Fic: Booty and the Best, Part 1 (Joe/Nick, NC-17, WIP)
So, okay, I started writing this fic... um... LAST YEAR? For backinblack, because she is fantastic and always writes me porn to cheer me up, and then... I don't exactly know what happened. But I've got nearly 25,000 words written, so am going to post the first couple of parts now, and hope to finish it up very soon. SO HERE'S YOUR WARNING - THIS IS A WIP.
Title: Booty and the Best
Pairing: Joe/Nick, some Joe/Ashley and Nick/Samantha
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: This part is a little over 10,000 words, Part 2 is around 9,000 words, and Part 3 is around 8,000 words.
Notes and Warnings: Well, Gin had asked for a Beauty and the Beast AU, where Nick was a cursed princeling who had turned into a fierce beast and Joe was this pretty little thing who loved him. Somehow I ended up with this fic instead, which came out closer to canon than to the fairy-tale. I suppose I'll warn for incest (doh!) and buttsex (mmm), although I suspect that's what we're all here for. Also Joe in drag.
Disclaimer: None of this actually happened.
Booty and the Best
As he turns the car down the driveway, Joe's stomach goes flippy with butterflies. He lets the car idle as a camera adjusts its focus, rotating to get a better look at him. He leans his head out of the window and gives it a little wave. "Housekeeping!" he says cheerily. There's no answer, but soon enough he hears a short buzzing sound and the imposing-looking iron gates creak open.
When he gets to the door, he finds it ajar. He knocks anyway, pushing it open as he does. "Hello?" His voice echoes in the large, cold foyer. "Nick?"
It's quiet, seemingly deserted. Joe sighs, shuts the door behind him and slings off his leather jacket. "I know you're here," he yells out. "You buzzed me in, remember? Like five seconds ago?" He charitably doesn't mention the fact that Nick is always here, probably hasn't left this place in close to a year.
Another overhead camera, this one mounted in the corner of the entryway, whirrs to life and focuses on Joe. He turns and addresses it directly. "It's cool. Take your time. I'll just hang out here and, uh..." He looks around, spots something in the distance and his eyes light up. "I'll just tune your guitars, m'kay? Some of them look really old. I'm sure they could use-"
There's a loud crash from somewhere upstairs, a ruckus immediately followed by the quick patter of footsteps on the wood floors, light and fast. Joe grins to himself. Garbo, then.
"Joe!" Garbo exclaims, smiling and hugging and patting him on the back all at the same time. "S'good to see you, man."
"You too," Joe says. "Where've you been, dude? It's been too long." He pulls back and looks Garbo up and down, takes in his longer hair, his-"Whoa, you have a beard."
Garbo rubs at his chin and smiles, shrugging. "Yeah, I've been here, I guess. We've really got some great stuff. Nick's been really inspired, so we've just been cranking and-"
Joe cocks his head. "You’ve been locked up here with him this whole time?"
Garbo ducks his head, shrugging again. He's pale and thin, even more than usual. "You know how it is," Garbo says. "His focus is both a blessing and a curse."
Joe nods slowly. "And Paris? She's cool with you working all the time?"
Garbo flinches. "She's great," he answers, avoiding the question. "But hey, what's going on with you?"
Joe chews on his lip to keep himself from blurting out his news. The whole reason he drove all the way out here is because he wants to tell Nick before anyone else.
"Oh, you know. A little of this, little of that," Joe says. "So where's the warden?"
Garbo laughs softly. He looks a little guilty for it. "Guess," is all he says.
Two flights of stairs up, behind a set of thick wood double-doors and then another padded door is Nick's studio, otherwise known as his "beatlab." It's an amazing music room with all of the latest sound technology and every instrument known to man, and Nick runs the whole thing by himself. He writes all the songs, plays all the instruments, sings the lead and background vocals, records and mixes all the tracks and occasionally produces for other artists. If the studio is a lab, Nick is the lab's Dr. Frankenstein.
And there, standing amidst a wasteland of crumpled sheet music and Starbucks cups, is Nick.
He's pale and disheveled, baggy jeans sitting low on his slim waist and his hair is longer than it’s been in a while, shaggy enough to fall into his eyes. He's got these huge headphones on and he's scowling and shaking his head, like whatever he's listening to is failing him somehow.
Nick, when he's like this, is at once both so familiar and so foreign to Joe. Sure, Nick's always been a perfectionist, always loved writing music, always worked hard. But he used to write cheery, upbeat rock songs that they'd all sing together, jumping around and rocking out like they had the world at their feet. He used to hum happy melodies without even realizing it - just wander around with a smile on his face and bump into Joe and sing softly to him whenever the inspiration hit him. He used to want Joe around all the time, used to laugh like a kid when Joe did something dumb, forgot the words to a song, tripped over his feet. Now Nick only plays the blues, endless serious, soulful songs about heartbreak and loss. Now, everything in the world disappoints Nick, even himself. And especially Joe.
Not that Nick’s ever said anything explicitly to that effect, but Joe feels it down to his bones when Nick frowns at him instead of laughing. The memory of Nick’s crooked little smile is making Joe’s stomach sink, knowing he’s not likely to see it today. He misses it. He misses Nick and the way things used to be.
"Lemme just," Garbo begins, starting towards the door of the studio.
"Nah, dude," Joe says quietly. "I’ll surprise him."
Garbo looks dubious for a moment, but then smiles and nods, like he’s reassuring himself. "Yeah, of course. He’ll be so happy to see you," he says. "We all are. It’s just. It’s good to have you here."
Joe shoots Garbo a genuine smile, although he has his own doubts swirling around in his gut. He presses his mouth up against the glass window of the soundproof room and blows, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes. He doesn't make a sound, or any sudden movements or anything, but Nick has always had a bizarrely acute awareness of Joe, so it's not surprising when Nick looks up just then, right in time to notice Joe being silly. His scowl melts a little and his lips quirk and twitch like they want to smile but have forgotten how. Instead he gestures at the door with impatience, like it hasn't been over a month since he's seen Joe.
"What's up, bro?" Joe forces himself to be nonchalant, despite the fact that his heart is pounding all of a sudden. He gives Nick the manliest hug he can muster, even though all he really wants to do is lift Nick off the ground and spin him around, then maybe tickle him and cuddle him until Nick lets it all out and tells Joe everything.
Specifically, Joe wants to know exactly who broke his heart, and when. For seventeen years Nick told Joe everything, shared his every doubt, joy and fear. And then somehow, last year, when it seemed like they'd never been closer, Nick just clammed up. He shut down, pushed Joe away, and now Joe's actually a little afraid to talk to Nick at all, let alone tell him something this important.
For a brief moment, Nick clings to him. His face is burrowed into Joe's neck, mouth warm and ticklish on Joe's skin like he's breathing Joe in. But it's gone in a flash, Nick going all awkward as he shoves Joe off. "Working." Nick says it like Joe's being silly for even imagining that anything else worth doing even exists.
They catch up for a few minutes, making small talk about music and family until Nick starts to relax. For someone who does nothing but exactly whatever he wants at all times, Nick is really high-strung. He seems older than his eighteen years, like he's got some overwhelming weight on his shoulders, like he needs to punish himself for something. Seeing Nick like this makes Joe wonder if the Nick he used to know is still buried somewhere deep inside this grouchy, stubborn workaholic.
"I miss you," Joe says suddenly. And, crap. He’d forgotten how hard it is not to say things like that to Nick. He’s out of practice, is all.
Nick stares at him, cheeks going pink, and then, wonder of wonders, he smiles, small and secret. Joe smiles back helplessly. His fingers itch to reach out and cuff Nick by the neck, pull him in for a snuggle. He curls his hands into fists instead.
Nick says, "Yeah?” He looks hopeful. “You could stay for-"
Joe blurts out, "I'm getting married."
Nick's mouth hangs open, mid-sentence. Joe's gut churns, waiting. He imagines what any other brother in the world would say in this situation. He imagines big hugs and high-fives and you sly dogs and shoulders knocking together.
Predictably, that's not exactly how it goes. Instead, Nick's whole face, his whole being just shutters closed as the words sink in. He stiffens up, lips pressing into a hard line and he takes two steps back. "What?" he asks, voice low.
"Merry Christmas! You're getting a sister!" Joe gives him a cheery smile. Maybe he can just trick Nick into being happy for him.
"No," Nick says. “No you’re not.” He says it like he can just forbid Joe from getting married.
Joe laughs, although that giddy, hopeful feeling inside is sinking rapidly. “Well, right,” he says. “I’d be getting a wife.”
Nick just watches him, eyes narrowed. His whole body is coiled up tight like a spring.
“Nick,” Joe says softly. “I’m gonna get married.”
Nick shakes his head, curls bouncing as he does. His lips are pressed together in a tight angry line.
"Yes-huh," Joe says. If Nick's going to be a baby about it, then he'll be a bigger baby.
"No. No for so many reasons."
"Funny, because I didn't actually ask you for-"
"First of all," Nick says, ignoring him. "You're too young."
"I'm older than Dad was when he proposed to Mom," Joe reasons, although he knows it's mostly pointless to argue with Nick.
"Oh," Nick says, snippily. "Did you ask her to travel around the country in a van spreading God's word with you, too?"
Joe bites his lip and looks away. It feels like something is crumbling inside of him, like he’s been held upright by a giant balloon that’s slowly deflating.
"I can't believe I thought you would just be happy for me."
Nick barks out an ugly laugh. "I can't believe you just compared your," he waves his hand in the air dismissively, "relationship to Mom and Dad's."
Joe sighs and wipes a hand over his face. He slumps down into a chair. He knew this wouldn't be easy, but he loves Nick. He needs Nick to be on his side in this. It's scary enough to be shifting into adulthood so quickly. He doesn't want to do it alone.
"What have you got against her? It's like you totally hate her for-"
"I don't hate anyone, Joseph," Nick admonishes.
"Maybe if you just got to know her," Joe tries. "Maybe if you came over or came out with us every now and then. Ever since we got back from tour you've been holed up here-"
"And you've been making out in nightclubs and living in sin," Nick says archly. "What was I supposed to do? Come along for sleepovers?"
The thought makes Joe's brain stutter for a second, like a record skipping. "W-what?" he says, dumbfounded. "It's not like I was- I didn't choose her over you, Nick."
Nick turns his back on Joe, but Joe can see how his ears have gone red. He can hear the emotion in Nick's voice when he says, "She's not right for you, Joe. She's not-"
"She's perfect," Joe says mulishly.
"She's easy," Nick hisses, and Joe is stunned at the venom he hears in his brother's voice.
He clenches his jaw and looks away, tries to swallow back the urge he has to punch Nick for what he's implying. "She's beautiful and sweet and she loves me." He sees Nick's shoulders tense up, knows he's saying all the wrong things but he can't listen to Nick say anything bad about Ashley.
"Of course she loves you," Nick says, voice trembling with anger. "That doesn't mean-"
"Nick, I'm marrying her. I'm not asking for your permission. I'm not even asking for your feedback." Joe says firmly.
"So why are you even here?" Nick demands, voice cracking. "If you don't care what I think?"
Joe’s mouth falls open, indignant. Too many words try to jumble out at once, about how Joe cares more about what Nick thinks than anyone, ever, always, but he bites them back, works to steady himself. "I came here," Joe says slowly, "to ask you to be the best man at my wedding. I came here to ask you to stand up at the altar with me, in front of God and everyone else we care about and be there for me."
Nick’s face twists into an ugly smirk. “Better go ask Kevin instead,” he says.
Joe rolls his eyes. “Nick,” he says, like c’mon man, don’t be dumb. “I want you. You know it’s gotta be you.”
There’s something raw and unexpected that hangs in the air between them, something that makes Joe panic like he’s just accidentally confessed something he’s not supposed to say out loud, but there you have it.
Nick looks up at him, suddenly intense. "You're unsure," he accuses, poking his finger at Joe's chest. His eyes are squinty and barely visible under his mess of hair. "Right? That's what you want from me," Nick says. "To reassure you that you're doing the right thing. Why else would you need me to be there for you if you're not doubting your path?"
"Because you're my brother and my best friend and I love you more than-" Joe's voice breaks and he stops abruptly, because there’s no right way to finish that thought. He loves Nick more than so many things, so many people, so much more than he should.
"Look. You decided you wanted to live up here by yourself. Be a hermit. Record depressing love songs that nobody will ever hear. Have no friends and dress like an idiot and grow your hair out like a sheepdog. And I didn't understand that, wouldn't have chosen that path for myself, but I was happy because you were happy."
Joe has to admit that Nick doesn't look particularly happy in this moment, but he barrels ahead. "Or, fine! Maybe you aren't happy, but you won't tell me anything except that this is what you want. So now it's your turn to do the same for me. To do what I want for a change."
Nick clenches his jaw and looks down, but he doesn't argue. He doesn't say no. "What do you want, Joe?"
"What I want is for you to yell and scream and throw all the tantrums you need, and then get over it. I want you to say 'Yes, Joe, I'd be honored to be your best man.' And then I want you to cut your ridiculous hair, get fitted for a new tux, and show up on time to my wedding, Nicholas."
Nick's quiet for a long moment. Finally he says, "Let me think about it."
It's so ridiculous that Joe has to laugh. But whatever, it's the best Joe is going to get tonight. "Fine," he says and stands up, grabs his keys.
"Wait," Nick says, a tinge of desperation in his voice. "It's getting late. And I-I wanted to play you this one track we just laid down. And we're going to order takeout from that vegan place down on McCarren."
He looks at Joe expectantly and Joe shakes his head. He takes a quiet moment to pout about the fact that he's practically begging Nick to support him on something that should be obvious, and yet Nick can get him to change all of his plans at a moment's notice without even asking.
"Fine," Joe says, tossing his keys back on the desk. "I'll stay."
* * *
They don’t talk about Ashley or the wedding for the rest of the evening, and Nick eventually unwinds, loosens up enough to smile a few times when Joe’s eyes start to slip shut. Joe ends up falling asleep on the wide comfy couch in the studio with Nick strumming his favorite vintage Martin and humming softly, nonsense lyrics whispered into the otherwise quiet room.
Some amount of time later he becomes aware of the cushions shifting and Nick squeezing in behind him. "'m payin' attention," he slurs. Nick pets at his hair and nuzzles close, soothing Joe with soft shushing noises.
He grunts as Nick jostles him, wiggles his arm underneath Joe’s ribs so he can wrap around Joe like a koala. “Sorry,” Nick whispers. “Go back to sleep.”
“You’re so amazing,” Joe mumbles, like he’s picking up a conversation that started in his dream. His head is muzzy, and he’s sure he’s not making sense, but whatever. Nick is amazing.
“You are,” Nick murmurs back, cuddling in close.
In the back of his mind he knows he needs to get up, drive back to the apartment or at the very least give Ashley a call and let her know he's staying over, but he's feeling so drowsy-wonderful and the couch is a cocoon of brown corduroy and Nick is wrapped all around him, snuggling like they used to do and it's all like a dream that's too good to wake up from.
"I gotta go home," he breathes out, reluctant, hating the thought.
He feels Nick shake his head, nose brushing against the nape of Joe’s neck. "But baby you'll freeze out there," Nick croons quietly.
Joe grins despite himself. He keeps his eyes closed and says, "I'd say lend me your comb, but you clearly don't own one, you dirty little hippie. How long has it been since you cut your hair?"
Nick chuckles and slips his arm around Joe's waist, pulls him in tighter. "It's up to your knees out there," he sings again, voice light and sweet.
"It’s eighty-four degrees and dry as space out there," Joe says, lips sticking to his teeth.
He feels Nick laughing, little hitches of his warm belly tickling against Joe’s back. "C’mon," Nick pleads, sounding silly and young. "Play with me."
It's pathetic and probably more than a little weird, but Joe just falls for it like a rock. He turns around, cuddles into Nick even more. They lay there, face to face, just watching each other. It's a comfortable silence, the tick-tocking of the wall clock the only sound. But Nick's smiling, and Joe misses him so much, misses the way they used to be on tour, or even at home. Before the whole thing with Ashley even started. Before Nick broke away and ran off to this place to win at sulking.
"You really neeeeed a Christmas tree," Joe sings quietly, carrying the tune and taking in the way Nick's eyes sparkle in the darkness. He knocks his nose against Nick's playfully.
There’s a quiet sigh, a secret smile, and then Nick's hand is touching his face, the skin of his cheek, his jaw. Joe's body startles awake, instantly on high-alert. They've touched like this before, cuddled and snuggled and even traded a few kisses when they've been particularly tired or silly or lonely, but it's always made Joe go over-hot and skittish in a way that makes him feel guilty after. And it hasn’t happened in a long time, long enough that Joe hadn’t thought it was still a possibility that it might happen again. But Nick's thick, boyish fingers push into his hair with intent, pulling their faces closer until their foreheads touch, warm breath puffing against each other's mouths.
"How can you do this thing to me," Nick sighs, barely mouthing the words and then he's leaning just that tiny bit further and pressing his mouth to Joe's.
“Nick,” Joe breathes. It’s not a protest, not exactly, just a meaningless way of buying time. He just needs to think, and he can’t, not when Nick is so close. Not when Nick’s mouth is-
“Just a little,” Nick whispers, and kisses him again.
Nick's kiss is soft and warm, almost childish in its innocence, but it makes Joe buzz inside so much he has to chase it with another. He clutches at Nick's back, feels where Nick's t-shirt has ridden up, gets his hands on Nick's skin; so soft, his sweet baby brother. Joe’s fingertips feel like they’re zinging with energy as he drags them up and down Nick’s spine, digs in a little, right at the dip on Nick’s lower back. Nick makes a little choking noise, a sort of half-groan and then he's kissing Joe again, or kissing Joe back, all lippy and wet and needy.
It feels wonderful and terrible all at once. There’s a hazy sense of familiarity, of comfort, but it’s struck through with terrifying sizzle of something Joe can feel in the pit of his stomach. More than anything it’s good - really good. Nick nips at him, puppyish little bites and sucks that make Joe reel inside with how much he wants from his brother. He pulls away when he starts to get hard, dick thickening up against Nick’s hip.
"Shhh, c'mere," Nick says, pulling him back in and kissing him slowly, like he knows how to control it so nothing crazy happens, but he doesn’t know, can’t know that. He pets at Joe's hair, kisses his cheeks and eyelids and whispers sweet, tempting things into Joe's ears. He kisses Joe gently, soft lips pressing into his skin again and again and again until Joe groans and clutches at Nick’s neck, holding him close and away at the same time.
Nick’s restless, squirming against him, but Joe holds him still until Nick eventually settles, warm and flushed and sleepy. They nuzzle and mouth at each other gently until Joe gets drowsy again, the heat of Nick's body lulling him back into a doze.
* * *
In the morning Joe wakes up to find Nick sitting on a stool, watching him intently.
"Morning, creepy," he says, voice still rough with sleep.
Nick doesn't smile. He's fidgeting with something in his hands. Joe realizes it's his own iPhone just as Nick says, "I have a proposition for you."
"Is that mine?" Joe starts, reaching out to grab it. He needs to check his messages and send Ashley a text at the very least.
Nick holds the phone away from him. "I'll come to your- your event," he says, unable to even speak the word wedding, "on one condition."
Joe groans and rolls over onto his back. "Nick, will you please, please give me my phone and stop being such a freak."
Nick is quiet. He just sits there, watching Joe seriously.
Joe sighs. "Zero for two. What's the condition?"
"Move in with me. Here."
Joe turns to gape at his brother. "Are you serious?"
Nick remains stoic.
"Of course you're serious. You’re the cute serious one.” He expects a chuckle out of Nick at that, but Nick just keeps watching him, waiting for an answer. "C’mon, Nick. I just finally got settled in-"
"- to your den of sin?" Nick asks pointedly.
Joe laughs out loud, surprised. "Right, right. Den of sin."
"It's not funny," Nick insists. He looks indignant, but also hurt, and that surprises Joe, makes him pause.
"I'm- I don't mean to laugh," Joe says, feeling guilty. "I just don't know what to say to you. Clearly we make different choices, and-"
"It's fine to be human, to suffer moments of weakness. We all do. I don't expect you to be above that, Joseph. But I do expect you to seek forgiveness. I do expect you to try to be better. To want to be better. You can't just roll around in it like a pig in the mud."
Joe folds his hands over his chest. "So that's what you're after? Getting me to move in so I can save myself from damnation?"
Nick looks down, flips Joe's phone over in his hands a few times. "Among other things," he mutters. "That's the condition. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."
Joe sits up and sighs, rests his elbows on his knees and drops his head down, thinking. "Can I think it over?"
"Sure," Nick says, checking his watch. "I'll give you 15 minutes."
"Can I have my phone?"
"Not until you decide."
Joe groans and looks away. It's times like these that he wishes they were the kind of brothers that punched each other occasionally.
"If I move in, are you going to be a jerk whenever Ashley comes over?"
Nick narrows his eyes and leans forward. "She's not invited. You can talk to her on the phone."
Joe holds out his hand, gesturing for his phone. Nick just shakes his head and says, "Decide."
"Can I go visit her?"
"No," Nick answers, fast as a gunshot. "You need to avoid temptation."
Joe shakes his head, looks away. "Like you know from temptation," he mutters.
Nick hears him anyway. He’s solemn when he says, "We all suffer temptation."
Joe tips his head back, ponders the ceiling. "So, okay. I just want to make sure I'm hearing this right. You're saying I can't see my fiancée at all until the wedding? How is that fair to her?”
Nick shrugs. “If she loves you she’ll understand.”
“And how is it fair to me?” Joe laughs humorlessly. "Aside from wanting to spend time with the woman I love, a guy has needs. I hope you're well-stocked."
Nick frowns at him, confused, so Joe moves his wrist in the universal sign for jerking off.
Nick snorts derisively. "Are you that addicted, Joe?"
Joe rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that, Saint Nick. Even you do it. Don't forget I've heard you at night, right next to me in the hotel, right below me in the bunks on the bus. Oooh, mmmyeah, unnh-" he moans, mimicking the expressions and noises Nick makes when he gets himself off.
"Yeah, okay. Yes. I've got some… materials," Nick says quietly, cheeks flushed pink.
"Materials?" Joe laughs. "I hope that means porn, because if you expect me to go without for five months, I'm gonna need more than Kleenex and Keri lotion."
Nick pales for a moment, ruddy cheeks going white all of a sudden. "You've already set the date?"
Joe barks out a laugh. He wonders if Nick thought it was sooner or further away. "This is crazy," Joe says, mostly to himself.
"It's important," Nick says, like he's willing Joe to understand. "Getting married is forever. You'll marry her, and I'll- we'll never have this time again. We don't have time to waste-" He breaks off for a second, swallowing thickly. "Tell me that you'll stay."
Joe looks up at his brother. He can’t really do this. He can’t really choose between Nick and Ashley. He doesn’t understand why he would ever have to.
That said, Ashley has always been really understanding about all of the weird things that come along with Joe’s life. She’s definitely more likely to be flexible in this situation than Nick is. Joe knows he can probably smooth things over with Ashley a lot quicker than he can fix whatever has gone wrong between him and Nick, and anyways, Nick is his brother.
"Stand up," Joe says. Nick just looks at him, puzzled. "C'mon. Up." Nick stands. "Turn around," Joe orders. Nick does, looking nonplussed. "Again." He peers at Nick and then sits back and rubs his temples.
"I have some conditions of my own," Joe says, finally.
"Okay," Nick breathes out, sounding hopeful.
"You're gonna cut that hair," Joe says. Nick nods, curls bouncing all around. "And you're going to eat whatever I cook for you, even vegetables."
"Yes," Nick says quickly.
"And we're going shopping, to get you some new clothes, and you’re not going to fuss over how expensive they are, even if they’re really, really, really expensive. You’re going to go out with me to do fun things. Not bowling or movies. We're not just staying locked up in here all the time."
"Yes, yes, yes."
"And I can call her whenever I want?"
Nick’s jaw clenches at that, but he nods.
"We're getting some gym equipment and you’re going to lift with me."
"Okay. Yes."
"And you're going to bring a date to the wedding," Joe throws in. "Not Maya."
Nick flinches.
Joe laughs. "That’s the condition you have a problem with?"
Nick scowls. "Why not Maya?"
"Because Maya doesn't take your breath away. Because Maya doesn't make your heart beat faster or your pulse race-"
"Those are technically the same things," Nick points out.
"You need romance, Nick," Joe argues. "You need to be with someone who makes you crazy with how much you want them; someone who makes you want things you never wanted before."
Nick shakes his head and huffs out a breath, frustrated. "I don’t want to feel those things." He looks at Joe, baleful and pathetic. "Those kinds of feelings aren’t-" he fumbles for the word, scrunching up his face. "-productive."
"Not productive?" Joe laughs. "Those kinds of feelings have inspired all of the world's greatest art and music-"
"And started wars," Nick says, pointing a finger triumphantly. "And technically the downfall of man."
Joe shakes his head. "You’re seriously losing it up here all alone, aren’t you?"
"Me? You're the one who sounds like a- like someone who writes for Hallmark cards." Joe tries not to smile at the lame comeback. Nick already knows it was lame. He's sulking and Joe calling him out on it is just going to make him angry, so Joe lets it slide. "And anyway I haven't been alone. Garbo and Big Rob are here, and Phil comes by all the time-"
"Those guys are great," Joe argues back, getting frustrated. "But they work for you, Nick. They come because you tell them to."
"They're my friends," Nick insists, his petulance reminding Joe how young he really is.
"Of course they are," Joe relents. "But, c'mon. You're Nick Jonas. You're eighteen and a rock star. You should be out in the world, with, like, girls. You don't have to go and do anything sinful, okay? It's just not good for you to just stay locked up here with only your right hand and your materials to keep you company."
"I- I don't-" Nick stammers.
Joe raises his eyebrows, surprised. "No? You use your left hand? Huh. Every time I try it that way I just can't-"
"No! I don't-" Nick starts, annoyed, then colors and cuts himself off. He juts out his chin and says, "Some of us have other things on our minds than-"
"Yeah, yeah," Joe cuts him off. "Save it, okay? You just need to find someone of your own. Someone who will bring you out of this funk you've been in ever since-" he trails off, thinking. Joe's not really sure when it started, but it must have been some time when he wasn't paying attention, too caught up in his own whirlwind romance. "-whenever. You just need someone to remind you how great love is."
"Love sucks," Nick says decisively. "Slow-dancing with some girl is not going to change my mind on that."
Joe sighs. "Well maybe not, but those are my conditions. That's the deal. Take it or leave it,"
And that's how it starts.
* * *
Joe stares at the boxes and papers around him, worn-down after the adrenaline-rush of his argument with Nick, and the subsequent phone call with Ashley. His head is ringing with this weird combination of excitement and exhaustion, and now he just wants to lie down and take a nap.
It hadn’t been surprising that Nick’s place had an extra bedroom, but it had surprised Joe that it didn’t come with a bed. Or any available floor space, not that Joe would have slept on the floor in any case.
"Uh, yeah," Nick says sheepishly. "I’ve been kind of using it as a mud room, I guess."
Every inch of floor is covered with stacks of records, music composition notebooks and packets of guitar strings. There are four piles of clothing where a bed might have worked out quite nicely, unclear as to whether they are clean or dirty.
"Where am I gonna sleep?"
Nick ducks his head, scratches at the back of his neck. "Hmm," he says, as if this is a problem he hadn’t counted on. "We’ll get you a bed. And, uh. I’ll clean this stuff up."
Joe sighs. "How about I give you a couple of days to get this all sorted-?"
"No!" Nick says, losing his cool for the quickest of moments. "No. You’re not leaving. We’ll take care of it today. Right now."
"But I don’t even have any-"
"There’s a- I think there’s, like, a Macy’s or something nearby," Nick says in a rush. "We’ll get you a bed and some clothes-"
Joe gapes at him, mock-incredulous. "A Macy’s? What are you, Rain Man?" He gives Nick’s baggy striped rugby shirt and horrendously ill-fitting jeans an exaggerated once-over. "Oh this explains so much."
"Rain Man shopped at K-Mart," Nick snaps back.
"For underwear," Joe says. "Not for anything he wore on the outside."
Nick tries to hold his glare but it ends up cracking after a few seconds, breaking into a reluctant grin. "Look, Macy’s is very sensible," he says, barely holding a straight face.
Joe opens up and laughs loudly, pleased at how much fun it is to get any kind of rise out of Nick. "Sure," he says, chuckling. "It’s so handy when you need to pick up a new pair of moccasins and a spare tire all in one trip!"
Nick grins and shoves at his brother. "They don’t sell tires at Macy’s. You’re thinking of Sears, dude." Joe looks aghast as Nick tugs him out of the mud room and towards the garage. Nick snorts. "Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re not thinking about Sears on purpose."
* * *
Begrudgingly, Joe admits that Macy’s, although certainly nowhere near the apex of men’s fashion, is actually quite adequate when it comes to mattresses and bedding.
They pick out a nice big bed frame and some Martha Stewart bedding and fill out paperwork at the cashier to have it all delivered to Nick’s that afternoon.
"Euro pillows and shams are absolutely necessary," Joe finds himself saying as Nick fills out the delivery forms.
"Yup," Nick nods, smiling down at the paperwork. "In case there’s a pea somewhere underneath the boxspring, mattress, pillowtop, and first four goose-down pillows."
Joe snorts and slides up behind Nick, wrapping his arms around Nick’s chest and squeezing. The gum-chewing cashier doesn’t even look up, even when Nick starts to gasp for breath.
"Joe, s-stop," Nick says on a giggle, batting at Joe’s arms feebly.
Joe relaxes his hold enough that Nick can fish out his wallet and hand over his credit card, and then he says, "Are you sure you don’t want me to get this?"
Nick shakes his head, curls brushing against Joe’s nose. "No, I like- I mean. It’s fine. I needed to fix up that room eventually anyway." He chuckles a little as he says, "I maybe wouldn’t have gotten as many pillows, but-" He twists his head a little to grin at Joe, and Joe is fascinated at how much better Nick looks already, cheeks pink and eyes twinkling. "I want you to feel at home, y’know?" He looks away, shy. "Mi casa es su casa, or whatever."
Joe beams at him, presses a quick kiss to Nick’s ear. "Well then the pillows were a necessity. Not all of us have this conveniently fluffy hair-cushion to rest our sleepy heads on." He tugs on one of Nick’s curls, forcing a fond grunt out of Nick.
In retrospect, Joe should have just stayed quiet, enjoyed that one moment where he was so happy to be with Nick, and Nick was so happy to be with him. Instead, for no apparent reason, Joe says, "Man, you should’ve seen Ash’s bed before I-"
Nick stiffens up immediately, as if Joe had pushed a button or something. He trails on, confused. "-pillows everywhere. When she told me she had a bolster on her bed I thought it was some sort of-"
"Get off," Nick hisses suddenly, elbowing at Joe angrily. This time the cashier does look up, frowning at them both.
"Whoa, whoa," Joe says, backing up, hands raised in surrender.
"You’re such a child sometimes," Nick bites out, pressing the pen down into the forms so hard Joe’s certain he’s carving his signature on the counter underneath.
Joe stands there for a second, eyes wide. Just moments ago Nick had been laughing in his arms. "What just happened here?"
"Nothing," Nick says, not meeting his eyes. "We’re done here. Let’s go."
It takes Joe a moment before he follows Nick out of the store, confused and upset.
* * *
"Hey," Nick says, after knocking softly on the bedroom door. "Hungry?"
He looks a little sheepish, a little tentative. Joe gestures with his elbow, showing Nick the phone in his hand.
"Oh," Nick says, face clouding over. "I’ll- uh. I’ll come back."
He comes back a few minutes later. He doesn’t knock this time.
"Hey," he says again. "Dinner?"
Joe nods, shrugging apologetically and then turning back to pace the room, phone cradled on his shoulder. He wants to sit with Nick, make sure everything's okay between them, but Ashley’s not really as understanding as Joe had thought she might be, so he needs to focus on her for a little while, even if only via phone.
"Hey," Nick says again, more loudly this time.
Joe turns around and shakes his head clearly at him. Not now.
Nick frowns and plops down in a chair, waiting.
Another few minutes pass and Nick is fidgeting, getting restless. "Joe?" he says. "Hey, Joe?"
"What do you want?" Joe huffs out.
"I want you to come to dinner," Nick says, clearly annoyed. "Like I told you two hours ago."
"That was ten minutes ago." Joe waves him away, distracted. "On the phone," he says in a whisper, covering the base of his phone. "Not now." He looks pointedly at the door, trying to shoo Nick away with a glance.
Nick doesn’t budge. "When, then?"
Joe rolls his eyes and moves his hand. "Hey, baby? Babe- baby? Hey, hang on for a sec, okay?" He turns to Nick, who is now standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking furious. "You have got to chill out," he says to Nick. "I’ll come down when I’m off the phone."
"I’m hungry," Nick says, cheeks gone splotchy-red and mouth set in a firm line. "And I wanted- I mean, I’ve been waiting and waiting-"
"So don’t wait then," Joe hisses, exasperated. "Eat. I’ll eat when I’m ready."
"No," Nick says immediately. "We’re eating together. Like a- like a family." He straightens up, juts his chin out and says, "If you want me to hold up my end of the deal, you’ll come to dinner right now."
"Nick," Joe whines, and then, "Yeah, hang on, hon, one more sec," into the phone.
"What time do you want to eat, Joseph?" Nick asks loudly.
Joe groans. "Sheesh, Nick! Do I need a freaking reservation? It’s just dinner, right? There aren’t going to be any flame-throwers or sword-swallowers that I’m not expecting, right? I’ll come downstairs when I’m done. And if that doesn’t work for you then you can just eat without me."
"Fine!" Nick yells, reaching full-throttle tantrum levels like Joe hasn’t seen since Nick was first diagnosed with his diabetes. "Don’t do me any favors. You can just STARVE for all I care!"
He finally storms out of the room, nearly mowing down Garbo in his haste as he crosses the threshold.
"Uh, Nick," Garbo says quietly, so as not to provoke any further ire. "I know you had a special dinner planned," he says, and that catches Joe’s attention. As much as Joe tries to focus on whatever Ashley is going on and on about, he feels a lump in his throat start to form. He didn’t realize Nick had planned anything.
"Never mind that," Nick grouses. "He doesn’t want it."
It’s clear Garbo has developed significant expertise in handling Nick when he’s like this; he's become expert at reading Nick’s signals. "I’m just saying, maybe, maybe yelling and screaming isn’t the best way to make Joe feel, uh, at home here."
A guilty expression flashes across Nick’s face for the tiniest moment, and Joe startles at the intensity of his protectiveness. He almost feels like apologizing to Nick for making him angry.
"He’s not a prisoner after all," Garbo says, sounding strangely nervous, but pulling off a tentative smile. "He’s our guest!"
Nick shoves his hands in his pockets and ducks his head, considering. He’s chewing on his lip, and Joe wants to give him a hug, tell him to stop beating himself up. He doesn’t understand why Nick is making such a big fuss over every little thing being perfect. But then again, that’s just Nick.
Just then, Ashley trills in his ear, and he has to say, "Yeah, I’m here, sweetheart."
And just like earlier in the department store, Nick is brimming with rage, zero-to-sixty in no time. "Screw that," Nick says, shoving Garbo aside and stomping off towards the studio. "Tell him he’s having dinner with me tomorrow at eight o’clock sharp." He looks over his shoulder to glare at Joe, "That is not a request," he grits out, loud enough to make sure Joe and probably Ashley hear.
"Uh, okay," Garbo says, "I’ll tell him. And I’ll just bring him some of the-"
"No," Nick growls. "Don’t bring him anything. He eats with me or not at all."
Joe is left gaping at Garbo when Nick huffs away. He’s not even holding the phone to his ear anymore, but Ashley doesn’t seem to have noticed. "When did he get like this?" Joe whispers.
Garbo shifts uncomfortably for a second. "He just really misses you, Joe. And he’s really- sensitive, you know."
Joe knows. But it doesn’t change the fact that Nick, while holed up in his little fantasy world where everyone does what he says and there are clearly not enough pillows, has apparently turned into a first class brat. It’s no wonder he doesn’t have any friends. Or that he doesn’t date for that matter. What girl would be able to withstand his ridiculous mood swings?
And as Ashley trills on about how his brother is turning into a sociopath, Joe decides he’s going to find out what’s wrong with Nick, and fix him right up.
* * *
That first night Joe can’t sleep. Even with all of the extra pillows, brand new bed and passably stylish duvet set, his room feels foreign in a way that hotel rooms and tour buses never did. Sure, Nick's near enough, right down the hall, but there's a distance between them tonight that feels much wider than the physical space.
After a few hours of blinking up at the ceiling, he decides to get up and make himself a snack. He sees a light coming from the kitchen, and smells something… wonderfully familiar.
"Hey," he says, "mind if I join you guys?"
Rob and Garbo look up, surprised. "Joey-Joe," Rob says. "Sup."
"Of course," Garbo says enthusiastically, stumbling to his feet. "Of course dude, c'mon. You must be starving. Let us get you a plate-"
"Whoa whoa," Rob says, putting a heavy hand on Garbo's shoulder and pushing him back into his seat. "Boss man said they eat together."
Garbo shrugs out of Big Rob's grip and laughs at him, delighted. "What? That's crazy. Look how much food there is. We can't let him go hungry. Not when there's so much-"
"Shrimp and cheese spaghetti," Joe groans, smelling the still warm leftovers that are sitting on the counter. There are trays and trays of it, casserole dishes piled up on the table.
"Shrimp and cheese spaghetti," Garbo agrees, pleased.
It was his favorite meal growing up in New Jersey, a weird combination of shrimp, stewed tomatoes and peppers and spaghetti, all baked with a crusty layer of parmesan cheese on top, like a casserole. One of the ladies at their church used to make it for potlucks, but ever since they’d moved away, the dish had just become an elusive memory in Joe’s mind, assigned to fleeting thoughts of happiness. He’s tried to re-create the meal a thousand times with all the best and then all the crappiest ingredients, but he’s never succeeded in getting it just right. It always comes out too liquidy, or the shrimp isn’t fresh enough, or isn’t big enough, or the cheese burns instead of crusts, and he can’t imagine how in the world Nick, who hates to cook, managed to track down the recipe.
But he has. Or at least he's put Garbo and Big Rob up to it. From the looks of the kitchen someone has been cooking all day.
"Sit, sit, sit," Garbo says, pushing Joe into a chair. "Allow me to introduce…" he pauses dramatically, then slides a covered tray in front of Joe with a flourish. "Your dinner."
Joe looks uncertain, but then Big Rob says, "Yeah man. Be our guest."
Joe lifts the tray cover. There’s a nice deep bowl of shrimp and cheese spaghetti, golden crust of cheese still powdery and crisp, with a note tucked under it.
I’m sorry, it reads in Nick’s messy scrawl. I just wanted to do something nice for you.
"Nick?" he says wonderingly.
"Nick," Big Rob affirms. "Boy's been cooking this stuff for weeks. Had to get it just right."
"Weeks?" Garbo scoffs. "More like months. I never thought we'd eat anything else ever again."
Joe chews slowly, savoring each bite. Garbo and Rob chatter as they straighten up the kitchen, but Joe stays quiet, marveling at the fact that not only did Nick make his favorite meal, but he'd been practicing for a long time, to get it just right. It's so Nick that it makes Joe's chest tighten, makes him smile around his mouthful of food.
He crawls in to Nick’s bed twenty minutes later with both his heart and his stomach comfortably full. Nick’s awake; he rolls over and snuggles into Joe, grasping at Joe’s t-shirt like a little kid afraid of losing his parent in a crowd. "Was it good?" he asks, voice sounding so small compared to the size of his temper earlier.
"Mmm," Joe hums. "Awesome surprise. Thanks, Nick J."
"Your-" Nick starts, hesitant. "I mean, she probably makes it-"
"Nope," Joe cuts him off. He knows how much Nick hates even talking about her, and he’s really not in the mood for another fight. He appreciates the effort though, knows this is Nick’s way of apologizing for being such a hothead earlier. "Not even once."
Nick breathes out, relieved. "She probably just doesn’t know."
"Mmm, probably not," Joe agrees. He doesn’t really feel like talking about Ashley now anyway. He strokes Nick’s curls back from his face and kisses him on the forehead, wanting more (always wanting more) but unsure what kind of mood Nick’s in.
Nick tilts his face up, offering his mouth to Joe, and that settles that. Joe dips his head down; tastes Nick’s mouth again and again, the perfect dessert after his favorite meal. Even better are the soft wet noises Nick makes when they kiss, like he’s helpless to the feeling.
Later Joe will muse about how loose Nick goes when they kiss, and he’ll liken it to the church kids he used to babysit back in Jersey, back before everything happened. They’d always be crazy-hyper, running around and yelling and making a mess of everything, but as soon as Joe had opened a book and started to read aloud, it was like they became hypnotized, dropping whatever they were doing and cuddling in against Joe’s sides, peering at the book like it held all the secrets of the universe.
That’s exactly how Nick is when they kiss - all of the steam just whooshes right out of him and he’s just Nick, just that sweet, soft baby brother that Joe loves so much. Maybe, Joe thinks, maybe the next time Nick goes nuts on him, Joe will just kiss him instead of arguing back.
"You taste like tomato sauce," Nick murmurs, nosing at Joe’s neck and pushing a sweaty hand up into Joe’s hair.
You taste like home, is on the tip of Joe’s tongue, but instead he says, "Delicious, ain’t I?"
"Mmm- hmm," Nick hums, lips buzzing against his skin, sending tingles throughout Joe’s body. He hitches closer, mouth rubbing lightly against Joe’s, like he’s baiting Joe, tempting him into another kiss.
It’s heady and addictive to have Nick this way. And maybe because it’s late, or maybe because he can already feel the solid lump of Nick’s erection against his thigh, when Joe feels the inevitable urge to lick into Nick’s mouth, despite the fact that they’ve never- not with tongue- done it before, he just goes for it.
His tongue feels electrified, little tastes of Nick shocking him with pleasure. Nick is so sweet, even on the inside, better than Joe has even imagined. His mouth is plush and warm and slick, and every dip of Joe's tongue has him thinking about getting deeper and deeper inside.
Nick responds like he’s been lit up, surging up and trying to catch Joe’s flickering tongue with his lips, suck Joe into his mouth. "Mnnn, Joe," Nick whispers, "c’mere," and presses Joe down into the mattress, dipping his tongue in and out of Joe’s mouth until they’re both worked up and groaning, hips held away awkwardly, rocking futilely into the air.
It’s delicious torture, but Joe finally has to pull away, press the side of his face into the cool pillow.
Nick prods at his chin, trying to turn Joe’s face back. “Joe,” he whines. “C’mon.”
“Can’t," Joe breathes out. "I gotta- give me a minute.”
Nick shakes his head, throws one leg over Joe’s hips, pulling him around. “Love you,” he whispers, pressing kisses into Joe’s throat. He can feel how hard Nick is, dick pressing stiff and insistent into the meat of Joe’s thigh.
Joe tugs him by his hair, pulling Nick’s tempting mouth away from his over-sensitive skin. “Eff,” he sighs. “So horny."
Nick groans and buries his face against Joe’s shoulder. He keeps his hips snugged up tight against Joe’s, making it impossible for Joe to think about anything other than how warm and thick Nick feels. Joe pets his hair as he tries to calm them both down.
It doesn’t really work, because Nick looks up at him, eyes dark and mouth swollen and wet and says, "You can," in a way that makes Joe grab at his own dick protectively, defensive against the thump of arousal that hits him hard in the gut.
"Nick," Joe breathes out, pained. Nick’s watching him, eyes glued to where Joe is holding himself.
"You can, Joe," Nick whispers again, licking his lips. "This is your home now, and if you need to, you know- I- I don’t mind."
Joe holds still, breathing hard and pictures it. Thinks about shoving his pants off, taking out his dick in front of Nick. Thinks about masturbating for Nick, wondering if Nick will do it, too. "Crap," Joe hisses, then curls up, and off the bed. "Gonna," he says vaguely, shuffling awkwardly to the bathroom.
It’s not any sense of modesty that drives Joe out of Nick’s bed, but rather the intensity of want that Joe feels, how much he wants Nick to not only not mind, but to actively want that from Joe. Confusing, fantastic images assault him as he starts to stroke himself off, of Nick watching him, of Nick touching him, of his come slicking up Nick’s soft, pale belly and chest and his fat little mouth, so soft and wet and hot Joe just knows it would feel so good on him.
He closes his eyes, trying to shut out the image of Nick's hips shoving down into the soft mattress, of Nick humping like he needs to get off so bad, like his whole body is instinctively ready to fuck, seeking out that friction, so responsive-
His orgasm builds too fast, overwhelming him as he pictures that, pictures Nick fucking, hips shifting and muscles tightening, thick little dick gone all flushed and fat, jabbing in and out, going all wet and eager. And he can’t stop wondering if Nick’s getting himself off, too, right now, fucking into his own fist or rubbing off on the bed and biting his knuckles and thinking about Joe blowing his load because he’s hard for his baby brother, if he’s doing that right now, just beyond the door, right now, right- oh now.
He washes up and stares at Nick’s door for too long before slipping back to his own room.
* * *
After that, the days seem to blur together in a haze of errands, one long to-do list broken up into 24-hour periods by the awkward nights they spend jerking off in separate beds.
They pick up gym equipment and Nick grumbles the whole time. He doesn’t see the point in lifting weights, thinks it’s vain, and why would he run on a treadmill when he could just run outside? He scowls when Joe asks him when the last time he ran outside was, but is mercifully quiet until everything is set up and ready to use.
Nick has to tie his hair back with a bandana to keep it out of his face while they work out. Joe would tease him endlessly about what a girl he is if it weren’t for how breathless he gets every time he looks at Nick’s face. With the hair out of the way, it’s all Joe can do not to stare at Nick's soft mouth, pink cheeks; little doll face set on a solid, boy-strong body.
Nick catches him gawking a few times. At first he’s uncertain, afraid he’s doing something wrong - like his form is a mess or something. But after the third time he busts Joe staring, slack-jawed and dazed, he smiles, pleased.
Joe tries to stay focused on his workout, but it’s impossible with Nick right there, skin slick with sweat and muscles straining.
"How do you-?" Joe starts, then bites his lip, shakes his head as if to shoo away the thought.
Nick looks up, frowning. "How do I what?"
It's ridiculous, really, for Joe to even notice, but- "How are you so jacked?" Joe blurts out, sheepish.
Nick just gapes at him, clearly surprised.
"I mean, you don’t do anything active, really. You’ve barely come outside at all in the past few months and all you eat are hamburgers and peanut butter sandwiches. How do you look like that?" He gestures lamely at Nick’s torso and shoulders.
Nick ducks his head and checks himself out, flattening his tight white v-neck down over his chest, thick fingers smoothing over the tiny lumps of his nipples. "I’m not-" Nick starts, then lifts the bottom of his t-shirt to pinch at his pale, smooth belly. "It’s not like I’ve got a six-pack," he says, pulling the shirt back down and blushing.
Joe shakes his head again, steps closer to Nick. He gets right up behind Nick, gets his hands on Nick’s shoulders. "Look at how you cut out then in here," he says, touching at the dips and curves of muscle on Nick’s arms. He’s looking over Nick’s shoulder in the mirror, watching how his hands shape over the cut of Nick’s body. "You’re shaped, like, so well," he says, sounding a little hoarse.
Nick looks dazed, eyes gone unfocused in the mirror. He’s breathing hard for just standing still, and Joe wants to press up closer to him, push against his perfect, round little ass, but he stays where he is, just touching Nick with his hands. He can see Nick’s nipples through his shirt and he wants to pinch them, twist them in his fingers just to see how Nick reacts.
He likes to imagine that Nick's really sensitive, his whole body a lightning rod for touch. Maybe that's why Nick hides his skin away all the time. Maybe it's safer to be covered up than to deal with being so responsive to even the lightest touch.
"You too," Nick says after awhile, and Joe’s confused for a moment, forgetting the thread of the conversation. "You're- you know. Shaped well, too." He's blushing, cheeks gone pink like he's shy, and maybe he is. He's always been a little weird about his body. "We look the same," Nick says, insisting. "We’re brothers."
There’s something about the way Nick says it, voice all low and throaty, and the way he looks, face flushed and sheeny with sweat, that sends a zing of arousal through Joe’s body.
"Yeah, we’re brothers," Joe whispers. "That doesn’t mean everything’s the same."
It comes out sounding ridiculously suggestive, and, like watching a train wreck, Joe can’t stop himself from glancing down the front of Nick's body to the soft lump in his shorts. The implication is obvious.
Nick chokes on a gasp, curling in on himself. He brings his arms up around his chest, tucks them into his armpits. Joe clears his throat, feeling like all kinds of perverse for the thoughts going through his head. "I could complain more, but I should probably just shut up and hit the weights, right?" He nudges Nick’s shoulder with his own, lightly, but Nick stumbles anyway.
Joe hooks up his iPhone to the speakers, but the tension between him and Nick is palpable even over the booming bass of the Black Eyed Peas.
It tinges the whole afternoon. While Joe does his ab work, Nick stands at the mirror, forgotten dumbbell in his hand, watching. Every time Joe sits up, his eyes dart to the soft lump in Nick’s gym shorts, trying to make out the shape of Nick’s cock, thinking about how it had felt boned up against his hip in Nick’s bed. He can’t stop wondering how it would look pressed up against his own, if their dicks really do look the same, how they'd feel, both hard and maybe a little wet, sliding together.
The underlying tension makes the workout extra intense, and by the time they’re done Joe is exhausted and fully, shamefully hard, dick pushing out the front of his shorts crudely. "It’s the endorphins," he says lamely, covering his crotch with a towel.
"It’s fine," Nick says, voice scratchy. "I mean, me too."
Joe looks up, surprised to see Nick’s meaty hand curled around the bulge in his own shorts. For a moment he wonders if it actually is the endorphins, but he knows, deep down inside, that there's something about Nick that makes him think these things, want worse things.
After that he mainly wonders how big of a sin it actually is to get off thinking about blowing your kid brother in the gym. Every day it feels more and more likely that Nick’s plan to save him from damnation is backfiring spectacularly.
Part Two
Title: Booty and the Best
Pairing: Joe/Nick, some Joe/Ashley and Nick/Samantha
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: This part is a little over 10,000 words, Part 2 is around 9,000 words, and Part 3 is around 8,000 words.
Notes and Warnings: Well, Gin had asked for a Beauty and the Beast AU, where Nick was a cursed princeling who had turned into a fierce beast and Joe was this pretty little thing who loved him. Somehow I ended up with this fic instead, which came out closer to canon than to the fairy-tale. I suppose I'll warn for incest (doh!) and buttsex (mmm), although I suspect that's what we're all here for. Also Joe in drag.
Disclaimer: None of this actually happened.
Booty and the Best
As he turns the car down the driveway, Joe's stomach goes flippy with butterflies. He lets the car idle as a camera adjusts its focus, rotating to get a better look at him. He leans his head out of the window and gives it a little wave. "Housekeeping!" he says cheerily. There's no answer, but soon enough he hears a short buzzing sound and the imposing-looking iron gates creak open.
When he gets to the door, he finds it ajar. He knocks anyway, pushing it open as he does. "Hello?" His voice echoes in the large, cold foyer. "Nick?"
It's quiet, seemingly deserted. Joe sighs, shuts the door behind him and slings off his leather jacket. "I know you're here," he yells out. "You buzzed me in, remember? Like five seconds ago?" He charitably doesn't mention the fact that Nick is always here, probably hasn't left this place in close to a year.
Another overhead camera, this one mounted in the corner of the entryway, whirrs to life and focuses on Joe. He turns and addresses it directly. "It's cool. Take your time. I'll just hang out here and, uh..." He looks around, spots something in the distance and his eyes light up. "I'll just tune your guitars, m'kay? Some of them look really old. I'm sure they could use-"
There's a loud crash from somewhere upstairs, a ruckus immediately followed by the quick patter of footsteps on the wood floors, light and fast. Joe grins to himself. Garbo, then.
"Joe!" Garbo exclaims, smiling and hugging and patting him on the back all at the same time. "S'good to see you, man."
"You too," Joe says. "Where've you been, dude? It's been too long." He pulls back and looks Garbo up and down, takes in his longer hair, his-"Whoa, you have a beard."
Garbo rubs at his chin and smiles, shrugging. "Yeah, I've been here, I guess. We've really got some great stuff. Nick's been really inspired, so we've just been cranking and-"
Joe cocks his head. "You’ve been locked up here with him this whole time?"
Garbo ducks his head, shrugging again. He's pale and thin, even more than usual. "You know how it is," Garbo says. "His focus is both a blessing and a curse."
Joe nods slowly. "And Paris? She's cool with you working all the time?"
Garbo flinches. "She's great," he answers, avoiding the question. "But hey, what's going on with you?"
Joe chews on his lip to keep himself from blurting out his news. The whole reason he drove all the way out here is because he wants to tell Nick before anyone else.
"Oh, you know. A little of this, little of that," Joe says. "So where's the warden?"
Garbo laughs softly. He looks a little guilty for it. "Guess," is all he says.
Two flights of stairs up, behind a set of thick wood double-doors and then another padded door is Nick's studio, otherwise known as his "beatlab." It's an amazing music room with all of the latest sound technology and every instrument known to man, and Nick runs the whole thing by himself. He writes all the songs, plays all the instruments, sings the lead and background vocals, records and mixes all the tracks and occasionally produces for other artists. If the studio is a lab, Nick is the lab's Dr. Frankenstein.
And there, standing amidst a wasteland of crumpled sheet music and Starbucks cups, is Nick.
He's pale and disheveled, baggy jeans sitting low on his slim waist and his hair is longer than it’s been in a while, shaggy enough to fall into his eyes. He's got these huge headphones on and he's scowling and shaking his head, like whatever he's listening to is failing him somehow.
Nick, when he's like this, is at once both so familiar and so foreign to Joe. Sure, Nick's always been a perfectionist, always loved writing music, always worked hard. But he used to write cheery, upbeat rock songs that they'd all sing together, jumping around and rocking out like they had the world at their feet. He used to hum happy melodies without even realizing it - just wander around with a smile on his face and bump into Joe and sing softly to him whenever the inspiration hit him. He used to want Joe around all the time, used to laugh like a kid when Joe did something dumb, forgot the words to a song, tripped over his feet. Now Nick only plays the blues, endless serious, soulful songs about heartbreak and loss. Now, everything in the world disappoints Nick, even himself. And especially Joe.
Not that Nick’s ever said anything explicitly to that effect, but Joe feels it down to his bones when Nick frowns at him instead of laughing. The memory of Nick’s crooked little smile is making Joe’s stomach sink, knowing he’s not likely to see it today. He misses it. He misses Nick and the way things used to be.
"Lemme just," Garbo begins, starting towards the door of the studio.
"Nah, dude," Joe says quietly. "I’ll surprise him."
Garbo looks dubious for a moment, but then smiles and nods, like he’s reassuring himself. "Yeah, of course. He’ll be so happy to see you," he says. "We all are. It’s just. It’s good to have you here."
Joe shoots Garbo a genuine smile, although he has his own doubts swirling around in his gut. He presses his mouth up against the glass window of the soundproof room and blows, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes. He doesn't make a sound, or any sudden movements or anything, but Nick has always had a bizarrely acute awareness of Joe, so it's not surprising when Nick looks up just then, right in time to notice Joe being silly. His scowl melts a little and his lips quirk and twitch like they want to smile but have forgotten how. Instead he gestures at the door with impatience, like it hasn't been over a month since he's seen Joe.
"What's up, bro?" Joe forces himself to be nonchalant, despite the fact that his heart is pounding all of a sudden. He gives Nick the manliest hug he can muster, even though all he really wants to do is lift Nick off the ground and spin him around, then maybe tickle him and cuddle him until Nick lets it all out and tells Joe everything.
Specifically, Joe wants to know exactly who broke his heart, and when. For seventeen years Nick told Joe everything, shared his every doubt, joy and fear. And then somehow, last year, when it seemed like they'd never been closer, Nick just clammed up. He shut down, pushed Joe away, and now Joe's actually a little afraid to talk to Nick at all, let alone tell him something this important.
For a brief moment, Nick clings to him. His face is burrowed into Joe's neck, mouth warm and ticklish on Joe's skin like he's breathing Joe in. But it's gone in a flash, Nick going all awkward as he shoves Joe off. "Working." Nick says it like Joe's being silly for even imagining that anything else worth doing even exists.
They catch up for a few minutes, making small talk about music and family until Nick starts to relax. For someone who does nothing but exactly whatever he wants at all times, Nick is really high-strung. He seems older than his eighteen years, like he's got some overwhelming weight on his shoulders, like he needs to punish himself for something. Seeing Nick like this makes Joe wonder if the Nick he used to know is still buried somewhere deep inside this grouchy, stubborn workaholic.
"I miss you," Joe says suddenly. And, crap. He’d forgotten how hard it is not to say things like that to Nick. He’s out of practice, is all.
Nick stares at him, cheeks going pink, and then, wonder of wonders, he smiles, small and secret. Joe smiles back helplessly. His fingers itch to reach out and cuff Nick by the neck, pull him in for a snuggle. He curls his hands into fists instead.
Nick says, "Yeah?” He looks hopeful. “You could stay for-"
Joe blurts out, "I'm getting married."
Nick's mouth hangs open, mid-sentence. Joe's gut churns, waiting. He imagines what any other brother in the world would say in this situation. He imagines big hugs and high-fives and you sly dogs and shoulders knocking together.
Predictably, that's not exactly how it goes. Instead, Nick's whole face, his whole being just shutters closed as the words sink in. He stiffens up, lips pressing into a hard line and he takes two steps back. "What?" he asks, voice low.
"Merry Christmas! You're getting a sister!" Joe gives him a cheery smile. Maybe he can just trick Nick into being happy for him.
"No," Nick says. “No you’re not.” He says it like he can just forbid Joe from getting married.
Joe laughs, although that giddy, hopeful feeling inside is sinking rapidly. “Well, right,” he says. “I’d be getting a wife.”
Nick just watches him, eyes narrowed. His whole body is coiled up tight like a spring.
“Nick,” Joe says softly. “I’m gonna get married.”
Nick shakes his head, curls bouncing as he does. His lips are pressed together in a tight angry line.
"Yes-huh," Joe says. If Nick's going to be a baby about it, then he'll be a bigger baby.
"No. No for so many reasons."
"Funny, because I didn't actually ask you for-"
"First of all," Nick says, ignoring him. "You're too young."
"I'm older than Dad was when he proposed to Mom," Joe reasons, although he knows it's mostly pointless to argue with Nick.
"Oh," Nick says, snippily. "Did you ask her to travel around the country in a van spreading God's word with you, too?"
Joe bites his lip and looks away. It feels like something is crumbling inside of him, like he’s been held upright by a giant balloon that’s slowly deflating.
"I can't believe I thought you would just be happy for me."
Nick barks out an ugly laugh. "I can't believe you just compared your," he waves his hand in the air dismissively, "relationship to Mom and Dad's."
Joe sighs and wipes a hand over his face. He slumps down into a chair. He knew this wouldn't be easy, but he loves Nick. He needs Nick to be on his side in this. It's scary enough to be shifting into adulthood so quickly. He doesn't want to do it alone.
"What have you got against her? It's like you totally hate her for-"
"I don't hate anyone, Joseph," Nick admonishes.
"Maybe if you just got to know her," Joe tries. "Maybe if you came over or came out with us every now and then. Ever since we got back from tour you've been holed up here-"
"And you've been making out in nightclubs and living in sin," Nick says archly. "What was I supposed to do? Come along for sleepovers?"
The thought makes Joe's brain stutter for a second, like a record skipping. "W-what?" he says, dumbfounded. "It's not like I was- I didn't choose her over you, Nick."
Nick turns his back on Joe, but Joe can see how his ears have gone red. He can hear the emotion in Nick's voice when he says, "She's not right for you, Joe. She's not-"
"She's perfect," Joe says mulishly.
"She's easy," Nick hisses, and Joe is stunned at the venom he hears in his brother's voice.
He clenches his jaw and looks away, tries to swallow back the urge he has to punch Nick for what he's implying. "She's beautiful and sweet and she loves me." He sees Nick's shoulders tense up, knows he's saying all the wrong things but he can't listen to Nick say anything bad about Ashley.
"Of course she loves you," Nick says, voice trembling with anger. "That doesn't mean-"
"Nick, I'm marrying her. I'm not asking for your permission. I'm not even asking for your feedback." Joe says firmly.
"So why are you even here?" Nick demands, voice cracking. "If you don't care what I think?"
Joe’s mouth falls open, indignant. Too many words try to jumble out at once, about how Joe cares more about what Nick thinks than anyone, ever, always, but he bites them back, works to steady himself. "I came here," Joe says slowly, "to ask you to be the best man at my wedding. I came here to ask you to stand up at the altar with me, in front of God and everyone else we care about and be there for me."
Nick’s face twists into an ugly smirk. “Better go ask Kevin instead,” he says.
Joe rolls his eyes. “Nick,” he says, like c’mon man, don’t be dumb. “I want you. You know it’s gotta be you.”
There’s something raw and unexpected that hangs in the air between them, something that makes Joe panic like he’s just accidentally confessed something he’s not supposed to say out loud, but there you have it.
Nick looks up at him, suddenly intense. "You're unsure," he accuses, poking his finger at Joe's chest. His eyes are squinty and barely visible under his mess of hair. "Right? That's what you want from me," Nick says. "To reassure you that you're doing the right thing. Why else would you need me to be there for you if you're not doubting your path?"
"Because you're my brother and my best friend and I love you more than-" Joe's voice breaks and he stops abruptly, because there’s no right way to finish that thought. He loves Nick more than so many things, so many people, so much more than he should.
"Look. You decided you wanted to live up here by yourself. Be a hermit. Record depressing love songs that nobody will ever hear. Have no friends and dress like an idiot and grow your hair out like a sheepdog. And I didn't understand that, wouldn't have chosen that path for myself, but I was happy because you were happy."
Joe has to admit that Nick doesn't look particularly happy in this moment, but he barrels ahead. "Or, fine! Maybe you aren't happy, but you won't tell me anything except that this is what you want. So now it's your turn to do the same for me. To do what I want for a change."
Nick clenches his jaw and looks down, but he doesn't argue. He doesn't say no. "What do you want, Joe?"
"What I want is for you to yell and scream and throw all the tantrums you need, and then get over it. I want you to say 'Yes, Joe, I'd be honored to be your best man.' And then I want you to cut your ridiculous hair, get fitted for a new tux, and show up on time to my wedding, Nicholas."
Nick's quiet for a long moment. Finally he says, "Let me think about it."
It's so ridiculous that Joe has to laugh. But whatever, it's the best Joe is going to get tonight. "Fine," he says and stands up, grabs his keys.
"Wait," Nick says, a tinge of desperation in his voice. "It's getting late. And I-I wanted to play you this one track we just laid down. And we're going to order takeout from that vegan place down on McCarren."
He looks at Joe expectantly and Joe shakes his head. He takes a quiet moment to pout about the fact that he's practically begging Nick to support him on something that should be obvious, and yet Nick can get him to change all of his plans at a moment's notice without even asking.
"Fine," Joe says, tossing his keys back on the desk. "I'll stay."
* * *
They don’t talk about Ashley or the wedding for the rest of the evening, and Nick eventually unwinds, loosens up enough to smile a few times when Joe’s eyes start to slip shut. Joe ends up falling asleep on the wide comfy couch in the studio with Nick strumming his favorite vintage Martin and humming softly, nonsense lyrics whispered into the otherwise quiet room.
Some amount of time later he becomes aware of the cushions shifting and Nick squeezing in behind him. "'m payin' attention," he slurs. Nick pets at his hair and nuzzles close, soothing Joe with soft shushing noises.
He grunts as Nick jostles him, wiggles his arm underneath Joe’s ribs so he can wrap around Joe like a koala. “Sorry,” Nick whispers. “Go back to sleep.”
“You’re so amazing,” Joe mumbles, like he’s picking up a conversation that started in his dream. His head is muzzy, and he’s sure he’s not making sense, but whatever. Nick is amazing.
“You are,” Nick murmurs back, cuddling in close.
In the back of his mind he knows he needs to get up, drive back to the apartment or at the very least give Ashley a call and let her know he's staying over, but he's feeling so drowsy-wonderful and the couch is a cocoon of brown corduroy and Nick is wrapped all around him, snuggling like they used to do and it's all like a dream that's too good to wake up from.
"I gotta go home," he breathes out, reluctant, hating the thought.
He feels Nick shake his head, nose brushing against the nape of Joe’s neck. "But baby you'll freeze out there," Nick croons quietly.
Joe grins despite himself. He keeps his eyes closed and says, "I'd say lend me your comb, but you clearly don't own one, you dirty little hippie. How long has it been since you cut your hair?"
Nick chuckles and slips his arm around Joe's waist, pulls him in tighter. "It's up to your knees out there," he sings again, voice light and sweet.
"It’s eighty-four degrees and dry as space out there," Joe says, lips sticking to his teeth.
He feels Nick laughing, little hitches of his warm belly tickling against Joe’s back. "C’mon," Nick pleads, sounding silly and young. "Play with me."
It's pathetic and probably more than a little weird, but Joe just falls for it like a rock. He turns around, cuddles into Nick even more. They lay there, face to face, just watching each other. It's a comfortable silence, the tick-tocking of the wall clock the only sound. But Nick's smiling, and Joe misses him so much, misses the way they used to be on tour, or even at home. Before the whole thing with Ashley even started. Before Nick broke away and ran off to this place to win at sulking.
"You really neeeeed a Christmas tree," Joe sings quietly, carrying the tune and taking in the way Nick's eyes sparkle in the darkness. He knocks his nose against Nick's playfully.
There’s a quiet sigh, a secret smile, and then Nick's hand is touching his face, the skin of his cheek, his jaw. Joe's body startles awake, instantly on high-alert. They've touched like this before, cuddled and snuggled and even traded a few kisses when they've been particularly tired or silly or lonely, but it's always made Joe go over-hot and skittish in a way that makes him feel guilty after. And it hasn’t happened in a long time, long enough that Joe hadn’t thought it was still a possibility that it might happen again. But Nick's thick, boyish fingers push into his hair with intent, pulling their faces closer until their foreheads touch, warm breath puffing against each other's mouths.
"How can you do this thing to me," Nick sighs, barely mouthing the words and then he's leaning just that tiny bit further and pressing his mouth to Joe's.
“Nick,” Joe breathes. It’s not a protest, not exactly, just a meaningless way of buying time. He just needs to think, and he can’t, not when Nick is so close. Not when Nick’s mouth is-
“Just a little,” Nick whispers, and kisses him again.
Nick's kiss is soft and warm, almost childish in its innocence, but it makes Joe buzz inside so much he has to chase it with another. He clutches at Nick's back, feels where Nick's t-shirt has ridden up, gets his hands on Nick's skin; so soft, his sweet baby brother. Joe’s fingertips feel like they’re zinging with energy as he drags them up and down Nick’s spine, digs in a little, right at the dip on Nick’s lower back. Nick makes a little choking noise, a sort of half-groan and then he's kissing Joe again, or kissing Joe back, all lippy and wet and needy.
It feels wonderful and terrible all at once. There’s a hazy sense of familiarity, of comfort, but it’s struck through with terrifying sizzle of something Joe can feel in the pit of his stomach. More than anything it’s good - really good. Nick nips at him, puppyish little bites and sucks that make Joe reel inside with how much he wants from his brother. He pulls away when he starts to get hard, dick thickening up against Nick’s hip.
"Shhh, c'mere," Nick says, pulling him back in and kissing him slowly, like he knows how to control it so nothing crazy happens, but he doesn’t know, can’t know that. He pets at Joe's hair, kisses his cheeks and eyelids and whispers sweet, tempting things into Joe's ears. He kisses Joe gently, soft lips pressing into his skin again and again and again until Joe groans and clutches at Nick’s neck, holding him close and away at the same time.
Nick’s restless, squirming against him, but Joe holds him still until Nick eventually settles, warm and flushed and sleepy. They nuzzle and mouth at each other gently until Joe gets drowsy again, the heat of Nick's body lulling him back into a doze.
* * *
In the morning Joe wakes up to find Nick sitting on a stool, watching him intently.
"Morning, creepy," he says, voice still rough with sleep.
Nick doesn't smile. He's fidgeting with something in his hands. Joe realizes it's his own iPhone just as Nick says, "I have a proposition for you."
"Is that mine?" Joe starts, reaching out to grab it. He needs to check his messages and send Ashley a text at the very least.
Nick holds the phone away from him. "I'll come to your- your event," he says, unable to even speak the word wedding, "on one condition."
Joe groans and rolls over onto his back. "Nick, will you please, please give me my phone and stop being such a freak."
Nick is quiet. He just sits there, watching Joe seriously.
Joe sighs. "Zero for two. What's the condition?"
"Move in with me. Here."
Joe turns to gape at his brother. "Are you serious?"
Nick remains stoic.
"Of course you're serious. You’re the cute serious one.” He expects a chuckle out of Nick at that, but Nick just keeps watching him, waiting for an answer. "C’mon, Nick. I just finally got settled in-"
"- to your den of sin?" Nick asks pointedly.
Joe laughs out loud, surprised. "Right, right. Den of sin."
"It's not funny," Nick insists. He looks indignant, but also hurt, and that surprises Joe, makes him pause.
"I'm- I don't mean to laugh," Joe says, feeling guilty. "I just don't know what to say to you. Clearly we make different choices, and-"
"It's fine to be human, to suffer moments of weakness. We all do. I don't expect you to be above that, Joseph. But I do expect you to seek forgiveness. I do expect you to try to be better. To want to be better. You can't just roll around in it like a pig in the mud."
Joe folds his hands over his chest. "So that's what you're after? Getting me to move in so I can save myself from damnation?"
Nick looks down, flips Joe's phone over in his hands a few times. "Among other things," he mutters. "That's the condition. That's the deal. Take it or leave it."
Joe sits up and sighs, rests his elbows on his knees and drops his head down, thinking. "Can I think it over?"
"Sure," Nick says, checking his watch. "I'll give you 15 minutes."
"Can I have my phone?"
"Not until you decide."
Joe groans and looks away. It's times like these that he wishes they were the kind of brothers that punched each other occasionally.
"If I move in, are you going to be a jerk whenever Ashley comes over?"
Nick narrows his eyes and leans forward. "She's not invited. You can talk to her on the phone."
Joe holds out his hand, gesturing for his phone. Nick just shakes his head and says, "Decide."
"Can I go visit her?"
"No," Nick answers, fast as a gunshot. "You need to avoid temptation."
Joe shakes his head, looks away. "Like you know from temptation," he mutters.
Nick hears him anyway. He’s solemn when he says, "We all suffer temptation."
Joe tips his head back, ponders the ceiling. "So, okay. I just want to make sure I'm hearing this right. You're saying I can't see my fiancée at all until the wedding? How is that fair to her?”
Nick shrugs. “If she loves you she’ll understand.”
“And how is it fair to me?” Joe laughs humorlessly. "Aside from wanting to spend time with the woman I love, a guy has needs. I hope you're well-stocked."
Nick frowns at him, confused, so Joe moves his wrist in the universal sign for jerking off.
Nick snorts derisively. "Are you that addicted, Joe?"
Joe rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that, Saint Nick. Even you do it. Don't forget I've heard you at night, right next to me in the hotel, right below me in the bunks on the bus. Oooh, mmmyeah, unnh-" he moans, mimicking the expressions and noises Nick makes when he gets himself off.
"Yeah, okay. Yes. I've got some… materials," Nick says quietly, cheeks flushed pink.
"Materials?" Joe laughs. "I hope that means porn, because if you expect me to go without for five months, I'm gonna need more than Kleenex and Keri lotion."
Nick pales for a moment, ruddy cheeks going white all of a sudden. "You've already set the date?"
Joe barks out a laugh. He wonders if Nick thought it was sooner or further away. "This is crazy," Joe says, mostly to himself.
"It's important," Nick says, like he's willing Joe to understand. "Getting married is forever. You'll marry her, and I'll- we'll never have this time again. We don't have time to waste-" He breaks off for a second, swallowing thickly. "Tell me that you'll stay."
Joe looks up at his brother. He can’t really do this. He can’t really choose between Nick and Ashley. He doesn’t understand why he would ever have to.
That said, Ashley has always been really understanding about all of the weird things that come along with Joe’s life. She’s definitely more likely to be flexible in this situation than Nick is. Joe knows he can probably smooth things over with Ashley a lot quicker than he can fix whatever has gone wrong between him and Nick, and anyways, Nick is his brother.
"Stand up," Joe says. Nick just looks at him, puzzled. "C'mon. Up." Nick stands. "Turn around," Joe orders. Nick does, looking nonplussed. "Again." He peers at Nick and then sits back and rubs his temples.
"I have some conditions of my own," Joe says, finally.
"Okay," Nick breathes out, sounding hopeful.
"You're gonna cut that hair," Joe says. Nick nods, curls bouncing all around. "And you're going to eat whatever I cook for you, even vegetables."
"Yes," Nick says quickly.
"And we're going shopping, to get you some new clothes, and you’re not going to fuss over how expensive they are, even if they’re really, really, really expensive. You’re going to go out with me to do fun things. Not bowling or movies. We're not just staying locked up in here all the time."
"Yes, yes, yes."
"And I can call her whenever I want?"
Nick’s jaw clenches at that, but he nods.
"We're getting some gym equipment and you’re going to lift with me."
"Okay. Yes."
"And you're going to bring a date to the wedding," Joe throws in. "Not Maya."
Nick flinches.
Joe laughs. "That’s the condition you have a problem with?"
Nick scowls. "Why not Maya?"
"Because Maya doesn't take your breath away. Because Maya doesn't make your heart beat faster or your pulse race-"
"Those are technically the same things," Nick points out.
"You need romance, Nick," Joe argues. "You need to be with someone who makes you crazy with how much you want them; someone who makes you want things you never wanted before."
Nick shakes his head and huffs out a breath, frustrated. "I don’t want to feel those things." He looks at Joe, baleful and pathetic. "Those kinds of feelings aren’t-" he fumbles for the word, scrunching up his face. "-productive."
"Not productive?" Joe laughs. "Those kinds of feelings have inspired all of the world's greatest art and music-"
"And started wars," Nick says, pointing a finger triumphantly. "And technically the downfall of man."
Joe shakes his head. "You’re seriously losing it up here all alone, aren’t you?"
"Me? You're the one who sounds like a- like someone who writes for Hallmark cards." Joe tries not to smile at the lame comeback. Nick already knows it was lame. He's sulking and Joe calling him out on it is just going to make him angry, so Joe lets it slide. "And anyway I haven't been alone. Garbo and Big Rob are here, and Phil comes by all the time-"
"Those guys are great," Joe argues back, getting frustrated. "But they work for you, Nick. They come because you tell them to."
"They're my friends," Nick insists, his petulance reminding Joe how young he really is.
"Of course they are," Joe relents. "But, c'mon. You're Nick Jonas. You're eighteen and a rock star. You should be out in the world, with, like, girls. You don't have to go and do anything sinful, okay? It's just not good for you to just stay locked up here with only your right hand and your materials to keep you company."
"I- I don't-" Nick stammers.
Joe raises his eyebrows, surprised. "No? You use your left hand? Huh. Every time I try it that way I just can't-"
"No! I don't-" Nick starts, annoyed, then colors and cuts himself off. He juts out his chin and says, "Some of us have other things on our minds than-"
"Yeah, yeah," Joe cuts him off. "Save it, okay? You just need to find someone of your own. Someone who will bring you out of this funk you've been in ever since-" he trails off, thinking. Joe's not really sure when it started, but it must have been some time when he wasn't paying attention, too caught up in his own whirlwind romance. "-whenever. You just need someone to remind you how great love is."
"Love sucks," Nick says decisively. "Slow-dancing with some girl is not going to change my mind on that."
Joe sighs. "Well maybe not, but those are my conditions. That's the deal. Take it or leave it,"
And that's how it starts.
* * *
Joe stares at the boxes and papers around him, worn-down after the adrenaline-rush of his argument with Nick, and the subsequent phone call with Ashley. His head is ringing with this weird combination of excitement and exhaustion, and now he just wants to lie down and take a nap.
It hadn’t been surprising that Nick’s place had an extra bedroom, but it had surprised Joe that it didn’t come with a bed. Or any available floor space, not that Joe would have slept on the floor in any case.
"Uh, yeah," Nick says sheepishly. "I’ve been kind of using it as a mud room, I guess."
Every inch of floor is covered with stacks of records, music composition notebooks and packets of guitar strings. There are four piles of clothing where a bed might have worked out quite nicely, unclear as to whether they are clean or dirty.
"Where am I gonna sleep?"
Nick ducks his head, scratches at the back of his neck. "Hmm," he says, as if this is a problem he hadn’t counted on. "We’ll get you a bed. And, uh. I’ll clean this stuff up."
Joe sighs. "How about I give you a couple of days to get this all sorted-?"
"No!" Nick says, losing his cool for the quickest of moments. "No. You’re not leaving. We’ll take care of it today. Right now."
"But I don’t even have any-"
"There’s a- I think there’s, like, a Macy’s or something nearby," Nick says in a rush. "We’ll get you a bed and some clothes-"
Joe gapes at him, mock-incredulous. "A Macy’s? What are you, Rain Man?" He gives Nick’s baggy striped rugby shirt and horrendously ill-fitting jeans an exaggerated once-over. "Oh this explains so much."
"Rain Man shopped at K-Mart," Nick snaps back.
"For underwear," Joe says. "Not for anything he wore on the outside."
Nick tries to hold his glare but it ends up cracking after a few seconds, breaking into a reluctant grin. "Look, Macy’s is very sensible," he says, barely holding a straight face.
Joe opens up and laughs loudly, pleased at how much fun it is to get any kind of rise out of Nick. "Sure," he says, chuckling. "It’s so handy when you need to pick up a new pair of moccasins and a spare tire all in one trip!"
Nick grins and shoves at his brother. "They don’t sell tires at Macy’s. You’re thinking of Sears, dude." Joe looks aghast as Nick tugs him out of the mud room and towards the garage. Nick snorts. "Don’t worry, I’m sure you’re not thinking about Sears on purpose."
* * *
Begrudgingly, Joe admits that Macy’s, although certainly nowhere near the apex of men’s fashion, is actually quite adequate when it comes to mattresses and bedding.
They pick out a nice big bed frame and some Martha Stewart bedding and fill out paperwork at the cashier to have it all delivered to Nick’s that afternoon.
"Euro pillows and shams are absolutely necessary," Joe finds himself saying as Nick fills out the delivery forms.
"Yup," Nick nods, smiling down at the paperwork. "In case there’s a pea somewhere underneath the boxspring, mattress, pillowtop, and first four goose-down pillows."
Joe snorts and slides up behind Nick, wrapping his arms around Nick’s chest and squeezing. The gum-chewing cashier doesn’t even look up, even when Nick starts to gasp for breath.
"Joe, s-stop," Nick says on a giggle, batting at Joe’s arms feebly.
Joe relaxes his hold enough that Nick can fish out his wallet and hand over his credit card, and then he says, "Are you sure you don’t want me to get this?"
Nick shakes his head, curls brushing against Joe’s nose. "No, I like- I mean. It’s fine. I needed to fix up that room eventually anyway." He chuckles a little as he says, "I maybe wouldn’t have gotten as many pillows, but-" He twists his head a little to grin at Joe, and Joe is fascinated at how much better Nick looks already, cheeks pink and eyes twinkling. "I want you to feel at home, y’know?" He looks away, shy. "Mi casa es su casa, or whatever."
Joe beams at him, presses a quick kiss to Nick’s ear. "Well then the pillows were a necessity. Not all of us have this conveniently fluffy hair-cushion to rest our sleepy heads on." He tugs on one of Nick’s curls, forcing a fond grunt out of Nick.
In retrospect, Joe should have just stayed quiet, enjoyed that one moment where he was so happy to be with Nick, and Nick was so happy to be with him. Instead, for no apparent reason, Joe says, "Man, you should’ve seen Ash’s bed before I-"
Nick stiffens up immediately, as if Joe had pushed a button or something. He trails on, confused. "-pillows everywhere. When she told me she had a bolster on her bed I thought it was some sort of-"
"Get off," Nick hisses suddenly, elbowing at Joe angrily. This time the cashier does look up, frowning at them both.
"Whoa, whoa," Joe says, backing up, hands raised in surrender.
"You’re such a child sometimes," Nick bites out, pressing the pen down into the forms so hard Joe’s certain he’s carving his signature on the counter underneath.
Joe stands there for a second, eyes wide. Just moments ago Nick had been laughing in his arms. "What just happened here?"
"Nothing," Nick says, not meeting his eyes. "We’re done here. Let’s go."
It takes Joe a moment before he follows Nick out of the store, confused and upset.
* * *
"Hey," Nick says, after knocking softly on the bedroom door. "Hungry?"
He looks a little sheepish, a little tentative. Joe gestures with his elbow, showing Nick the phone in his hand.
"Oh," Nick says, face clouding over. "I’ll- uh. I’ll come back."
He comes back a few minutes later. He doesn’t knock this time.
"Hey," he says again. "Dinner?"
Joe nods, shrugging apologetically and then turning back to pace the room, phone cradled on his shoulder. He wants to sit with Nick, make sure everything's okay between them, but Ashley’s not really as understanding as Joe had thought she might be, so he needs to focus on her for a little while, even if only via phone.
"Hey," Nick says again, more loudly this time.
Joe turns around and shakes his head clearly at him. Not now.
Nick frowns and plops down in a chair, waiting.
Another few minutes pass and Nick is fidgeting, getting restless. "Joe?" he says. "Hey, Joe?"
"What do you want?" Joe huffs out.
"I want you to come to dinner," Nick says, clearly annoyed. "Like I told you two hours ago."
"That was ten minutes ago." Joe waves him away, distracted. "On the phone," he says in a whisper, covering the base of his phone. "Not now." He looks pointedly at the door, trying to shoo Nick away with a glance.
Nick doesn’t budge. "When, then?"
Joe rolls his eyes and moves his hand. "Hey, baby? Babe- baby? Hey, hang on for a sec, okay?" He turns to Nick, who is now standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking furious. "You have got to chill out," he says to Nick. "I’ll come down when I’m off the phone."
"I’m hungry," Nick says, cheeks gone splotchy-red and mouth set in a firm line. "And I wanted- I mean, I’ve been waiting and waiting-"
"So don’t wait then," Joe hisses, exasperated. "Eat. I’ll eat when I’m ready."
"No," Nick says immediately. "We’re eating together. Like a- like a family." He straightens up, juts his chin out and says, "If you want me to hold up my end of the deal, you’ll come to dinner right now."
"Nick," Joe whines, and then, "Yeah, hang on, hon, one more sec," into the phone.
"What time do you want to eat, Joseph?" Nick asks loudly.
Joe groans. "Sheesh, Nick! Do I need a freaking reservation? It’s just dinner, right? There aren’t going to be any flame-throwers or sword-swallowers that I’m not expecting, right? I’ll come downstairs when I’m done. And if that doesn’t work for you then you can just eat without me."
"Fine!" Nick yells, reaching full-throttle tantrum levels like Joe hasn’t seen since Nick was first diagnosed with his diabetes. "Don’t do me any favors. You can just STARVE for all I care!"
He finally storms out of the room, nearly mowing down Garbo in his haste as he crosses the threshold.
"Uh, Nick," Garbo says quietly, so as not to provoke any further ire. "I know you had a special dinner planned," he says, and that catches Joe’s attention. As much as Joe tries to focus on whatever Ashley is going on and on about, he feels a lump in his throat start to form. He didn’t realize Nick had planned anything.
"Never mind that," Nick grouses. "He doesn’t want it."
It’s clear Garbo has developed significant expertise in handling Nick when he’s like this; he's become expert at reading Nick’s signals. "I’m just saying, maybe, maybe yelling and screaming isn’t the best way to make Joe feel, uh, at home here."
A guilty expression flashes across Nick’s face for the tiniest moment, and Joe startles at the intensity of his protectiveness. He almost feels like apologizing to Nick for making him angry.
"He’s not a prisoner after all," Garbo says, sounding strangely nervous, but pulling off a tentative smile. "He’s our guest!"
Nick shoves his hands in his pockets and ducks his head, considering. He’s chewing on his lip, and Joe wants to give him a hug, tell him to stop beating himself up. He doesn’t understand why Nick is making such a big fuss over every little thing being perfect. But then again, that’s just Nick.
Just then, Ashley trills in his ear, and he has to say, "Yeah, I’m here, sweetheart."
And just like earlier in the department store, Nick is brimming with rage, zero-to-sixty in no time. "Screw that," Nick says, shoving Garbo aside and stomping off towards the studio. "Tell him he’s having dinner with me tomorrow at eight o’clock sharp." He looks over his shoulder to glare at Joe, "That is not a request," he grits out, loud enough to make sure Joe and probably Ashley hear.
"Uh, okay," Garbo says, "I’ll tell him. And I’ll just bring him some of the-"
"No," Nick growls. "Don’t bring him anything. He eats with me or not at all."
Joe is left gaping at Garbo when Nick huffs away. He’s not even holding the phone to his ear anymore, but Ashley doesn’t seem to have noticed. "When did he get like this?" Joe whispers.
Garbo shifts uncomfortably for a second. "He just really misses you, Joe. And he’s really- sensitive, you know."
Joe knows. But it doesn’t change the fact that Nick, while holed up in his little fantasy world where everyone does what he says and there are clearly not enough pillows, has apparently turned into a first class brat. It’s no wonder he doesn’t have any friends. Or that he doesn’t date for that matter. What girl would be able to withstand his ridiculous mood swings?
And as Ashley trills on about how his brother is turning into a sociopath, Joe decides he’s going to find out what’s wrong with Nick, and fix him right up.
* * *
That first night Joe can’t sleep. Even with all of the extra pillows, brand new bed and passably stylish duvet set, his room feels foreign in a way that hotel rooms and tour buses never did. Sure, Nick's near enough, right down the hall, but there's a distance between them tonight that feels much wider than the physical space.
After a few hours of blinking up at the ceiling, he decides to get up and make himself a snack. He sees a light coming from the kitchen, and smells something… wonderfully familiar.
"Hey," he says, "mind if I join you guys?"
Rob and Garbo look up, surprised. "Joey-Joe," Rob says. "Sup."
"Of course," Garbo says enthusiastically, stumbling to his feet. "Of course dude, c'mon. You must be starving. Let us get you a plate-"
"Whoa whoa," Rob says, putting a heavy hand on Garbo's shoulder and pushing him back into his seat. "Boss man said they eat together."
Garbo shrugs out of Big Rob's grip and laughs at him, delighted. "What? That's crazy. Look how much food there is. We can't let him go hungry. Not when there's so much-"
"Shrimp and cheese spaghetti," Joe groans, smelling the still warm leftovers that are sitting on the counter. There are trays and trays of it, casserole dishes piled up on the table.
"Shrimp and cheese spaghetti," Garbo agrees, pleased.
It was his favorite meal growing up in New Jersey, a weird combination of shrimp, stewed tomatoes and peppers and spaghetti, all baked with a crusty layer of parmesan cheese on top, like a casserole. One of the ladies at their church used to make it for potlucks, but ever since they’d moved away, the dish had just become an elusive memory in Joe’s mind, assigned to fleeting thoughts of happiness. He’s tried to re-create the meal a thousand times with all the best and then all the crappiest ingredients, but he’s never succeeded in getting it just right. It always comes out too liquidy, or the shrimp isn’t fresh enough, or isn’t big enough, or the cheese burns instead of crusts, and he can’t imagine how in the world Nick, who hates to cook, managed to track down the recipe.
But he has. Or at least he's put Garbo and Big Rob up to it. From the looks of the kitchen someone has been cooking all day.
"Sit, sit, sit," Garbo says, pushing Joe into a chair. "Allow me to introduce…" he pauses dramatically, then slides a covered tray in front of Joe with a flourish. "Your dinner."
Joe looks uncertain, but then Big Rob says, "Yeah man. Be our guest."
Joe lifts the tray cover. There’s a nice deep bowl of shrimp and cheese spaghetti, golden crust of cheese still powdery and crisp, with a note tucked under it.
I’m sorry, it reads in Nick’s messy scrawl. I just wanted to do something nice for you.
"Nick?" he says wonderingly.
"Nick," Big Rob affirms. "Boy's been cooking this stuff for weeks. Had to get it just right."
"Weeks?" Garbo scoffs. "More like months. I never thought we'd eat anything else ever again."
Joe chews slowly, savoring each bite. Garbo and Rob chatter as they straighten up the kitchen, but Joe stays quiet, marveling at the fact that not only did Nick make his favorite meal, but he'd been practicing for a long time, to get it just right. It's so Nick that it makes Joe's chest tighten, makes him smile around his mouthful of food.
He crawls in to Nick’s bed twenty minutes later with both his heart and his stomach comfortably full. Nick’s awake; he rolls over and snuggles into Joe, grasping at Joe’s t-shirt like a little kid afraid of losing his parent in a crowd. "Was it good?" he asks, voice sounding so small compared to the size of his temper earlier.
"Mmm," Joe hums. "Awesome surprise. Thanks, Nick J."
"Your-" Nick starts, hesitant. "I mean, she probably makes it-"
"Nope," Joe cuts him off. He knows how much Nick hates even talking about her, and he’s really not in the mood for another fight. He appreciates the effort though, knows this is Nick’s way of apologizing for being such a hothead earlier. "Not even once."
Nick breathes out, relieved. "She probably just doesn’t know."
"Mmm, probably not," Joe agrees. He doesn’t really feel like talking about Ashley now anyway. He strokes Nick’s curls back from his face and kisses him on the forehead, wanting more (always wanting more) but unsure what kind of mood Nick’s in.
Nick tilts his face up, offering his mouth to Joe, and that settles that. Joe dips his head down; tastes Nick’s mouth again and again, the perfect dessert after his favorite meal. Even better are the soft wet noises Nick makes when they kiss, like he’s helpless to the feeling.
Later Joe will muse about how loose Nick goes when they kiss, and he’ll liken it to the church kids he used to babysit back in Jersey, back before everything happened. They’d always be crazy-hyper, running around and yelling and making a mess of everything, but as soon as Joe had opened a book and started to read aloud, it was like they became hypnotized, dropping whatever they were doing and cuddling in against Joe’s sides, peering at the book like it held all the secrets of the universe.
That’s exactly how Nick is when they kiss - all of the steam just whooshes right out of him and he’s just Nick, just that sweet, soft baby brother that Joe loves so much. Maybe, Joe thinks, maybe the next time Nick goes nuts on him, Joe will just kiss him instead of arguing back.
"You taste like tomato sauce," Nick murmurs, nosing at Joe’s neck and pushing a sweaty hand up into Joe’s hair.
You taste like home, is on the tip of Joe’s tongue, but instead he says, "Delicious, ain’t I?"
"Mmm- hmm," Nick hums, lips buzzing against his skin, sending tingles throughout Joe’s body. He hitches closer, mouth rubbing lightly against Joe’s, like he’s baiting Joe, tempting him into another kiss.
It’s heady and addictive to have Nick this way. And maybe because it’s late, or maybe because he can already feel the solid lump of Nick’s erection against his thigh, when Joe feels the inevitable urge to lick into Nick’s mouth, despite the fact that they’ve never- not with tongue- done it before, he just goes for it.
His tongue feels electrified, little tastes of Nick shocking him with pleasure. Nick is so sweet, even on the inside, better than Joe has even imagined. His mouth is plush and warm and slick, and every dip of Joe's tongue has him thinking about getting deeper and deeper inside.
Nick responds like he’s been lit up, surging up and trying to catch Joe’s flickering tongue with his lips, suck Joe into his mouth. "Mnnn, Joe," Nick whispers, "c’mere," and presses Joe down into the mattress, dipping his tongue in and out of Joe’s mouth until they’re both worked up and groaning, hips held away awkwardly, rocking futilely into the air.
It’s delicious torture, but Joe finally has to pull away, press the side of his face into the cool pillow.
Nick prods at his chin, trying to turn Joe’s face back. “Joe,” he whines. “C’mon.”
“Can’t," Joe breathes out. "I gotta- give me a minute.”
Nick shakes his head, throws one leg over Joe’s hips, pulling him around. “Love you,” he whispers, pressing kisses into Joe’s throat. He can feel how hard Nick is, dick pressing stiff and insistent into the meat of Joe’s thigh.
Joe tugs him by his hair, pulling Nick’s tempting mouth away from his over-sensitive skin. “Eff,” he sighs. “So horny."
Nick groans and buries his face against Joe’s shoulder. He keeps his hips snugged up tight against Joe’s, making it impossible for Joe to think about anything other than how warm and thick Nick feels. Joe pets his hair as he tries to calm them both down.
It doesn’t really work, because Nick looks up at him, eyes dark and mouth swollen and wet and says, "You can," in a way that makes Joe grab at his own dick protectively, defensive against the thump of arousal that hits him hard in the gut.
"Nick," Joe breathes out, pained. Nick’s watching him, eyes glued to where Joe is holding himself.
"You can, Joe," Nick whispers again, licking his lips. "This is your home now, and if you need to, you know- I- I don’t mind."
Joe holds still, breathing hard and pictures it. Thinks about shoving his pants off, taking out his dick in front of Nick. Thinks about masturbating for Nick, wondering if Nick will do it, too. "Crap," Joe hisses, then curls up, and off the bed. "Gonna," he says vaguely, shuffling awkwardly to the bathroom.
It’s not any sense of modesty that drives Joe out of Nick’s bed, but rather the intensity of want that Joe feels, how much he wants Nick to not only not mind, but to actively want that from Joe. Confusing, fantastic images assault him as he starts to stroke himself off, of Nick watching him, of Nick touching him, of his come slicking up Nick’s soft, pale belly and chest and his fat little mouth, so soft and wet and hot Joe just knows it would feel so good on him.
He closes his eyes, trying to shut out the image of Nick's hips shoving down into the soft mattress, of Nick humping like he needs to get off so bad, like his whole body is instinctively ready to fuck, seeking out that friction, so responsive-
His orgasm builds too fast, overwhelming him as he pictures that, pictures Nick fucking, hips shifting and muscles tightening, thick little dick gone all flushed and fat, jabbing in and out, going all wet and eager. And he can’t stop wondering if Nick’s getting himself off, too, right now, fucking into his own fist or rubbing off on the bed and biting his knuckles and thinking about Joe blowing his load because he’s hard for his baby brother, if he’s doing that right now, just beyond the door, right now, right- oh now.
He washes up and stares at Nick’s door for too long before slipping back to his own room.
* * *
After that, the days seem to blur together in a haze of errands, one long to-do list broken up into 24-hour periods by the awkward nights they spend jerking off in separate beds.
They pick up gym equipment and Nick grumbles the whole time. He doesn’t see the point in lifting weights, thinks it’s vain, and why would he run on a treadmill when he could just run outside? He scowls when Joe asks him when the last time he ran outside was, but is mercifully quiet until everything is set up and ready to use.
Nick has to tie his hair back with a bandana to keep it out of his face while they work out. Joe would tease him endlessly about what a girl he is if it weren’t for how breathless he gets every time he looks at Nick’s face. With the hair out of the way, it’s all Joe can do not to stare at Nick's soft mouth, pink cheeks; little doll face set on a solid, boy-strong body.
Nick catches him gawking a few times. At first he’s uncertain, afraid he’s doing something wrong - like his form is a mess or something. But after the third time he busts Joe staring, slack-jawed and dazed, he smiles, pleased.
Joe tries to stay focused on his workout, but it’s impossible with Nick right there, skin slick with sweat and muscles straining.
"How do you-?" Joe starts, then bites his lip, shakes his head as if to shoo away the thought.
Nick looks up, frowning. "How do I what?"
It's ridiculous, really, for Joe to even notice, but- "How are you so jacked?" Joe blurts out, sheepish.
Nick just gapes at him, clearly surprised.
"I mean, you don’t do anything active, really. You’ve barely come outside at all in the past few months and all you eat are hamburgers and peanut butter sandwiches. How do you look like that?" He gestures lamely at Nick’s torso and shoulders.
Nick ducks his head and checks himself out, flattening his tight white v-neck down over his chest, thick fingers smoothing over the tiny lumps of his nipples. "I’m not-" Nick starts, then lifts the bottom of his t-shirt to pinch at his pale, smooth belly. "It’s not like I’ve got a six-pack," he says, pulling the shirt back down and blushing.
Joe shakes his head again, steps closer to Nick. He gets right up behind Nick, gets his hands on Nick’s shoulders. "Look at how you cut out then in here," he says, touching at the dips and curves of muscle on Nick’s arms. He’s looking over Nick’s shoulder in the mirror, watching how his hands shape over the cut of Nick’s body. "You’re shaped, like, so well," he says, sounding a little hoarse.
Nick looks dazed, eyes gone unfocused in the mirror. He’s breathing hard for just standing still, and Joe wants to press up closer to him, push against his perfect, round little ass, but he stays where he is, just touching Nick with his hands. He can see Nick’s nipples through his shirt and he wants to pinch them, twist them in his fingers just to see how Nick reacts.
He likes to imagine that Nick's really sensitive, his whole body a lightning rod for touch. Maybe that's why Nick hides his skin away all the time. Maybe it's safer to be covered up than to deal with being so responsive to even the lightest touch.
"You too," Nick says after awhile, and Joe’s confused for a moment, forgetting the thread of the conversation. "You're- you know. Shaped well, too." He's blushing, cheeks gone pink like he's shy, and maybe he is. He's always been a little weird about his body. "We look the same," Nick says, insisting. "We’re brothers."
There’s something about the way Nick says it, voice all low and throaty, and the way he looks, face flushed and sheeny with sweat, that sends a zing of arousal through Joe’s body.
"Yeah, we’re brothers," Joe whispers. "That doesn’t mean everything’s the same."
It comes out sounding ridiculously suggestive, and, like watching a train wreck, Joe can’t stop himself from glancing down the front of Nick's body to the soft lump in his shorts. The implication is obvious.
Nick chokes on a gasp, curling in on himself. He brings his arms up around his chest, tucks them into his armpits. Joe clears his throat, feeling like all kinds of perverse for the thoughts going through his head. "I could complain more, but I should probably just shut up and hit the weights, right?" He nudges Nick’s shoulder with his own, lightly, but Nick stumbles anyway.
Joe hooks up his iPhone to the speakers, but the tension between him and Nick is palpable even over the booming bass of the Black Eyed Peas.
It tinges the whole afternoon. While Joe does his ab work, Nick stands at the mirror, forgotten dumbbell in his hand, watching. Every time Joe sits up, his eyes dart to the soft lump in Nick’s gym shorts, trying to make out the shape of Nick’s cock, thinking about how it had felt boned up against his hip in Nick’s bed. He can’t stop wondering how it would look pressed up against his own, if their dicks really do look the same, how they'd feel, both hard and maybe a little wet, sliding together.
The underlying tension makes the workout extra intense, and by the time they’re done Joe is exhausted and fully, shamefully hard, dick pushing out the front of his shorts crudely. "It’s the endorphins," he says lamely, covering his crotch with a towel.
"It’s fine," Nick says, voice scratchy. "I mean, me too."
Joe looks up, surprised to see Nick’s meaty hand curled around the bulge in his own shorts. For a moment he wonders if it actually is the endorphins, but he knows, deep down inside, that there's something about Nick that makes him think these things, want worse things.
After that he mainly wonders how big of a sin it actually is to get off thinking about blowing your kid brother in the gym. Every day it feels more and more likely that Nick’s plan to save him from damnation is backfiring spectacularly.
Part Two