Twisted Pretzel Chapter 8: Jumped On My Dick
Title: Twisted Pretzel
Author: 2he_re (Heather and Reena)
Fandom: Jonas Brothers
Pairing(s): Joe/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, the real people in it are used without their permission and we do not own them or have any copyright to any part of any of them. We do not believe any of this happened, is likely to happen, or will happen. It is simply a story created around known facts about those involved.
Summary: Mrs. Johnson dislikes the Jonas Brothers. She hates Joe. Why? Doesn’t really matter does it? What matters is that she was playing a game to get rid of him. Death. Horrible death.
“Tristan Darthe” was her pawn. Arrested a year after the incident and tried. His mental state was proven to be unstable, and instead of a jail sentence he was sentenced to an asylum for the rest of his poor, pathetic, lonesome life, where I'm not even allowed to go suicidal.
Call me unstable, call me insane, but oh deary me, I’d loved that game. I mean, money is good and all, but you know, killing is better.
But damn, I’d lost.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 pt. 1 Chapter 21 pt. 2 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26
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People can just be obnoxious. That’s just how it is. No matter how much slashing or preaching you do to the obnoxious ones, there will always be obnoxious asses who you will want to kill. And they always group together to form obnoxious groups that just make you want to throw a bomb on them and be done with it. You have never understood how obnoxious people can get, until you’ve had a fucking billion and two cameras shoved into your face the moment you go outside. What is more obnoxious than that is a fucking ten year old bouncing on your bed with a damn video camera telling you to wake up. Until you’ve had that, you haven’t met obnoxious people yet.
“Can’t you smell the waffles? Can’t you smell the waffles? Don’t they smell good? Good! Good!!”
Over and over and over, until you want to shove the annoying ten year old’s head up a tight ass in hopes he will “Shut up!”
He was quiet for about ten seconds. Then he started bouncing again. I narrowed my eyes at him, in my sleep attire of… nothing. He just kept bouncing and saying stupid shit about waffles.
He “accidentally” landed on my balls. On my damn manhood! That fucking hurt. I whipped out my hand, planning on slapping the jerk, but all I hit was air. “Dude! Watch the camera! It’s like a billion dollars.” I looked a Frankie, who was at the foot of the bed, glaring at me. Glaring at me, why the hell was he glaring at me? I just didn’t jump on his dick (dick, balls, whatever) and wake him up at whatever fucking early hour this was. He was glaring at me, camera held firmly on my body, sheets just barely covering everything, and the fucking cutest expression was on the ass’s face.
I looked at the camera, which was a handheld camcorder that only an idiot would pay a billion dollars for. Even though Frankie might be an adorable idiot, his parents weren’t. “That does not cost more than 500.”
“So?”
I looked exasperatedly at the kid. “So? What do you mean so?”
“So what does it matter if it was 500?”
“No, you said it was a billion dollars, but it couldn’t be, so I said it isn’t more than 500.”
Frankie rolled his eyes, and spoke to me like a four year old, “I never said that.”
“Yes you...” I trailed off, Frankie’s grinning face disappearing behind the camera. “Arg! Fuck you!” Frankie laughed, coming closer to the bed with the stupid camera.
“Ooo! You said a bad word! You’re going to be in so much trouble when Mom and Dad find out.”
“They won’t find out,” I informed the annoying little Jonas.
“Yeah they will.”
“No they won’t,” I purred. I narrowed my eyes at him and titled forward. “Because only you and I know about this and if you tell,” I took a breath for dramatic affect and barely kept the grin off of my face as Frankie started shaking, “I’ll kill you.”
I waited for a reaction. I’m not sure what I expected for a reaction: screaming in fear, running, kissing my feet…
Frankie busted out laughing. I baulked. Not the reaction I was expecting. No fucking way. He had been shaking! “What the hell is so funny?”
Frankie was rolling on the floor laughing. The camera, still in his hands, was getting a view of the cream cheese colored ceiling. “You,” laughing, “said,” more laughing, “that,” fucking more laughing, “you’d.” There was a breath here from the laughing. It made me think he’d stop. “Kill.” No such luck, he was in hysterics again. “Me!”
I stared open mouthed at him. He was laughing because I said I was going to kill him? Didn’t he know I was serious? “What the hell is so funny about that?” I was either too old to understand some new slang for “I will kill you” or this Jonas was fucking messed up or insane, take your pick.
It took a whole two minutes of hysterics, which finally disappear into hiccups, before Frankie answered me. “You’re not going to - hiccup - kill me.”
“Why not? Because you’re not going to tell Mommy and Daddy what happened?” I looked wearily at the camera which was again trained on me.
“Nah, it’s - hiccup - because you love me.”
I choked. If I had been drinking anything, it would’ve come straight out my nose. “I, what?”
“Yeah, you love me and Mom - hiccup - and Nick and Kevin and Dad and Joe, despite the - hiccup - screaming match.” I opened my mouth to argue but Frankie cut across me. “Don’t doubt, or argue, with me on this. I get these tingly senses - hiccup - when someone loves me.”
He did a weird hand motion that I just blinked at.
“Dude! Spidey - hiccup - senses.”
“What?”
Frankie sighed, hiccups disappearing. “You have so much to learn. What kind of guy doesn’t know about Spiderman?”
“A gay guy,” I mumbled. I really hadn’t wanted Frankie to hear that, honest.
“What’s a gay guy?”
“You don’t know what gay is?”
“Gay’s a bad word.”
“Yeah, so um, what about waffles?”
Frankie rolled his eyes at me. “You stink at changing topics. If you don’t want to tell me, just tell me you don’t want to tell me.” Then he started waving the camera around the room, and my eyes cautiously followed its random and highly annoying movement. “Do you think if I asked Nick he’ll tell me?”
“No!”
“Huh?”
“Don’t ask Nick. Just don’t say anything about this.”
Frankie looked at me, sizing me up. “Tell me you love me and then I won’t tell.”
“I’ve known you for a day, maybe.” A day was stretching it. I hadn’t spent more than 24 hours with him.
“You still love me.”
I blinked at this kid. What was with him and love? A seriously horrible had come to mind right then and there. “Are you gay?”
“What? Wait, never-mind, you’re not going to tell me anyway.” He sulked for maybe half a second. “Alright, tell me you love me.”
I rolled my eyes, deciding to humor the twerp. “I love you.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Say it.”
“I love you, Frankie.”
“There, that wasn’t so hard now was it?”
I chose not to answer that. That ten year old boy was fucking manipulative though. “What about waffles?”
Frankie rolled his eyes. “Come on, just into the kitchen. Mom made her homemade ones.” He was halfway to the door with his camera locked on me before he realized I hadn’t moved. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’m getting dressed.”
Frankie rolled his eyes. “Do we seem like the type of family that cares what you wear to the breakfast table?” I looked at him. Did he really want me to answer that? Frankie shook his head. “Wait, don’t answer that. Anyway, seriously, don’t care. Mom cooks in her pajamas, and Kevin and Joe sometimes come to the table in boxers. They feel because they can’t show off their-” Frankie made air quotes, with the camera in hand mind you, “-godliness.” What? “Yeah you’ll never hear them say that in public. Well, maybe Joe. He gets away with more. At least he did until Mom and Dad cracked down on him.”
Frankie moved back over to me. He climbed on the bed, and before I could do anything he yanked down part of the sheet. Just to show my lovely torso. He reeled back, falling off the bed.
His face was pale white, and he didn’t even have the camera in hand. “You’re bleeding.”
“What? No I’m-” I followed Frankie’s gaze to my stomach, “-shit.”
Blood was seeping out through the stitches. It had to be seeping for a while. How I couldn’t have felt it, I didn’t know. I poked it gently, feeling the crispy layer of dried blood underneath the wet flowing blood.
“Mom…Mom!”
“No!” I snapped my head up. Frankie was freaking out, still staring at me but backing away. This was not good. I did not need to go to the hospital again. Denise was probably going to overreact.
“Mom!”
“Shh, shush.” Fuck, the kid was still calling his mom. It was a miracle she wasn’t here yet. “Don’t- arg! I’m fine, the bleeding’ll stop.” Frankie shut up for about three seconds. Staring.
“It’s not stopping.”
I belched. The kid looked queasy, maybe even a little green. Denise rushed into the room. “What is it?!” She seemed almost as hysterical as her son.
“He’s…”
“Don’t worry-”
“Bleeding,” Denise finished for Frankie firmly. “Frankie, call 911.”
“No, I’m not-”
“Okay, Tristan, you just need to stay calm. Just pulled a stitch or two. Are you in pain?” Does it hurt?”
Denise moved over to the side of the bed looking intently at me. Didn’t she listen the first seven times? “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt. I’m not going to die- FUCK!”
Denise ripped down the sheet. “Oh wow, you sleep naked. Well, um, you’re an interesting one.”
Blood rushed up to my cheeks. Thank God not down to my groin. That would be awkward beyond belief. I was ready to pull up the sheet, but Denise shoved me back down.
“No! Don’t scrunch up, you’ll break more stitches.”
From then on I had the most embarrassing experience of my life up to that point. An ambulance came, and for the second time, within the same week, I was back in the hospital being stitched up. It didn’t take that long, nor did it hurt. But I had more drugs in my system than I think I’ve ever had, which is saying a damn lot.
No idea really what happened. Whenever I did ask what I had done, everyone would giggle and look away. Ha, not funny.
I was out of the stupid white building by twelve and the Jonas Family piled into the car. An hour and a half drive back to the house, can you believe that? I was still pretty much drugged up, but they wore off pretty quick, and I had nothing to do in the car.
Except stare.
I stared at the scenery. Boring. There was sand, so interesting. Sand and cars and roads.
I stared at Mr. Paul Jonas. Boring. Driving.
I stared at Nick. Boring. Hair.
I stared at Denise. Boring. Sleeping.
I stared at Frankie. Boring. Stupid little game thing.
I stared at Kevin. Boring. Texting.
I stared at Joe. Fucking hot. I kept staring at him.
He was purposely avoiding my gaze. He didn’t have anything to do unlike the rest of the family who were all occupied with something. He was sitting next to me, he couldn’t be doing anything.
I brushed my arm up against his. He scooted away. I leaned my head on his arm. He jerked away.
“Can I use you as a pillow?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I asked, already putting my head back down on his arm.
“Get off,” he growled jerking his arm up. I glared at him. Little fucker.
“How much longer do we have?”
“An hour.”
“Whatcha doing?”
“Shut up,” Joe muttered. He put his head against the window, looking out and ignored me. No fun, no fun. I glared and pouted at the same time, crossing my arms across my chest and sinking down.
“I only asked one other question.”
“I thought I was the one who could ask questions.” I raised my eyebrows at that.
“Ask away,” I purred, sinking closer to him.
“Why don’t you shut up?”
“Do I get a little kiss for that?” Joe’s eyes popped and he snapped his head all around to see if anyone heard that. But no, they were all focused on their own devices.
“No,” he whispered hoarsely.
“So, whatcha doing?” I asked. He ignored me for most of the rest of the trip. I got to lay my head on his arm and pretend to sleep, and he did nothing. He didn’t make it easier for me to “sleep”, he didn’t make it harder. I got up after a while, and stared out the window until finally Denise spoke up.
It was a topic that sends shivers up my spine even now. Good happy shivers, but probably ones you shouldn’t have, especially not on the topic that we were on.
She was talking about new rules. Not that I care about rules, but it was why new rules were put in place. “I don’t want any of you going out with Rob or someone else from security. You hear me?” Denise asked around the car.
There were dejected sighs and mumbles of yes. “Why?” Joe asked sharply. I jumped at his voice. I had forgotten the boy was there. But he wasn’t looking at Denise. He was looking at me, staring at me.
“Joe…”
“Mom, why? You know no one in security likes to go running. What’s going to happen anyway? Some fan wants an autograph? They’re not going to kill us or something, if that’s what you-”
“That’s exactly what could happen,” Denise snapped.
“Mom, have you see our-”
“Have you watched the news lately?” Silence met her comment. “No, I didn’t think so. Someone died in our neighborhood. Just last night.”
I looked at Mr. Jonas, who didn’t seem to want any part of the discussion. It never seemed his thing, dealing with the children. That seemed like Mrs. Jonas. What did Mister do around the house?
“Mom?” Nick asked softly.
“Oh hun, I’m sorry. Joe, I know you love to go out, but we can’t risk it. Tristan, this goes for you, okay?” I nodded wordlessly.
“What happened?”
“Journalist was murdered. They have an investigation open, but they don’t know who. They’re going to keep us informed though.”
I shivered in the shocked silence. This is what I could do to people. It was the effect that I was probably having on everyone living in what they thought was a prestige neighborhood where nothing bad ever happened. So wrong, so untrue. I could go into their basement any night. Walk up their stairs and murder them in their beds.
“Just, I don’t want my babies getting hurt.
I settled down into the seat. Happy and content. Twisted and fucked up.
I glanced at Joe. He was looking at me. Glaring at me. He knew something. A shiver moved up my spine. He couldn’t know something.
Out of the car once it parked, into the house, to my room, closing the door behind me. My mind was jumping. I didn’t know what to think. What if Joe knew, what if he knew something. I moved around shaking. The world was spinning. I was blaming it on the drugs. They must not have worn off. I stumbled over to the bed.
My door opened, and my eyes shot up to the figure in the door. My whole body froze. Joe was standing there. He was staring at me. His eyes raked over me.
Then he was on me, my back sinking into the bed. His lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, hands running over me feeling non-existent curves and pushing me down.
“What did you do?” he asked. I couldn’t answer partly because Joe’s lips were back on mine, partly I didn’t know what he was asking about. “You knew what happened. How did you know?” My hands pressed up against his shirt. They were slipping under. I moaned as he nibbled on my lip, sucked the air out of me.
Then he was gone.
He was all gone. The warmth from him was gone, and somehow he had stolen his taste.
“Tell me.”
My head was spinning. What had he even asked?
“How did you know about the killing before me?”
I shook my head, coming up to my elbows. “The girl showed me pictures of the killing.”
He darted in and placed his lips quickly against mine. “What girl?”
“The one who had pictures of me feeling you up, she covered the killing.”
“Did you kill someone before?”
“Where did you get-” I was back down on the bed. Joe was straddling me, and shoving his tongue down my throat. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t really decline either, just accept. I couldn’t move my arms, locked under his hands. I shoved my tongue back into his mouth. I was gaining dominance.
He couldn’t have done this before with someone who fought back. I was easily taking over the kiss. My tongue danced inside his mouth, tongue piercing clicking. He pulled his mouth away, panting. Obviously ready for an answer. I wasn’t ready to give one. I titled my head, latching onto his neck. I sucked gently, and he moaned.
He ripped away suddenly, obviously realizing exactly what he was doing. His hands were still on me, but his head was too far away from me to reach. “Yes,” I purred out, licking my swollen lips. “I’ve killed.” I could feel my eyes darkening. I fucking wanted that kid. So what if he was legal and I wasn’t? He didn’t know that. For all his knowledge I was his age. Nineteen, legal for fucking.
“Who?” he whispered.
“Not saying.”
“Did he deserve it?” One person. I smiled. He was assuming I had only killed one. Not true. So many more. And a man at that.
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“So much,” I whispered. He and the others, and gone because of different things. So many things. They weren’t all paid jobs.
I stared at him. He stared at me, hair falling down across his eyes. His eyes were a dark, dark brown. Maybe even black. “I’m not gay,” he said. “Am I sick?”
It was different this time, the way he kissed me. He leaned down and kissed me slowly. Softly. His lips sweet and soft, I could taste myself on them.
He pulled back hovering just a centimeter above my mouth. I could feel his warm breath mixing with mine. I licked my lips, looking at his closed eyes. “Not as sick at me,” I answered.
He came back down, and slowly slid his tongue between my lips. His hands left my arms, and he shifted to lie on his side next to me. “How are you sick?”
“Not saying.”
“How do you know I’m not as sick?”
“You look in a mirror recently?”
“I’m kissing you.”
I couldn’t really say anything about that. It was true. You were some kind of sick fuck if you did anything with me. But after moments of looking at Joe’s face, eyes closed but obviously thinking, I darted in, quickly pressing my lips to his. I pulled back before it could get to be anything more. Don’t ask me why. I should’ve stayed, probably could’ve gotten him to fuck me that night. Could’ve pulled on everything he wanted in life and twisted it against him, used it to get what I wanted. But I didn’t because I was stupid and not thinking clearly. Not thinking like me. I was thinking like Tristan. I was becoming Tristan. Not nameless me.
“You’re kissing me to get the truth. Wanting the truth isn’t bad.”
~*~