You should see us when we're at our best.

Look at this peacoat; tell me he's broke.

2010-01-07T01:43:31Z

So unless something goes horribly awry, I'm returning to college in ten days. UGH. I have such mixed feelings about this. I generally enjoy the college experience, but since my school is ridiculously small, ridiculously challenging and in the middle of FUCKING NOWHERE, I'm not really pumped to return. The internet there is so bad I literally cannot download music, and it takes about ten minutes to load a normal YouTube clip. This is seriously going to fuck my shit up. I also have to switch out my wallpaper for something without Jonai, and remove my browser bookmarks for, um, my LJ and Ocean Up and every other embarrassing thing, because other people inevitably wind up using my computer when they're in my room. >:[

This looming suck on my time and energy has made me start peering at my WIP folder and try to figure out what I should try to bang out while I still have my sanity. There are so many bizarre odds and ends in there, IDEK. I think my personal favorite is a 1960s Jonas AU where they are essentially The Beatles, but it doesn't really have a plot beyond, "OMG, how cute would they be in matching suits on Ed Sullivan? REALLY CUTE." There is also hookerfic, sex pollen, and a weird "17 Again" kind of thing where Nick wakes up one day in an alternate universe where he isn't famous and has to adjust to being in high school. SO RANDOM. I always get AU ideas that I can't ever follow through with. I still have like 12k of a J2 adaptation of ~Titanic that I started two years ago and will never, ever finish, but love too much to delete. Maybe I will just do one of those WIP memes and post the better chunks of them in one fell swoop, so they don't just languish completely pointlessly.

But on the productive side of things, I'm officially done with a giant gross hetfic that no one should ever read. HAHA. YAY ME. That'll get posted sometime this decade. It's weird writing RPF about celebrities you like but aren't really in a fandom for. Like, I really dig Demi Lovato and consider her fair game in Jonas fic, but it's REALLY disconcerting to be writing porn about her and have one of her adorable tweets pop up in my browser. I'm just not desensitized to it like I am with the famous people I usually write fic about. SHE'S SO PRECIOUS. And I'm writing about her giving beejs. I kind of hate myself.

In other news, I was pretty disappointed with Ke$ha's album. Maybe because I listened to it while in the midst of a post-gay-bar hangover Tuesday morning, but I feel like the only solid song other than "Tik-Tok" is "Blah Blah Blah". "Backstabber" has the potential to grow on me, but most of it is total fodder for her one big single. Which is hella disappointing, because Tik-Tok is SO SO SO GOOD. I was hoping for a Gagaesque album of gems, but I get the impression she's just really well marketed one-hit wonder riding on the coattails of that bad girl pop image. (That "Stephen" song is so hilariously bad, JFC. "I'll knit you a sweater"? Really?)

In da club.

2010-01-05T03:24:55Z

BALLS. I'm going out to celebrate a friend's 21st birthday tonight, and I am in no mood for a pub crawl. I just took a shower and put on sweats while I wait for my clothes to come out of the dryer, and now I just want to stay in them and eat ice cream or something. Being a homebody loser was so much easier when I didn't have friends who lived in my zip code. BOO.

In other news, does anyone have any theories as to why Joe Jonas keeps tweeting about awful love songs? I mean, I can make my own assumptions about him crying on his iPod because his brother going on tour without him (not for nothing, the pre-chorus of the first one has the lines "if you're feeling lonely, don't" and "I love you a little more than I should"), but since I'm not actually a tinhat about gay incest, I have to wonder. Does Joe have a girlfriend I don't know about? Or are these tweets from Kevin? Did they play these at the wedding or something? SOMEONE, SHED LIGHT.

FIC: One for the Road (Nick/Joe)

2010-01-03T14:50:41Z

I dashed off a little PWP in honor of NJ&TA's tour kicking off, since apparently the way I show my enthusiasm for things is by writing porn. This is set, um, last night. Warning: it's kinda schmoopy.

One for the Road. Nick/Joe, NC-17, 4,400 words. If years of shared hotel rooms have taught him anything, it's that Nick can't ever get to sleep after a good show.

The house is quiet when Joe slips out of bed and pads down the hall to Nick's room.

His light's off and there's no real sound coming from the other side of the door, but if years of shared hotel rooms have taught him anything, it's that Nick can't ever get to sleep after a good show. He taps his fingers on the door lightly before turning the knob and slipping inside.

Sure enough, Nick rolls over with an amused sigh.

"It's, like, two in the morning," he says quietly.

"Yup," Joe agrees, shutting the door with a little snick and sitting on the edge of Nick's bed. "Everyone's asleep."

"Except us."

Joe shrugs and grabs for his knee through the covers. Nick laughs and kicks his leg away.

"I had a hunch you'd still be up, big shot."

The only light in the room is from Nick's screen-saver over on the desk, so Joe can't make out much more than the vague shape of his features. When he smiles, though, Joe can see the shadows of his face move.

"Can't ever sleep after a good show," he says. "It was good, right? You had fun?"

Joe snorts as he flops down next to him, taking up the empty space on the right side of the bed like Nick left it there for him.

"No, it totally blew chunks. That's why everyone was freaking out all night. When we carried you into the house earlier and sang 'Hail to the Chief'? That was out of pity. I think Kevin's looking into getting a day job, because this is clearly the end of our run. You—"

"Got it," Nick interjects, punching him lightly in the side. "Shut up."

"I don't think you grasp the gravity of the situation," Joe says, rolling to his side. He can see him better like this, nose to nose. He smashes down his pillow a little more as he settles in next to him and grins. "Bankruptcy, shame, our tragic fall from success. We're all doomed."

"You should be a motivational speaker," Nick says around a yawn. "That can be your day job."

"I was thinking I'd become an astronaut." He lifts his hand to push Nick's curls off his forehead, touching aimlessly at one of his eyebrows.

"Oh, cool. Maybe you can find your home planet."

Joe laughs lightly and drops his hand away. "You could come with me. Maybe we could turn it into a reality show. The Jonas Brothers in Spaaace."

"Sounds like a plan. I get to be the captain of the ship, though."

"Totally. But I'm your number one officer. With the green shirt and the, um, thingy that goes doodly-doot."

"A phaser? I don't think it's a good sign that all our knowledge of space travel comes from Star Trek." Nick grabs for Joe's wrist and waves it a little, making Joe's hand flop back and forth. "We should probably get on that if we're gonna make a career out of it."

"Yeah, I'll get a copy of Space Travel for Dummies tomorrow."

Nick gives an amused huff, his eyebrows knitting. "What are we even talking about?"

"I dunno," Joe laughs, twisting his hand so he can hold Nick's. "Oh, right. Day jobs. Because your show was so awesome it came full circle and sucked."

"Right," Nick says, closing his fingers around Joe's. "And that's what you came in here to talk about?"

"Nah." Joe tugs on his hand, rubbing his thumb over Nick's knuckles. "I wanted the super-dreamy Nick Jonas to sign my tits."

Nick laughs again and pulls his hand away. "You don't have – tits," he says, his voice going low on the word like it's awkward in his mouth.

"Not yet," Joe says sadly, tilting his face to study his chest. He's still wearing his Administration t-shirt, and he makes like he's cupping the air over his pecs. "I keep praying, though. One of these days I'll blossom into a real woman."

"Now that might actually ruin our careers," Nick says thoughtfully. He hitches up on his elbow, his dog tags clinking gently as he studies him. "Seriously, why are you up this late?"

Joe shrugs up at him. "'Cause I knew you'd be up? It was all pretty intense earlier. I thought you could use the company."

Nick shakes his head a little. "You're – you know, I'm gonna have to get used to you not being here."

"Shut up. Just because you're a big, bad solo artist now, that doesn't mean you get to ditch your favorite groupie."

Joe can sense more than actually see Nick rolling his eyes. "You know what I'm saying."

"Yeah," Joe says. "But I still think it's lame."

He tugs at the front of Nick's white t-shirt, reaching under the covers so he can get his fingers beneath the hem of it. Nick hisses a little when Joe's fingers touch his warm skin.

"It's going to be weird," Nick says suddenly, like a confession. "Not having you there every night."

Joe wets his lips and studies Nick's face as he runs his thumb along the trail of hair just above his boxers.

"It's only a month," he says, parroting the same thing Nick's been saying for days. "Not that long."

"Yeah, it is." Nick lowers his face a little, until Joe can feel the flutter of his eyelashes against his forehead. "It's a really long time."

"Four weeks," Joe says against Nick's chin. "Thirty days. Eight hundred hours."

"You know how many hours are in a month?" Nick says, his voice going a little louder with surprise.

"No," Joe snorts. "But that sounds right, doesn't it?"

Nick laughs, his stomach moving under Joe's hand with the force of it. He shifts over a little and touches his hand to Joe's chest, right over the brooding profile shot of his own face. "I can't believe you're still wearing this."

"Hey," Joe says, making his voice go high and breathless. "Nick Jonas personally gave me this shirt, okay? I'm, like, never taking it off again."

"Uh, Nick Jonas has personally touched you plenty of times."

Joe snickers and slides his fingers down to the elastic of Nick's boxers. "Yeah? You wanna personally touch me again, dude? Or do you want me to personally touch you? 'Cause I'm flexible."

Nick pinches at one of his nipples through the shirt, laughing against his face. "Shut up. You're such a creep, sneaking in here in the middle of the night. I need better security."

"You love it," Joe says smugly, hooking his finger under the waistband of his boxers and giving it a snap.

"I hate you," Nick says flatly, tilting his head a little so his mouth brushes against Joe's and he can feel Nick's lips form the words. It would be so easy to kiss him, he thinks hazily, but they don't really do that.

"You love me." He skims his fingers lower, finding the half-hard swell of Nick's dick. Nick sucks in a sharp breath as Joe shapes his hand around it, and Joe grins. "Admit it."

"Maybe," Nick breathes, making a quiet noise as Joe squeezes him through the cotton.

"You do," Joe says. "You love me and you're gonna miss the crap out of me."

"Yeah," Nick says. Joe can tell he's biting his bottom lip, his breaths getting a little faster as he leans against Joe's hand. Joe shuts his eyes and focuses on the heavy weight of it, Nick's dick getting harder against his palm. "Yeah, I guess. But you – you're gonna come to more shows, right?"

"Yeah," Joe says, tilting his face up against Nick's for more of that breath-warm friction. He eases his fingers into the front slit of Nick's boxers, closing his fist around his dick. "You know I will."

Nick nods vaguely, his mouth falling open a little as Joe gives him a slow pull. "You better."

Joe's knuckles slide against the blanket as he rubs his thumb up under the head of Nick's cock. It gives a sensitive twitch in his hand, like it's getting even harder.

"You were awesome," he says quietly, tightening his grip for a second. "Like, crazy awesome."

Nick pulls in a shuddery breath, his fingers flexing against Joe's chest. Joe can feel his mouth move in a little smile, but his voice is shaky when he says, "You don't have to – uh, talk me off."

"I'm not." Joe snaps his wrist, making his strokes faster. It never gets old seeing how quickly Nick goes to pieces when he does this, his whole body seeming to throb with heat and need. Joe shifts his hips as his own dick flushes sympathetically. "You were just – really good. It was crazy to see you up there like that. I already miss it. Doing that with you."

Nick moves suddenly, grabbing at Joe's arm and shifting away.

"C'mere," he mutters, yanking at the blankets and Joe's shoulder at the same time. "Get in here."

Joe laughs as he helps Nick pull the covers down and slides under, his knees knocking against Nick's as they settle next to each other. It's warmer like this; he can feel the heat of Nick's body rolling off him in waves, making sweat prickle over his skin. Nick tugs him even closer, one hand fumbling at Joe's hip to get his boxers down. It's kind of an awkward tangle of limbs for a second, but Joe can't bite back the pleased noise that rises in his throat when Nick finally grips his cock.

"There," Nick says, his breath gusting against Joe's face.

"Personally touching each other," Joe muses. "Good thinking."

Their wrists bump together as their hands move, and Nick laughs softly. "I've got the best ideas."

"That's what I like about you," Joe says, his breath hitching. His dick goes so hard in Nick's hand that it's a little embarrassing, the realization of how much he really loves this – and how much he's going to miss it – hitting him out of nowhere. He slides his face a little closer on the pillow, nudging one of his legs between Nick's. "There are six other reasons, but I'm saving them for a song."

"Shut up," Nick says, giving his dick a hard, deep pull. It makes Joe's whole body go loose with pleasure, pinned there in hazy warmth. He tries to imagine weeks without even seeing Nick, but it's impossible to wrap his mind around when they're tucked together like this, just the two of them.

When Joe opens his eyes, Nick's looking at him, his eyebrows knitted and his mouth open around soft, quick breaths. He holds Joe's gaze as he rubs his thumb up over the slit, coaxing out a dribble of precome and smearing it around the tip.

Joe's toes curl against the sheet, his stomach pulling in at that merciless rub.

"Nothing's gonna change," Nick says heavily. It sounds like something between a promise and a plea. "Okay? Not with us."

"Nothing," Joe echoes. Nick's legs tighten around his, and he nudges his knee up a little further, wanting to touch him as much as possible. "You can't get rid of me that – easily."

Nick shifts closer to him, the movement of his hand stalling as he presses them chest to chest. Joe closes the last distance, touching their foreheads together lightly. He squeezes his hand again, sliding his fist up and down slowly in the cramped space between them.

"I really—" Nick swallows, the noise loud in the quiet of the room. He shakes his head and groans, rolling his hips to grind right into Joe's hand. "I just—"

"Shut up, I know," Joe says, rocking against Nick's fist. They do that for a minute, rocking against each other with echoing little thrusts, until Joe adds, "You have to. You have to – go, and I want you to."

"God," Nick mutters, hooking his leg around the bend of Joe's and rolling them over until Joe's halfway on top of him. "Can we just – I don't know—"

Joe scrabbles his hand between them, knocking Nick's out of the way and shoving his shirt up to his chest. He's not totally sure what he's trying to do until it happens – their hips slot together just right and he grinds his dick right up against Nick's.

It feels so good he just pants against Nick's face, digging his elbow into the mattress for leverage. Nick nods desperately, one hand sliding up under Joe's dumb Administration shirt and resting at the small of his back, like it's even possible to pull him in tighter.

"Yeah," Nick says, arching up against him. "Like that."

Joe doesn't even know how to find a rhythm for this kind of thing, but they fall into one pretty easily. He grinds his hips down against Nick's in slow little thrusts that Nick matches, making the bed creak along with them.

"I'm so—" Joe starts, needing to say something, try to pin down some the craziness flying through his head, but none of it really fits into words. He digs his hand through Nick's hair, gripping it at the top where it's longest, then dragging his fingers down to touch the side of his face – the curve of an eyebrow, the jut of his cheekbone, the damp corner of his mouth.

Nick's hand finds Joe's arm, gripping at it as he lifts his hips in a hard, deliberate rub. Joe can feel himself lose another little wad of precome. He knows it has to be dripping down on Nick's skin, that Nick can feel just how badly he wants this.

"You don't have to," Nick breathes, turning his face against Joe's hand for a second. "I know what you're – I know. I get it."

Joe nods, even though he doesn't even entirely get it. He touches his thumb to Nick's bottom lip as he thrusts a little harder, the side of his dick dragging right up along the side of Nick's.

Nick parts his lips a little, letting out a slow breath that Joe can feel. He touches the tip of his thumb against the wet inside of it, a hesitant little question, and almost blows his load when Nick catches it in a clumsy kiss.

"Nick," Joe gasps, his voice sharp and a little too loud. Nick just slides his hand up, gripping the back of Joe's neck as he jerks up against him again. He brushes his tongue over Joe's skin – just once, a light flicker that makes Joe's whole body twist with a fresh wave of heat. "God."

He moves his thumb away, dragging a damp trail of spit down Nick's chin. They stare at each other for a second.

"Do it," Nick whispers tightly, like the words are coming from behind his clenched teeth. He squeezes the nape of Joe's neck, tilting his face up a little more as he tugs Joe down closer. Joe leans into it, their faces brushing together again. He can see how wide Nick's eyes are, the way his eyebrows hitch every time Joe rocks against him. "Come on."

He can't quite believe Nick is asking him for that, the idea too crazy and complicated – too real – so he just hesitates there, his whole body going hard with tension. It's one of those funny little boundaries that don't make a lot of sense, but let them feel like they have some kind of grasp on reality. Brothers don't kiss. Brothers don't talk about how insanely miserable they are about spending a few weeks not annoying each other. Brothers usually don't rub off on each other, either; they stick to the occasional adrenaline-fueled handjob and call it good. But at least there's a reason they're breaking that rule. They're just trying to get off, Joe thinks. They aren't, like—

Nick lets out a frustrated groan, his fingers twisting into Joe's hair as he leans up and kisses him.

It's hard and desperate, his soft mouth crushing against Joe's, working it open so he can lick against his teeth. All of Joe's senses suddenly narrow to that hot, wet connection, his eyes squeezing shut when his tongue finds Nick's. He moves against it in a hedonistic little rub, shocked at how responsive Nick is, the way he licks right back. It feels way more personal than the stuff they usually do, sweet and slick and deep, God, he can push so deep into Nick's mouth.

Joe groans, rocking against him harder and almost forgetting to breathe. He can feel Nick's heart hammering against his chest, feel the way his cock throbs up against Joe's, and he knows it's all over.

His teeth graze over Nick's lip as it hits him, welling up so hard and fast that he can't do anything but shoot off right there between them. Nick's fist tightens in his hair, yanking on it like encouragement as Joe's thrusts go sharp and needy.

"God, yeah," Nick hisses, sliding his hand over to grip Joe's hip. He moves with him, grinding up with the same deliberate, coaxing rhythm he'd use if he were jerking him. Joe's only dimly aware that he's blowing his load all over Nick's skin, that it's catching there between them and probably getting on his shirt. He can't even think straight, just rutting against him until it's finally over.

Joe slumps there for a second, dropping his forehead against Nick's shoulder, and then slides back so he can dig his hand down between them. It's slick and sticky in that tight space, his come smeared all over Nick's cock and stomach, but it makes his fist glide smoothly when he jacks him. The smell of it and the slapping sound of skin on skin hit him all at once from under the blanket, sending an aftershock of heat through his limbs.

"Come on," Joe whispers, jerking him fast and deep. He's still wound up enough to want to see it happen, feel Nick lose it too. He lowers his voice, his tone soft and wheedling. "Come on, Mr. President."

Nick tightens his fingers, tipping his head back as his whole body tenses. Joe presses his face to the side of Nick's neck, his own breaths hitching as Nick comes for him just like that, his cock pulsing around each messy load. Nick groans helplessly, his chest rumbling as he shapes the noise to Joe's name.

He doesn't stop jerking under him for a long time, the moments dragging out as Joe mouths at Nick's throat and squeezes at his dick. Nick finally lets out a shuddering sigh and shoves Joe's shoulder.

"Stop," he mutters, "I can't—"

Joe lets go, shifting his weight to his elbow as he breathes there against Nick's neck. He doesn't really want to pull away yet, the potential weirdness of the situation only just settling over him.

"Can't get it up again?" he teases, lifting his head slowly and moving his arm from where it's crushed between them. "This was way more fun when you were fifteen."

"Shut up," Nick pants, but his frame shakes a little with a laugh. "Perv."

"Yeah, like you're one to talk."

Joe slides off of him with effort, slumping against Nick's side as he adjusts his boxers. Nick tugs the blanket down, careful to not let it drag through the mess on his stomach.

"Ugh," he groans, lifting his head to look at it. "That's disgusting. Give me your shirt."

"No way," Joe laughs, smacking the back of his hand against Nick's side. "This is a collector's item."

"Yeah, well, I'm about to increase its value."

Nick moves a little awkwardly as he yanks the hem of it up over Joe's head, like he's trying to avoid dripping onto his sheets. Joe flails a little, but he's too boneless to put up much of a fight. He grunts when he finally helps Nick tug it over his head, watching in the dim light as he wads up the cotton and wipes off his stomach. He makes another irritated noise, giving it a few passes before he gives up and chucks it over the side of the bed.

"You suck," Joe says mildly. "That was my souvenir."

"I thought the guitar pick you stole was your souvenir," Nick returns, pulling the blankets back up over him.

"Who says I can't have two?"

"Me," Nick says, yawning hugely and blinking at him. "It's a presidential decree, okay?"

Joe laughs and grabs for the pillow under his head, hitting Nick squarely in the face with it.

"How's that for a presidential decree, huh?" He grinds the pillow down and leans on it, bouncing a few times and making the mattress jiggle. "I call that move the House Majority."

Nick kicks at him under the covers, rolling around to shove him off. He's pink-cheeked and laughing when he gets out from under the pillow, but he hits Joe over the head with it a few times.

"Veto," he says, elbowing Joe in the side for good measure. "You can't out-maneuver the Commander-in-Chief, asshat."

"Oh, I'll out-maneuver you," Joe says, just to be contrary, and ducks under the covers to blow a raspberry against Nick's stomach.

It only occurs to him when he gets there that it's right where they were rubbing their dicks together. Nick's skin is still a little sticky with come, and Joe has the weird, fleeting idea that this isn't that much different than actually putting his mouth on... it. He's pretty sure that should seem way grosser than it does, but for some reason it just makes his skin feel warm.

Joe hesitates for a second, but he goes ahead and blows there wetly, narrowly missing a knee to the ribs when Nick curls in on himself and dissolves into helpless laughter.

"What do you call that one?" Nick says when Joe reemerges from the blankets, his cheeks a little flushed.

"I don't know. The Grover Cleveland?"

Nick laughs again, sounding lazy and pleased. "Weak, dude. Isn't he the one who got stuck in the White House bathtub?"

"You're the geek here, you tell me," Joe says, rubbing his knuckles over Nick's hair.

Nick swings a punch that he ducks, twisting away to the other side of the bed. Nick just follows him, though, sprawling over Joe's bare chest.

"I'm a geek, huh?" he says. "That's, like, slander. Maybe even treason."

"Freedom of speech," Joe argues, and then Nick suddenly kisses him.

It catches Joe by surprise, and for a second his senses are reeling so hard he can't quite respond. Nick starts to pull back, his shoulders tensing, but Joe leans into it and touches his arm. It seems to be all the permission Nick needs; he grips the side of Joe's face and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, tracing it gently before nudging it up between them.

Joe sighs against his cheek, opening up for it and skimming his tongue over Nick's. It melts into another kiss, and then another one after that, all of them light and slow. He's almost afraid to find out what would happen if he just went for it, rolled over and kissed Nick as deep and hard and long as he's itching to.

Nick just looks at him for a second when it's over, and Joe swallows, trying to veer his thoughts back to that little game they were playing.

"Uh. You sunk my battleship?" he tries, and Nick laughs, the sound barreling out of him like he's nervous.

"That has nothing to do with the presidency," he says witheringly.

"Sure it does," Joe says. "It's, like, the Navy."

"It's a Milton Bradley game," Nick says, tapping his fingers against Joe's chest. They stare at each other for another moment before Nick rolls onto his back. Joe pinches at his arm.

"Whatever. You win. You're a rock god, the president, captain of our future spaceship, and the supreme overlord of useless knowledge."

"That's all I'm saying," Nick shrugs, and Joe can feel him grin when he leans over and kisses Nick's forehead.

"Night, loser," Joe says fondly, clambering out of Nick's bed as suddenly as he dove into it.

"Hey," Nick says, sitting up. Joe pauses a few feet from the bed. He can't make out much more than the pale outline of Nick's skin against the dark fabric of his bedding, but there's something hesitant about the way he says, "Things aren't, uh, weird, right?"

Joe presses his lips together, thinking about all of it – Nick's mouth up against his, Nick out there on the road for weeks without him, all the shows and experiences and things they won't be doing together.

"Nope," he says, almost believing it. "Nothing's gonna change with us, remember?"

"Yeah," Nick says, his voice light with relief. Joe watches him slump back on the bed. "Good night, Joseph."

"Good night, Nicholas," he says, mimicking his snotty tone. He's careful about opening the door, and when he turns to shut it he gets a glimpse of Nick squinting in the light from the hall, his hair all messed up and his hand raised in a little wave.

When Joe collapses back in his own bed, his phone chirps on the bedside table.

Come to Nashville. I'll get you another shirt.

Joe laughs up at the ceiling before texting back, will you sign my tits, too?

It's another moment before he gets the reply. Guess you'll have to come and find out.

Joe taps his fingers against the edge of his phone, watching the way they cut through the glow of the screen. It's probably a bad idea, because Nick really does need to do this on his own. They both have to get used to it, figure out how to be them even when they're in different time zones for weeks.

Then again, bad ideas are what Joe does best. i'm bringing a sharpie.

Nothing happens for a minute, and Joe's about to toss his phone back on the table when it beeps again: Thanks.

It doesn't make a lot of sense, but for some reason Joe knows exactly what he means.

-fin.

Yes, Google, that is what I meant.

2009-12-27T03:13:31Z

Things that are making me happy:

1.) My main Christmas present this year, these boots. They are so delightful! Like the perfect blend of riding boots (they're about an inch above the knee) and motorcycle boots (check out that hard-ass buckle). I feel like such a rock star. I intend to wear them ALL THE TIME from now until sandal season.

2.) GOOD FIC. I Often Kiss You When There's No One Else Around, a rare Joe/Nick gem from jb_ficexchange. I only got a chance to read this one today, and it's just so good. It's halting and uncertain yet incredibly steamy, which is basically the perfect tone for first-time brother incest porn. I would go so far as to say that it's BELIEVABLE. Amazing.

3.) I coded the second edition of the jonasnewsletter! I am so, so happy this fandom finally has one, and super chuffed to help with it. \o/

4.) Nick Jonas' STUPID TWITTER/FACE. I love that while Kevin is on his honeymoon, Nick's updates have been reduced to non-stop ramblings about how awesome Christmas is and how much time he and Joe spend together. Like, seriously. Monday: went skiing with Joe. Tuesday: played table-tennis with Joe. Wednesday: went shopping with Joe. Saturday: spent nine hours hanging out with Joe. We get it, Nick. You guys are close.

I seriously can't believe that Christmas is over, and in another week this entire decade will also be over. I first got into fandom in 2000, which means I'm approaching my ten-year anniversary. HOW SURREAL IS THAT? It's kind of funny to realize that I started this whole misadventure with Harry Potter and I'm polishing it off with the... Jonas... Brothers. Clearly the last ten years haven't done much for me in the maturity department.

It's nice to meet another human that shares my affinity for elf culture.

2009-12-25T08:24:21Z

Well, it's after midnight, so it's officially Christmas. Happy holidays!

This has been a pretty bizarre year for me, but diving into a new fandom full of AMAZING people has really made it all worth while. I love reading and writing and squeeing with you guys. I love that for the first time in, like, YEARS, I've made some awesome fandom friends. I love your enthusiasm and creativity and positive energy. I love that you're all so supportive and kind and welcoming. I love that no matter how ridiculous shit gets, I can count on you to remind me of the most important things in life: cute boys that love each other.

I'm so thankful to have this community! You guys are the best.

HAHA SORRY THIS JUST MADE ME LOL. Kevin really means it.

FIC: The Long, Slow Burn

2009-12-23T06:07:11Z

Oh, man. FINALLY, FINALLY I AM DONE.

Much thanks to valiant for all the encouragement and help, and mediaville for her editing, advice, and the prompt that made me raise this fic from perdition.

Happy holidays, JoBros fandom! Thanks for making the last six months so fucking enjoyable.

The Long, Slow Burn. Nick/Joe, R, 21,700 words. It started out really simple, is the funny thing. But maybe all the rest of it was inevitable.

Things start getting weird in June.

They've been touring so much that Joe's used to the ups and downs, and this is just another down. He knows that. There are always stretches like this, endless towns and endless miles traveled between shows, everything getting monotonous. That's the rhythm of life on the road; for two hours every day he's a rock star doing the most exciting thing in the world, and for the other twenty-two he's bored and stir-crazy. They're rarely in any one place long enough for two meals, and he can't count the times Kevin has handed menus back to a waitress in a pit stop restaurant and said, I'm sorry, ma'am, but what state is this?

It's Wisconsin today, the halfway point between Milwaukee and Chicago. The town they stop in barely qualifies as civilization; it's just a collection of tiny houses and some roadside amenities, as random and disposable-looking as one of Frankie's old Playskool village sets.

"Charming," Nick drawls when they pile off the bus. It's so hot out that Joe's shirt sticks to his skin in less than a minute, but they've all been cooped up too long to even think about staying inside.

He wanders into the gas station convenience store and buys a popsicle and a five dollar pair of sunglasses. The girl behind the counter is probably JT's age, late twenties if she's a day, but she doesn't say anything when she rings him up. She seems more interested in the hooting of Kevin and Garbo at the magazine rack behind him.

"Have a swell day," he says when he hands her the signed receipt. She looks at it and looks at him, a flicker of recognition passing over her face, and he smiles as he walks back out into the wall of heat.

Nick's leaning against a wall advertisement for cigarettes, his fingers moving in an absent chord progression against his thigh.

"What's the haps?" Joe says, trying out his new shades. They're purple plastic with little stars at the hinges, and they make everything look neon orange.

Nick shrugs and smiles. "Thinking about a song."

Joe peels the wrapper off his popsicle and bites off the tip. "What's it about?"

"I don't know yet, I've just got a melody. I think I want to do a country song."

"Country?" Joe repeats. "What, like, a 'my heart is broken and my pick-up broke down' kinda thing?"

Nick shrugs. "Maybe something slightly less cliché, but yeah."

"You just want to make Kevin learn how to play the banjo, don't you?"

Nick laughs a little and tosses his hands up. "You got me," he says dryly.

The sunlight glares sharply off the buses from across the parking lot. They probably stick out like a sore thumb in this scrubby little town, but he doubts anyone's going to approach them. It's a little weird to look up at the sky and realize he's in the middle of nowhere, a place where no one is interested in taking his picture or tweeting about his location.

"It's so freaking hot," he says eventually.

"Pretty much," Nick says, shielding his eyes from the sun. Joe tugs his sunglasses off and slides them on Nick's face. One of the plastic arms catches on his cheek, but Nick just sits there and lets him shove them on.

"Better?" Joe says, squinting at him. They look ten times more ridiculous on Nick than they did in the tiny mirror where Joe tried them on.

"Not really. Did you pay money for these?"

"Shut up, they're awesome. You should go buy yourself pair. They have ones with heart-shaped frames, dude. That's so you."

"Wow, how can I resist?"

Joe sucks the syrup out of the tip of his popsicle, the ice turning gray before he takes a bite. It's already melting a little, dripping purple liquid against the back of his wrist. He glances over, catching Nick in a stare, and holds it out.

"Want some?"

Nick doesn't take it from him, he just leans in and bites a small chunk off, shutting his eyes as he swallows it. It only looks slightly dirty, but Joe snickers at him.

Nick rolls his eyes.

"You're an idiot," he says. "It's purple, and it's, like, half-eaten. It doesn't even remotely look like a dick anymore."

"Man, get your mind out of the gutter," Joe says, licking up the side of it as obscenely as he can. He taps his tongue against the end of it and raises his eyebrows. "Does this make you uncomfortable, Nicholas? That's Freudian. It means you're a huge pervert."

"Thanks for the analysis, Dr. Jonas," Nick says, kicking at the gravel. "You're the one, like, going down a popsicle."

"Going down on a popsicle," Joe repeats, snorting with laughter. He's so bored that everything seems ten times more hilarious than it actually is. "You're such a dork."

"What's so funny?" Kevin says, wandering over.

"Blowjobs," Joe says merrily.

"Right," Kevin says, holding out the word and glancing between them. His default in these situations is to pretend he knows what's going on. "I hear they were a vaudeville staple."

Joe waves the popsicle in his direction. "You want in on this? Tag-team?"

"Uh, I'm good," Kevin says. "Joe. Joe, I said I'm—"

Kevin takes off for the bus and Joe lunges after him, flecks of ice melting down his forearm as he chases him around the gas pumps. It's too hot, though, and he gives up after a few minutes and lopes back over to Nick.

"Moron," Joe says fondly, waving at Kevin as he flips them off from the door of the bus. He leans his elbow against Nick's shoulder, one of his favorite poses, and takes another bite of the popsicle. He offers it to Nick again afterwards, like he didn't just bellow take it, baby, take it while shoving it in Kevin's face.

Nick pushes the sunglasses up to the top of his head and squints over at him.

"Seriously?" he says. "After all that?"

Joe just waggles his eyebrows, but he breaks into a loud, bright laugh when Nick leans over and sucks off another piece. He really goes for it, slurping his way down and licking at a droplet that drips onto his chin. When he straightens up he's pink-cheeked and laughing as much as Joe.

They're just really bored, he thinks, and they're starting to take it out on each other.

*

"I have the hiccups," Nick says in Memphis. He flops next to Joe on the couch, his whole body hitching as he tries to swallow one down.

"Did you do the drinking upside-down thing?" Joe says absently.

Nick nods and furrows his eyebrows. "I've had them for, like, an hour. I tried everything."

"Hold your breath."

Nick rolls his eyes. "Do you seriously think that wasn't the first thing I did? I'm going to get brain damage if I hold it any more."

Joe chucks his magazine on the coffee table, unable to keep from grinning when Nick tries to hold back another hiccup. He presses his hand against Nick's sternum, like he'll be able to feel the air bubble.

"Should I call a doctor?" he says. "Maybe an ambulance? Or, wait, does the National Guard have a hotline?"

Nick bats his hand away and huffs. "Try to scare me."

"Um." Joe hooks his thumbs in the corners of his mouth and pulls them to the side, using his fingers to push up his nose. "Boo."

"I'm – ugh – serious," Nick says plaintively. Joe keeps his fingers there, blinking at him a few times. "It's the only thing I haven't tried yet."

Joe finally lets go. "The world's supply of fugly argyle sweater-vests is in danger of running out."

"I hate you."

"How am I supposed to scare you if you know it's coming?"

Nick shuts his eyes and waves a hand. "Now I don't know it's coming."

Joe just watches him for a moment. Nick's face scrunches up as it happens again, and then his mouth opens a little as he sucks in an injured-sounding breath. Joe leans in a little closer, peering at him. It's kind of funny to watch.

Nick cracks an eye open.

"You're supposed to—"

Joe closes the space between them and kisses him. It's the first thing that comes to mind; it's the last thing Nick would expect, and it does a pretty good job of shutting him up.

Nick tenses and makes a strangled noise that Joe can feel against his lips, his hands flailing up to shove at his shoulders. He doesn't move, though. Joe just leans into a little more, pressing Nick deep in the cushions of the couch and breathing warmly against his cheek. Nick makes that noise again, and in a flash of inspiration Joe digs his fingers into his sides in a sneak-attack of tickles.

Nick's whole body shudders and squirms, and his mouth falls open a little as he loses a burst of helpless laughter in Joe's face. It makes his upper lip catch between Joe's, and Joe tugs on it with a playful little grr noise as his fingers move up to Nick's pits.

Nick curls in on himself helplessly, rolling like he's trying to get away. He's pretty much trapped, though, and the noises he's making go low and impatient as he tilts his face and nips at Joe's bottom lip. It hurts, and Joe wriggles his fingers cruelly, forcing Nick's mouth open more as he huffs and giggles.

He's not totally sure what goes wrong, but somewhere between Nick's laughter and Joe's increasingly obnoxious smooches Nick's tongue winds up knocking against his lips. It's a slick, wet glide, clumsy and warm. A shock of heat hits Joe out of nowhere, making his pulse thud in his ears and his senses go a little fuzzy. Nick's tongue rubs against the edge of Joe's teeth before they break apart.

Nick blinks up at him, face blotchy and pink and a little shell-shocked. Joe swallows.

It's not the first time he's taken a joke too far, not by a long shot, but he doesn't recognize the look Nick's giving him. It's kind of reproachful and kind of overwhelmed, and the back of Joe's neck warms with embarrassment.

"Hey," he says after a second, remembering why the whole thing just happened. He grins, suddenly pleased. "It worked."

It takes Nick another moment before he catches his breath, and then he picks up one of the couch pillows and hits it over Joe's head.

"Thanks, jerk," he says, rolling away and sitting up. He shakes his head and laughs a little, cracking his shoulders.

"I live to serve," Joe chirps, tossing the pillow back in Nick's face. "What do you want for lunch?"

*

A few weeks later they play in Arizona, and Nick's practically bouncing off the walls when they get back to the hotel room.

"Come on," he says when Joe shuts down Nick's challenge to a push-up contest. "It's not that late."

"Dude, it's eleven," Joe says. "You're worse than Frankie. Do I seriously have to tire you out so you'll stop bugging me?"

Nick usually buckles when Joe pushes the age button, but this time he just digs his heels in.

"What's the problem, Grandpa?" He peels his outer shirt off and snaps it in Joe's direction. "Afraid your back might go out?"

Joe pulls his sweatshirt off with a loud sigh and Nick grins.

They both breeze through the first twenty or so, counting them off in tandem. Joe loses himself in the rhythm of it, the room quieting into white noise. When they hit thirty, he can feel his shirt start to soak through at the small of his back, breaths cutting out harsh around thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three. Nick slows a little, each flex of his arms becoming deliberate.

When Joe glances up, Nick's already looking at him. He's flushed, eyes bright, but there's something teasing about the way his mouth pulls up.

He perks his eyebrows, a drip of sweat sliding down his cheek as he breathes, "Sixty-two."

Joe matches his rhythm, arms trembling a little under his weight.

"Are we having fun yet?" he grits out, and Nick loses his next breath in a laugh, teetering for a second when he's all the way up.

"Sixty-eight," he huffs pointedly, and Joe sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. He's not going to punk out on this one, even if he was bone-tired to start with. Nick has a way of teasing out his practically-nonexistent competitive edge.

"Oh my God," he moans when they hit one hundred. He collapses face-first into the floor, laying there for a second before he rolls over. "I need water. Maybe a massage."

"How about a Y chromosome?" Nick suggests, like he's not sprawled there next to him in the same shape.

"Eat me."

Joe tips his head to the side so he can look at him, at the way Nick's chest is moving in a steady heave, his sweat-slick hair stuck to his forehead. He lays there for another minute, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, and then pads over to the mini-bar. He pulls out water for himself and a thing of juice for Nick, basking in the rush of cold air from the little fridge.

"Thanks, Mom," Nick says when he hands him the bottle. He stands up, flexing his shoulders in a slow roll.

"You're welcome, precious." Joe drops into the nearest chair and picks at the sealed cap of his water.

"I gotta say, you did pretty well," Nick says. He takes a swig of juice and smiles, eyes narrowing. "For an old man."

Joe snags a finger in Nick's belt loop and yanks him onto his lap. He crashes down in a damp pile of muscle and elbows, dropping his juice on the table.

"Don't give Uncle Joe any of that lip, whippersnapper," Joe says nasally. He furrows his eyebrows and purses his lips, squinting at him vaguely. "It's about time you learned some respect for your elders."

Nick tips his face down to look at Joe, amused. "How is this punishment, exactly? Other than the way you smell."

Joe makes sure he's got one arm securely wound around Nick's waist before he lifts his other hand in attack.

"No – nonono—" Nick starts, but the second Joe dive-bombs his stomach it gets lost in a helpless, shrieking laugh.

"Yeah," Joe says, doing his best to keep hold of him and go for Nick's pits while he flops around uselessly. "Yeah, that's right. With age comes superior tickling skills and cunning, Nicholas Jo—"

Nick gets him with an elbow in the solar plexus and covers Joe's face with his hand, scrabbling to steady himself. Joe bites at his palm and gets the advantage when Nick yelps and lets go.

"Truce," Nick pants, going pink in the face from laughing. "Truce, you – dick—"

"Language," Joe chides in a not-that-bad imitation of their mom, but he relents.

Nick's just warm, boneless weight on his lap for a few minutes there as they catch their breath.

Joe swallows, the adrenaline of that little slap-fight sparking something weird under his skin. He doesn't feel tired anymore; instead he feels alert, his senses sharp and all attuned to the feeling of Nick's weight in his lap.

"Okay, Uncle Joe," Nick says eventually. "Can I get up now?"

"I guess." He gives Nick's knee a slap. "But next time I'm telling you about my service in Korea."

Joe leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek, because that's what the geriatric relatives on their mom's side always do. It catches on the corner of his mouth, though, right where it's bowed in a smirk, and when Nick turns a little their lips skid together.

It only lasts for a second before Joe pulls back, surprised. He grins automatically, halfway through thinking up a way to laugh it off when Nick suddenly kisses him again. This time it's right on the lips, an affectionate, cushy rub.

Everything in Joe's world jerks abruptly to the side, like he just stumbled off the edge of Splash Mountain. Nick blinks at him afterwards, but neither of them vocalizes the hey, that was weird that lingers in the air.

"You can have first shower," Nick finally says, scrubbing a hand through his sweaty hair. "I wanna mess around with a song. I've got something in my head I don't want to lose."

"Sure," Joe says. "Work, work, work."

"That's why I make the big bucks." Nick gets off his lap and pads over to the guitar. He slings it over his shoulder and gives it a strum, looking at Joe. "You want to help?"

"Nah, I'm beat. Not all of us are robots who don't need sleep."

Nick laughs and perches on the arm of the couch. "Your software just needs to be updated."

Joe messes up Nick's hair on his way out of the room, hand lingering at the damp side of his face for a second. Nick smiles and hums.

*

When Joe wakes up the next morning he licks his lips a few times and thinks about it.

He's kissed Nick plenty before – his cheek, his forehead, his band-aid covered knees. Affection is something they've always been able to trade easily, no awkwardness or strings attached. It's just how they work. They share clothes and eat off each other’s plates and text if they’re apart for more than a few hours. Everyone in the family has two phones, but when someone wants to find Nick they just ask Joe. They're always bleeding into each other's space and doing things that would be weird with anyone else. It's almost a survival technique in their family; Kevin's always had Dad, Mom dotes on Frankie, and Nick and Joe are – Nick and Joe.

When he thinks about it like that, it doesn't seem like a huge deal.

They stay up late after the show that night, too wired for sleep. It's the three of them for a while, until Kevin deserts and then it's just Joe and Nick.

"I can't believe I'm almost nineteen," he's saying, trying to balance a drum stick on one finger. "I mean, I know that's not old-old, but it's, like. Old. It's practically not even a -teen anymore. It's a totally useless year. What's the point? Eighteen is a big deal, and twenty is kind of cool because it's, like, twenty, but nineteen is old without any perks."

Nick's strumming the guitar gently. He does it all the time, playing little tunes as absently as Joe would bend up a paperclip or chew on a pen. When he starts singing under his breath, though, Joe furrows his eyebrows.

"You're not listening to me at all, are you?"

Nick grins and shakes his head, still tapping his foot on the floor.

"I hate you. You're my least favorite brother."

"We both know that's not true," Nick says. It comes out tinged with a melody, like it's part of the song he's plucking out.

Joe stands up, not really sure where he's going until he's across the room. He sits on the arm of Nick's chair and watches him play from that angle, close enough that Nick's elbow brushes his side.

"I was listening," Nick finally admits, glancing up at him. "And I have some really exciting news. The average person lives till eighty these days, so you don't have to buy a walker just yet."

"Thanks, brainiac," Joe says, messing up his hair.

Nick's fingers go still on his guitar as he tips his head back and smiles at him. He gives Joe's knee a little punch, and Joe suddenly wants to kiss him. The thought comes out of nowhere, shocking him even as it moves his gaze down to Nick's mouth. It's just – it's just that he's pretty sure he could. He's pretty sure Nick would let him.

It's not a very good reason to do something, but it's one Joe uses a lot.

He leans in a little, watching the way Nick's lips twitch and part as he pulls in a breath. He catches his eye then, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for Nick to pull back.

Instead, Nick meets him halfway.

Something warm pools in his stomach as the wet inner skin of Nick's lip catches on his. Nick's hands come up out of nowhere, cradling Joe's jaw earnestly, how he might kiss girls.

Seconds roll by, too many seconds, but they stay there like that. Nick's tongue touches cautiously at Joe's mouth, and before he can think it through Joe opens up for it. The tip of his tongue sweeps against Nick's in a sweet little roll; he tastes like boy spit, a distinction Joe never knew existed. His lips aren't glossy or smooth or sweet; they're rough, chapped, dented a little from the way Nick's been biting the bottom one while he plays. His tongue darts up under Joe's lip, sweeping against his teeth.

Joe breathes hard against Nick's cheek, struck dumb by how easy it is.

Nick just stares at him when it's over. His eyes look huge and his mouth is parted a little around his breaths.

"Um," Joe says.

Nick kisses him again, like it's a challenge – just one, and then another and another, hot little stabs of his mouth that Joe automatically returns.

When they break apart again, Nick's shaking like he needs to eat something. Joe thumbs at the side of his neck, winded by that sudden reminder of how fragile Nick actually is.

"Don't," Nick says after a second, like he can read something in his face. "Don't get like that, Joe. Please."

He tugs at the front of Joe's shirt like he's asking for something, but Joe has no idea what. He doesn't even know what he's getting like, because he doesn't know what's going on. The taste of those kisses is still lingering in the corners of his mouth, and he swallows a few times as he stares at Nick.

"What are we doing?" he finally says.

"I think they call it kissing."

"Seriously, dude."

"I don't know," Nick says, shifting in his chair. "What do you think it is?"

"Uh, I don't know." Nick lets go of his shirt and looks down at his guitar, and Joe's palms tingle with nerves. There's still enough time to walk away from this, he's pretty sure. They could just let it go and play Xbox or something, no big deal.

But for some reason he doesn’t really want to, and he gets the feeling Nick doesn't either. It's just – interesting. He's never really thought about it before, but it suddenly seems like something they could actually do.

"Practice?" he suggests.

"Practice," Nick repeats, suddenly focusing on him again.

"Yeah," he says, rubbing his hands against his knees and shaking his hair out of his face. It's the only explanation he's got, so he commits. "You know, just – like, practicing. It's not a big deal, right? We're just, like, messing around. If you don't want to—"

"No," Nick says. His voice is sharp, cracking through Joe's rambling like a whip. His mouth works, and then he smiles a little and shakes his head. "I like, uh. Practicing."

Joe laughs, breathless and nervous. It almost sounds hysterical as it bubbles up in his chest, and he thinks about hiccups and how this started out as a joke. It's definitely not funny, but he's laughing because that and touching Nick are his two default settings, the easiest things he knows how to do.

He just leans forward and catches Nick's bottom lip with his own, pulling at it softly as he watches Nick shut his eyes. It feels strangely deliberate this time. His heart beats a little harder when Nick's mouth moves, parting just enough to catch gently against his lips.

"This could get weird," Joe says afterwards, because someone needs to.

Nick looks at him, mouth wet, and shrugs. "I think it already kind of is."

*

When Nick finally rolls out of bed the next morning, though, everything is pretty normal. They shower, brush their teeth, bicker about who gets to wear the pink striped shirt that's definitely Joe's, and watch the news while they eat breakfast. Joe whistles a Lady Gaga song as he straightens his hair and Nick calls him a girl, and Joe chases him around the room with the flat-iron until Nick takes it back.

It's only when they've thrown their crap back in their duffels and are heading out to meet everyone in the lobby that Nick grabs his arm. He studies Joe's face for a second, hesitating so long that the strap of Joe's bag starts to cut into his shoulder, and then he presses a quick, warm kiss to his lips.

"I didn't know if we were going to. Again. After this," Nick says, looking at the carpet. "So I just wanted another one."

Joe drops his bag at Nick's feet and kisses him again – a solid, warm, real kiss that leaves Nick looking a little dazed.

Joe grins when he shoulders his bag and opens the door.

"You're totally the girl here," he says, leaving Nick huffing indignantly as he trails down the hallway.

It happens again when they're on the road, after everyone else has drifted off to their bunks. They're sitting on the couch in the bus lounge with the credits of a bad romantic comedy scrolling on the huge TV. The glow of the screen is the only light, so it's not as obvious as it could be, but Joe gets a shock of adrenaline when Nick leans over and catches his mouth. It's stupid and dangerous, but that only makes it better. He flicks his tongue against the seam of Nick's lips, dizzy with excitement when Nick parts them and licks back. The tip of his tongue runs against Joe's deliberately, clumsy and wet in the no man's land between their mouths.

Joe tries to regain control of his breathing when they break apart, because it's suddenly ragged and hard. He can only make out one side of Nick's face in the light from the TV screen, but he sees how the corner of his mouth creeps up slowly.

And then it happens again a few days after that, when they're doing an interview for some morning zoo radio show. The three of them are sitting in a little green room while their publicist talks to the DJs out in the hall, covering all the stuff they aren't supposed to bring up, and Kevin's phone rings. He ducks out to take it and Joe keeps talking – he's in the middle of relating this YouTube video he saw the night before – but when the door clicks shut Nick's expression changes. It's so fast, so sudden, that Joe just trails off mid-sentence.

Nick raises his eyebrows before he leans in, like he wants to be sure Joe knows it's coming. There's no way to brace himself for this kind of thing, though. He just grips the back of the couch when Nick's mouth covers his, kissing back with giddy recklessness.

It reminds him of every other time they've done something stupid together. All their little capers and in-jokes, ranging from the time they snuck onto Kelly Clarkson's tour bus when Nick was thirteen to the time Joe got Leighton Meester's number at the Teen Choice Awards and they crank called her afterwards from Nick's phone. It's like those moments they catch each other's eye during an interview and share a look over Kevin's answer, or tag-team an argument and win, or smile at each other in the middle of some song because they remember putting those words together and now they're being shouted by thirty thousand people.

It's all that and something else, something more. It's crazy.

*

On the drive to Michigan Joe and Kevin waste a solid hour debating the best way to survive a zombie apocalypse. It's an old argument, one they never get sick of.

"God, are you guys still on this?" Nick throws himself on the couch next to Joe. "It's a no-brainer. Jack a truck, drive it through the front of a sporting goods store, load up and head for the hills."

He ticks each one off on his fingers, sunlight catching on his ring.

"You're not accounting for all the pioneer cemeteries and Indian graveyards in the country," Kevin argues. "When the zombies rise, they rise everywhere."

Nick shakes his head. "I think we can handle a few low-population zombie areas. The odds are way better than in a city."

"Plus, hello, sporting goods store," Joe points out. He just spent a ridiculous amount of time laying down a completely different plan, but he's more than willing to jump ship if it means irritating Kevin. "We'll have crossbows."

"There's no line of defense in the country," Kevin says dismissively. "You need to secure a hold before you start thinking about a counter-attack."

"Fine, Kev. You secure your hold in the city, and we'll be popping hillbilly zombies Rambo-style from our stolen truck."

Nick holds his fist up, and Joe bumps it with his own.

Kevin rolls his eyes. "They hear, but they do not listen," he intones, flipping his phone open.

Joe pulls the corners of his mouth down thoughtfully.

"Do you think Jesus would come back as a zombie?"

"I'm pretty sure the zombie apocalypse presupposes a secular view of creation," Nick says, mouth quirking up.

Joe sighs and puts his elbows on his knees, tucking his chin in his hands and gazing at Nick dreamily. "I love it when you use words with all those... what are they called?"

"Syllables?"

"That's it."

Nick lifts his chin at him and winks. Joe grins stupidly, because sometimes Nick has that effect on him.

"We need to practice the bridge in 'Goodnight and Goodbye'," Nick says, settling back in the cushions of the couch and flicking the TV on. "We got pretty sloppy last night."

"Yeah, no kidding." Kevin's still gazing at his phone, but he's always up for geeking out about guitars with a captive audience. He starts going off about chords and music dynamics or something, and Joe picks up Nick's hand to distract himself.

Nick's hands look different than his; they're thicker and broader, and the tips of his fingers are all calloused from playing guitar. They've been like that for a while, but Nick's finally starting to grow into them; they don't look awkward at the end of his arms anymore – the thick, corded muscle just gets narrower at the wrist, flowing into his hand.

"Anyway, I'm psyched for Europe again," Kevin's saying. "Remember that—"

Nick's palm is dry and warm. Joe tries to figure out which is the life line, but he doesn't get very far. They all look too short for that, and when he traces one Nick closes his hand around Joe's. His gaze is still trained on the TV, but he drags his thumb along the side of Joe's fingers, slow and deliberate.

"—the castles, you know? We didn't get to last time, but I bet—"

Joe was just screwing around, but he realizes after a second that Nick isn't. He's actually stroking his fingers, rubbing at the sensitive skin between them. He twists them, rubbing back, and Nick scrapes a nail across his palm.

"—Frankie would love that. Maybe we could even—"

Joe pulls in a deep, slow breath when Nick tips his thumb up to rub at the sensitive hollow of his wrist, right where the tendon is. He tries to focus on CNN instead of the weird pull of heat in his stomach. It's not even like they're doing anything, except he knows Nick's messing with him. Right there, right in front of Kevin, he's probing at this weird little secret. It sends a frisson of heat over his skin, and he shifts around to cover it.

"—without them, and Paris? Come on—"

Nick's slow about it when he twines their fingers together, tightening his grip until they're making one fist. Nick's ring digs into his skin, and Joe shuts his eyes and squeezes back.

"—like last time, huh?"

He's only aware that they were supposed to respond to something when it takes a little too long and the room goes quiet. Kevin's just staring at him expectantly.

"Definitely," he says, too loud. Nick laughs under his breath and slides his hand out of Joe's.

"Frankie is a better listener," Kevin says, throwing his hands in the air and walking back towards the bunks.

"You are such a jerk," Joe hisses, shoving his elbow against Nick's arm. Nick keeps looking at the TV, but he smiles in a really irritating way.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says loftily.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Nick's eyes go wide when Joe leans over and kisses him, quick and dirty. He pushes his tongue past Nick's lips and catches the wad of gum in his cheek, stealing it with a tiny wet noise. It's still minty, and somewhere under that he can taste Nick's spit.

Two weeks ago that would have been gross, but the realization that he knows what Nick's mouth tastes like sends a thrill of heat down his spine. He stretches the gum between his teeth, sucking the flavor out of it and meeting Nick's gaze.

"We're gonna stop for gas in a few," Kevin calls, appearing in the doorway. "You guys want to move to the other bus?"

Nick nearly jumps out of his skin, but Joe just leans back in the couch and nods, blowing a bubble that pops against his lips.

"Yeah. Gotta work on that bridge," he says, grinning and bumping his knee against Nick's. "Right?"

Nick pulls himself together enough to nod, gaze still pinned on Joe's mouth. "Right."

Joe considers it a win.

*

They get a little rowdy after the show in Miami. It’s the same stuff they always do, wrestling around to burn off steam. Joe winds up tackling Nick to the ground, and they roll around, getting in punches and nipple twists.

But just when Joe goes left, Nick goes right, and he ends up smashing his hand into the edge of the coffee table.

"Son of a—" he hisses, sitting up to inspect his knuckles. The skin is a little torn up, but he's had a lot worse.

Nick just sits there on his knees, catching his breath and watching Joe flex his fingers.

"You want me to kiss it better?" he says after a second. He perks his eyebrows, like it's just normal teasing.

Joe holds his hand out, but instead of giving it an exaggerated smooch, Nick brings it to his mouth and carefully kisses the bend of his knuckles. His mouth is hot and cushy and chapped, a little rough on the raw skin. It makes Joe's pulse spike, all that energy from a minute before suddenly stalling in his chest, and he isn't sure if he's supposed to be laughing.

"Great, now it’s probably infected," he says. Nick grins, but he doesn't let go.

"Yeah, Joe, I gave you cooties," he says, rolling his eyes.

"Someone call a doctor," Joe groans, and Nick laughs. It's such a reassuring sound that Joe doesn't realize for another few seconds that Nick is thumbing lightly at the skin just above the scrape.

"Sorry," he says, looking down at their hands. Joe shrugs.

"I think I'll survive," he says. "But if I don't, make sure they scatter my ashes at Legoland. Not the one in California, either, the big one. Where is it? Sweden?"

Nick hesitates for a second, and then he leans forward and kisses him.

"Denmark," Nick says against his mouth. "It's in Denmark."

Joe laughs and kisses him again, mumbling, "I can't believe you know that."

He can feel Nick smiling, but neither of them lets go, stringing those kisses together around little gusts of laughter.

It settles into a rhythm after the giggles pass, happening so quietly that Joe barely notices they've shifted gears. He loses track of how many minutes go by, his brain numb to everything but the wet flutter of Nick's tongue against his lips. He likes it – likes feeling Nick pressed up against him, likes the hard muscle of Nick's back under his hand. Most of the time when he thinks about Nick he imagines him like he was a few years ago, all sharp skinny angles, but there's no mistaking him for that when they're all wrapped together. It makes him feel proud, kind of, and pleased in a way that's not entirely unfamiliar.

He stretches out on his back when they break apart, and Nick leans back on the bed.

"I'm starving," Joe sighs, splaying his arms out at either side. "You think we could get away with ordering room service?"

Nick shrugs and smiles. "I'll tell Mom my levels were off."

Joe looks over at him, lazy warmth curling in his stomach. Nick's cheeks are a little flushed, his curls falling over his forehead. He looks rumpled and happy, warm around the edges. It's funny to think that Joe could just crawl over and kiss him if he wants, or tackle him to the ground for another round of wrestling. It's not weird, he thinks. It's not weird at all.

"I want the biggest hamburger in the world," he says. Nick laughs indulgently.

*

They keep moving. The tour keeps rolling forward, and sometimes it feels like they're rolling with it and sometimes it feels like they're getting dragged along.

When Joe wakes up in the morning it's with the warm weight of Nick's arm slung around his waist. When he falls asleep at night it's to the soft staccato of Nick's breaths in the dark. And for a handful of minutes each day, stolen so quietly no one suspects a thing, he gets to feel Nick's mouth open and sigh against his own.

"I'm not tired, are you?" Nick says when they get back to their room in Boston. He peels off his sweatshirt and tosses it in a chair, going from teenage boy to rock star in the blink of an eye.

"Nope," Joe says. "Wonder what's on TV."

They end up making out on the bed closest to the door while a rerun of The Office blares in the background. Joe twists his fingers in the chain around Nick's neck, the tags clinking as he licks the sharp edge of his teeth.

"I like this show," Joe says, and Nick laughs.

"Yeah, it's not bad," he agrees, shifting to his back and yawning. Joe bites at his elbow when he covers his mouth, and Nick snorts with laughter, rolling away.

"I thought you weren't tired," Joe says, wrapping his arms around him from behind while Nick pretends he's trying to get away. "You've awakened the beast now."

"The beast?" Nick echoes, huffing against the blankets. He hooks his leg around the back of Joe's, but it doesn't get him any leverage.

"The fearsome Joe beast," he says somberly. "Now the villagers won't be free until they satisfy his monstrous appetites."

Nick snickers and kicks his leg uselessly, trying to elbow him. "And what satisfies your appetites, Joe?"

He hadn't really thought that far, so he just nibbles on Nick's shoulder. It earns him another desperate wriggle and a barely-muffled shriek of laughter. He moves his mouth over a little, to the place where his neck is bare, and touches his teeth to the skin.

Nick's breath hitches, his shoulder jerking up reflexively. "Ugh, gross," he says, which just eggs Joe on even more.

"Mmm, delicious," he growls, aiming for Dracula and sounding more like he's French. "A virgin sacrifice."

Nick stops fighting when Joe's mouth gets softer, his pretend bites giving way to absent, light kisses.

"Huh," he says after a second, when Joe's mouth is up behind his ear. "You – uh – better not give me a hickey."

Joe laughs lightly, sending a hot gust of breath against his ear. "Way to break character, perv."

It takes a second, but he can see the sudden rush of color to the side of Nick's face. He starts squirming around again.

"You're the one who started kissing me, Joe-beast," he says scathingly. Joe just laughs again, letting him roll back over so he can straddle Nick's hips.

"Have you ever gotten a hickey?" he asks, suddenly curious. Nick looks like he's thinking about shoving him off, but he finally gives up and flumps against the mattress, staring up at he ceiling.

"Have you?"

"Um, duh," Joe says. "But I asked you first. Have you? Huh? Was Miley a biter?"

He pinches at Nick's side when he says that, and Nick jerks beneath him.

"Can we please never talk about that again?" he says curtly, and Joe grins.

"She was, wasn't she? Oh man, I bet she was a tiger. You—"

It works like a charm; Nick huffs and punches his knee and snaps, "No," before he can get on a roll. Joe shifts a little on Nick's hips.

"So you've never gotten one," he concludes, and Nick looks away and then shrugs.

"No." He tenses when he looks back at him, like he can see where this is going. "No, dude, no, you can't – Joe, seriously, someone will see—"

"Oh, shut up," Joe says dismissively. He grabs the hem of Nick's t-shirt and tugs it up. Nick's muscles all flex like he's doing an involuntary crunch while Joe looks at him.

"What—" He huffs incredulously. "Joe."

He slides down so he can get closer to it, only distantly aware that Nick's watching him with saucer-sized eyes.

"Dude, how many people see you without a shirt on? Chill out."

"That just makes it – even harder to explain," Nick sighs, but then Joe starts kissing his stomach and he trails off. His skin is extra smooth there, dusted with tiny, pale hairs. Nick really doesn't ever take his shirt off if he can help it, and that makes it feel even stranger to be touching him there, where only he can.

He drags his mouth around aimlessly until he finds a good spot. He just nips at it, scraping his teeth there lightly. Nick's so primed that he shivers without seeming to realize it, breaths going tight and funny. Joe does it again, swiping his tongue over the skin before catching it in a warm, sucking kiss.

"Joe," Nick says again, but it doesn't sound like a reprimand. He just kind of loses the word in a heavy breath, his hips twisting under Joe's hands.

Joe shuts his eyes as he works at it. Nick's skin warm and soft against his face, and he can feel every pull of breath he takes, the way the tension in his body swells and ebbs away with each one.

He pulls back to study it after a minute, surprised at the sudden spike of heat in his stomach. It's about the size of a quarter, so dark it's almost purple at the edges.

"Holy crap," Nick says, getting on his elbows and staring down at it. "That's huge. God, Joe, you – you gave me a hickey."

"That was kind of the point, dude." He thumbs over it, wiping away his spit. It's warm to the touch from all the blood under the skin, and Nick makes a tiny noise when he presses on it. "Practice, right?"

Nick's still staring at it, a circle of pink that stands out sharply against his pale skin. He looks flushed, and Joe suddenly realizes that he's half-hard in his jeans.

"Practice," Nick says. He seems to snap out of it then, rolling his eyes and jerking his shirt back down. "Right."

*

By the time Joe stumbles out of bed in the morning, Nick's already dressed and brushing his teeth.

Joe scratches his stomach and leans in the bathroom doorway, watching as Nick rinses and spits. His hair's still a little damp, clinging to the back of his neck in black curls. He tugs at the top of it absently and leans over to study his reflection. He looks calm and collected in that way that always makes Joe itch to shake him up.

Joe launches himself in the room and catches him in a hug, chin resting on the curve of Nick's shoulder. In the mirror, Nick's face lights up with a surprised laugh.

"Gee, Sleeping Beauty awakens."

"Shut up," Joe says, not letting go. Nick reaches to grip at his forearm, fingers tucking around it. "It's not that late."

"Psh. I already ate, pumped some iron and wrote a future hit single. Did you sleep well, Joe? Did you have good dreams?"

Nick gives a little flex in the mirror, and Joe unceremoniously hoists him off his feet.

"Hey, look," he huffs in Nick's ear, cheek wet where it's pressed against his hair. "Who needs iron when I can just pump you?"

Nick laughs and Joe spins them around, staggering with Nick's weight.

"Oh yeah," he grunts, "that's working my hammies."

"Put me down, jerk," Nick huffs. He gives Joe a shove when he's upright again, but Joe doesn't back off. He can't stop touching him, so he tugs at the front of Nick's shirt and messes up his hair and leans in close enough to smell his toothpaste. His fingers come to rest against Nick's stomach, right over his hickey.

"How's it looking?" he asks, and Nick sucks in a little gasp as Joe bares his stomach.

"Okay," he says. "Um, I guess."

Nick's stomach sucks in sensitively when he touches it.

"Man, I got you good," he says, rubbing at the edge. Nick tilts his head to look down at it, then looks away.

"Yeah, you did," he says, gripping the edge of the sink. Joe grins and drops his shirt back down.

"You can't go swimming for, like, a week."

"You're such a jerk," he laughs, shoving him. Joe catches his hand and moves closer, until they're almost nose to nose. Nick raises his eyebrows a little, like a challenge, but he melts right into it when Joe kisses him.

"Are you done now?" he says afterwards.

"Nope."

Joe pulls him in tight and Nick tips his head back, waiting for it.

It hits Joe all at once, how much he wants this. He doesn't know why, but he wants to kiss Nick and shove him back against the sinks, make him laugh and then suck on his tongue. It makes his skin pull tight with something hot and dirty, all the aimless need in him starting to take shape.

Nick opens up when he kisses him again, licking at his tongue and gripping his shoulders. His fingers go tight after a second, and he pushes deeper, pushes hard into Joe's mouth, until Joe's pinned there between Nick and a hard place. When the kiss breaks off, Nick looks windblown and happy and maybe a little embarrassed. There's a flush of color in his cheeks that matches his lips.

Joe thumbs at the corner of Nick's smile where it's wet with spit.

"We're always going to be like this, right?"

"Like what?" Joe asks, straightening his collar. "Awesome? Famous? Devilishly good-looking?"

"You and me," Nick says. "Like, us."

He pats Nick's cheek, hand lingering as his fingers trace the shape of his jaw, and then leans around him for his toothbrush.

"I'm not going anywhere," Joe says, turning on the faucet and glancing in the mirror.

Nick swallows and smiles. "Cool."

Joe crosses his eyes at him in the mirror and Nick laughs helplessly, like it's a reflex, and Joe doesn't think about again for a while.

*

Joe wakes up on the bus with the vague awareness that Nick is watching him sleep. He blinks a few times, disoriented; it's still dark outside, the road rumbling under them. They aren't where they're going yet.

"What's up?" he says, voice thick.

"Couldn't sleep," Nick says simply, like that's reason enough to be sitting in Joe's bunk.

"Yeah," he says groggily, rubbing at an eye. "Me neither."

Nick smiles. Joe slides over under his covers and lifts the edge of them, and Nick only hesitates for a second before he scrambles beneath them. Two bunks down, Kevin is snoring gently, and he can pick out the sound of Frankie's wet, deep breaths.

"What's on your mind?" he yawns, rolling to his side and keeping his voice low.

"Just, you know," he says, shrugging. "The usual stuff."

"Mm-hm," Joe mumbles.

Nick looks at him for a while, mouth curling up at one side as he studies Joe's face. He sighs a little, shifting around, and then says, "I want you to kiss me."

Joe can feel his heart pick up speed in his chest, but he smiles a little. "Uh, okay."

He leans forward and pecks him on the mouth, lips warm and quick. Nick sighs when he pulls back.

"Not like that," he says, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Joe. A real one."

"A real one," Joe repeats. "What, like this?"

It lasts a little longer this time, his lips moving and catching gently against Nick's. They've done it a million times now, but Nick still pulls in a sharp, surprised breath when Joe's tongue touches against his upper lip. He opens up for it with a little sigh, letting Joe lick at the soft skin just inside his mouth.

It's light and easy, just a tease, but when he pulls back Nick's cheeks have gone pink. It takes a second before he opens his eyes.

"Yeah," he says, voice rusty. "Like that."

Joe smiles and ruffles up his hair, palming his messy curls away from his forehead.

"Your turn."

A flicker of tension goes through him, but there's nothing hesitant about the way he touches Joe's chin and plants one on him. It's harder than Joe's kiss, his mouth fumbly but insistent. He makes a little noise in his throat when Joe matches the movement of his lips, fingers curling against Joe's jaw and coaxing it open.

Joe leans into it, letting him set the pace but meeting him every step of the way. It's impossible not to, like he's hard-wired to meet the challenge, step up to the plate. Nick squeezes his shoulder and licks at the corner of his mouth, and Joe parts his lips and licks back. It's all hazy and warm, and he can almost believe that it really is just practice, like he's showing him how to do it.

"Huh," Nick says when they break apart to breathe. "That was a good one."

"Yeah." Joe swallows and laughs a little, because it's all so crazy. Nick just woke him up to make out. A rush of giddy recklessness flushes through him. "Not bad."

"More tongue," Nick says before he leans back in, and Joe huffs warmly against his cheek, but he takes the suggestion. Nick hums a little when Joe pushes past his lips and licks at his teeth. His fingers curl in Joe's shirt, pulling him in for leverage when he licks back, rolling their tongues together in a sweet, wet glide.

Joe opens his eyes for a second, just long enough to get a glimpse of his furrowed eyebrows and messy curls. He looks so serious, like kissing is a problem and he's solving for x. It makes heat rise in Joe's chest, and he kisses back a little harder, wondering what the answering tug on his shirt means.

"Better?" he says, panting against Nick's chin. Nick smiles a little, his expression almost smug.

"Getting there," he says lightly. Joe knocks his hand against his chest in a half-hearted shove.

"Punk."

"Jerk."

There's a thud somewhere outside – the fridge turning on, he realizes after a beat, but Nick's eyes go wide.

Joe holds a finger to his lips and pulls the blanket over their heads. Nick laughs softly and wriggles closer, nudging his knee between Joe's. They just look at each other for a while, the faint light from the hall muted and soft through the fabric around them.

It doesn't even feel like they're still on the bus when Nick kisses him again. It's different – better, like the whole world has narrowed down to the two of them. Joe can hear all the soft, spitty noises their mouths make, each huff of Nick's breath muffled against his cheek. He sucks at Nick's bottom lip and slides his fingers back in his hair, digging down to where the curls are damp with sweat.

It's mostly instinct that makes Joe shift over and tug Nick on top of him, but Nick mirrors his movements like he's on the same page. The weight of his body sparks something low in Joe's stomach, so good and unexpected he huffs in surprise. Nick settles on his hips, arms framing his face against the pillow.

"More tongue," he says again, and Joe blinks, trying to focus through the haze of heat.

"There isn't any more tongue," he says, breaths ragged with a laugh. "That's all the tongue there is."

"Come on," Nick says, the tip of his nose bumping against Joe's. Even in the dim, watery light, Joe can see him lift his eyebrows in challenge. "Cowboy up."

Joe shakes his head, but he catches the back of Nick's neck and pulls him down again. It's almost too easy to give over to Nick's hard, demanding rhythm, losing himself to everything but the soft warmth of his mouth. Nick usually lets him set the pace, and he wonders how long he sat there thinking about this before he woke him up. Knowing Nick it was hours, and for some reason the thought makes something huge and heavy swell in Joe's chest.

He's never really done anything like this before. He's made out with plenty of girls, but not with this kind of slow-burning intensity, not with kisses that feel like they matter the way each one of Nick's matter. Every brush of tongue, every softly smothered breath seems important, special. It's all so secret and quiet, something just for them.

Nick's eyes are slow to open when Joe finally breaks that endless string of kisses, and he gazes at him without really focusing.

"We should go to sleep," Joe murmurs, mouth clumsy around the words.

"Yeah," Nick says.

"You're getting better at that."

Nick smiles and kisses him again, light and lippy, before they pull the blanket back down.

*

The summer starts to redefine itself in shades of Nick.

The sun is never as bright as when it's glinting off his hair, and the heat of the afternoon only recalls the sticky warmth of his skin in some queen-sized hotel bed. Every popsicle melting on the sidewalk is something his lips could have touched. His smile under a pair of Ray-Bans teases out the color of the sky and grass and the cars on the street.

It's crazy. It straight up makes no sense, but it's happening right before Joe's eyes. The boundaries are all starting to blur, taking new shapes that allow for so much more. He can't look at Nick without seeing all the possibilities, things they might do the next time they're alone. He watches him give interviews and thinks about sucking on his bottom lip. He watches him wrestle with Frankie on the flat carpet of the bus and only sees the sleek lines of his body pulling under his shirt. On stages all over the country Joe points at the crowd and sings songs Nick wrote for Miley, and the only thing he's thinking about is the weight of Nick's gaze on the back of his neck.

The world is moving faster and faster, calendar dates flying by like the scenery out the bus windows, but Nick moves in slow motion. Nick is solid and real like nothing else, and when their eyes meet over family dinners and prayer circles Joe's pinned down with him, still and settled.

"This is so good," Joe says in Georgia. It's another night, another hotel room after another sold-out show. They didn't even bother turning on the TV this time; they just peeled their jeans off and fell into bed like a married couple.

Nick licks at his jaw and palms at his stomach. "Yeah?"

"Just, I mean. Yeah." He don't know how to talk about it, so he rarely even tries. The right words slip through his fingers like loose change, rolling away every time he reaches for them. "You know?"

Nick kisses the dip beneath his lips and looks at him. He still blushes when they do this, and Joe finds that comforting.

"Yeah, I know," he says. Joe can see every pore and freckle that close, every stray hair of his eyebrows. His face is just as familiar as Joe's own, but his features have been lacquered by all this want and need. He looks good – pretty, Joe thinks, even though the word seems all wrong.

He almost misses the simplicity of the old days, but even that's starting to change. More and more he's forgetting if this is really new. Joe used to touch him all the time, and sometimes even when he wasn't touching him he'd be thinking about it. At sixteen, at seventeen, he used to watch Nick from across the room and think about how much he needed Joe to mess up his hair and elbow him in the ribs and put his arm around his shoulders.

He's pretty sure that's not normal. It's easier to see now that he's an expert on not-normal, now that he can lose hours sucking on the side of Nick's neck and not think about moving away, not even once.

They play a great show in Maryland, one of those nights when everything comes together and the energy is just right. Nick falls all over him when they get off stage, gripping his arms the second he passes his guitar off.

"That was amazing," he says. "We were on."

Joe grabs him and spins them around, getting a laugh from somewhere in the backstage crowds. They're both soaked through with sweat, but Nick's hands feel hot against his back, holding him tight as they stumble around.

"Are you guys coming?" Kevin says at his elbow. Everyone's starting to regroup, and he tilts his head toward the rest of the band.

"Yeah," Nick says when Joe sets him down. He glances over at the Living the Dream camera and tugs at the front of Joe's shirt, not quite looking at Kevin. "I just have to check my levels. We'll catch up."

Kevin just nods, already distracted, and Joe lets Nick pull him through the maze of people. It's nothing out of the ordinary – Nick usually checks them after a show, and Joe's usually there because Joe is pretty much always wherever Nick is. But he knows what's coming when Nick drags him into the small, bright room, and he can't fight the thrill of excitement when the door clicks shut behind them.

He catches a glimpse of Nick's flushed, happy face before he's being pushed against the wall and kissed.

It's different like this. The rush of adrenaline is still thrumming through his body, and Nick is sweaty and warm, muscles corded tight under Joe's hands. He feels hard and flat up against him, all sharp angles and demanding hands.

"We were awesome," Nick mutters against his lips. He flicks his tongue in hard and deep, winding against Joe's in a deliberate stab. Joe lets himself be pinned there, meeting those licks with his own. It's crazy, almost frantic, the way they're rocking against each other, like all that aimless post-show energy is sipping back and forth between them. He can smell Nick and taste him, feel him in the rush of excitement pumping through his veins. His whole body's winding tighter and tighter, and when Nick's hands skim down his sides his cock swells a little in his pants.

Joe breaks the kiss with a hot sigh, but Nick doesn't pull away. He licks at the tip of Joe's nose and laughs, fitting his hips a little closer. He has to notice it; it's unmistakable in these jeans. He just doesn't care, Joe realizes, and he kisses Nick again, tonguing at the soft inside of his lip and letting himself steep in how good it feels.

He would need the hands of everyone in the family, maybe even the whole band, to count all the reasons this shouldn't be happening. But when Nick pulls back he's grinning in a way that Joe hasn't seen in a long time, and he doesn't know which feels better – the hot, heavy warmth of those kisses or the way they make Nick light up. He tugs at Nick's damp shirt and grins back, trying to breathe out some of the shuddery tension in his limbs.

"We were awesome," he agrees, holding his hands up for a high-five. He twines their fingers together when their palms meet, and Nick touches his forehead to Joe's. It's sweaty and slick and for a minute there everything is perfect.

*

Somewhere between dots on the Missouri map, Nick corrals Joe in the studio bus and makes him work on his range. It's one of those overwhelmingly obnoxious Nick things, holding them all up to his impossible standards and pushing them until they get there. Joe puts up the usual fight, and Nick wins like he always does.

"'Little Deuce Coupe'?" he suggests when the bus rumbles to life.

"Man, I don't ever want to hear that song again. You sucked the joy out of the Beach Boys that week you listened to nothing but Pet Sounds and made us practice harmonies."

"Hey." Nick points a warning finger over his guitar. "Everyone loves harmonies."

"Not when you're the one trying to hit the high E."

"Cry harder, Joe," he says, strumming aimlessly. "Don't make me bust out the Bee Gees. Come on. 'I Get Around'. You're in charge of the claps."

"I don't know if I can handle all this responsibility," Joe says, but when Nick counts them off he jumps right in. It's not perfect, but by the second chorus he's nailing it.

"See? Wasn't that fun?" Nick cajoles when they finish, and Joe slides his shades down over his eyes.

"Would you like a carrot for your high horse?" He takes a swig of water and cracks his neck, then adds, "Let's do 'Help Me Rhonda'."

Nick smiles as he plucks it out, mouthing along with the words and nodding a little. Joe thinks it might be the most fun he's had with music in months. Nick has a way of doing that; he's always made music interesting, like his enthusiasm is contagious. You can't watch him write a song and not want to be a part of that process, that whirlwind of creativity and energy.

He wonders sometimes what it's like to be that intense, that focused, that driven. The closest he's ever felt to that is when he's on stage, pretending to be someone else.

"What is with you?" Nick laughs, kicking his foot.

"Sorry," he says. He smiles, and Nick rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "My vocal cords need to recover from the reckoning. How about dazzling me with that new song of yours?"

Nick makes a face. "It's not worth hearing yet. I can't – I don't know, it's not gelling."

Joe tosses his empty water bottle at him.

"Then sing me something else," he says. "If I have to get my Brian Wilson on, you do too. Or can you dish out the high notes but not take them? Huh? Is that how it is, Mr. Dictator?"

Nick shifts in his seat and purses his lips, but he's never met a challenge he could gracefully back down from. He tightens his G string and shakes his hair away from his forehead before he starts strumming "Wouldn't It Be Nice".

Joe settles into the couch and spreads his arms along the back as he watches him. It's almost funny how different he looks than when he's on a stage. He's not throwing himself into it – he's just letting it happen, letting the music move from his head to his fingers. There's something self-conscious about the way he shuts his eyes while he sings, his cheeks going pink. Joe wants to think about this later, when everyone is watching and the thousands of girls with Mrs. Nick Jonas written on their binders are close enough to reach up and touch him.

For a minute he's lost in the warmth of that feeling spreading slowly through his chest. And then Nick opens his eyes and smiles a little, light shining on his teeth as he sings this song, and Joe realizes that his little brother kind of has a crush on him.

It honestly hadn't occurred to him before. It's easy to think about this stuff like it's all Joe, the love in his chest getting bigger and bigger while Nick gives him a free pass on touching. But it suddenly seems obvious that it's so much more than that. This thing is happening to both of them, and when Nick smiles around his high notes and blushes, when he ducks his head so the floor gets the full brunt of his flirting – that's for Joe. He doesn't even know what to do with the idea, or the swell of guilty pleasure that comes fast on its heels.

Nick trails off when he finishes the second chorus, and Joe sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles so loud they can probably hear it on the other bus.

"Shut up," Nick says. "Are you happy now?"

"I'm ecstatic, Nicholas." Joe goes for a high-five, and when Nick gives him one he goes for more, slapping his hand until he has to slide off the couch to reach it. His wrist thuds against the front of the guitar as he tips over and presses his face against Nick's hair.

"Freak," Nick says, but he starts laughing as he shoves him, not quite pushing him away. When Joe grabs his face and kisses him, Nick fists the front of his shirt and pulls him into it.

"Come on," Joe says, falling back on the couch. "Play me something I can sing."

Nick taps his chin and starts strumming "Toxic", and they jam to Britney the rest of the way to St. Louis. Like it's any other random afternoon.

*

part two.

Indulge me.

2009-12-15T06:48:32Z

An approximation of how I feel right now:

With a side of this:

23,000 WORDS, BITCHESSSSS. I have been working on this fic since AUGUST. I mean, I still need to edit and tighten up a few parts, but I finally have all the glitches worked out and it's a complete story. FINALLY. IT FEELS SO GOOD.

FIC: Aloft with the Night Glass (Nick/Joe)

2009-12-05T05:16:19Z

I really wanted to sign up for jonas_harlequin, but I suck at writing for deadlines and sticking to prompts. I did, however, just rewatch Master & Commander and find myself wanting some Age of Sail porn, so I... wrote something ripped from the pages of a gay Regency romance novel.

Aloft with the Night Glass. Nick/Joe, NC-17, 3,700 words. Age of Sail AU. One of the perks of Nick's rank was the opportunities it afforded for privacy.

Joe breathed into his cupped hands as he surveyed the deck.

A brisk nor'westerly wind had picked up late in the afternoon, churning the gray Atlantic waves that foamed around the starboard bow. Above him the weather-rigging creaked and moaned, and Joe steadied himself with the practice of years as the ship gave a heave. It would be at least another day before they caught the trade winds that would bring the HMS Administration to her best speed, but the northerly was working in their favor and there was no danger of rain this early in the season. They were cold comforts to one standing on the frigid quarterdeck.

Joe braced himself as the ship gave another pitch, debating whether he had the time for a private audience in the relatively warm quarters of the ship's captain. To visit without purpose was an impertinence he alone could get away with – an older brother's privilege as much as a first lieutenant's. The ship rolled once more, wind flapping at Joe's coattails and as he made for the aft cabin. Nick worked too hard, he reasoned, licking the salty spray of seawater from his lips; he could use a distraction.

The sentry at Nick's door came to attention when Joe neared, though respect kept him from returning his superior's small smile.

"Mr. Jonas."

"Mr. George." Joe studied him; the man looked to be only a few years younger than Nick. "I think your attention would be better served in the company of Mr. Collins at present."

"Sir?"

Joe slanted a hand in front of his mouth, as though to shield his words. "I believe he's stoking coals for the captain's irons. A wise man would take the opportunity to warm himself before the pleasure is given to those of higher rank."

Relief relaxed the sentry's features.

"Thank you, sir," he said, stumbling a little over the words. "I shall report to him right away."

"There's a good man."

Joe swept a hand out and shook his head as the midshipman scurried past. One of the perks of Nick's rank was the opportunities it afforded for privacy, though the nature of a ship made it difficult to be entirely free from prying eyes and ears.

He rapped his knuckles on the door twice before entering the cabin. Nick was seated at the table, a small stack of papers at his elbow.

"Evening, sir," Joe said, shutting the door behind him. With practice he had learned to give him formal address without any lingering irony, though he suspected Nick could infer it.

Nick's mouth quirked with amusement when he glanced up at him. "Lieutenant."

Nick's quarters were quiet; the only sounds to be heard were the creaking of the ship and the faint lapping of waves, and somewhere beneath them he could make out the tick of his own pocket watch and the slight quickness of Nick's breaths.

"Working on your memoirs?" Joe said lightly, tapping his hat against his thigh.

Nick leaned back in his seat, setting his quill against the lip of the inkwell.

"We've received fresh orders from the Admiralty."

"Good news, I expect." Joe's gaze slid over to the table. A glass of port sat near the papers, though it was a point of pride for Nick that he rarely indulged in such luxuries.

"Good enough," Nick said brusquely. "I think the men will appreciate seeing action."

"I can think of at least one man who will," Joe teased, coming to perch on the edge of the table. Nick smiled as Joe picked up his glass and took a sip. "Hoping to earn Admiral before thirty, Nick? Heaven knows I hate to be the voice of reason, but I feel duty-bound to inform you that you can't actually become Lord Nelson. It's not physically possible."

"I don't want to be Nelson," Nick said mildly. The rest of the thought hung unspoken between them: I want to be better than Nelson. "There's nothing wrong with enjoying battle and the benefits of one's hard work. Isn’t that why men go to sea?"

Joe merely smiled. If he had the inclination, there was no doubt he could have earned command of his own ship. He had four years on his brother, and possessed the same uncanny seamanship that allowed Nick to so quickly scale the ranks of an officer. But Joe wasn't as interested in personal glory as Nick, whose heart had been set on command since they were children playing dress-up in their father's old uniforms. Joe didn't need the additional rank to enjoy life at sea, and while neither acknowledged it they both knew they could never work as well apart as they did together. Any dreams Joe had as a midshipman could never compare to the pride he felt at being Nick's senior lieutenant and watching him succeed, time and time again.

Nor could those dreams compare to what they shared: a rare partnership in a lonely world of rank and authority.

"It certainly isn't for the food," he said. "Or the company, for that matter. Regardless, we have favorable winds. We should make good time."

"We always do."

Nick shifted in his chair and gazed out the windows. There wasn't much to be seen at such an hour, but Joe suspected his thoughts were far from that barren strip of sea. He took the opportunity to steal another sip of port and study his brother, noting the changes he rarely had occasion to think on.

As a midshipman Nick had been smaller than most, but with each increasing rank he seemed to grow into more of a man. His frame had filled out, caught up with the ego that once earned him lashings, and hands that had never quite been delicate had nonetheless lost the softness of youth. Likewise, the complexion that so easily went pale on shore had been tanned by the salt and sun.

He was a regular sea dog; the thought brought a smile to Joe's lips.

"You look altogether too dour for a man in your position," Joe said, setting the glass back on the table. Nick perked his eyebrows when he looked over at him, but Joe could see some of the tension go out of his shoulders.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed." Joe unbuttoned his jacket and rested a foot on the arm of Nick's chair. Men were flogged for smaller infractions, but Nick just smiled. "Fair winds, new orders, a happy crew. And yet you look as though you're readying to duel Napoleon himself. You're getting grumpy in your old age, Nicholas."

Nick fingered at the buckle on Joe's shoe.

"That's why I keep you around," he said, tapping at the curve of Joe's ankle through his stockings. "I find you provide excellent comedic relief."

"I'm also easy on the eyes," Joe grinned. "Let us not forget."

"I could never."

He may have meant the comment to sound arch, but Nick's tone lacked any levity. His fingers crept higher, finding the row of brass officer's buttons at the knee of Joe's breeches. They held fast when he plucked at them, but a familiar warmth crept through Joe's limbs as he realized the nature of this interview.

"You have me matched on that count," he said, reaching to brush some errant curls from Nick's face. "Though I daresay you might benefit from some rouge."

Nick's lips pulled in a full smile, flashing his uneven teeth. "What would the admiral say?"

"Something complimentary, no doubt." Joe gave one of his cheeks a pinch, bringing a sudden flush to his skin. "Yet perhaps not fit for polite company."

Nick turned his face against Joe's palm for a brief moment, and then shifted away. Joe watched the austerity of his position come over him all at once, marveling at the transformation.

"Take off your coat, Joseph," he said, and Joe was quick to oblige. Nick touched a thoughtful fingertip to his chin and studied him.

"Shall I do a pirouette as well?"

It earned him another flicker of a smile, though Nick's eyes remained dark. "I think not."

He caught his fingers in the front of Joe's waistcoat and tugged him closer, bringing them nose to nose. Joe rested a hand on the carved back of Nick's chair and shut his eyes as Nick thumbed the sensitive front of his throat. He took his time, rubbing at the light grit of stubble there before tilting his head and kissing him.

Joe sighed gently against his cheek. Nick's lips were dry and warm, lightly dented from hours of worrying the lower one between his teeth. He hissed as Joe licked at the seam of them, parting enough to brush their tongues together. It was quick and sweet, just a slick little tease, but it made his pulse quicken.

Joe smiled as the ship rocked gently, sending the lamps swaying above them.

"It's nearly time for dinner," he said, dropping another kiss on the corner of Nick's mouth. He could taste the port there, sharp and skin-warm. "Your steward—"

"—is quite good about knocking," Nick finished, lifting a sharp eyebrow. His gaze drifted down to Joe's mouth and he wet his lips, making them shine in the flickering light. "We have time."

"Yes, sir." Joe said it like he used to say it – the way he would touch a knuckle to his brow and call him Captain Nick when they were midshipmen and the very idea of this was distant and silly. For all that Nick was enamored with his rank, Joe didn't miss the faint glint of pleasure in his eyes at the old joke, at the fact that Joe didn't give a damn about insubordination.

When Nick kissed him again it was harder, his tongue pushing in to rub at the edge of Joe's teeth. His hand slid down over the buttons of his waistcoat, catching on his watch chain before coming to rest at the flap of his breeches. The warm pressure of his palm was enough to make Joe's cock swell a little.

"I suspect this is why you keep me around," Joe murmured, pushing the papers aside and shifting over on the table until he was squarely in front of him. Nick smiled.

"I suppose it's my favorite of your considerable skills."

"I should say so." Joe eased down into his lap, the buckles and buttons of his uniform knocking against the wood of the chair. "If the men only knew, they'd quit calling you No Fun Nick."

Nick's eyebrows began to furrow just as Joe's hand found the front of his trousers, blurring his expression with the haze of pleasure. He shivered under him, though he wasn't quite distracted enough to let that remark go unchecked.

"Do they really say that?"

Joe nipped at the side of Nick's throat. "You do have a certain manner about you."

Nick's eyes fell shut, his breaths hitching a little as Joe sucked gently at his skin.

"A captain has to – lead by example. Would they have me play whist with them below deck? Join them in the dock brothels?"

Joe laughed. "Now there's a sight I'd pay dearly to see. Don't worry about it, Nick. They're allowed to grumble, it helps them pass the time. Or have you forgotten what it's like to sleep in a hammock and get the cane from any jumped-up officer who doesn't like your tone?"

He lifted his eyebrows and Nick flushed, his thoughts turning, no doubt, to the countless times he got precisely that. Joe was always the one to dress his wounds and distract him from the pain – with a kiss when they were younger and, later, with a knowing hand.

"I haven't," he said stiffly.

Joe bushed his mouth against the shell of his ear. "Neither have I."

Nick sucked his lower lip between his teeth as Joe's fingers, nimble and quick from years of practicing knots, unhooked the buttons at the front of his breeches. The tension seemed to ebb out of him all at once, his head dropping against the back of the chair as Joe tugged out his cock. It was already stiff, flushed half-hard just from kissing, and Joe had it the rest of the way in moments. He knew Nick's cock nearly as well as he knew his own, which made it all too easy; rough fingers jacked him in deep, twisting pulls, his thumb lingering against the underside.

"You're far too good at that," Nick said faintly, his gaze dropping between them before his eyes squeezed shut. He huffed out a sigh that hit Joe squarely in the face, ghosting damp warmth against his cheeks.

"I've had a lot of practice." Joe twisted his grip, sweeping his thumb up over the head and watching Nick's mouth fall open.

It had always been there, this thing between them, but Joe found he liked it even more as their circumstances changed. There was an honor about being the one to see this side of Nick, the man who routinely broke society hearts and was already becoming a naval legend. Other captains had their mistresses and wives, but Joe knew he was all Nick needed. Nick knew it, too, though his sense of discipline was too acute to allow for any such admission.

"My God, Joe," he breathed, fingers tightening around Joe's hip.

"Is that to your liking, sir?" he whispered, nudging his nose against Nick's. Nick nodded, though there was no need; Joe could feel the sudden jerk of his cock. A heavy drip of precome welled at the slit, and Joe smeared it around, making the head shine.

"Quite," Nick grated out. Distantly, Joe could hear the rough calls and shouts of the men on deck. It made his skin flush with heat when he kissed him again, deep and dirty. Nick gripped the nape of his neck and pulled him in closer, sucking at Joe's bottom lip and knocking their tongues together. It was messy and spitty, a sure sign Nick was losing that white-knuckled grip he usually kept on himself. Joe groaned low in his throat and shifted his grip, squeezing just a little. It was enough to coax an answering noise from Nick, and he arched off the chair to fuck right into the grip of Joe's fist.

"Easy," Joe breathed against his mouth. He paced his strokes slower, studying Nick's face; he already looked fucked out, eyes glassy and his lips flushed and fat. He gave an impatient little sigh when Joe released his cock and eased off the chair, but a fresh blush hit his cheeks when he worked out what was coming next.

"You'll be the death of me," he muttered, raising a hand to rub at the sheen of sweat that had formed on his face. Joe grinned as he sank to his knees, hands gripping at Nick's thighs. The fabric clung to the muscle beneath, and he could feel the flex of his legs as Nick slid lower in his chair.

"I'll leave that to the French," Joe said, wrapping his fingers around the base of Nick's cock and tapping the head against his lips. He could already smell the musk and salt; it hit his nerves like a flame to kerosene, making spit prickle in his mouth before he flicked his tongue out to touch the slit. Nick sucked in a ragged breath and wrapped his fingers around the edge of the table as though he might anchor himself to it. The motion hemmed Joe in at either side, pinning him there between Nick's arms.

"Do it," Nick said. His cock gave another twitch in Joe's hand as he looked down at him. "Do it, Joseph."

Joe let his bottom lip drag against the edge, keeping his gaze trained on Nick's face as he slid his mouth down over the tip. The stretch of his mouth was familiar, and he steadied his breaths as Nick's hips lifted, shoving himself a little deeper. Joe squeezed his fist around the base as he eased down, pushing until his lips touched the edge of his fingers. He paused there, mouth pulling in a slow, wet suck.

"God," Nick huffed. Joe could sense more than see the flex of muscles in his arms as he tightened his hold on the table. He eased back, tilting his head to trace his tongue along a vein at the side of his cock. It was a lazy, teasing lick, and it worked like a charm; Nick only lasted the space of another heartbeat before grabbing at Joe's hair and giving it a sharp, demanding tug.

Joe swallowed thickly before he bobbed down on it again, the steady pressure of Nick's hand making his chest rise violently against the confines of his waistcoat. That was what he wanted – that desperation, that sure sign that Nick wanted it as badly as he did. He bobbed down, taking him deep and hollowing his cheeks on the upstroke. Nick lost another dribble of precome that Joe could taste, gathering with spit in the corners of his mouth.

He lost himself in the rhythm of it, the back and forth that was not unlike the sloshing of the ship around them. Nick's ragged breaths were loud in the small room, each gasp a little harsher than the one before. Joe could practically feel him unravel when he slid his free hand up under the edge of Nick's jacket, the fabric of his uniform damp with sweat.

"Joe," Nick hissed. His thumb swept down to rub at the joint of his jaw, stroking the skin there as he thrust into his mouth again.

Joe groaned a little, shifting his weight on his knees and giving Nick's cock a hot, heavy slurp. He stole a glance up at him and almost lost his pace when he realized Nick was staring at him – watching every wet pull of his lips.

Joe shut his eyes, thrumming with tension and aimless, dirty pleasure. He flexed his hand, bringing it to meet his lips, and let the edge of his nails scratch lightly against the base of his cock.

Nick muffled a sudden gasp against the side of his fist and tightened his grip on Joe's hair. A lock of it slid free from its binding, brushing against his face as the head of Nick's cock caught in the pocket of his cheek. His whole body seemed to stiffen then, and Joe gave him another sharp little suck as Nick jerked and came.

His rhythm didn't falter, eyebrows merely knitting as the hot, thick spatters hit the back of his tongue.

Nick didn't let go till he finished, unable to smother one last groan as he urged Joe deeper, and then collapsed back. His chair creaked under the sudden shifting of weight, and Nick hooked his elbows over its arms, head tipping back to face the ceiling.

Joe eased off him carefully. A thick thread of spit connected his lips with Nick's cock before snapping wetly, and he backhanded the slickness from his mouth as he stood.

Nick caught him before he straightened, a broad hand curling around his shoulder and pulling him into another kiss. It was messy, Joe's tongue still slimy with come, but Nick didn't seem to mind. He caught a smudge of it with his tongue and rolled it against Joe's, licking in deep. Joe could feel the warmth of his cheeks, the damp sweat that shone on his forehead, and sighed against his mouth.

Nick was smirking when Joe finally pulled back. Lazy fingers tucked his cock back in his smalls and buttoned the flap of his breeches, his movements boneless with pleasure.

In the course of their lifetimes Joe had seen Nick in all possible states. He'd seen him glowing with pride at a new rank, seen him bloodied and shaking after a particularly grisly engagement. He'd seen him barking orders in a full gale, seawater slicking his hair and clothes to his frame while cannons fired, and seen him at his most pensive, eyebrows furrowed as he leaned over tactical diagrams and perfected some new strategy to bring them another victory.

This, though, was the incarnation he most preferred: Nick leaning back in his chair with the easy grace of a captain, the knot of his neckcloth loosened and a few wisps of hair falling from his queue. His were eyes hooded, a small smile playing around his lips that only Joe was privy to seeing.

Joe gave a low whistle as he studied him.

"You look frightful," he said conversationally. Nick met his gaze with a grin.

"My apologies, Mr. Jonas," he said, sitting up a little straighter. "I don't know what came over me."

"I do believe I was the one come upon, Captain," Joe said archly. Nick laughed and gave the side of his face a fond little slap. His breaths were still uneven, his mouth still red and ripe. Joe did his best to check the flare of desire that stole through him; the sentry would return soon, and they couldn't afford to press their luck.

"You'd best see to your duties," Nick said, as though he had overheard Joe's thoughts. He turned his attention back to the papers on the table, tucking them back into their neat stacks. "Inform Lieutenant Williams that I expect the officers at dinner to discuss the new orders."

"Of course," Joe said, pulling on his coat.

"I'll require your presence here after," Nick added. Joe picked up his hat and gave a little salute as he moved to the door.

"For king and country," he said, tone only slightly sardonic.

"For me," Nick corrected. He lifted his quill and plucked at the end of it, gaze lingering on the orders before he glanced back up at him. "Just for me, Joe."

Joe didn’t bother bracing himself for the cold when he stepped back on the quarterdeck; he suspected the warmth under his skin ran too deep to be chilled by any gale.

I think I just squeed myself.

2009-12-03T04:44:14Z

Ahhh, Nick did SO WELL tonight! I can't even put my completely inappropriate sense of pride into words. Not only was the song ACTUALLY GOOD, but he gave a really solid performance and completely stepped up to the plate as the frontman. I think the only thing that delighted me more than his happy little face while he was performing was his "... *_*" moment afterwards while the crowd went wild. JUST FOR HIM.

I also love that when Kevin and Joe said Nick's name and the crowd went nuts, this was their response:

THEY ARE SO PROUD OF HIM! That family makes my heart grow three sizes.

You sit on a throne of lies.

2009-12-02T04:21:28Z

So Nick Jonas & His Giant Ego are going to be playing in Berkeley... exactly a week after I go back to college 1000 miles away. Why, Nick Jonas, why? I mean, I would have been pretty shamefaced about it, but if I was ever going to go to a Jonas-related concert this would have been it. I'm probably at my peak levels of interest in their stupid faces, I have a friend I could easily rope into going with me, and it's the last show of the tour so the odds of other Jonai being present are really good. WHY DO I NEED A DEGREE, AGAIN?

In other news, I'm considering setting my phone on fire. It's one of those touch-screen iPhone knock-offs, and while I like its features and the digital keyboard thing, it keeps randomly turning on in my purse and doing horrible things. I guess the locking feature on it doesn't work as well as it should? But so far it's called two people of its own accord (one of which is someone whose number I keep just so I can know to never answer his calls. that was fun!) and forwarded a random text to my Twitter. sdlkghsdg So irritating. And I just got it a few months ago, too, so I can't really justify or afford getting a new one any time soon. :[

I generally don't do these kinds of memes, but what the heck! I could use all the emotional fluffing I can get, and I'm always curious about this stuff.

THE FANFICTION LOVE MEME

Ficlet!

2009-11-30T11:33:08Z

Okay, so valiant asked me to write a snippet of Nick Jonas as the crossroads demon from Supernatural, so... CROSSOVER FIC? This really has no point other than the OMG factor of tiny little Nick Jonas power-tripping at big, burly Dean Winchester.

Poor Unfortunate Souls. Dean Winchester, demon!Nick Jonas, PG-13, 1,200 words. Nick may have spent the last five years out of the pit, but he'd still recognize Dean Winchester anywhere.

Nick's in the middle of checking his levels when he feels the old, familiar tug of a summoning.

It doesn't happen much these days; it's kind of a lost art, really, which means the person at the crossroads is probably a hunter.

He glances at his watch and tosses his kit on the hotel bed, stealing a moment to adjust his tie in the mirror before the tingle gets stronger, pulling harder and harder until he's suddenly standing in the middle of nowhere.

Nick may have spent the last five years out of the pit, but he'd still recognize Dean Winchester anywhere. The vessel of Michael, John Winchester's son, one of the only souls to make it out without losing his humanity. Even if he weren't the demonic version of a celebrity, the desperation coming off him in waves would be a dead giveaway.

Nick smiles and tucks his hands in his pockets.

"I'm almost flattered," he says. Dean whirls around, facing him before he even finishes the sentence. "The famous Dean Winchester, summoning little old me. Tell Sam I send my regards, and thanks for the promotion. I was a shoo-in for this job after he killed off all my competition."

"You're the new crossroads demon?" Dean raises his eyebrows and gives him a once-over. "You look like a friggin'—"

"I am," he says, rocking back on his heels. "Well, the body is, but I've been rattling around in here for long enough to claim most of the success. Pretty ingenious, right? You'd be surprised how many of us are doing it these days. It sure beats riding coach."

"Well, suddenly The Hills makes a lot more sense." Dean sniffs and studies him. "What's the deal? You bring the plague of crappy pop music?"

"Hey," he says, lifting a hand. "We were nominated for a Grammy."

"So were Milli Vanilli."

Nick shakes his head. "No appreciation for the arts. Can we hurry this up? I have a sold-out show in Houston in an hour."

Dean tosses his hands up. "Are you freaking kidding me?"

Nick shrugs. "It's a lucrative market, Dean. You have no idea how little teenage girls care about their souls. When I was a human, children were taught values, you know? Obedience. Modesty. Chastity. Now it's all, 'I want an iPhone, I want to be famous, I want to kiss Nick Jonas.' They can't see the bigger picture." He tilts his head to the side, letting his eyes go black. "I blame the parents."

"That's rich. I didn't know they had irony in Hell."

"Seriously? We invented it. Speaking of which." He looks down at his suit and then back at Dean, smiling a little. "I have to say, I'm surprised I didn't need to switch bodies for this tête-à-tête. Did you develop some new interests while you were downstairs?"

Dean's jaw clenches, but he seems fresh out of one-liners. Nick's smile gets bigger.

"Well, who can really blame you? I guess younger men with curly hair and doe eyes are kind of a type. And you have to admit, I'm pretty dreamy."

"Yeah, I'm cutting your pin-ups out of Tiger Beat next chance I get. You can autograph 'em right before I send you back to Hell. Now that I know what poor sap you're riding, I think it'll be easy enough for me to find you again."

"Please. You Winchesters are good, but a couple of Photoshopped badges aren't getting you past Disney security. The Pope wishes he had a detail like mine."

"Look, let's cut the crap. I didn't summon you here to play MASH."

Nick tucks his arms behind his back as he steps closer. He's a lot shorter than Dean in this body, but his shoulders are nearly as broad. He tilts his chin up so he can study him in the yellow glow of the streetlight.

"Let me guess. Something about angels and destiny and the tragic love you have for Sam. Love that will end the world unless you accept your fate and go down in a blaze of guts and glory. It's always the same story with you two. I like the imagery, though. It would make a good piano ballad."

"You think you're so smart," Dean says. "You don't know the first thing about me, and you sure as hell don't know anything about Sam."

"Well I can read your mind," Nick points out, shifting away so he can circle him. Dean doesn't move, like he won't deign to show any signs of fear. Or maybe he's not smart enough to be afraid. "And what a mind it is. I thought people in show business were screwed up, but you really take the cake."

"That's just great," Dean says. "He can sing, dance, and psychoanalyze."

"I can do a lot more than that," Nick says, leaning in over his shoulder. Dean bristles, but he still won't turn around. "It doesn't really matter, though. There's only one deal left to be made, and that's between Sam and the big guy."

"That's never gonna happen," Dean says heavily.

"You know what your problem is, Dean? You don't have faith. It's a powerful thing. You just take your problems and turn them over to… whatever. Accept what you can't change and move on. It's the end times, man. We all have our parts to play." He rocks forward on his toes, edging a little closer to the side of Dean's face. "Try taking it like a man."

Dean's hand moves to his belt – the knife, probably. Nick's heard all about the knife. He takes a step back and lifts his eyebrows, waiting patiently while Dean wrestles through the realization that he can't kill him and still get what he wants.

They stand like that for a moment, neither making a move, until the silence of the night is suddenly cut through with a jingly ringtone.

"Oh, sorry, that's me." Nick winks as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. It's Joe. He thumbs it off and straightens the cuff of his jacket. "It's about time for me to get out of here. Places to go, deals to make."

"So that's it? You don't even want to hear what I'm offering?"

"As much as I'd love the chance to drag you back down where you belong, no. Nothing you could offer me compares to three thousand pubescent girls with souls as pure as the driven snow." He holds his hand up and flashes his ring, eyebrows lifting. "Religion is a hell of a marketing tool. But hey, if the world still exists in four months, you should check out my new solo album. I think some of the material would really speak to you."

Nick sticks around long enough to watch Dean's face darken, and then he's back in his hotel room. His phone rings again, and he pushes his bangs off his forehead and clears his throat before answering.

"Sorry, dude, I fell asleep. Yeah, no, they're fine. I'll be down in a minute."

He tucks his phone back in his pocket and checks his reflection again, letting his eyes glaze over with black. He has a feeling it's going to be a good night.

Not much of a girlfriend.

2009-11-30T07:11:38Z

I'm in the process of giving my LJ a makeover, so this seems like a good time to do some DEFRIENDING AMNESTY!

Interests change, fandoms change, blah blah blah. I still love Supernatural, but I've really phased out of the fandom at this point. I don't think I'll be posting about it much, and the odds of me writing more SPN fic are slim. Given that at least 80% of my friends-of list is SPN fans, I feel like I'm probably just putting people to sleep with my Jonas-related porn. Which makes me uncomfortable.

So: please feel free to defriend me if Nick Jonas is not relevant to your interests! No hurt feelings or anything. Quite the opposite, actually -- I hate the idea of clogging people's flists with stuff they have no interest in. We'll always have 2007!

Demonic Nick J endorses this message:

LOL FOREVER. I REALLY LOVE THIS. Demon eyes look so natural on him. Thank you for this masterpiece, valiant.

Making it rain or making it snow.

2009-11-27T01:10:31Z

It feels like it's been forever since I've had proper internet time! One of my best friends came to stay with me for most of November, and another good friend just moved back to my city, so the last three weeks have been a total blur of social stuff. WEIRD. I always feel like a huge creeper when I'm hanging out with people I genuinely like, yet find myself daydreaming about A) gay porn, B) hot celebrities, and C) the gay porn I'm going to write later about hot celebrities. IDEK.

The upside is that I got to convert one of my friends to the Jonas cult. It wasn't even entirely my fault -- the friend who just moved back to SF is a very gay hipster boy with a pop culture obsession that rivals my own. After we spent nearly an hour discussing Joe's hair, the hilarity of JONAS and the unbearable hotness of Nick, our other friend was like, "FINE, WHATEVER, LET'S WATCH CAMP ROCK." By the time she left my house she had seen the entirety of JONAS and nabbed all of their albums from me. ~Mission accomplished~.

Anyway, I hope everyone has had a good Thanksgiving! Last year I not only had the flu, but was stuck on my ghost town of a college campus with zero company. Thankfully this year has more than made up for it; I watched Christmas specials with my mom last night and ate amazing food today with a not-half-bad branch of my family.

I think I'm going to try to write some CHRISTMAS FIC tonight. I have never written holiday fic before! Not ever! But I'm feeling the holiday spirit, and it's making me want to write about cuddly incestuous make-outs in the warm glow of a Christmas tree. I'll avoid questioning why that feels like a logical way to channel said holiday spirit.

We're a couple of good-looking Jews.

2009-11-09T06:45:40Z

You know what I really hate? When you have a certain line or scene or something in your head, and you're like, "THAT'S REALLY COOL, I'M SO AWESOME," and then you're like, "...wait, did that come from something else?" and proceed to second-guess yourself into a black hole of uselessness. Ugh, I HATE it, because I can never figure out if I'm subconsciously ripping off a TV show or book or something, so I can't bring myself to use whatever that cool idea is.

Another thing I kind of hate: seeing slash everywhere. I mean, I've been in fandom for nearly ten years now, so this is an old and deeply entrenched problem. But I was watching the Daily Show a few days ago? And there was this funny back and forth bit between John Oliver and Jon Stewart (like there always is)? And they kept cracking each other up, and as it was going to commercial break they gleefully high-fived and it was REALLY CUTE. And for some reason my first thought was, "AWW. John Oliver has replaced Stephen Colbert as Jon Stewart's boyfriend! That's so sad!" WHY AM I LIKE THIS.

Sigh, anyway. I wrote some Nick/Joe sex pollen stuff for the current boyfriends_fic challenge, which I will eventually title and repost. But for now it's over here while I think about adding onto it. (There's a second chunk of it if you scroll down. Mm, dubcon blowjobs!) I'm not sure what it is about commentfic that makes me comfortable with writing cliches. I mean, I always thought wingfic was one of those things I would never, ever do, and then blindfold_spn popped that cherry. Now I'm writing SEX POLLEN. I don't even know what the next rung on this ladder is. Body-swap? Fuck or die? There's a drain, and I'm circling it.

This seems like a fitting time to discuss how I recently rented Camp Rock.

I have to give a hearty LOL at Disney essentially using their own bullshit as a straw dog bad guy in all their movies. I mean, the evil blonde pop singer in CR is essentially Sharpay from HSM, and aren't they basically... Hilary Duff and Miley Cyrus and (dare I say it) Britney Spears? I don't really get the whole "cookie-cutter pop and big fake blonde hair and too much make-up is BAD!" message when that is exactly what they peddle on a daily basis.

BUT. It was actually a pretty good movie! Color me surprised! I think I finally understand the Joe/Demi thing, too. That chemistry was undeniable, and by the end I was VERY UNHAPPY that standing really really close to someone and smiling at them passes for a kiss in the world of Disney. I wanted tongue, okay? >:[

In other semi-awesome, semi-pathetic news, I recently started teaching myself the guitar. That's the awesome part; the pathetic part is that I did it so I could feel more validated while writing fanfic about musicians. But OH MAN, I REALLY REALLY LOVE IT. I keep chasing friends and family down and making them listen to me play random chords. I discovered strumming patterns yesterday and nearly lost my shit. I want to learn every crappy 90s song EVER. If I'm not playing at least one Third Eye Blind song at an open mic this time next year, hell will freeze over.

These chicks don't even know the name of my band.

2009-10-28T02:36:40Z

HAHA. I leave town for THREE DAYS and my fandom suddenly explodes. Apparently Joe has decided to look like a boy now? And Nick has inherited his Ryan Ross wannabe wardrobe? And I'm going to have to swallow my bile and purchase an album by NICK JONAS AND THE ADMINISTRATION next year? WHAT IS GOING ON.

Okay, in all honesty, I have kind of been waiting for this ever since those rumors about a solo project started floating around this summer. It is exactly the kind of thing Nick Jonas WOULD do, retarded name and all. But I'm suddenly really curious about the details. Is he contractually obligated to only release shit under the Hollywood label, or is it possible that this music isn't Disney approved? I'm really hoping for ~Nick Jonas unplugged~ or something, because I think he's at his best when he's not doing those cheesy stadium rock anthems. I just want more jams in the vein of "Lovebug" and "Turn Right". Unleash the samurai sword of accoustic singer/songwriter awesomeness, Nick J! Do it for me! Their MySpace blog about the whole thing isn't exactly informative.

If I was to describe the sound to someone... I would say its "heart & soul", because the music that I make is from my heart, and the lyrics I write are from my soul.

LOL. THANKS FOR CLEARING THAT UP, KIDDO. Which one has failed to grasp the concept of contractions?

But basically the only thing that matters to me this week is Joe's haircut. Nick was looking amazingggg all summer and Joe has finally caught up. These two adorable, fey, teen wet dreams have MAGICALLY BLOSSOMED into buff, douchey frat boys. Who still CUDDLE and HUG and STAY UP LATE AT NIGHT TALKING ABOUT THEIR HOPES AND DREAMS. WHO COULD ASK FOR ANYTHING MORE?

RIGHT NOW, SOMEWHERE IN THE UNIVERSE, THIS D-BAG:

...is plowing the ever-loving Christ out of this d-bag:

FOREVER AND EVER AMEN.

FIC: O is for Opportunity (Nick/Joe)

2009-10-18T15:14:31Z

I was going to let this mind-blowingly epic three and a half minutes of WTF go unmentioned, but then mediaville suggested that Nick did it because Joe let him fuck him afterwards, and then she said something about Joe wearing a BUTT PLUG, which is my personal kink kryptonite. So the following just kind of happened. I'M SORRY, EVERYONE.

O is for Opportunity. Nick/Joe, NC-17, 2,800 words. PWP to the extreme.

"Oh my God," Nick says. "You're not serious."

Joe shrugs and grins at him. "I'm totally serious. See? That means it's okay for you to not be serious. For once."

Nick smashes his face into his hand and groans. "Right now? You're wearing a – right now?"

Joe wriggles around, face scrunching up thoughtfully. It's all for Nick's benefit; there's no way in hell he could forget about the thick knob of plastic that's been keeping him open all afternoon.

"Yup. It's actually not that weird. I got used to it after the first day."

Joe can see Nick's face turning pink between his fingers, but it takes him another minute to actually look up at him. "You've been – God, Joe. For how long?"

"Just a couple days." He rocks his chair back on two legs and grins again. "I wanted to be ready. That's how much faith I have in your ability to do this one, teensy-weensy thing for me."

Nick makes a frustrated noise. "Why are you doing this to me? This is so unfair. Isn't it enough that we made it in the first place? I rapped, Joe. You can just use it as blackmail for the rest of our lives."

"Okay, first of all? That was not rapping. You just made Tupac roll over in his grave. And no, the deal was you had to put it on the internet."

"I wore a fake mustache," Nick says plaintively.

"I've worn a lot worse in YouTube videos. The catsuit? Hello?" Joe rolls his eyes. "And right now I'm wearing a—"

"Don't say it," Nick hisses, fingers clenching around the arms of his chair.

Joe lifts his hands up, palms to the ceiling. "My ass; your dignity." He bobs them back and forth before lowering the left one and raising the right. "Dude, as much as I love all the foreplay, we both know I already won. Just get it over with."

Nick clenches his jaw. "This is so stupid."

"I have to get it all wet first," Joe says conversationally. "You should see the bottle of lube, dude. I got, like, a liter of it. And you know this isn't a one-time thing. You just push a button and you've got an all-access pass." He pushes back from the table and circles around behind him. Nick keeps his gaze fixed on the laptop, letting out a hard little sigh when Joe leans in over his shoulders. "Think about it, Nick. I can be ready for it all the time. We're not just talking, like, all night fuck-my-brains out sessions. There'll be quickies in dressing rooms. Bathrooms. Anywhere with a door that locks, 'cause all you gotta do is stick it in."

"God, stop," Nick huffs, fingers fumbling as he yanks the computer open. "I hate you, I hate you so fucking much, Joe—"

He hovers the mouse over the Upload Video link and jams the button down so hard it sticks for a second. Joe grips his shoulder as they both wait, watching the bar move as it loads. Nick's hands are practically shaking, breaths gone funny and shallow, and when the screen finally changes he's out of his chair and on him so fast that Joe almost falls over.

"Let me – I have to see it," Nick says, backing him over to the bed and yanking at the button of his jeans. "Right now, Joseph."

Joe grins, letting Nick shove him back on the bed, and tugs his shirt off. "Gee, you're awfully impatient for a guy who's been putting this off for—"

Nick lands on top of him, kissing him so hard their teeth clink together. He doesn't waste any time yanking Joe's jeans open and wrestling them down, but when pauses when he hooks his fingers under the waist of his boxers.

There's a part of Joe that's not totally sure this is actually going to happen, like he's just waiting for Nick to lose his nerve.

Instead Nick swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, and breathes, "Tell me that you want it. Say it."

Joe hitches up on his elbows.

"Dude, I've been saying it." He hooks his foot around the back of Nick's knee and gives him the best sex kitten pose he can muster. "I want you to fuck me, Nick. I want you to fuck me with your big, manly cock. I'm freaking gagging for it, okay?"

Nick presses his lips together and tugs his boxers down, the elastic catching on Joe's cock and making it sway between them.

"Roll over," Nick says. His chest is heaving with how hard he's breathing, that ruddy pink blush trailing down under his collar.

"You—"

"Roll over," he huffs impatiently. Joe can feel his dick swell even harder as he obliges, shifting over onto his stomach.

Nick sucks in a sharp breath, and Joe spreads his legs a little more, letting him get a good look.

He knows exactly what Nick's seeing; he saw it in the mirror the first day he tried it out, studying his reflection over his shoulder and flexing around the hard black plastic. The base of it fits in pretty snugly, not even visible through the tight fit of his jeans, but there's no way to miss it when he's naked. It's just there, obvious and weird and sitting right up in his hole.

Nick drags his knuckles up the inside of Joe's thigh, like he can't quite work up the nerve to touch it yet.

"I can’t believe you've been wearing that. For me."

He says it with such awe that Joe's skin goes warm, the whole thing suddenly sounding like a bigger deal than when it first occurred to him.

"I do a lot of stuff for you," he mutters against the blanket, grinding his cock down against it and nearly seeing stars. Nick's breath catches a little and Joe can suddenly feel his fingers pushing against the flat base of it.

"God, it's inside you. Is it – deep?"

Joe gasps a little, muscles tensing reflexively. He's gotten used to the weird, blunt pressure of sitting in chairs with it, but that's nothing like the deliberate jab Nick gives him. He glances over his shoulder, catching the glazed, impressed look on Nick's face.

"Not as deep as your dick will be if you ever stop talking."

Nick's fingers go tight around the base, tugging a little until the knot of plastic is pulling at his hole. Joe can't quite hold back a groan when Nick pushes it back in. It slides easily, slipping through the stubbornly open ring of muscle and teasing at the deep place in him that's been aching for this.

"I'm gonna fuck you," Nick says.

He said it over and over when they were making the video, hissing it at him whenever Joe would adjust his stick-on mustache or slap him on the ass, but it sounds different this time. He sounds surprised, like he's actually realizing what it means.

Joe just nods, eyes shutting when he hears the rustle of Nick pulling his clothes off. His guts clench up around the plug when Nick's belt buckle clinks and hits the floor.

"Finally," he sighs.

Nick puts a hand against the pit of his back and knees up on the bed, settling between Joe's legs. He's slow about it when he tugs it out, the knob pulling Joe's hole wider as it slips past.

He feels empty all of the sudden, his body strangely used to the feeling of being plugged up.

"You're so open," Nick mutters, sliding two fingers right in. His ring brushes against the curve of Joe's ass as they sink deep, twisting a little before bottoming out. "So fucking wet, Joe."

"God, just put it in," he says, fists flexing against the bedspread. "It's gonna be so good."

"Huh," Nick breathes, the sound coming out in a heavy sigh. He fucks him with those fingers for a minute, easing them back and forth. Joe can't bite back a groan, hips shifting as Nick presses deep. He doesn't need to be stretched any more than he already is, but Nick just seems fascinated.

The bed dips a little when he finally climbs over him, cock sliding along his crack before he guides it in. Joe just takes it, nice and easy, opening up for him like this isn't the first time.

"That okay?"

He nods, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Nick rocks forward, driving the last few inches in, and Joe stifles a moan against the back of his fist. It's almost too much to deal with, hot and real in a way the plug wasn't. He shoves his hand down to grip his dick, giving it a couple of desperate tugs. It's so flushed with blood that it feels heavy against his palm, every jerk making his stomach clench.

"Oh my God," Nick breathes, sliding down to his elbows and nearly collapsing on Joe's back.

He just stays like that, hips nudging in even closer. Joe can practically hear the gears spinning in his head, the way he's taking it all in and trying to get a tighter hold on himself. It's so familiar, so typically Nick, that he nearly laughs.

"Come on, dude," Joe finally says, rolling his hips back. "Don't leave me hanging here. You gotta... bounce."

Nick makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan, but it suddenly feels like they're on the same page, both ready for it when he slides back and settles into a slow, grinding little rhythm.

"That's so good," he mutters, fingers twisting in Joe's hair.

And it is. It's so good he can’t even believe it, can't begin to remember why they waited so long. Every little stroke hits deep, knocking Nick's chest against his back and shaking the mattress. It hits him all over again, searing through his brain – this is sex.

"Fuck," he breathes, jerking his hips and losing a dribble of precome against the blankets. His whole body seems to flex around Nick's cock, like that point of connection is anchoring him down. Nick hisses against his ear, hands sliding over to grip at his wrists.

"Is that good?" He rolls against him deliberately, thighs flexing where they're shoved up behind Joe's. "Can you feel that?"

"Yeah," he gasps, jerking back against him again. "God, that's all I can feel. You're—"

"What?" Nick breathes, moving a little faster. He doesn't have much leverage like this, completely draped over him and pinning him to the bed, but it feels amazing. "I'm what?"

"You're fucking me," Joe pants. He gets a fresh stab of heat in his stomach just saying those words, cock throbbing treacherously where it's trapped against the bed. "Jeez, Nick, you're actually – fucking me."

For a second he thinks Nick might come, his whole body tensing up against Joe's, but then he just nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fucking you, Joe. Is this – ugh – what you wanted? Were you thinking about this when you were sitting on that plug all day?"

He nods desperately, face suddenly burning. "I've been thinking about this – so long, Nick."

Everything sounds loud and obvious in their quiet little room, the smack of lube and skin punctuating Nick's breaths every time he drives in. Joe curls his fingers in the bedspread, just taking it – each thrust, nice and easy.

"God, I love you, Joe," Nick mutters, forehead dropping against his shoulder blade. "Can't believe—"

He doesn't even have to finish that sentence, because Joe's right there with him. It's so much bigger, so much more intense than what he imagined when they first starting talking about it, Nick jerking him off and telling him how good it would be to get inside him. Nothing could have prepared him for this feeling of getting nailed, his body opening up around Nick's cock.

"Nick," he mutters, reaching down to give his cock another tight squeeze. It's pretty much the only thing he can say, clinging to that word with all he's got.

Nick gives his hair a little tug, yanking his face back so he can kiss it, mouth damp and hot against Joe's jaw. Joe leans back into it, groaning helplessly as Nick's tongue shoves past his lips. It's sloppy and wet, Nick taking up every last one of his senses, and before he can even think about it he's blowing his load all over his stomach.

"Fuck," he huffs, face dropping down against the bed as he shoves himself back on Nick's cock. "Fuck, Nick—"

"God, yeah, come for me," Nick sighs against his ear, hips twisting as he pushes in nice and deep.

He can't even see straight, the whole room fading to blurs of yellow light and the floral print of the blanket. He's just losing it, over and over, wringing that load out while Nick fucks into him.

"Shit," he breathes, rubbing his face on the bed. It takes a minute before everything slides back into focus, his brain only half aware of Nick's mouth moving wetly against his shoulder.

"I could feel that."

Nick stutters it out like he's surprised, but it's the dirtiest thing Joe's ever heard. He lets out a groan that shapes itself to Nick's name, hand sliding through the mess of jizz on the covers as he pulls himself up on his elbows.

"God, Nick," he manages, pulling in a shaky breath. He rocks back against him, meeting each jerk of hips with his own. His body can't quite let go of the tension that's thrumming in his limbs, still so caught up in Nick. What Nick's feeling, what Nick's doing.

"I'm gonna—" Nick drags his face against Joe's neck, the skin-warm metal of his dog tags brushing over Joe's spine. "Can I?"

"Yeah, fuck, come in me," he sighs, and Nick bites at the back of his neck, thrusts going sharp and needy.

"Joe." Nick loses the word in a hot huff, his whole body tensing up against Joe's as he slams home.

It doesn't even seem possible that Nick's cock is in him, filling him up with the jizz he's seen and tasted so many fucking times. It's overwhelming, burning through him until he can't even think anymore; he's just lost in the feeling of Nick touching him, pinning him to the bed and grinding in deep.

Nick slows as he eases through the last of it, breaths trailing raggedly when he slumps against Joe's back.

"Wow," he finally says. Joe can hear him swallow, feel his mouth move when he speaks.

"Yeah," he mumbles.

They stay like that for another minute, settling back into their skin.

"Can you feel that?" Nick says, voice muffled. "How full of my jizz you are right now?"

He gives him another little thrust, and Joe suddenly can – it's so much wetter than it was, like Nick's cock is just sliding around in his load.

"God," he groans. "Don't say stuff like that. You're gonna make me come again."

Nick snickers, breaths huffing warmly against Joe's neck. "Poor, poor, pitiful you."

He eases off of him then, careful about it when he shifts to the side. Joe barely has time to register the weird, slimy feeling of Nick pulling out before the plug is sliding back in.

"Jeez," he grins, rolling over slowly. His eyes meets Nick's, dark and glazed and totally fucked out. "You're just insatiable."

"I believe you promised me an all-access pass. I intend to make the most of it." Nick stretches, sucking in a deep breath, and then loses it in a warm little laugh. "I'm thinking once for every comment on that stupid fucking video."

Joe knocks a loose fist against his stomach. "I can live with that."

Nick rolls over and kisses him, thumbing at his jaw. Joe can still feel that fuck in the vague ache of his muscles and the slick mess between them. The plug is trapping Nick's load right up inside of him. It's somehow disgusting and pretty awesome at the same time.

"So," he says when they break apart, slinging an arm over Nick's stomach, "what's it gonna take for you to let me return the favor, stud?"

Nick gives him a sleepy smirk. "Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something."

Nodding my head like, "Yeah..."

2009-10-18T04:33:09Z

Ahahaha, people I know online always tell me that I'm MYSTERIOUS, so I thought maybe I should do this meme. One day I will make one of those ~introduction~ posts for my LJ, since I do such a crappy job of actually... talking about... myself... but in the meantime:

The problem with LJ: we all think we are so close, but really, we know nothing about each other. So I want you to ask me something you think you should know about me. Something that should be obvious, but you have no idea about. Ask away.

Comments are screened! I will answer anything that doesn't involve my street address or social security number.

Thank you consequence.

2009-10-13T18:32:33Z

I make ABSOLUTELY NO PROMISES, but seeing as my brain really wants to write and is having trouble glomming onto anything in particular:

View Poll: Gimme some sugar.

This is not JoBros fic.

2009-10-11T20:16:33Z

Ugh. I really want to buy these boots, but I can't quite convince myself to. They are a JESSICA SIMPSON design! What have I been reduced to! And yet they're so effing cool. The buckle gives them a motorcycle look that I really like. Most of the tall black boots I've found look a little skanky, but these are TUFF. I got these Frye boots last fall, but seeing as they are A) brown and B) not as structured as you might hope, they aren't the easiest thing to incorporate into the ol' wardrobe. They generally dress an outfit down instead of up, which is WEIRD for boots. But these black ones look like you could wear them with just about anything. UGH. JESSICA SIMPSON. WHY DO YOU DO THESE THINGS TO ME. (Ahaha, the style is called "Clancey", which just makes me think of the Old King Clancy episode of HIMYM. Canadiansexacts.org! They just really want to get the information out there.)

I've been having a weird few days. For a while there I felt IN THE ZONE, but I haven't slept well the last couple of nights and I'm starting to get frustrated with myself. I have ADD, which I only discovered about a year ago, and while I have it under control now it still occasionally kicks my ass. I never get hyperactive, I just have a lot of trouble thinking clearly and quickly. It's really hard for me to interact with people because I drift in and out of the conversation and lose track of what they're saying. IDK, it's very strange. I probably just need to up my meds until my brain deigns to start working again. SIGH.

JONAS:

Competing for my favorite moment of this episode:

(1) Kevin calling Stella "sister-friend".

(2) The BONER JOKE.

Did that second one actually happen? Because I REALLY feel like there is no other way to take that moment when Kevin crowds in behind Stella, she shrieks, and he sheepishly says, "Sorry, Stella, my temperature gauge is a little pointy." That was SO SUGGESTIVE. I even recounted it as a hypothetical to an innocent third party and they agreed.

Check it at 9:02. TELL ME I'M WRONG.

Can I also just say, in general, that I am a huge Kevin fan? I don't want to slash him or anything, I just want him to be adorable and goofy and in love with his fiance so I can draw hearts around him. He just seems incredibly OKAY with himself in a way that I really enjoy. Those bloopers at the end! His little self-deprecating FACE! Watching him skulk around behind a fainting couch talking in that weird drawl while wearing a smoking jacket = the best part of my day.

The Office:

When I first watched this episode I wasn't all that moved by it, but when I rewatched it today I actually teared up at the end. It's REALLY REALLY hard to wrap my mind around the idea that Jim and Pam are actually married now. I don't think this is the best the writers could have done with this episode, but I also don't think anything could have met my expectations.

I like what they did with the ceremony. It embodied what brought Jim and Pam together -- their mutual amusement and horror at the antics of their coworkers, and their ability to steal private moments in the midst of it. It wouldn't have felt like a genuine office celebration if there hadn't been an element of ridiculousness to it. (It was also entertaining to see that Michael still hasn't grasped the concept of oldmeme.) I liked all the little moments we saw of Jim and Pam being a couple, like the memory-pictures, but I really wish we could have seen Pam demonstrate how much she loves Jim. As adorable as the tie-cutting and eloping scenes were, they only reaffirmed that Jim loves the bejesus out of Pam and always knows what will cheer her up. We've known that since SEASON ONE! We've been in Jim's pocket throughout the entirety of their friendship, and we already know how long he's waited for Pam to love him back. It would have been nice to see the flip-side of that and get some insight into how Pam feels.

Watching Michael stick his foot in it at the rehearsal dinner was HORRIFYING. There is no other word for it. I can't remember the last time Michael has done something THAT socially inept. I've seen a lot of people mention that Pam's characterization seemed curiously absent from the episode, and I felt the same way about Michael. In his own weird way Michael has a stake in the Jim/Pam relationship -- "never, ever, ever, EVER give up" -- and it would have been nice to see him show some of the restraint and maturity he's gained in the last five years. Especially since it's clear that he genuinely does care about Jim and Pam. (His misty-eyed smile when they kiss! So sweet!) I feel like the writers took pains to give Michael a real arc with the Holly subplot, and the end result was a calmer, more self-aware Michael Scott. AND I LIKE THAT MICHAEL SCOTT. Where did he go?

All in all, it was kind of a mixed bag for me. I didn't have the overwhelming shippy feelings I thought I would, but I did feel a flicker of nostalgia for the good ol' days of Jam.

FIC: A Place for Every Part of You (Nick/Joe, NC-17)

2009-10-09T11:57:45Z

Here, universe, have some off the cuff porn! I don't even know what I'm doing with my life anymore.

A Place for Every Part of You. Nick/Joe, NC-17, 3,800 words, D/s kink(!). No one else fusses like Joe, who acts like Nick is his pet or something. Time for Nick to rest, time for Nick to get a hug. Time to take Nick for a walk.

"You're too serious," Joe's always huffing at him. Sometimes it's just a joke - so serious, Mr. Prez - but there are times Joe actually sounds worried, or maybe just bored.

Nick feels it every once in a while when he's brooding about something and the guys are all tossing jokes around. It's like they're playing keep-away with something he can't quite intercept, lost in their own easy-going world until Joe taps him in. Most of the time that's all it takes – Joe tosses an arm around him or digs an elbow in his side, or just sticks straws in his mouth and acts like a walrus, and Nick snaps out of it. He'll laugh and elbow back and find perspective again, loosen up.

But sometimes Nick just can't. He can't let go of his white-knuckled grip on everything, can't find the space to breathe.

Those are the times Joe changes. He'll grab Nick and push him back against a wall, whisper something that's just for him, and just like that – boom, the game is on. Everything in his world shifts around until he doesn't have a choice about it anymore. He doesn't get to be in control, so he doesn't get to worry.

They're in Ontario this time. It's not a particularly bad show, but enough things go wrong that Nick's on edge, already going over the mistakes in his head and figuring out how to fix them for next time. Not ten minutes after they leave the stage, adrenaline still pumping and people everywhere, Joe's fingers wrap around Nick's wrist.

"Nicky," he murmurs against his ear, ducking in like it's casual. Nick can feel Joe's hair brush against his ear. He smells like sweat and cologne. "How you doing?"

Nick keeps his smile in place and his gaze fixed on Garbo's animated conversation with Big Rob.

"Good," he says, but it's like a switch his been flipped; his heart is pounding all over again, fresh sweat prickling in his pits. He doesn't know how Joe can always tell. He's pretty sure he isn't that transparent; no one else notices when he's stressed or worried or just tense from a bad night's sleep. No one else fusses like Joe, who acts like Nick is his pet or something. Time for Nick to rest, time for Nick to get a hug. Time to take Nick for a walk.

"Good. I'll see you tonight," Joe says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. He's laughing as he walks away, and turns to look at Nick over his shoulder and shoot him a finger-gun.

Nick rubs a hand over his face, feeling it flush, and smiles distractedly at whatever Kevin yells to him.

*

It's not like he doesn't see Joe the rest of the evening. He's there for the post-show prayer, the ice cream, the movie everyone watches in Kevin's room.

He sits three feet away, periodically screaming and peering through his fingers when something scary happens in the movie, and alternately picking on Kevin and calling him his favorite brother. Nothing is different. Nothing has changed.

Except for everything, because they both know what's going to happen later.

Nick slumps low in the couch most of the night, cock chubbing up in his jeans every now and then without his permission. He keeps the popcorn bowl in his lap and does his best to focus on the chatter and noise around him.

"You getting tired, Nick?" Joe finally says when the group starts to dwindle. It comes out casual and random, but Nick leans forward abruptly, his body primed and ready for any and all attention. "You look pretty beat, man. It was an intense show."

"Yeah," he says gratefully. He would have gone to bed eventually – he doesn't need Joe to tell him – but it feels good to be told, like a reassurance that he didn't misunderstand earlier. "I think I'm heading up."

"Don't let the bed bugs... BITE," Joe says, reaching out to hand-chomp at his passing leg, right at the ticklish spot behind the knee.

"You're so weird, Joe," he laughs, hopping past him and giving a high-five shake to Garbo on his way to the door. He doesn't miss Joe's wink, though, and can't help the stupid way it makes him grin.

*

It didn't start out like this. In the beginning it was something different – everything unplanned and random, just rubbing against each other in the night and taking whatever they could get. They gave each other a hand when they needed it, and when they could grab an extra twenty minutes in some hotel room or another. It was weeks before Joe actually kissed him.

"Open your mouth," he'd hummed, gripping Nick's jaw and tilting his face up. "Let me get in there."

And that was all it took. Weeks of niggling worries about not knowing what he was doing, not being good enough to get Joe off – it melted away. It didn't matter, because Joe knew what to do, and Joe didn't mind telling him.

The rest of it came in time. The more wound up Nick got about things, the more intense Joe would get with him. What he could wear. What he could eat. One time, after a really shitty show in Ohio that had him in a deeper funk than any other to date, Joe ordered room service and fed him every bite of it. Nick sat there with his hands clasped in his lap while Joe lifted it, piece by piece, to his mouth.

"I need to be sure you're taking care of yourself," he'd said, but they both knew he didn't have to explain anything.

Most of the time Joe is just Joe. He picks his nose and wipes it on Nick's shirt, and sticks pens in his ears to get a laugh. He still does the most pointless and irritating stuff, like reenacting the mating ritual of the blue-footed booby, which he insists he saw on YouTube.

Even the other stuff – the touches he'll give Nick sometimes, pulling him close or putting on his fan-voice and squeezes his biceps – that's not the same thing. That's just Joe being his brother, the same as always.

It's only once in a while that he does this, and when it happens it's completely different. Just for them. He takes care of Nick, looks out for him, unravels him. He lets him stop being Nick Jonas, that guy, and just be Nick.

"Nicky," is what Joe always hisses, owning it so much Nick could forget the whole family calls him that at times.

It's all kinds of messed up.

*

When Joe gets back to their room it's past midnight. Nick's sitting on his bed with his guitar, but he sets it on the floor at the telltale click of Joe swiping his key-card.

"Hey," he says, shifting awkwardly. Excitement is already settling in his stomach, keeping him on edge.

"Hey," Joe grins back, flopping on the motel couch. He sprawls casually, like he's about to sit down for some quality X-Box time, and props his sneakers up on the glass coffee table. "Miss me?"

Nick rubs the side of his nose. He wonders sometimes if Joe drinks with the guys in the band. He'd probably tell him if Nick asked. He thinks he might like it better this way, not totally sure where he's been or what he's been doing. It makes it all seem more – thrilling, knowing that Joe has those things he's not a part of, and he still makes time for this.

"Yeah," he answers honestly.

"Stand up," Joe says, crooking a couple fingers. Nick stumbles to his feet, eager and ready. God, he really is like Joe's pet sometimes. He could give Elvis a run for his money.

Joe looks pleased and a little thoughtful as he studies him, taking it all in. Nick can only imagine what he looks like right then: rumpled hair, plaid shirt, dark jeans, big, awkward bare feet.

"Lose the shirt," he says. Nick's face goes hot all at once, but he pops open the snaps down the front and pulls it loose from his jeans.

Joe watches him as it hits the floor. Nick lets out a sigh, too hot inside, too pathetically desperate already. He's strangely aware of how pale his chest is, of the baby fat around his belly-button that no amount of sit-ups will get rid of.

"Unbutton your pants," Joe says after another excruciating minute. Nick's fingers fumble with his fly and yank it open. It gives his dick another few inches to swell into, and for a second he's lost in the impulse to reach for it, give it a squeeze.

"Don't do it," Joe says lightly, like he's reading his mind. Outwardly he looks cool as a fucking cucumber, but Nick can see the tension in his limbs and how he's twist, twist, twisting the ring on his finger. He always keeps it together, though. "Don't touch yourself, Nicky. I get to say when that's okay."

He can't help it; he shifts from foot to foot, a hot twist of impatience burning through him – at the rule, at the injustice of it, at how smoothly Joe can just say crap like that to him – he doesn't even know.

"Can I take my pants off?" he asks.

"Not yet." Joe leans back, and Nick can see the tent of his cock in his jeans. His gaze lingers there, muscles tensing in an involuntary twitch of arousal. "Touch... your nipples."

"Joe," he huffs, mortified, but Joe just lifts his eyebrows. It's always like this: Joe pushing him, testing him, waiting out Nick's knee-jerk embarrassment.

Nick's fingers flex at his sides before he reaches up to squeeze them both. It's like hotwiring a car, the way those points of contact send a jolt through him. He sucks in a loud, sharp breath.

"That's it," Joe says, leaning forward a little. "I know you like that, Nicky. It's okay. Do it again. Show me how good it is."

Nick can feel the blush start at his cheekbones, spreading down his throat as he tweaks them again. He worries them back and forth, each one caught between a thumb and fore-finger. Joe's got his elbows on his knees, hands rubbing together idly, and Nick does his best to not look at them. Not imagine what they'd feel like doing this. He bites his lip as his cock shoots a little wad of precome in his boxers.

"Now your pants," Joe muses. "Yeah, like that. Slow."

He takes his time pushing them down, peeling them off his damp thighs. Joe always likes to give stage directions, but it's not like Nick has any clue how to be sexy. He's just moving in awkward slow-motion as he kicks them to the side, foot catching in the bunched-up denim.

Joe just smiles. If it were anyone else, it would be unbearable. But it's just Joe.

"Boxers, too," he says, pointing. Nick hooks his thumbs over the waistband, pausing for a second before shucking off that last barrier. His dick snaps up against his stomach when he shoves them off.

"Get on the bed."

He clambers up on it gratefully, collapsing on his back as Joe comes up to the foot of it. He strips his jacket off casually, tossing it on the couch, and toes out of his shoes. Nick swallows, burning with the urge to palm at his cock. It's swaying over his stomach, veering just a little to the left, and bobs every time he pulls in a particularly deep breath.

It's clear, though, what he's allowed to do and what he isn't. That's the whole point. He knows exactly where he stands, exactly what he's supposed to do. Everything that always eats at him – how to win, how to succeed, how to get it right – is focused down to one simple task: do what Joe says.

Joe pulls his t-shirt off and swings it around over his head, grinning at him. Nick does his best to smile back, but he's too far gone to think it's very funny. It just seems hot, and when Joe's fingers tug his belt and jeans open Nick has to shut his eyes so he doesn't up and cream himself right then.

"Hey," Joe says, the bed giving a little when he climbs over Nick. "Up here, dude. You're gonna make me think I don't have a future at Chippendale's."

Nick opens his eyes, eyebrows furrowing as he gazes up at him. Joe's stripped down to nothing, arms flexing when he reaches over to touch Nick's face.

"Can I touch you?" Nick asks.

"Nope," he says, skimming his fingertips down Nick's chest. "Just breathe."

Nick's fingers make fists against the sheets, but he does was he's told.

"I'm serious," Joe adds, pressing a sloppy, wet-lipped kiss against Nick's throat. "No touching."

"I know, Joe," he says quietly. He has to swallow then, overwhelmed and overheated, and knows it has to be obvious under Joe's lips.

"Good." Joe straightens up so he's just straddling Nick's thighs. He grins again, a merciful god: "But you can touch yourself."

"Thank you," Nick sighs, not even thinking twice as he reaches to grip his cock. He still doesn't have body hair quite like Joe's; it's lighter, softer, less prickly against his hand as he grips the base and jerks himself.

"Touch the slit," Joe says thoughtfully. Nick braces himself, but his stomach still pulls in sensitively when he obeys, tracing a finger right at the tip of his cock. It's wet there, and it gets even wetter, making his fingertip slick.

"Wow," Joe murmurs, tilting his head as he watches him. "You really need it bad, huh?"

Nick nods, shutting his eyes again as he jerks his fist up the length. It's not that he doesn't do this all the time without Joe, but just having him right there, just having – permission, makes it all so much better.

"Easy, tiger," Joe says, gripping at his hip. He thumbs at the ticklish hollow there. "Take your time."

Nick sighs out a long, slow breath, blinking up at the ceiling as he slows his strokes. Precome is slipping steadily down the head, making each tug a little sweeter. Joe leans in and kisses at the side of his neck, his stomach nudging against the tip of Nick's cock.

The edge of Nick's fist bumps there on a particularly hard upstroke, and he jerks with the sudden fear that he broke the rule. He glances over at Joe, frozen, and Joe seems to figure it out.

"That was all me," he reassures, dropping a warm kiss on Nick's mouth. He reaches down between them and adjusts Nick's grip, pressing the web of his finger and thumb right up against the shaft. Nick can feel the callous there press when their fists slide up together. "There we go."

Nick nods again, focusing dizzily on Joe's face. He looks hot-eyed and eager, but it feels like every ounce of him is focused on Nick. Doing things to Nick.

"Oh god, Joe," he breathes, hips pulling up before he can stop them. "Is this – good? Am I doing it right?"

"Yeah, Nicky," Joe says, and it hits him again, how weird to see him like this. Goofy, ridiculous Joe, suddenly calling all the shots. Telling him what to do and how to do it. "Keep going. Just like that."

"I'm gonna come," he whispers, eyes squeezing shut. His cheeks are so red it feels like they're radiating heat, his skin burning. His eyebrow hitch and suddenly Joe is all over him, tugging his hand off his cock and grabbing at the other one.

He presses Nick's wrist down in the sheets, all surprising wiry strength, and bites at Nick's bottom lip.

"Not yet," he breathes. "Not until I say."

Nick squirms, not to break that hold but just to release some of the reckless energy that's coursing through him. He strains up for another kiss, moaning right into it when Joe obliges.

His mouth feels clumsy against Joe's, but he tries to focus on it, steadying his breaths so he can chase Joe's tongue deep in his mouth, rub up against the ridges of his teeth. Joe lets him set the pace, answering those needy little thrusts of tongue with his own. Nick sighs hotly against his cheek when Joe's grip on his wrists tightens a little. His cock's just hanging there between them, but this – this right here is the best thing he's ever felt. He knows Joe's gonna let him get off, and when he does come it'll be amazing.

Whenever Joe thinks he should.

A couple minutes tick by, lost in that heated, controlled kissing, and then Joe carefully settles his weight down on Nick. His cock slides over Nick's stomach, and Nick's presses into Joe's scratchy, rough pubes. It's so much stimulation that he seizes up, hips straining to fit them even closer together.

Joe moves slowly, grinding down on him in shallow thrusts. He breaks away from the kiss and pants against Nick's face, eyes bright and huge.

"That good?" he whispers. "Say it."

"It's good," Nick breathes, fingers flexing uselessly against the blanket. "It's so good, Joe, oh my God. I can't even deal. You're so—"

Joe's teeth flash in a little grin, his hips twisting just right. "So what?"

Nick shakes his head, sluggish heat flowing back to his cheeks.

"Nick," Joe says firmly, suddenly all business.

Nick presses his lips together and then mumbles in a rush, "You're so good at this. You're so good – to me, oh f— God."

There's nowhere to escape, but Joe just kisses him again, lips achingly soft. He lets go of Nick's wrists, resting his forearms at either side of Nick's face. He keeps his arms pinned where Joe had them, not even thinking of moving them away, but this is even better. He's suddenly got Joe on all sides, pinning him in.

The friction between them picks up then, Joe's hips moving faster. Nick can feel the heavy heat of Joe's cock dragging against his own, fitting together just right, and he arches up unthinking, desperate for more of it. Joe kisses the tip of his nose, fingers digging into his hair. The bed's creaking a little, and Nick realizes in a sudden rush that they're practically fucking, that if he were a girl they would be. It's almost too much for his overheated brain to deal with.

Joe nips at his chin, watching his face intently.

"Not yet," he whispers, pushing Nick's hair off his forehead.

"I'm trying," Nick whispers back, fists digging into the mattress.

"I know. You're doing such a good job, Nicky."

He shuts his eyes, determined not to do anything to make that statement untrue. He's going to be good, follow the rules. He's going to do it for Joe.

"I can do it," he grits out.

When he opens his eyes again Joe's smiling at him. There's a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his hair falling down in his eyes. No one has any business looking that good, especially not his stupid big brother. It makes something painful tug in Nick's chest.

Joe waits another beat, planting aimless kisses on Nick's jaw, before he finally says, "You can come now."

Nick's whole body seizes up, thrumming with a heady burst of pleasure. He lets himself sink into it, every drag of Joe's cock up against his made so much better by the satisfaction sluicing through him. He did it, he totally did it.

"God, Joe," he whispers, feeling it swell up in his chest, his limbs tingling. "Joe—"

He loses it between them in a rush, each spurt trapped there between their stomachs. His brain burns with the knowledge that he's jizzing all over Joe, making his hips hump up pathetically as he blows the last of it. Each stroke is suddenly sticky, slapping with a gross wet noise when Joe moves against him.

"That good, Nick?" he sighs against his face.

"Yeah," he manages, eyes squeezing shut for a long moment. Joe kisses him again before rocking back to his knees. It's suddenly cold, the conditioned air hitting his overheated skin in a rush.

Joe puts a hand on Nick's stomach, rubbing through the mess there, and then fists his own cock. His head tips back a little as he jerks it, the white, slick sheen of Nick's come making it glisten.

Nick just stares, arms still spread the way Joe left them, watching as Joe looks down at him and bites his lip. He only lasts another minute, wrist snapping with each stroke. Nick's stomach hitches sensitively as his load spatters on his skin, hot and thick.

"Wow," Joe heaves, collapsing back down on him. He rolls them over, hooking one of his legs under Nick's. "That was a good one."

Nick rests his head on Joe's shoulder and nods, breaths huffing against his collarbone.

"I needed that," he finally says. Joe leans in to kiss his forehead.

"I know you did."

*

In the morning Joe tosses him one of his old t-shirts to wear. It's tiny and fitted and a little wrinkled, and smells like Joe whenever Nick moves.

"That's it," Joe says when Nick studies himself in the bathroom mirror. He sidles up behind him, taking in the reflection: Joe's shirt on Nick's body, Joe's hand on Nick's hip. He reaches up after a second to touch Nick's mouth, thumb swiping over his bottom lip.

"God, Joe," he breathes, embarrassed and pleased. It's stupid that he feels so claimed like that; they're not even doing anything, but he can feel Joe all over him, pinning him there in that safe mental place that's just for them.

"Lookin' good," Joe says.

Nick doesn't know if he agrees, but it doesn't really matter. Joe could hand him a skirt and he'd probably wear it, no questions asked.

"The clothes make the man," he intones, reaching for his cologne.

"Oh my God," Joe gasps, all cheap mock-horror. "Oh my God. Hold still. Is that a gray hair?"

"Ow!" Nick ducks away as Joe actually yanks out a strand, holding it triumphantly for a second. "Jerk!"

"Geezer," Joe returns.

They wrestle around in front of the sinks, trading punches and pinches. Joe gets him in a headlock and pumps his other fist, doubling over when Nick reaches over and digs his knuckles into his stomach. When they straighten up they're both ruffled and laughing.

Joe hip-checks Nick as he reaches for his toothbrush, and just like that, they're brothers again.

FIC: Bells Will Ring (Nick/Joe)

2009-10-07T11:51:00Z

Oh man, it's RAINING FIC around here. I wrote a bunch of random Nick/Joe commentfic for the current boyfriends_fic challenge, which I have reposted here: The Jonas Safe House for Wayward Clones. It's like 5,000 words of ridiculousness and porn, half Nick/Joe/Nick (the second Nick is fourteen) and half Nick/Joe/Joe (the second Joe is seventeen).

And as for this next one... I have a real weakness for weddings and everything they entail, and I've wanted hot best man on best man action ever since Kevin said that Joe and Nick were going to share the title. So the following was kind of inevitable. Thanks to novaberry and valiant for reading through it for me!

Bells Will Ring. Nick/Joe, NC-17, 5,000 words. Warning for alcohol consumption! "Come on, dude. Kevin only gets married once."
(Bonus: Frank Sinatra - The Way You Look Tonight, the soundtrack to the first half of this story.)

The wedding is small by Jonas standards, which means that it's kind of huge.

"Just friends and family," was the official line, but the Jonas clan is pretty big and a guy as nice as Kevin makes a lot of friends. It could be worse – it could easily be three times its size – but the crowds are thick and the church is practically overflowing.

For once, though, the focus isn't on the three of them. It's just on Kevin and Danielle, and Nick and Joe deflect any attention that comes their way.

"We're just so happy for them," Nick says over and over. "This is their day."

Joe spends most of the reception with his shades on and an arm slung around Nick's shoulders.

"Champagne is awesome," he says when their grandparents wander away. "Why don't we drink champagne all the time?"

"Because then we'd be alcoholics," Nick says patiently. He folds his arms over his chest but he doesn't shrug off Joe's arm. It's the most they've been able to touch in days, and he's seemed content to linger in this pose all afternoon. The two spare Jonas brothers, hiding out in the corner. Nick smiles at something happening across the lawn and Joe watches the late afternoon sun play on the side of his face. "Anyway, you were only supposed to have one glass. That was the rule."

"Rules are made to be broken," Joe says, waggling his eyebrows. A little smirk tilts up the edge of Nick's mouth.

"Just how drunk are you, Joe?"

"I'm not drunk," Joe says defensively. "I only had, like, two glasses."

"Uh-huh. I counted three."

Nick leans against him, warm and heavy, and they watch the couples sway around to some song he doesn't recognize. Kevin and Danielle are holding court across the tent, still shaking hands and hugging people. Joe's pretty impressed they got out of the receiving line before their first anniversary, but they both look happier than he's ever seen them.

"We're getting old, you know," he says eventually, fingers drifting over to mess with the curls that brush against Nick's collar.

"Speak for yourself. I'm in the blossom of my youth." He waves at someone, smiling and lifting his head in a nod.

"Please. In three months you won't be jailbait anymore. Have you been on the internet? People are keeping track of this stuff."

Nick makes the face he always does when someone brings up their crazy fans.

"Yeah, well, I've got another few years before I'm old enough to drink the bubbly." He looks over at Joe then, and Joe smiles, blinded by the sudden intensity of Nick's undivided attention. "Which you still aren't, if you forgot. You better steer clear of Mom or she'll flip."

"This is starting to sound like jealousy, Nicholas." Joe pulls him in tighter, fitting Nick against his side. He pitches his voice low, determined to keep his attention now that he's snagged it. "You wanna swipe a bottle with me? Get crunk?"

"No," Nick mutters, bristling in the way that means he's actually saying yes, but please make a show of convincing me so I can pretend to be morally superior. Joe's hip to that vibe; Nick did the same thing when he challenged him to a who-can-catch-the-most-Jordan-almonds-in-his-mouth competition.

"Oh, okay. I guess I'll just have to do it alone. Drink the whole thing myself. Think I can keep my cool after that? Ooh, we should have a bet." He pokes Nick in the stomach excitedly. "If I don't serenade the happy couple with an awesome karaoke cover of a Poison song, you get the keys to the motorcycle for a month."

Nick looks down at his wingtips and smiles. "You wouldn't."

"Or would I?" Nick glances over at him, skeptical and amused. "Admit it, you can't tell. Come on, Nick. Somewhere under that grumpy old man exterior there's a normal seventeen-year-old who wants to get his drink on."

"Fine," he says, unfolding his arms. "But no one is getting crunk."

Joe nabs two champagne flutes from a passing caterer and hands both to Nick. He perks his eyebrows expectantly when Nick just stares at them.

"Chug, chug, chug," he says, pumping his fist. Nick sighs and shakes his head, trying to fight down a smile.

"This is so dumb," he huffs, glancing around furtively before turning his back to the crowd. Joe rests an elbow on Nick's shoulder, making a casual human shield. Most of their friends are out there dancing; no one is really paying attention to them over here.

"Bottoms up," he says over his shoulder. By the time Nick knocks back the second glass Joe can feel some of the tension go out of him.

"Happy?" Nick asks, setting the glasses on the edge of a table.

"Not as happy as I'll be in, like, twenty minutes." He claps his hands. "Let's do this thing."

"Whoa, wait, you really want to steal a bottle? Isn't it enough that anyone with a camera could have just got a money shot?"

Joe snickers. "Money shot? Please. No one here cares about stuff like that. Come on, man. Kevin only gets married once. And we only get one chance to ring it in right."

"No," Nick says flatly. "This is a terrible idea. This is the worst of all your bad ideas, Joe, and that's saying something."

Joe pulls his sunglasses down and studies him over the white plastic edge. "It's like you think I don't know all the words to 'Every Rose Has Its Thorn'. But I do, Nick. I know that every night has its dawn, and every cowboy sings the same sad song."

"It's 'sad, sad song'," Nick corrects, almost in spite of himself. Joe grins. He only has to wait another beat before Nick throws his hands up in a loose, defeated shrug and lets Joe drag him into the fray. "I officially disclaim any responsibility for what is about to happen."

"Sure. Hey, remind me to elope," Joe calls over his shoulder as they weave through the crowd. Nick puts a hand on his back as he trails behind him.

"Remind me to never get married."

"Don't get married," Joe says immediately, dodging a caterer's tray. He veers them out on the dance floor when he spots their dad, shaking his hips in a kind of rumba to blend in.

"Elope," Nick returns, crowding in behind him as they dart between couples.

"What, right now? I thought you didn't want to get married."

Joe catches Nick's hand and swings him around, pulling him up against his chest and swaying back and forth. Nick just laughs and goes with it, letting Joe shuffle them along in a kind of half-assed foxtrot. An up-tempo jazz number is playing, and people just smile at them when Nick holds his arm up and Joe spins under it.

"Target acquired," Joe says, motioning at the bar with his head. He rocks them in a loose, lazy rhythm, waggling his eyebrows when Nick looks over his shoulder and shakes his head.

"Worst idea ever," he says over the music, but he knots his fingers around Joe's when they take off through the crowd again.

"What now?" he says when they reach the far side of the tent.

"I need a distraction." Joe tugs his sunglasses off and tucks them in his front pocket. "Go order a drink and argue when they ask for ID."

"I'm not doing that," Nick hisses incredulously. "Someone would have it on Twitter before I finished the first sentence."

"There's a confidentiality agreement," Joe says, waving his hand. "Take one for the team."

Nick folds his arms and rolls his eyes. "No."

"Man, I have to do everything around here."

Joe pulls his phone out and puts it to his ear, discreetly giving Nick the finger as he wanders over to the side of the table. "What?" he says into it. "No, definitely not. That's just absurd." He hangs around for a minute, eyeing the bartenders, but they're all pretty swamped. No one bats an eye when he digs one of the bottles out of a bucket of ice and moves away, tucking it under his coat.

"You're certifiably insane," Nick says conversationally, falling in step next to him. He looks over his shoulder and huffs out a laugh, tucking his hands in his pockets. "I hope you realize that."

"Please. You wish you had a pair like mine," Joe says, rolling up on his toes to scan the crowds for their parents and spotting them over by Kevin. "Let's take this party inside."

The church is weirdly quiet when they slip in through the side door, the change so abrupt that Joe's ears ring a little. Nick tugs him back to the rooms where they got ready for the ceremony, trying doorknobs till he finds one that's unlocked.

"Oh my God," he laughs, leaning back against the door and sliding down to the carpet. "I can't believe we just did that."

"I know, I'm awesome," Joe says dismissively, sliding down next to him. He furrows his eyebrows and turns the bottle around, studying the top. "How do you start this thing?"

"Give it to me," Nick says, holding out his hand. Joe's pretty sure that Nick has never opened a bottle of champagne in his life, but he calmly peels the foil off and loosens the wire. "This is such a bad idea," he says mildly, wriggling the cork free.

"Wrong," says Joe.

It foams a little, dripping down over Nick's fingers. Nick licks it off the back of his hand.

"You didn't get glasses, genius," he points out. Joe just takes the bottle and tosses it back, nearly spraying it all over them when it foams over again.

"We're slumming it, dude," he coughs. "Improvise."

Nick pulls a face when he takes a swig, studying the label like the name on it will mean anything to him.

"This stuff tastes disgusting."

"That's cristal, baby," Joe says. "The flossy, flossy. Wait till you try beer."

"I've tried beer," Nick says witheringly.

"Uh-huh. A strawberry flavored Smirnoff Ice isn't beer." Joe takes the bottle back and drinks some more, bubbles fizzing at the back of his throat.

"Oh, right, sorry," Nick says. "I forgot about all those keg stands you did back at State."

"Rush week rules, bro," Joe says, handing him the bottle and belching. Nick laughs and shoves him.

"Thanks for keeping it classy," he sniffs. Joe crosses his eyes at him, and Nick grins before chugging down a good few inches from the bottle. He holds up a finger afterwards and lets out an even louder one, shaping it around the word, "Classy."

Joe doubles over, sliding down into Nick's lap and smothering giggles against his thigh. Nick cracks up, too, and for a minute they're just falling all over each other in a warm, clumsy pile of limbs.

"Oh man," Joe moans, slumping against Nick's side. They settle into comfortable silence, passing the bottle back and forth. Nick tips his head over on Joe's shoulder and hums along with faint strains of jazz floating in through the window, tapping his ring against the bottle every now and then.

"We are getting old, huh?" he says after a while. "Kev just got married."

"Yup." Joe studies their shoes, knocking a foot against Nick's. The hems of his pants have ridden up a little, exposing slivers of his mismatched socks. "He seems really happy."

Nick smiles and nods. "I think he hugged me five times this morning."

"Me too. It's pretty awesome." He takes another swig and hands the bottle back to Nick. "And weird. Everything's gonna be different now. It's just you and me."

Nick stiffens a little, lifting his head.

"No it's not," he says immediately. "This doesn't change anything."

"Come on," Joe says, but he's in too good a mood to really bicker. "He just crossed over, man. He's a grown-up."

"Kevin will never be a grown-up," Nick says flatly, and then snickers. Joe joins in, because that much, at least, is true.

"Okay, no," he concedes. "But, I mean..." He glances over at Nick, not sure how he's missing it. "He's, like, going on his honeymoon?" Joe holds his hand up, thumbing at the smooth, polished piece of silver on his third finger. "This is just us now."

"Yeah," Nick says. He tips his hand and studies his own ring. It's got a pattern on it, a newer one he picked out a couple months ago. "I guess."

"So that's weird." Joe grabs the bottle from Nick's hand and takes a pull from it. They've managed to down about half, and judging by the way Nick's cheeks have turned pink, they're both feeling it. "But, you know, whatever. We're doing okay."

Nick smiles, slow and dirty. He's still looking at his hand, but he knocks his shoulder against Joe's.

"Yeah," he says again, glancing over at him. His teeth catch on his bottom lip, and his voice suddenly goes lower. "We're doing okay."

That was totally not what Joe had in mind when he dreamed up this little caper. They're in a freaking church, for one thing. All the people in the world who actually know and care about them are about twenty paces from the door they're leaning on.

Joe tips the bottle back at Nick, but he shakes his head, gaze fixed on Joe's mouth. He smirks a little, eyes hooded, and Joe can feel his cock swell in his pants. Nick suddenly seems really warm where they're touching, heat seeping through all these layers of clothes.

"Uh," he says, blinking a couple times. That lazy, good feeling he's been thrumming with has abruptly zeroed in on his dick.

"Mm," Nick agrees. He leans over and kisses him lightly, just a tease of lip. He lingers there, breathing against his mouth, but moves away when Joe leans into it. He smiles and tugs the bottle back. "So, Aunt Jamie's getting fat," he says casually, taking a swig.

"Oh, no way," Joe says. He moves before he can second-guess the impulse, scrambling over into Nick's lap and straddling his thighs. Everything feels weird, like his body is doing whatever it wants. It's awesome and a little scary at the same time.

Nick raises his eyebrows and tries to looks innocent, setting the bottle against the wall.

"Can I help you with something?" The threat of a smile is hanging around his mouth, but his tone is breezy. "Wow, Joe, you look a little flushed. Maybe you need some air."

"Maybe you need to—"

But whatever he's about to say is cut off by Nick's mouth, suddenly tipping up to catch him in a real kiss. His lips are wet with champagne, the taste of it all over him when his tongue teases at Joe's bottom lip. He laughs against his mouth, loose and happy. They've done this so many times that there's a familiar rhythm about it, but this is a little different. It all feels sweeter with that giddy fizz of alcohol under his skin, blurring away everything but how good it feels.

Nick slides his hands beneath Joe's jacket, under his vest, smoothing up the sides of his dress shirt. He's getting hard but his movements are slow and lazy, like he's got all the time in the world. He pauses mid-kiss to suck on Joe's upper lip, pulling a needy little noise out of him.

"You are such a dick," Joe breathes when Nick pulls back.

"You're a real sweet talker, Joe," he says, grinning and letting his head fall back against the door. His hands feel huge where they're trapped between Joe's vest and shirt, each finger pressing into his ribs. "The ladies must love you."

"I do okay," he says modestly. His hips give a little roll, grinding their cocks together. "I also have a cool car, so that helps."

He leans in to kiss lazily at the side of Nick's neck, where the crisp, clean smell of cologne is the strongest. There's a little rough spot he missed when they were shaving that morning, right at the base of his jaw, and Joe touches his tongue to it. He can sort of feel the steady thrum of Nick's pulse throbbing hard under his skin.

"You're warm," he says. Nick laughs lowly, the rumble of his chest right up against Joe's.

"So are you." He slides his hands back down Joe's sides, gripping at his waist and pulling him down harder. Sweet, sluggish heat spreads through Joe's limbs, and suddenly it doesn't seem like a huge deal that there are about a million people nearby. It feels private here, the noise outside just a dim, distant hum.

"You know." Joe grips the front of Nick's jacket and kisses between his eyebrows, feeling them move under his mouth. "I think it's, like, traditional for the best man to hook up with a bridesmaid."

"Yeah?" Nick rubs his thumbs against Joe's hips and nips at his Adam's apple.

"Yup. So this is kind of the next best thing, right?"

Nick suddenly laughs.

"You have the worst ways of trying to justify stuff." He hooks his fingers under the waist of Joe's trousers and rocks against him.

"Do not." Joe's not really paying attention anymore, because it suddenly seems way more important to keep up that hot slide of friction between them.

"Remember when you told me that we'd perform together better if we..." He mouths at the base of Joe's throat, tongue playing over the spot right above his buttoned collar. His lips rub there as he pitches his voice into an unfairly girly imitation of Joe's. "...understood each other's bodies?"

"That was totally true," Joe breathes, twisting his fingers in Nick's hair. "Makes perfect sense."

"And, um, there was the time you said that giving blowjobs would help improve stamina." He presses his forehead against Joe's shoulder as they move together. Joe thumbs at the back of Nick's neck.

"You say that like you – huh – didn't totally... have better breath control after that."

Nick's chest quakes with a laugh that he huffs into Joe's ear.

"Or you're totally full of shit." His fingers tighten around the lapels of Joe's jacket, using them as leverage for that lazy grinding before he pushes them over Joe's shoulders.

"I have the best ideas," Joe says as they both fumble to tug it off his arms. Nick's hands come up to hold his face when he kisses him again, the metal of his ring warm against Joe's jaw. He licks in deep this time, tongue rolling around Joe's mouth in a careless, easy glide.

"And the worst ways of pitching them." He grins and slides his hand down until it's right over the button of Joe's pants. "I'm not a bridesmaid, Joe."

"That's good," he says, glancing down to watch his fingers hover there. "Because yellow is so not your color."

"And this isn't the next-best thing," Nick continues, paving right over that comment. He yanks the button open and the zipper down, pulling the ends of Joe's shirt free. His hand is hot and hard when it forms around his dick and gives it a squeeze.

"You might... have a point."

Nick quirks his eyebrows smugly and tugs Joe's dick out of his pants.

"But, uh." His lips pull in another little grin, cheeks flushing pinker as Joe watches. Nick can be really pretty sometimes. It's kind of distracting. "We can still hook up."

Somewhere outside there's a loud whoop of laughter, but Nick starts moving his fist in tight, deep tugs, and Joe can't even care.

"Fuck," he sighs. His hand moves clumsily between them, finding where Nick's hard-on is bulging against the front of his pants. Nick gasps sharply, body tensing under Joe's, and it hits him out of nowhere how fucking weird it is that he gets to do this – that Nick wants it as bad as he does.

"You're so hard," he mutters, grinding his palm there. Nick shuts his eyes and nods, arching as Joe traces the heavy, obvious shape of it through the fabric.

"I wanna suck you," Nick whispers, voice dipping low. His fist goes tight around Joe's cock and he opens his eyes again to look right at him. "Can we do that? You want me to blow you?"

"Uh, no," Joe says, hips rolling helplessly for more friction. "Leave the... brilliant ideas to me, dude."

Nick laughs and grabs Joe's hips, tipping them over on the floor. The whole room has taken on a slushy, bubbly kind of glow, making it hard for Joe to concentrate when Nick straightens up and reaches for the bottle. He throws it back like an old pro this time, his other hand loosening his tie.

Joe's not totally sure what he was expecting Nick to be like with some booze in him, but this definitely wasn't it. There's a clumsiness to his movements that isn't usually there, but he seems even more sure of himself. Even cockier.

It's pretty hot.

"God," Joe breathes, rubbing at his own face when Nick leans in over his dick. He licks a stripe right up the side of it, not even pausing before he sucks at the head. His mouth is wet and slick and a little cool from the champagne. It takes Joe a second to screw up the courage to look down and take it all in – the sharp arch of Nick's eyebrows, his smooth forehead, the fat flush of his lips that just drag as his dick disappears into Nick's mouth.

"Fuck," he pants, muscles all tensing up when Nick's tongue curls just right around the head.

Nick glances up at him and slides down nice and deep, the head skidding over the slick roof of his mouth. Joe turns his face against the carpet and rubs it there, lost in a moment of pure hedonism. He's already on the edge, so close that it's starting to spiral up through his limbs. There's no way he's going to last.

"You're totally – gonna – swallow, huh?" he manages, somehow knowing it's true.

Nick groans, fist twisting around the base. It sounds a little like mm-hmm, but Joe can't really focus on anything but the way it feels humming around his dick. He digs his fingers in Nick's hair, creeping them down to rub the warm skin just behind his ear. If he really concentrates, he can feel Nick's jaw move under his thumb.

"So good," he breathes. Nick squeezes at his thigh, nails scraping against the smooth fabric of his pants. The tension in his body is lazy and sweet, building up in a steady little rush that finally sends him to his elbows, huffing, "Oh man, I'm gonna come—"

Nick doesn't miss a beat. He pulls back until he's just got a couple inches in his mouth, his fist sliding in a spitty, wet squeeze. He looks up at him then, eyes big and dark, and Joe's whole body shudders as he loses it right in Nick's mouth.

He clunks back to the floor without really noticing, only vaguely aware of Nick's hand slowing as he backs off. When he opens his eyes Nick's just lingering there, eyebrows hitching as his throat works and he swallows – hard, deliberate, the way he'd down an aspirin.

"Hngh," Joe says pathetically, chest heaving against the buttons of his vest.

Nick sits back on his haunches and Joe tries to focus, tries to press the sight into his memory, because – Christ, Nick's in a three-piece suit and his hair's all messed up and his mouth looks exactly like what you'd think it would after a blowjob. There's a little smudge of come on his lips, and Joe taps his own, uselessly. Nick licks it off and breathes out a heavy sigh, gripping his dick through his pants.

Normally Joe would be on him in a heartbeat, but all he can do right then is watch Nick dig his cock out of his pants and jerk himself. He falls into the same nasty, hard rhythm he was giving Joe, the veins on the back of his hand all fat and heavy-looking as he fucks into his fist. His cheeks have gone ruddy, matching the pink flush of his cock where it's moving through his fingers. The light catches on his cufflinks and ring and the golden hairs below his knuckles every time he finishes a stroke.

"You look so hot," Joe blurts out. It isn't the kind of thing they ever say to each other, but it's so true Joe can't hold it back – not with his brain all hazy from alcohol and coming that hard. Nick's breathing hitches suddenly, his eyes snapping open to fix Joe with a stare.

"Yeah?" he demands. He bites his bottom lip when Joe nods dumbly.

"Yeah." He sits up to get a better view, gaze raking over Nick unapologetically. His breaths are still harsh and loud, cutting out around his words. "You look awesome. Like... hot. You just look really hot, Nick."

It's one of the least articulate things he's ever said, but Nick makes a harsh, desperate little noise and comes all over his fist.

"Fuck," he groans, wringing himself out. It spatters down his fingers like the champagne foam earlier. "Oh my God, Joe."

He sways there for a second on his knees and then eases down to the floor with a thump. Joe flops next to him, resting his head on Nick's stomach.

"Wow," Nick says after a minute. Joe smiles, the fabric of Nick's jacket rough on his hot cheek.

"Like I said. Champagne is awesome."

Nick laughs and stretches his arms out. "Good call." He pauses, eyebrows furrowing. "Did we just get drunk?"

"Um." Joe rolls his head so he can gaze up at the ceiling. He taps a finger against his chin thoughtfully, and then just kind of rubs at it. "I guess? I've never been drunk before. Do you feel drunk?"

"I don't know!" Nick says. "How do you know if you're drunk?"

"Say the alphabet backwards," Joe suggests. He extends his arms above him and tries to touch his nose. One finger hits his cheek and the other almost pokes him in the eye. "Uh."

"We totally just got drunk," Nick says disbelievingly. He looks shocked for about all of ten seconds, and then bursts into loud, helpless laughter. Joe starts laughing too, turning his face against Nick's stomach.

"Okay," Nick says after a minute, steeling himself. He mashes his lips together in a thin line. "Okay, get it together."

"You get it together."

Nick does his best to keep a straight face and reaches down to poke at Joe's cheek. Joe pops it out with air and Nick grins.

"We should get back out there," he says. "Someone's gonna notice we're gone."

"You just don't want to miss doing the YMCA." Joe eases to his feet carefully, not totally sure what to expect, but it's not too bad. He holds his arms out and tries to walk in a straight line.

"Oh man, they aren't really going to play that." Nick scrubs at his face and wanders over to the oval mirror in the corner.

"Dude," Joe says over his shoulder. He makes it all the way to the wall before doing an about-face. He can totally be sober. "This is Kevin we're talking about."

Nick nods at his reflection. "Point taken."

Joe tucks his shirt back in his pants and buttons his fly, only wobbling a little when he leans over to grab his jacket from the floor.

The outside world seems a lot closer now that he's gotten off. The windows face away from the party, but when he wanders over to them he can hear the tinkling sound of conversation and silverware scraping against plates. A voice that might be Demi's screeches with laughter, and Joe squints out at the sunset and smiles.

Nick straightens his tie and smoothes down the front of his jacket, grinning when Joe comes up behind him and rests his chin on his shoulder. Their reflections both look a little pink-cheeked, but not too bad. It could pass for the flush of spending too long on the dance floor.

"Do we pass inspection?"

"Uh, I do. You..." Nick turns around and studies Joe critically, a smirk quirking up his lips. "I guess you're okay."

"Just okay? Hello, I'm the best man."

Nick smiles and adjusts Joe's tie. "Actually, I'm the best man. You're the back-up."

"Tch, you must suck pretty bad if they had to hire a back-up." Joe knocks their foreheads together and straightens the sweet little bouquet of flowers pinned over Nick's heart. He's still warm to the touch.

"You good?" Joe asks.

"I'm good," Nick says. His shoulders shake with a held-in laugh. "Really good."

Joe tosses his jacket over his shoulder and his arm around Nick, steering them to the door. "Awesome, because we gotta nail this Poison cover."

They stumble through the doorway when Nick digs his elbow into Joe's ribs, but Nick pauses at the end of the hallway and tugs him in, planting a warm, lazy kiss against Joe's mouth.

"I'll bring my A game."

Joe grins and tugs him back out to the party.

Just to weigh in.

2009-09-30T17:59:07Z

I think it goes without saying that all of this Roman Polanski shit is ridiculous. I tend to exist in a fairly media-free bubble, given that I don't have cable and the only news programs I make time to watch are, uh, fake ones on Comedy Central. But this issue hits pretty close to home and has been virtually unavoidable, and the whole thing makes me sick. Our society's pervasive blame-the-victim mentality has never been quite as obvious as it is right now, and as the former victim of a sex crime I'm really just appalled.

In some ways, though, it's almost refreshing to see the ugly face of the patriarchy exposed. All too often it's taken for granted that we live in a safe, modern world of forward-thinking values, where villains are easily spotted and justice is quickly served. And we DON'T. We don't live in that kind of world at all. We live in an ugly, fucked-up world where people do terrible things and other people excuse their behavior because they don't know how to deal with it. We live in a world where women come forward about their experiences with rape and assault and are shunned within their families, schools and towns. We live in a world where women are still treated as less than men, and it's easier to throw around words like "bitch", "slut", and "hysterical" than it is to to acknowledge the wrong-doings of a man. And, the most bitter pill of all, we live in a reality where human beings are complex, layered creatures capable of doing both very good and very bad things in the same lifetime.

Child molesters often go years without being caught, or never get caught at all, because they have vibrant personalities and charm the people around them. The most common are the people you'd never suspect, not creepers who live alone and drive white vans. They reel in everyone around them -- their victims, their families, their coworkers and friends -- with charisma and wit and generosity. And all too often the communities they dwell in respond the exact way the media has responded to Polanski -- with utter disbelief that quickly gives way to denial. He's such a great guy! He's so nice and friendly! What about all the good stuff he's done! They forgive the person so they can forgive themselves for being tricked. It's an understandable knee-jerk reaction, because it's SCARY to realize that anyone could be the bad guy. What do you even do with that? It requires a lot of soul-searching and reevaluation of everything you know about the world. But what's even scarier is sticking your head in the sand and rejecting the idea, because then you become part of the problem.

My heart really goes out to the woman who has spent her entire life in the middle of this circus. It's horrifying that she had to go through it in the first place, and beyond belief that she's now being chastised by celebrities, politicians and journalists. But the silver lining I'm clinging to is that maybe this will make people stop and think. Maybe women who dismiss feminism as a thing of the past will realize how far we have to go. Maybe the next time a girl comes forward about an attacker who is beloved by many, someone in her life will realize that, yes, it is possible that he did it. Maybe our society will wake up to the deeply ingrained problems that we so often congratulate ourselves on overcoming. If even a handful of people who never gave these issues much thought are horrified by the blatant, almost hyperbolic Polanski apologists, some good has come out of it.

Oh, also? I've been having a good time fantasizing about this guy being thrown in with the general population of a federal prison. We can always count on convicted felons to not let questions of HIGH ART cloud the simple fact that people who diddle children need to get what's coming to them.

FIC: All The Good Things Still To Come.

2009-09-29T08:23:29Z

So... how about those Jonas Brothers? *_*

This was mostly for novaberry, who wanted Nick/Joe set in the early days of the band. Much thanks to valiant for the beta!

All The Good Things Still To Come. Nick/Joe, NC-17, 12,000 words. This is how everything changes. This is how people get weird.

The first time it happened, Joe was sixteen, Nick was thirteen, and they were three days shy of the first album dropping.

Nick had been like a mirage that summer, a little different and a little more interesting every time Joe turned around. Somewhere between Jersey and the Pacific coast he started slip-sliding into a person that Joe didn't fully recognize anymore. He was growing up, in body if not in soul, and around the time Nick's voice started to crack a little when he hit those high notes – well. Something changed. He started catching up with Joe, closing that last gap between them, and Joe was fascinated.

It was Arizona, in a hotel room they had all to themselves. At sixteen, that kind of freedom went to Joe's head. They were being a little loud, a little rowdy, wrestling around like they had a thousand other times. Joe threw Nick over his shoulder and spun him around, made him dizzy, and when he dumped him on the floor Nick dragged Joe down with him. Joe rolled on top of him, his hands on Nick's wrists while he huffed and laughed down in his face. Nick cracked up, squirming to get away, and then something happened. Joe went left and Nick went right, and suddenly there was no mistaking the hard jut of Nick's dick pressing up through his jeans.

Joe's jaw dropped a little, and for a second there Nick just froze, stared at him with the most scared expression Joe had ever seen on his face.

"Let me go," he said, voice panicky. "Let me go, Joe, I'm serious—"

But Joe didn't let him go. He shifted his weight, pressed down a little more, and watched the way Nick's face went funny and tense.

You have to remember: at this point, the farthest Joe had ever got with a girl was some fumbled kissing and a few pretend-accidental boob gropes. He was curious about it. Not in a weird way or anything. Just enough to peel back that first layer of normalcy and try to get a peek underneath. Just enough to push it a little.

Nick swallowed and made a helpless, miserable noise in his throat, and Joe whispered, "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay, Nicky."

It wasn't much, but it got Nick to go still beneath him.

"It happens to me, too," he said. He smiled a little and shrugged down at him. "A lot."

"Really?" Nick looked a little suspicious, like he wasn't sure if this was the set up for a joke at his expense.

"Sure," Joe said. He let go of Nick's wrists after another second, easing back on his knees. "Do you ever – you know?"

He made a sloppy approximation of the universal j/o sign, and whatever blood was late getting to Nick's cheeks suddenly arrived.

"No," he hissed, horrified, and tried to knock Joe off of him. Joe had at least twenty pounds on him back then, so it didn't really work.

"Come on," Joe said skeptically. "You never—"

"No. Ugh," Nick said, throwing one of his arms up so he could hide his face in the crook of his elbow. He paused then, shifting to peer cautiously at Joe. "Do you?"

"Uh, yeah." Joe rolled off of him, starting to lose interest, but Nick didn't seem so eager to escape anymore. He just stared as Joe leaned back against the edge of the nearest bed and started unlacing his sneakers. "What?"

"I didn't know," Nick said, as if that made any sense. He sounded a little offended about it, like Joe should have made a point of telling him.

"Well, y'know. I try to not do it in public... or when Mom's around." Joe grinned at him, and Nick's lip pulled in a disgusted little twitch.

"But—" He eased up on his elbows, and Joe realized belatedly that Nick wasn't going to let this one go, not until he'd grilled any and all relevant information out of him. Joe tugged one of his sneakers off and chucked it in the direction of the pointless little couch in the corner. "That's gross."

"It's fun," Joe corrected, picking at the knotted tangle of laces on his other shoe. He glanced up at Nick after a second, and this was where things started to get weird. Nick was just staring at him, eyes huge and dark. His pink little mouth was parted around staccato breaths, and it hit Joe all at once: Nick was getting turned on by this. Joe raised his eyebrows, and for the life of him he'd never know what made him say this next part. "Want me to show you?"

It was supposed to be a joke, kind of, but Nick sat up so fast you'd think Joe had just tugged a leash.

"Yeah."

It wasn't the reaction Joe was expecting, but Nick ducked his head a little and smiled tentatively. Joe was pretty much wrapped around Nick's finger even then, and he had yet to meet a challenge he could gracefully decline, so in the end it was pretty easy to sniff, roll his shoulders, and say, "Okay."

They wound up on one of the beds, both stripped down to boxers. There was a little geometric pattern on Nick's, and that's where Joe's gaze focused. His skin was buzzing with adrenaline, and the vague, distant knowledge that this probably wasn't a good idea.

Later, the handful of seconds he spared to sit there and think about it would seem incredibly important. So much hung on them, stuff Joe couldn't even comprehend back then. If he had really paused, thought about it, questioned what he was doing and why he was doing it – well, who knows how differently things would have ended up.

Nobody would ever accuse Joe of being the smart one, though. Instead he was just excited, the rush of uncertainty melting into the hot shock of pleasure as he palmed his cock. He hadn't been lying when he said it happened to him a lot; he was hard in a minute, maybe less, and Nick sucked a breath in through his teeth when Joe's boxers started to tent up.

Joe bit his lip, glanced over at Nick, and then tugged down the front of them. He was acutely aware of Nick's gaze as he pulled them down his hips, letting the waistband hook down under his balls. His was pretty fucking hard, and for a second there they both just stared down at his cock, bobbing stiffly over his stomach.

"Oh," Nick said, voice paper-thin.

It nettled something in Joe, made his pulse pick up. He got his hand around it and gripped it down at the base, where the hair had started to get thick, and gave himself a lazy pump. The reason Nick didn't know about any of this was that Joe usually just did it in the shower, the only place any of them really got any privacy. It was weird to lay there in the golden glow of the bedside table and just look at it. Red, fat, a little wet at the tip. Dark between his fingers and heavy with blood.

Nick just stared for a minute, and then seemed to realize he was falling behind. He shifted around all at once, a flurry of awkward limbs as he lifted his hips and yanked his own boxers down. His dick was thinner than Joe's, smaller, but just as stiff.

"Like this," Joe said, forming a ring with his thumb and finger. He glanced over at Nick, watching the way he studied Joe's hand and did his best to imitate it. "Yeah, that's good, Nick. Just like that."

The thing was, Joe was always getting them into this kind of crap. He always had the best and worst ideas, was the one who wanted to push the limits and do fun, stupid stuff. It was Joe who taught Nick how to ride a bike, how to ride a skateboard, how to keep eye contact with their parents when telling a lie. Kevin was there for a lot of it, but he and Nick just had this thing. Nick was his willing accomplice, his trusty sidekick. That's important to remember.

"Okay," Nick said after a minute, his furrowed gaze darting back and forth from Joe's junk to his own.

Then – well, then Joe just went for it. He kept it slow, because this was supposed to be instructional; just rolled his wrist, dragging that circle up the length of it and twisting a little, rubbing right under the head. He normally went a lot faster, too busy barreling towards the goal to think about pacing himself, but this was pretty good too. A slow burn licked through his limbs, settling low in his stomach.

Nick just watched at first, but Joe didn't even have to look over to know when he started. His breaths went so sharp, so injured that Joe's skin flushed over in sympathy.

"Oh," Nick breathed again.

It might have been the way Nick was staring at Joe's dick, or the sight of Nick fisting his own, or maybe just the fact that his little whimper sounded like the noises Joe's last girlfriend made when they kissed – Joe didn't know, but his cock swelled up a little harder in his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, thumb rubbing over the slit, and when he opened them again Nick was mimicking that move.

"Good, huh?" Joe huffed at him, thumb slip-sliding there. Nick looked like he was beyond words, chest hitching pathetically. He nodded after a second, curls bouncing on his forehead. "Easy," Joe said. "Take it easy. Keep breathing, okay?"

Nick just nodded again, face scrunched up with pleasure that looked a little painful, like his nerves weren't quite ready for it.

"It's so. Good," he choked out. He turned his head, gaze meeting Joe's. His mouth was wet, open, and his breaths hit Joe's cheek across the pillow. The sudden swoop of heat in his stomach caught him off guard, made his hips jerk a little. He couldn't bring himself to look away, not when it suddenly felt like they were in this together, sharing a secret so big and important.

"Faster," he said after a second, blurting it after his hand already decided on its own pace. "Do it – faster, c'mon. With me."

Nick's hand looked huge on his dick, long fingers overwhelming it. He was all out of proportion that year, had yet to grow into his limbs, his nose, his self-importance. His body still looked so different from Joe's, skinny and pale, even though he'd filled out some in the last year. He looked breakable, delicate like a girl. Joe's fist went tight around his dick.

"It's too—" Nick said, voice lost in a sudden, loud sigh, "—much."

Joe knew what he meant. He pulled his gaze back up to Nick's face, and Nick knit his eyebrows together and looked at him, face raw and open. Just like that, Joe blew his wad. It hit him like a punch, knocking the wind out of him as he jerked himself through it, shooting over his stomach in thick spatters. It caught in the mess of hair low on his belly and then just oozed, dribbling down over his knuckles.

"Oh my God, Joe," Nick said, and by the time Joe could look over at him, Nick's hand had gone still on his own dick. He was just staring at Joe's, eyes wide. Joe's dick twitched in his fist, pulsed out another little wad that slid down the head.

He blew out a deep breath, blinked up at the ceiling a couple of times. That boneless feeling was starting to steal through him, but Nick was still just laying there. He looked shocked, overwhelmed, and Joe rolled over, crowded against his side.

"Here, lemme—" He knocked Nick's hand out of the way and wrapped his own around his dick. Nick gasped, hand gripping uselessly at Joe's forearm. He was hot to the touch, skin a little slick with sweat.

Joe had never even thought about this kind of thing before, never in a million years, but in some ways it was kind of intuitive. He jerked Nick like he had just jerked himself, and Nick knocked their faces together, breathing loudly up against his cheek.

"Joe, Joe, wh—"

He could actually feel it when Nick came, the way his whole frame gave a shudder, his fingers gripped Joe's arm and he whined, lost it all over Joe's wrist. It was different than Joe's loads – thinner, runnier, less of it. He lifted his hand and stared at it, equal parts grossed out and amazed.

"Joe," Nick said again. It was quieter this time, a little unsure.

That's how it all started. It wasn't even the technical part of what they had just done, exactly; it was the way Nick looked at him, the way he said Joe's name right then. In an instant, that quick, Joe suddenly felt important in a way he never had before. He had just done something incredible, just made Nick come, just showed him what the point of sex was. He had let him in on this big grown-up secret, the only one Joe knew, and from that point on it was a secret they shared. Joe, who had never done anything important in his life other than be on MTV once, just made that happen.

"C'mere," he said. "C'mere, c'mere." Nick was limp and damp with sweat, so easy for Joe to get his arms around and hang onto. He brushed Nick's hair off his forehead and breathed hard against his temple while Nick shook and settled down.

"Are you good?" he asked after a few minutes. Nick turned and looked at him, gaze kind of blurry before it met Joe's. He smiled then, gave a breathless little laugh and brought a hand up to scrub at his pink face.

"Yeah," he said.

That was the first time.

*

It took a while for it to happen again, and when it did it wasn't quite soon enough to be a continuation of the same thought.

The next time was winter, that winter everything in their lives did a one-eighty. The paint was still fresh on the house in LA, the ink still wet on the contract with Hollywood Records. It was all the kid, I'm gonna make you a star stuff Joe was a little too familiar with by then, but they were all excited. They couldn't help it.

New house, new lives, and it was just another night in that calm before the storm. Nick and Joe were alone in Nick's room, messing around with guitars and working on new songs, riding high on the thrill of knowing that one day they would be heard by a lot of people.

When it hit around eleven, maybe midnight, they were both stretched out on the bed. Nick's eyelids were heavy, but Joe was wide awake and jittery, humming the melody they had just worked out and messing with the hem of Nick's t-shirt.

"I really like Miley," Nick said out of nowhere. Joe let go of his shirt then, propping up an elbow to look at him. It was right on the tip of his tongue, Yeah, duh, but he bit it back.

"Yeah?" he said instead. Duh.

Nick nodded, still young enough to look a little embarrassed about it. "She – she's really cool."

"So you liiike her?" Joe pressed.

"I mean." Nick looked like he was straining to find the words. "I guess so."

"Aw, my widdle Nicky's all grown up," he teased, jamming his fingers into Nick's side. Nick blushed and squirmed away.

"Shut up," he said, like he wasn't the one who brought it up in the first place.

"Just remember," Joe said importantly. He waggled his eyebrows at him. "No glove, no love."

Nick's eyebrows knitted as he worked out what exactly that meant, and when it hit him Joe could see it on his face all at once: confusion melting into shock and then embarrassment.

"Shut up," he said again, shoving Joe with his shoulder. "Why are you so gross?"

"Oh, come on," Joe said impatiently. He was seventeen then, and every day it was getting easier and more entertaining to nettle Nick, push his buttons. "You totally want to bone Hannah Montana, Nicholas."

"I do not!"

The purity rings were still a ways off at this point, but Nick was already on the fast track to becoming a nun, and it was weird. When Joe was fourteen he was humping anything that sat still long enough for him to get a good grip. It didn't make any sense to him that Nick was still so uptight about this kind of thing, when even Kevin found it in himself to fist-bump a good sex joke. Joe really didn't like it when he didn't understand Nick; to his mind, then and pretty much always, it was a given that they were supposed to be on the same page.

Joe wet his lips and moved on instinct, throwing a leg over Nick and settling on his hips. Nick tried to fight him a little, landing some half-hearted punches on Joe's chest with fists too big and awkward to be very useful.

"You totally—" Joe grabbed Nick's hands and pressed them to the mattress, "—want to bone—" he leaned forward, face close to Nick's, "Hannah Montana."

In Joe's defense, this was all just screwing around. He was teasing him, testing the waters, seeing how far he could push before Nick would snap. It was something he and Kevin never got sick of, the ensuing brawls a pretty decent way to burn off energy.

But Joe and Nick weren't like Joe and Kevin. He didn't know the full extent of what that meant quite yet. It was a fact that was only starting to take its full shape, really make itself known, but the second he met Nick's gaze it hit him like a mack truck.

"No." Nick narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, hair almost black against the white pillowcase. "I don't."

It hit Joe's nerves all wrong. Settled on him like a wool sweater in August, scratchy and hot. Nick was supposed to say, Maybe you want to bone Hannah Montana, jerk-off, or Keep your fantasies to yourself, Joe. He would have even accepted a lame bite me, but Nick's words and the expression on his face were just too weird.

Nick opened his mouth a little, like he was thinking about saying something else. Instead he just breathed out this hot sigh in Joe's face that smelled like mint, and Joe could see the shine of spit on his funny, uneven teeth.

"Oh," he said, because that's all he could think of.

Later, Joe wouldn't be totally sure if he got hard first or Nick did, or if maybe his dick had chubbed up in his boxers the minute he thought about Nick laying the pipe to Miley. It didn't really matter, because what happened is they shifted together just right and everything felt amazing.

Nick scrunched his face up and made a little noise, rocked against Joe like it was a totally reasonable thing to do. It happened so fast that Joe couldn't even process it. Just like that, he was grinding down on Nick's dick, Nick was grinding up against him.

"Guh – jeez, Joe," Nick muttered. He fisted the front of Joe's t-shirt, fingers crunching up the stenciled-on logo of some random, forgotten band, and Joe moved faster, slumping down over Nick's chest to get some leverage.

They fell into a sloppy rhythm, rutting together in a way that was barely enough. He could feel the tight, hot bulge of Nick's dick rubbing over his own, and it didn't even matter that it was caught in his jeans at a funny angle. All that mattered was that friction, the huffy little noises Nick was making when they would drag just right, when their zippers caught together with a rough metallic scrape.

"Yeah," Joe panted. "Yeah, yeah, Nick, come on."

Joe could already feel it building in his limbs, crashing around in his body as he shoved a hand up under Nick's shirt and touched his stomach, palm skimming over a nipple. He tugged at the soft hair in his armpit, watching, fascinated, as Nick blushed harder and tipped his head back. The curve of his neck was right there, pale and skinny, and for a second Joe wanted to bite it.

Nick came then, though. His hips lurched up hard and fast, ground helplessly into Joe's. His whole body tightened and jerked, and Joe gripped his bare side as he rode through it and creamed his jeans.

"Oh my God," Nick said, voice suddenly way too loud. His eyes were huge, and for a second Joe thought maybe he was freaking out. But Nick was always a good sport, had a real sense for what was fair, and after a second his hand shoved between them and he was cupping Joe's dick through his pants.

"Yeah," Joe hissed, pressing into it. Nick's hand got a little steadier then, more confident, and he awkwardly picked up the rhythm they had lost. Rubbed his hot palm against the denim, back and forth, and Joe couldn't even make it through a full minute of that before he stiffened, squeezed his hand against Nick's ribs, and lost it.

"Huh," he said when he slid to the side. Nick wasn't shaking this time. He just rolled over and looked at Joe.

"Yeah," Nick said. "Wow."

Joe touched his tongue to his upper lip, surprised to find it chapped. He looked over at Nick, and they just stared at each other for a while.

"Don't tell Mom," he finally said.

Nick shook his head, and then let out a snort of laughter. It didn't stop, his little huffs bleeding into even more, until he was having a full on attack of giggles right there next to Joe while jizz dried in his jeans.

That was the second time.

*

And then a year or so passed, like they do. It wasn't a huge deal.

But something had happened, that much was undeniable. Whatever was building that summer had solidified, taken shape, pressed this new version of Nick into Joe's heart like a wax seal. Everything in their lives started to change after that, and whatever it was that shifted between them got lost in the cracks, unnoticed, unexamined.

Then one day it was spring, Nick was fifteen, and they were on their first headlining tour.

It was some random afternoon, the two of them sitting in the lounge of the studio bus. They had the whole place to themselves, an unheard of luxury in their world. It was a little like having some actual privacy, since at this point they were so used to sharing rooms and beds and everything else that being alone together was practically the same as being alone. They had another few hours before the bus was scheduled to stop and fuel up, before Kevin or Frankie or some of the guys from the band wandered over. A game of Jenga was going on the table between them, a CD playing on the sound system overhead.

Nick had the tense, serious look around his eyebrows that Joe had come to associate with all competitive activities, even though they were just pulling on little wooden blocks from a set that was missing at least three pieces. Nick had been going at the same corner for about five minutes, prying it loose with the patience and concentration of a heart surgeon.

Joe was distracted, restless, volleying his attention between inspecting his hair for split ends and texting with Taylor Swift.

"Pwned!" Nick yelled out of nowhere, pumping his fist.

"You take board games way too seriously," Joe said, dropping his Blackberry and resting his elbow on the table, chin on his hand. He studied the tower with one eye shut, like he was scanning its structural integrity. "I think you might have a problem."

"Maybe you don't take board games seriously enough," Nick returned, clearly pleased with himself. Joe shifted his squinty gaze over to Nick and peered at him like that until Nick laughed.

"Nope," Joe said, grabbing a block from the bottom and pulling carelessly. It came out easily, not one wobble. He held it up, wriggled it back and forth in Nick's face before throwing it on the rubble pile. "You definitely take them too seriously."

"That's so not fair," Nick said in dismay. He tipped his head to the side and studied the tower. "That was on the bottom. Why would you even do that? You could've knocked the whole thing over. Don't you care about winning at all?"

Joe's phone made a happy little noise as he got another text, and he held up a finger while he read it. Definitely not that one! I miss you SO MUCH, let's talk soon. :)

"Not... really," he said. Maybe it was because Joe still had that dismissive finger up, but when he looked away from his phone Nick's expression had flattened into irritation.

"Who are you texting?" he said, tone clipped. Joe shook his hair out of his eyes.

"George Washington. I'm telling him he should get a Twitter, but he thinks it's a passing fad. I'm like, who cares, bro, you need to snag @gdub before some other ex-president gets to it." Nick rolled his eyes, not giving him an inch. "It's Taylor. That stupidly hot, Grammy-nominated babe who wants to hit this, back up, and hit it again." He waggled his eyebrows, and then added, "What's your problem?"

"You're—" Nick let out this irritated little huff. "Why can't you just focus? On anything?"

Joe leaned back in his chair and studied him for a minute.

This was right after everything started getting crazy for them. After Hannah Montana, who it turned out Nick maybe did want to bone for a while there; after the album went gold and they had recorded most of its follow-up; after filming the movie and playing Times Square. Everything was coming together, and they were still reeling from the shock of it all – the amazing feeling of hitting it big and the stress and pressure of keeping it all afloat. Nobody knew how long their luck was going to hold out, what was waiting around the corner. Anything seemed possible.

But that changed a lot of things, things they hadn't counted on. The distance between them and the real world was only getting wider. There wasn't any solid ground anymore except the kind they found in each other. In another year it would just be a facet of their lives they understood: they were all they had, an isolated unit of three that no one else would ever quite get. At this point, though, they were still wrestling with it, with each other. Trying to figure out who and what they were in the wake of it all.

Nick had it the worst, crashing into all his teenage uncertainty and moodiness with the cameras rolling and teen magazine reporters asking about his big break-up. The more that random girls sobbed, I love you, Nick, and stopped to stare on street corners, the more he was pulling inwards, reaching for Joe and Kevin to steady himself.

It wasn't like Joe minded; he did the same thing sometimes. Knowing where he stood with Nick was always the most important thing.

"I am focusing. I'm focusing on you and your mad Jenga skills. They're just so overwhelming, man." He blew his hair out of his face and grinned. "It's like staring into the sun. Can't... look... directly... at it."

He held up a hand and peered at him from around one side of it, and then the other.

"Yeah, well," Nick said, too invested in sulking now that he had begun. "Maybe next time I should just text you when I want to hang out. That sure gets your attention."

It was something about the way he said it, lips mashing together as he looked over at Joe's phone, that made the pieces fit together right in Joe's head.

"You're jealous," he said, words coming out the instant they occurred to him. "Aren't you? Of Taylor."

Nick's face went pink. "I am not," he muttered.

"Oh my God, you totally are," Joe crowed. It was the funniest thing in the universe, he was pretty sure. He was delighted. "You love me. You want to marry me. Admit it."

"Oh, shut up," Nick said, but Joe could tell he wasn't actually mad.

At this point, Joe and Taylor weren't dating. For all intents and purposes she really was just that hot girl, which is why this seemed as funny as it did. It was arbitrary, victimless jealousy, nothing too weird. Nick was just playing a card he always kept up his sleeve, prodding at the fact that he was the axis in Joe's world. They both knew it, and it's not like it was being threatened, but Joe had a bad habit of humoring every last one of Nick's whim and insecurities.

So he bounced his Blackberry in his hand for a second, then chucked it across the room. It hit the wall with a crunch and clattered plastic shrapnel down the hallway, and Nick jumped, blinked at him like he was crazy. Joe just smiled.

"You have my undivided attention, Nicholas. Let's do this thing." He clapped his hands, pushed his sleeves up his arms. "Highway to the danger zone. Ultimate Jenga. Loser has to make an embarrassing YouTube video. Well, more embarrassing than usual, and that's a pret-ty high bar."

Nick shook his head and looked away, as though this wasn't exactly what he was after. "Forget about it. You killed the mood. My Jenga boner is gone."

"Come on," Joe wheedled. "Just look at the majesty of this wooden tower. It's a hard, mighty oak of Jenga, just waiting to be ravished."

Nick folded his arms and studied the ceiling, but the coy act lost some of its oomph when he wrinkled his nose.

"Dude, gross. Why are you so weird?"

"Nuh-uh, no way. You don't to call me weird when you're being my jealous girlfriend."

Nick seemed disinclined to give this any response at all.

"Nick," Joe said. He waved his hands after a second, flagging him down from across the table. "It's your turn, man. These little wooden blocks aren't going to move themselves, as cool as that would be. Nick? Nick. Nick."

The bus hit a bump in the road and the Jenga tower rattled a little, all the blocks scooting over a half-inch. Joe got to his feet, stretching exaggeratedly, and rounded the table until he was right behind Nick. He wasn't moving, but Joe could see the tense lines of muscle under his shirt, the way his jaw was flexing a little.

Joe bent down, draped his arms over Nick's shoulders. Leaned in until his mouth was up against his ear.

"Nicky," he whispered, tapping his chest. "Hey, Nick."

"What."

Joe tilted his head, cheek rubbing against Nick's hair. It was still long then, a little unruly, like he didn't have time for a haircut. Joe kept tapping his finger against Nick's chest for a second, just to be irritating, and then pointed at the game. "It's your move."

What happened next – well, it was funny how quickly things could get out of hand with Nick. It happened fast, boom, boom, boom: Nick reached up and fisted one hand in Joe's hair, twisted around in his seat, and kissed him.

Adrenaline hit his system before anything had time to register. There was no way to escape, not with their arms tangled up like that. Nick had him pinned there, all skinny muscle and self-righteousness, his lips catching and dragging on Joe's in a clumsy, wet slide.

It snagged a distant sense-memory in him, Nick's face up against his and this heat under his skin. His mouth opened automatically, giving over to some base instinct when Nick's tongue darted out to touch his lip. It was slick, a little messy, no rhyme or reason to the way Joe's tongue pushed back against Nick's. His whole body went hot, caught up in a flare of arousal that was bone-deep.

"Uh," Nick said when they broke apart for air. His mouth was wet with spit – Joe's spit – and his eyes looked a little glassy.

"Yeah," Joe said. They stared at each other for a second, faces nearly touching. Joe couldn't tell if this was hilarious or terrifying, if it was really happening or if maybe it was just Nick's retarded way of upping the ante, trying to win a fight.

He nudged their mouths together again, light and careful. Nick kissed him back in a hot little surge, hand tightening in Joe's hair and angling him in deeper. It was surreal, scary, the feeling of Nick's tongue skidding into his mouth. He moved it in a slow roll, wet and probing. It lingered at the corner of Joe's mouth for a second, rubbing there gently.

When they broke off that time, Nick wouldn't stop. He kissed at Joe's bottom lip, the dip under his nose, down the curve of his chin.

"Come on, c'mere," Joe whispered. He straightened, grabbing the front of Nick's shirt, and yanked him along. Nick stumbled after him to the couch.

"Joe," he muttered, but Joe shifted his grip to Nick's shoulders and pulled him into another kiss.

It was bizarre, how much Nick seemed to know what he was doing; he palmed either side of Joe's face, holding him steady while he caught Joe's bottom lip and sucked it. Joe couldn't decide if it was hot or irritating that Nick had done this enough to be good at it. It pulled at every stupid, possessive urge he never knew he had, made him grapple Nick down on the leather upholstery.

It was so fucking dirty. Nick slipped him tongue again, licked around in Joe's mouth, rough little taste-buds catching on the inside of Joe's lips, his teeth, his tongue. It was the dirtiest thing they'd done, pointless and hedonistic, not even the excuse of getting off to hide behind. It just felt good, made him feel so connected to Nick that he was dizzy, drunk from it.

"Fuck," he panted. He dug his fingers into Nick's curls, messing them up and making them big. "I want—I wanna—"

There weren't really words for what he wanted, though. This was uncharted territory, so far off the map that he didn't have the first clue where to go.

Nick licked his lip, chewed on it for a second. His hands were big and tense on Joe's shoulders, flexing nervously before he looked down between them.

"Can I, uh. Touch it?"

Joe's eyes widened, a perverse, sweet thrill hitting him in the gut. It was such a bad idea.

"Uh," he breathed. Nick was looking at him dead on, both defiant and hopeful. "Sure, yeah, um. Okay."

Nick scrabbled with his belt, yanking so hard he almost popped the button off Joe's fly. He dug his fingers into the fabric and tugged them down, just far enough to expose the slit of Joe's boxers. He was already pretty hard, and the warmth of Nick's hand on his thigh, the feeling of his knuckles in the hair on his stomach – shit, yeah, it was making him harder.

"Are you—" Joe licked his lips, mind blown. This was happening too fast. Coming up with dumb ideas was Joe's job; Nick was supposed to veto stuff this off-the-charts crazy. "Are you sure?"

Nick paused, perked his eyebrows at him. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

It was so stupid. Nick liked to think he was all grown up, but he had just thrown a freaking temper tantrum because Joe wasn't giving him enough attention. This whole thing had spiraled out of that, and if Joe were a better person, if he were smarter – if he hadn't planted the seeds of this catastrophe years ago – he might know how to stop it.

"You're the serious one," he said lamely, tugging his cock out of his boxers. Nick grinned a little bit, a quick flash of teeth before he wrapped his hand around it. Their fingers overlapped for a second, and then Nick smoothed his fist up the shaft.

Joe sucked in a breath, nerves jangling in a hot, frayed mess. It was so different than his own hand. Unexpected, unfamiliar in a way he wasn't ready for. He felt too exposed, raw and pinned down. And amazing.

Nick stared at his dick with open interest, the soft spot between his thumb and finger catching right under the head. He twisted his hand a little, rubbing there, before sliding back down. Joe couldn't even watch. It was too fucking weird, the way the tip of it was poking up all red and swollen in Nick's hand, throbbing treacherously at every little thing. He let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling while Nick gave him a few clumsy, deliberate pumps.

"It's, uh. It's big," Nick noted. It was a fact, not a compliment, one of the many things he seemed to be filing away. Joe shut his eyes, strung up tight by the sound of Nick's voice. "Is that... good? Am I doing it right?"

When he finally looked at him, Nick was looking back. Joe recognized something in his expression, the thoughtful tilt of his eyebrows and mouth, but it was different – all hot eyed and intense. He nodded dumbly.

"Yeah. That's – it's good."

Nick glowed with pride, trying to mash down a little smile. He leaned in over Joe's lap like he wanted to get a better look, touching at one of the veins that poked up through the skin. He followed its path, his guitar-player callus roughly dragging up, up, up. The slit was already wet, and he only hesitated a second before brushing his thumb there.

"Wow," Joe said, losing the word in a hot huff of breath. Nick shut his eyes and rubbed his palm around the curve of it. He wet his bottom lip, fingers curling back into a fist, and then glanced up at Joe.

"Can I—" He broke off and gave a kind of nervous wriggle, weight shifting around on the couch, on Joe. "I want to try something."

Joe was having a hard time thinking about anything beyond this, beyond Nick's hand and fog of pleasure that had settling over his senses.

"'Kay."

Nick swallowed and edged in closer, and then his tongue hit the underside of Joe's cock.

For a second there he couldn't even react; he just stared uselessly as Nick licked over the tip, his thumb rubbing up the side.

"Wh – what are – Nick!" finally came barreling out of him, but Nick just shut his eyes and opened his mouth around it, the cushy-wet insides of his lips dragging in a messy, clumsy kiss. Joe's stomach pulled in sensitively, head reeling with shock and horror and – good, how fucking good it felt. He was supposed to do something, shove Nick away and then throw himself off the bus, maybe, but instead he just sat there, frozen. Watched as Nick's mouth wrapped clumsily around the head and gave it a little suck.

Nick didn't know what he was doing, not at all, but it wasn't like Joe had anything to compare it to. He'd only ever imagined this kind of thing in the most vague and abstract terms, the very idea of it way too dirty to reconcile with any of the girls he'd dated. Every shift and stutter of tongue felt awesome, and Joe's hands curled into fists at his sides, pressed dents in the leather of the couch. By the time Nick steadied himself and took a little more, bobbed a little deeper, Joe was already on the edge of losing it. He gaped down at him, horrified and awestruck as Nick's pink cheeks hollowed on the upstroke.

He was getting head from his little brother. His brain couldn't begin to register what that meant. They were on a bus, the sun was up, the driver was less than twenty feet away, and Nick was making these little slurping noises as spit trickled past the corner of his mouth. Believe it or not, Joe had never really thought about anything like this. He loved Nick, loved him like crazy, but he never imagined they would screw around that way again. What happened before was just kid stuff, no big deal.

This, this thing happening right here, was a big fucking deal.

Nick pulled back after a couple more goes, just far enough to pant harsh, damp breaths all over Joe's dick. A thin little strand of spit connected his lips with the shiny, pink head, and Joe's hand moved automatically, thumbing it off Nick's lip like he'd tuck in his shirt tags.

Nick looked up at him then, and Joe had never seen anything like that expression. Not on Nick, not on anyone.

"This is so—" he looked back down at Joe's dick, chest still heaving with unsteady breaths, "—hot."

"Yeah," he whispered, the word eeking out of him before he could think about it. Nick was on him again in a second, more confident now, hand curling around the base in a tight squeeze as he rolled his tongue around the head. His breath hitched up into a moan as he crammed a little more in his mouth, his other hand scrabbling between them to – God, rub at his own dick, Joe realized.

It was too much – too intense, too slippery, too good – and Joe didn't even think to say anything before he shot off right in Nick's mouth.

If Nick stumbled a little at that point, Joe had no fucking clue. Everything went hazy; brilliant patterns of purple exploded behind his eyelids as his head dropped back and his toes curled in his boots. His heart hammered like that for almost a minute, body so strung up with tension that it kind of hurt.

When it started to fade, Nick straightened up a little. Pink-cheeked, messy-haired, a smudge of come on his chin. A flush of red stretched all the way down his neck and his chest was moving around heavy, uneven breaths. Joe just stared at him, dumbfounded by the realization that he wanted this. He had been aching for something like it for years now, not even aware of what it was.

He reached out and pulled at the front of Nick's shirt, limbs heavy, and Nick looked down and away.

"I already, um," he said, and that's when Joe noticed the wet spot bleeding through the front of his pants.

"From that?"

Nick was already so flushed that Joe couldn't tell if he was blushing, but he let out a heavy little sigh and nodded.

"Yeah."

It was the hottest thing Joe had ever heard, sending a sludgy echo of arousal through his limbs. He pulled him in for a kiss, a little cautious at first and then deeper. Nick's mouth was salty and swollen, breaths huffing in soft, steady puffs against Joe's cheek. They sat there like that on the couch for a while, Nick's head finally resting on Joe's shoulder. Through the slats of blinds on the window Joe could see the scenery zooming by, and he wondered where they were. Where this whole thing happened.

"You owe me a new phone," he said eventually, when it felt like maybe the world wasn't spinning so fast. Nick laughed and punched him unceremoniously in the shoulder.

"You owe me a blowjob."

They both froze, those words hanging there between them, too huge and weird to even begin dealing with.

That was the third time.

*

The funny thing was, they didn't really have the time to get freaked out about it. Under normal circumstances they might have avoided each other, been a little awkward. But they were at each other's elbows all day, every day, surrounded by a crush of people who were all paying attention. There wasn't time to schedule in any weirdness; they had to keep moving, keep working, keep their eyes on the prize. By the time they had any real one-on-one time again, it was too late to just casually bring that up.

So they didn't.

Even at eighteen Joe was young and dumb enough to believe that none of it really counted, anyway. They were brothers. It was different. They were so mixed up in each other, so closely connected, that it wasn't quite real. He still believed in chastity, in saving it till it meant something, and that's where Taylor came in. That's where Selena came in. This was just a thing, some weird and awkward part of growing up.

There were several times it didn't happen, like when they were putting the finishing touches on the album a few months later.

They were overworked and exhausted, camped out at the studio on the tail-end of another work bender. Joe had been in a sound booth for so long that he was forgetting what the outside world looked like, and they were both a little loopy, a little punch-drunk and dumb. Kevin was working on some guitar tracks, and normally Nick would have been right in there with him, overseeing any and all aspects of production with the enthusiasm of a drill sergeant.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was boredom, but instead he wound up in a little green room lounge with Joe.

"How long have we been up?" Joe asked idly.

"Uh." Nick scrunched his face up exaggeratedly as he thought about it. "Twenty... two hours?"

They were sprawled out on a couch, Nick laying halfway on top of him. He was warm and pliant, one leg slung over Joe's. His chin was resting on Joe's shoulder, and from that angle Joe could see how his gaze kept clouding over and then clearing again, like he was on the verge of sleeping with his eyes open.

"Don't fall asleep," he said, poking Nick in the side. "I'm not carrying you to the car if you pass out here."

"Yeah, right," Nick said dismissively. He shifted over then, settling on top of Joe and looking down at him with an amused, sleepy squint. "You totally would."

"Would not," Joe said. He totally would. Nick just smirked and leaned in, pressed the side of his face against Joe's. The tip of his nose dragged gently along Joe's cheek, and Joe slung his arms around him.

"Would too," Nick insisted. He shifted his weight to his elbows and tapped a finger against Joe's chin, following the trail of stubble up to the shadowy little moustache on his upper lip. Joe bobbed his head up and bit the tip of Nick's finger, held it there in his teeth.

"Grr," he said, and Nick dissolved into giggles. He wriggled his finger, trying to pull it away, but Joe wouldn't give.

"Ugh, gross," Nick said, but he was still laughing. "You don't know where that's been."

Joe started laughing too, and Nick snatched his finger back, wiped it exaggeratedly on Joe's shirt. They got quiet after that, though Nick's chest kept rumbling with sporadic little chuckles. Joe's gaze shifted to a poster hanging on the wall behind them. He was so tired that his head felt full of cotton, cushioning his thoughts as they crashed around. He stared at the wall for a while, totally losing track of time and space for a couple of blurry, confused minutes.

When he finally blinked himself out of it and looked at Nick again, he realized that Nick hadn't looked away. He was still watching him, the corners of his mouth pulled up.

"What're you staring at?"

"You," Nick said simply.

It's hard to say why that hit Joe any particular way. They did this kind of stuff all the time – hugging, touching, whatever. They did it the way other people would give a high-five or pat on the back. It was their default setting, too ingrained in them to get muddled by anything else that happened.

But it snagged in him like barbed wire, the sudden realization that it could happen again. It was something they could do. If they wanted to.

Joe reached up and rubbed the edge of his hand against Nick's cheek.

"I love you," he said, suddenly a little scared. Nick's face softened in a laugh.

"I love you too," he said. He seemed amused, a little exasperated, but he kept looking at Joe and Joe kept looking back at him. It was weird. His chest felt tight from all the feelings in it, the strangeness that welled up and left him too full. Nick's hand was still on his shoulder, so he picked it up and pressed his mouth to his knuckles.

Nick smiled and crooked his finger, rubbing at Joe's bottom lip. His expression got a little hazy after a minute, clouding over into something pensive. It looked like he was on the edge of saying something, and Joe waited for it, held his breath, not sure what to hope for.

Nick swallowed and tilted his head, gaze meeting Joe's. It was there, he was sure of it, this weird thing moving between them. All one of them had to do was acknowledge it, and he was suddenly dizzy with panic that they would. Nick's eyes narrowed a little, his breaths going funny and sharp.

And then he just smiled, letting the moment dissolve and drift away.

"I'm gonna go check on Kev," Nick finally said, patting Joe's cheek before he got up.

So it didn't happen then. It didn't happen that time they were rolling around on the floor of the Chicago Hilton, either, Joe trying to wrestle away Nick's oh-so-precious homework packet while Nick kicked at him and laughed – and then abruptly froze, paled, and jerked away for real. Joe pretended he didn't get it, like he thought Nick stomped off to the bathroom because he was mad. Nick returned the favor a couple of weeks after that when Joe was too restless and wired to sleep, and somehow wound up palming his cock in the bed three feet from Nick's. It was stupid, dangerous, and right when he was close to blowing his load Nick made this unmistakably awake noise. He didn't say anything, though, and didn't roll over. He just got really still and quiet and let Joe finish.

Then it was May, the wrap party for the Disney Channel Games. It didn't happen then, either, but something else did.

That whole weekend had been a whirlwind of activity, and the party was the first time they had really been able to just screw around. No competitions, no pressure. It was obvious Nick was having fun, riding high on the thrill of winning. He laughed a lot, even danced some, and kept throwing his arm around Selena, even though they were sill feeding the press the just-friends line.

It was ten or eleven when Joe realized that he hadn't seen him in a while. He nudged Kevin and told him he would be back in a few, because that was protocol, what Nick should have done.

As it turned out, they weren't too hard to find. Nick and Selena were huddled on a couch in one of the rooms down the hallway. The door wasn't locked, and when Joe walked in Selena was sitting on Nick's lap. Her hands were in Nick's hair, and Nick was gripping her back, up under her shirt, like he might have been going for her bra strap.

"Oh my God," Selena said when the door hit against the wall. She blushed and laughed a little as she scrabbled off Nick's lap, looked around for her shoes. Hopping on one foot to tug them back on, she gave Joe an apologetic but knowing smile. "Um, wow, so this is pretty embarrassing."

Joe smiled back, but just stood there. It was so unfamiliar he wasn't sure what else to do. If he had walked in on Kevin and Danielle making out, he would have booked it out of there with a thumbs-up and a laugh. This felt different, though; it was weird, like glimpsing some part of Nick he didn't even know existed.

Nick smiled at Selena and she grinned happily, bit her lip.

"I'll see you back out there, 'kay?" she said. She pulled the corners of her mouth down in an exaggerated, amused expression of embarrassment as she walked past Joe. He could smell her perfume when she passed.

Nick just sat there on the couch, the front of his pants tented up in a way that could have been his dick or just the way the fabric was pulling. He rubbed idly at his chin and cheek, wiping away the glint of lip gloss that Joe could see from the doorway.

"What the hell were you doing?" Joe finally said. Nick straightened his shirt.

"Uh, you want a play by play?" He shrugged and grinned, quirked his eyebrows at him. For maybe the first time in his life, Joe didn't know what kind of footing they were on. He felt disjointed, out of sync. Nick was apparently looking for some normal brother bonding, a shared high-five and a chuckle. "What did it look like?"

Joe wasn't on that page, and he didn't know why.

"What did it look like to me? Or what would it look like to anyone else who could have walked in here?"

Nick laughed.

"You aren't seriously lecturing me about this." He stood up, and an expression settled on his face that was way too old for him. "Don't worry, Joe, I'm not going to break any rules. I still remember how to—" he made a sharp, snapping approximation of the universal j/o sign, "—you know."

He walked away then, and Joe looked up at the ceiling and tried to remember how to breathe.

*

When it finally happened again it was summertime, late in a muggy July. It had been sneaking up on them for a while, creeping with a slow inevitability Joe could feel at the back of his neck.

They were on a sold out tour; the new album was coming out, Camp Rock was a hit, and MTV had just asked them to play the VMAs. Everything was bigger and crazier than ever, and it was starting to catch up with them a little. Even Kevin, whose boundless enthusiasm was usually a rallying point for the rest of them, was starting to look a little worse for the wear. Nick was quieter than usual, getting pensive and distant, and it was all made worse by the fact that none of them could quite deal with playing "A Little Bit Longer" yet. There hadn't been a single show so far without one of them bursting into tears, and at that point Joe would have given just about anything to not have to think about Nick's mortality for one goddamn day.

They were in Miami that night, and Joe was standing on the balcony of their hotel room trying to explain all of this to Taylor. It wasn't really coming out right, and she was getting that reproachful southern mama tone to her voice, telling him to focus on the positive and count his blessings and blah blah blah. Joe liked Taylor – really liked her, actually – but there were some things no one, not even someone else in the business, could really understand.

Nick, for his part, made no secret of the fact he didn't like her at all. He never said anything about it, but Joe saw the way he clenched his jaw and flexed his shoulders whenever she came up. Six months later Joe would ask him to write a song about her, and Nick would produce a bare-bones, acoustic version of "Much Better" even bitchier than what ended up on the album.

That night, though, Nick just heaved an irritated sigh and slammed the bathroom door shut when Joe answered his phone. He was sitting on one of the beds by the time Joe came in from the balcony, staring off into space.

"Look alive, Nick J," Joe said, tossing his phone on the table. He snapped his fingers a few times. "Anybody in there?"

Nick gave him a little smile, gaze pulling back into focus.

"How's Taylor?" he said carefully.

"She's super. She says hi."

"Hi, Taylor," Nick said dryly.

Joe rolled his sleeves down, the sweat on his skin freezing over in the sudden blast of air conditioning.

"It would suck so bad for you if we got married," he said mildly. "Your best man toast would be, like, four syllables. If that. Your head might actually explode."

Nick furrowed his eyebrows. "You want to marry Taylor?"

"No, I'm just saying, like, you could be nicer about her. She's pretty cool."

Nick sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He got eerily quiet, twisting his ring in an absent little back and forth motion. Joe spent a couple of minutes screwing around with the buttons on his sleeves, trying to do them up one-handed. He wasn't going to push the subject, not when they were both so worn out. He thoughts were already drifting away, milling in the direction of the night's show and how he'd screwed up some of the high notes, when Nick suddenly spoke.

"Why am I so weird?"

"Uh, I've been trying to figure that out for years." Joe plopped down next to him and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Maybe it's genetic."

Nick turned to look at him, face close. "I'm serious," he said. "I'm serious, Joe. Why do I – why am I like this?"

He could have been talking about a lot of different things. There were a dozen possibilities, ranging from the diabetes to the crying (it had been all Nick that night) to his recent bouts of teen angst. But for whatever reason, Joe knew. He got it, because sometimes he and Nick just worked like that.

"It's not that weird," he said, squeezing his shoulder. Nick looked down at the nonexistent space between them and wet his lips. "I mean, if you're weird, I'm weird."

Nick laughed. "That, uh." He glanced back up at him. "That's not exactly comforting, man."

Joe was about to joke back, but Nick tilted his head a little and the light caught on his face, made the hollows of his eyes and mouth and throat nothing but shadow.

Something old and familiar stirred in his chest, and suddenly it was all too much to laugh off. This was a thing, real and serious and right there between them. It hadn't disappeared just because they tried really hard to ignore it. If anything it had just gotten worse, because they weren't kids anymore. There was no excuse. Somewhere in the last three years they stumbled over a very important line, messed up something so fundamental that there was no taking it back. And this, right here, was what they had become.

Nick swallowed, mouth ticking up at the side in a wistful little smile.

They'd been here before. Joe recognized it, everything suddenly all too clear. This was their silent acknowledgement, a little window of opportunity that was getting smaller and smaller. In another minute it would shut entirely, and they would watch it happen and keep on going, pretend they hadn't seen it, and pretend to be surprised when they found themselves throwing pebbles at it all over again. Joe could see the endless months and years that would make up the rest of this. Him and Nick, reaping what they sowed.

He touched his forehead against Nick's, and they swayed there like that for a second, faces bumping together gently.

"Joe," Nick said quietly.

He wasn't the smart one. He was out of his depth, overwhelmed, exhausted. He kissed Nick anyway.

It was slow at first, just a dry press of lips, just closing that last inch between them. Joe kept his eyes open long enough to watch Nick's shut, and then swept his tongue out against his bottom lip. It shouldn't have been that easy. None of it should have been so easy, all the lines they'd drawn and redrawn and then blurred into nothingness anyway. There should have been a lightning bolt striking him down, the pit of Hell swallowing him up, something – but instead there was just Nick's mouth opening under his, Nick making this quiet little noise and tipping them both back on the bed.

It was so much worse, so much better than before. Nick was already hard against his stomach, but Joe just ran his tongue along the bow of his lips, kissed the tip of his nose. Took his time, let himself think about how much he wanted it. His imagination had suddenly kicked into overdrive, all these ideas forming in his head of stuff they could do. Stuff he could do to Nick. He wanted so much – wanted to get his fingers all the places they hadn't been yet, wanted to smell him and taste him and make him say all kinds of stupid stuff that was just for Joe to hear.

Nick tipped his head back looked at him, breathing hard in his face.

"Can we do this?" he asked, hips pushing up against Joe's as the words left his mouth. His voice was steady, simple, like it was any other question in the world.

"We can do whatever we want."

He believed it right then, he really did, and that seemed good enough for Nick. He smiled suddenly, giving Joe that big, toothy grin that was getting harder to come by.

"Okay," he said. He looked happy, so happy that Joe had to kiss him again because he couldn't deal with what that meant. His heart was hammering in his chest, but it got easier after that. He pulled the ends of Nick's shirt free from his pants and slid his hand up under them, palming his stomach. The wispy line of hair under his belly-button tickled Joe's wrist, and he could feel Nick pull in his next breath, muscles tensing under the skin.

Nick made a little noise in his throat when Joe slid down and thumbed his pants open. He hunched up enough to watch him do it, staring and going a little slack-jawed.

"Oh God," he said, collapsing back on the bed. "Oh God, Joe."

He grinned and bit Nick's hip, swiped his tongue there as he pulled down the front of his boxers. His dick popped out, hard and ready, and nudged up against his chin.

"Oh God," Nick huffed again.

"Dude, breathe," he laughed. "I haven't even done anything yet."

"You don't—" Nick wriggled a little and looked down at him again, watching as Joe gripped his dick, "—even know – how long I've –"

He shook his head, flushing, and Joe's skin suddenly went hot. "Really? You. What, you thought about this?"

"Yeah," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, I think about – you know – you. A lot."

"Think about me... what?" he pressed. Nick made a strangled noise, seeming torn between embarrassment and impatience.

"Sucking me," he finally hissed through his teeth, one hand coming up to smother his face.

"Holy fuck," Joe blurted. Nick's cock gave this twitch right there in his hand, and Joe was suddenly harder than he'd been in his life. He was in danger of just busting through the denim of his jeans, it was that bad. "Oh my God. That's."

Nick shifted his hand after a second and peered down at him between his fingers. Joe's brain was too fucking fried for any more talking. He just jacked him, giving him a couple of pumps before abruptly shoving Nick's dick in his mouth.

It tasted salty, musky like cock, the shape of it hot and heavy on his tongue. He was too overheated to really think about what he was doing, mouth just slip-sliding down.

"Oh God," Nick said, voice choked. He rolled his hips helplessly, made the tip of it catch in the pocket of Joe's cheek. "Yeah, oh, please—"

Joe pushed himself lower, tried to remember to breathe, but none of it really mattered because Nick's cock was in his mouth. Nick's hands were in his hair, and he was really doing this, lips skidding and slipping in a sloppy glide, up and down.

"Oh my God – Joe—"

He popped off Nick's cock automatically, mouth feeling hollow as he gripped the base and just sat there, panting, not wanting this to be over. Nick's hips jerked uselessly, a frustrated little groan tearing out of him. It took a second before he seemed to come back to himself, but he still looked wrecked – cheeks all red and mouth wet, bitten.

"Do you still do it like I showed you?" Joe asked. Nick let out a shaky laugh and shut his eyes.

"Uh... pretty much, yeah."

Joe let out a tense little breath. The shock of it, of the whole thing, kept sneaking up on him in waves that grew, crashed, faded to the empty thrum of excitement. Over and over. This was really happening. This was so crazy.

He jerked him again after a second, hand sliding all smooth and spitty, and just like that Nick blew his load all over Joe's face. It came out in heavy stutters, hitting his nose, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, before he could even think about moving away. Or if he wanted to.

"Fuck," Nick hissed, and this was the most Joe had ever heard him cuss in one go, the words spilling out like he couldn't keep them in. He hunched up with the force of it, leaning up off the bed for a second before sprawling back down.

For a minute there Joe just looked at him, watched as Nick tried to get his composure. It was a lost cause, though; he was fucked out, totally spent. His eyes widened when Joe climbed up next to him and made a thoughtful face, tongued experimentally at the drippy streak of jizz next to his mouth.

"Huh," Joe said, giddy and stupid. He could smell it – smell and taste and feel Nick all over him. "Fruity, with a hint of slime."

Nick looked totally dumbstruck, like he couldn't figure out if he was horrified or turned on. He finally settled on embarrassed, and swiped his fingers at the mess. Wiping it away, rubbing it in; Joe didn't know or care.

"God," Nick huffed, blushing harder. Joe grinned and kissed him, damp and sticky and gross, and Nick leaned into it helplessly. His fingers fumbled down between them, dug into the open V of Joe's fly.

Joe broke the kiss off when Nick got a grip on him and started jerking, body so primed that there was no way he was going to last.

"Yeah, fuck, yeah," he panted. Nick just stared at him, gaze dragging around Joe's face like he didn't want to miss anything. Joe tipped back against the pillows, groaning when Nick rolled with him and pressed again his chest.

"I wanna see it," Nick whispered. "I wanna watch you."

He shifted his arm then, lengthened his strokes. They were quick, sure, snapping, the shape of Nick's hand strangely familiar. For a minute there nothing existed outside the sure, steady rhythm Nick was building, and then he leaned in and sucked at the side of Joe's neck, bit at the soft spot right under his ear, and Joe arched and came all over his arm.

"Nick – Nick, oh fuck," he panted.

It was huge, hit him like a freight train and wouldn't stop until he wasn't even saying Nick's name anymore, he was just mouthing it around pathetic gasps of air.

Afterwards, Nick rested his hand on Joe's stomach where the buttons of his shirt were still done up. He pressed his lips against Joe's cheek, careful and deliberate. For a second there nothing really happened, like they could both feel things change. Whatever this was, whatever they were becoming, shifted into place like a dislocated shoulder. It hurt a little, but that was nothing compared to how it hurt before.

"Man," Joe said eventually. His hand was at Nick's shoulder, and he slid his fingers along his collarbone, secret and hidden under the edge of his shirt. "I can't believe the stuff I let you do to me."

Nick grinned and looked over at him.

"Don't freak out now," he said. He raised one eyebrow, cocky. "I've got a lot of ideas."

Joe found himself grinning at the ceiling for no reason. A minute later he wiped a streak of come off his cheek and rubbed it in Nick's hair, got tackled and wrestled to the floor. There was some tickling that turned into biting that turned into Nick sucking him off and then kissing him with a wet mouth of jizz, and that turned into more tickling.

Those were the fourth and fifth times. After that, Joe stopped counting.

Here's the thing: we started out friends.

2009-09-28T07:08:11Z

Yikes, I accidentally wrote meta. This is rare for me. I feel so... OVER INVESTED! And to top that off, I finally have something to say that is squee-positive. This might be the first time in the history of the universe that I'm the person least likely to harsh your squee. :O

I should probably preface this with: I HAVEN'T SEEN THE 5.04 PROMO. Nor do I want to. So bear that in mind.

But I've read a lot of reactions to 5.03 and it seems like everyone saw that Dean/Castiel car scene differently than I did. I was really surprised that anyone took Dean seriously at all! I realize Jensen played it very straight, but to my mind that was the whole point. The difference between putting on a brave face and actually being In Denial is that you don't realize when you're doing the latter. If Dean had been like, "Haha, SERIOUSLY THOUGH! I don't care! I don't care at all! Still not caring!" it would have been too obvious that he was saying it for Castiel's benefit, whereas here he was saying it because in the moment he really did believe it. He managed to convince himself that it was true.

I think what we saw happen in that scene was critically important to the progression of the Sam/Dean relationship. In this episode Castiel was much like Hoyt-the-Siren. He was the perfect little brother that Dean could foist all of his Sam issues on without any of the ramifications (or real emotion) of actually dealing with Sam. When Castiel is next to him and they're BFF, it's easy to say, "Fuck Sam! Never needed him anyway!" But right as he says he likes being alone, Castiel disappears and he's left with that word and what it actually means.

The focus on absentee fathers is important, I think, given that Dean did this exact same thing with Gordon. He rebuilt the dynamic he had with John to fill the emotional void left behind, and ultimately had to face the fact that his replacement was not the same thing. Right now Dean has Castiel to be the Laurel to his Hardy, but sweeping these issues under the rug will only result in a giant Sam-shaped lump for him to trip over. While the situation with Gordon was quickly diffused by Gordon's repulsive personality, this one is trickier. Castiel isn't a bad guy, he just isn't Sam. He doesn't know all the in-jokes, he doesn't have their shared history, and he isn't in this for the long haul. Eventually Dean will have to realize that this is not the same relationship he had with Sam, or Castiel will get sick of being his emotional dildo. I think both of these things might have happened simultaneously when Castiel disappeared.

I find it really interesting that we're seeing this whole situation juxtaposed with Sam's "recovery", because Dean is exhibiting classic addictive behavior. Consciously or unconsciously, people in recovery almost always find replacements for the substances they abused. The habits and rituals that surround it are nearly as important as the thing itself, so they wind up smoking or playing the lottery or doing something else that gives them a fix. I'm not totally sure what that says about Dean. He's addicted to love? The emphasis put on the word "alone" in that final scene seems to underline this facet of his personality -- he smoothly transitioned from John to Sam and has never gone without a source of emotional validation. I think that's another important issue with Castiel "replacing" Sam; he's made it clear that he feels Dean owes him something and he's taking payment in the form of partnership. It's a nice little circle jerk while it lasts, but ultimately Castiel will have to flap back up to heaven. He isn't family, which means there are limits to their connection and relationship. It's also interesting because Sam and John both had the upper hand in their power dynamics with Dean; John was the outright boss, and Sam had his huffy superiority and called him on his bullshit. The family-shaped hole in Dean's life can only be filled by someone who is didactic and loves him unconditionally, which... sounds a lot like God. WHUT. Make of that what you will.

At any rate, I had the same feeling about this episode that I did about 5.02, which is that it was pretty much fodder for one or two key scenes. Once again SPN proves it can't write female characters! I get what they were trying to do with Lindsay, but she came off as obnoxiously pushy and demanding. As someone who also has skeletons in her closet, you'd think she of all people would know when to back off and stop demanding personal information from a total stranger. Who does that?? The idea of Dean getting Castiel laid was funny, but playing it like he was a stammering virgin was a misstep. I was reminded of so much badfic where centuries-old characters are like, "LOL, is that what my dick is for?" It's fine if Castiel hasn't done the deed, but I don't think an ANGEL would be terrified of the frankly gross act that is human procreation. I like Castiel best when he's rocking the stoic, "who are you morons" aloofness that befits a creature who predates human existence.

HOW ABOUT RAPHAEL, THOUGH? That's some of the best acting I've seen on this show. Unlike, you know... every other ~powerful~ character, who gets played like a mustache-twirling villain in a high school play. I dig it.

Sorry angel; went to Reno.

2009-09-21T09:43:02Z

Rhetorical question of the day: why are icon makers so adamant about people crediting their personal journals rather than their graphics communities, when this just adds the extra step of hunting around personal journals for a link to the community? >:[

I think this pet peeve stems from the fact that I find most people's layouts confusing and hard to navigate. In addition to having questionable eyesight genes, I spent my formative years squinting at bright laptop screens in dark rooms, so I just cannot DEAL with your tiny blue font on a black background, or whatever. I have the ?style=mine script on my toolbar and I'm not afraid to use it, but still. Let's be logical about this.

ANYWAY. Let's talk about CLOTHES.

I have become a little bit of a shopaholic lately, without really intending to. I've been in love with fashion as long as I can remember, and long before the internet I was putting together Polyvore-esque outfits by cutting up fashion magazines. In the last year and a half I accidentally dropped, um, four dress sizes, which suddenly liberates me to wear whatever the hell I want, so it's kind of been going to my head. Sorry, bank account. :(

I have been trying to curtail my Robin Sparkles attitude about the mall, but every once in a while you see things that are just too good to be trueeee, like this Anthropologie dress I stumbled across last night.

I cannot get over how amazing this dress is. OMG WANT. If I had to describe my personal style, it's mostly retro pieces dressed up or down with modern accents. I like pairing things that are a little unexpected but still gel together, and that's exactly what this does. The cut and fabric is deliciously mid-sixties, but that corset detailing gives it a punch of drama. You could pair it with so many different things, too. With black heels and a black clutch it's a cocktail dress; with white tights and black boots it's a party dress. Pair it with a red cardigan and flats and take it to the office.

I WOULD HAPPILY LIVE AND DIE IN THIS DRESS, OKAY?

Another piece I am really crushing on this season is the brown leather jacket. It's cropping up in all the fashion magazines paired with lacey, girly floral pieces, and the combination is amazingly cute. I tried this Abercrombie & Fitch one on the other day and fell head over heels in love with it, but it's FIVE. HUNDRED. DOLLARS. Which is just ridiculous.

But the cut of this particular jacket is really nice -- it's a little cropped, so it hits at the natural waist, but the sleeves come down to your knuckles. It's possibly the sexiest thing I have EVER WORN. I spent like fifteen minutes in the fitting room, trying it on with a billion different outfits and preening in front of the mirror. sdgjsg

While I'm mid-orgasm here, can I just say that JCrew has been hitting them out of the park lately? Their fall collection is really reminiscent of Anthropologie circa 2005/6, taking staples and giving them personality with quirky ruffles and patterns and unexpected colors. While Anthropologie's collections have started to get a little iffy and veer towards an older audience, JCrew has been picking up the slack. Their pastel palette this season is really refreshing, and I love how they make the skinny pant look timeless.

Basically, I want ALL THE CLOTHES. EVER. If I need to start turning tricks to fund this new sick addiction, at least I will be doing it IN STYLE.