Chapter Text
prelude to premaritals I (keefe)
✞
The moment Kelvin kissed him, he felt more connected to God than he ever had in his years of service to the Gemstone family. He'd thought that being baptized would be the greatest feeling in the world, plunging into that water and coming out gasping and new with God's light shining down on him. It made him wonder if maybe the only reason baptism had felt so special was because it was Kelvin who'd held him under, brought him back up, and smiled as he announced he was saved. Kissing him was that exact feeling x10, so heavy on his chest that it knocked the air from his lungs and left him breathless for an hour. Finally, he kept thinking throughout service. Finally, finally, finally. He knew how it felt to have Kelvin pressed to him, to have his hand on his face, to have his lips on his own and wow did that actually happen other people saw that right it was real right?
He was dazed and barely responsive after service, face frozen into either absolute seriousness or a dopey smile as his hands fluttered at his sides. He could scarcely remember the last time he'd been in such a state of emotional overwhelm– even he and Kelvin's "break-up" hadn't affected him this much.
(Wait, did that need to be out of quotes now? Is that actually what it was? The complications of this new dynamic were already making his head spin.)
He wasn't able to speak until Kelvin came up to him afterward with a friendly pat on the back that nearly made him jump out of his skin, finally startling some reaction into him.
"You all good, man?" Kelvin asked quietly.
Across the room, he saw Judy and Jesse staring intensely at the two of them. When they noticed Keefe watching, they both pretended to have been looking elsewhere and commenced a conversation about how interesting the lighting was in the dressing rooms.
"Yes," Keefe said, ignoring the obvious farce and looking back to Kelvin (or, rather, at his feet, since that was a much easier focal point to manage). "I am doing very well."
"Okay," he replied, raising the pitch at the end like it was a question. "Ready for lunch?"
The prospect of further facing anyone while still processing what was possibly the greatest day of his entire life had him eking out a noncommittal um before he could stop himself. He'd never said no to lunch before; he didn't know why his brain wanted to skip out on it now that he was finally able to participate.
"You don't have to go if you aren't up for it," Kelvin said carefully, carving out a small distance between himself and Keefe. "No one will hold it against you. It's basically not even a real lunch since Daddy– I mean, no, it's definitely still a real lunch, it'll just be, y'know, small. Without traitors. No-traitor lunch."
Keefe nodded. "Yes, it will be good to dine with only those loyal to us."
"But you won't be a traitor if you don't go. Just so you know. You're cool. Everyone knows that. So if you aren't feeling good, that's fine."
"I am feeling good," he confirmed. Kelvin still didn't look convinced.
"So you do want to go?"
"I don't know." He didn't know how to say I want to go wherever you go and I would prefer it if the place you went was home, but I'll go to lunch if that's what you want.
"Do you wanna just…I don't know, skip it this time? Head home for now?"
"I think so," he said with a nod, keeping his head down.
"Okay, let me just–" he turned in the general direction of his siblings and called out, "Hey guys, not going to lunch today, don't make a big deal out of it."
"Trouble in paradise already?" Jesse laughed.
"Nah, they're probably gonna go home and buttfuck each other the whole time," Judy said with a snort.
"That feels homophobic," Jesse countered. Judy waved him off.
"How is that homophobic? Buttfucking's for everyone."
"Yeah, but it's about the connotation–"
"What connotation? That it's gay? Buttfucking is only gay if you're gay. It don't make you less of a man or whatever. In fact, I think you're the homophobe, Jesse, assuming straight people don't buttfuck. BJ is the greatest, straightest man I know and I buttfuck him all the ti–"
"Okay, byeeee," Kelvin called again, taking Keefe by the arm and leading him out of the room without looking back, leaving Jesse and Judy to hash out the semantics of buttfucking on their own. "Geez, they're fussy today," Kelvin huffed, but Keefe recognized the amusement on his face. It was nice to see them all getting along. "Let's get outta here."
"You can still go if you want to," he said, suddenly nervous that he was keeping him from spending time with his siblings now that their relationship was finally solid. Kelvin waved him off.
"Pfft, no way. I'd rather hang out with you," he said, giving him a friendly, if slightly overeager, poke in the side. "Besides, it's not like it doesn't happen every single Sunday. There'll be other ones."
"I suppose that's true." Keefe pushed open the big studio door and stood to the side, dutifully holding it open for Kelvin. He didn't look to make sure no one else was coming before he let it swing shut again. "I just don't want to hold you back from doing what you want."
"Well, this is what I wanna do, so you've got nothing to worry about."
When they got to the Jeep, Kelvin overdramatically climbed in with a tangle of clumsy limbs rather than just opening the door. Keefe nodded at him once he'd finally settled to affirm that it was still very cool looking and then entered the Jeep normally. The ride home was mostly silent save for the radio and the rush of wind blowing through the open frame. Keefe fiddled with his necklaces as he watched the landscape go by, pretending not to notice that Kelvin's knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.
Everything looked brand new as they drove down the winding roads of the compound. He noticed the trees more closely, the sparse wildflowers that had escaped the lawnmower, the flurry of insects around the ponds. Even the house looked different, its architecture suddenly foreign and unfamiliar. He felt like he was firmly in his body, alive and well and cognizant for the first time in ages. He saw God all over the place, no less shocked by it than he would have been had Jesus Christ himself been waiting out front for them.
"Home sweet home," Kelvin announced awkwardly, startling Keefe out of his trance. The car was off, he realized distantly. He wondered how long they'd been sitting in the driveway. He cleared his throat and unbuckled his seatbelt, climbing out and readjusting his clothing. Kelvin followed suit and the two of them walked up to the house, the air between them all heavy and strange.
Once inside, Kelvin set his glasses on the counter and made his way to the couch with a sigh. Keefe joined him but sat a strategic distance away, not wanting to impose if he needed space.
"So I guess we should, like, talk or whatever," Kelvin said like it was stupid to suggest.
"Okay." Keefe nodded, wringing his hands in his lap.
"You're– that was– we're all good, right?"
"Yes."
"Because you've been acting weird since we– y'know– yeah. And I just wanna make sure I didn't do something wrong."
"It is not my intention to act weird."
"I know, buddy. You're just hard to read today. That's all."
"There is a joy in me so intense that I am finding it difficult to smile and react appropriately," he said in perfect monotone.
"Word?" Kelvin said with a little blush to his cheeks, grinning and looking away.
"Yes, brother. Word indeed."
"Maybe let's cool it on the brother thing now."
"Okay."
A silence stretched between them for a long moment, each focusing their eyes on something other than each other. Kelvin was all nervous energy, readjusting his position on the couch over and over again and messing with his clothes. Keefe, on the other hand, was completely still, hands folded in his lap as he stared at a poster on the wall.
"So just to be clear, the kissing thing was…good?" Kelvin asked once again.
"Yes."
"And would you maybe want to do more of that at some point? With me?"
"Yes."
"Right. Nice. Yeah." The silence only lasted for roughly three seconds before he added, "So, when do you think you would be available for that? Like, is there a certain time of day, or– I mean, do you have anything you're booked for, or is your schedule looking pretty, uh, open? For that sort of thing?"
"I have no upcoming plans."
"Cool, cool," he said, tapping out a little drumbeat on his legs. He cleared his throat and asked, "Do you think now would be a good time?"
"I would be amenable to that."
"Nice."
They stayed separated for another few seconds before scrambling towards each other at the same time, their faces clumsily meeting halfway. His ankle was caught under him at an awkward angle and Kelvin's inexperienced enthusiasm resulted in a few painful smushes of lips into teeth, but it was still so good he thought he might cry. He felt the air move when Kelvin sighed against him, his hands coming up on either side of Keefe's jaw and holding him in place. When he opened his mouth just enough for Kelvin to be able to draw in his lower lip, deepening the kiss and bringing their faces even closer, the vibration of a half-silenced whimper in his throat snapped him back to reality. He pulled away from Kelvin (who looked destroyed already, lips rosy and cheeks flushed with the beginnings of sweat on his brow) and sat down properly once again, folding his hands over his lap.
"Thank you for that," he said, looking back at the floor and attempting to ignore what was quite possibly the quickest erection he'd ever sprung in his life.
"Yeah," Kelvin said hoarsely as he straightened his clothes. Keefe didn't look over at him again but could tell from the tone of his voice that he was confused by the sudden contact break. "It was good."
"I need to go to the bathroom now," Keefe announced, standing and facing away from Kelvin so as not to expose himself. Unfortunately, the ruse was more easily seen through than he expected.
"Oh," he said, voice an octave higher than usual. "Are you–"
"No. All very normal. Nothing like that."
He left the room before Kelvin could respond, ducking into the never-used third guest bedroom's ensuite and locking the door. After a moment of pacing, he sat down on the ledge of the tub with his head in his hands. He probably freaked him out with that reaction, but it was better than Kelvin thinking he was a pervert or something equally disdainful. After all, it was weird to get so worked up just from kissing someone for a minute. Even virginal Kelvin probably knew that.
Yuck, he'd almost forgotten about that part. How horrible he must have looked, a recently-redeemed sex fiend acting like that from kissing a virgin. What if Kelvin thought he was into that sort of thing? What if he thought it had all been some weird, long-form scheme to take his virginity? The idea made him feel a little bit sick to his stomach and he swallowed hard in an attempt to dispel it. His erection had officially waned from that line of thought, thank goodness, but it stirred up a new, less erotic sensation in his chest– something half-loving, half-disgusted, and sharp with jealousy as he considered an alternative in which it wasn't him who got to be his first anything. He didn't own him, not by a long shot, but he couldn't help but feel that if anyone was going to do that for Kelvin, it should be him. It was like his Taryn fears all over again, the terror that had kept him up at night in the motel by the woodshop: Kelvin could pick anyone in the world for the task if he wanted to. There was no guarantee it would be Keefe.
He wasn't owed it– he knew that, of course he knew that– nor would he even take it if that was the reason it was offered. He didn't want it because it would feel good or be fun or because he'd have the trophy of Kelvin's sexual purity under his belt for the rest of his life. He wanted it because he was absolutely certain that no one else in the entire world cared more about Kelvin than he did. He knew every inch of his body by heart (save a certain frontmost region, though he hoped one day that would change) and could read him better than he could read himself. All he'd ever wanted was to do well for him. He'd make sure it was perfect, would listen to every word he said, every boundary he set. He wouldn't do anything selfishly no matter how hungry he was for it– he'd practiced that self-restraint for years. Who else in the world could possibly guarantee that?
(He remembered his first time, petrified and wasted off nips of Fireball with an older boy's tongue down his throat in the back of a Honda Civic. It was his 14th birthday. He never said no, never found the words to back out, just laid there and tried to calm the horrible spinning in his head. When he got home, walking funny and sick to his stomach, no one had even noticed he was gone. He saw the boy a few more times after that, each time better than the last, so good by the end that the first could almost be forgiven. He still couldn't keep whiskey down.)
There was a knock at the door.
"Everything all good in there?" Kelvin asked gently. "You've been gone a minute."
"Yeah." Keefe sniffled, rubbed at his face, and came back with a hand covered in tears he hadn't known he'd been crying. "No issues here."
"I was wondering if you wanted to order food or something. Y'know, since we didn't go to lunch. I figured you might be hungry."
"That sounds nice."
After a long moment of silence, Kelvin's phone slid under the door, already opened to the Doordash homepage.
"I'm good with whatever, so get what you want," he said.
Keefe scooted off the tub and sat down next to the door, picking up the phone. On the other side he heard Kelvin humming, the tune so clearly audible that Keefe realized he must have been sitting down too. He leaned his head against the door and secretly hoped Kelvin was doing the same.
"Is Vietnamese okay?" he asked weakly. Kelvin rarely ate anything that couldn't be served to a picky American kindergartner, but Keefe would have given anything to have a big bowl of phở at that moment.
"Yeah, 'course. Whatever you want."
He added his phở tái nạm to the cart and slid the phone back under the door, where Kelvin's hand was waiting to pick it up again.
"Oh, some…fo-tay-nam," Kelvin said, butchering every syllable of the word. Unconvincingly, he continued, "Mm, that sounds good. Yes, please. I'll have some of that too."
"We can eat something else."
"Too late, already ordered it. I want whatever that is."
Keefe didn't challenge his choice any further. "It is a very good soup."
"I believe you. That's why I ordered, like, five big things of it."
"Why so much?"
"Well, I don't know the average serving sizes. What if the containers are tiny and two isn't enough? I want you to have a proper amount."
"I think that will be more than the proper amount."
"So we'll have extra. No big deal."
Keefe wanted to kiss him again. Instead, he stayed pressed to the door, listening to him hum and ramble and watch videos on his phone until an ungodly amount of soup was delivered by a security guard to their door. Though hesitant at first, Kelvin ate even more of it than he did.
prelude to premaritals II (kelvin)
✞
He wasn't sure what he was doing wrong. After their amazing but mildly disastrous second kiss, he'd taken a step back. Keefe clearly wasn't comfortable with where that interaction went, so he decided it was best to chill out and let him make the moves. Unfortunately, that meant that over the next couple of weeks, they'd only kissed ten or so times. It's not like they were very intense kisses either; Keefe seemed determined to keep any and all mouth-to-mouth activities brief and light. That wasn't necessarily a problem for Kelvin– it was still leagues better than not doing it at all– but he didn't understand why it wasn't, y'know, escalating. He'd kinda been hoping to hit first base at some point (which was neither a sin nor a premarital, thank you very much), but he couldn't tell Keefe that, lest he feel pressured into kissing of the open-mouthed sort. That worried him too, though– why didn't Keefe want to engage in that with him? Wasn't that what people in relationships did?
Prior to the start of the kissing fiasco, he'd sorta been operating under the assumption that Keefe would be able to read what he wanted without him having to ask for it. Then, if he was cool with what Kelvin wanted, he'd just do it, and if he wasn't cool with it, he'd tell Kelvin immediately and they'd move on and it would be great and no big deal at all. Apparently, that was not how relationships worked in the real world. Bummer.
He just wanted to know what it was that he was doing wrong. Maybe Keefe was having second thoughts about it all, or maybe he just wasn't interested in him in any sort of sexual way. Kelvin could deal with that. He just wished he would bring it up so they could be on the same page. Unfortunately, he realized that if he wanted to get to the bottom of this issue, he'd have to sit Keefe down and ask. Somehow that prospect was scarier than the idea of just sitting in chaste limbo with him for the rest of time, resulting in yet another week of weird sexual tension with no payoff. It kept him up at night, all his fears and anxieties on a loop preventing him from getting his full 10 hours of beauty sleep. He thought maybe he was going a little bit crazy.
Finally, after yet another quick peck that left Kelvin feeling like he'd been punched in the face, he burst out, "Are you not sexually attracted to me?"
Keefe seemed to short-circuit at that, going completely still as his mouth opened and closed over and over again. Finally, after a good fifteen seconds of silence, he said, "I'm not sure I understand the question."
"Well, we've barely kissed. I'm still happy with what we have going here because, y'know, we're…" Crap. He wasn't actually sure what they were. The terminology conversation hadn't come up yet, just another one of the many undiscussed aspects of their relationship.
"Boyfriends," Keefe supplied. Kelvin nodded and grinned.
"Yeah. Boyfriends. And I like being boyfriends with you and I'd be happy to do this for basically the rest of time. I just thought that now that we're together, things would be a little bit less, I don't know, 1800s courting and a little bit more 21st-century Christ-centered gay romance-y. With kissing and stuff. But since we're not doing that, I want to make sure it's not because you think I'm gross or dumb or whatevs."
"I thought part of being Christian was not doing any of those things until you're married," Keefe said, seemingly ignoring the last sentence.
"It's not that you can't do any of those things until you're married." (Kelvin was pretty sure he had in fact told the youth group and, by extension, Keefe that you can't do any of those things until you're married. He pressed on regardless.) "You just shouldn't do the big stuff. The P's in V's and whatnot. Or the P's in A's, I guess. No specific guidance on that one, but I'm pretty sure it's included."
"Oh."
"So, absolutely no pressure obviously– and it's no biggie if you aren't feeling it– but if you want to ever do more than what we're doing now, we totally c–"
He was interrupted by Keefe's mouth on his, forcing a surprised hmph! out of him before he settled into it. For once, he moved his lips and set a pace that left Kelvin dizzy, breath catching in his throat as he tried to keep up. Keefe's hands were awkwardly moving at his sides, almost settling multiple times on his shoulders, neck, and waist before the efforts were abandoned. After a moment of mindless stumbling, too absorbed in the sensation of Keefe's stubble rubbing his face raw and the barest hint of tongue against his lips, Kelvin bumped into a table and knocked a lamp on the floor. The resulting commotion made them break apart. After a glance over his shoulder, confirming the lamp was not broken and he wouldn't need to call someone to come sweep it up, he looked back at Keefe, who was still so close that he could feel his breath.
"I am attracted to you," Keefe said softly. "Sexually."
"Cool. So am I. Attracted to you, I mean. Sexually," he breathed.
He put his hands on either side of his face and pulled him in again, taking a bit of glee in the little gasp it elicited from hum. He tilted his head to the side to minimize the space between their skins, pressing himself into Keefe as fully as possible, sighing with an almost-whine when he felt his tongue against his own. He leaned back against the table, almost sitting on the surface as he continued to pull Keefe on top of him. It was everything he'd wanted for weeks, heavy and heartwrenching and so close in proximity that he wondered if they might melt into each other after long enough. Every moment of it was perfect, so perfect, until–
He felt a hand slide over his belly, close enough to his growing erection that it punched an embarrassing ew straight from his chest and into Keefe's mouth.
Keefe pulled back instantly, putting a foot of space between them. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, no, I'm fine, sorry, I don't know what that– I didn't mean to–" Kelvin put his face in his hands, trying to hide the burning blush on his cheeks. "Sorry. That was so stupid."
"It's not stupid," he said, unable to look at Kelvin. "I apologize if I made a mistake. I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable."
"No, no, it's not like that. It's just a…habit," he said, forcing a laugh that came out humorless and sour. "A dumb habit."
"Do you say ew every time your penis is touched?"
If the question had come from anyone else it would have sounded mean-spirited, but from Keefe , it was so genuine that Kelvin could take no offense.
"You didn't even touch my penis," he mumbled, fully avoiding the question.
"No, but I know that sometimes when you touch yourself you say it. That's why I asked."
"What?" he asked, horrified as an instant wave of anxiety and nausea washed over him.
"I've heard you engaging in masturbatory activities in the past," Keefe admitted softly, staring at one specific spot on the floor as he spoke. "It was not my intention to spy on you or invade your privacy. I apologize deeply for my actions."
"Why didn't you tell me?" He could feel himself beginning to sweat, hands getting all clammy as he struggled to control his breathing and stay calm.
"I didn't want you to feel embarrassed."
"Little late for that." After a second he huffed out a miserable chuckle, already sick with shame at the prospect of his betrayals of God, the greatest plague on his conscience for the past 15 years, being known to Keefe for this long. "I'm not a very good spiritual role model, huh?"
"You saved me, Kelvin. There's nothing you could do that would make me think any less of you." After a long, suffocating silence, he added, "Besides, if that makes you a bad leader, then it makes me an even worse follower."
"Come on. You're, like, the best follower ever. If I was Jesus, you'd for sure be Peter. 'Worse follower.' Psh. What does that even mean?" he said into his hands, still refusing to look at Keefe for more than a few seconds at a time.
"I'm unsure if that was a rhetorical question or if you would like to actually know what I mean."
"Oh. I thought you were just saying that to make me feel better."
"I was," Keefe said with a nod, "but not without reason."
"Will the reason make me feel better?"
"I do not know," he said solemnly.
"Okay, well now I feel like I kinda have to know since you've added all this mystery to it." He slowly unfurled from the ball he'd curled himself into and eyed Keefe warily. "So if there's something you want to tell me…"
"Iadmittohavingpreviouslymasturbatedtoyourmasturbating." He said it at such a speed that the words blended together and Kelvin was sure he'd misheard him.
"Sorry," he laughed, "it sounded like you said–"
"That I masturbated to the thought of you masturbating?" Keefe supplied.
"Yeah, exactly." After a moment, his smile fell. "Oh. Oh. Wait, you actually–"
"I am not proud of this act," he said, hanging his head low, "and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."
Now it was Kelvin's turn for his mouth to open and close wordlessly for a solid fifteen seconds before he finally managed a choked, "Okay."
(For years he'd been walking this earth, completely unaware of the fact that Keefe found him desirable.)
"Are you upset with me?" Keefe looked like he was expecting to be sent out on the street, all nervous and guilty like a bad dog awaiting some sort of punishment. It made his gut twist.
(He thought about me, his dumb, unhelpful brain looped as his gut was also twisted in a different, less situationally appropriate direction. He thought about me. He wanted me. He thought about me. He wanted me.)
"No, I'm not upset," he reassured him, but then that didn't feel right. He tried again. "Maybe a little? Sorry, it's just– there's a lot to unpack there, bud."
"I understand."
(Even in his most shameful, disgusting moments of failure, Keefe saw something worthwhile. Something worth breaking his own oath of chastity for. Dear God in Heaven, Almighty Father, Jesus Christ the Lord, Keefe felt the same.)
"On one hand, yeah, kind of an invasion of privacy. Not cool. Don't love that." Keefe looked like he was about to cry as Kelvin said it, hunching and making himself smaller under his gaze. "But on the other hand, I think that's maybe the most sexually arousing thing I've ever heard in my entire life and I'm having a hard time processing it?"
"Oh?" Keefe said, finally glancing up at him with a tentative smile which Kelvin returned. "Would you like me to give you some time alone so that you may process it on your own?"
"You don't have to go." He walked over to the couch and sat down, crossing his legs and picking up the remote. "I mean, you can, if you want to. Or we could watch a movie or something."
"That sounds nice," he said, slowly making his way over to the couch. When Kelvin didn't tell him to leave, he sat a respectable but intimate distance away.
"Here, you can pick." Kelvin handed him the remote, their fingers meeting easily in the exchange. Keefe jumped at the contact, still obviously skittish as though Kelvin might snap at any moment.
"Very well."
Once a movie was on, Kelvin placed one of his hands on the couch between them. When Keefe noticed it and hesitated, he opened and closed his palm a few times until he got the message. Keefe took his hand like it was a sacred, fragile thing and held it as though afraid he may never get to again. The movie played on but he didn't try to watch it, instead allowing it to fade into background noise as he settled into the most comfortable silence of his life. The film was just a convenient excuse to hold and be held– a flimsy one, perhaps, but nevertheless hungrily taken. Maybe soon he wouldn't need an excuse. Maybe soon he'd find the words to ask.