skoosiepants | bandslash fic: Given Time We’ll Find It Strange

Given Time We’ll Find It Strange | PG-13 | 4,000+
Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas | always-a-girl AU!

“I’m overriding your dibs,” Mike says. She didn’t actually mean to say that, but she’s not taking back her words. She even goes on, “And for the purposes of this conversation, dibs means I’m getting into her panties.”

a/n:

sodamnskippy kink bingo is awesome. I wrote this today. Please forgive any errors, these two make the cutest girls EVER. Title from TMBG's Pet Name.

Given Time We’ll Find It Strange

Mike has spent the majority of her life hanging out with boys. She can’t think of one girl she’s friends with that isn’t someone’s wife or girlfriend, and everyone knows they don’t count on tours. Touring is the band, and the band is four of her douchebag male best friends and her. And Chris and Tony. Who are also boys. Of course, they’ve toured with Cobra Starship, but Victoria is a goddess and Mike borrows Siska’s t-shirts, regardless of how they smell, so. So they’re not exactly on the same wavelength. Mike thinks if she were a guy she’d have a fuck-ton more shit to talk to Victoria about, but Victoria tried to take her shopping, once, and dragged her to a salon to get her nails done, and Mike doesn’t even have nails.

Mike is one of the boys. It’s been ten years, she’s fine with this.

“I’m calling dibs,” Bill says. They’re lounging in the venue. It’s the weirdest tour they’ve ever been on, but Mike’s not going to complain. She met Sterling Knight earlier in the week. That dude is even more of a cartoon character than Bill.

“You can’t call dibs, you have a girlfriend,” Siska says.

Bill makes a face like this fact can’t possibly matter. Mike knows this has nothing to do with having a girlfriend, and everything to do with Bill’s definition of ‘dibs.’ “She’s a Jonas,” Bill says. “She’s like a fancy French poodle, I think her leggings are glittering.”

Mike tilts her head at Kevin, who’s swinging her legs off the end of the stage, head tossed back and laughing at something Joe’s saying. “I’m agreeing with Bill.” She has short curly hair and a fringed scarf around her neck. Mike thinks she’s hot and quirky, like Victoria, only with more pink involved.

“Thank you, Carden,” Bill says.

Kevin has a short, ruffled skirt overtop her leggings and spangle bracelets almost all the way up to her elbows and her laugh does something to Mike’s insides.

“I’m overriding your dibs,” Mike says. She didn’t actually mean to say that, but she’s not taking back her words. She even goes on, “And for the purposes of this conversation, dibs means I’m getting into her panties.”

Siska loses it at Bill’s aghast face. He collapses with hysterical laughter into Butcher, who’s been tapping absent rhythms on the seatback in front of him and not paying them any attention. He pats the top of Siska’s head.

“She’s a Jonas, you can’t call dibs,” Bill says.

Mike doesn’t bother pointing out how stupid Bill sounds. “She’s a hot girl,” Mike says. Mike likes how pale her throat is. She wouldn’t mind dating her, either, but she’s not going to delude herself here – Mike’s not the kind of girl a kind of girl like Kevin would actually date, if Kevin even dates girls. The most Mike’ll probably be able to get in is a quick grope.

Bill still looks offended; they’ve made bets worse than this before, Mike doesn’t get it.

“She’s the kind of girl you marry,” Bill says.

Mike waggles her eyebrows. “If it was legal, I’d consider it.” She jumps to her feet, smoothes down her t-shirt – she’s wearing her own jeans for once, the skinny ones that make her ass look fantastic. There is no time like the present, Mike doesn’t like putting things off.

Kevin looks over at her as Mike approaches – her smile just gets wider, like Mike is someone she wants to see. She has these apple cheeks, they’re flushed; Mike kind of wants to brush her thumbs over them.

“Hey,” Mike says. She stuffs a hand into her pocket and leans a hip into the edge of the stage.

“Hi,” Kevin says, bobbing her head. “You’re—Carden, right?”

“Mike,” Mike says.

Kevin bites her lip, rubs her palms on her thighs; Mike glances down, the polish on her nails – neat and short - matches the pink glitter of her leggings.

“I’m Kevin,” she says.

“I know.” Mike cocks her head. She considers going the friend route, ambush her later, but that’s not really Mike’s style. She shifts closer, puts a hand on Kevin’s knee; Kevin startles a little, but keeps eye-contact, even when Mike’s thumb gets a little fresh.

Mike watches a flush spread up from her throat. Kevin swallows hard, and her smile wavers, but not in any bad way – she doesn’t frown, she just gets a little—nervous.

Interesting.

Mike lets her grin get wolfish. This is going to be fun.

*

Kevin doesn’t really get it.

She knows she’s—well, never in a million years would she have thought that Mike Carden would be interested in her. Kevin’s kind of a dork. And lame. Kevin has been playing bass for eight years and she still looks like a stick with strawberry fluff icing. Mike has these awesome arms from rocking her guitar and, like, she looks comfortable everywhere; she just has amazing amounts of cool.

Kevin presses her fingertips to her lips and stares down at her lap. Kissing Mike—she’d kind of thought maybe she’d fly apart, break up into all these tiny pieces, her heart had been pounding so hard. She’d barely kissed any boys before, and Mike had pushed her up against her bus and nipped at her mouth until Kevin had let her in – slick tongue on the underside of her lips, calloused hands cupping her jaw. Kevin had gripped the back of Mike’s shirt and twisted her closer, and breasts pressed against breasts—Kevin thought maybe that had been the most exciting thing to ever happen to her, and she desperately wants it to happen again.

Maybe that’s what she does get. The fact that Mike’s avoiding her now, that makes a certain kind of sense. It’s not like she’s going to want more – Kevin’s awkward at the best of times. It’s not so hard to imagine she’d done something wrong. Mike’s probably being nice, just leaving her alone.

It still hurts.

“What’s up? Are you alright?” Joe asks. He says it like he doesn’t really care, but Kevin knows better. It’s tough being the only girl – she’s the oldest, but Joe still thinks he’s got to fight all her battles for her. Which is bull.

“Fine,” Kevin says. She crosses her arms over her chest and sinks further into the couch. It’s early, but she’s already got her pajamas on. She doesn’t feel like hanging out with anybody tonight.

Joe has his going-out sport coat on, the one with all the pockets, but he settles down next to her like he’s in for the night. He just stares at her.

Finally, Kevin sighs and says, “I’m just. Something happened, and Mike’s ignoring me, and, whatever, she just probably decided I’m not, you know,” she fiddles with her fingers, because she doesn’t think Joe knows she likes girls, but he asked, so, “the kind of girl a girl like her actually dates.”

The first words out of Joe’s mouth after that are not the expected wait, you’re gay?, but, “Wait, you think you’re not good enough for Carden?”

He sounds outraged. If Kevin’s heart hadn’t been recently tromped on, she probably would’ve found that funnier.

Kevin also doesn’t know how to deny that. She kind of isn’t.

“Joe—”

“No, seriously, Mike Carden? I don’t even think she showers, and you think—you think she’s—”

“I think she’s awesome,” Kevin says mutinously; she doesn’t like the way Joe’s mind’s clearly going. Mike is hot and funny and Kevin may’ve been watching her all tour, and she may’ve also been nursing a teensy crush on her from before, but, um, that Rolling Stone shoot had been amazing, with all that bare skin and Mike’s scowl and Mike’s intense green eyes.

“Kevin,” Joe says. “She’s—you’re definitely—you know you’re—” He flails a little, like he can’t figure out what exactly to say, but Kevin gets it – Joe’s sweet when he’s not busy being a pain in the butt. Most of Joe’s anger leaves him as he slumps into her side. “If she can’t see that, Kev, then she’s totally not worth it.”

*

Mike is being stalked. Mike is being stalked by the littlest Jonas; Mike thinks his name is Frankie. He looks like he’s ten and evil.

“You’ve got a shadow,” Chislett says, sitting down across from her at the picnic table.

Mike takes a bite out of her hot dog and says, “I know,” with her mouth full.

“If he was a mutant, he’d be killing you with his mind right now.” Chislett says it like he really wishes this were the case – like telepathic mutants would be awesome in real life. Which they would be, Mike isn’t going to deny that, but she’d rather not have her brain melted by a tiny Jonas brother.

Mike nods. She says, “I’m pretty sure he wants to defend his sister’s honor.” She smirks, because she likes to recall just how much of Kevin’s honor Mike had gotten her hands on. Kevin has soft skin all over. She didn’t get much beyond under the shirt, over the bra, but that’s a lot more than Mike had originally thought possible.

Chislett steals a handful of Mike’s chips, then says, “Hey, kid,” over her shoulder.

Mike twists and sees that Frankie’s finally gotten up the nerve to come closer – he’s frowning at her, his little hands clenched into fists. “What’s up?” Mike says.

“You were mean to Kevin,” Frankie says.

Mike’s a little surprised by that – she doesn’t remember being mean to Kevin; mean is pretty much the opposite of what Mike was to her. “Uh.” She shoots a look at Chislett, who just shrugs. “Sorry?”

Frankie narrows his eyes. “You will be.” He stares at her some more before turning around.

“Wow,” Chislett says, watching Frankie walk away.

“How can a ten-year-old be that frightening?” Mike asks. She has goosebumps all over her arms.

“He’s a Jonas,” Bill says, appearing out of nowhere – he does that a lot; Mike thinks maybe he’d been napping under the table. “I warned you, Carden.”

“You really didn’t,” Mike says. She worries her thumbnail between her teeth, staring down at her half-eaten hotdog. She’s suddenly not very hungry anymore. “Do you think—”

“What?” Bill says.

Mike glares at him. “Do you think she’s mad at me?”

Chislett says, “What did you do?”

“It was just.” She shrugs, suddenly feeling dejected. “I kissed her. We made out, it was fun. I thought.”

“Oh, Michaela—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Michaela,” Bill says again. He presses his hands to his heart. “You can’t just have fun with a Jonas.”

“Well, I can’t—” She grips the edge of the table to keep from punching Bill in the face. “I can’t—it’s not like she’d want to be my girlfriend.”

“Wife,” Bill corrects, at the same time that Chislett says, “Why not?”

Mike blinks at him. “Because I’m me?”

Chislett steals the rest of Mike’s hotdog. “I think you’re making this harder than it is.”

She’s not making this harder. There’s nothing to make harder. There’s nothing going on at all. “I’m not—”

“Watch out, though,” Chislett says, “here comes Joe.”

*

Kevin hisses when her nail catches on one of the strings – it’s hard keeping her fingers neat, but she tries – and she pops it into her mouth. There’s an ache where it’s split below the quick.

Someone clears their throat, and Kevin glances up at—Mike Carden.

Kevin’s eyes go wide.

Mike’s t-shirt pulls across her breasts and she has one hand on a hip, and she’s wearing—she’s wearing this really tiny cut-off denim skirt, and her legs look terrifyingly long.

Kevin slips her finger out of her mouth and tries to think of something to say.

Mike says, “C’mon, they’re serving steak sandwiches for dinner.”

Kevin takes a minute – she thinks that’s an invitation, but she’s not one hundred percent sure.

Mike sighs and ruffles her short hair, making it stand up in these awesome, sweaty strands, Kevin kind of wants to, um, bury her hands in it; she remembers that it’s softer than it looks. “Please?” Mike says.

“Please, what?” Kevin’s not trying to be difficult here, she’s just not sure what’s going on.

Mike makes a pained face. “Eat dinner with me.”

On the one hand, yes, Kevin would very much like to eat dinner with Mike, or do anything with Mike, but on the other, Mike looks like this is just about the last thing she wants to be doing. Kevin’s hands tighten around her bass. “Um, that’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She looks genuinely puzzled.

“Whatever you’re—did Joe put you up to this?” Joe means well, but he’s the kind of guy who’d pay his buddy to take his sister to prom – which hasn’t happened in real life, but they did write that into their TV show once.

And Mike ducks her head at the mention of Joe, so Kevin’s—Kevin’s hurt, that’s what she is. More hurt than before, and also a little humiliated.

“It’s fine,” Kevin says. “I’m not hungry.”

Mike’s lips are pressed into a flat, annoyed line. “Whatever,” she says, then stalks off, and Kevin feels small.

She curls over her bass and blinks away tears.

“What was that?”

Kevin looks over at Demi and tries for a smile. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure? Because from over here it looked like you just told Mike Carden to go shove it.”

Kevin opens and closes her mouth dumbly. Finally, she says, “I didn’t!”

Demi clucks her tongue and plops down onto the grass next to her. She tosses an arm across Kevin’s shoulders and tugs her tightly up into her side. “Kev, I love you, but you’re completely clueless when it comes to guys.”

“Mike Carden isn’t a guy.” Also, for years Demi has completely failed to realize that Joe is hopelessly in love with her; Kevin doesn’t get how Demi thinks she knows so much more than her about boys.

“You obviously haven’t seen her play kick ball,” Demi says.

“What does—what are we talking about?”

Demi says, “Mike was giving you her I-don’t-care-if-you-say-yes-or-no face, because she’s emotionally constipated. Bill told me all about it, it’s a side effect of touring for years in a van.”

Kevin frowns. She’s never had to tour in a van. She thinks if she had to tour in a van with Nick and Joe, she probably would’ve tried to kill them with a shoe. “She didn’t really ask me anything, though,” Kevin says.

Demi rolls her eyes. “Oh my gosh, she said please, Kev. Please.”

She had said please. Please and thank-you are pretty much par for Kevin’s life, but Mike doesn’t seem to have much manners beyond knocking on the bathroom door – that one’s pretty traumatizing if you skip it, Kevin understands, especially on a tour dominated by guys.

“Okay,” Kevin says. It feels like her lungs are in her throat, and that she might actually start crying for real. “Okay, I think I messed up.”

*

“Joe Jonas is full of shit,” Mike says. She feels really, really stupid.

“Oh, really?” Bill says. He’s lying on the bus couch, holding a book, but he isn’t fooling Mike. He totally wants a play-by-play of how Mike crashed and burned.

“Yes, really,” Mike says. She sits on his lap and shoves his book aside, and Bill squawks a little but lets her snuggle down into his freakishly long arms. “She said no.”

Bill clutches her tighter. “Are you sure?”

Mike snorts into the front of his shirt. “Pretty sure, yeah.” She should have known better. And she never should have listened to Joe fucking Jonas. The littlest one, yeah, or maybe even Nick, but Joe’s a douchebag.

“I’m sorry, Mikes,” Bill says. Mike knows he means it.

“Me, too.”

They lay there until they have to get ready for the show, and that’s when she notices that all her stuff is missing. Like, all of it. All her clothes, all her make-up – it’s not that she doesn’t mind wearing Siska’s stuff, it’s just that she’s not a total dude; she likes to look nice on stage. She likes to wear her favorite jeans and the little colored tank tops and she likes to make her eyes all smoky, and she wears her lucky leather cuff and everything’s gone.

She tries not to hyperventilate.

Chislett says, “It’s a stupid prank, we’ll figure it out after the show.”

Her fucking phone is gone.

The guys stopped pulling pranks on her back when she started throwing punches – she doesn’t appreciate them, and ever since she gave up smoking, weed and otherwise, she’s been even less appreciative of people fucking with her stuff.

Siska’s eyes widen more the longer he looks at her. “Dude, it wasn’t one of us,” he says, hands up and fingers spread.

Mike pushes past him and locks herself in the bathroom and splashes cold water on her face. It’s just been—a really weird day. A really weird week, she never should’ve gone after Kevin in the first place. She stares at her reflection; she’s got tired smudges under her eyes and she needs a haircut and she’s starting to break out along her chin – she’s a mess, but she’s always kind of been a mess, and she’s never really minded much before.

Sighing, she shakes it off. She’s not going to let this mess up her game. They’re going to have an awesome show, and then Mike’s gonna go kick somebody’s fucking ass.

When she opens the door, all four of her boys are standing around, trying to look like they haven’t been staring anxiously at the bathroom door. She rolls her eyes. “I’m good,” she says. They know her. She’s not going to fall apart before a fucking concert.

“That’s my girl,” Bill says. He throws an arm around her and pulls her into a sideways hug.

Mike jabs him in the stomach with her elbow.

*

Frankie can get into a lot of places because he’s a cute kid, and he knows how to play innocent. You should never, ever assume Frankie is innocent. Frankie is never innocent.

“That was a pretty stupid prank,” Kevin says, sitting next to Frankie on the couch in the front of their bus. Demi woke her up that morning by wriggling into her bunk, and she’d told her that someone had stolen all of Mike’s things - Kevin knew that had Frankie stamped all over it.

Frankie crunches on his popsicle. “What prank?”

In later years, Kevin has no doubt that Frankie’ll probably hone and perfect his chosen craft, but for now his ideas lack ingenuity and class. “Stupid as in dumb and lame and mean,” Kevin says. The trick is to not back down, but to not get mad, either.

“I didn’t do anything,” Frankie says. He’s got a stubborn tilt to his chin.

Kevin knocks their shoulders together. She says, “I like her, you know.”

Frankie chews on his lower lip. “I know.” He squints up at her. “You were upset.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t Mike’s fault,” Kevin says.

Frankie looks like he wants to argue that point, and it was a little Mike’s fault - maybe a lot, even - but Kevin doesn’t want to get into that right now with a ten-year-old.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kevin says quickly. “You don’t steal people’s stuff, Frankie, that’s not funny.” It’s funny when it’s Joe’s stuff, but Kevin doesn’t think this is the time to bring that up.

Frankie shrugs. “Okay.”

“Now comes the fun part,” Kevin says. Frankie’s going to hate apologizing, he always does. “Where did you put it?”

“The venue,” Frankie says. “Sterling’s dressing room, he never notices anything.”

Kevin’s heart drops into her stomach. “The venue. That we left at four this morning.”

Frankie blinks a lot, like he’s going to cry. “Um.”

Kevin is going to fix this. Kevin has to fix this – she’s not going to say Mike could’ve prevented all this by being a little nicer or something, even though she could’ve. And she’s also not going to tell Nick that they’re going to be so late to the next venue.

*

It’s not like Mike is worried – she still hasn’t found her fucking clothes, her hair brush, even – but by the time the first round of sound checks start, one of the Jonas buses is still missing. Lovato’s apparently missing, too, and Mike’s refusing to think on any of the rumors about her and Kevin that have been going around lately. It’s obvious Joe’s stupid in love with Lovato, anyway. Really.

Still, it feels like she’s been holding her breath for hours when their bus finally pulls into the venue parking lot. She sags back against the tree she’s leaning on in relief, watching Kevin hop down the bus stairs. She’s pulling a duffle behind her, and Mike—Mike squints, because that duffle looks awfully familiar. And then Frankie appears with a trash bag and a sullen face, and Mike doesn’t know whether to be mad at them or laugh.

Mike’s sweaty from the heat and their warm-up on stage, and she’s wearing a pair of Bill’s pajama bottoms and the same shirt she’d worn the day before. She’s used to that, though, it’s touring, so it’s kind of weird to feel self conscious about it. She tugs at the hem of her t-shirt as Kevin and Frankie start across the lot toward her – she’s under the only stand of trees, and some of the guys are playing softball behind her in the big open part of the venue lawn, even though it’s almost entirely downhill.

When they reach her, Kevin pushes at Frankie’s back and says, “Frankie has something to say.”

Mike nods. She looks down at Frankie and Frankie hitches his shoulders up, like they’ll hide his face.

He mumbles, “Sorry.”

Mike doesn’t feel like going easy on him. “For what?”

Frankie kicks at the gravel along the edge of the lot. “For stealing your stuff.” He looks up at her and says, “But you made Kevin—”

Kevin slaps a palm over Frankie’s mouth. “That’s good enough,” she says. Then she gives Mike a half-smile. “Sorry. We went back for everything.”

“Back—you know what, I don’t want to know,” Mike says, shaking her head.

Frankie looks up at Kevin with a glower. “Can I go now?”

“Yes.” Kevin smacks at the back of his head. Frankie ducks her hand and then takes off back toward the bus, and Kevin watches him – it looks like maybe she just doesn’t want to look at Mike.

Which, fine, Mike can take a hint. She crosses her arms over her chest and scowls down at the ground.

“So,” Kevin says finally, drawn out, and Mike can’t help it, she jerks her head up.

Kevin has on this gauzy see-through flower-print shirt overtop a spaghetti tank; there are beads looped with a purple scarf and her jeans have this weird sparkle appliqué on one thigh. She’s overdressed, but Mike kind of just wants to drag her fingers all over the denim seams, the sides of her thighs, god, the one on her ass – Mike can’t see it from this angle, but she can imagine it, these jeans are so so tight.

Kevin shifts, so one of her hands is on her hips. “Would you maybe want to have dinner with me?” she asks.

Mike says, “We already ate.”

Kevin’s face falls – she’s kind of ridiculously easy to read; Mike’s pretty sure Chislett’s right, she’s been making this way harder than it needs to be.

“There’s a 7-11 nearby, though,” Mike says. “I could go for a slushie.”

“Oh. Oh, good,” Kevin says. She grins.

Mike takes a moment and just looks at it, because it’s a pretty fantastic grin, it’s like she brings it all the way up to her face from her toes – Mike feels like she should find that annoying, but she doesn’t. Kevin reaches over and takes her hand and Mike lets her thread their fingers together, which is a little weird, and feels kind of like a big deal; Mike really isn’t the hand-holding type.

Bill wolf-whistles at them from across the parking lot and Mike doesn’t even bother flipping him off, because Bill’s an asshole but he’s basically been just as right as Chislett about this. She’s never telling him that, though, it’s bad enough that he’s going to insist on calling Kevin her wife for—however long this lasts. She takes a shaky breath and squeezes Kevin’s hand and says, “Yeah. Good.”

Page 1 of 2 << [1] [2] >>

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

gisforgreen.livejournal.com

This was totally adorable. I hate you for making me interested in femmslash but you didn't mention VAGINAS so I am good.

lalala

From:

Skoosie has fancy plans... and pants to match

Links

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags