[fic] because the best little secrets are kept
title: Because the Best Little Secrets Are Kept
author:
liz_hollis
pairing: Joe/Nick
word count: 3260
rating: NC-17
warnings: incest, underage drinking
summary: Joe convinces Nick to go to a club with him for his birthday. And to drink. And to engage in shenanigans. I originally started this way back at Joe's birthday for the boyfriends_fic challenge. Let it never be said I'm a timely person. This is mostly ridiculous.
disclaimer: This never happened.
“No.”
Nick yanks open the door to his dressing room, pushing Joe through with a hand on his back, shooting a paranoid glance up the hallway before shutting the door behind him.
“Please?” Joe wheedles.
“No way.”
“Aw, come on!”
“Are you crazy?”
“No, but I might go crazy if you don’t do this with me.” Joe pouts.
“I’m not going out to a club with you!” Nick stomps over to his dressing table and grabs a towel, wiping the concert sweat from his face and neck.
“Why not?” Joe sits down on the counter, toeing at Nick’s knee. Nick scoots his chair away a couple inches, frowning.
“Because we can’t go to a frigging club, Joseph!” Nick exclaims, exasperated. “Because it’s eleven at night and we just did a 22-song set! Because we have another concert tomorrow! Because… I’m not taking you to a goddamn club, that’s why!”
Joe stares at Nick, making puppy eyes, and heaves a big sigh. Joe really wants to do this; wants to celebrate not being a teenager anymore, celebrate this hundred percent symbolic and zero percent literal feeling of emancipation he has flowing through him.
Nick rolls his eyes, standing up and moving towards the bathroom.
“That doesn’t work on me, so don’t try it.” He grabs the hem of his shirt and starts to peel the sweat-soaked shirt off as door to the bathroom shuts behind him with a click. Joe kicks his heels against the counter, listening to the faucet run.
After a minute he jumps down and wanders over to the door, ducking in so his mouth is close to the thin plaster.
“But Nick,” he intones mournfully, “I really need this, buddy. Haven’t you been reading the mags? I’m a lovesick mess. Remember when I cried during the concert?” He hears Nick snort wetly from behind the door. “Those were no tears of joy, Nicholas. Those were tears of sadness because I’ve been dumped… hard.”
The door opens and Joe almost falls into the bathroom. Nick’s shirtless and damp, and he catches Joe across the chest with one arm. Joe sticks out his lower lip and tries to make it tremble.
“Yeah right, Joe. Those weren’t dumped tears. You cry at anything, you big baby. You cry at Mary Poppins.”
Joe frowns. “Okay, well maybe they were tears of sadness because my little brother doesn’t love me. And he’s a dick.”
Nick pulls a fresh polo out of his Prada bag and pulls it over his head. His curls pop out of the top all mussed and falling over his eye, and Joe has to remind himself that he’s feeling pissed at Nick, so he can’t go over there and brush his hair out of his eyes.
Nick cuts his eyes to Joe as he’s fussing with his collar. “Still not buying it.”
Joe unhooks his fringed belt and tries to whip Nick on the ass with it, but Nick dances away from the leather tassels. “I’m about to cry some my-brother-is-a-dick-tears right now. On my birthday, Nicholas. Have you no compassion? Have you no heart?”
Nick doesn’t say anything, standing in front of the mirror and snapping his Rolex back on. Joe’s about ready to write him off, make a drama-queen exit and go find the horns section, but then Nick speaks up.
“All right.” He meets Joe’s incredulous gaze in the mirror.
“Really?” Joe squeaks.
“Happy birthday. If anything happens tonight, I’m taking back those jetskis.”
Joe bangs his head on the edge of the counter when he jumps on Nick and they fall over, but he doesn’t even feel it.
***
The club is dark, dim red lighting and strobes on the dance floor, black leather booths and a low-key entrance. One of Jordin’s backup singers told Joe about it, and he’s been dying to go ever since.
It’s packed full of people, and none of them are the type that would even recognize a Jonas Brother, but Nick insists on wearing a hat. He borrows one of Joe’s (“More incognito,” he says), a black woolly beanie that he pulls down low over his ears.
The hat should make Nick look younger but it doesn’t somehow; the sweet sweep of his curls is hidden away, only a couple locks peeking out. It’s good, Joe supposes. It gets them into the club. Joe wants to be checking out the scene, soaking in the lights and the thump-thump of the music, the shining sweaty clubbers, but he keeps getting distracted by a dark curl lying against the pale base of Nick’s neck.
Joe can tell Nick is uncomfortable, completely out of his element. He’s looking around, swaying lightly from side to side in that nervous way he has, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“Can we just go?” he asks stiffly, putting his mouth to Joe’s ear to be heard over the noise.
“No,” Joe says. “Let’s get a drink.”
“Joe!” Nick sounds scandalized. “We can’t drink!” He goggles at Joe. Joe grabs his hand and turns toward the bar, pulling him along. Nick trips over his own feet, all awkward adolescent all of a sudden.
“Yes we can. I’m not letting you play pinochle at the senior center for the rest of your short youth, Nick.”
Nick tries to dig his heels in, but the old man oxfords he insists on wearing with every outfit have no traction on the slick waxed floor. Joe smirks.
“But--”
“It’s my birthday,” Joe repeats stubbornly, and slides them up to an opening at the packed bar. “Two Jagerbombs, please.” The bartender doesn’t even look at them, just sets the drinks and shot glasses in front of them and takes the bill Joe holds out.
Nick’s eyes are schoolboy wide. He shakes his head and declares, “I’m not drinking that.”
“Yes you are, come on. You’ll like it, it’s Red Bull.” Joe pushes the glasses a little closer to Nick. Nick eyes the dark Jagermeister doubtfully. “We’re Jersey boys, Nick. We are culturally programmed to like this drink.”
Joe drops the shots into their glasses and shoves Nick’s glass into his hand as the drink foams up. “We’ve got to chug it. Go!”
Joe starts to chug his drink and Nick, competitive to the end, snatches his up and goes at it. Joe looks over the edge of his glass to see if he’s winning. Nick’s throat is working and Joe watches as some of the liquid escapes from the corner of his mouth, cutting a shining wet line down his jaw and neck. The light reflects off it.
Nick finishes first, slamming his glass down on the bar and breathing hard. Joe concentrates on not gagging and swallows the rest.
“That was disgusting,” Nick says, face scrunched up.
“Yeah, actually it was.” Joe hands Nick a napkin from a stack, and uses another to scrub at his tongue.
***
Joe is almost drunk.
He’s had two vodka sodas and he’s definitely got a leg over tipsy and a toe dipping in drunk. He can tell because he loves everyone in this club; every single person, even the douchebaggy ones. He can tell because his face is warm from the inside out and his tongue is thick against the roof of his mouth and he can feel the music buzzing inside his skin, starting from his toes and ending in the tips of each strand of his hair.
It’s great. Joe’s dancing, arms up and twisting his hips, sweat coating his neck and chest. He is completely surrounded by people and if anyone recognizes him, they’re not saying anything. He’s danced with a couple girls, did the Soulja Boy with one dude, but mostly everyone is just dancing in one big heaving mass of bodies. It’s the freest Joe has felt in years.
Yeah, Joe’s ride is fast approaching the border of Drunksville, Population: Everyone In This Club Except Nick.
Nick is over by the edge of the dance floor, watching the crowd, his eyes following Joe as he weaves his way through the sticky swarm. After tasting Joe’s, Nick allowed him to order him a vodka soda too and he’s been sipping at it for the last half hour, his gaze heavy and warm on the back of Joe’s neck. Joe can feel Nick's eyes following him wherever he goes.
Joe pushes his way through the crowd, apologizing when he inadvertently gropes a girl’s ass. He shores up against the sticky wood of the bar, waving a hand at the bartender.
“Hello beautiful,” he croons and giggles at himself.
“What can I get you?” the barkeep asks, kindly ignoring Joe’s greeting.
“Shots, sir!” Joe exclaims, slamming his hand on the bar for emphasis. He checks his nonexistent watch. “Yes indeed, it is half-past shot time.”
“What kind?”
Joe strokes his chin. “Surprise me.”
He bumps up against Nick’s back, the two shots of Powers balanced precariously in his hand. He slides a palm against the denim curve of Nick’s sharp waist and tugs Nick around by his belt loop.
“Nicky! Ditch Tipsytown and come over to Drunksville! The scene is hot,” Joe pauses for dramatic effect, “… in Drunksville.”
Nick squints at him. Joe waggles the shot at him, and Nick looks like he decides something. He takes Joe’s free hand and pulls him towards a corner.
“Hey! Watch the booze!” Joe squawks, liquor spilling over the rim of the shot glass and dripping down his wrist.
Nick nudges Joe into the corner, and Joe leans back against the wall and shoves the shot into Nick’s hand. The buzz is in Joe’s brain now, and he feels happy and loose and free. He’s got a drink, he’s got music, he’s got a hundred people around him and no one even cares, and he’s got Nick here, close enough that Joe can feel the heat off his body, can smell his cologne and the sharp ammonic scent of vodka on his breath.
Nick takes the glass but doesn’t drink it. Joe shrugs and knocks his back. The whiskey burns a slick trail down his throat and he can feel it all the way down to his belly. His eyes water and he coughs. The aftertaste of it goes from the back of his throat to his nose and his whole body glows with it.
Joe wipes his eyes. “It’s good, Nicky. Take it.”
“Why are you doing this, Joe?” Nick’s face is serious, although Joe can see the red flush high in his cheeks and a dark alcoholic shine in his eyes.
Joe shakes his head, bemused. “Because it’s my birthday. We’re celebrating.” He tips his head back against the wall and pokes a finger into the dip of Nick’s collarbone.
“We celebrated. I threw you a party. A roller-skating party. Why did we have to come here? What are you trying to do? Are- are you… unhappy?”
Joe interrupts him. “It doesn’t have to be some big, significant thing, Nick. This isn’t my great rebellion. I just wanted to go out and have some fun.”
Joe needs to get closer to Nick, needs to press in close and make him understand, reassure him that it’s okay not to overthink every little thing, but Joe’s body is a half-moon curve molded and melted into the wall. So he hooks his arm around Nick’s neck and tugs and Nick stumbles forward a few steps, looking young and sulky.
Joe presses his lips together. “I wanted to get drunk, man. I wanted to do something different, have an experience. It’s not wrong, Nick. It’s not bad. ”
Nick shifts, biting his lip. “Well, why’d you want me here?”
Joe blinks up at Nick, his mouth hanging open. "I- I always want you here, Nick. Always. For everything."
***
All these words are bubbling up in Joe's chest and spilling out, things he probably wouldn't say out loud if he wasn't drunk and loose. Things that he's always just assumed Nick knew. But now he's suddenly not so sure, and he feels the urgent need to make Nick understand, even if he has to spell it out for him.
Nick is dark-eyed and almost upset, tugging fretfully at his lower lip with shining crooked teeth. Joe fists a hand in the sweat-damp collar of Nick's shirt and tugs him forward a few inches.
"I want you with me, Nick. For all the stuff I do, all the experiences or whatever. They aren't worth having without you around," Joe mumbles right into Nick's ear. His lips brush the hot curved shell of his ear as Joe speaks and Nick shivers underneath his hands.
Joe presses a damp kiss to Nick's skin at the sharp angle of his jaw and Nick takes a sharp breath and pulls back, his eyes darting around at the crowded club. Joe's practically forgotten about the club, forgotten about anyone but the two of them and this thing that feels incredibly important somehow. The sound of the music and the crowd are distant and muffled, like he's hearing them from the other end of a long tunnel.
Nick's lips are slick and shining in the pulsing light and Joe can't tear his eyes away from them. Nick's hand is resting on Joe's collarbone, fingertips brushing absently along the line of Joe's neck.
"Joe--" Nick starts hesitantly, his voice rough, "We shouldn't be here."
"I know," Joe mumbles, looking up at Nick's eyes. "But aren't you just a little glad we are?"
Nick looks around again, like he thinks someone might actually be listening in on them, just waiting to catch Nick admitting that he's enjoying this illicit fun.
"Maybe a tiny bit." Nick smiles a little.
"I knew it!" Joe crows, pumping a fist into the air and almost losing his balance. Nick grabs him quick, hands digging hard around the top of Joe's arms and they fall back against the wall, noses bumping.
Nick is breathing hard through his mouth, Joe can feel his breath puffing against his cheek and neither one of them moves even though they should. Joe turns his head a little and rubs his nose gently against the peach fuzz on Nick's cheek. Their lips are almost touching, just a couple centimeters of space between them and Joe doesn't even have to lean in to do it. All he has to do is angle his head and their lips slide together and apart, wet and electric already.
Nick suddenly pushes Joe, pushes him so his shoulders go flat against the concrete wall and his head jerks back. Joe opens his mouth to say something, to apologize or laugh it off, but Nick shakes his head, looking back at Joe with heat in his gaze.
"Not here," he says, and pulls Joe with him by the wrist.
***
The door to the bathroom slams shut after them, and Joe has got Nick up against the door before the echo has even died out.
They grapple a little for dominance, Nick pushing up away from the lacquered wood and Joe fumbling for a good grip on his wrists, both of them clumsy from the alcohol. Joe is hard, heat pooled low in his belly and the friction of his zipper against his dick sending hot little sparks down his limbs with every motion. He can feel Nick is hard too, can see the outline of him through the tight material of his jeans. Every time Nick shoves up from the door his dick bumps against Joe's thigh and it's making Joe sweat.
Nick finally goes loose, letting Joe pin his hands up by his shoulders. He looks up at Joe, eyes liquid and almost black.
"You want me around for everything, huh, Joe?" he asks, and it hangs heavy and loaded between them. Joe nods.
"This too?" Nick murmurs.
Joe swallows and feels like he might never catch his breath again. "Yeah, man. I kinda do," he breathes and leans in.
Nick opens for him right away, tongue slipping out to slide against Joe's. The inside of Nick's mouth is hot and velvet-wet and Joe moans loudly, heedlessly into the heat. Nick's hands thread into Joe's hair and Joe reaches around Nick to flip the lock on the door, the heavy click of the deadbolt loud in the quiet room.
They kiss sloppy and frantic, Nick's grip tight in Joe's hair, only breaking away far enough to pant into each other's mouths. It's blurry and drunken and messy and stupid and totally the best thing he's ever felt. Joe laughs into Nick's mouth and Nick laughs back, reckless and free. Joe yanks up Nick's shirt, runs a rough thumb over a nipple and listens to the ragged sound Nick makes, his head thunking back against the wall.
"Do it again," Nick commands, his hips jerking against Joe's. Joe doesn't, but leans in instead and sucks Nick's nipple into his mouth, scraping his teeth against the skin experimentally. Nick makes a shocked sound and his fingers spasm in Joe's hair.
Joe almost comes in his pants when Nick's fingers fumble at his zipper. Joe braces his hands against the door and tips his head down against Nick's shoulder, sucking on the pulse point at the base of Nick's neck while Nick works the zipper down. When Nick pulls Joe out of his boxers, Joe groans brokenly and bites down on the soft skin.
Nick jerks him hard and fast, tugging Joe back up by the chin and licking into his mouth again.
"That good?" he pants against Joe's lips.
"Oh god, Nick," Joe moans insensibly. "Oh shit, it's awesome. Don't stop."
"Okay," Nick answers, and puts a hand on Joe's ass to pull him in closer, change the angle a little. Nick brushes a thumb across the head of Joe's dick, twists his wrist and Joe's eyes cross as he comes, one long loud ragged groan and Nick's arm around his waist holding him up.
As soon as he can see straight, Joe peels Nick fingers from his belt loop and slides to his knees, the tile cold through his jeans. Nick looks down at him with wide eyes, his hair a wild mess, his lips red and abused. Joe unzips him and pulls him out and looks up at Nick for a second.
"Oh fuck," is all Nick says, and he shoves his hands into his own hair, grabbing on to it like some lifesaver, like it's the only thing stopping him from gripping Joe's head and pushing himself into Joe's mouth.
Joe licks the head of Nick's dick once and then opens his mouth and takes him in, slides down a little, soaking in the helpless sounds Nick makes. Joe doesn't know one blessed thing about this, but it feels good, so weird and good. It's messy and wet and Joe savors the ache that starts in his jaw.
Nick doesn't last long. Joe feels Nick's thighs start to tremble underneath his hands, feels Nick stiffen, and he slides down as far as he can and hums, hums the tune to the chorus Got Me Going Crazy and when Nick comes, his quick, harsh pants sound just like they did in the song.
When Nick is done, Joe pulls off and wipes a hand across his mouth and laughs helplessly, slumped forward against Nick's chest and shaking with it. And after a moment, Nick laughs too.
author:
liz_hollis
pairing: Joe/Nick
word count: 3260
rating: NC-17
warnings: incest, underage drinking
summary: Joe convinces Nick to go to a club with him for his birthday. And to drink. And to engage in shenanigans. I originally started this way back at Joe's birthday for the boyfriends_fic challenge. Let it never be said I'm a timely person. This is mostly ridiculous.
disclaimer: This never happened.
“No.”
Nick yanks open the door to his dressing room, pushing Joe through with a hand on his back, shooting a paranoid glance up the hallway before shutting the door behind him.
“Please?” Joe wheedles.
“No way.”
“Aw, come on!”
“Are you crazy?”
“No, but I might go crazy if you don’t do this with me.” Joe pouts.
“I’m not going out to a club with you!” Nick stomps over to his dressing table and grabs a towel, wiping the concert sweat from his face and neck.
“Why not?” Joe sits down on the counter, toeing at Nick’s knee. Nick scoots his chair away a couple inches, frowning.
“Because we can’t go to a frigging club, Joseph!” Nick exclaims, exasperated. “Because it’s eleven at night and we just did a 22-song set! Because we have another concert tomorrow! Because… I’m not taking you to a goddamn club, that’s why!”
Joe stares at Nick, making puppy eyes, and heaves a big sigh. Joe really wants to do this; wants to celebrate not being a teenager anymore, celebrate this hundred percent symbolic and zero percent literal feeling of emancipation he has flowing through him.
Nick rolls his eyes, standing up and moving towards the bathroom.
“That doesn’t work on me, so don’t try it.” He grabs the hem of his shirt and starts to peel the sweat-soaked shirt off as door to the bathroom shuts behind him with a click. Joe kicks his heels against the counter, listening to the faucet run.
After a minute he jumps down and wanders over to the door, ducking in so his mouth is close to the thin plaster.
“But Nick,” he intones mournfully, “I really need this, buddy. Haven’t you been reading the mags? I’m a lovesick mess. Remember when I cried during the concert?” He hears Nick snort wetly from behind the door. “Those were no tears of joy, Nicholas. Those were tears of sadness because I’ve been dumped… hard.”
The door opens and Joe almost falls into the bathroom. Nick’s shirtless and damp, and he catches Joe across the chest with one arm. Joe sticks out his lower lip and tries to make it tremble.
“Yeah right, Joe. Those weren’t dumped tears. You cry at anything, you big baby. You cry at Mary Poppins.”
Joe frowns. “Okay, well maybe they were tears of sadness because my little brother doesn’t love me. And he’s a dick.”
Nick pulls a fresh polo out of his Prada bag and pulls it over his head. His curls pop out of the top all mussed and falling over his eye, and Joe has to remind himself that he’s feeling pissed at Nick, so he can’t go over there and brush his hair out of his eyes.
Nick cuts his eyes to Joe as he’s fussing with his collar. “Still not buying it.”
Joe unhooks his fringed belt and tries to whip Nick on the ass with it, but Nick dances away from the leather tassels. “I’m about to cry some my-brother-is-a-dick-tears right now. On my birthday, Nicholas. Have you no compassion? Have you no heart?”
Nick doesn’t say anything, standing in front of the mirror and snapping his Rolex back on. Joe’s about ready to write him off, make a drama-queen exit and go find the horns section, but then Nick speaks up.
“All right.” He meets Joe’s incredulous gaze in the mirror.
“Really?” Joe squeaks.
“Happy birthday. If anything happens tonight, I’m taking back those jetskis.”
Joe bangs his head on the edge of the counter when he jumps on Nick and they fall over, but he doesn’t even feel it.
***
The club is dark, dim red lighting and strobes on the dance floor, black leather booths and a low-key entrance. One of Jordin’s backup singers told Joe about it, and he’s been dying to go ever since.
It’s packed full of people, and none of them are the type that would even recognize a Jonas Brother, but Nick insists on wearing a hat. He borrows one of Joe’s (“More incognito,” he says), a black woolly beanie that he pulls down low over his ears.
The hat should make Nick look younger but it doesn’t somehow; the sweet sweep of his curls is hidden away, only a couple locks peeking out. It’s good, Joe supposes. It gets them into the club. Joe wants to be checking out the scene, soaking in the lights and the thump-thump of the music, the shining sweaty clubbers, but he keeps getting distracted by a dark curl lying against the pale base of Nick’s neck.
Joe can tell Nick is uncomfortable, completely out of his element. He’s looking around, swaying lightly from side to side in that nervous way he has, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“Can we just go?” he asks stiffly, putting his mouth to Joe’s ear to be heard over the noise.
“No,” Joe says. “Let’s get a drink.”
“Joe!” Nick sounds scandalized. “We can’t drink!” He goggles at Joe. Joe grabs his hand and turns toward the bar, pulling him along. Nick trips over his own feet, all awkward adolescent all of a sudden.
“Yes we can. I’m not letting you play pinochle at the senior center for the rest of your short youth, Nick.”
Nick tries to dig his heels in, but the old man oxfords he insists on wearing with every outfit have no traction on the slick waxed floor. Joe smirks.
“But--”
“It’s my birthday,” Joe repeats stubbornly, and slides them up to an opening at the packed bar. “Two Jagerbombs, please.” The bartender doesn’t even look at them, just sets the drinks and shot glasses in front of them and takes the bill Joe holds out.
Nick’s eyes are schoolboy wide. He shakes his head and declares, “I’m not drinking that.”
“Yes you are, come on. You’ll like it, it’s Red Bull.” Joe pushes the glasses a little closer to Nick. Nick eyes the dark Jagermeister doubtfully. “We’re Jersey boys, Nick. We are culturally programmed to like this drink.”
Joe drops the shots into their glasses and shoves Nick’s glass into his hand as the drink foams up. “We’ve got to chug it. Go!”
Joe starts to chug his drink and Nick, competitive to the end, snatches his up and goes at it. Joe looks over the edge of his glass to see if he’s winning. Nick’s throat is working and Joe watches as some of the liquid escapes from the corner of his mouth, cutting a shining wet line down his jaw and neck. The light reflects off it.
Nick finishes first, slamming his glass down on the bar and breathing hard. Joe concentrates on not gagging and swallows the rest.
“That was disgusting,” Nick says, face scrunched up.
“Yeah, actually it was.” Joe hands Nick a napkin from a stack, and uses another to scrub at his tongue.
***
Joe is almost drunk.
He’s had two vodka sodas and he’s definitely got a leg over tipsy and a toe dipping in drunk. He can tell because he loves everyone in this club; every single person, even the douchebaggy ones. He can tell because his face is warm from the inside out and his tongue is thick against the roof of his mouth and he can feel the music buzzing inside his skin, starting from his toes and ending in the tips of each strand of his hair.
It’s great. Joe’s dancing, arms up and twisting his hips, sweat coating his neck and chest. He is completely surrounded by people and if anyone recognizes him, they’re not saying anything. He’s danced with a couple girls, did the Soulja Boy with one dude, but mostly everyone is just dancing in one big heaving mass of bodies. It’s the freest Joe has felt in years.
Yeah, Joe’s ride is fast approaching the border of Drunksville, Population: Everyone In This Club Except Nick.
Nick is over by the edge of the dance floor, watching the crowd, his eyes following Joe as he weaves his way through the sticky swarm. After tasting Joe’s, Nick allowed him to order him a vodka soda too and he’s been sipping at it for the last half hour, his gaze heavy and warm on the back of Joe’s neck. Joe can feel Nick's eyes following him wherever he goes.
Joe pushes his way through the crowd, apologizing when he inadvertently gropes a girl’s ass. He shores up against the sticky wood of the bar, waving a hand at the bartender.
“Hello beautiful,” he croons and giggles at himself.
“What can I get you?” the barkeep asks, kindly ignoring Joe’s greeting.
“Shots, sir!” Joe exclaims, slamming his hand on the bar for emphasis. He checks his nonexistent watch. “Yes indeed, it is half-past shot time.”
“What kind?”
Joe strokes his chin. “Surprise me.”
He bumps up against Nick’s back, the two shots of Powers balanced precariously in his hand. He slides a palm against the denim curve of Nick’s sharp waist and tugs Nick around by his belt loop.
“Nicky! Ditch Tipsytown and come over to Drunksville! The scene is hot,” Joe pauses for dramatic effect, “… in Drunksville.”
Nick squints at him. Joe waggles the shot at him, and Nick looks like he decides something. He takes Joe’s free hand and pulls him towards a corner.
“Hey! Watch the booze!” Joe squawks, liquor spilling over the rim of the shot glass and dripping down his wrist.
Nick nudges Joe into the corner, and Joe leans back against the wall and shoves the shot into Nick’s hand. The buzz is in Joe’s brain now, and he feels happy and loose and free. He’s got a drink, he’s got music, he’s got a hundred people around him and no one even cares, and he’s got Nick here, close enough that Joe can feel the heat off his body, can smell his cologne and the sharp ammonic scent of vodka on his breath.
Nick takes the glass but doesn’t drink it. Joe shrugs and knocks his back. The whiskey burns a slick trail down his throat and he can feel it all the way down to his belly. His eyes water and he coughs. The aftertaste of it goes from the back of his throat to his nose and his whole body glows with it.
Joe wipes his eyes. “It’s good, Nicky. Take it.”
“Why are you doing this, Joe?” Nick’s face is serious, although Joe can see the red flush high in his cheeks and a dark alcoholic shine in his eyes.
Joe shakes his head, bemused. “Because it’s my birthday. We’re celebrating.” He tips his head back against the wall and pokes a finger into the dip of Nick’s collarbone.
“We celebrated. I threw you a party. A roller-skating party. Why did we have to come here? What are you trying to do? Are- are you… unhappy?”
Joe interrupts him. “It doesn’t have to be some big, significant thing, Nick. This isn’t my great rebellion. I just wanted to go out and have some fun.”
Joe needs to get closer to Nick, needs to press in close and make him understand, reassure him that it’s okay not to overthink every little thing, but Joe’s body is a half-moon curve molded and melted into the wall. So he hooks his arm around Nick’s neck and tugs and Nick stumbles forward a few steps, looking young and sulky.
Joe presses his lips together. “I wanted to get drunk, man. I wanted to do something different, have an experience. It’s not wrong, Nick. It’s not bad. ”
Nick shifts, biting his lip. “Well, why’d you want me here?”
Joe blinks up at Nick, his mouth hanging open. "I- I always want you here, Nick. Always. For everything."
***
All these words are bubbling up in Joe's chest and spilling out, things he probably wouldn't say out loud if he wasn't drunk and loose. Things that he's always just assumed Nick knew. But now he's suddenly not so sure, and he feels the urgent need to make Nick understand, even if he has to spell it out for him.
Nick is dark-eyed and almost upset, tugging fretfully at his lower lip with shining crooked teeth. Joe fists a hand in the sweat-damp collar of Nick's shirt and tugs him forward a few inches.
"I want you with me, Nick. For all the stuff I do, all the experiences or whatever. They aren't worth having without you around," Joe mumbles right into Nick's ear. His lips brush the hot curved shell of his ear as Joe speaks and Nick shivers underneath his hands.
Joe presses a damp kiss to Nick's skin at the sharp angle of his jaw and Nick takes a sharp breath and pulls back, his eyes darting around at the crowded club. Joe's practically forgotten about the club, forgotten about anyone but the two of them and this thing that feels incredibly important somehow. The sound of the music and the crowd are distant and muffled, like he's hearing them from the other end of a long tunnel.
Nick's lips are slick and shining in the pulsing light and Joe can't tear his eyes away from them. Nick's hand is resting on Joe's collarbone, fingertips brushing absently along the line of Joe's neck.
"Joe--" Nick starts hesitantly, his voice rough, "We shouldn't be here."
"I know," Joe mumbles, looking up at Nick's eyes. "But aren't you just a little glad we are?"
Nick looks around again, like he thinks someone might actually be listening in on them, just waiting to catch Nick admitting that he's enjoying this illicit fun.
"Maybe a tiny bit." Nick smiles a little.
"I knew it!" Joe crows, pumping a fist into the air and almost losing his balance. Nick grabs him quick, hands digging hard around the top of Joe's arms and they fall back against the wall, noses bumping.
Nick is breathing hard through his mouth, Joe can feel his breath puffing against his cheek and neither one of them moves even though they should. Joe turns his head a little and rubs his nose gently against the peach fuzz on Nick's cheek. Their lips are almost touching, just a couple centimeters of space between them and Joe doesn't even have to lean in to do it. All he has to do is angle his head and their lips slide together and apart, wet and electric already.
Nick suddenly pushes Joe, pushes him so his shoulders go flat against the concrete wall and his head jerks back. Joe opens his mouth to say something, to apologize or laugh it off, but Nick shakes his head, looking back at Joe with heat in his gaze.
"Not here," he says, and pulls Joe with him by the wrist.
***
The door to the bathroom slams shut after them, and Joe has got Nick up against the door before the echo has even died out.
They grapple a little for dominance, Nick pushing up away from the lacquered wood and Joe fumbling for a good grip on his wrists, both of them clumsy from the alcohol. Joe is hard, heat pooled low in his belly and the friction of his zipper against his dick sending hot little sparks down his limbs with every motion. He can feel Nick is hard too, can see the outline of him through the tight material of his jeans. Every time Nick shoves up from the door his dick bumps against Joe's thigh and it's making Joe sweat.
Nick finally goes loose, letting Joe pin his hands up by his shoulders. He looks up at Joe, eyes liquid and almost black.
"You want me around for everything, huh, Joe?" he asks, and it hangs heavy and loaded between them. Joe nods.
"This too?" Nick murmurs.
Joe swallows and feels like he might never catch his breath again. "Yeah, man. I kinda do," he breathes and leans in.
Nick opens for him right away, tongue slipping out to slide against Joe's. The inside of Nick's mouth is hot and velvet-wet and Joe moans loudly, heedlessly into the heat. Nick's hands thread into Joe's hair and Joe reaches around Nick to flip the lock on the door, the heavy click of the deadbolt loud in the quiet room.
They kiss sloppy and frantic, Nick's grip tight in Joe's hair, only breaking away far enough to pant into each other's mouths. It's blurry and drunken and messy and stupid and totally the best thing he's ever felt. Joe laughs into Nick's mouth and Nick laughs back, reckless and free. Joe yanks up Nick's shirt, runs a rough thumb over a nipple and listens to the ragged sound Nick makes, his head thunking back against the wall.
"Do it again," Nick commands, his hips jerking against Joe's. Joe doesn't, but leans in instead and sucks Nick's nipple into his mouth, scraping his teeth against the skin experimentally. Nick makes a shocked sound and his fingers spasm in Joe's hair.
Joe almost comes in his pants when Nick's fingers fumble at his zipper. Joe braces his hands against the door and tips his head down against Nick's shoulder, sucking on the pulse point at the base of Nick's neck while Nick works the zipper down. When Nick pulls Joe out of his boxers, Joe groans brokenly and bites down on the soft skin.
Nick jerks him hard and fast, tugging Joe back up by the chin and licking into his mouth again.
"That good?" he pants against Joe's lips.
"Oh god, Nick," Joe moans insensibly. "Oh shit, it's awesome. Don't stop."
"Okay," Nick answers, and puts a hand on Joe's ass to pull him in closer, change the angle a little. Nick brushes a thumb across the head of Joe's dick, twists his wrist and Joe's eyes cross as he comes, one long loud ragged groan and Nick's arm around his waist holding him up.
As soon as he can see straight, Joe peels Nick fingers from his belt loop and slides to his knees, the tile cold through his jeans. Nick looks down at him with wide eyes, his hair a wild mess, his lips red and abused. Joe unzips him and pulls him out and looks up at Nick for a second.
"Oh fuck," is all Nick says, and he shoves his hands into his own hair, grabbing on to it like some lifesaver, like it's the only thing stopping him from gripping Joe's head and pushing himself into Joe's mouth.
Joe licks the head of Nick's dick once and then opens his mouth and takes him in, slides down a little, soaking in the helpless sounds Nick makes. Joe doesn't know one blessed thing about this, but it feels good, so weird and good. It's messy and wet and Joe savors the ache that starts in his jaw.
Nick doesn't last long. Joe feels Nick's thighs start to tremble underneath his hands, feels Nick stiffen, and he slides down as far as he can and hums, hums the tune to the chorus Got Me Going Crazy and when Nick comes, his quick, harsh pants sound just like they did in the song.
When Nick is done, Joe pulls off and wipes a hand across his mouth and laughs helplessly, slumped forward against Nick's chest and shaking with it. And after a moment, Nick laughs too.