
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/164885.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, The_Academy_Is..., Jonas_Brothers
  Relationship:
      Mike_Carden/Kevin_Jonas, Kevin_Jonas/Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      Kevin_Jonas, Mike_Carden
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Alternate_Universe_-_Homeless,
      Alternate_Universe_-_Prostitute, Hurt/Comfort
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-10-25 Words: 2043
****** We're Together Like Glue and Hands ******
by Solarcat
Summary
     Kevin was living and working on the streets of Chicago when Mike
     rescued him. [Homeless!AU]
Notes
     This story is sort of a prequel to a 'verse that hasn't been written
     yet; it started from a discussion with akire_yta about this_manip_I
     made, but went in a somewhat darker direction than I had originally
     envisioned. Hopefully any further fics in this 'verse will skew more
     towards the fluffy co-dependence of the original idea! Many thanks to
     likeaglass, merelyn, la_dissonance and b_dsaint for their feedback
     and beta work! <3
     The title for this story and partial inspiration are from this_prompt
     at we_are_cities.
Kevin gave his first blowjob when he was sixteen. The truck driver was
overweight and hairy and smelled like fast food and gasoline, and he held the
back of Kevin's head and thrust into his throat while Kevin choked. But he was
giving Kevin a ride from Newark to Chicago and Kevin had known what was
expected of him when he climbed into the cab. He opened the passenger-side door
to spit the driver's come out on the asphalt of the truck stop parking lot,
then slept curled up around his backpack in the passenger seat while the driver
snored in his bunk. The next day, the driver dropped him off on the outskirts
of the city, where the smell wafting over from the factories in Gary, Indiana
made Kevin's nose itch.
Mike says you never forget the first one, and he's right, but Kevin tries not
to think about it too much. The thing is though, you do forget the ones after
that. The only thing Kevin remembers about the second is how good it felt to
shove the sweaty twenty-dollar bill into his jeans pocket.
The money he brought with him only lasted a few weeks -- food had never seemed
so expensive before -- and he spent a couple of desperate days trying to ignore
the painful spasms of his empty stomach, until the half-rotted food in the
dumpster where he'd been sleeping started to look tempting. Then he gave up the
last vestiges of the pride that had kept him out of the alleys behind the bars,
where skinny boys and girls with dead eyes lurked after dark.
He remembers the feeling of having money again, the tangible power of a
crumpled piece of linen paper. He remembers the taste of the dollar-menu burger
and fries he purchased with it, hot and greasy and delicious, and the weight of
the change in his pocket. But of the man who paid him, Kevin remembers almost
nothing.
He made that first twenty last nearly a week, then went back to the alley and
sucked his third dick. Either the previous guy overpaid or number three was
cheap, because it netted him only five bucks, but number four gave him a ten
and after that Kevin stopped counting the men and started counting how much he
had and how long he could make it last.
                                      ~*~
He survived almost two months without Mike, which Kevin finds kind of shocking
in retrospect. He was so new to the world back then, though earning his food on
his knees made him grow up fast.
He found a place to sleep in a dirty alley behind a Chinese restaurant;
basically a hole between the dumpster and the building, where a small overhang
kept the dumpster from pressing flush against the wall. It was tiny, but Kevin
was skinny and getting skinnier by the day, and it was better than sleeping in
the open, even when the rodents and roaches skittering around inside the
dumpster kept him up at night.
Kevin didn't have a price for his 'services', which was maybe what got him into
trouble. He took what the johns offered and worked until he had enough to eat
and maybe to go to the laundromat and toss his pathetically small wardrobe in
to wash.
The john started out as just another faceless guy, but he handed Kevin a fifty,
and Kevin did his best to give the guy his money's worth. He was doing good,
too, until the john grabbed him by the hair and pulled Kevin off his dick. That
wasn't too weird; Kevin had a couple of guys who paid extra to come on his
face, and there was a gas station two blocks away that had an outdoor-access
bathroom where he could wash off. But the john pulled Kevin to his feet and had
him pinned face-first against the wall before he could even process what was
going on.
He froze as the john's weight pressed him against the bricks, as the john's
hand came around to unbutton his jeans and tug them down past his hips. Kevin
felt like the air had thickened all around him; he couldn't find the strength
to move his limbs, to struggle, to fight, until he felt the john's dick against
his ass.
Whatever was holding him back snapped at that first brush of skin-on-skin,
slick with Kevin's spit and the john's pre-come. Kevin fought, and he fought
hard, kicking out at the john's legs as he tried to free himself from the
john's grip. But the john was a big guy; big enough to quickly shove Kevin back
against the bricks, scraping his face on the rough wall. Kevin yelped as his
skin split, and he felt the john laugh.
"Yeah, that's it," the john pressed himself flush against Kevin's back, almost
leisurely rubbing the head of his dick along the crack of Kevin's ass. "Scream
for me, you little slut," he growled in Kevin's ear, and he started to push
himself in.
Kevin doesn't know what would have happened to him, if Mike hadn't shown up. If
the john would have torn him up inside, left him bleeding. It had happened to
one of the other boys; one of the ones who sold everything they could. The john
had been too rough, and he bled for a long time, and then he'd gotten sick.
(And then he'd disappeared entirely, but Kevin doesn't like to think about
that. He's gotten good at not-thinking about things.)
The important thing is that Mike did show up; he showed up and he pulled the
john off Kevin and punched him in the face, and kept punching him until he
dropped like a sack of bloodied meat.
Kevin was shaking too hard to do it himself, so Mike pulled his pants up for
him, looking over the bloody scrape on Kevin's cheek with a critical eye.
"You need to get that cleaned up," Mike told him, and turned like he was going
to leave. Kevin's hand snapped out of its own accord, grabbing the sleeve of
Mike's hoodie and not letting go.
Mike cleaned out the scrape in the gas station bathroom, calloused fingers
gentle on Kevin's skin, and Kevin thought about the hot stench of whiskey-
scented breath on his face; the rough brick wall against his skin; the pain and
fear of being trapped and struggling and what would have happened if Mike
hadn't come along, or hadn't helped, or had joined in. Mike had knocked the guy
out instead, and his fingers were gentle, and that was maybe the best Kevin was
going to get. It wasn't maybe the most well-thought-out thing Kevin had ever
done, but he thought it through enough to be sure.
Mike turned to toss the damp and bloody paper towel at the overflowing can in
the corner, and when he turned back Kevin leaned forward and kissed him under
the flickering florescent light.
"I don't want it to be like that, the first time," Kevin said, and Mike locked
eyes with him for a long minute, then said, "Okay."
                                      ~*~
Mike took him to this old, rundown house he was squatting in with a bunch of
other guys; Bill and Frank and Joe and Pete and Mikey and Mikey's brother
Gerard (who Kevin didn't actually meet for a while, though he spotted him a few
times, mostly when he was coming back from work and Gerard was waking up and
shuffling around in the dark). There were foreclosure and utility shut-off
notices stuck on the door, and Keep Out signs and a sagging chain-link fence
with a hole cut into it standing sentry over a patch of dead grass out front.
Mike had his own room on the second floor, with a door and everything. All that
was in it was a ratty mattress covered with dingy sheets and an army-style
duffel bag shoved against the wall, but it was an actual room, and after a
month with concrete and cockroaches, it seemed like a palace.
Kevin let Mike lay him out on the mattress and strip him slowly; his touch
stayed soft, and Kevin was glad of that -- he'd made the right choice. Mike
kissed his way down Kevin's stomach (so much smaller than it had been a month
before, though Kevin hadn't thought he had much extra weight to lose), took
Kevin's cock in his hand and stroked him to hardness before swallowing him
down. Kevin fought the urge to buck up into Mike's throat; he hated when johns
did that, it always made him choke. For all however-many times he'd done this,
he'd never been on the receiving end. It was amazing, Mike was amazing,
swirling his tongue around the head of Kevin's dick as he sucked on it. Kevin
whimpered as he came, tugging on Mike's hair maybe a little bit too hard.
Mike climbed up over Kevin to dig in the army duffel for a half-empty tube of
lubricant and a foil-wrapped condom, and when Kevin looked at him in surprise
Mike told him, "Never without one of these. Ever. Okay?" And Kevin nodded and
gasped as Mike spread his legs wide and ran one lubed fingertip over his hole.
It wasn't anything like what the john had tried earlier; Kevin's dick even gave
a half-hearted twitch toward being interested in the proceedings again. By the
time Mike had three fingers working in him, Kevin was a puddle of slack limbs.
He fumbled with the condom packet at first, but he finally got it open and
carefully rolled it onto Mike's cock, and then Mike was right there over him,
pushing Kevin's thighs up toward his ears and sliding into him, inch by inch
until he was buried in Kevin's body.
"Oh," Kevin gasped, and Mike chuckled but his laugh was nothing like the
john's. Mike's laugh was warm and a little sweet, and when he pulled out and
slid home again he kissed the corner of Kevin's mouth. Mike set their rhythm,
but Kevin urged him on with heels dug into his shoulders and fingers dug into
his sides, canting his hips up so Mike could go deeper, harder. Kevin was hard
again, and he reached between them to fist his own cock, knowing there was no
way he was going to hold on for very long. Mike came with a long, drawn-out
groan, tense all over. Kevin could feel Mike's dick twitching in his ass, and
that alone was enough to send him over the edge, spilling come all over his
belly.
Mike tied off the condom and tossed it into the far corner of the room, then
used the edge of the grungy sheet to wipe them both off before collapsing half
on top of Kevin. The room was quiet, punctuated by their breathing and the
ambient noise of the city that was impossible to escape, the thin walls and
rickety windows not quite able to muffle the sounds of cars going by, a dog
barking, someone down the street yelling. A siren wailed, far off in the
distance.
"I'm Kevin," Kevin said, and Mike rolled his eyes in the dim light.
"Mike," said Mike, and, "Go to sleep. You have to get out of here in the
morning."
                                      ~*~
But Kevin didn't leave in the morning.
Instead he ended up in the gutted kitchen, eating shoplifted Pop Tarts and
Nutri-Grain bars for breakfast with everyone else, because Bill and Pete caught
him leaving Mike's room and decided they liked him. So he went to get his
backpack from its safe spot behind the dumpster, and Frank spent the afternoon
teaching Kevin the basics of picking pockets, with Joe as their willing victim.
Kevin still had the fifty from the john -- plenty to last him a while -- so
that night instead of going out to the alley he normally worked, he headed up
to Mike's room, where his backpack lay nestled next to Mike's army duffel. He
fell asleep curled against Mike's chest, warm and comfortable and without the
taste of sweat and jizz on his tongue.
He didn't leave the next day, either, or the next; until not-leaving became
staying, and Mike's room became Kevin's room, too.
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