Not About Them
Untitled fill for the first round of the Jonas Brothers kink meme.
Joe/Jared Followill; 1,641 words.
Joe/Jared Followill, rough drunken sex
He doesn't really know how it happened--how he, Nick, and Kevin ended up sitting awkwardly on a couch in Jared Followill's hotel suite--but he's in no state to analyze things now.
Nick left at the first sign of things getting out of hand, and Joe thinks that he probably should have left then, too, but it's the Kings of fucking Leon and Joe didn't know when he'd have another chance like this, to talk to them, to see what it was like. Kevin leaves soon after Nick, though, and Joe's reasons for staying are dwindling.
Out of nowhere, it seems, Nathan offers him a drink. Joe doesn't say anything at first, and he watches as both Nathan and Caleb take several shots of what looks to Joe like whiskey, Caleb smirking at Nathan's earnestness.
"Sure," Joe says, surprising even himself, only a trace of defiance in his tone. "I'll take one." Caleb turns his face away to hide his laughter, but Nathan hands him a full shot glass without a hint of irony in his demeanor.
"You don't have to, y'know," Jared says quietly from beside him once Nathan has moved back over to Caleb. "It doesn't matter."
But everyone is drinking--has been drinking--and Joe just looks at him, hand only inches from his face, and Jared shrugs as Joe downs the shot. It burns his throat, but he tries to act like it doesn't, picking up again the random threads of conversation he was having with Jared and Matt. They're all empty words by now, and Joe knows it. Another shot is somehow placed in his hand and he drinks it, aware of Jared's and Matt's eyes on him. It's not so much conversation by this point as it is Joe rambling about music and touring and Disney and Nick--somehow Nick gets brought into everything--and he only stops when the door closes loudly behind him.
Nathan and Caleb have left abruptly, unannounced, although neither Jared nor Matthew seemed at all surprised. Joe tilts his head inquisitively at Jared nonetheless, noticing despite the warm and fuzzy haze over his senses and perceptions that Jared's jaw is clenched, his eyes trained away from the door. He snaps out answers to all of Matt's attempts at conversation while Joe just watches, overwhelmed and a little confused. It doesn't take long for Matthew to leave, and before Joe knows it it's just him and Jared.
Joe thinks he must start to ask Jared what's wrong, because Jared gives him a look that practically makes Joe feel sober again and says-- all but hisses--"Don't. Don't even," and Joe shuts up immediately. Jared's anger washes over him in cold waves, and he finally stands up to leave; but Jared reaches out and grabs his wrist, and Joe sits back down.
Jared touches Joe's hair, pushes stray strands away from his face, and Joe is struck by the tenderness of the gesture, which only confuses him more. Jared moves closer to Joe, their knees touching, and Jared runs his hand up Joe's thigh, coming to rest in the dip of his pelvis. Joe gasps at the touch, frustrated at the two inches of space between Jared's hand and his dick, and he thrusts his hips, trying to grind against Jared's hand.
Jared laughs at his eagerness, and Joe can't find it in himself to be embarrassed or ashamed. "Please," he begs, although he's not sure of everything he's asking for, and in one fluid movement Jared straddles Joe on the couch, rolling their hips together.
Jared's skinnier than Nick, lanky in a way that Nick will never be, but he's built and solid and taller than Nick, and his weight pressed against Joe still feels good, still makes Joe want to buck up away from the couch, pull Jared down heavily on top of him.
Jared leans his head down, mumbles into and bites at Joe's neck, the curve of his shoulder, his hands finding their way under the hem of Joe's shirt to start undoing his belt and jeans.
Something in Joe's mind snaps to attention at this, and he breaks out of his body-warmth-contact-induced lull enough to put up the pretense of a fight, mildly panicked thoughts about Nick, and about Kevin and his parents and what they'll do if they find out breaking into his consciousness.
"Look," he starts to say. "Nick is...I'm...hey, c'mon," he mumbles, trying to push Jared's hands away with alcohol-loose limbs.
Jared hides a smirk but otherwise ignores him, fingers working intently on his fly, and Joe feels helpless.
"But Nick," Joe protests feebly, making no sense, and Jared laughs this time, low and cruel. Joe's face falls, hurt, and he doesn't know how to respond. His thoughts are still on Nick, no matter how unimportant Jared seems to think it, and something must show on his face because Jared's laughing dies down, replaced with a cold look of anger.
"Your brother?" he asks, but Joe doesn't respond because Joe knows that Jared knows they are. "He's not here, okay?" Jared continues, leaning close to Joe's ear. "He'll never be here." And Joe looks at Jared with a dawning sense of awareness, a sudden understanding that it's not Nick Jared's talking about, not them.
"He won't care," Jared finishes carelessly, and Joe thinks he must be drunker than he realized (which doesn't surprise him, really) because he leans forward and kisses Jared on the mouth.
Unlike Joe, Jared can hold his liquor; it's just that, tonight, he doesn't really want to.
He clutches at the back of Joe's head and pulls him closer, kissing him harshly, messily. Joe melts into the couch beneath him, either from resignation or content Jared doesn't know or care. He presses down harder with his body, rocking against Joe in a furious rhythm, and when Joe breaks off the kiss to gasp for air Jared moves to his jawbone, his throat, dragging his teeth over Joe's smooth skin. Joe is writhing beneath him, mumbling nonsense that Jared nonetheless interprets, and he climbs off of Joe, pulling Joe from the couch. Joe stumbles as he tries to stand, but Jared pushes him down to his knees.
Joe is eye-level with Jared's cock, and he looks at it somewhat detachedly, considers maybe mouthing at it, sucking at the head through the thin denim of Jared's pants, or maybe even swallowing it down, sucking Jared off; but before he can do anything but entertain the idea, Jared gracelessly tugs Joe's pants and boxers down to his knees and moves to stand behind him. Joe feels like his mind is a second (a few seconds, a minute) behind, because he hears the sound of Jared stripping off his own clothes before he realizes he's practically naked.
He feels more than sees Jared kneel behind him, and almost immediately after Jared's hands slip under Joe's shirt and he pulls it off, tossing it to the side. Almost immediately after, Jared is kissing the back of Joe's neck, biting at vertebrae, his hands running roughly over his ribs, the small of his back, the curve of his ass. Joe leans back into the touch, nearly mewling at the contact, and Jared grabs a handful of Joe's hair, yanks his head back.
"You like that, huh?" Jared growls into Joe's ear, and releases his hair hard enough that he just about throws Joe to the floor. Joe catches himself but stays on all fours; Jared leans over him and knocks his arms away, and Jared is still on top of him as Joe crashes to the floor.
Jared doesn't waste any time. He spits on his fingers and clumsily yet efficiently shoves two of them into Joe's entrance, Joe looser than he would normally be due to the alcohol and the twinge of his arousal. It still hurts, and he hisses against the burn of Jared's fingers, rocking into the carpet below him, trying to alleviate some of the pain. Jared stretches him open quickly, adds a third finger and then a fourth, and he's panting in anticipation as he scissors them inside of Joe, his erection almost painful.
Joe keeps rubbing himself against the carpet, and it's too much friction, too much heat, but there's nothing else for it. He feels Jared remove his fingers but he's ready anyway, and he hears the tear of the condom package--his only warning before Jared's inside him, sinking all the way in. He doesn't move right away, but a broken sound finds its way out of Joe's throat and Jared takes it for what he needs it to be, and starts thrusting in and out of Joe. Joe rocks back, meeting Jared's thrusts, but there's no rhythm, no pacing, just the slap of skin on skin and their harsh breathing in the silence.
Joe comes into the carpet the second time Jared brushes against his prostate, long before Jared finishes. Jared keeps up his tempo, pounding into Joe again and again, his nails raising lines down Joe's sides, across his back. Joe tries to keep up with him, but the remnants of his climax are still pooling in his limbs, leaving him weak and loose, and all he can do is lay there as Jared works up his own orgasm, coming hard into the condom and collapsing against Joe's back as he rides it out.
When it's over, Jared doesn't say anything to him and Joe doesn't feel awkward so much as unwelcome, so he gathers his clothes and stumbles back to his own room, his head still spinning as he crashes into sleep.
He doesn't see any of the Followills the next morning before they leave, and if Nick notices the marks on Joe's body, the bruises on his neck, he doesn't ask about them.
Joe/Jared Followill; 1,641 words.
Joe/Jared Followill, rough drunken sex
He doesn't really know how it happened--how he, Nick, and Kevin ended up sitting awkwardly on a couch in Jared Followill's hotel suite--but he's in no state to analyze things now.
Nick left at the first sign of things getting out of hand, and Joe thinks that he probably should have left then, too, but it's the Kings of fucking Leon and Joe didn't know when he'd have another chance like this, to talk to them, to see what it was like. Kevin leaves soon after Nick, though, and Joe's reasons for staying are dwindling.
Out of nowhere, it seems, Nathan offers him a drink. Joe doesn't say anything at first, and he watches as both Nathan and Caleb take several shots of what looks to Joe like whiskey, Caleb smirking at Nathan's earnestness.
"Sure," Joe says, surprising even himself, only a trace of defiance in his tone. "I'll take one." Caleb turns his face away to hide his laughter, but Nathan hands him a full shot glass without a hint of irony in his demeanor.
"You don't have to, y'know," Jared says quietly from beside him once Nathan has moved back over to Caleb. "It doesn't matter."
But everyone is drinking--has been drinking--and Joe just looks at him, hand only inches from his face, and Jared shrugs as Joe downs the shot. It burns his throat, but he tries to act like it doesn't, picking up again the random threads of conversation he was having with Jared and Matt. They're all empty words by now, and Joe knows it. Another shot is somehow placed in his hand and he drinks it, aware of Jared's and Matt's eyes on him. It's not so much conversation by this point as it is Joe rambling about music and touring and Disney and Nick--somehow Nick gets brought into everything--and he only stops when the door closes loudly behind him.
Nathan and Caleb have left abruptly, unannounced, although neither Jared nor Matthew seemed at all surprised. Joe tilts his head inquisitively at Jared nonetheless, noticing despite the warm and fuzzy haze over his senses and perceptions that Jared's jaw is clenched, his eyes trained away from the door. He snaps out answers to all of Matt's attempts at conversation while Joe just watches, overwhelmed and a little confused. It doesn't take long for Matthew to leave, and before Joe knows it it's just him and Jared.
Joe thinks he must start to ask Jared what's wrong, because Jared gives him a look that practically makes Joe feel sober again and says-- all but hisses--"Don't. Don't even," and Joe shuts up immediately. Jared's anger washes over him in cold waves, and he finally stands up to leave; but Jared reaches out and grabs his wrist, and Joe sits back down.
Jared touches Joe's hair, pushes stray strands away from his face, and Joe is struck by the tenderness of the gesture, which only confuses him more. Jared moves closer to Joe, their knees touching, and Jared runs his hand up Joe's thigh, coming to rest in the dip of his pelvis. Joe gasps at the touch, frustrated at the two inches of space between Jared's hand and his dick, and he thrusts his hips, trying to grind against Jared's hand.
Jared laughs at his eagerness, and Joe can't find it in himself to be embarrassed or ashamed. "Please," he begs, although he's not sure of everything he's asking for, and in one fluid movement Jared straddles Joe on the couch, rolling their hips together.
Jared's skinnier than Nick, lanky in a way that Nick will never be, but he's built and solid and taller than Nick, and his weight pressed against Joe still feels good, still makes Joe want to buck up away from the couch, pull Jared down heavily on top of him.
Jared leans his head down, mumbles into and bites at Joe's neck, the curve of his shoulder, his hands finding their way under the hem of Joe's shirt to start undoing his belt and jeans.
Something in Joe's mind snaps to attention at this, and he breaks out of his body-warmth-contact-induced lull enough to put up the pretense of a fight, mildly panicked thoughts about Nick, and about Kevin and his parents and what they'll do if they find out breaking into his consciousness.
"Look," he starts to say. "Nick is...I'm...hey, c'mon," he mumbles, trying to push Jared's hands away with alcohol-loose limbs.
Jared hides a smirk but otherwise ignores him, fingers working intently on his fly, and Joe feels helpless.
"But Nick," Joe protests feebly, making no sense, and Jared laughs this time, low and cruel. Joe's face falls, hurt, and he doesn't know how to respond. His thoughts are still on Nick, no matter how unimportant Jared seems to think it, and something must show on his face because Jared's laughing dies down, replaced with a cold look of anger.
"Your brother?" he asks, but Joe doesn't respond because Joe knows that Jared knows they are. "He's not here, okay?" Jared continues, leaning close to Joe's ear. "He'll never be here." And Joe looks at Jared with a dawning sense of awareness, a sudden understanding that it's not Nick Jared's talking about, not them.
"He won't care," Jared finishes carelessly, and Joe thinks he must be drunker than he realized (which doesn't surprise him, really) because he leans forward and kisses Jared on the mouth.
Unlike Joe, Jared can hold his liquor; it's just that, tonight, he doesn't really want to.
He clutches at the back of Joe's head and pulls him closer, kissing him harshly, messily. Joe melts into the couch beneath him, either from resignation or content Jared doesn't know or care. He presses down harder with his body, rocking against Joe in a furious rhythm, and when Joe breaks off the kiss to gasp for air Jared moves to his jawbone, his throat, dragging his teeth over Joe's smooth skin. Joe is writhing beneath him, mumbling nonsense that Jared nonetheless interprets, and he climbs off of Joe, pulling Joe from the couch. Joe stumbles as he tries to stand, but Jared pushes him down to his knees.
Joe is eye-level with Jared's cock, and he looks at it somewhat detachedly, considers maybe mouthing at it, sucking at the head through the thin denim of Jared's pants, or maybe even swallowing it down, sucking Jared off; but before he can do anything but entertain the idea, Jared gracelessly tugs Joe's pants and boxers down to his knees and moves to stand behind him. Joe feels like his mind is a second (a few seconds, a minute) behind, because he hears the sound of Jared stripping off his own clothes before he realizes he's practically naked.
He feels more than sees Jared kneel behind him, and almost immediately after Jared's hands slip under Joe's shirt and he pulls it off, tossing it to the side. Almost immediately after, Jared is kissing the back of Joe's neck, biting at vertebrae, his hands running roughly over his ribs, the small of his back, the curve of his ass. Joe leans back into the touch, nearly mewling at the contact, and Jared grabs a handful of Joe's hair, yanks his head back.
"You like that, huh?" Jared growls into Joe's ear, and releases his hair hard enough that he just about throws Joe to the floor. Joe catches himself but stays on all fours; Jared leans over him and knocks his arms away, and Jared is still on top of him as Joe crashes to the floor.
Jared doesn't waste any time. He spits on his fingers and clumsily yet efficiently shoves two of them into Joe's entrance, Joe looser than he would normally be due to the alcohol and the twinge of his arousal. It still hurts, and he hisses against the burn of Jared's fingers, rocking into the carpet below him, trying to alleviate some of the pain. Jared stretches him open quickly, adds a third finger and then a fourth, and he's panting in anticipation as he scissors them inside of Joe, his erection almost painful.
Joe keeps rubbing himself against the carpet, and it's too much friction, too much heat, but there's nothing else for it. He feels Jared remove his fingers but he's ready anyway, and he hears the tear of the condom package--his only warning before Jared's inside him, sinking all the way in. He doesn't move right away, but a broken sound finds its way out of Joe's throat and Jared takes it for what he needs it to be, and starts thrusting in and out of Joe. Joe rocks back, meeting Jared's thrusts, but there's no rhythm, no pacing, just the slap of skin on skin and their harsh breathing in the silence.
Joe comes into the carpet the second time Jared brushes against his prostate, long before Jared finishes. Jared keeps up his tempo, pounding into Joe again and again, his nails raising lines down Joe's sides, across his back. Joe tries to keep up with him, but the remnants of his climax are still pooling in his limbs, leaving him weak and loose, and all he can do is lay there as Jared works up his own orgasm, coming hard into the condom and collapsing against Joe's back as he rides it out.
When it's over, Jared doesn't say anything to him and Joe doesn't feel awkward so much as unwelcome, so he gathers his clothes and stumbles back to his own room, his head still spinning as he crashes into sleep.
He doesn't see any of the Followills the next morning before they leave, and if Nick notices the marks on Joe's body, the bruises on his neck, he doesn't ask about them.