untitled Jonas Brothers spy verse
Title: untitled Jonas Brothers spy verse
Type: fandom
Pairing: none; gen
Word Count: ~1600
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Originally posted here.
Summary: "I am not going in there."
“I am not going in there.” Joe crosses his arms, tilts his chin up in defiance. “No way.”
“What do you mean you’re not going in there?” Nick hisses at him, frowning. “You’re our decoy. It’s not like we can just cut you out and do this without you.”
“Well, you’re going to have to.” Joe straightens his jacket’s cuffs, leaning back against the brick wall of the alleyway. “Who books these stupid gigs anyway?”
“Probably M.” Kevin shrugs. “Or someone higher up.”
“Is there someone higher up than M?” Joe asks, scuffing his sneakers, pushing garbage bags out of his way. He wrinkles his nose. Surely whoever does the planning could pick somewhere with better hiding places.
Kevin shrugs. “I doubt it. He’s pretty my-word-is-law, you know?”
Nick rolls his eyes. “That is beyond not important right now. We should be talking about what our strategy is going to be, not debating on who could be higher up than M or arguing with Joe about the fact that he’s going inside that building if we have to drag him kicking and screaming all the way there.”
Kevin glances around the corner, trying to scout out where everyone is while convincing his brother to do his job like everyone else has to. “Look, Joe, it’s not that big a deal.”
“It’s a strip club.”
“It’s a high end strip club,” Nick corrects. “So it’s not like anyone is going to be trying to cop a feel or anything, come on.”
“But it’s a strip club.” Joe looks absolutely scandalized. “We can’t go in there.”
Kevin arches a brow. “Pitchfork Red is not that bad, Joe, come on.”
Nick runs his hands through his hair, tugging his curls. “We’re not asking you to take off your clothes, Joe. Just to act confused about where you are. Like we always do. This is normal procedure.”
“Then you do it.”
Nick pinches the bridge of his nose. Joe is the diva out of the three of them, but it’s usually not this bad. It’s not like Joe’s a prude or anything. He’s seen Joe absolutely drunk off his ass. He can understand that this is going to be uncomfortable for all of them (he can feel his own innocence ring burning a little circle around his finger) but it’s not that big a deal.
“Joe, come on, man.” Kevin sighs. “Just. Focus on the job or something. We’ll get in, we’ll do what we’re supposed to do, then we’ll get out. You don’t even have to look at the girls.”
“You’ll be too busy distracting the muscle in the place,” Nick adds, gently pushing Joe’s shoulder. “Now stop being a brat so we can do this thing.”
Joe’s frown deepens, but he uncrosses his arms, lifting off of the wall. His hands dust off his jacket, but Nick can see his hand running over the spot where his gun his concealed beneath the coat, checking to make sure it’s secure. “Fine. In, out, done. Come on.”
Kevin and Nick look at one another, each making a face.
“So,” Joe huffs, “I go in, create a disturbance, you guys shoot, make a scene, and we’re out, right?”
“Right,” Nick confirms. “We’re making a statement. That’s all. Shoot to create a scene. We can kill the lackeys but no suits. Got it?”
Joe nods, his face blanking into the quiet seriousness it always acquires when they’re about to do a job. “Got it. Five seconds from the entry, and you’ll have your scene.”
Kevin pulls a small device from his pocket and kicks up a trash bag to reveal a long extension cord. He plugs in the device before setting it down, pushing it back under the bags. He pulls his cell out of his pocket, checks the reception and smiles, satisfied. “Cell phones are out. Are we sure this place doesn’t have a landline?”
“Positive. More businesses are doing that now, just relying on company cell phones. Convenient, eh?” Nick looks at Joe and jerks is head toward the building, smiling. “Go for it, decoy.”
Joe doesn’t look happy, but he goes.
Nick can hear him talking with the security guard, showing his ID (fake, he can’t afford to be recognized), drawing the guard into the club (and Nick has no clue how he manages this; he’s never had his brother’s gift for pulling people in like moths to a flame).
One.
Nick draws his gun, watches Kevin do the same out of the corner of his eye. He takes a deep breath and pulls his gun close to his chest, alongside his face.
Two.
He can feel his face smooth out the same way Joe’s did. The three of them call it the Job Face. They’re known for being animated, for their energy and the excitement they drag into the room wherever they go. When they’re wearing this face, it’s the only time that energy is internalized, balled up, concentrated in one action, one Job.
Three.
Nick and Kevin’s bodies move in sync, stepping out of the alley and into the club’s doors fluidly.
The first step into the club is an overload. The music has too much bass, and it pounds in his ears, but he’s used to that by now. He’s been singing and playing shows since he was six years old. It’s easy to block all of the noise out.
It’s dark outside, but somehow it’s pitch black in the majority of the club. The stage lights and the lights surrounding the bar are the only lights on, illuminating the women and the wine in a strange reddish glow. At first, Nick can’t see Joe, and his heart jumps in his throat. He’s not shooting anything if his brother might be in the line of fire.
But as soon as he thinks it, he feels Joe next to him, in position, ready.
Nick breathes out, looks down the line of his gun at one of the men in the bar’s light, and squeezes the trigger. The gunshot pops his ears, and the man slumps down.
One of the girls on stage screams, and then everyone’s screaming, running around. More gunshots ring through the air from both of Nick’s sides. More men go down.
Nick keeps going, pushing forward, sighting down his gun and squeezing the trigger.
He can see a flash from his left when Kevin throws M’s signature dagger with a red ‘M’ engraved in the handle, and then they pull out, backing out the door, holstering their guns and straightening their jackets.
Nick grins at his brothers, stuffing his hands in his pockets as Kevin jams the door behind them. “Crazy party in there, huh?”
Joe laughs, nudging his side. “Shut up, you freak. I knew we shouldn’t have come here.”
Kevin pushes Joe. “Prude. You should lighten up, have some fun.”
“Yeah, avoiding gonorrhea just isn’t the thriller it used to be,” Joe retorts, wrinkling his nose.
People are snickering behind their hands, rolling their eyes at the perverted young men coming out of the strip club, completely unaware of the panic going on inside. They’re completely inconspicuous; no one will even remember them when the police come later.
Another job done.
-
“Morning, M,” Joe greets for them all as they walk into M’s office. M is behind his large oak desk, turned away in his chair. They’ve never seen his face, can’t even see the silhouette of his head above the rolling chair’s back. All they can see are two dark circles peaking over the top, but none of them have ever been able to figure out what exactly these circles are.
“Hello, boys.” M’s voice is deep and grainy, run through a voice-changer. “You did well on your mission last night. Did everything go smoothly?”
“Perfectly.” Nick smiles politely. “Your message got through then?”
“It did indeed, thank you, Nick.” M laughs, and it sounds awkward through the changer, two airy or high pitched maybe. “Very well.”
“Good. Is that all, M? I’m sure you already know, but we’ve got a concert to get to in London in,” Joe checks his watch, “eight hours.”
“Your plane is ready and waiting outside on the landing strip.”
Kevin nods. “Thank you, M. Do you need anything else while we’re in London?”
Joe kicks Kevin in the ankle. They haven’t had a day off for weeks now. If they’re not shooting up strip clubs in Chicago then they’re saving someone’s life in Moscow doing shows in between all of that to keep their cover. Nick feels the strain in his own body, and he sees it in his brothers’, in the way Joe’s gate is getting heavier and the way Kevin’s shoulders stay tight.
“No, nothing this time, boys. Enjoy yourselves for now.”
They all grin, and Joe breathes a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
M laughs again. “Try to stay out of trouble, though, would you, boys? Last time you went to London, I seem to remember a couple of pranks that got out of hand.”
“Won’t happen again, M,” Nick assures him. “We really should be heading out.”
“Sure. Have fun. I’ll be in touch.”
They all nod, and when they walk back outside, there’s a plane waiting, its engines roaring, ready to take them halfway across the world in only a few hours.
Nick smiles.
Such is the (secret) life of a Jonas brother.
Type: fandom
Pairing: none; gen
Word Count: ~1600
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Originally posted here.
Summary: "I am not going in there."
“I am not going in there.” Joe crosses his arms, tilts his chin up in defiance. “No way.”
“What do you mean you’re not going in there?” Nick hisses at him, frowning. “You’re our decoy. It’s not like we can just cut you out and do this without you.”
“Well, you’re going to have to.” Joe straightens his jacket’s cuffs, leaning back against the brick wall of the alleyway. “Who books these stupid gigs anyway?”
“Probably M.” Kevin shrugs. “Or someone higher up.”
“Is there someone higher up than M?” Joe asks, scuffing his sneakers, pushing garbage bags out of his way. He wrinkles his nose. Surely whoever does the planning could pick somewhere with better hiding places.
Kevin shrugs. “I doubt it. He’s pretty my-word-is-law, you know?”
Nick rolls his eyes. “That is beyond not important right now. We should be talking about what our strategy is going to be, not debating on who could be higher up than M or arguing with Joe about the fact that he’s going inside that building if we have to drag him kicking and screaming all the way there.”
Kevin glances around the corner, trying to scout out where everyone is while convincing his brother to do his job like everyone else has to. “Look, Joe, it’s not that big a deal.”
“It’s a strip club.”
“It’s a high end strip club,” Nick corrects. “So it’s not like anyone is going to be trying to cop a feel or anything, come on.”
“But it’s a strip club.” Joe looks absolutely scandalized. “We can’t go in there.”
Kevin arches a brow. “Pitchfork Red is not that bad, Joe, come on.”
Nick runs his hands through his hair, tugging his curls. “We’re not asking you to take off your clothes, Joe. Just to act confused about where you are. Like we always do. This is normal procedure.”
“Then you do it.”
Nick pinches the bridge of his nose. Joe is the diva out of the three of them, but it’s usually not this bad. It’s not like Joe’s a prude or anything. He’s seen Joe absolutely drunk off his ass. He can understand that this is going to be uncomfortable for all of them (he can feel his own innocence ring burning a little circle around his finger) but it’s not that big a deal.
“Joe, come on, man.” Kevin sighs. “Just. Focus on the job or something. We’ll get in, we’ll do what we’re supposed to do, then we’ll get out. You don’t even have to look at the girls.”
“You’ll be too busy distracting the muscle in the place,” Nick adds, gently pushing Joe’s shoulder. “Now stop being a brat so we can do this thing.”
Joe’s frown deepens, but he uncrosses his arms, lifting off of the wall. His hands dust off his jacket, but Nick can see his hand running over the spot where his gun his concealed beneath the coat, checking to make sure it’s secure. “Fine. In, out, done. Come on.”
Kevin and Nick look at one another, each making a face.
“So,” Joe huffs, “I go in, create a disturbance, you guys shoot, make a scene, and we’re out, right?”
“Right,” Nick confirms. “We’re making a statement. That’s all. Shoot to create a scene. We can kill the lackeys but no suits. Got it?”
Joe nods, his face blanking into the quiet seriousness it always acquires when they’re about to do a job. “Got it. Five seconds from the entry, and you’ll have your scene.”
Kevin pulls a small device from his pocket and kicks up a trash bag to reveal a long extension cord. He plugs in the device before setting it down, pushing it back under the bags. He pulls his cell out of his pocket, checks the reception and smiles, satisfied. “Cell phones are out. Are we sure this place doesn’t have a landline?”
“Positive. More businesses are doing that now, just relying on company cell phones. Convenient, eh?” Nick looks at Joe and jerks is head toward the building, smiling. “Go for it, decoy.”
Joe doesn’t look happy, but he goes.
Nick can hear him talking with the security guard, showing his ID (fake, he can’t afford to be recognized), drawing the guard into the club (and Nick has no clue how he manages this; he’s never had his brother’s gift for pulling people in like moths to a flame).
One.
Nick draws his gun, watches Kevin do the same out of the corner of his eye. He takes a deep breath and pulls his gun close to his chest, alongside his face.
Two.
He can feel his face smooth out the same way Joe’s did. The three of them call it the Job Face. They’re known for being animated, for their energy and the excitement they drag into the room wherever they go. When they’re wearing this face, it’s the only time that energy is internalized, balled up, concentrated in one action, one Job.
Three.
Nick and Kevin’s bodies move in sync, stepping out of the alley and into the club’s doors fluidly.
The first step into the club is an overload. The music has too much bass, and it pounds in his ears, but he’s used to that by now. He’s been singing and playing shows since he was six years old. It’s easy to block all of the noise out.
It’s dark outside, but somehow it’s pitch black in the majority of the club. The stage lights and the lights surrounding the bar are the only lights on, illuminating the women and the wine in a strange reddish glow. At first, Nick can’t see Joe, and his heart jumps in his throat. He’s not shooting anything if his brother might be in the line of fire.
But as soon as he thinks it, he feels Joe next to him, in position, ready.
Nick breathes out, looks down the line of his gun at one of the men in the bar’s light, and squeezes the trigger. The gunshot pops his ears, and the man slumps down.
One of the girls on stage screams, and then everyone’s screaming, running around. More gunshots ring through the air from both of Nick’s sides. More men go down.
Nick keeps going, pushing forward, sighting down his gun and squeezing the trigger.
He can see a flash from his left when Kevin throws M’s signature dagger with a red ‘M’ engraved in the handle, and then they pull out, backing out the door, holstering their guns and straightening their jackets.
Nick grins at his brothers, stuffing his hands in his pockets as Kevin jams the door behind them. “Crazy party in there, huh?”
Joe laughs, nudging his side. “Shut up, you freak. I knew we shouldn’t have come here.”
Kevin pushes Joe. “Prude. You should lighten up, have some fun.”
“Yeah, avoiding gonorrhea just isn’t the thriller it used to be,” Joe retorts, wrinkling his nose.
People are snickering behind their hands, rolling their eyes at the perverted young men coming out of the strip club, completely unaware of the panic going on inside. They’re completely inconspicuous; no one will even remember them when the police come later.
Another job done.
-
“Morning, M,” Joe greets for them all as they walk into M’s office. M is behind his large oak desk, turned away in his chair. They’ve never seen his face, can’t even see the silhouette of his head above the rolling chair’s back. All they can see are two dark circles peaking over the top, but none of them have ever been able to figure out what exactly these circles are.
“Hello, boys.” M’s voice is deep and grainy, run through a voice-changer. “You did well on your mission last night. Did everything go smoothly?”
“Perfectly.” Nick smiles politely. “Your message got through then?”
“It did indeed, thank you, Nick.” M laughs, and it sounds awkward through the changer, two airy or high pitched maybe. “Very well.”
“Good. Is that all, M? I’m sure you already know, but we’ve got a concert to get to in London in,” Joe checks his watch, “eight hours.”
“Your plane is ready and waiting outside on the landing strip.”
Kevin nods. “Thank you, M. Do you need anything else while we’re in London?”
Joe kicks Kevin in the ankle. They haven’t had a day off for weeks now. If they’re not shooting up strip clubs in Chicago then they’re saving someone’s life in Moscow doing shows in between all of that to keep their cover. Nick feels the strain in his own body, and he sees it in his brothers’, in the way Joe’s gate is getting heavier and the way Kevin’s shoulders stay tight.
“No, nothing this time, boys. Enjoy yourselves for now.”
They all grin, and Joe breathes a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
M laughs again. “Try to stay out of trouble, though, would you, boys? Last time you went to London, I seem to remember a couple of pranks that got out of hand.”
“Won’t happen again, M,” Nick assures him. “We really should be heading out.”
“Sure. Have fun. I’ll be in touch.”
They all nod, and when they walk back outside, there’s a plane waiting, its engines roaring, ready to take them halfway across the world in only a few hours.
Nick smiles.
Such is the (secret) life of a Jonas brother.