Rummaging around in the kitchen relinquishes only a dented can a peaches. Well, there is more, but it’s the only thing Kevin hopes won’t be missed.
Unfortunately for Kevin and his rumbling stomach, BJ apparently noticed him sneaking out of the living room.
“What the fuck man, we were supposed to be in this shit together! Why’d you do me like that?”
Kevin rolls his eyes, trying to impart every iota of his immense disdain for BJ, BJ’s impractical solidarity bullshit, and this whole goddamn useless conversation in its entirety.
“No one gives a fuck how morally outraged you are, Blow Jobs. I did what was necessary to win. End of story.”
“Oh, real original, Steen. I've never heard that one before. ‘Haha, BJ must suck dick because his name is Benjamin Josephine Whitmer and he licked a dude’s foreskin one time back in ninth grade’-”
Kevin snorts, coughing on his peaches, almost jabbing himself in the eye with his fork. Choking, he sucks in deep breaths, trying to inhale around the thick peach flavored syrup now coating his throat and sinuses.
“Fuck,” Kevin gasps, reaching out and bracing himself none too gently against BJ, using the other man’s shoulder to tether himself to the mortal plane, lest he fall off the edge of this particular piece of amusement and laugh himself to an early grave. “...your middle name is Josephine?”
BJ throws his hands up, dislodging Kevin and almost sending him straight on his ass.
“You know what, why don’t you go suck on huge sack of-”
“Sure. Mind telling me where you got yours in high school?” Kevin snickers, gesturing to the roll of paper towels behind BJ.
BJ looks mutinous, but he twists around and grabs the knock off Bounty, grimacing as he hands them over. Kevin ignores the disgusted look, index finger pressing one nostril closed as he snuffs out thin streams of preservatives onto the floor.
“Kevin, that kid was like fifteen.”
Kevin rolls his eyes, “Yeah, and presumably he’s as old as your ancient ass now. Thus, legal. Hand me a glass of water, will you?”
“You could blow your nose with the paper towels, you know,” BJ bitches as he turns around again, rummaging through Necro’s cabinets for a glass.
Kevin scoffs, “And scrape up my delicate skin with the harshness of these scratchy ass paper towels? No thank you.”
BJ hands him the glass, looking anywhere but at Kevin’s face. Not that it matters, Kevin’s nostrils are clean and clear, he can finally breathe easily again. He chugs the water, almost slamming it down on the counter, before he remembers where they are and sets it more gingerly onto the well used granite surface.
Kevin rethinks it only seconds later, pushing BJ out of the way so he can rinse the glass in the sink.
“Would you stop fucking keeping house and talk to me? I need answers, Steen-”
Kevin gently lays the glass in the dish drain, watching droplets of water roll down the sides to pool on the soft towel (patterned with adorable cats, for some reason) that sits under the wire contraption. He taps his fingers against the sides of the sink, listening to the soft chime of his nails against the stainless steel.
“BJ, I don’t owe you answers or explanations.”
(he can be calm )
(this is fine)
BJ doesn’t look like he wants to let it go. “Fuck you Steen. I helped you-”
Kevin turns around abruptly, BJ’s bullshit too much for him all of a sudden. He slams his hands down onto the oak table BJ is slouching against, palms down on the wood on either side of BJ’s tubby little torso. Kevin leans in, boxing the asshole in and forcing him to lean back, though there is nowhere for the fat son of a bitch to go.
“Don’t test me, Whitmer. You didn’t help shit. All you did was complicate this whole mess, so you can take your outraged proselytizing somewhere else.”
BJ shoves him, then when Kevin refuses to move, BJ grabs a handful of his shirt, balling his other hand up in a fist in what Kevin supposes is an attempt to be menacing.
“Back the fuck off, Steen. You've caused enough shit for one day, you really don’t want to start shit with me,” Kevin snorts in derision and reaches up, planting a palm against BJ’s face and pushing him back against the table, “Stop that, you asshole! You’re not accomplishing anything by bullying me, and we both know that what you really want is-”
Kevin chuckles, wishing BJ had some hair that he could drag the little cunt around by.
-yeah that would make this whole thing better-
(you sound less enthusiastic than usual)
- BJ’s not worth the effort it takes to torment his dumbass-
“Don’t you concern yourself with what I want,” Kevin says, deciding that he has had enough of getting his nice clean hands all over this washed up douche. He pulls back, dragging the nicely folded handkerchief BJ keeps in his shirt pocket, out of its rightful place, and tossing it onto the floor amidst the mess of peach juice.
BJ squawks and dives for it, missing by a mile and almost ending up face down in the mess. Kevin would laugh, but he can hear footsteps approaching. Ignoring the way the sound makes his gut curl, Kevin nudges BJ with his foot.
“Better get to cleaning before Butcher gets in here and sees the mess you made.”
BJ turns indignant eyes on Kevin, “Fuck you! I didn’t do this! I didn’t do any of this! This is all your fault, and for some reason you did it all just for some garbage Iron Man Title, and because you don’t like Zandig-”
“Bitch, don’t act like you know why I do anything. Although, here’s a hint; it’s not because I don’t like John, it is because I don’t like your stupid fucking face.”
BJ never gets a chance to respond, because the kitchen door swings open, revealing a tall, terrifying man in ratty cutoffs and an over sized t-shirt. He stands there in the doorway, looking from Kevin, to BJ who is still crouched on the floor, looking like a deer in the headlights. No one says anything for a paralyzing heartbeat, before a small head pokes its way into the doorway from under Necro’s arm.
“Hey! We’re gonna start lighting- uh?”
Kevin relaxes a bit, even Necro softening at Sami’s perturbed expression.
(at least he likes one of us)
“Sami, we are being held hostage. Don’t make friends with your captors.”
Sami looks crestfallen, “But it’s Nick’s birthday-”
“What the fuck happened to my linoleum?” Necro breaks in, eyes trained on the mess on the floor.
Before BJ can say anything stupid, Kevin starts badgering, ignoring the glare he is getting.
“Old BJ here had a little nervous upchuck on the floor, you know how it is. I’m sure the Stockholm will take hold eventually, and he’ll settle in. Now, did someone say something about cake?”
“Yeah, we are going to light the candles...” Sami looks genuinely concerned for BJ, and Kevin can’t decide if that is cute or annoying. He walks over, eying Necro, who obligingly moves out of the way so that Kevin can get an arm around Sami’s shoulders and start steering him back the way him and Necro came.
“Kevin,” Kevin stops immediately, but refuses to turn around. He can hear BJ grumbling as he crawls around on the kitchen floor, but it’s hard to focus on that with Necro’s steely eyes boring into the back of his head.
“Yeah?” He tries for defiant, and ends up somewhere in the realm of meek.
“You’re on dish duty after dinner. And I expect you to keep a close eye on your idiot friends. We understand each other?” Necro rasps, eyes uncompromising and sharp.
Kevin nods before he even contemplates the request -command- as he pulls Sami along, eager to leave before Necro makes him crawl around on the floor with BJ.
“Yes sir. You can count on me.”