I’ve got no right to win, I’m just caught up all in the battles
Title: I’ve got no right to win, I’m just caught up all in the battles
Author: RaeLouise
Pairing: Joe/Nick
Rating: NC:17
Word count: 3330
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over Joe and Nick, and this most probably never took place. A work of fiction. The title & cut belongs to Slipknot.
Warnings: incest, breath control play/gagging, dom/sub, top!Nick, smut, Roaddogs angst!
Summary: Written for the first promt over at jonaskink. Joe just blinks, eyes brimming with a hot wash of saline, nostrils flared, desperate for oxygen. When he swallows all he can taste is Nicholas, the exertion of the game. He’s a little scared, locked as he is against the mattress, the makeshift gag between his lips, teeth, over his tongue, but his erection is not waning and it’s because he’s overcome with want that he attempts to arch up from the bed- not as an attempt to escape. Nick stretches his fingers so that he can knot one hand around both of Joe’s slim wrists, Joe barely struggling, and brings his now free hand down over Joe’s chest. His palm is a little calloused and the caress of it between Joe’s ribs, down towards his peppering of happy trail hair, draws a strangled keening from Joe’s throat, a rush of hot tears down over his cheeks.
During their journey back to the hotel, Nick’s face is thunder- eyes narrowed at nothing in particular, his sopping softball jersey between two tense fists. Joe is beside him, pressed close enough to feel the stuttering beat of his broken heart, but Nick seems barely aware of his brother’s arm against his own; his brother’s banal chatter; his brothers thumb tracking along the stiff stretch of his upper back, over the cotton of his fresh shirt. Joe seeks out the knots and soothes them, the pad of his thumb, the ball of his palm, but Nicholas is no closer to relaxing, even as they draw up outside their hotel. The promise of a luxurious second shower, a bed like a marshmallow, an acoustic even, fades in comparison to his grieving.
“You gonna…?” Kevin’s arm is around Danielle, pushed through the fall of her glossy hair. For him, their loss was like water off a duck’s back- preoccupied with his pretty girl, littering kisses against her elegant neck, but they all knew Nick was going to take some time.
Joe just smiles reassuringly at Kevin, bright as ever, bright as the sun that had darkened his bronze arms over the course of the game- “Yeah, Kev. Don’t worry, we’ll be awesome. C’mon Nick.” It’s only Joe who ever really knows what to do when it becomes apparent that Nick’s one more mistake away from a tidal wave of awkward tears.
Kevin slaps his palm against Nick’s shoulder as he and Joe head inside, bypassing a small squealing crowd of under sixteens, with the help of Big Rob, so that Joe can usher Nick into the elevator.
“I fucking… I fucking Hell,” The minute they’re through their room’s door, Nick hurls his treasured jersey at the wall with so much power that the sweaty cotton-blend slaps audibly against the cream walls. He almost follows through with his fist but Joe loops long fingers around his forearm, tugging him right back until they both come to sit heavily on the bed.
“Nick, dude… I know, I know, but just… You want a massage or something? Camilla says I’m getting better.” Joe spreads both hands beneath the nape of Nick’s neck, thumbs creeping towards the tender hollows above Nick’s collar bone.
“No,” Nick growls, shrugging Joe’s touch off roughly before he’s on his feet again. He’s as broad now as he is angry, tendons sharp over pulsing muscle. His hand forces through the tangles of his hair and the storm in his eyes is still raging, his cupid’s bow lips curling into something unexpectedly cruel- “You don’t fucking know Joe- you don’t even fucking know what you’re doing out on the field, let alone what the goddamn loss means! Why don’t you just go perfect your facial hair or something!”
Joe does his best to roll his eyes- it’s a punch to the gut, but he should know better than to take Nick seriously when he’s in this state. He throws up both hands, waving the white flag, and then reaches across to grab a half bottle of tropical juice from the bedside table, offering it to Nick- “It was a game man, for fucking charity. Look whatever… just.. Have a drink dude, I’m gonna go wash my hair.”
Nick looks as though he’s readying himself for another argument but Joe just pushes past him and heads into the bathroom and so, instead, he unscrews the lid and takes a long sip of the juice. It’s not his sugar levels affecting him but the drink does soothe the gravel in his throat, anyway. Frowning until it’s almost painful he continues to curse under his breath, knocking back another sour mouthful of warm juice before throwing the bottle against the wall too and pumping his fist with an indignant beast of a grunt.
“We failed Joe- failed, you know that right? Not even by a little, by one hell of a lot,” Nick bellows back over his shoulder, clawing and flexing his fingers before they rag through his hair again, tugging the roots from his scalp. He wipes a film of tacky sweat from his forehead and then heads into their bathroom, stomping like a toddler having a tantrum.
Joe’s not yet made it into the shower cubicle- though the rush of the warming water is audible- he’s perched on the marble counter top, phone in hand, wearing little else other than lime green briefs and a frown that’s even more morose than his little brother’s. He attempts a smile for Nick but Nick barely buys it. With a shake of his head, he moves to push between Joe’s thighs with an intent that emits a burn and reaches up to cup Joe‘s cheeks, strong thumbs perpendicular to Joe’s cheekbones. Beneath the touch, Joe loosens up like liquid, lays his phone down to his left.
“Can I kiss it better, Nicky?” He whispers, eyes gone hopefully wide. Like a bush baby.
Nick scrapes his grimy thumb nails against Joe’s skin with a short sharp nod, emitting another grunt before their lips meet. It’s a battle for all of three seconds until Joe submits, belly up, and Nick can take full control- tongue rough over Joe’s, lips ruthless as though they want to leave bruises. Joe moans, thighs spreading around Nick’s hips. He’s desperate for him until there are teeth. Then he shrieks, pulls back and shakes his head-
“Nick man, what the hell? You a vampire or something?”
Nick huffs impatiently, snorting through his nose, irritated- “Thought you wanted to kiss it better?”
Joe‘s shoulders slump a little- “I do, Nicholas. I hate seeing you so wound up.” His tongue slips out over his swollen lips, soothing them as he watches Nick warily.
“So let me fucking kiss you then!”
Joe backs up a little against the cool stretch of mirror behind him with a sigh that reaches right up from the Texan sized knot in his stomach. His gaze is unsure but as his fingers shakily comb through his hair his eyes slip from Nick down to his own crotch. The green fabric of his underwear is tenting. Betrayal. Nick sees it too and he smirks triumphantly-
“And let’s carry it on somewhere more comfortable Joe, yeah?”
Joe can’t exactly argue when Nick’s sweaty palm is roughly up against his half-on, when his little brother’s gaze has finally lightened- less of a storm, more of an explosion. He nods readily and slips from the counter, up against Nick for a split second until they’re rushing, tangled, back into their room and onto the bed. Joe below Nick, Nick’s hand back between his legs. When Nick’s palm rubs at him teasingly Joe clamps his thighs around Nick’s lower forearm, grinding with a whimper, and the gleam in Nick’s eyes sparks that little bit more. His muscles relax and his heart picks up it’s more eager pace.
Joe thumbs Nick’s dangling dog tag with a hint of a grin, “Love you, Nicky,” He whispers, rocking up and curling an arm around Nick’s stocky shoulder to steady himself. His lips open against Nick’s, looking for a languid kiss, but Nick barely responds and Joe sits back again after a second. His head tilts like a questioning pup.
“Stop breathing.” It’s a direct albeit unexpected command and Joe’s head is tilted still as he tries to read Nick’s expression- sombre, guarded and yet his lips are seductively full, his cheeks just barely blushed.
“Excuse me?” Joe murmurs, thumb working over the grubby metal of the dog tag again.
“I wanna try,” Nick sucks his lower lip into his mouth as he picks through words carefully. His knuckles brush over Joe’s cheek and when Joe nuzzles closer to the grazing of flesh against flesh Nick is struck by a lightening bolt of Captain of the game confidence, “Stay there.”
Joe settles against the pillows and watches his younger brother with delightfully naïve eyes. Nick’s pumped like he was pre-game, jittery but loving the extra energy coursing through his veins. He’s going to make use of it, he’s going to channel it somewhere- into Joe, Joe hopes- until he feels like he won. Nick kicks off his shoes as he seeks out something, cracking his knuckles and swinging an imaginary aluminium bat until his gaze falls on his crumpled Jersey. After a fist pump of victory Nick scoops it up, tossing it up and catching it once or twice, before he’s back on the bed.
“Uh?” Joe is straining against the fabric of his briefs but Nick’s still failed to explain.
“Mouth open, baby,” Nick strokes, with his thumb and forefinger, back and forth from Joe’s cheeks to the point of his chin, until Joe’s jaw drops and he can stuff the sweaty shirt between his lips.
Joe bites, spits, alarmed and displeased, his senses overwhelmed by his little brother‘s stale sweat, but just as he goes to tear the shirt free his younger brother’s hands find and pin down his wrists. Nick moves over him completely, burly thighs at either side of his hips, and flashes Joe a smirk Joe could only describe as shit eating. Were he able to speak.
“It’s called breath control, Joseph,” Nick murmurs, angling himself so that their erections meet. His hands hold Joe easily.
Joe just blinks, eyes brimming with a hot wash of saline, nostrils flared, desperate for oxygen. When he swallows all he can taste is Nicholas, the exertion of the game- musky. He’s a little scared, locked as he is against the mattress, the makeshift gag between his lips, teeth, over his tongue, but his erection is not waning and it’s because he’s overcome with want that he attempts to arch up from the bed- not as an attempt to escape. Nick stretches his fingers so that he can knot one hand around both of Joe’s slim wrists, Joe barely struggling, and brings his now free hand down over Joe’s chest. His palm is a little calloused and the caress of it between Joe’s ribs, down towards his peppering of happy trail hair, draws a strangled keening from Joe’s throat, a rush of hot tears down over his cheeks.
Nick settles fully against Joe, rutting leisurely up against his brother’s hips as he momentarily contents himself with working his lips over Joe’s wet cheek. He kisses and laps at the tears, tongue flat against the sharp tang of fearful salt and the warm flush of Joe’s skin. Beneath him his brother trembles, anticipation and anxiety tingling right to the very tips of his fingers- up above him, his wrists still stuck fast. There’s a serpent tight around his internal organs, so afraid of the unexplained, but his pulse is stuttering, breaking down and leaving him open wide. So vulnerable.
Still tasting Joe’s tears, Nick shifts to nuzzle into the tender stretch of flesh below Joe’s ear, giving his wrists a little squeeze- “If you trust me Joseph, I’ll know that you really love me.”
Joe can’t answer, gagged and writhing in awkward fits, but his eyes shine. His heart continues to stutter, as wild as Nick’s intent. Nick’s hand comes up over Joe’s nose and he curls the tip of his tongue right over the shell of Joe‘s ears. He pinches and Joe’s lungs shriek in alarm. He gasps against the stifling heat of Nick’s jersey, heels hammering against the mattress, but soon comes to realise that wasting oxygen on a fight will only worsen how weak he is. The world spins and he squeezes his eyes shut but the flat white glow of sunlight through his paper thin eyelids burns and he needs to shove the heel of his palm right into the pain. Nick’s still got his wrists within his own thick fingers though, like a cuff.
“Sssh,” Nick murmurs as though Joe is a child- “Sssh,” He thumb strokes up towards Joe’s, more tender than Joe expects- “Let yourself love it, Joseph.”
Joe can hear Nick’s voice so much more perfectly when his brother takes such control- the rough underbelly of the soft saccharine way he whispers his big brother’s full name, the catch in the very back of his throat. That’s what urges him to calm down. Nick is a heavy comfort over him, his lips something Joe knows as they dance against Joe’s jaw line. Joe can’t moan and so he fades, sinks deep into the bed as the room goes pale. It seems like in no time at all his before his brother has reached the fluorescent green waistband of his tight briefs.
Everything spins, swims into a blur as Nick snaps the elastic of the briefs against Joe’s hips with his teeth. The sudden sting makes Joe want to whimper but all he can do is blink furiously and battle with the bittersweet sensation of suffocation. He wishes that he could entwine his fingers in Nick‘s thick‘s curls but there‘s a burn in his stretched arms that reminds him that that‘s not possible. There’s a weight, unrelenting, atop his heaving chest, something he can’t quite fathom building and tightening within him as Nick frees his erection, blows against the solid flesh. Joe’s leaked pre-come already, the scarlet head of his cock glistening with it. Inviting.
“Good boy.”
With one smug smirk, the smirk of a winner, Nick dips down and swallows his big brother whole. The tip of Joe’s cock hits the very back of his convulsing throat and simultaneously, the boys are taken by each other and they shudder. Joe is more desperate than he’s ever been, so dizzy he’s sure he’s barely moments away from fainting. But he needs to stay alert- needs to feel Nick suckling and stroking against his throbbing veins, thick beneath Joe’s taught flesh. Nick’s hungry for the salt, hungry for the burn as Joe spasms and jumps from to the bed with the world whirling away from beneath the pained arch of his spine. Nick growls agitatedly, knowing that he can‘t hold Joe down- his right hand still pinching his nostrils tight. Joe feels so constricted, as though Nick’s strangling him. He doesn’t have much of a thrust left in him.
Despite being younger, Nick is stronger. His limbs are thick with ropes of buzzing muscle and he barely has to strain to keep Joe down, but he feels like he’s achieved something so much more than a charity softball match when he glances up from Joe’s stomach- nose deep in his pubic hair- to catch the way Joe’s brown eyes roll back hopelessly in his head. Joe is sickeningly light headed, his thoughts too faint for him to realise, but he can still recognise the scorch of Nick‘s enveloping lips, the teasing tingling of the techniques he shouldn’t know at sixteen. Joe is usually delightfully vocal about his adoration for Nick’s sweet mouth, his strength, but he’s surprisingly thankful that he’s feeling rather than screaming for once. Nick is as intensely determined with his mouth around Joe, his big brother braced towards orgasm, as he is out on the field, before an audience.
Joe’s tiring heart beats like the flapping wings of a trapped bird, flustered, as his vision slides further from him and he dangles from his last stretching thread of consciousness. His last scrap of cool oxygen stills in his lungs and he goes slack, his numbness making him feel as though he’s floating. Even Nick, cheeks concave, lips tight and thin around his throbbing length, is barely an anchor. He’s almost sure he’s going to disappear completely, so red he’s almost plum with strain- the dangerous darkness patchy on his cheeks, but then one last burst of life explodes with him and he chokes as he grasps for it. He bucks high as the heavens and his release spills hard from him and into Nick, slick over his tongue, thick nearing the back of his throat.
As Nick sucks hungrily, dragging all that is left of Joe back in his throat, he finally frees Joe’s nose, rags his jersey suddenly from Joe’s mouth. Joe struggles with the surprise of the overwhelming rush of air. He gasps, chokes and writhes, eyes closed tight as he drinks in oxygen- thirsty for it like a drowning man but breathing seems almost alien. His ears pop and his vision sharpens as he slams into a brick wall of clarity. When he’s inhaled all that he can, legs like jelly, internal organs still battling, he whimpers weakly. It’s all he has, though he wishes for words. He’s unable to bring his aching arms down even when Nick’s unfurled his fingers [leaving bruises were they lay].
Nick clambers from the bed, eyes never leaving the deep flushing of Joe’s cheeks, his lashes thick with tears, his exhaustion, to yank off his own indigo jeans and black boxers. Joe mistakenly believes that he’s free. He almost relaxes and rubs a quivering hand over his tense chest as he nestles into the sticky sheets, still so high and weightless. Nick only has to ghost his palm over his own erection, stiff against his belly, and his knees buckle.
“Joe,” Nick hisses, heavy with his own lust- eyes lidded, voice a little uneven but still authoritative- “Joe, roll over.”
It requires more energy than he can spare, but Joe does as he’s told. His body protests but for Nick he flips over to be greeted with the sight of his brothers fist wrapped around his own erection. Nick possesses enough control to keep it still despite his length twitching against his palm and he stares down at Joe, faint crinkles in the corners of his sloe eyes, a barely there grin on his plush lips, giving away his feelings of affection.
Joe knows what’s expected of him and so his weary hand replaces Nick’s immediately, obediently. As his fingers flex he’s rewarded with a relieved little murmur, as he works his palm over the solid shaft, swipes his tongue over the beads of pre-come at the tip, Nick moans with abandon and Joe let’s his dry lips crack as he breaks into a bright smile. More ‘good boy’s follow Nick’s tumbling moans and Joe accepts them as he suckles softly, sleepy eyed, at the taste of his brother. Salt and supremacy. Nick strokes lovingly through Joe’s hair, ruffling the curls at the roots and praising him even more as Joe slips down from his cock to caress his tightening balls with his tongue, pushing towards his brother’s puckered entrance.
“Fucking… Joseph… shit, so so good,” Nick babbles, “My Joseph, making it better.”
Joe moans for Nicholas, from between his sturdy thighs, loud enough to let him know that he’s loving this, too. Joe adores there being there for his Nicholas, submitting totally to relieve his stress. Joe is Nick’s number one out on the soft ball pitch, but in life he's his number two, barely ever more than a stride behind his serious minded little brother; ready to go belly up for him whenever Nick needs a beak from his earth shattering path to Presidency.
“Sit back,” Nick grunts, voice strained, his whole body going taught, and Joe does so immediately- warm gaze up towards Nick as he moves away from him, “Good boy, now, now,” Nick tugs himself a few more times, pretty feebly, before his hand in Joe’s hair guides him a little closer, and he lets his release go so that it splatters in strings over Joe’s pretty little face- eagerly parted lips, closed eyes, red cheeks glistening with sweat rivulets and fresh pearls. A spray of champagne.
Joe eyes open slowly and twinkle as he tastes the come on his lips. Nick’s gaze follows Joe’s tongue’s path along the sticky mess and Joe sees that the rainstorm’s in his eyes has been washed away.
“There’s always tomorrow’s game, Captain,” Joe grins, reaching out for Nick, “And that showers still running too.”
“The showers sounds awesome, baby- and tomorrow should go awesomely if we work on your swing,” Nick nods, finally leaning in for Joe’s longed for lazy celebration kiss. There’s still that tang of sweat and dust and a cheering crowd that Nick can now appreciate.
Author: RaeLouise
Pairing: Joe/Nick
Rating: NC:17
Word count: 3330
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over Joe and Nick, and this most probably never took place. A work of fiction. The title & cut belongs to Slipknot.
Warnings: incest, breath control play/gagging, dom/sub, top!Nick, smut, Roaddogs angst!
Summary: Written for the first promt over at jonaskink. Joe just blinks, eyes brimming with a hot wash of saline, nostrils flared, desperate for oxygen. When he swallows all he can taste is Nicholas, the exertion of the game. He’s a little scared, locked as he is against the mattress, the makeshift gag between his lips, teeth, over his tongue, but his erection is not waning and it’s because he’s overcome with want that he attempts to arch up from the bed- not as an attempt to escape. Nick stretches his fingers so that he can knot one hand around both of Joe’s slim wrists, Joe barely struggling, and brings his now free hand down over Joe’s chest. His palm is a little calloused and the caress of it between Joe’s ribs, down towards his peppering of happy trail hair, draws a strangled keening from Joe’s throat, a rush of hot tears down over his cheeks.
During their journey back to the hotel, Nick’s face is thunder- eyes narrowed at nothing in particular, his sopping softball jersey between two tense fists. Joe is beside him, pressed close enough to feel the stuttering beat of his broken heart, but Nick seems barely aware of his brother’s arm against his own; his brother’s banal chatter; his brothers thumb tracking along the stiff stretch of his upper back, over the cotton of his fresh shirt. Joe seeks out the knots and soothes them, the pad of his thumb, the ball of his palm, but Nicholas is no closer to relaxing, even as they draw up outside their hotel. The promise of a luxurious second shower, a bed like a marshmallow, an acoustic even, fades in comparison to his grieving.
“You gonna…?” Kevin’s arm is around Danielle, pushed through the fall of her glossy hair. For him, their loss was like water off a duck’s back- preoccupied with his pretty girl, littering kisses against her elegant neck, but they all knew Nick was going to take some time.
Joe just smiles reassuringly at Kevin, bright as ever, bright as the sun that had darkened his bronze arms over the course of the game- “Yeah, Kev. Don’t worry, we’ll be awesome. C’mon Nick.” It’s only Joe who ever really knows what to do when it becomes apparent that Nick’s one more mistake away from a tidal wave of awkward tears.
Kevin slaps his palm against Nick’s shoulder as he and Joe head inside, bypassing a small squealing crowd of under sixteens, with the help of Big Rob, so that Joe can usher Nick into the elevator.
“I fucking… I fucking Hell,” The minute they’re through their room’s door, Nick hurls his treasured jersey at the wall with so much power that the sweaty cotton-blend slaps audibly against the cream walls. He almost follows through with his fist but Joe loops long fingers around his forearm, tugging him right back until they both come to sit heavily on the bed.
“Nick, dude… I know, I know, but just… You want a massage or something? Camilla says I’m getting better.” Joe spreads both hands beneath the nape of Nick’s neck, thumbs creeping towards the tender hollows above Nick’s collar bone.
“No,” Nick growls, shrugging Joe’s touch off roughly before he’s on his feet again. He’s as broad now as he is angry, tendons sharp over pulsing muscle. His hand forces through the tangles of his hair and the storm in his eyes is still raging, his cupid’s bow lips curling into something unexpectedly cruel- “You don’t fucking know Joe- you don’t even fucking know what you’re doing out on the field, let alone what the goddamn loss means! Why don’t you just go perfect your facial hair or something!”
Joe does his best to roll his eyes- it’s a punch to the gut, but he should know better than to take Nick seriously when he’s in this state. He throws up both hands, waving the white flag, and then reaches across to grab a half bottle of tropical juice from the bedside table, offering it to Nick- “It was a game man, for fucking charity. Look whatever… just.. Have a drink dude, I’m gonna go wash my hair.”
Nick looks as though he’s readying himself for another argument but Joe just pushes past him and heads into the bathroom and so, instead, he unscrews the lid and takes a long sip of the juice. It’s not his sugar levels affecting him but the drink does soothe the gravel in his throat, anyway. Frowning until it’s almost painful he continues to curse under his breath, knocking back another sour mouthful of warm juice before throwing the bottle against the wall too and pumping his fist with an indignant beast of a grunt.
“We failed Joe- failed, you know that right? Not even by a little, by one hell of a lot,” Nick bellows back over his shoulder, clawing and flexing his fingers before they rag through his hair again, tugging the roots from his scalp. He wipes a film of tacky sweat from his forehead and then heads into their bathroom, stomping like a toddler having a tantrum.
Joe’s not yet made it into the shower cubicle- though the rush of the warming water is audible- he’s perched on the marble counter top, phone in hand, wearing little else other than lime green briefs and a frown that’s even more morose than his little brother’s. He attempts a smile for Nick but Nick barely buys it. With a shake of his head, he moves to push between Joe’s thighs with an intent that emits a burn and reaches up to cup Joe‘s cheeks, strong thumbs perpendicular to Joe’s cheekbones. Beneath the touch, Joe loosens up like liquid, lays his phone down to his left.
“Can I kiss it better, Nicky?” He whispers, eyes gone hopefully wide. Like a bush baby.
Nick scrapes his grimy thumb nails against Joe’s skin with a short sharp nod, emitting another grunt before their lips meet. It’s a battle for all of three seconds until Joe submits, belly up, and Nick can take full control- tongue rough over Joe’s, lips ruthless as though they want to leave bruises. Joe moans, thighs spreading around Nick’s hips. He’s desperate for him until there are teeth. Then he shrieks, pulls back and shakes his head-
“Nick man, what the hell? You a vampire or something?”
Nick huffs impatiently, snorting through his nose, irritated- “Thought you wanted to kiss it better?”
Joe‘s shoulders slump a little- “I do, Nicholas. I hate seeing you so wound up.” His tongue slips out over his swollen lips, soothing them as he watches Nick warily.
“So let me fucking kiss you then!”
Joe backs up a little against the cool stretch of mirror behind him with a sigh that reaches right up from the Texan sized knot in his stomach. His gaze is unsure but as his fingers shakily comb through his hair his eyes slip from Nick down to his own crotch. The green fabric of his underwear is tenting. Betrayal. Nick sees it too and he smirks triumphantly-
“And let’s carry it on somewhere more comfortable Joe, yeah?”
Joe can’t exactly argue when Nick’s sweaty palm is roughly up against his half-on, when his little brother’s gaze has finally lightened- less of a storm, more of an explosion. He nods readily and slips from the counter, up against Nick for a split second until they’re rushing, tangled, back into their room and onto the bed. Joe below Nick, Nick’s hand back between his legs. When Nick’s palm rubs at him teasingly Joe clamps his thighs around Nick’s lower forearm, grinding with a whimper, and the gleam in Nick’s eyes sparks that little bit more. His muscles relax and his heart picks up it’s more eager pace.
Joe thumbs Nick’s dangling dog tag with a hint of a grin, “Love you, Nicky,” He whispers, rocking up and curling an arm around Nick’s stocky shoulder to steady himself. His lips open against Nick’s, looking for a languid kiss, but Nick barely responds and Joe sits back again after a second. His head tilts like a questioning pup.
“Stop breathing.” It’s a direct albeit unexpected command and Joe’s head is tilted still as he tries to read Nick’s expression- sombre, guarded and yet his lips are seductively full, his cheeks just barely blushed.
“Excuse me?” Joe murmurs, thumb working over the grubby metal of the dog tag again.
“I wanna try,” Nick sucks his lower lip into his mouth as he picks through words carefully. His knuckles brush over Joe’s cheek and when Joe nuzzles closer to the grazing of flesh against flesh Nick is struck by a lightening bolt of Captain of the game confidence, “Stay there.”
Joe settles against the pillows and watches his younger brother with delightfully naïve eyes. Nick’s pumped like he was pre-game, jittery but loving the extra energy coursing through his veins. He’s going to make use of it, he’s going to channel it somewhere- into Joe, Joe hopes- until he feels like he won. Nick kicks off his shoes as he seeks out something, cracking his knuckles and swinging an imaginary aluminium bat until his gaze falls on his crumpled Jersey. After a fist pump of victory Nick scoops it up, tossing it up and catching it once or twice, before he’s back on the bed.
“Uh?” Joe is straining against the fabric of his briefs but Nick’s still failed to explain.
“Mouth open, baby,” Nick strokes, with his thumb and forefinger, back and forth from Joe’s cheeks to the point of his chin, until Joe’s jaw drops and he can stuff the sweaty shirt between his lips.
Joe bites, spits, alarmed and displeased, his senses overwhelmed by his little brother‘s stale sweat, but just as he goes to tear the shirt free his younger brother’s hands find and pin down his wrists. Nick moves over him completely, burly thighs at either side of his hips, and flashes Joe a smirk Joe could only describe as shit eating. Were he able to speak.
“It’s called breath control, Joseph,” Nick murmurs, angling himself so that their erections meet. His hands hold Joe easily.
Joe just blinks, eyes brimming with a hot wash of saline, nostrils flared, desperate for oxygen. When he swallows all he can taste is Nicholas, the exertion of the game- musky. He’s a little scared, locked as he is against the mattress, the makeshift gag between his lips, teeth, over his tongue, but his erection is not waning and it’s because he’s overcome with want that he attempts to arch up from the bed- not as an attempt to escape. Nick stretches his fingers so that he can knot one hand around both of Joe’s slim wrists, Joe barely struggling, and brings his now free hand down over Joe’s chest. His palm is a little calloused and the caress of it between Joe’s ribs, down towards his peppering of happy trail hair, draws a strangled keening from Joe’s throat, a rush of hot tears down over his cheeks.
Nick settles fully against Joe, rutting leisurely up against his brother’s hips as he momentarily contents himself with working his lips over Joe’s wet cheek. He kisses and laps at the tears, tongue flat against the sharp tang of fearful salt and the warm flush of Joe’s skin. Beneath him his brother trembles, anticipation and anxiety tingling right to the very tips of his fingers- up above him, his wrists still stuck fast. There’s a serpent tight around his internal organs, so afraid of the unexplained, but his pulse is stuttering, breaking down and leaving him open wide. So vulnerable.
Still tasting Joe’s tears, Nick shifts to nuzzle into the tender stretch of flesh below Joe’s ear, giving his wrists a little squeeze- “If you trust me Joseph, I’ll know that you really love me.”
Joe can’t answer, gagged and writhing in awkward fits, but his eyes shine. His heart continues to stutter, as wild as Nick’s intent. Nick’s hand comes up over Joe’s nose and he curls the tip of his tongue right over the shell of Joe‘s ears. He pinches and Joe’s lungs shriek in alarm. He gasps against the stifling heat of Nick’s jersey, heels hammering against the mattress, but soon comes to realise that wasting oxygen on a fight will only worsen how weak he is. The world spins and he squeezes his eyes shut but the flat white glow of sunlight through his paper thin eyelids burns and he needs to shove the heel of his palm right into the pain. Nick’s still got his wrists within his own thick fingers though, like a cuff.
“Sssh,” Nick murmurs as though Joe is a child- “Sssh,” He thumb strokes up towards Joe’s, more tender than Joe expects- “Let yourself love it, Joseph.”
Joe can hear Nick’s voice so much more perfectly when his brother takes such control- the rough underbelly of the soft saccharine way he whispers his big brother’s full name, the catch in the very back of his throat. That’s what urges him to calm down. Nick is a heavy comfort over him, his lips something Joe knows as they dance against Joe’s jaw line. Joe can’t moan and so he fades, sinks deep into the bed as the room goes pale. It seems like in no time at all his before his brother has reached the fluorescent green waistband of his tight briefs.
Everything spins, swims into a blur as Nick snaps the elastic of the briefs against Joe’s hips with his teeth. The sudden sting makes Joe want to whimper but all he can do is blink furiously and battle with the bittersweet sensation of suffocation. He wishes that he could entwine his fingers in Nick‘s thick‘s curls but there‘s a burn in his stretched arms that reminds him that that‘s not possible. There’s a weight, unrelenting, atop his heaving chest, something he can’t quite fathom building and tightening within him as Nick frees his erection, blows against the solid flesh. Joe’s leaked pre-come already, the scarlet head of his cock glistening with it. Inviting.
“Good boy.”
With one smug smirk, the smirk of a winner, Nick dips down and swallows his big brother whole. The tip of Joe’s cock hits the very back of his convulsing throat and simultaneously, the boys are taken by each other and they shudder. Joe is more desperate than he’s ever been, so dizzy he’s sure he’s barely moments away from fainting. But he needs to stay alert- needs to feel Nick suckling and stroking against his throbbing veins, thick beneath Joe’s taught flesh. Nick’s hungry for the salt, hungry for the burn as Joe spasms and jumps from to the bed with the world whirling away from beneath the pained arch of his spine. Nick growls agitatedly, knowing that he can‘t hold Joe down- his right hand still pinching his nostrils tight. Joe feels so constricted, as though Nick’s strangling him. He doesn’t have much of a thrust left in him.
Despite being younger, Nick is stronger. His limbs are thick with ropes of buzzing muscle and he barely has to strain to keep Joe down, but he feels like he’s achieved something so much more than a charity softball match when he glances up from Joe’s stomach- nose deep in his pubic hair- to catch the way Joe’s brown eyes roll back hopelessly in his head. Joe is sickeningly light headed, his thoughts too faint for him to realise, but he can still recognise the scorch of Nick‘s enveloping lips, the teasing tingling of the techniques he shouldn’t know at sixteen. Joe is usually delightfully vocal about his adoration for Nick’s sweet mouth, his strength, but he’s surprisingly thankful that he’s feeling rather than screaming for once. Nick is as intensely determined with his mouth around Joe, his big brother braced towards orgasm, as he is out on the field, before an audience.
Joe’s tiring heart beats like the flapping wings of a trapped bird, flustered, as his vision slides further from him and he dangles from his last stretching thread of consciousness. His last scrap of cool oxygen stills in his lungs and he goes slack, his numbness making him feel as though he’s floating. Even Nick, cheeks concave, lips tight and thin around his throbbing length, is barely an anchor. He’s almost sure he’s going to disappear completely, so red he’s almost plum with strain- the dangerous darkness patchy on his cheeks, but then one last burst of life explodes with him and he chokes as he grasps for it. He bucks high as the heavens and his release spills hard from him and into Nick, slick over his tongue, thick nearing the back of his throat.
As Nick sucks hungrily, dragging all that is left of Joe back in his throat, he finally frees Joe’s nose, rags his jersey suddenly from Joe’s mouth. Joe struggles with the surprise of the overwhelming rush of air. He gasps, chokes and writhes, eyes closed tight as he drinks in oxygen- thirsty for it like a drowning man but breathing seems almost alien. His ears pop and his vision sharpens as he slams into a brick wall of clarity. When he’s inhaled all that he can, legs like jelly, internal organs still battling, he whimpers weakly. It’s all he has, though he wishes for words. He’s unable to bring his aching arms down even when Nick’s unfurled his fingers [leaving bruises were they lay].
Nick clambers from the bed, eyes never leaving the deep flushing of Joe’s cheeks, his lashes thick with tears, his exhaustion, to yank off his own indigo jeans and black boxers. Joe mistakenly believes that he’s free. He almost relaxes and rubs a quivering hand over his tense chest as he nestles into the sticky sheets, still so high and weightless. Nick only has to ghost his palm over his own erection, stiff against his belly, and his knees buckle.
“Joe,” Nick hisses, heavy with his own lust- eyes lidded, voice a little uneven but still authoritative- “Joe, roll over.”
It requires more energy than he can spare, but Joe does as he’s told. His body protests but for Nick he flips over to be greeted with the sight of his brothers fist wrapped around his own erection. Nick possesses enough control to keep it still despite his length twitching against his palm and he stares down at Joe, faint crinkles in the corners of his sloe eyes, a barely there grin on his plush lips, giving away his feelings of affection.
Joe knows what’s expected of him and so his weary hand replaces Nick’s immediately, obediently. As his fingers flex he’s rewarded with a relieved little murmur, as he works his palm over the solid shaft, swipes his tongue over the beads of pre-come at the tip, Nick moans with abandon and Joe let’s his dry lips crack as he breaks into a bright smile. More ‘good boy’s follow Nick’s tumbling moans and Joe accepts them as he suckles softly, sleepy eyed, at the taste of his brother. Salt and supremacy. Nick strokes lovingly through Joe’s hair, ruffling the curls at the roots and praising him even more as Joe slips down from his cock to caress his tightening balls with his tongue, pushing towards his brother’s puckered entrance.
“Fucking… Joseph… shit, so so good,” Nick babbles, “My Joseph, making it better.”
Joe moans for Nicholas, from between his sturdy thighs, loud enough to let him know that he’s loving this, too. Joe adores there being there for his Nicholas, submitting totally to relieve his stress. Joe is Nick’s number one out on the soft ball pitch, but in life he's his number two, barely ever more than a stride behind his serious minded little brother; ready to go belly up for him whenever Nick needs a beak from his earth shattering path to Presidency.
“Sit back,” Nick grunts, voice strained, his whole body going taught, and Joe does so immediately- warm gaze up towards Nick as he moves away from him, “Good boy, now, now,” Nick tugs himself a few more times, pretty feebly, before his hand in Joe’s hair guides him a little closer, and he lets his release go so that it splatters in strings over Joe’s pretty little face- eagerly parted lips, closed eyes, red cheeks glistening with sweat rivulets and fresh pearls. A spray of champagne.
Joe eyes open slowly and twinkle as he tastes the come on his lips. Nick’s gaze follows Joe’s tongue’s path along the sticky mess and Joe sees that the rainstorm’s in his eyes has been washed away.
“There’s always tomorrow’s game, Captain,” Joe grins, reaching out for Nick, “And that showers still running too.”
“The showers sounds awesome, baby- and tomorrow should go awesomely if we work on your swing,” Nick nods, finally leaning in for Joe’s longed for lazy celebration kiss. There’s still that tang of sweat and dust and a cheering crowd that Nick can now appreciate.