him, ducking into the meat-storage hut.
Except that it totally is for him, so Kevin doesn't really mind or anything.
--
Kevin is a little bit worried, when they're eating dinner that night-- which is basically emu burgers, which are awesomely yummy, he's going to have to eat these all the time now-- that he won't actually want to go home when he finally figures out how. Partly, he thinks, it's because of this giant crush thing he has for Mike, and partly, it's because kangaroos and emus and woodhens are delicious and the city isn't quite as much fun as living in a grass hut in the wilds of Australia.
And when he and Mike finally head off to Mike's hut at a long time past midnight, the worry gets a little bit worse, because he's pretty sure he's never actually been this happy.
--
Of course, because Kevin has admitted to being happy, he has to be woken in the night by raucous human yells and a wild pounding on the side of the hut.
"Mike, Mike, holy crap, what is going--augh, that's--augh, my mouf, Mmk." He glares at Mike over the top of Mike's hand which is covering his mouth.
"Shhh, Jonas." Mike glances at the door to the hut. "It's just the cobras."
"Lghh va shnks?" Kevin's eyes get huge, because he didn't think there even were cobras in Australia, and he's pretty sure that normal-sized snakes can't make the pounding noises that these are.
Mike snorts. "Not quite," he mutters, sounding exasperated, then pecks Kevin on the forehead, surprisingly tenderly, and gets out of bed. "Wait there, kid." He tucks the covers mostly over Kevin's head and goes towards the doorway.
And then there's a massive shape blocking the doorway, and a low, creepy voice says, "Carden. Billiam says you have a thing of interest."
Mike glowers at the shape in the doorway. "Yeah, well, Bill is full of shit, Gabe, you should know that."
The shape steps forward and coalesces into a really, really tall man with dark skin-- not black, just really tan. There are feathers and bones braided into his curly hair, and his wrap skirt is leather and looks like it might even be sort of purplish in the right lighting. He leers at Mike. "We've brought you presents, Carden, the least you could do is share your things."
Mike just keeps glowering, and the guy finally sighs and rolls his eyes, slouching. He doesn't look evil, anymore, or even menacing, just sort of bored and deflated. "Yeah, yeah, Carden, I know, you don't like to share. You and the Butcher both." He squints towards Kevin on the bed, but doesn't make a move. "Either way, we've brought supplies, but we can't stay long. Just tell me where the rum cache is so I can send Suarez."
Mike snorts, but grabs the guy-- Gabe-- and tows him outside, talking quietly.
Kevin just waits.
--
When Mike eventually comes back, it's almost dawn, and Kevin's eyes hurt from keeping them open for so long.
"What was that about?" he asks as Mike steps through the doorway.
Mike jumps about a foot in the air. "God, kid, you scared me. Why aren't you asleep?"
Kevin glares at him. Of course he's not asleep, like three hours ago there were giant snakes or something and crazy people trying to steal him and rum. He doesn't say anything, though, because Mike will remember that, unless he is really, really stupid.
He's not stupid, apparently. He sighs as he gets back into bed, tucking an arm around Kevin. "That was Gabe. He and the cobras-- that would be his tribe, Jonas, not actual snakes-- bring shit to trade with us sometimes. They're a pain in the ass, though, and like to do it in the middle of the night, really fucking loudly, just because they can. In return, we trade them Bill's shitty rum, which Gabe only accepts as barter because he wants to have Bills babies." He yawns, jaw cracking, and Kevin is kind of sorry for glaring at him. "Is that enough of an explanation for you?"
Kevin just nods, and gratefully goes back to sleep.
--
"Penises," the Butcher says sagely over breakfast. "They're important."
Kevin isn't sure that this is appropriate breakfast conversation-- although he can imagine Joe taking to the Butcher like a duck to water, which is a weird simile, actually, now that he actually tries to picture it, huh-- but no one else is reacting to the statement like it's in any way odd.
It makes slightly more sense, though, when Bill says, "Yeaaah, Gabe molested you, didn't he?"
Sisky makes a sort of sick noise, but the Butcher shakes his head. "Not me, not Nate. But, uh. Mike, Gabe?" He looks over at Mike, an eyebrow raised, and Kevin feels bile rise up in his throat and is sort of tempted to make a noise like Sisky's.
Mike snorts and shakes his head, and Kevin feels his breath puff out of him in relief. "Molestation by way of Gabe and his lectures over the importance of penises are all the property of Bill over here." He scratches his chin thoughtfully and raises an eyebrow at Michael Guy. "Unless he got his hands down your wrap once I left you two alone with all that rum? Were there drunken shenanigans, Michael Guy?" He sounds like he's teasing, but Kevin thinks there might be an actual note of question there.
Michael Guy shakes his head, though, and bites savagely into his emu sausage patty. "Alash, no. Bicky fee broughtsh me shumfink, sho." He swallows, looking a little pink. "It's, er." He pauses delicately, eyeing Kevin and Mike, like he thinks Mike might smack him if he says something inappropriate. "It goes along with that whole penises are important thing."
Mike glowers at him, but doesn't say anything, and the Butcher gives a delicate cough.
"What, so I'm really the only one that got molested?" Bill looks sort of like he can't decide whether to be pleased or offended. He twirls the big wooden hoops in his ears and mutters something that might have been, "Gabriel, you sly dog," but he's across the fire pit, so it's hard for Kevin to tell.
--
While everyone else goes off to Michael Guy's hut to examine his present, Mike picks up a couple of gourds filled with water and beckons to Kevin.
"Come on, Jonas, let's go for a walk." He turns away down the path that leads out of the village, and Kevin follows him. The path is pretty darn long, and they walk for a good while, and it occurs to Kevin that nature is really big.
Mike's not saying anything, but that's not actually really unusual with Mike, so Kevin is silent, too. But there's a growing feeling like maybe Mike's upset about something, and is going to take him off into the woods and kill him or something. Or, okay, maybe not kill him, because he's pretty sure that Mike likes him and maybe wants to get his hands under his wrap skirt, but maybe at least like, yell at him or scold him for something. He's not actually sure that he's done anything wrong, though, and he's pretty sure that if he had done something wrong, he would have noticed.
When he stops having his tizzy fit in his head, Mike is looking at him, eyebrows raised. "Got something you wanna tell me, kid?" he asks, voice lowered dangerously.
"Um. No?" Kevin tries. He doesn't think he does.
"You're not…hiding something from me? From us?" Mike looms a little closer, nose really close to Kevin's nose, and Kevin can feel his breath on his mouth, oh god.
"N-no?" he squeaks out.
Mike's glare deepens, and his nose is actually touching Kevin's nose now. Kevin is pretty sure he can feel his eyes crossing, actually. "You're positive?"
Kevin nods, wide eyed, and okay, is really hoping Mike will kiss him now. He doesn't, though, just drops his head onto Kevin's shoulder and sighs in what sounds like exasperation.
"The sad thing is, Jonas, I believe you, if only because I think you wouldn't be able to lie worth shit."
Kevin nods, solemnly. This is a very good point-- he can't lie worth, um. Crap. "You'd be right." Nick and Joe tell him this all the time.
Mike snorts into his shoulder, and wraps a warm arm around Kevin's waist, pulling him closer. "Yeah, yeah, kid." He nuzzles into the meat of Kevin's shoulder, right where it connects to his neck, and suddenly, his mouth is open and his breath is warm and damp and Kevin is covered in chills.
"Um, um. Mike." Kevin doesn't want to move him, but the Butcher is coming down the path towards them, and this is going to be kind of awkward.
Mike just makes an amused noise and bites him. Hard.
A strangled, embarrassing noise forces itself out of Kevin's throat, and he can feel every single muscle in his body go taut for a single moment. Then he relaxes into bonelesness, and oh, huh, Mike is licking his neck.
"Is this a cannibal thing where you tenderize me before eating me?" Kevin asks, dazed.
The Butcher is close enough to hear, and snickers. "No, it's his way of marking his territory before Bill tries to kill you for being a spy or something."
That makes Kevin slightly less boneless. "Um, wait, why am I a spy?"
Mike snorts into his shoulder and pulls back. "Because of the other one of you back in Guy's hut?"
"Yeah, but what would I even be spying on--wait, the other what now?" Kevin goggles at him.
Mike holds his hand up to about neck height on Kevin and says, "Another one of you, straighter hair, about yea high, makes inappropriate jokes about our clothes? And to answer your other question, I don't know, just… us. Rum? We make rum. I don't know if it's legal, now." He catches himself getting off topic, and scowls. "But there's a smaller you, and I want to know what the heck it's doing here."
"Oh," Kevin says stupidly, and then, "That would be Joe." And then, realizing what he's just said, he tears off down the path towards the village, yelling for Joe, because Joe is here.
--
"Joe! Joe! Joooooooooeeeee!" Kevin flings himself into Michael Guy's hut, panting. Joe is standing there, clearly having not been hit over the head, talking to Sisky and Michael Guy.
He looks over at Kevin, nods at him, says, "Hey, bro," and goes back to his conversation.
"Joe." Kevin glares at him, doing his best to imitate Mike.
Joe glances at him, eyebrows up. "What? I'm trying to talk, here."
Kevin narrows his eyes even further, even though that makes it kind of hard to see. "How did you even get here?"
"Dude, Frankie." He shrugs. "Chill. Nick'll find a way to get us back. Did you know these guys eat kangaroos?"
Kevin kind of wants to hit Joe right in his stupid face, but he's not sure if it's because he's being an idiot or because he's right, and Nick will find a way to get them back, and knowing Nick, he's not going to ask if Kevin wants to go.
--
Bill tries to claim Joe on the grounds that "Mike got to keep the last one," but is thwarted by Joe demanding that Michael Guy claim him "Because he's the only one with pretty hair, come on." Which of course throws Bill into a sulking fit, which Kevin things is pretty understandable, actually, because Bill has really pretty hair, too. Joe just has a thing for blondes.
Kevin would tell Bill this, except that Bill is slouched by the fire pit, ostentatiously sharpening a spear, and Kevin is too aware of how often he blunders and says the wrong thing to risk going over there and getting stabbed.
Mike, however, is apparently better at saying the right thing-- or at least his ability to out-muscle spindly Bill-- because he goes over there as soon as he and the Butcher get back to the village.
Kevin can't hear what they say, but after a minute, all the tension seeps out of Bill's shoulders and he leans into Mike's side. Mike puts an arm around him, and they just sit, quiet, and Kevin feels kind of creepy just watching. For the first time, he wonders if Mike maybe doesn't want him, if maybe Mike's already spoken for.
The thought makes his stomach hurt, so he goes to find Joe and tell him about emus and woodhens and how totally scrumptious they are.
--
Much to Kevin's annoyance, Joe is a total natural at killing things.
Bill, Sisky, and Michael Guy take them out hunting to the emu plain, and Joe looks all psychotic and wild, and he's rubbed dirt on his cheeks-- so he looks like an Indian or something, Kevin doesn't know, Joe is weird-- and he looks at the emus and licks his lips and it's really darn creepy.
Michael Guy hands him the woomera, shows him what to do. Joe hooks the woomera into the spear, raises it back, flicks his wrist, and suddenly, there's another dead emu and Kevin kind of wants to go die in a hole or something.
Everyone cheers, and Michael Guy runs out to drag the body back to their stand in the grass. Joe, grinning like an idiot, asks when he gets to kill a kangaroo.
Everybody turns and looks at him like he just suggested that they mount an expedition to go lick the Pope.
"You, uh…" Michael Guy trails off, looking consternated.
"You're not allowed," Bill cuts in sharply.
Joe looks put out. "Why not?"
Sisky shrugs, with forced nonchalance. "That's Mike's job."
Joe squints at him. "Yeah, okay, but you could eat a lot more kangaroos if everyone--"
"That's Mike's job," Sisky repeats, a little more forbiddingly, and Joe shuts up..
Kevin kind of wants to ask why it's Mike's job, but he thinks it would probably be easier to just ask Mike. He feels a little better about Joe's mad hunting skills now, though.
--
"So," Kevin asks as they get ready to go to bed that night, after a dinner of meatballs made of emu meat, "Why are you the only one allowed to kill kangaroos?"
Mike doesn't look at him, just combs out his hair and changes into the shorter wrap that he sleeps in. "Do you know what happens if you hit a kangaroo but don't actually kill it?"
"Um. No?"
Mike snorts. "It comes and kicks the shit out of you until you're dead." He looks at Kevin now, eyes narrowed. "I'm the only one allowed to kill them cause I'm the only one who can do it in one shot." He pulls back the covers, gesturing Kevin in before him. Kevin goes.
"How do you know, though, the thing about the kangaroos?" he asks, scrambling to get over to the side of the cot closest to the wall.
Mike gets in, pulling the covers up over them, and doesn't meet Kevin's eyes. "Well, there used to be six of us." He rolls over and blows out the torch, and the hut is swamped in darkness.
Oh. "Oh," Kevin says stupidly, kind of horrified and awed at the same time.
They're quiet for a while, and really tense, and Kevin can't handle it, so.
"Do you kill koalas, too?" he asks, have jokingly.
Mike goggles at him in the dark, then snorts in amusement. "Koalas taste like crap, Jonas. Like adorable, fuzzy crap, and I don't kill things that are cuter than they are tasty." He mutters something that might be, "That's why you're still around," but Kevin isn't really sure and he doesn't want to think about it too hard. Mike closes his eyes and folds his arms behind his head.
"Oh. How about wombats? Wombats are cute, too."
Mike cracks one eye. "Wombats, Jonas, are even more delicious than kangaroos."
--
Kevin wakes up from the dream drenched in sweat, panting.
Mike is awake, peering at him. "You okay?" He looks actually concerned, and Kevin feels the blush creeping up his cheeks.
"Um, yeah," he says, voice a little strangled. "Totally fine, Mike, yep."
"Nightmare?" Mike asks sympathetically, and for a second, he sound kind of like Kevin's mom, which is creepy and dissociating enough that Kevin's heart rate goes almost back to normal. And then he pats Kevin's hip.
"Ummmm yeah. Something like that." He's still kind of shaking, but he tries to push away the lingering feeling of Mike's hands, the image of him braced above him, holding him down, doing things. Things, okay, things that Kevin is not actually sure how they work, but he is reasonably sure he'd be okay with Mike doing to him, if he should be so inclined.
Mike eyes him curiously for a moment. "Jonas?"
"Right, fine, I am."
Mike rolls his eyes. "You know what helps with nightmares?"
Warm milk, Kevin's mom would say. A backrub, even. "Really shitty rum." Mike doesn't wait for a response, just gets out of bed and brings back a cupful. He takes a swig, then hands it to Kevin and gets back in bed.
Gross as he knows it tastes, Kevin thinks it might help him forget the dream and go back to sleep, so he takes a swallow. And then another.
Mike takes the cup back, drains the rest, and then Kevin thinks he might have fallen asleep again, because Mike is straddling him.
"Uh, Mike, what--"
Mike's face is really, really close, just like this afternoon, and Kevin's heart is suddenly beating somewhere near his throat. He kind of can't breathe. "You said my name during your nightmare, Jonas."
Kevin…had not known that, actually, but he does tend to talk in his sleep, so he's not really surprised. Horrified, maybe, and bright red in the face, but not surprised. "Um." Mike's weight is heavy on his thighs, pressing salaciously against…things. The room suddenly seems hot, confining, and the air is heavy and wet and hard to get into his lungs.
Mike nudges Kevin's cheek with his nose. "What were you dreaming about, Jonas?"
Kevin swallows thickly. "Uh, things." Things.
"What kind of things?" Mike's voice is sort of dangerous and low, and that's making matters below the equator a bit worse. Then Mike's hips shift, and Kevin's wrap slips to the side, and oh, oh. Mike is apparently not adverse to things either. "Tell me, Jonas."
"You were. Um. You were doing things?"
Mike grins, sharp and wicked in the dark hut, and his voice is kind of husky when he says, "What things?"
Kevin things he might die, like actually die for real, if he says it out loud, but at the same time, he knows Mike won't take no for an answer. So, not meeting Mike's eyes, he holds out his wrists.
Mike stares at him for a long moment, for forever, and then, slowly, deliberately, takes them, one in each hand. He raises them up over Kevin's head, pinning them down to the cot. "Things like this?" he asks, voice hoarse. His eyes are dark, almost black, pupils completely blown, and something half hopeful, half terrified swells in the pit of Kevin's stomach.
All of Kevin's breath rushes out of him, and he just nods. Mike's face is right there, sweat-damp hair falling around his face, brushing Kevin's cheeks. Mike's breath is heavy with run, and Kevin's head is spinning.
"Do you want--"
"Yes." Kevin wants. He doesn't know what, but he totally wants.
Slowly, like he's giving Kevin a chance to run away screaming or something, Mike leans down and kisses him. It's gentle and careful and not Mike, and Kevin can't help it, he whines, pressing up against him, trying for more, for something sharper and darker and more like Mike.
Mike gives it to him. He presses down, full length against Kevin, devouring his mouth with lips and tongue and teeth, oh god teeth, and it's amazing. And his hands, his hands are everywhere, and Kevin's skin doesn't even know what to do with this, and every single inch of him is spangling, stars rising up under his nerves and exploding, and then Mike's hand is slipping under his wrap and oh.
Mike tightens his fist, moving, and Kevin's mind goes white.
--
"I found a thing," Bill says the next morning, not bothering to knock. This is kind of embarrassing, since Kevin is naked and sticky and sweaty and plastered against Mike. "I think it might belong to you."
It becomes even more embarrassing when the "thing" turns out to be Nick, bound and gagged, slung over Michael Guy's shoulder.
Kevin would totally jump out of bed and have some sort of brotherly freak-out over this, except, again, he's naked and icky, and Nick looks sort of traumatized. He's making indignant noises, and his face is very red.
Mike squints, looking from him to Nick and back again. "It's not mine," he drawls, "But it looks a hell of a lot like it."
Kevin coughs. "It's-- I mean, he's Nick. He's, uh, mine."
Bill rolls his eyes. "Well, as long as that's cleared up-- god, Jonas, where the hell do you curly little things keep coming from?"
Kevin is pretty sure that that would be a bad thing to answer, and he's not even sure how Nick got here, anyways, so he just shrugs.
Bill glowers for a moment, then gestures impatiently to Michael Guy. "I'm taking this one, Carden," he snaps, and stomps out of the tent. Michael Guy shrugs, flips Kevin a vague salute, and follows after, an irate Nick still slung over his shoulder.
Mike yawns. "So. Sleep. We should finish that."
Nick can probably handle himself for an hour or two. The worst Bill will do is molest him a little, and Kevin is living proof that molestation by savages isn't fatal, and it would probably go a long ways towards getting the stick out of Nick's rear anyways. "Yeah, okay," he agrees, snuggling up to Mike's chest.
Mike makes a low mmmm-ing sound of agreement, and Kevin is sort of absurdly happy.
Except for the part where Nick is here, which means that he's probably expecting Kevin to go home with him.
--
Nick is expecting Kevin to go home with him, but that will only work if he manages to get out of Bill's bed, which is where Kevin finds him when he finally drags himself and Mike out of bed. He's still a little dazed and possibly slightly under-slept, but he's fairly certain that's he's not hallucinating Nick, hands tied to Bill's bed, being sat on by Bill.
"Morning, biggest Jonas," Bill greets him cheerfully, bouncing up and down on Nick's legs like a kid. Kevin isn't sure if this is really hilarious or kind of disturbing, but considering the color of Nick's face, which is quickly approaching plum, he's going to go with hilarious.
"Nick," he says, polite. "It's so good to see you."
Nick glares at him. "Kevin. It would be better to see you if you would get this-- this thing off of me. Now."
Bill doesn't look offended; rather, Kevin thinks he looks sort of bizarrely pleased with himself. "Nope, tiny curly Jonas, you're my prisoner. Third time's the charm, eh?" he says to Kevin, winking conspiratorially.
Nick harrumphs, and just keeps glaring at everything.
Joe comes hurtling in, dragging Michael Guy by the hand. "Nick, Nick, we can't go home, you can't make us, we eat kangaroos!" He stops, panting, and squeezes Michael Guy proprietarily around the middle. "Also the blonde one owns me and I think Kevin had sex with Mike, so we have to stay."
Nick's eyes bulge, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Bill claps a hand over it. Bill then eyes Kevin speculatively. "Goodness, Jonas, I didn't know you had it in you."
"I, um, don’t? I mean, we didn't--" He's blushing, he can feel it.
Arms slip around his waist from behind, and he tenses for a second, but it's just Mike. He hooks his chin over Kevin's shoulder and nods cordially at Nick. "It's just a matter of time, though," he says conversationally, giving Nick a bland smile. Kevin thinks his face is about the color of Nick's face; it feels like it's on fire.
Nick makes outraged noises and tries to kick Bill off, presumably to defend Kevin's virtue or something, but Bill is having none of it. "Tiny curly Jonas, I will molest you right here and now, regardless of present company, if you do not hush yourself right up. Are we clear?" He glares at Nick through his flop of hair, and Nick makes a squeaking noise of assent. "Awesome." He takes his hand off of Nick's mouth. "Now, you keep saying you have something to tell them?"
Nick glares at him once more, and turns to look at Kevin and Joe. "I was trying to find a way to get you back--"
"I told you, we're not going back," Joe says stoutly, arms crossed.
"BUT," Nick says, talking over him, "Frankie handed me this boomerang, and then I was here."
Kevin blinks at him. "So, wait, you don't have a way for us to get back? We're stuck here?"
Nick looks sort of sick at the idea. "For the time being, yes." He narrows his eyes at Bill. "That does not mean I am your property or will allow you to lay hands on my person."
Bill grins down at him, but doesn't say anything, and Kevin takes that as his cue to leave the hut, and he goes, pulling Mike along after him.
"So," Mike says when they're back at his hut, "You're um… staying?"
Kevin shrugs-- Mike doesn't even know where he's from, where he'd be going to, but that isn't really important since he isn't going-- and smiles. "Yep, staying."
Mike grins, and it's blinding and awesome, and makes Kevin kind of nauseatingly happy. "You know what this calls for?" he says, half teasingly.
"What?"
"More kangaroo meat. Come on."
And so Mike gets his bow and the weird, icky blood gourd, and Kevin follows him down the path the field where kangaroos like to eat, and Mike shoots another kangaroo and they eat it and it is even more delicious than the first one, and Kevin thinks he could die happy, and for just a minute, he thanks stupid Frankie for handing him the stupid boomerang in the first place.
Nick doesn't get to eat it and find out if kangaroo is delicious or not, though, because he's being ravished by Bill.
--
END
And then I woke up, and I went to my computer, because I HAD to write a fic where Mike kills kangaroos and eats them and they are delicious. So I did-- I figured it would be, like, a plotbunny for someone else, or maybe a drabble.
No, it's like 11,000 words. So yeah. Here it is. Also, it's crappy and crackfic and unbetaed, so if you see things that suck, feel free to mention them .^_^
Also, I know I haven't tagged this right. Someone tell me how to tag it appropriately?
Title: Kangaroos are Delicious
Rating: Um. I don't know? PG-13. Does not-especially-descriptive hand-jobbery count as R? Ehh.
Pairings: Mike/Kevin, Sisky/Butcher, Bill/Nick, and sort of hair!love for Joe/Chiz.
Summary: TAI are Australians. Kevin is not.
(Also, I am not used to lj cuts, to I hope this works...)
Kevin knows, he really does, that it's dangerous to take anything from Frankie. Don't drink juice Frankie hands you-- obvious. Don't eat food Frankie makes for you-- a well known Jonas fact. Don't sleep in your bed if Frankie has been in your room alone-- of course not. But in his defense, he was really, really sleepy when Frankie handed him the boomerang at breakfast. Frankie was just holding it, and was like, "Here, Kevin, take this totally innocuous boomerang which is totally new Jonas merch or something," and Kevin, well, Kevin took it, because he was tired, and that.
That is why he is currently standing in what might be Australia, surrounded by mostly naked men holding spears. What gives him the clue that it's Australia, however, is not the mostly naked men, the spears, or the open air-- it's the herd of kangaroos in the distance, and he kinda can't help himself.
"Wow, that is so pretty."
And then one of them knocks him over the head, and when he gets back, he is going to kill Frankie. Even if that means he'll go to hell or something, it'll be worth it.
--
When he wakes up, it's really, really dark, and Kevin is not actually especially fond of the dark, so he maybe makes a noise. Not, like, a scream or anything, but it might not be the most dignified or manly noise to ever come out of his throat.
"Chill, kid, no one's gonna hurt you." A light flares to his left, and Kevin breathes a little. It's a small torch, held by a guy with dark, scraggly hair and kind of creepy, staring eyes. He's one of the mostly-naked ones from earlier, Kevin is pretty sure, but he can't see more than his chest, so he's not sure if he's mostly-naked or all-naked, but he's hoping for the former, since this guy looks kind of like he could eat him.
"W--" he starts to ask where he is, but his voice squeaks and cracks, and wow, okay, he's really thirsty.
The guy seems to get it, though, and hands him a little wooden cup, filled with something that looks really awesomely like water. Kevin smiles at him, a little hesitantly, and takes a sip.
He nearly spits it back out, because oh god, oh god, it tastes like paint thinner, but he manages to force it down with only a little spluttering. "Wha--what is that?"
The guy grins at him, sharp toothed, and takes the cup back. "It's theoretically rum." He doesn't quite have an Australian accent, but he doesn't quite not have one, either.
Kevin would say that it doesn't taste like rum, but the only alcohol he's ever had was at Joe's last birthday party, and that was half a beer, before he realized that he was kind of a lightweight. Fortunately he realized this before Efron got his hands all the way down his pants, but still. "So," he says, collecting himself a little, "where exactly am I?"
The guy squints at him like he might maybe be crazy, and Kevin cringes. "You're in the village," he says, like it's obvious.
"Yes, but, um. Which village?" Kevin scratches his head, and winces, because, ow, okay, that's where they hit him, maybe he shouldn't touch that. He hopes he doesn't have a concussion or anything.
The guy is still looking at him like he's grown a second head. "The only village, kid, there's nothing else here but camps for a damn long ways. How the hell did you get here if you don't know where you are?"
That, Kevin thinks, would be an awesome question for him to have an answer to. Because he doesn't, he just shrugs. The guy apparently accepts this, however, and shrugs back.
"Well, I assume that means that Gabe didn't send you." He lifts a questioning eyebrow.
Kevin blinks. "Who?
The guy's face breaks into an honest-to-goodness grin, and he sighs through his teeth in what might be relief. "Awesome. This means we get to keep you. I've a bet on with Bill."
"Who?" Kevin says again, but the guy is gone, leaving the torch burning in what presumably is some sort of stand, and Kevin is alone in the hut. Deciding that this may be the only chance he has to sleep before they kill him and eat his flesh or something, he closes his eyes and nods off.
--
When he wakes up this time, it's to the chatter of male voices and better light. There's a small window in the little grass hut, and daylight is shining through it. It's kind of hot, and he's sweating a little, his pajamas-- embarrassingly, his Aladdin ones-- sticking to him uncomfortably. He distantly hopes that he doesn't smell bad or anything.
"Hello?" he calls out after a minute, since no one's in the hut with him and it's kind of boring. He'd rather them kill him and get it over with if they're going to-- not that he really thinks they will, with that whole weird interaction with the guy last night. He was kind of creepy, but in a hot savage sort of way, and Kevin thinks he would have maybe been a little more intimidating if he was planning to kill him and eat his flesh.
A head, half of which is covered in curly blond hair, pokes itself into the hut. "Hey, prisoner dude, what's up?" His voice is a little more Australian sounding than the other guy's, but it's also higher and younger sounding. He definitely doesn't seem like he wants to kill Kevin or anything.
"I, uh." Kevin isn't actually sure what to say, now that someone's in here.
The blonde guy just smiles cheekily, though, and waits. After a minute, when Kevin still can't figure out what to say, the head vanishes and yells, "MIKE! Come play with your prisoner!" He throws Kevin another smile and pops back outside.
Then there are footsteps, and Kevin's stomach clenches involuntarily. But when another head pokes through the door, it's just the guy from last night, and he relaxes.
"So I'm apparently your prisoner?" Kevin asks, his mouth getting the better of him, and oh, wow, Jonas, maybe you shouldn't irritate the guy whose prisoner you apparently are.
The guy just gives him a sharp half-smile and shrugs. "Apparently carrying you back gives me property rights," he says, and Kevin hopes he isn't just imagining the note of teasing. The guy ducks all the way into the hut, and comes to stand by Kevin's cot--palette? It's hard to see what he's laying on, but it's something sort of like a bed, only slightly less comfortable and smelling way more like animals.
"What's your name, kid?" the guy asks, crouching down beside him. He's wearing some sort of wrap skirt, patterned in brown, black, and red, and he tucks it down between his knees.
"Kevin," he replies automatically, like a kindergartener.
"Kevin...?" the guy prompts, arching an eyebrow, and wow, huh, Kevin hadn't known that his stomach could move like that, but it's apparently now somewhere in the region of his ribcage.
"Uh. Jonas. Kevin Jonas." The guy is leaning towards him a little now, hair falling in a fringe around his face, hand on the edge of the cot, and Kevin feels like he should maybe sit up and move him away or something, but he thinks that might be rude.
"Mike," the guy says, grinning with all his teeth. "Carden." He puts a hand out, reaching for Kevin's face, and Kevin involuntarily flinches back. The grin fades, and Mike looks exasperated. "Relax, Kevin Jonas, I'm checking your head."
Kevin warily leans forward, but that really is all that he does-- he cards his hand through Kevin's hair, finding the bump and probing carefully around the edges, feeling for blood. There isn't any, though, Kevin's checked himself, and the guy sits back on his haunches, satisfied.
"Doesn't look like we broke you," he says, with a more tentative smile this time.
Kevin shakes his head, and okay, that maybe hurts a little, but he doesn't say so.
Mike looks like he notices, though, and offers him the same cup as last night. "A drink'll help with your head, kid."
"Um, no, I'm uh. Kind of a lightweight."
Mike presses the cup into his hand, though, and glares at him until he takes a sip. It tastes just as horrible as before, but he manages a couple of swallows.
"So," Mike says, when he's finished, "Do you think you can manage to stand up and put on some real clothes now?"
Kevin wants to say something about how funky manskirts are not necessarily anything like real clothes, but he remembers the knot on his head and that one of the people here gave it to him, so he doesn't protest, just goes along with it, taking Mike's hand and standing up.
"Awesome," Mike says, "We're gonna go steal a wrap from the Butcher."
This doesn't exactly sound like an awesome plan to Kevin, but again, the knot on his head-- and maybe the glint in Mike's eye-- makes him go with it.
"Yeah, okay."
--
The Butcher is apparently actually a butcher, as his hut is right next to one that smells really strongly of meat-- raw meat, smoked meat, cooking meat, blood. It makes Kevin kind of nauseous, but the Butcher himself seems pretty okay, as people go.
He's got tattoos, for one thing-- awesome tattoos. There's a rainbow colored bird on his chest, and a tree growing up his arm, and those are just the first ones Kevin sees. He also has what Joe would call a "rockin' beard, man," but Joe isn't here, so Kevin says it for him. He immediately feels like an idiot, of course, because he doesn't actually say things like that, but the Butcher just laughs and scratches at it self consciously. Kevin's not sure why he's at all self conscious, as he doesn't seem to be about anything else-- he's not even wearing a wrap skirt, just some sort of weird, butt-baring loincloth.
Also, they're apparently not actually stealing a wrap from him, just borrowing one, which puts Kevin slightly more at ease. The part where Mike is suddenly taking off his clothes, however, is kind of unnerving.
"Um, I can do that myself, you know--" he says, trying to push Mike off, but Mike is poking determinedly at the buttons on his pajama top.
"Well, you could, Jonas, but then you'd get all weird and self conscious and then put the wrap on wrong, so you might as well just shut the hell up and let me take off your clothes." Mike glares at him once, through thick bangs, and Kevin gives in.
The Butcher, on the other hand, is holding Kevin's new wrap-- a manskirt of his very own, hoorah-- and smirking like a crazy smirking thing, arms crossed over his chest.
"So what the hell are these things you're wearing, anyway?" Mike grouses, trying to figure out his pants. They're drawstring, buttoned, and elastic, which is maybe kind of elaborate, but they're comfortable, which is enough for Kevin.
"They're, um. Pants?" he tries, but Mike and the Butcher just look at him blankly, and he gives up.
"They're like a wrap sewn down the middle."
The Butcher squints at him. "Why?"
Kevin shrugs, at a loss. He doesn't know why, they're pants, they just are. "Because...then you can run better? I don't know, they just make them this way."
Both Mike and the Butcher make a harrumphing noise at that, but Mike successfully frees him from his pants.
This, however, results in the both of them looking utterly confounded at the existence of his boxer briefs. The Butcher is squinting at them like they're some sort of alien artifact, and Mike is-- well, Mike is squinting at them in an entirely different way, in a way that makes Kevin wish he was wearing slightly more than just boxer briefs.
"Um, so, that wrap--"
Mike grins, wolfish. "In good time, Jonas, in good time."
--
The village is exactly that-- a tiny, grass hut village, somewhere in the Australian outback. And Kevin is kind of guessing that he's maybe not in 2009 anymore, either, what with the grass huts, skirts, and lack of indoor plumbing anywhere. He's less concerned about this than he maybe ought to be, but Mike is kind of distracting. He would be concerned about Mike's distractingness, too, but since he's already going to hell for killing Frankie when he gets back, he figures that staring at another guy isn't really so bad. Besides, Joe's been doing it for ages.
Mike is talking. "…And that's Bill's place, and that's-- oh hang on, there's Sisky."
It's the curly blonde boy from earlier-- he's bouncing towards them, sort of like an aboriginal Tigger, waving. "Mike, Mike," he says, almost vibrating, "The herd is totally here, you've gotta go get one."
Another blonde guy ducks out of the closest hut, nodding nonchalantly at Kevin as though strangers popped into the village and borrowed clothes every day. His hair is longer, a soft, gold fringe around his face, and he has wide blue eyes. He's really, really pretty, and if Mike weren't glowering at him, would totally be the most attractive one there, but Mike's glower is making Kevin's insides do weird things. "I've just finished a new batch of arrows, you can take 'em if you go now," he says, and wow, okay, he has a real Australian accent. Kevin feels like he's actually in the right place for the first time since he woke up, which is really probably kind of screwed up, actually, but he's okay with that.
"Jonas," Mike says, nodding at him. "You're with me, I don't want Guy or Bill breaking you while I'm gone."
Kevin appreciates this, he does, but Sisky looks vaguely wounded. "What," he says, pouting, "You don't think I could break him?"
Mike grins and ruffles his hair. "Oh, you could, but I think Butcher's got you well enough preoccupied." Sisky sticks his tongue out, but looks over Mike's shoulder to where the Butcher is standing, arms still crossed, and doesn't bother to argue. His eyes kind of glaze over a little, and oh. Oh.
Huh, yeah, okay, Kevin can kind of see it now, and huh. Judging from the way Sisky is attempting to wrap himself around the Butcher, Kevin isn't the only one here who's going to hell for ogling other guys. That's kind of oddly comforting.
Mike claps him on the shoulder, startling him out of his reverie, and jerks his head at the really-Australian-y blonde guy. "Jonas, Michael Guy. And Sisky is the one trying to climb the Butcher, but you may have noticed that."
The Butcher laughs, and wow, yep, okay, Sisky does have some mad climbing skills, because he's halfway up the Butcher's torso with his arms around his head. "Wooo, yeah, I claim this land in the name of England, bitches!" he yells, planting an imaginary flag in the top of Butcher's head.
Then the Butcher bites him on the stomach.
--
"So wait... Why are we trying to shoot kangaroos?" Kevin is crouched in the grass next to Mike, his wrap-skirt thing tucked up between his knees. It still feels weird to have so much air around his man-parts, and he keeps getting the disconcerting feeling that the skirt is randomly going to unwrap and flash his pieces parts for everyone to see.
"Not trying, kid." Mike is on one knee, the other knee bracing his left arm as he pulls back the long arrow, right elbow high. He squints, but keeps both eyes open, as the herd of kangaroos nonchalantly munches grass like no one is hiding with a bow and arrow, waiting to kill them.
"Oh, good. But I thought-- holy-- Mike, you just shot it, I thought you said we weren't trying!" One kangaroo falls, twitching, and the rest bolt like startled deer-- or, Kevin supposes, like startled kangaroos, but he's not really familiar with kangaroos on the whole, so.
"Not trying," Mike confirms with an air of grim satisfaction, pushing his way out of the tall grass to the writhing body of the kangaroo. "Just shooting." He jerks the fluffy-tipped arrow out with a grunt and slits the throat matter-of-factly, bleeding the body. He holds the gourd from his belt underneath the wound, catching some of the blood, and when it's full, he hands it to Kevin.
It's heavy, and it makes a sick sloshing sound when he takes it. It doesn't smell like normal blood, like when he skins his knee or nicks his hand; no, it smells thicker, sweeter, more like a freshly mowed lawn. Kevin feels vaguely ill. Mike, on the other hand, looks sort of disgustingly pleased with himself.
"You look disgustingly pleased with yourself," Kevin tells him, because it bears mentioning. He narrows his eyes at Mike. "What if that kangaroo was a baby kangaroo's father or something?"
"Joey," Mike says, lightly slitting the stomach open. Shiny, grey-pink masses of something bulge outward, and if Kevin wasn't nauseous before, he certainly is now.
"What?" He blinks, he'd forgotten what he was saying. He stands, mesmerized, as Mike carefully sticks his hands into the body cavity and pulls the organs out. It's gross, but since so much of the blood is gone-- is in the gourd in his hands, oh god-- it's not as horrible as he supposes it could be. The sun glints on the steaming entrails, and the smell is suddenly sort of overpowering.
"A baby kangaroo is called a joey," Mike explains, jerking Kevin from what was possibly developing into a full on, Victorian-lady swoon. Mike doesn't look up, just goes on wiping his bloody hands on the matted grass around the body. He pulls a long, sharp stick from the pack of arrows on his back-- it could be called a quiver, but Kevin doesn't think it much resembles anything from, like, Robin Hood. At least not Disney's Robin Hood. Then, precise as a surgeon, he uses it to pin the slit in the belly closed.
"R--Yes, right," Kevin says, remembering himself, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to look. "What if this kangaroo was the father of some poor, uh, joey? Huh, what then, Mike, you've deprived it of its father." He opens one eye into a squint, to see what Mike has to say for himself.
He's grinning, unrepentant, up into Kevin's eyes, and it's sort of almost blinding. He swipes his fringe away from his eyes with the back of a bloody hand, grin turning into something a little more feral-- and Kevin, all of a sudden, feels sort of like the kangaroo. Gutted, overheated, and about to be eaten.
"Well then the mother kangaroo will have to marry another lonely mother kangaroo and they'll raise their joeys in a happy, alternative-kangaroo lifestyle, without judgment." He sounds sarcastic, but Kevin kind of hopes that that actually happens. It would be nice, if a little sad for the joeys, who won't have any male role models. But then, it was kind of a big herd, maybe they'll have uncle kangaroos who will step in and teach them manly kangaroo things, like how to flirt with lady kangaroos and how to pee standing up. Can kangaroos even not stand up? Kevin isn't really sure, but Mike is looking at him kind of funny.
"Um, yes, what?" Kevin blinks at him.
Mike snorts and kneels further down, tying the kangaroo's hands and feet-- paws?-- to the long pole he'd brought with him. With a grunt, he heaves the pole over his shoulders and stands up.
He's slightly sunburned, sweaty, and splotched with kangaroo gore. Kevin isn't sure whether to be horrified or impressed. His body seems to have a preference for the latter, and all of a sudden, he is deeply, deeply grateful for his new manskirt.
He's not sure it's hiding as much as he would like for it to, considering the smirk Mike is sporting, but he just clears his throat and hoists the blood-filled gourd higher up in his arms.
"Uh. Uh, right, so, why did we kill a kangaroo?" he asks, and ignores the way his voice cracks a little.
Mike just grunts and rolls his eyes, walking back towards the village. "Because, Jonas, they're delicious."
--
It's almost dark when he and Mike get back to the village, and Mike promptly leaves him at the firepit in the center while he goes to do whatever one does to a dead kangaroo before eating it. So Kevin decides to entertain himself by bothering the others.
There's something that looks like a spear stabbed into the ground by the fire, taller than he is, crossed with an arrow-- one end is sharp, the other is fletched with a plume of what might be ostrich feathers. Emu? He's pretty sure there are emus in Australia, and that ostriches live in, like, Africa. "What is that?"
"It's a woomera." Michael Guy is lounging on a rock by the fire pit, twirling a flat, stout piece of wood with a hook on the end of it between his hands. He smiles up at Kevin through his blond fringe. "It's also called an amirre."
Another guy is sprawled at his feet, playing with another one of the spear things. Kevin is assuming that this is Bill, as he's the only other person Mike has mentioned, and he seems like the sort of person Mike would have bets with regarding his ownership. He just has that look about him. His skirt is rucked up around his knees, and Kevin can see a long, reddish weal on his calf. "Technically, that's the spear for it. The woomera is the thing he's holding." He tucks a strand of long, brown hair behind his ear, and wow, okay, Kevin kind of wishes his ears were pierced, because the funky red-and-yellow wooden loops are more than a little bit fantastic looking.
Michael Guy nods, flipping the wood-- the woomera, Kevin tries out the word in his head-- up into the air and catching it.
"What do you do with it?" he asks, curious.
"You kill things with it," a chirpy voice says from behind him, and Kevin almost has a heart attack. Sisky giggles at him and goes to sit with the others, a woomera of his own, painted red and yellow, hooked through his belt. The Butcher is right behind him, and Sisky scoots himself up into his lap as soon as he sits down. The Butcher doesn't looks as though he minds terribly.
"Like kangaroos," Mike supplies helpfully, and perhaps a little too cheerfully, stepping out of the little grass hut where the boys keep their food. He's cleaner now, having wiped the kangaroo detritus from his arms, but his hair is limp with sweat, dangling over his eyes. Kevin is fully aware that that should not be in any way hot. He shoots Kevin a half-smile, and Kevin is pretty sure that most of his organs are jammed up into his throat now, yep.
Sisky is nodding cheerfully, his mouth wide in a completely honest grin. "Kangaroos are delicious, man. Seriously fucking delicious."
--
Kevin hates to admit it, but the kangaroo meat is actually kind of delicious. He can't bring himself to eat the gravy that the Butcher made from the blood, but he gives himself points for being able to eat the meat at all. Admittedly, the smell is pretty awesome, and he's not sure he could have resisted for very long against Sisky's pitiful eyes and Mike's glower, anyways. He's not entirely sure what it tastes like, but it definitely does not taste like chicken.
They have some sort of white root vegetable that might be a cousin to the potato roasting on the hot rocks by the fire. It looks pretty tasty, too, so Kevin reaches out to snag one. He, however, is not quite as graceful and practiced at it as the others, and manages to burn the everliving goodness out of his fingers. He maybe makes a weird, strangled noise.
Kevin feels the blush taking over his face like some sort of crazy blush ninja as Mike turns to look at him. He's not glaring, though, or even glowering, which is a plus. He even looks kind of concerned.
"Dude, don't damage Mike's property, Jonas," William teases from across the fire, making a light tsk-ing noise.
Mike growls at him, but otherwise ignores him, turning to examine Kevin's hand. "Gonna live, Jonas?" he asks, mock gravely.
Kevin's fingers actually hurt pretty badly, but he's seen the scars all over everyone here, and he feels like he'd be a giant wuss if he admitted that, so he just nods. "I think so."
"Alright then," Mike says, patting him on the knee and returning to his conversation with the Butcher.
Kevin feels kind of left out, and suddenly remembers that, oh, he's in some random point in history, in Australia, and he should maybe be figuring out a way home or something. Also, he kind of misses Joe and Nick.
"Um," he says, quietly, and no one looks at him. He clears his throat, then tries again. "Um, so, I'm uh. Really tired, do you think that there's somewhere I could, uh, sleep?"
Everyone goes quiet, blinking at him. There's silence for a minute, like they're all saying something Kevin can't hear, and then Michael Guy clears his throat.
"Well, if you're Mike's, I guess you get to crash in his hut, huh?"
Mike snorts, but brushes his hands off on his wrap and stands up. He grabs a torch from some magical torch stash or something nearby and lights it in the fire. "Yeah, I guess. C'mon, Jonas."
Kevin stands up, self conscious, and follows Mike out into the dark.
--
"Are you okay, Jonas?" Mike asks, putting the torch in the stand on the floor of the hut so Kevin can see to find his way to the bed.
Kevin shrugs, sitting on the edge of the cot. "Yeah, I guess." He clears his throat again. "I mean, yeah. I'm fine."
Mike arches an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, and eyes him narrowly. "Or you could tell me what's actually going the fuck on."
Kevin flinches, but doesn't say anything, and the silence stretches out.
"Yeah, okay, kid," Mike says, sighing through his teeth. "G'night."
And then he's gone, torch with him, and Kevin is alone in the dark. Again. He really hates the dark. And Frankie. And he wants to go home, where he doesn't have to wear a skirt and eat kangaroo meat.
--
Kevin wakes up in the night, the moon shining through the little window in the hut, and makes up his mind. He's going to leave the village, okay, right. And then he's going to find the spot where he showed up, and he's going to go back there, and. And demand that the universe send him back or something.
He's not really sure what he's going to do when he gets there, but he'll worry about that when he actually gets there. The trick, of course, is going to be sneaking out of the little village without anyone noticing. For all he knows, they could all still be around the fire. Or they could be asleep. Or they could be out with their weird weebly-darts or whatever they're called, killing things. Kevin doesn't know, but the point is that he can't get caught, because he's pretty sure that, no matter how nice they are, they won't hesitate to hit him on the head again, and his head still kind of hurts.
But when he's decided this, and goes to sit up, an iron bar clenches around his stomach. He yelps and falls backwards. Onto something soft. And warm. And breathing. Kevin's heart is pretty much hammering behind his eyeballs now.
There's a low growling noise, and then. "Jonas, it is the middle of the night in the wilderness, and I swear to everything you hold holy, if you get out of this bed and go anywhere but right outside for a piss, you will be eaten by dingoes." Mike yanks him back, pressed tight against him, his arm apparently the iron bar from before. "On the other hand, if you stay here, you will not be eaten by dingoes, and I won't have to go looking for your corpse in the morning." He tucks his leg over Kevin's and nuzzles his nose against the back of Kevin's neck, raising goosebumps. "It’s up to you."
"Um," Kevin says articulately.
Something warm and wet sweeps over the nape of his neck, and Kevin shudders, because god, that's Mike's tongue. "That is not an answer, Jonas." Mike's voice is low and gravelly with sleep, and Kevin is pretty sure he has never actually been this turned on before, which is ridiculous, because he's a prisoner in a grass hut in Australia in god-knows-when, being molested by a savage. And yet.
"I, um. I guess, uh. Being eaten by dingoes would be, um. Bad?" The last word is a squeak as Mike bites down on his earlobe. Kevin's entire body spangles, and oh, okay, he can maybe understand why Joe is kind of a slut now, because this, this is nice. This is kind of more than nice, but Kevin doesn't actually have a word for this, so nice will have to do.
"Bad," Mike agrees, breath hot against the damp skin of Kevin's neck. "Decidedly bad. Painful, too." He nips at a spot just behind Kevin's ear, and oh, oh, okay.
"Hnnnnn," Kevin agrees, and wow. Mike's hand skims across his belly, fingers rough and callused--presumably from hunting and killing kangaroos, Kevin should totally be keeping in mind that Mike is some sort of, like, aboriginal savage or something. But then his hand is on Kevin's hipbone, and his leg is crooked around Kevin's thigh, pulling him back against things, and Kevin can feel his heartbeat going crazy behind his eyes.
"Goodnight, Jonas," Mike says, giving one last bite to his neck, and then the evil jerk falls asleep.
Kevin, on the other hand, lays awake for at least an hour, trying to get his heartbeat--and other things-- back to normal. It isn't easy.
--
The next morning is really hot. Kevin wakes up plastered to Mike, sticky and sweaty and pretty gross smelling, if he wants to be honest with himself.
"Mike," he says, shoving at Mike's shoulder.
Mike just grunts and doesn't open his eyes.
"Miiiike," he whines louder, imitating Nick's annoying younger brother voice. "Miiiiiikeeeeeee." He pokes him hard in the ribs.
Mike growls and opens an eye. "What, Jonas?"
"Where can I get a shower?"
"A what?" Both eyes open now, peering at him quizzically.
"A shower--like--oh god you don't have showers." Kevin might be kind of heartbroken at this. "Do you at least have some sort of like, river?"
Mike raises both eyebrows. "For what, exactly? Are you planning to drown yourself?" He narrows one eye. "I doubt our company is that bad, Jonas, you just have to get used to us."
Kevin snorts, he can't help it. "No, to like. Get clean. So I stop, yknow. Smelling like this."
Mike sniffs at him, which is oh dear god embarrassing, because Kevin smells, he can smell himself, but Mike just shrugs and says, "Smelling like what?"
"Gross. Like sweat. Like gross, stinky sweat Mike oh holy crap what are you doing?" Mike has pinned him to the bed and has buried his face in the crook of Kevin's armpit.
"Jonas," he says, voice muffled, "You smell like a human being. With sweat. Shut the hell up and go back to sleep."
But Kevin. Kevin cannot handle smelling gross. He can maybe handle not having actual deodorant, but as soon as he finds some, he's going to rub his armpits with flowers or something, because ugh. So he shoves at Mike, and rolls out from underneath him.
"I. Need. A. BATH." He glares his fiercest glare at Mike, which is pretty fierce, if he says so himself.
Mike looks at him for a long moment, then bursts into hysterical laughter.
Kevin doesn't actually think his smell is very funny, personally, but Mike is a psychotic savage from the Australian wilderness, so is clearly no decent judge of what is and isn't funny. When he tells Mike this, he just laughs harder.
--
Eventually, Kevin finds the Butcher, who seems the least inclined of all of them to be a pain in the butt. This impression holds true when he just shrugs, gets a couple of things that look like sheets from his hut, and leads Kevin down to a small spring-fed pond.
Kevin looks on the clear, beautiful water with something akin to divine worship. The Butcher just laughs at him, takes off his loincloth, and jumps in.
Kevin blinks, because the Butcher is naked, and it's quite possible that Sisky will tear out Kevin's eyes for having seen the Butcher naked. This, of course, means that the wisest course of action would be to turn around and leave the Butcher to swim. However, Kevin smells terrible and wants a bath, so.
He very, very gingerly takes off his wrap, facing away from the Butcher, and gets in.
It's really, really, really really really cold.
Nonetheless, it's possibly the most satisfying bath he's ever had.
--
They have kangaroo for breakfast-- cold this time, and really salty. It kind of reminds Kevin of bacon, but stringier and less fatty. It's pretty darn delicious, as long as he doesn't think of the harmless, adorable kangaroo it came from. He drinks juice with it, and he's not even really sure what kind it is, he's just glad that it isn't the raw, nasty rum from yesterday.
Mike is up for breakfast, sitting across the smoldering ashes of the firepit, eyeing Kevin in some sort of weirdo way that Kevin is completely at a loss to define. It's almost like he's annoyed, but at the same time amused. Huh. Actually, Nick gives Kevin that look a lot, too, and he can't tell what he means by it, either.
--
Bill and Sisky are of the opinion that, as Mike-the-strong-kangaroo-killer's prisoner/property/thing, Kevin should learn how to kill things and provide for the village. (And yeah, okay, it's not really a village, the more he looks at it, it's a cluster of like ten huts, only five of which people actually live in, but he's not sure what else to call it, and that's what they call it, so.)
Kevin is not exactly pleased by this idea, but he supposes that, as long as the things they want him to kill aren't especially cute and hold the lure of being delicious, he can at least try. Barring that, he could at least, like, forage for berries or something.
So Sisky and Michael Guy and Bill all steal him away from Mike for the day, armed with their woomeras and spears-- because Mike is apparently the only one with a bow and actual arrows-- and some other weird bits of rope and things.
It's a really, really long walk to wherever it is they're going, and Kevin is used to the city, so his feet-- which are, admittedly, in nothing but the weird sandals the others are wearing-- are kind of killing him by the time they get to the place that apparently magically has animals for him to kill. There are about a dozen giant birds-- not ostriches, emus-- clucking around the plain, far enough apart from one another that, theoretically, startling one probably wouldn't send them all flipping out everywhere.
"Okay," Michael Guy explains, holding up the woomera and a spear, "this is how you do it." And he shows Kevin how to notch the indented end of the spear into the little hook on the woomera, and then, like lightning, he arches his arm back over his head and flicks the wrist holding the woomera, which sends the spear hurtling forward, into a very startled emu.
The bird crashes to the ground, and Kevin makes a sort of strangled yelping noise, he can't help it, because yes, the birds are really creepy looking, but he's pretty sure he can't actually bring himself to do that.
But Michael Guy is holding the woomera out to him, and he kind of wants to come back to camp with a dead bird to impress Mike.
So he takes it. And he fits the spear to the hook. And he holds his arm back, and he snaps his wrist like Michael Guy had.
And he manages to flick the spear about three feet. Into a tree.
He hopes Mike will be impressed with a bunch of bark and some sap.
--
Kevin tries all day-- like, literally all day, until the sun is going down and Bill declares that it's time for them, all of whom have dropped a bird except for Kevin, to head back to the village.
Kevin at least doesn't have to carry one, since he didn't manage to kill one.
They're almost all the way back to the village when something scuttles in the brush by Kevin's feet. His heart stops, because god, Australia has snakes, he knows this, they have like ten billion poisonous snakes, and he's going to be bitten and die.
Someone fumbles a spear into his hand, silent. He takes it, palm sweating, and stabs blindly where he heard the scuffle. There's a horrible noise like a scream, and when he yanks back the spear, there's a round, brownish bird with a long beak stabbed onto it, still struggling.
"Awesome," Sisky says, clapping him on the back. "It's a fucking woodhen."
"Are they, um, delicious?" Kevin asks hopefully, entranced by the squalling thing.
"Pretty delicious, yep," Michael Guy says, and neatly breaks its neck.
--
Kevin takes a certain kind of evil glee in dropping the dead bird straight into Mike's lap when they get back to the village.
Mike doesn't squawk like Nick or Joe would, he just peers at the feathery mass and raises an eyebrow. "It's a woodhen."
"I killed it," Kevin says proudly, puffing up his chest a little.
Mike looks at him. "Slightly smaller than an emu, kid."
"Bill says it's tastier," he says, deflating a little.
Mike smiles, and it's a slow, sweet thing, completely different from his normal, animal grin. "Bill is right. They're pretty hard to find, too. How'd you see it in the dark?"
"I um. I thought it was a snake?" Kevin crosses his arms defensively as Mike snickers. "I don't come from around here, okay. I'm not magically full of your wilderness knowledge."
"I'm getting that," Mike mutters, rolling his eyes, then stands up. He holds up the bird. "Come on, kid, I'll show you how to pluck it." He brushes a kiss over Kevin's cheek, feather light, as he goes, and Kevin freezes, blinking. "Thanks for the bird, kid."
When he can manage to get himself together enough to turn and follow Mike, Kevin yells, "Who even said the bird was for you?" Mike just laughs back at him, ducking into the meat-storage hut.
Except that it totally is for him, so Kevin doesn't really mind or anything.
--
Kevin is a little bit worried, when they're eating dinner that night-- which is basically emu burgers, which are awesomely yummy, he's going to have to eat these all the time now-- that he won't actually want to go home when he finally figures out how. Partly, he thinks, it's because of this giant crush thing he has for Mike, and partly, it's because kangaroos and emus and woodhens are delicious and the city isn't quite as much fun as living in a grass hut in the wilds of Australia.
And when he and Mike finally head off to Mike's hut at a long time past midnight, the worry gets a little bit worse, because he's pretty sure he's never actually been this happy.
--
Of course, because Kevin has admitted to being happy, he has to be woken in the night by raucous human yells and a wild pounding on the side of the hut.
"Mike, Mike, holy crap, what is going--augh, that's--augh, my mouf, Mmk." He glares at Mike over the top of Mike's hand which is covering his mouth.
"Shhh, Jonas." Mike glances at the door to the hut. "It's just the cobras."
"Lghh va shnks?" Kevin's eyes get huge, because he didn't think there even were cobras in Australia, and he's pretty sure that normal-sized snakes can't make the pounding noises that these are.
Mike snorts. "Not quite," he mutters, sounding exasperated, then pecks Kevin on the forehead, surprisingly tenderly, and gets out of bed. "Wait there, kid." He tucks the covers mostly over Kevin's head and goes towards the doorway.
And then there's a massive shape blocking the doorway, and a low, creepy voice says, "Carden. Billiam says you have a thing of interest."
Mike glowers at the shape in the doorway. "Yeah, well, Bill is full of shit, Gabe, you should know that."
The shape steps forward and coalesces into a really, really tall man with dark skin-- not black, just really tan. There are feathers and bones braided into his curly hair, and his wrap skirt is leather and looks like it might even be sort of purplish in the right lighting. He leers at Mike. "We've brought you presents, Carden, the least you could do is share your things."
Mike just keeps glowering, and the guy finally sighs and rolls his eyes, slouching. He doesn't look evil, anymore, or even menacing, just sort of bored and deflated. "Yeah, yeah, Carden, I know, you don't like to share. You and the Butcher both." He squints towards Kevin on the bed, but doesn't make a move. "Either way, we've brought supplies, but we can't stay long. Just tell me where the rum cache is so I can send Suarez."
Mike snorts, but grabs the guy-- Gabe-- and tows him outside, talking quietly.
Kevin just waits.
--
When Mike eventually comes back, it's almost dawn, and Kevin's eyes hurt from keeping them open for so long.
"What was that about?" he asks as Mike steps through the doorway.
Mike jumps about a foot in the air. "God, kid, you scared me. Why aren't you asleep?"
Kevin glares at him. Of course he's not asleep, like three hours ago there were giant snakes or something and crazy people trying to steal him and rum. He doesn't say anything, though, because Mike will remember that, unless he is really, really stupid.
He's not stupid, apparently. He sighs as he gets back into bed, tucking an arm around Kevin. "That was Gabe. He and the cobras-- that would be his tribe, Jonas, not actual snakes-- bring shit to trade with us sometimes. They're a pain in the ass, though, and like to do it in the middle of the night, really fucking loudly, just because they can. In return, we trade them Bill's shitty rum, which Gabe only accepts as barter because he wants to have Bills babies." He yawns, jaw cracking, and Kevin is kind of sorry for glaring at him. "Is that enough of an explanation for you?"
Kevin just nods, and gratefully goes back to sleep.
--
"Penises," the Butcher says sagely over breakfast. "They're important."
Kevin isn't sure that this is appropriate breakfast conversation-- although he can imagine Joe taking to the Butcher like a duck to water, which is a weird simile, actually, now that he actually tries to picture it, huh-- but no one else is reacting to the statement like it's in any way odd.
It makes slightly more sense, though, when Bill says, "Yeaaah, Gabe molested you, didn't he?"
Sisky makes a sort of sick noise, but the Butcher shakes his head. "Not me, not Nate. But, uh. Mike, Gabe?" He looks over at Mike, an eyebrow raised, and Kevin feels bile rise up in his throat and is sort of tempted to make a noise like Sisky's.
Mike snorts and shakes his head, and Kevin feels his breath puff out of him in relief. "Molestation by way of Gabe and his lectures over the importance of penises are all the property of Bill over here." He scratches his chin thoughtfully and raises an eyebrow at Michael Guy. "Unless he got his hands down your wrap once I left you two alone with all that rum? Were there drunken shenanigans, Michael Guy?" He sounds like he's teasing, but Kevin thinks there might be an actual note of question there.
Michael Guy shakes his head, though, and bites savagely into his emu sausage patty. "Alash, no. Bicky fee broughtsh me shumfink, sho." He swallows, looking a little pink. "It's, er." He pauses delicately, eyeing Kevin and Mike, like he thinks Mike might smack him if he says something inappropriate. "It goes along with that whole penises are important thing."
Mike glowers at him, but doesn't say anything, and the Butcher gives a delicate cough.
"What, so I'm really the only one that got molested?" Bill looks sort of like he can't decide whether to be pleased or offended. He twirls the big wooden hoops in his ears and mutters something that might have been, "Gabriel, you sly dog," but he's across the fire pit, so it's hard for Kevin to tell.
--
While everyone else goes off to Michael Guy's hut to examine his present, Mike picks up a couple of gourds filled with water and beckons to Kevin.
"Come on, Jonas, let's go for a walk." He turns away down the path that leads out of the village, and Kevin follows him. The path is pretty darn long, and they walk for a good while, and it occurs to Kevin that nature is really big.
Mike's not saying anything, but that's not actually really unusual with Mike, so Kevin is silent, too. But there's a growing feeling like maybe Mike's upset about something, and is going to take him off into the woods and kill him or something. Or, okay, maybe not kill him, because he's pretty sure that Mike likes him and maybe wants to get his hands under his wrap skirt, but maybe at least like, yell at him or scold him for something. He's not actually sure that he's done anything wrong, though, and he's pretty sure that if he had done something wrong, he would have noticed.
When he stops having his tizzy fit in his head, Mike is looking at him, eyebrows raised. "Got something you wanna tell me, kid?" he asks, voice lowered dangerously.
"Um. No?" Kevin tries. He doesn't think he does.
"You're not…hiding something from me? From us?" Mike looms a little closer, nose really close to Kevin's nose, and Kevin can feel his breath on his mouth, oh god.
"N-no?" he squeaks out.
Mike's glare deepens, and his nose is actually touching Kevin's nose now. Kevin is pretty sure he can feel his eyes crossing, actually. "You're positive?"
Kevin nods, wide eyed, and okay, is really hoping Mike will kiss him now. He doesn't, though, just drops his head onto Kevin's shoulder and sighs in what sounds like exasperation.
"The sad thing is, Jonas, I believe you, if only because I think you wouldn't be able to lie worth shit."
Kevin nods, solemnly. This is a very good point-- he can't lie worth, um. Crap. "You'd be right." Nick and Joe tell him this all the time.
Mike snorts into his shoulder, and wraps a warm arm around Kevin's waist, pulling him closer. "Yeah, yeah, kid." He nuzzles into the meat of Kevin's shoulder, right where it connects to his neck, and suddenly, his mouth is open and his breath is warm and damp and Kevin is covered in chills.
"Um, um. Mike." Kevin doesn't want to move him, but the Butcher is coming down the path towards them, and this is going to be kind of awkward.
Mike just makes an amused noise and bites him. Hard.
A strangled, embarrassing noise forces itself out of Kevin's throat, and he can feel every single muscle in his body go taut for a single moment. Then he relaxes into bonelesness, and oh, huh, Mike is licking his neck.
"Is this a cannibal thing where you tenderize me before eating me?" Kevin asks, dazed.
The Butcher is close enough to hear, and snickers. "No, it's his way of marking his territory before Bill tries to kill you for being a spy or something."
That makes Kevin slightly less boneless. "Um, wait, why am I a spy?"
Mike snorts into his shoulder and pulls back. "Because of the other one of you back in Guy's hut?"
"Yeah, but what would I even be spying on--wait, the other what now?" Kevin goggles at him.
Mike holds his hand up to about neck height on Kevin and says, "Another one of you, straighter hair, about yea high, makes inappropriate jokes about our clothes? And to answer your other question, I don't know, just… us. Rum? We make rum. I don't know if it's legal, now." He catches himself getting off topic, and scowls. "But there's a smaller you, and I want to know what the heck it's doing here."
"Oh," Kevin says stupidly, and then, "That would be Joe." And then, realizing what he's just said, he tears off down the path towards the village, yelling for Joe, because Joe is here.
--
"Joe! Joe! Joooooooooeeeee!" Kevin flings himself into Michael Guy's hut, panting. Joe is standing there, clearly having not been hit over the head, talking to Sisky and Michael Guy.
He looks over at Kevin, nods at him, says, "Hey, bro," and goes back to his conversation.
"Joe." Kevin glares at him, doing his best to imitate Mike.
Joe glances at him, eyebrows up. "What? I'm trying to talk, here."
Kevin narrows his eyes even further, even though that makes it kind of hard to see. "How did you even get here?"
"Dude, Frankie." He shrugs. "Chill. Nick'll find a way to get us back. Did you know these guys eat kangaroos?"
Kevin kind of wants to hit Joe right in his stupid face, but he's not sure if it's because he's being an idiot or because he's right, and Nick will find a way to get them back, and knowing Nick, he's not going to ask if Kevin wants to go.
--
Bill tries to claim Joe on the grounds that "Mike got to keep the last one," but is thwarted by Joe demanding that Michael Guy claim him "Because he's the only one with pretty hair, come on." Which of course throws Bill into a sulking fit, which Kevin things is pretty understandable, actually, because Bill has really pretty hair, too. Joe just has a thing for blondes.
Kevin would tell Bill this, except that Bill is slouched by the fire pit, ostentatiously sharpening a spear, and Kevin is too aware of how often he blunders and says the wrong thing to risk going over there and getting stabbed.
Mike, however, is apparently better at saying the right thing-- or at least his ability to out-muscle spindly Bill-- because he goes over there as soon as he and the Butcher get back to the village.
Kevin can't hear what they say, but after a minute, all the tension seeps out of Bill's shoulders and he leans into Mike's side. Mike puts an arm around him, and they just sit, quiet, and Kevin feels kind of creepy just watching. For the first time, he wonders if Mike maybe doesn't want him, if maybe Mike's already spoken for.
The thought makes his stomach hurt, so he goes to find Joe and tell him about emus and woodhens and how totally scrumptious they are.
--
Much to Kevin's annoyance, Joe is a total natural at killing things.
Bill, Sisky, and Michael Guy take them out hunting to the emu plain, and Joe looks all psychotic and wild, and he's rubbed dirt on his cheeks-- so he looks like an Indian or something, Kevin doesn't know, Joe is weird-- and he looks at the emus and licks his lips and it's really darn creepy.
Michael Guy hands him the woomera, shows him what to do. Joe hooks the woomera into the spear, raises it back, flicks his wrist, and suddenly, there's another dead emu and Kevin kind of wants to go die in a hole or something.
Everyone cheers, and Michael Guy runs out to drag the body back to their stand in the grass. Joe, grinning like an idiot, asks when he gets to kill a kangaroo.
Everybody turns and looks at him like he just suggested that they mount an expedition to go lick the Pope.
"You, uh…" Michael Guy trails off, looking consternated.
"You're not allowed," Bill cuts in sharply.
Joe looks put out. "Why not?"
Sisky shrugs, with forced nonchalance. "That's Mike's job."
Joe squints at him. "Yeah, okay, but you could eat a lot more kangaroos if everyone--"
"That's Mike's job," Sisky repeats, a little more forbiddingly, and Joe shuts up..
Kevin kind of wants to ask why it's Mike's job, but he thinks it would probably be easier to just ask Mike. He feels a little better about Joe's mad hunting skills now, though.
--
"So," Kevin asks as they get ready to go to bed that night, after a dinner of meatballs made of emu meat, "Why are you the only one allowed to kill kangaroos?"
Mike doesn't look at him, just combs out his hair and changes into the shorter wrap that he sleeps in. "Do you know what happens if you hit a kangaroo but don't actually kill it?"
"Um. No?"
Mike snorts. "It comes and kicks the shit out of you until you're dead." He looks at Kevin now, eyes narrowed. "I'm the only one allowed to kill them cause I'm the only one who can do it in one shot." He pulls back the covers, gesturing Kevin in before him. Kevin goes.
"How do you know, though, the thing about the kangaroos?" he asks, scrambling to get over to the side of the cot closest to the wall.
Mike gets in, pulling the covers up over them, and doesn't meet Kevin's eyes. "Well, there used to be six of us." He rolls over and blows out the torch, and the hut is swamped in darkness.
Oh. "Oh," Kevin says stupidly, kind of horrified and awed at the same time.
They're quiet for a while, and really tense, and Kevin can't handle it, so.
"Do you kill koalas, too?" he asks, have jokingly.
Mike goggles at him in the dark, then snorts in amusement. "Koalas taste like crap, Jonas. Like adorable, fuzzy crap, and I don't kill things that are cuter than they are tasty." He mutters something that might be, "That's why you're still around," but Kevin isn't really sure and he doesn't want to think about it too hard. Mike closes his eyes and folds his arms behind his head.
"Oh. How about wombats? Wombats are cute, too."
Mike cracks one eye. "Wombats, Jonas, are even more delicious than kangaroos."
--
Kevin wakes up from the dream drenched in sweat, panting.
Mike is awake, peering at him. "You okay?" He looks actually concerned, and Kevin feels the blush creeping up his cheeks.
"Um, yeah," he says, voice a little strangled. "Totally fine, Mike, yep."
"Nightmare?" Mike asks sympathetically, and for a second, he sound kind of like Kevin's mom, which is creepy and dissociating enough that Kevin's heart rate goes almost back to normal. And then he pats Kevin's hip.
"Ummmm yeah. Something like that." He's still kind of shaking, but he tries to push away the lingering feeling of Mike's hands, the image of him braced above him, holding him down, doing things. Things, okay, things that Kevin is not actually sure how they work, but he is reasonably sure he'd be okay with Mike doing to him, if he should be so inclined.
Mike eyes him curiously for a moment. "Jonas?"
"Right, fine, I am."
Mike rolls his eyes. "You know what helps with nightmares?"
Warm milk, Kevin's mom would say. A backrub, even. "Really shitty rum." Mike doesn't wait for a response, just gets out of bed and brings back a cupful. He takes a swig, then hands it to Kevin and gets back in bed.
Gross as he knows it tastes, Kevin thinks it might help him forget the dream and go back to sleep, so he takes a swallow. And then another.
Mike takes the cup back, drains the rest, and then Kevin thinks he might have fallen asleep again, because Mike is straddling him.
"Uh, Mike, what--"
Mike's face is really, really close, just like this afternoon, and Kevin's heart is suddenly beating somewhere near his throat. He kind of can't breathe. "You said my name during your nightmare, Jonas."
Kevin…had not known that, actually, but he does tend to talk in his sleep, so he's not really surprised. Horrified, maybe, and bright red in the face, but not surprised. "Um." Mike's weight is heavy on his thighs, pressing salaciously against…things. The room suddenly seems hot, confining, and the air is heavy and wet and hard to get into his lungs.
Mike nudges Kevin's cheek with his nose. "What were you dreaming about, Jonas?"
Kevin swallows thickly. "Uh, things." Things.
"What kind of things?" Mike's voice is sort of dangerous and low, and that's making matters below the equator a bit worse. Then Mike's hips shift, and Kevin's wrap slips to the side, and oh, oh. Mike is apparently not adverse to things either. "Tell me, Jonas."
"You were. Um. You were doing things?"
Mike grins, sharp and wicked in the dark hut, and his voice is kind of husky when he says, "What things?"
Kevin things he might die, like actually die for real, if he says it out loud, but at the same time, he knows Mike won't take no for an answer. So, not meeting Mike's eyes, he holds out his wrists.
Mike stares at him for a long moment, for forever, and then, slowly, deliberately, takes them, one in each hand. He raises them up over Kevin's head, pinning them down to the cot. "Things like this?" he asks, voice hoarse. His eyes are dark, almost black, pupils completely blown, and something half hopeful, half terrified swells in the pit of Kevin's stomach.
All of Kevin's breath rushes out of him, and he just nods. Mike's face is right there, sweat-damp hair falling around his face, brushing Kevin's cheeks. Mike's breath is heavy with run, and Kevin's head is spinning.
"Do you want--"
"Yes." Kevin wants. He doesn't know what, but he totally wants.
Slowly, like he's giving Kevin a chance to run away screaming or something, Mike leans down and kisses him. It's gentle and careful and not Mike, and Kevin can't help it, he whines, pressing up against him, trying for more, for something sharper and darker and more like Mike.
Mike gives it to him. He presses down, full length against Kevin, devouring his mouth with lips and tongue and teeth, oh god teeth, and it's amazing. And his hands, his hands are everywhere, and Kevin's skin doesn't even know what to do with this, and every single inch of him is spangling, stars rising up under his nerves and exploding, and then Mike's hand is slipping under his wrap and oh.
Mike tightens his fist, moving, and Kevin's mind goes white.
--
"I found a thing," Bill says the next morning, not bothering to knock. This is kind of embarrassing, since Kevin is naked and sticky and sweaty and plastered against Mike. "I think it might belong to you."
It becomes even more embarrassing when the "thing" turns out to be Nick, bound and gagged, slung over Michael Guy's shoulder.
Kevin would totally jump out of bed and have some sort of brotherly freak-out over this, except, again, he's naked and icky, and Nick looks sort of traumatized. He's making indignant noises, and his face is very red.
Mike squints, looking from him to Nick and back again. "It's not mine," he drawls, "But it looks a hell of a lot like it."
Kevin coughs. "It's-- I mean, he's Nick. He's, uh, mine."
Bill rolls his eyes. "Well, as long as that's cleared up-- god, Jonas, where the hell do you curly little things keep coming from?"
Kevin is pretty sure that that would be a bad thing to answer, and he's not even sure how Nick got here, anyways, so he just shrugs.
Bill glowers for a moment, then gestures impatiently to Michael Guy. "I'm taking this one, Carden," he snaps, and stomps out of the tent. Michael Guy shrugs, flips Kevin a vague salute, and follows after, an irate Nick still slung over his shoulder.
Mike yawns. "So. Sleep. We should finish that."
Nick can probably handle himself for an hour or two. The worst Bill will do is molest him a little, and Kevin is living proof that molestation by savages isn't fatal, and it would probably go a long ways towards getting the stick out of Nick's rear anyways. "Yeah, okay," he agrees, snuggling up to Mike's chest.
Mike makes a low mmmm-ing sound of agreement, and Kevin is sort of absurdly happy.
Except for the part where Nick is here, which means that he's probably expecting Kevin to go home with him.
--
Nick is expecting Kevin to go home with him, but that will only work if he manages to get out of Bill's bed, which is where Kevin finds him when he finally drags himself and Mike out of bed. He's still a little dazed and possibly slightly under-slept, but he's fairly certain that's he's not hallucinating Nick, hands tied to Bill's bed, being sat on by Bill.
"Morning, biggest Jonas," Bill greets him cheerfully, bouncing up and down on Nick's legs like a kid. Kevin isn't sure if this is really hilarious or kind of disturbing, but considering the color of Nick's face, which is quickly approaching plum, he's going to go with hilarious.
"Nick," he says, polite. "It's so good to see you."
Nick glares at him. "Kevin. It would be better to see you if you would get this-- this thing off of me. Now."
Bill doesn't look offended; rather, Kevin thinks he looks sort of bizarrely pleased with himself. "Nope, tiny curly Jonas, you're my prisoner. Third time's the charm, eh?" he says to Kevin, winking conspiratorially.
Nick harrumphs, and just keeps glaring at everything.
Joe comes hurtling in, dragging Michael Guy by the hand. "Nick, Nick, we can't go home, you can't make us, we eat kangaroos!" He stops, panting, and squeezes Michael Guy proprietarily around the middle. "Also the blonde one owns me and I think Kevin had sex with Mike, so we have to stay."
Nick's eyes bulge, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Bill claps a hand over it. Bill then eyes Kevin speculatively. "Goodness, Jonas, I didn't know you had it in you."
"I, um, don’t? I mean, we didn't--" He's blushing, he can feel it.
Arms slip around his waist from behind, and he tenses for a second, but it's just Mike. He hooks his chin over Kevin's shoulder and nods cordially at Nick. "It's just a matter of time, though," he says conversationally, giving Nick a bland smile. Kevin thinks his face is about the color of Nick's face; it feels like it's on fire.
Nick makes outraged noises and tries to kick Bill off, presumably to defend Kevin's virtue or something, but Bill is having none of it. "Tiny curly Jonas, I will molest you right here and now, regardless of present company, if you do not hush yourself right up. Are we clear?" He glares at Nick through his flop of hair, and Nick makes a squeaking noise of assent. "Awesome." He takes his hand off of Nick's mouth. "Now, you keep saying you have something to tell them?"
Nick glares at him once more, and turns to look at Kevin and Joe. "I was trying to find a way to get you back--"
"I told you, we're not going back," Joe says stoutly, arms crossed.
"BUT," Nick says, talking over him, "Frankie handed me this boomerang, and then I was here."
Kevin blinks at him. "So, wait, you don't have a way for us to get back? We're stuck here?"
Nick looks sort of sick at the idea. "For the time being, yes." He narrows his eyes at Bill. "That does not mean I am your property or will allow you to lay hands on my person."
Bill grins down at him, but doesn't say anything, and Kevin takes that as his cue to leave the hut, and he goes, pulling Mike along after him.
"So," Mike says when they're back at his hut, "You're um… staying?"
Kevin shrugs-- Mike doesn't even know where he's from, where he'd be going to, but that isn't really important since he isn't going-- and smiles. "Yep, staying."
Mike grins, and it's blinding and awesome, and makes Kevin kind of nauseatingly happy. "You know what this calls for?" he says, half teasingly.
"What?"
"More kangaroo meat. Come on."
And so Mike gets his bow and the weird, icky blood gourd, and Kevin follows him down the path the field where kangaroos like to eat, and Mike shoots another kangaroo and they eat it and it is even more delicious than the first one, and Kevin thinks he could die happy, and for just a minute, he thanks stupid Frankie for handing him the stupid boomerang in the first place.
Nick doesn't get to eat it and find out if kangaroo is delicious or not, though, because he's being ravished by Bill.
--
END