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Kevin only becomes aware of the situation due to Kimbay approaching him, wry grin on her face.
"Your white boys, they are cackling like hyenas," she tells him, clearly very amused. It takes Kevin a moment to raise why that might be – dragged into prepping food, he'd only just made it to the festival. He looks down at his drink, and then groans. It's alcoholic. He's barely taken a sip, but a night a few weeks ago celebrating Nabulungi's coming of age, he and Arnold had been plied with copious amounts of something very similar… and had the headache the next morning to match. He'd connected the dots the day after, along with the incredible nausea.
"I bet they're drunk…" he mutters at the cup, as if it can help him. Kimbay chuckles.
"They dance so strangely, especially the other tall one, McKinley?" Well, shit. From what he's heard, which is definitely not a certain amount of first-hand experience sobbing into Arnold's shoulder, it lowers the inhibitions, and well. That does not bode well for any of them, but especially Elder McKinley.
"I'll, uh, have a look."
"Psssh. Let them dance, you need to eat! You're too thin," Kimbay pretty much shoves some stew and bread into his lap, and Kevin decides that yeah, they can probably wait a bit. He’s been working hard on this, he deserves a little rest. Besides, they’re all adults, surely they can deal with a bit of drunkenness.
So he gets to enjoy himself for almost half an hour, carefully ignoring the incoherent shouting and shapes over the other side of the fire, obscured by the heat haze. There are enough people around, surely, to make sure at the very least they don’t fall into the fire. Kimbay sits with him in a pleasant quiet, surrounded by merriment and chaos, and Kevin feels himself relax into it. No Mormon gatherings were ever this loud or vibrant, none of the drums and music – this feels all the more real and grounding for it, even though he’s not really taking part, per se. Some of the kids he’s teaching maths and English to come up and climb over him for a bit, trying to make him pick them up and swing them around. He obliges for a bit until some of the others come over and start chasing them off, dashing between the adults, nearly tripping some of them.
He’s just settled in again, gaining a newfound appreciation of just staying to observe, when something heavy lands on his lap. Come to think, there had been some shouting prior, he’d just not taken any notice, far away with his thoughts.
Looking down, he finds Elder McKinley, looking much scruffier than usual, his head in Kevin’s lap, grinning, with a flush across his cheeks.
The situation comes back to mind – he shares a bemused look with Kimbay, before McKinley pokes him in the jaw.
“You’re gonna cut someone, wi’ that jaaaw-line!” McKinley sort of yells at him, and it’s only then that Kevin realises that suppressed feelings and inhibition lowering substances, combined with the good ol’ Mormon guilt are probably not a great combination.
“I, uh, think you might be-”
“Dance with me!”
Yeah, probably best to get him back to the hut before he says anything too self-incriminating.
“I think you need to get back to the hut,” Kevin says flatly. He should have warned them. He did spot Nabulungi pouring something in the drink that’s being passed around, so who knows what’s in it, or how strong it is. She’d spotted him watching, cackled, and put her fingers to her lips before skipping off. Stay quiet, was the message… but he’d meant to tell the others to not have it, or only have a little.
“Don’ wanna.” McKinley pouts, unreasonably cute from a man his age. It takes him a few tries to cross his arms. Kimbay laughs.
“They are not good with the drink?” she asks. McKinley tilts his head further into Kevin’s lap, spots her, and waves cordially.
“Well, it’s not like any of us have really had any alcohol before, so… In America, we’d be underage, as well as, you know, not allowed. Like coffee.”
Kimbay snorts. “You Americans with your weird rules,” she assesses. Kevin doesn’t point out that it’s definitely more of a Mormon thing than an American thing – mostly because McKinley has started poking and squashing his upper arm, cooing appreciatively and yeah, probably best to get him away from the group just in case. Kevin doesn’t want to take any chances with such draconian laws, even if they’ve mostly been accepted in this village.
“C’mon, Elder McKinley, we ought to go back, get you some water.” Kevin swats his hands away, at which McKinley giggles.
“If you’re joinin’ me!” he smiles coyly, at which point Kevin is completely assured that McKinley a.) cannot be trusted to stay here and not do something stupid and b.) cannot be trusted to get back on his own.
“I’ll, uh, get him back to the hut. Thanks, Kimbay.” She nods, taking his cup from him, and sipping at it herself. Kevin only feels slightly warm from the half cup he’d had. “Can you walk?” he asks. McKinley does not move.
“Carry me.” Kevin rolls his eyes, but pushes McKinley off his leg, into a sitting position, then has to help him to stand, his legs not co-operating… or perhaps he’s just being difficult, since he seems to enjoy it, giggling to himself, probably louder than intended. Nabulungi, hovering nearby and helping not at all, cackles at the sight of Kevin trying to manhandle a recalcitrant McKinley and eventually, with some help from Kimbay, managing to get McKinley onto his back to carry him. He knots his hands together under McKinley and sets off slowly away from the fire.
“Should have said there was alcohol in the drink, huh?” Kevin murmurs, largely to himself. McKinley laughs, very close to his ear.
“You’re touching my bum,” McKinley whispers seriously into his ear.
Kevin has to stop to laugh for a minute. “Well, if you wanna walk, be my guest,” McKinley shakes his head vehemently, nearly knocking their heads together. Kevin will indulge him this once, he thinks, and carries on walking.
“I’d let you do it,” McKinley says, after a pause. Kevin is not quite sure he wants an answer as to what, so he ignores it… or at least he tries, until McKinley slithers a hand down his shirt. “When did you get so fit?”
Kevin huffs a laugh, pausing to hitch McKinley up a bit, hoping it might bring him back to his senses. “What happened to turning it off?” Mostly to dissuade him from touching him.
Not that he’s… opposed, per se, but maybe not while he’s carrying McKinley.
“Ffffuck it. Turn me on, instead. Turn it all on,” he mutters.
Kevin has not exactly been unaware of McKinley’s crush on him. Despite his protests of turning it off, (and Kevin’s realisation that turning feelings ‘off’ is actually pretty much impossible), it’s not been that hard to draw that information together. He’s just kind of let it slide, because clearly if McKinley doesn’t want to do anything about it, then Kevin, unsure of where he stands on the whole attraction scale, is not going to push it.
“Uh, Elder McKinley-”
“You can call me Connor,” McKinley whispers into his ear, in a manner that distinctly has negative repercussions to the strength of his knees. Not helped by McKinley languidly drawing his tongue up the shell of Kevin’s ear, a warmth bursting in his body. Kevin never knew the hut was so far out. “I wan’ you to slam me against a wall and lick me like a spoon.”
Kevin gets an image of this, and involuntarily shudders, a wave of foreign heat surging through his body. McKinley, Connor, sprawled against a wall, hands above his head, shirt askew, eyes glued on him, begging for-
He’s going to fall over.
“Stop it, you’re gonna make me-”
“Make you what?” Connor asks, in a tone far too smooth for someone so drunk. Kevin stops in his tracks for a second, closing his eyes and willing it all away. Connor is drunk. He’d never say this normally, would curse himself for even thinking these things, let alone say them.
This is probably God, messing with Kevin again. Yup, he’ll blame God. Hasa Diga Eebowai, and all that. He takes a breath, and resolves to walk as fast as he can. Sitting outside until he’s calmed down sufficiently will come once he’s installed McKinley safely in the hut. Which he can even see, but it’s still too far.
“You’re going to make me fall over,” Kevin says, striding off the best he can with a dead weight. A not-dead-enough weight, though, Connor pressing his lips to Kevin’s shoulder, little butterfly kisses up his neck, along his jaw. His heart thrums uncomfortably loud, unused to such unshielded desire, especially towards him. Yeah, plenty of girls, and possibly some guys, had had crushes on him before. Asked him to dances, on dates, cute little twee things Kevin had never had any much desire to partake in, always said he was busy with homework, Church, scripture, volunteering. Other kids his age had whispered about such things, wanting things, girlfriends, boyfriends, and he’d just never even thought about it. But he didn’t really feel like he knew anyone the way he knows some of the people here, only just feels like he’s stepped out of a bubble he’s been unknowingly trapped in all his life.
“Fall over into my bed, I’ll eat you up,” Connor takes to nibbling his earlobe, and Kevin’s breath hitches, stumbling, just about remaining upright. He can’t run like this, Connor is too heavy- wait, when did he even become Connor, except just this moment, and he gets visions of Connor squirming underneath him, and why why why right now-
“You are drunk,” he hisses, mostly to himself. All the things he says right now are not things he’d ever say sober, Kevin really, honestly has to remember that.
“I want you, Kevin Price, I want you so bad, I wanna-”
“Stop! Stop, stop stop, oh look we’re here!” he frantically yells, kicking the rickety door open with his foot, and bracing for the rebound with his shoulder.
“Yay!” Connor chirps, at complete odds with his hand snaking down under Kevin’s shirt again, tracing patterns on his abdomen, right above a pooling heat, and Kevin doesn’t have a hand free to stop him. He’s only glad he can’t reach any further from where he is, otherwise he’d have to jettison him altogether. His nerves are on fire, his knees like jelly, but he manages to get to Co- McKinley’s room, and nigh on drops him on the bed. McKinley nearly rolls off the other side, but manages to stop, by some weird reflex, catching Kevin’s arm. Once he’s stabilised, he pulls, Kevin unbalancing, only stopping himself with his hands either side of Connor. His shirt askew. His eyes dark. His fingers trailing up Kevin’s arms to his neck, and Kevin will absolutely blame the half cup of juice he’d had, not any weird heat in his guts, that when Connor pulls him in, he goes.
It’s probably horrendously messy, but Kevin doesn’t even care, Connor teasing his lip between his teeth, Kevin’s breath taken far before their lips really touch, shuddering gasps as Connor weaves a hand into his hair and tightens his grip, just enough that his scalp tingles, and he tastes of juice and stew and unique, like nothing Kevin’s ever experienced, his nerves shooting almost like he’s in pain, but also completely not. Connor arches up beneath him, sighing into his mouth, his free hand trailing down to try and pull Kevin’s shirt up. They separate slightly, Connor smiling so widely, his eyes sparkling. Kevin’s never seen him look so happy…
Which is all the more reason this cannot go any further right now.
Kevin curses, easing himself back to sitting, catching both of Connor’s hands before they can draw him back in, and stares at him, befuddlement blossoming on Connor’s face. Kevin almost, almost lets himself give in but- who knows if Connor will even remember? His own memory is patchy from that time a few months ago, although he was probably worse off then.
“You’re drunk,” he murmurs regretfully, only appreciating right now how much he wishes Connor wasn’t. That he was sober and they were alone in a country that doesn’t criminalise what might happen, and they could have all the fun they wanted, without thought to guilt and tomorrows and hiding. “You’re drunk and if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be doing any of this.” Connor frowns.
“I wanted to!”
“Yeah, while you’re drunk! In the morning, you’d just feel guilty and I-”
He can’t be trapped in that. He doesn’t want to be something Connor avoids. He doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow and have this wiped away because of some Mormon guilt thing. Doesn’t want this to push him over the edge.
Connor whines, trying to free his hands, but Kevin’s made his mind up. They can’t do this unless they’re both sober and completely willing.
“You’ve got water there. Sleep well.”
He nigh-on runs out of the room, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it, sucking in a deep breath. He hears Connor shout his name, hears him scramble out of bed and try the door. He gives it a minute before he runs away, out into the fresh air of the night, and away into the brush. Crouching into a ball, head in his hands, he heaves a sigh, uncomfortably aware of everything.
Connor doesn’t follow him, and he pretends he’s happy about that.
Kevin is on his seventh game of solitaire with a pack of battered cards when a door creaks open, and Kevin does his level best not to look. Footsteps patter down the hall away from the kitchen, towards the bathroom, then a few minutes later back again. Con- McKinley appears, holding his head in one hand, eyes squinting, clearly suffering a headache, shuffling to the fridge to pull a bottle of water out, taking a long drink before he turns around and spots Kevin.
Kevin has never seen someone look so much like their soul got forcibly evacuated in under a second. McKinley’s eyes go wide, his hands dropping to his sides. It’s kind of funny. It is funny, Kevin tells himself, even as his heart drops. That… wasn’t quite the reaction he anticipated, or maybe it was, and that’s why it’s disappointing.
McKinley very, very slowly, shuffles in to sit in the seat not directly across from Kevin, but the one next to it.
“Good morning,” McKinley tries, his voice sounding a little hoarse. Probably all the yelling from earlier last evening.
“Good morning,” Kevin returns cordially, returning to his cards. Silence reigns for a good few minutes, only interrupted by the sound of cards being moved around the table. Kevin bides his time. McKinley clearly remembers something, but how much, Kevin doesn’t know. And whether he wants to actually acknowledge any of what he does recall, who knows. Kevin leaves the ball very much in McKinley’s court.
“Um.” Kevin flicks his eyes up. McKinley is staring very intently at his water bottle, flicking at a loose corner of the label with one finger. “I understand that I may have… imbibed… some alcoholic beverage last night…”
Kevin tries really, really hard not to laugh. “You and the rest of them.” He waves vaguely to the living room, the door ajar and the faint sound of snoring from it. Inside, it’s possible to just about see a pile of hungover, sleeping elders.
“It was a mistake to, ah, partake in such beverages…” he continues. He’ll burn a hole in the bottle in a minute, the condensation sluggishly dripping down onto the table.
“I’m sure God can forgive you a few mistakes.” Kevin surveys the cards on the table, flipping a few from the draw pile. He’s gone four distinct card draws before Connor (no, it really should be McKinley, if he wants any distance in this) clears his throat.
“I, um. May have said some things… I think…” He sounds like he’s about to implode. Kevin decides that, if this can’t go any further, he can at least get some amusement from this. He props his elbow on the table, and leans his chin on his hand, smiling sweetly.
“’I’ll cut people with that jawline’, wasn’t it?” Connor’s face blows up red, his grip on the bottle tightening, but he doesn’t look angry so much as like he wants to melt into the floor and absorb into the earth. “’When did I get so fit’? I think I remember that.”
“I- I…” Connor looks like he’s nearly vibrating with the embarrassment. Kevin shoves his disappointment far, far down, and plasters a smirk on his face.
“Hmm. It’s a little fuzzy, but I think there might have been ‘I want you to sl-’”
“Stop stop stop!” Connor shrieks, loudly enough that it catches Kevin by surprise. Maybe that was a little far. He huffs a humourless laugh, and returns to his cards.
“No worries, I can forget if you want me to.” He’s used to this, pushing his feelings down to make other people more comfortable. Nothing unnerves Mormons more than someone who questions, so he’s very practised at it. So good, he can almost fool himself. If Con- McKinley wants him to, he’ll lock those memories deep down in his chest, never to surface again. And he will want him to, because McKinley does not want to face it.
“I…” McKinley croaks, taking another drink of water. Kevin closes his eyes against a sweeping sorrow, but when he opens them again, he’s made his mind up to ignore all this. They can be friends.
“No harm, no foul, right? Nothing happened.” He turns one card over, then another, but he doesn’t really see what they are. His vision is oh-so-faintly blurry. He blinks it away. Turn it off. Turn it all off.
His hand is warm, stopped from turning another card over, stuck on the one he just turned. There is a hand on his, an arm stretching across the table, up to McKinley, who buries his face in his other hand, his eyes squashed shut.
“I… I remember…” He starts, so slow that Kevin feels like he can hear every single letter. His heart thrums in his chest, an anxious ache balling in his throat. “That we k-” McKinley swallows thickly, takes a breath. “We kissed.” Kevin twitches. McKinley opens an eye, looks at him through his fingers. “And you didn’t pull away.”
Kevin stops breathing. “I did not.”
McKinley’s hand tightens over his. There’s a card getting squashed, the ace of diamonds.
“I don’t want you to forget.” McKinley whispers, the grip on his hand bordering on painful, but he’s still looking straight at Kevin. “Why- Why should something that makes me happy be wrong?”
Kevin still feels like he can’t breathe, but it’s more like the anticipation clogs his throat. He shakily lays his other hand over Connor’s. “Even if you act on it.”
There is a whole, long second where they just look at each other, then it’s like the elastic snaps. Connor pretty much throws himself over the table, pulling Kevin into a kiss, none of the minimal decorum of yesterday, all fire and burning and Kevin feels himself devoured by it. There is water and cards everywhere, but he doesn’t care, happy to be swallowed into this, happy to be allowed. Without ever losing contact, Connor drops himself into Kevin’s lap, pulling his face closer, Kevin’s hands roaming his back, indulging every last whim he’s denied himself.
Unfortunately, the chairs are shitty, and two grown men is too much for it; Kevin leans too far back, or Connor leans too far forward into it, and with a great crack, the chair gives up and they topple over backwards, Kevin’s head smacking the ground, the back-rest digging in, Connor landing on top of him. Kevin blinks, face buried in Connor’s shoulder, until the utter absurdity of the situation hits him, and headache be damned, he laughs. He holds onto Connor for his life and he laughs. He better not be bleeding out, because this cannot be as good as it gets. He can’t die just after touching the top of the iceberg of pure bliss. If this is sin, he wants to dive right in. Connor presses his cheek to the top of his head and holds on the best he can.
Once Kevin’s mirth has subsided a bit, Connor levers himself up onto his hands, and smiles down at Kevin. Kevin is absolutely sure he looks ridiculous, a huge dopey grin on his face that he can’t even imagine how to smother. He reaches up and twirls a lock of Connor’s hair between his fingers.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you smile like that,” Connor says, his voice smothered with fondness, eyes creasing at the edges.
“Me neither,” Kevin returns, booping him lightly on the nose. He’s not drunk, but he feels it. “Dunno what we’ll do with the chair, though. Might not be smiling then.”
Connor snorts. “Bury it. Pretend this chair never existed.”
“Turn it off.” Kevin retorts, and bursts into laughter again.
“As long as that’s the only thing that gets turned off, I think I can live with that.”
Kevin can definitely agree with that.
The other elders clearly sense something missing, when they eventually come to and shuffle into the kitchen for drinks and sustenance and look at the space suspiciously, but Kevin and Connor merely smile innocently. If anyone asks about the water-stained and crumpled cards, they know nothing about that either.