[fic] this is our decision, to live fast and die young
title: this is our decision, to live fast and die young
author: liz_hollis
pairing: Joe/Nick
rating: R
word count: 3740
warnings: incest, underage drinking
summary: for rudhampaiel , who requested Greaser!Nick after the VMan photos. Set in the 1950's.
disclaimer: this is impossible
It's Friday night. It's late, after 10:30 curfew, and Joe has been home from his shift at the drive-in since 10. He's reading an Archie comic in bed and idly debating jerking off to this one particular frame of Veronica when he hears the quiet thumps and the sound of badly muffled voices outside.
After dinner Nick had complained of a stomachache, and after suffering their mother fussing over him and even choking down the tonic water with baking soda she forced on him, he had closed himself in his bedroom. Before he shut the door Nick caught Joe's eye and winked. Joe knows Nick had put three pillows under his comforter and gone out the window. He's been doing it for weeks now, disappearing most weekend nights.
Joe rolls out of bed and tiptoes past the door to their parent's room, padding down the side of the stairs to avoid the creaky third step. He can hear the sounds more clearly now, quiet laughter and someone repeatedly hissing "Shhh, shhh!" Joe pulls aside the little white lace curtain in the window by the door and peers out.
It's Nick and that greaser kid David Henrie.
There's a beat up black Thunderbird parked at a haphazard angle in front of the mailbox, and Nick is there, leaning against the dented passenger door with Henrie's arm slung all careless and possessive around his shoulders. Henrie's got a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth, his worn leather jacket hanging open over his white undershirt and he's leaning in to Nick, whispering something in his ear that's making Nick laugh, lips closed tight to stop the sound from escaping.
Nick looks so different from the buttoned-up kid Joe sees every day. His soft curls are slicked back with pomade into a ducktail, revealing his clear white forehead and the high angles of his hairline. His face looks different with his hair back, sharper and more angular, less babyish. Less familiar. Nick's jeans are rolled up at the ankles, showing the high tops of his Converse and his button down shirt is completely open to reveal his own white undershirt. He looks... he looks like a greaser and Joe's stomach drops at the thought of Dad catching Nick looking this way.
Joe's fingers clench around the thin fabric of the curtain as he watches Henrie offer Nick a drag of his cigarette. Nick eyes the cigarette for a moment and then Joe watches as he wraps his lips around it and drags inexpertly, the smoke curling out from the corners of his mouth, making him squint. Joe looks at Henrie and sees he's watching too, his eyes focused on Nick's mouth. Nick blows the smoke out in a cloud and starts to cough, bending at the waist and hacking. Henrie starts to laugh and slumps over Nick's back and they stagger and fall into the grass, Henrie half on top of Nick, their laughter getting louder.
Joe yanks the door open and steps out onto the porch. "Nick," he calls, and he means for it to come out sharp and annoyed because Joe is kind of annoyed, but it doesn't come out right. Instead it sounds too quiet, a little unsure.
Nick looks up mid-sucker punch and the smile that breaks over his face is enough to alleviate some of the unease in Joe's belly. Henrie rolls off Nick slowly. He runs a hand over his slick hair and waves, smirking a little. Joe ignores him.
"Hey Joe," Nick stage whispers, waving a vague hand towards Henrie. "You remember Dave?"
Nick is making no move to get up off the wet grass so Joe shuffles down the porch steps and over to them, standing over Nick's sprawled body with his hands in the pockets of his sleep pants.
"Yeah. Hey Dave."
Henrie nods, and Joe holds out a hand to Nick, who grips it and allows Joe to haul him up. He stumbles as soon as he stands and Joe tightens his arm around him, Nick's body a damp heavy warmth against his side. Nick smells like liquor and smoke and car leather and Joe can see the edge of the silver flask tucked into the waistband of Henrie's jeans. Nick lolls sleepily against Joe and he tightens his hand protectively around Nick's thin waist.
"You're drunk," Joe says, trying not to smile at Nick's soft, unfocused gaze and bright red cheeks, the bowlegged way he's standing.
Nick frowns. "No, 'm not drunk!" he protests.
"Yeah, he's pretty boxed," Henrie supplies. Nick and Joe both glare at him.
"Bye, Dave," Joe says decisively, turning towards the house.
"Bye Dave," Nick echoes softly, craning his neck to look over Joe's shoulder.
Joe doesn't look back to see if Henrie leaves. He gets Nick up the steps and inside, leaning him against the wall so Joe can pull the notoriously creaky door shut quietly, listening hard for any indications their parents might have woken up. He blows out a relieved breath once the door is safely closed.
Nick stares up at him from where he's slumped against the wall, his eyes bright with alcohol and some feeling Joe knows Nick would hold in forever if he could. Nick looks tired, worn and older than his years. Joe circles his fingers in a loose bracelet around Nick's wrist. It's thick and corded with muscle now, so different from the skinny bone that was there only a year ago. It doesn't make any sense, Joe doesn't understand why but sometimes Nick still feels delicate, breakable under his hands somehow, even though he's been stronger than Joe for a while now.
"Come on," Joe says quietly. "Let's go to bed." He slides his hand up until he's gripping the muscle of his upper arm. He gets Nick's arm around his shoulders and resumes his grip around Nick's waist.
"... Hate this town." Nick mumbles under his breath as they clumsily navigate the steps.
"What? Why?" Joe asks, distracted by Nick's foot missing the next step by a good few inches. He grabs onto Nick harder, digs his fingertips into the softness at Nick's side.
Nick shakes his head drunkenly. "Just- 'm never gonna get out of here," he spits. "I can see the rest of m'life, right now, I can see it. What it's gonna be. And 's gonna be right here in this stupid town, probably in the stupid seminary. And it'll be crap," he finishes, sounding so dumped Joe stops right in the middle of the stairwell.
He has a sudden memory of the day their father took away Nick's guitar, the day he heard Nick playing Elvis Presley instead of hymns. Joe sees again the look on Nick's face as he watched Dad throw the instrument in the trashcan outside, the awful atonal sound it made as it clattered into the metal can, the way the skin around Nick's eyes got red and tight at the sound of a string snapping.
"Nick--" he starts, his chest filled with an unfamiliar ache.
"I'm more than this," Nick whispers and his voice hitches. He looks up at Joe and his face is shadowed. "I could be more, Joe."
Joe pulls Nick in by the neck, wraps his arms around Nick's shoulders and hooks his chin over his shoulder, Nick stiff against him. "I know, Nick. You could." Nick presses his face into Joe's neck and he presses a kiss to the bone at Nick's shoulder.
"Hate him," Nick whispers, so quiet it's barely a sound. His clenched fists press desperately into Joe's sides and he can feel Nick almost vibrating.
"I know," Joe repeats softly, stroking a thumb against the fine hair at the base of Nick's skull, a little silky patch that escaped the gel. "That why you're going out? Joyriding and drinking with Henrie and the rail boys?"
Nick lifts his head. "I have to do something. Just-- something, or else I'll just..." He breaks off and bites his lip, rubbing a hand over his face. "I have to do something, Joe."
Nick is looking right at Joe now, looking at Joe like he needs him to have the answer and he knows Joe doesn't have it. And Joe wants to, he wants so badly to be able to tell Nick how to get out of here, how to have the life he wants. But he doesn't know any better than Nick. Joe doesn't know how to get out of this town and maybe a little secret part of him, a part of him he's trying his very best to ignore, is afraid of what will happen to him if Nick does get out of here.
"Nicky," he mouths, putting a hand to the hot skin of Nick's neck. Nick blinks rapidly and his mouth pulls down at the corners like he's swallowing something down. Joe pulls him back in to his chest, and this time Nick turns his head and lays it against Joe's shoulder like he used to do when he was a little kid. Joe brushes his lips against his forehead right below his hairline and again at the tip of his ear.
"I'm sorry, Nick. I'm sorry," Joe mumbles and Nick nods silently into his shoulder, slipping a hand around Joe's waist and Joe feels warmer again. Nick keeps his hand around Joe's waist as they walk up the last few steps.
Joe eases the door to Nick's room closed behind them and turns to find Nick already faceplanted on the bed. On top of all the pillows he stuffed under his covers, arranged to look like some incredibly lumpy, wide version of Nick. He looks down at his shirt.
"You got a grease stain on me." Nick doesn't say anything. "Nick, come on, move your pillows."
"No," Nick says, voice muffled.
Joe rolls his eyes and moves to the end of the bed, kneeling and starting to unlace Nick's Converse. Joe's thumb brushes against the sole of his foot as he's drawing off the sneaker, and Nick's whole leg twitches ticklishly. He lets out a startled little breath and Joe smiles. He kneels up on the bed next to Nick's legs and starts pulling and yanking at the pillows lodged under Nick's body.
"God- you're- so- heavy! You fat- fatty!" Joe grits out between tugs. Nick is not helping at all, not even rolling over. His eyes open wide when Joe gets his hands under Nick's belly and heaves, rolling him over onto his back. Panting now, Joe yanks the rest of the pillows out from under him and throws them on the floor, collapsing across Nick's stomach. Nick's hand comes down on his head, stroking gently through Joe's curls, his fingernails scratching lightly against Joe's scalp. It gives Joe goosebumps, makes the fine hair on his arms stand up.
He reaches under the edge of Nick's mattress, feeling around until his hand bumps in to the thin, hard edge of a record case. He pulls it out and peers at it in the lamplight. It's Chuck Berry.
"Which else have you got under here?" he asks, flipping the sleeve over in his hands.
Nick lifts his head for a moment to peer at him and then falls back with a heavy sigh, an arm over his eyes. "Jerry Lee Lewis. Big Joe Turner. Johnny Cash. Dave lent 'em to me." He shrugs tiredly. "Dad wouldn't like it. 'S race music."
Joe swings his legs around and sits up at the side of the bed, idly turning the record in his hands and looking around at Nick's room. It used to be his and Nick's room before Kevin got married. The walls still hold the framed baby portraits, the Mighty Mouse poster Joe put up when he was thirteen, Nick's baseball bat and Joe's catchers mitt lie against the wall by the window. Ever since Kevin left, it's been Joe and Nick, just the two of them together against their dad, against what feels like the world sometimes. If Nick is going to fight their dad, if he's going to get out of this town and this life... then Joe is going to be the one standing next to him. Not David Henrie or anyone else. Nick is his brother. Joe will do it with him.
He slides the record carefully back under the mattress, pushing it back until it's well-hidden. Then he crawls up the bed until he's hovering over Nick, hands planted on either side of Nick's head. Joe lifts Nick's arm from where it's been flung across his eyes. Nick looks up at him, a wordless question on his face.
Joe leans forward slowly, purposefully and presses their lips together. He holds himself there for a moment, not breathing, waiting for Nick to shove him away. But Nick doesn't. His breath escapes from his nose in hot little puffs against Joe's upper lip. Their mouths make a damp quiet sound when they separate and something unfurls low in Joe's stomach.
"What are you doing?" Nick whispers when Joe pulls back. His eyes are dark and close and blurred and his skin is warm against Joe's, and Joe can still feel the rough brush of Nick's chapped lips against his own.
Joe doesn't have the answer. He's confused and tired and he kind of hates his dad, but he loves his brother, he loves Nick...
"Something," Joe whispers back.
This time Nick leans in, arching away from the bed to reach Joe's mouth and Nick's lips part easily under Joe's, and what they're doing is bad, really bad, but it feels really good and Joe gets it now. He gets why Nick has been sneaking out, drinking, riding around in death trap junkers, because Joe feels more alive right now than he has in his whole life.
"Think this'll get us out of this junk town?" he pants against Nick's neck, his hands fumbling across Nick's chest and down over his ribs to grip at his waist.
Nick huffs a laugh. "Maybe chased by a pitchforked mob." His hands grip Joe's ass through his pajama pants and Joe grunts, startled. His knees slip on the comforter and he falls on top of Nick, their hipbones knocking together painfully. Joe can feel Nick pressed against his stomach, a hard heat pressed against his skin where his t-shirt rucked up. Joe feels his face flush red at the knowledge that that is his brother's dick, but Nick is already pulling him back in by his chin.
They kiss again and Joe feels it in his bones when their teeth clash, the nerve sparks rattling through him. He pushes his tongue past the ridge of Nick's teeth and Nick sucks on it in long pulses that make Joe's cock throb in his pants.
Nick tugs at the hem of Joe's shirt. "You wanna?" he mutters, pulling back just far enough to breathe the words, wet against Joe's lips.
"Yeah," Joe pants and wrestles the shirt off, tossing it forgotten at the foot of the bed as Nick yanks his own undershirt over his head. When Joe lowers himself back over Nick, they're skin to skin from chest to hip and Joe feels like he's burning up. He feels sweat start to prick at his temples. He looks down at Nick, and his mouth is hanging open a little and it's really red, redder than Joe has ever seen it, even when they used to eat cherrypopsicles in the summer. But maybe this is how Nick's mouth always looks when he's been kissing someone.
The thought makes Joe shove forward a little with his hips, seeking some kind of friction. Nick squirms a little underneath him, two bright slashes of color across his cheekbones.
"Here," he mutters and lets his legs fall open a bit, bending one knee so his foot is flat on the bed and their hips are suddenly aligned perfectly, like puzzle pieces slotting into place. Joe can feel the hard jut of Nick's cock right next to his, heat seeping through the thick denim of Nick's jeans. Nick rolls his hips tentatively, a seeking little push off the mattress and Joe groans deep in his chest, shoving down to meet him. He licks in to Nick's mouth again, drawing his tongue along the side of Nick's. Nick makes little muffled noises that get caught in the back of his throat. Joe pushes his hands into Nick's hair, needing something to grab on to to anchor him, but Nick's hair is slick and slippery with the oil he combed into it.
"Aw shit," Joe bites out, pressing his forehead against Nick's bare shoulder. "Nicky, I gotta- ah- you wanna jerk off?"
Nick nods fast, leaning up onto his elbows. "Here, lemme-" Joe says, fumbling with the buttons of Nick's jeans, but his fingers are slippery and he can't get a grip. "Jeez, your-- flipping hair oil, Nick!"
Nick bats his hand away, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his shallow breaths, and pops the button himself, shimmying the jeans off his narrow hips. Joe pulls off his pajama pants and falls back on the bed next to Nick, wrapping a hand loosely around himself and pumping once. The oil on his hands makes it wet right away, and Joe's eyes roll back in his head. He looks over at Nick as he thumbs at the head of his dick. Nick's jerking himself slow, he's got a steady pace going, chewing on his lower lip. As Joe watches, Nick looks over at him, down at where he's holding himself and back up at his face, and Nick's hips thrust up off the bed and he turns his head away, closing his eyes like it's too much.
"Wait, c'mere," Joe pants, rolling over and reaching for Nick. "I wanna--" He kisses Nick again, and it's so much better, easier. Their mouths are making all kinds of wet sounds and Joe's hand is making a slick noise against his dick and it all just ratchets the heady excitement, the coiled heat in his belly up higher. Their knuckles bump awkwardly, and Joe can't help but moan when he feels the head of Nick's cock catch and drag against his stomach, leaving a little trail of precome.
"Can I-" Nick starts and has to stop to swallow. Joe looks up. "Can I touch it?" he asks.
Joe nods wordlessly, his tongue dry in his mouth, and Nick pushes him lightly until he's lying back against the mattress. Nick just looks at him for a long moment, like he's inspecting Joe's erection, cataloguing the differences between them. He traces a finger down the long vein on the underside and Joe lets out a wavery breath, his stomach drawing in almost protectively. Joe grabs on to the sheets, crumpling them in his fists when Nick finally closes his fist around Joe's cock and starts to jerk him. Joe closes his eyes, but he can feel Nick watching him. He comes fast and sudden, taken by surprise. Nick seems surprised too, but he wipes his hand off on the sheet and flops down over Joe, thrusting against his hip. Joe pulls his eyes open to look and is almost startled at how pretty Nick looks. His curls are coming out of the ducktail, strands falling loose and sticking to his sweaty forehead. Joe brushes them back, smoothing them back into the slick hairdo. Nick turns his cheek into Joe's hand the tiniest bit.
Joe runs his hands down Nick's sides, bumping over the ridges of his ribs, and his whole body shivers under Joe's fingers. He skims his hands over Nick's ass, and Nick lets out a soft "unh" and thrusts harder when Joe drags a finger across the crease at the top of his thigh. Everywhere Joe touches, he's leaving little shiny streaks of oil. He brushes his hand across the cleft of Nick's ass and Nick presses his face into Joe's neck and grabs onto his shoulders and Joe pushes his slick fingers just in between and Nick makes a strangled sound and comes against Joe's hip, shaking.
Afterwards Joe looks over at Nick, who's half-asleep beside him, and groans.
"Nick," Joe says, pushing at Nick's shoulder. Nick frowns and shakes him off. "Nick. You gotta shower."
"What?" Nick mumbles sleepily, sounding offended at the idea. "No."
"Mom and Dad can't see your hair like that, man," Joe reminds him.
"'M sleeping," Nick slurs and Joe remembers that Nick is mostly drunk. He sighs.
"Alright, just-- c'mere." He hauls Nick up with an arm around his waist and half carries him to the bathroom, Nick protesting but not even fully waking up. Joe gets him to step into the shower and turns on the water. Nick jumps when the water hits him and gapes at Joe, his curls flattened against his skull, water dripping off his nose and chin.
"What're you doing?"
Joe runs a hand through his own hair, then reaches for the shampoo. "I'm just- I'm gonna do it for you. I'm gonna help you." He looks up from squeezing the shampoo into his palm, and Nick is staring at him like he's talking about something much more significant than shampoo. Maybe he is. Joe can't think about it right now.
He gestures for Nick to dip his head under the spray, and then massages the shampoo into his hair. Nick stands still for him, his head hanging forward, exposing the sharp knobs of his spine and the pale skin of his neck. Joe puts a hand to the small of Nick's back and guides him to turn around, his eyes squeezed tight shut, and tilts his head back into the spray. Joe runs his fingers through Nick's hair as the water sluices the suds out, making sure it all gets out. Nick tips his head to the side against the tile wall and puts a hand on Joe's shoulder, peering at him sleepily, dark circles under his eyes.
Joe looks back at him, the two of them naked and worn and exposed in the harsh light of their parent's bathroom. The light flickers and hums. Joe touches a hand to Nick's jaw.
"Let's get outta this town, huh, Nick?" Joe asks. "You and me."
Nick turns his head to meet Joe's eyes, still leaning against the cold tile wall of the shower, and smiles a little. A real smile.
"Yeah."
author: liz_hollis
pairing: Joe/Nick
rating: R
word count: 3740
warnings: incest, underage drinking
summary: for rudhampaiel , who requested Greaser!Nick after the VMan photos. Set in the 1950's.
disclaimer: this is impossible
It's Friday night. It's late, after 10:30 curfew, and Joe has been home from his shift at the drive-in since 10. He's reading an Archie comic in bed and idly debating jerking off to this one particular frame of Veronica when he hears the quiet thumps and the sound of badly muffled voices outside.
After dinner Nick had complained of a stomachache, and after suffering their mother fussing over him and even choking down the tonic water with baking soda she forced on him, he had closed himself in his bedroom. Before he shut the door Nick caught Joe's eye and winked. Joe knows Nick had put three pillows under his comforter and gone out the window. He's been doing it for weeks now, disappearing most weekend nights.
Joe rolls out of bed and tiptoes past the door to their parent's room, padding down the side of the stairs to avoid the creaky third step. He can hear the sounds more clearly now, quiet laughter and someone repeatedly hissing "Shhh, shhh!" Joe pulls aside the little white lace curtain in the window by the door and peers out.
It's Nick and that greaser kid David Henrie.
There's a beat up black Thunderbird parked at a haphazard angle in front of the mailbox, and Nick is there, leaning against the dented passenger door with Henrie's arm slung all careless and possessive around his shoulders. Henrie's got a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth, his worn leather jacket hanging open over his white undershirt and he's leaning in to Nick, whispering something in his ear that's making Nick laugh, lips closed tight to stop the sound from escaping.
Nick looks so different from the buttoned-up kid Joe sees every day. His soft curls are slicked back with pomade into a ducktail, revealing his clear white forehead and the high angles of his hairline. His face looks different with his hair back, sharper and more angular, less babyish. Less familiar. Nick's jeans are rolled up at the ankles, showing the high tops of his Converse and his button down shirt is completely open to reveal his own white undershirt. He looks... he looks like a greaser and Joe's stomach drops at the thought of Dad catching Nick looking this way.
Joe's fingers clench around the thin fabric of the curtain as he watches Henrie offer Nick a drag of his cigarette. Nick eyes the cigarette for a moment and then Joe watches as he wraps his lips around it and drags inexpertly, the smoke curling out from the corners of his mouth, making him squint. Joe looks at Henrie and sees he's watching too, his eyes focused on Nick's mouth. Nick blows the smoke out in a cloud and starts to cough, bending at the waist and hacking. Henrie starts to laugh and slumps over Nick's back and they stagger and fall into the grass, Henrie half on top of Nick, their laughter getting louder.
Joe yanks the door open and steps out onto the porch. "Nick," he calls, and he means for it to come out sharp and annoyed because Joe is kind of annoyed, but it doesn't come out right. Instead it sounds too quiet, a little unsure.
Nick looks up mid-sucker punch and the smile that breaks over his face is enough to alleviate some of the unease in Joe's belly. Henrie rolls off Nick slowly. He runs a hand over his slick hair and waves, smirking a little. Joe ignores him.
"Hey Joe," Nick stage whispers, waving a vague hand towards Henrie. "You remember Dave?"
Nick is making no move to get up off the wet grass so Joe shuffles down the porch steps and over to them, standing over Nick's sprawled body with his hands in the pockets of his sleep pants.
"Yeah. Hey Dave."
Henrie nods, and Joe holds out a hand to Nick, who grips it and allows Joe to haul him up. He stumbles as soon as he stands and Joe tightens his arm around him, Nick's body a damp heavy warmth against his side. Nick smells like liquor and smoke and car leather and Joe can see the edge of the silver flask tucked into the waistband of Henrie's jeans. Nick lolls sleepily against Joe and he tightens his hand protectively around Nick's thin waist.
"You're drunk," Joe says, trying not to smile at Nick's soft, unfocused gaze and bright red cheeks, the bowlegged way he's standing.
Nick frowns. "No, 'm not drunk!" he protests.
"Yeah, he's pretty boxed," Henrie supplies. Nick and Joe both glare at him.
"Bye, Dave," Joe says decisively, turning towards the house.
"Bye Dave," Nick echoes softly, craning his neck to look over Joe's shoulder.
Joe doesn't look back to see if Henrie leaves. He gets Nick up the steps and inside, leaning him against the wall so Joe can pull the notoriously creaky door shut quietly, listening hard for any indications their parents might have woken up. He blows out a relieved breath once the door is safely closed.
Nick stares up at him from where he's slumped against the wall, his eyes bright with alcohol and some feeling Joe knows Nick would hold in forever if he could. Nick looks tired, worn and older than his years. Joe circles his fingers in a loose bracelet around Nick's wrist. It's thick and corded with muscle now, so different from the skinny bone that was there only a year ago. It doesn't make any sense, Joe doesn't understand why but sometimes Nick still feels delicate, breakable under his hands somehow, even though he's been stronger than Joe for a while now.
"Come on," Joe says quietly. "Let's go to bed." He slides his hand up until he's gripping the muscle of his upper arm. He gets Nick's arm around his shoulders and resumes his grip around Nick's waist.
"... Hate this town." Nick mumbles under his breath as they clumsily navigate the steps.
"What? Why?" Joe asks, distracted by Nick's foot missing the next step by a good few inches. He grabs onto Nick harder, digs his fingertips into the softness at Nick's side.
Nick shakes his head drunkenly. "Just- 'm never gonna get out of here," he spits. "I can see the rest of m'life, right now, I can see it. What it's gonna be. And 's gonna be right here in this stupid town, probably in the stupid seminary. And it'll be crap," he finishes, sounding so dumped Joe stops right in the middle of the stairwell.
He has a sudden memory of the day their father took away Nick's guitar, the day he heard Nick playing Elvis Presley instead of hymns. Joe sees again the look on Nick's face as he watched Dad throw the instrument in the trashcan outside, the awful atonal sound it made as it clattered into the metal can, the way the skin around Nick's eyes got red and tight at the sound of a string snapping.
"Nick--" he starts, his chest filled with an unfamiliar ache.
"I'm more than this," Nick whispers and his voice hitches. He looks up at Joe and his face is shadowed. "I could be more, Joe."
Joe pulls Nick in by the neck, wraps his arms around Nick's shoulders and hooks his chin over his shoulder, Nick stiff against him. "I know, Nick. You could." Nick presses his face into Joe's neck and he presses a kiss to the bone at Nick's shoulder.
"Hate him," Nick whispers, so quiet it's barely a sound. His clenched fists press desperately into Joe's sides and he can feel Nick almost vibrating.
"I know," Joe repeats softly, stroking a thumb against the fine hair at the base of Nick's skull, a little silky patch that escaped the gel. "That why you're going out? Joyriding and drinking with Henrie and the rail boys?"
Nick lifts his head. "I have to do something. Just-- something, or else I'll just..." He breaks off and bites his lip, rubbing a hand over his face. "I have to do something, Joe."
Nick is looking right at Joe now, looking at Joe like he needs him to have the answer and he knows Joe doesn't have it. And Joe wants to, he wants so badly to be able to tell Nick how to get out of here, how to have the life he wants. But he doesn't know any better than Nick. Joe doesn't know how to get out of this town and maybe a little secret part of him, a part of him he's trying his very best to ignore, is afraid of what will happen to him if Nick does get out of here.
"Nicky," he mouths, putting a hand to the hot skin of Nick's neck. Nick blinks rapidly and his mouth pulls down at the corners like he's swallowing something down. Joe pulls him back in to his chest, and this time Nick turns his head and lays it against Joe's shoulder like he used to do when he was a little kid. Joe brushes his lips against his forehead right below his hairline and again at the tip of his ear.
"I'm sorry, Nick. I'm sorry," Joe mumbles and Nick nods silently into his shoulder, slipping a hand around Joe's waist and Joe feels warmer again. Nick keeps his hand around Joe's waist as they walk up the last few steps.
Joe eases the door to Nick's room closed behind them and turns to find Nick already faceplanted on the bed. On top of all the pillows he stuffed under his covers, arranged to look like some incredibly lumpy, wide version of Nick. He looks down at his shirt.
"You got a grease stain on me." Nick doesn't say anything. "Nick, come on, move your pillows."
"No," Nick says, voice muffled.
Joe rolls his eyes and moves to the end of the bed, kneeling and starting to unlace Nick's Converse. Joe's thumb brushes against the sole of his foot as he's drawing off the sneaker, and Nick's whole leg twitches ticklishly. He lets out a startled little breath and Joe smiles. He kneels up on the bed next to Nick's legs and starts pulling and yanking at the pillows lodged under Nick's body.
"God- you're- so- heavy! You fat- fatty!" Joe grits out between tugs. Nick is not helping at all, not even rolling over. His eyes open wide when Joe gets his hands under Nick's belly and heaves, rolling him over onto his back. Panting now, Joe yanks the rest of the pillows out from under him and throws them on the floor, collapsing across Nick's stomach. Nick's hand comes down on his head, stroking gently through Joe's curls, his fingernails scratching lightly against Joe's scalp. It gives Joe goosebumps, makes the fine hair on his arms stand up.
He reaches under the edge of Nick's mattress, feeling around until his hand bumps in to the thin, hard edge of a record case. He pulls it out and peers at it in the lamplight. It's Chuck Berry.
"Which else have you got under here?" he asks, flipping the sleeve over in his hands.
Nick lifts his head for a moment to peer at him and then falls back with a heavy sigh, an arm over his eyes. "Jerry Lee Lewis. Big Joe Turner. Johnny Cash. Dave lent 'em to me." He shrugs tiredly. "Dad wouldn't like it. 'S race music."
Joe swings his legs around and sits up at the side of the bed, idly turning the record in his hands and looking around at Nick's room. It used to be his and Nick's room before Kevin got married. The walls still hold the framed baby portraits, the Mighty Mouse poster Joe put up when he was thirteen, Nick's baseball bat and Joe's catchers mitt lie against the wall by the window. Ever since Kevin left, it's been Joe and Nick, just the two of them together against their dad, against what feels like the world sometimes. If Nick is going to fight their dad, if he's going to get out of this town and this life... then Joe is going to be the one standing next to him. Not David Henrie or anyone else. Nick is his brother. Joe will do it with him.
He slides the record carefully back under the mattress, pushing it back until it's well-hidden. Then he crawls up the bed until he's hovering over Nick, hands planted on either side of Nick's head. Joe lifts Nick's arm from where it's been flung across his eyes. Nick looks up at him, a wordless question on his face.
Joe leans forward slowly, purposefully and presses their lips together. He holds himself there for a moment, not breathing, waiting for Nick to shove him away. But Nick doesn't. His breath escapes from his nose in hot little puffs against Joe's upper lip. Their mouths make a damp quiet sound when they separate and something unfurls low in Joe's stomach.
"What are you doing?" Nick whispers when Joe pulls back. His eyes are dark and close and blurred and his skin is warm against Joe's, and Joe can still feel the rough brush of Nick's chapped lips against his own.
Joe doesn't have the answer. He's confused and tired and he kind of hates his dad, but he loves his brother, he loves Nick...
"Something," Joe whispers back.
This time Nick leans in, arching away from the bed to reach Joe's mouth and Nick's lips part easily under Joe's, and what they're doing is bad, really bad, but it feels really good and Joe gets it now. He gets why Nick has been sneaking out, drinking, riding around in death trap junkers, because Joe feels more alive right now than he has in his whole life.
"Think this'll get us out of this junk town?" he pants against Nick's neck, his hands fumbling across Nick's chest and down over his ribs to grip at his waist.
Nick huffs a laugh. "Maybe chased by a pitchforked mob." His hands grip Joe's ass through his pajama pants and Joe grunts, startled. His knees slip on the comforter and he falls on top of Nick, their hipbones knocking together painfully. Joe can feel Nick pressed against his stomach, a hard heat pressed against his skin where his t-shirt rucked up. Joe feels his face flush red at the knowledge that that is his brother's dick, but Nick is already pulling him back in by his chin.
They kiss again and Joe feels it in his bones when their teeth clash, the nerve sparks rattling through him. He pushes his tongue past the ridge of Nick's teeth and Nick sucks on it in long pulses that make Joe's cock throb in his pants.
Nick tugs at the hem of Joe's shirt. "You wanna?" he mutters, pulling back just far enough to breathe the words, wet against Joe's lips.
"Yeah," Joe pants and wrestles the shirt off, tossing it forgotten at the foot of the bed as Nick yanks his own undershirt over his head. When Joe lowers himself back over Nick, they're skin to skin from chest to hip and Joe feels like he's burning up. He feels sweat start to prick at his temples. He looks down at Nick, and his mouth is hanging open a little and it's really red, redder than Joe has ever seen it, even when they used to eat cherrypopsicles in the summer. But maybe this is how Nick's mouth always looks when he's been kissing someone.
The thought makes Joe shove forward a little with his hips, seeking some kind of friction. Nick squirms a little underneath him, two bright slashes of color across his cheekbones.
"Here," he mutters and lets his legs fall open a bit, bending one knee so his foot is flat on the bed and their hips are suddenly aligned perfectly, like puzzle pieces slotting into place. Joe can feel the hard jut of Nick's cock right next to his, heat seeping through the thick denim of Nick's jeans. Nick rolls his hips tentatively, a seeking little push off the mattress and Joe groans deep in his chest, shoving down to meet him. He licks in to Nick's mouth again, drawing his tongue along the side of Nick's. Nick makes little muffled noises that get caught in the back of his throat. Joe pushes his hands into Nick's hair, needing something to grab on to to anchor him, but Nick's hair is slick and slippery with the oil he combed into it.
"Aw shit," Joe bites out, pressing his forehead against Nick's bare shoulder. "Nicky, I gotta- ah- you wanna jerk off?"
Nick nods fast, leaning up onto his elbows. "Here, lemme-" Joe says, fumbling with the buttons of Nick's jeans, but his fingers are slippery and he can't get a grip. "Jeez, your-- flipping hair oil, Nick!"
Nick bats his hand away, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his shallow breaths, and pops the button himself, shimmying the jeans off his narrow hips. Joe pulls off his pajama pants and falls back on the bed next to Nick, wrapping a hand loosely around himself and pumping once. The oil on his hands makes it wet right away, and Joe's eyes roll back in his head. He looks over at Nick as he thumbs at the head of his dick. Nick's jerking himself slow, he's got a steady pace going, chewing on his lower lip. As Joe watches, Nick looks over at him, down at where he's holding himself and back up at his face, and Nick's hips thrust up off the bed and he turns his head away, closing his eyes like it's too much.
"Wait, c'mere," Joe pants, rolling over and reaching for Nick. "I wanna--" He kisses Nick again, and it's so much better, easier. Their mouths are making all kinds of wet sounds and Joe's hand is making a slick noise against his dick and it all just ratchets the heady excitement, the coiled heat in his belly up higher. Their knuckles bump awkwardly, and Joe can't help but moan when he feels the head of Nick's cock catch and drag against his stomach, leaving a little trail of precome.
"Can I-" Nick starts and has to stop to swallow. Joe looks up. "Can I touch it?" he asks.
Joe nods wordlessly, his tongue dry in his mouth, and Nick pushes him lightly until he's lying back against the mattress. Nick just looks at him for a long moment, like he's inspecting Joe's erection, cataloguing the differences between them. He traces a finger down the long vein on the underside and Joe lets out a wavery breath, his stomach drawing in almost protectively. Joe grabs on to the sheets, crumpling them in his fists when Nick finally closes his fist around Joe's cock and starts to jerk him. Joe closes his eyes, but he can feel Nick watching him. He comes fast and sudden, taken by surprise. Nick seems surprised too, but he wipes his hand off on the sheet and flops down over Joe, thrusting against his hip. Joe pulls his eyes open to look and is almost startled at how pretty Nick looks. His curls are coming out of the ducktail, strands falling loose and sticking to his sweaty forehead. Joe brushes them back, smoothing them back into the slick hairdo. Nick turns his cheek into Joe's hand the tiniest bit.
Joe runs his hands down Nick's sides, bumping over the ridges of his ribs, and his whole body shivers under Joe's fingers. He skims his hands over Nick's ass, and Nick lets out a soft "unh" and thrusts harder when Joe drags a finger across the crease at the top of his thigh. Everywhere Joe touches, he's leaving little shiny streaks of oil. He brushes his hand across the cleft of Nick's ass and Nick presses his face into Joe's neck and grabs onto his shoulders and Joe pushes his slick fingers just in between and Nick makes a strangled sound and comes against Joe's hip, shaking.
Afterwards Joe looks over at Nick, who's half-asleep beside him, and groans.
"Nick," Joe says, pushing at Nick's shoulder. Nick frowns and shakes him off. "Nick. You gotta shower."
"What?" Nick mumbles sleepily, sounding offended at the idea. "No."
"Mom and Dad can't see your hair like that, man," Joe reminds him.
"'M sleeping," Nick slurs and Joe remembers that Nick is mostly drunk. He sighs.
"Alright, just-- c'mere." He hauls Nick up with an arm around his waist and half carries him to the bathroom, Nick protesting but not even fully waking up. Joe gets him to step into the shower and turns on the water. Nick jumps when the water hits him and gapes at Joe, his curls flattened against his skull, water dripping off his nose and chin.
"What're you doing?"
Joe runs a hand through his own hair, then reaches for the shampoo. "I'm just- I'm gonna do it for you. I'm gonna help you." He looks up from squeezing the shampoo into his palm, and Nick is staring at him like he's talking about something much more significant than shampoo. Maybe he is. Joe can't think about it right now.
He gestures for Nick to dip his head under the spray, and then massages the shampoo into his hair. Nick stands still for him, his head hanging forward, exposing the sharp knobs of his spine and the pale skin of his neck. Joe puts a hand to the small of Nick's back and guides him to turn around, his eyes squeezed tight shut, and tilts his head back into the spray. Joe runs his fingers through Nick's hair as the water sluices the suds out, making sure it all gets out. Nick tips his head to the side against the tile wall and puts a hand on Joe's shoulder, peering at him sleepily, dark circles under his eyes.
Joe looks back at him, the two of them naked and worn and exposed in the harsh light of their parent's bathroom. The light flickers and hums. Joe touches a hand to Nick's jaw.
"Let's get outta this town, huh, Nick?" Joe asks. "You and me."
Nick turns his head to meet Joe's eyes, still leaning against the cold tile wall of the shower, and smiles a little. A real smile.
"Yeah."