Fic: Something so sweet as the sound of your feet on the floor (Jonas Brothers, Nick/Joe, NC-17)
YES I AM PROPERLY ASHAMED OF MYSELF. Two weeks ago I was mocking Chash for watching JONAS. And now this. What is my life??
Title: Something so sweet as the sound of your feet on the floor
Fandom: Jonas Brothers RPF
Pairing: Joe/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: LOOK AT THE PAIRING (underage incest)
Summary: Joe’s mouth covers his, and Nick realizes with a lurch that this has been a long time coming.
Notes: aided and betaed by the fabulous mediaville, and I feel poor_choices deserves some blame. Title from Ingrid Michaelson. 2200 words.
They’re watching Transformers for the 97th time, leaning into each other’s space like usual, elbows and shoulders rubbing. Nick’s just thinking maybe it’s time to turn off Megan Fox and go to sleep when Joe leans closer and kisses him. Not on the forehead, not on the cheek. Joe’s mouth covers his, and Nick realizes with a lurch that this has been a long time coming. All those times Joe tickled him until he couldn’t breathe and he still didn’t want Joe to stop, every time Joe fell asleep on his shoulder on a plane and Nick shivered with the heat of Joe’s breath on his neck; all of it was pulling towards this, he realizes. Inevitable, maybe, and Nick wants to cry or run or throw up because he’s supposed to be so smart, and how could he not have noticed?
Instead, he kisses Joe back, because he wants to do that too. And that’s the worst part-and the best part, maybe-how much he likes the feeling of Joe’s mouth on his, the slick heat as Joe opens, as Joe’s tongue finds his. Joe kisses greedily, not like Nick ever saw him kiss a girl, all messy with spit and the sudden graze of teeth. It makes Nick shiver forward without meaning to, and Joe’s hand is on the back of his neck keeping him there, bending him just right for Joe’s mouth. Nick finds a rhythm trading kisses with his brother, light then harder, matching the strokes of Joe’s tongue, panting when he realizes he’s been holding his breath. Joe’s lips are full and soft, and Nick could just keep going.
But then, just as suddenly as it began, it’s over. Joe stands up, mumbles something that might be “sorry,” and walks out of the hotel room before Nick can ask him why, or if he has his key.
Nick tries to go to bed. He brushes his teeth and checks his blood sugar and strips down to his shorts and a t-shirt. But he can’t meet his own eyes in the mirror. And when he gets into bed, the buzz under his skin won’t let him sleep. He glances at the door as though Joe’s going to walk through it right now and explain himself. (Because explaining himself has always been Joe’s strong suit.) Nick takes a deep breath and reaches into his boxers. He didn’t get hard when Joe was kissing him-it had been too much of a surprise-but thinking about it now, he’s as turned on as he’s ever been. Achingly, embarrassingly hard. He rubs and squeezes at his dick, thinking about the shape of Joe’s mouth on his, remembering how it felt to have Joe’s tongue prying him open. When he comes, it rushes over him like a wave, just the memory of Joe’s lips and tongue and teeth wringing him out.
Nick curls his fingers around the sticky mess of his own come, and then he cries, finally, lets himself sob into the pillow like a little kid. He feels betrayed by his own thoughts, his own body. It’s all wrong. Everything he can’t possibly want. And now it’s up to Nick to fix it before Joe comes back.
Nick imagines himself apologizing, calmly and reasonably, laughing it off like a momentary lapse in judgment (even though Joe knows how bad Nick is at laughing off momentary lapses in judgment). He builds prayers in his head, fits the words together like he does lyrics, runs over and over them until they feel smooth and familiar. But Nick can’t say them, can’t beg for forgiveness and strength, guidance and release from sin, when he still has one ear listening for Joe’s hand on the door, when his whole body is tense waiting for Joe to come back and kiss him again, maybe do more than kiss him. He’s not sure he wants divine assistance when thinking about Joe’s hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for more, warms the pit of his stomach.
***
Joe’s back when Nick wakes up in the morning, groggy and still exhausted. “Where’d you go?” he asks, because that’s an easier question than any of the others he can think of.
“The business center’s open 24 hours,” Joe replies, pushing his hair out of his eyes to look across the space between their beds. “I had a lot of email.”
Nick holds his eyes, and it’s like the staring contests they still have on the bus sometimes, only no one can possibly win this time. Nick gets up after a while like it’s any other morning. If Joe’s not going to talk, then neither is he. They have press stuff today, mindless but time-consuming, and if they’re talking to reporters, there’s no reason for them to talk to each other. It’s a strategy that works pretty well, although Nick can’t help noticing how Joe twists his ring as he talks about their fans, tugging at it like it’s too tight. He wonders if Joe feels as guilty and helpless as he does.
They’re on their third interview of the day when Kevin says something sweet and perfectly true about how close they are, how much they enjoy hanging out together, and Nick risks a glance at Joe’s face, which is carefully blank. He’s not looking at anything, as far as Nick can tell, his eyes fixed on the far wall. It’s so weird, so not Joe. And Nick hates to think that maybe this is something he can’t make right.
***
Kevin knows there’s something happening, flicking worried glances at both of them over a lunch Nick doesn’t even taste. It’s pretty obvious Kevin doesn’t expect anything from Joe, but when he looks at Nick, he clearly wants an explanation. The kind, coaxing look in his eye only makes Nick feel sicker, like dirt grinding down into the corners of his soul. He can’t tell Kevin. He can’t make anyone else carry this burden for him.
Even if Nick thought he could explain, he probably wouldn’t. It snuck up on him, the itch under his skin when he looks at Joe, the shiver when Joe touches him. It wasn’t always this way, and some part of him still hopes if he ignores it, it’ll go away again. He shrugs at Kevin and tries to act more normal. He can talk about his songs forever, what they mean to him, how he expresses himself through music. The fact that just looking at Joe makes him feel like shutting off his feelings and never writing again is irrelevant. Right now he has to be Nick Jonas, Rock Star, and not Nick Jonas Who Kissed His Brother Last Night.
***
Joe says he’s going to go to sleep early, asks Nick to keep it down and shuts off the lamp by his bed. They don’t rehash the day like they sometimes do in the dark, even though Nick’s sure Joe could do a priceless imitation of the man in the lobby who had been watching them from behind his newspaper, craning around as they signed an autograph for the girl at the front desk and accidentally ripping his paper in half when Joe caught his eye. Nick doesn’t tell Joe about the new harmony he’s hoping they can try out in their next show, doesn’t make Joe sing it with him like he usually would. The silence is uncomfortably complete, but Nick knows Joe’s not asleep, knows the different cadences of Joe’s breathing like he knows his own heartbeat.
***
They share hotel rooms. They share bathrooms. They learn to brush by each other and not talk any more than necessary, and Joe doesn’t put his arm around Nick at public functions, and Nick can feel himself smiling less. It’s not a big difference to anyone else (except maybe Kevin), but to Nick it feels cataclysmic, like coming untethered from the world as he’s always known it. Because Joe is the most important person in his life, always has been, the one who sees him most clearly, the one who loves him best. And he knows Joe feels it too, reaching out for Nick before he can stop himself, then stuffing his hands into his pockets, looking down and away. Nick twirls his ring on his finger and thinks about what exactly he’s promised, wonders for the first time in a long while if it’s a promise he can keep.
***
It takes two weeks before something else has to happen. Two long, uncomfortable weeks of missing someone who’s still with him all the time. It’s late afternoon, and Nick’s sitting Indian style on his bed, picking out a simple melody on his acoustic, circling through it and waiting to see what it’ll turn into. When he looks up, Joe has his headphones around his neck and he’s watching Nick’s hand on the neck of the guitar, eyes sad as ever. Nick’s fingers feel clumsy all of a sudden. He strums a last uneven chord and lays the guitar aside on the bed. “Joe,” he begins.
“Nick,” Joe replies, too quick and light, like there’s a punch line coming.
Nick folds his hands in his lap and wishes he was still holding the guitar. He feels too vulnerable with Joe looking at him like this. Joe’s just lying there in his socks with his hair sifting down over his eyes, but Nick can feel the weight of every word they’re not saying to each other. They’ve never had secrets, maybe not even when they should have. But right now Nick has no idea what Joe’s thinking. “Why’d you kiss me?” is sitting behind Nick’s tightly closed lips while, “Why don’t you kiss me again?” claws its way up the back of his throat. He can’t let himself ask that.
“Are we…” Nick says, but that’s not right either. “Is everything okay?”
Joe’s so still in the wake of that question, and Nick shifts his crossed legs nervously. Then Joe sits up, untangles the headphone cord, and leans forward. “Nicky, I need you to be honest.” His voice is low, sharp-edged with desperation, and Nick gives a little nod. “Did you like it? Did you… did you want it?”
There’s no question what the “it” is, and Nick feels dizzy with adrenaline, his stomach knotting up as he looks at Joe’s mouth. “Yeah,” he whispers.
And suddenly Joe’s on him, slamming Nick backwards onto the bed and coming down on top of him. “Watch the guitar!” Nick says without thinking, and Joe huffs a laugh against his collarbone, nuzzles his face in the crook of Nick’s neck and bites at the tendon there. Nick moans, his hips canting up before he can help it, like there’s a straight line between his neck and his dick he never knew about.
“Wait,” he whimpers out. “Wait!” and he shoves Joe off him long enough to get the guitar in its case at the foot of the bed. Joe’s sprawled out on the bed when Nick looks up. Not reaching out, not pulling him down, waiting just like Nick asked. So that when Nick lies down next to his brother, cups Joe’s jaw in one hand and kisses him, he can’t say it’s anyone’s fault but his own.
Joe’s mouth opens under his, and Nick takes a shaky breath before sliding his tongue in between Joe’s lips, reaching out until Joe meets him in a shock of slick heat. Joe rolls into him, onto him, pinning Nick with one leg between his. Joe’s body feels heavy and solid, sleek muscle under Nick’s hands as he wraps his arms around Joe’s shoulders. It’s not like Nick hasn’t made out with girls before, held them in his arms and tested the softness of their mouths, but Joe is different, the shape of his body against Nick’s new and familiar all at once. Joe’s thigh rubs up against Nick’s dick, flexing, shifting pressure as Joe moves over him, and Nick makes a high, plaintive noise. He’s going to come, just like this, he can tell right now.
“Oh man,” Joe whispers brokenly, rubbing his lips along the curve of Nick’s jaw, pressing wet kisses down the side of Nick’s neck. “Oh man, Nick, you’re so hard.”
Nick groans, working his hips up gracelessly against Joe’s, feeling the hot weight of Joe’s dick lined up beside his own. He imagines how this would feel naked, Joe’s skin on his, and that’s all he can take. He comes with a choked, helpless “ah” sound, shuddering bone deep as Joe starts to come too, with a little grunt Nick recognizes from years of shared bedrooms. He can feel Joe’s dick pulsing against his hip, the two of them smearing their wet, sticky jeans together. Joe kisses his mouth again, gentle, sipping slow breaths through his nose as he comes down.
Nick settles his hands against Joe’s shoulder blades, bending into his kisses and feeling their hearts thudding together. “Nick?” Joe says, and Nick opens his eyes for the first time in a while, taking in the hectic flush of his brother’s cheeks, the sweaty skew of Joe’s hair in the sunlight.
“Yeah,” Nick replies, already agreeing to whatever Joe’s asking.
“Okay,” Joe says, resting his forehead against Nick’s, too close to look at, the tips of their noses rubbing. “We’re okay.”
~fin~
Title: Something so sweet as the sound of your feet on the floor
Fandom: Jonas Brothers RPF
Pairing: Joe/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: LOOK AT THE PAIRING (underage incest)
Summary: Joe’s mouth covers his, and Nick realizes with a lurch that this has been a long time coming.
Notes: aided and betaed by the fabulous mediaville, and I feel poor_choices deserves some blame. Title from Ingrid Michaelson. 2200 words.
They’re watching Transformers for the 97th time, leaning into each other’s space like usual, elbows and shoulders rubbing. Nick’s just thinking maybe it’s time to turn off Megan Fox and go to sleep when Joe leans closer and kisses him. Not on the forehead, not on the cheek. Joe’s mouth covers his, and Nick realizes with a lurch that this has been a long time coming. All those times Joe tickled him until he couldn’t breathe and he still didn’t want Joe to stop, every time Joe fell asleep on his shoulder on a plane and Nick shivered with the heat of Joe’s breath on his neck; all of it was pulling towards this, he realizes. Inevitable, maybe, and Nick wants to cry or run or throw up because he’s supposed to be so smart, and how could he not have noticed?
Instead, he kisses Joe back, because he wants to do that too. And that’s the worst part-and the best part, maybe-how much he likes the feeling of Joe’s mouth on his, the slick heat as Joe opens, as Joe’s tongue finds his. Joe kisses greedily, not like Nick ever saw him kiss a girl, all messy with spit and the sudden graze of teeth. It makes Nick shiver forward without meaning to, and Joe’s hand is on the back of his neck keeping him there, bending him just right for Joe’s mouth. Nick finds a rhythm trading kisses with his brother, light then harder, matching the strokes of Joe’s tongue, panting when he realizes he’s been holding his breath. Joe’s lips are full and soft, and Nick could just keep going.
But then, just as suddenly as it began, it’s over. Joe stands up, mumbles something that might be “sorry,” and walks out of the hotel room before Nick can ask him why, or if he has his key.
Nick tries to go to bed. He brushes his teeth and checks his blood sugar and strips down to his shorts and a t-shirt. But he can’t meet his own eyes in the mirror. And when he gets into bed, the buzz under his skin won’t let him sleep. He glances at the door as though Joe’s going to walk through it right now and explain himself. (Because explaining himself has always been Joe’s strong suit.) Nick takes a deep breath and reaches into his boxers. He didn’t get hard when Joe was kissing him-it had been too much of a surprise-but thinking about it now, he’s as turned on as he’s ever been. Achingly, embarrassingly hard. He rubs and squeezes at his dick, thinking about the shape of Joe’s mouth on his, remembering how it felt to have Joe’s tongue prying him open. When he comes, it rushes over him like a wave, just the memory of Joe’s lips and tongue and teeth wringing him out.
Nick curls his fingers around the sticky mess of his own come, and then he cries, finally, lets himself sob into the pillow like a little kid. He feels betrayed by his own thoughts, his own body. It’s all wrong. Everything he can’t possibly want. And now it’s up to Nick to fix it before Joe comes back.
Nick imagines himself apologizing, calmly and reasonably, laughing it off like a momentary lapse in judgment (even though Joe knows how bad Nick is at laughing off momentary lapses in judgment). He builds prayers in his head, fits the words together like he does lyrics, runs over and over them until they feel smooth and familiar. But Nick can’t say them, can’t beg for forgiveness and strength, guidance and release from sin, when he still has one ear listening for Joe’s hand on the door, when his whole body is tense waiting for Joe to come back and kiss him again, maybe do more than kiss him. He’s not sure he wants divine assistance when thinking about Joe’s hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for more, warms the pit of his stomach.
***
Joe’s back when Nick wakes up in the morning, groggy and still exhausted. “Where’d you go?” he asks, because that’s an easier question than any of the others he can think of.
“The business center’s open 24 hours,” Joe replies, pushing his hair out of his eyes to look across the space between their beds. “I had a lot of email.”
Nick holds his eyes, and it’s like the staring contests they still have on the bus sometimes, only no one can possibly win this time. Nick gets up after a while like it’s any other morning. If Joe’s not going to talk, then neither is he. They have press stuff today, mindless but time-consuming, and if they’re talking to reporters, there’s no reason for them to talk to each other. It’s a strategy that works pretty well, although Nick can’t help noticing how Joe twists his ring as he talks about their fans, tugging at it like it’s too tight. He wonders if Joe feels as guilty and helpless as he does.
They’re on their third interview of the day when Kevin says something sweet and perfectly true about how close they are, how much they enjoy hanging out together, and Nick risks a glance at Joe’s face, which is carefully blank. He’s not looking at anything, as far as Nick can tell, his eyes fixed on the far wall. It’s so weird, so not Joe. And Nick hates to think that maybe this is something he can’t make right.
***
Kevin knows there’s something happening, flicking worried glances at both of them over a lunch Nick doesn’t even taste. It’s pretty obvious Kevin doesn’t expect anything from Joe, but when he looks at Nick, he clearly wants an explanation. The kind, coaxing look in his eye only makes Nick feel sicker, like dirt grinding down into the corners of his soul. He can’t tell Kevin. He can’t make anyone else carry this burden for him.
Even if Nick thought he could explain, he probably wouldn’t. It snuck up on him, the itch under his skin when he looks at Joe, the shiver when Joe touches him. It wasn’t always this way, and some part of him still hopes if he ignores it, it’ll go away again. He shrugs at Kevin and tries to act more normal. He can talk about his songs forever, what they mean to him, how he expresses himself through music. The fact that just looking at Joe makes him feel like shutting off his feelings and never writing again is irrelevant. Right now he has to be Nick Jonas, Rock Star, and not Nick Jonas Who Kissed His Brother Last Night.
***
Joe says he’s going to go to sleep early, asks Nick to keep it down and shuts off the lamp by his bed. They don’t rehash the day like they sometimes do in the dark, even though Nick’s sure Joe could do a priceless imitation of the man in the lobby who had been watching them from behind his newspaper, craning around as they signed an autograph for the girl at the front desk and accidentally ripping his paper in half when Joe caught his eye. Nick doesn’t tell Joe about the new harmony he’s hoping they can try out in their next show, doesn’t make Joe sing it with him like he usually would. The silence is uncomfortably complete, but Nick knows Joe’s not asleep, knows the different cadences of Joe’s breathing like he knows his own heartbeat.
***
They share hotel rooms. They share bathrooms. They learn to brush by each other and not talk any more than necessary, and Joe doesn’t put his arm around Nick at public functions, and Nick can feel himself smiling less. It’s not a big difference to anyone else (except maybe Kevin), but to Nick it feels cataclysmic, like coming untethered from the world as he’s always known it. Because Joe is the most important person in his life, always has been, the one who sees him most clearly, the one who loves him best. And he knows Joe feels it too, reaching out for Nick before he can stop himself, then stuffing his hands into his pockets, looking down and away. Nick twirls his ring on his finger and thinks about what exactly he’s promised, wonders for the first time in a long while if it’s a promise he can keep.
***
It takes two weeks before something else has to happen. Two long, uncomfortable weeks of missing someone who’s still with him all the time. It’s late afternoon, and Nick’s sitting Indian style on his bed, picking out a simple melody on his acoustic, circling through it and waiting to see what it’ll turn into. When he looks up, Joe has his headphones around his neck and he’s watching Nick’s hand on the neck of the guitar, eyes sad as ever. Nick’s fingers feel clumsy all of a sudden. He strums a last uneven chord and lays the guitar aside on the bed. “Joe,” he begins.
“Nick,” Joe replies, too quick and light, like there’s a punch line coming.
Nick folds his hands in his lap and wishes he was still holding the guitar. He feels too vulnerable with Joe looking at him like this. Joe’s just lying there in his socks with his hair sifting down over his eyes, but Nick can feel the weight of every word they’re not saying to each other. They’ve never had secrets, maybe not even when they should have. But right now Nick has no idea what Joe’s thinking. “Why’d you kiss me?” is sitting behind Nick’s tightly closed lips while, “Why don’t you kiss me again?” claws its way up the back of his throat. He can’t let himself ask that.
“Are we…” Nick says, but that’s not right either. “Is everything okay?”
Joe’s so still in the wake of that question, and Nick shifts his crossed legs nervously. Then Joe sits up, untangles the headphone cord, and leans forward. “Nicky, I need you to be honest.” His voice is low, sharp-edged with desperation, and Nick gives a little nod. “Did you like it? Did you… did you want it?”
There’s no question what the “it” is, and Nick feels dizzy with adrenaline, his stomach knotting up as he looks at Joe’s mouth. “Yeah,” he whispers.
And suddenly Joe’s on him, slamming Nick backwards onto the bed and coming down on top of him. “Watch the guitar!” Nick says without thinking, and Joe huffs a laugh against his collarbone, nuzzles his face in the crook of Nick’s neck and bites at the tendon there. Nick moans, his hips canting up before he can help it, like there’s a straight line between his neck and his dick he never knew about.
“Wait,” he whimpers out. “Wait!” and he shoves Joe off him long enough to get the guitar in its case at the foot of the bed. Joe’s sprawled out on the bed when Nick looks up. Not reaching out, not pulling him down, waiting just like Nick asked. So that when Nick lies down next to his brother, cups Joe’s jaw in one hand and kisses him, he can’t say it’s anyone’s fault but his own.
Joe’s mouth opens under his, and Nick takes a shaky breath before sliding his tongue in between Joe’s lips, reaching out until Joe meets him in a shock of slick heat. Joe rolls into him, onto him, pinning Nick with one leg between his. Joe’s body feels heavy and solid, sleek muscle under Nick’s hands as he wraps his arms around Joe’s shoulders. It’s not like Nick hasn’t made out with girls before, held them in his arms and tested the softness of their mouths, but Joe is different, the shape of his body against Nick’s new and familiar all at once. Joe’s thigh rubs up against Nick’s dick, flexing, shifting pressure as Joe moves over him, and Nick makes a high, plaintive noise. He’s going to come, just like this, he can tell right now.
“Oh man,” Joe whispers brokenly, rubbing his lips along the curve of Nick’s jaw, pressing wet kisses down the side of Nick’s neck. “Oh man, Nick, you’re so hard.”
Nick groans, working his hips up gracelessly against Joe’s, feeling the hot weight of Joe’s dick lined up beside his own. He imagines how this would feel naked, Joe’s skin on his, and that’s all he can take. He comes with a choked, helpless “ah” sound, shuddering bone deep as Joe starts to come too, with a little grunt Nick recognizes from years of shared bedrooms. He can feel Joe’s dick pulsing against his hip, the two of them smearing their wet, sticky jeans together. Joe kisses his mouth again, gentle, sipping slow breaths through his nose as he comes down.
Nick settles his hands against Joe’s shoulder blades, bending into his kisses and feeling their hearts thudding together. “Nick?” Joe says, and Nick opens his eyes for the first time in a while, taking in the hectic flush of his brother’s cheeks, the sweaty skew of Joe’s hair in the sunlight.
“Yeah,” Nick replies, already agreeing to whatever Joe’s asking.
“Okay,” Joe says, resting his forehead against Nick’s, too close to look at, the tips of their noses rubbing. “We’re okay.”
~fin~