Cover Up

“Hey, can you grab that lip gloss over there?”

You look up from the magazine that’s in your hands and nod.

Jogging over to the open tote of makeup, you pull out a tube of clear lip gloss and toss it to Mildred, the artist who asked for it.

“Thanks, hon.”

You put on a smile, hiding away every ounce of boredom you feel.

You hate this job. Can you even call it a job? You’re a makeup artist’s assistant.

Okay, so it’s not a real job.

You took it with the full intention to learn more about makeup. All the colors fascinate you. You aspire to be a makeup artist.

But this? Definitely not what was on your mind. You’re a makeup artist’s bitch.

Fantastic.

“You know who our client is today?”

“No,” you reply absentmindedly, flipping a page in the magazine.

“Those Disney kids,” she huffs, looking in the overly-lit mirror and adjusting her eyeliner.

“Which one?” you scoff, skimming over gossip columns.

“Those Jones kids,” she laughs, her haughty laugh that could peel paint.

You think about it and recognize that there’s no ‘Disney band’ with the name Jones.

Then, the world stops. Realization sinks in and you slowly lower the magazine.

“Y-You mean the Jonas Brothers?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, looking at you in the corner of her eye. “You know ‘em?”

Yes, you want to squeal, I love them!

Refraining yourself, you give a semi-calm, “Uh, yeah. I think they’re alright.”

“Well get ready, toots—” You honestly hate when she calls you that. “—we’ve gotta be at the arena in two hours.”

Two hours? Holy shit. You’ve got to change your clothes.

—

An entire hour passed before you were remotely content with what you had on.

Shrugging it off, you walked out of your house and drove to the venue.

Forcing yourself not to listen to any of their CDs, you settled for the radio.

Excitement was beginning to take its toll and you swore that your heart was racing as you felt the boys’ arrival draw nearer and nearer.

Parking in your designated space, you spot a chaotic round of tour buses a few hundred yards away and squeal to yourself.

It’s them.

Walking backstage, you set your belongings down in what’s designated as the makeup room and look for Mildred.

You walk down the hallway, your heels clicking against the tiles.

As you turn the corner, everything becomes a blur when you crash into something and fall flat on your ass.

“Ow,” you groan, rubbing your backside and looking up, the blurry vision annoying you.

“Sorry,” says a voice, making you spin around frantically.

“Who? What? Huh?”

“Oh,” the voice laughs, “let me help you up.”

Grabbing one of the five hands in front of you—and choosing correctly, much to your surprise—the owner of the voice helps you to your feet.

Your sight clears and you look around, your eyes stopping at someone who looks eerily familiar.

“Wait!” you say, your brow furrowing. “Aren’t you Joe Jonas?!”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Sorry for making you fall.”

“No, I appreciate it!” you grin, mentally kicking yourself moments later. “I meant, I appreciate you helping me up.”

“It’s the least I could do, since I caused the fall. Is there any damage that’s been done?”

“Nope. I may have broken my ass, though,” you wince, rubbing a sore part of your lower back.

Joe laughs at you, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

“Thanks. So if you don’t mind my stalker moment, where are you headed?”

“Off to see the makeup artist,” he shrugs, pointing in the direction you just came from.

“You do makeup before hair?” you ask, pointing at his unsettled waves.

“Yeah. I sweat when I get makeup done,” he blushes, “and sweat makes me hair curl all over again. So, to conserve energy, I do makeup first.”

“Smart.”

“I know, right?”

“Well, I’m the assistant to the makeup artist,” you introduce yourself, Joe smiling at your name.

“Cute name,” he says.

“Thanks,” you roll your eyes, not knowing—or caring, for that matter—if he’s telling the truth.

“Well, why don’t you come with me, then? I’m sure one or both of my brothers is in there already.”

“Okay,” you say, again hiding the blush on your cheeks as he slings his arm comfortably over your shoulders.

You’re about to meet the Jonas Brothers. But unlike other girls, you’re able to maintain your composure.



“H-H-Hi, Nick,” you greet upon entering the makeup room.

Okay, so maybe you’re just a little excited to meet him.

You introduce yourself, feeling as light as air when he shakes your hand.

You notice a twinkle in his eye and can’t really understand why it’s there.

“We’re going to do Nick, first,” Mildred says, fishing through her makeup kits.

Yes, please, you want to say.

“Okay,” you reply instead, “what do you need me to do?”

“I figure as my assistant, I’ll let you do his makeup for me.”

“W-What?” you stutter.

“You’ve been my assistant for months now, so I think it’s time for you to get hands-on experience. I’ll be right here, anyway.”

She’s insane. But, he’s Nick Jonas. That trumps all.

“I’m in,” you smile, grabbing the powder she’s forcing in your direction. “If that’s okay with Nick, that is.”

Nick looks at you with a smile on his face.

“I’m good if you’re good.”

Nodding in response, you gesture for him to take a seat on the stool a few feet away.

He sets his feet on the rails of the stool and lets you stand between his legs.

His breath is tickling your nose, but you think of other things that will distract you.

Touching his face with the powder pad, you brush until the color of his face is even.

“S-Stage makeup is a bitch, huh?” you laugh nervously, your face paling as you realize what you just said.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “it is, actually. But it’s something you’ve gotta do.”

His smile calms you down and you continue with the makeup.

A nervous hour later, his makeup is complete.

“There,” you breathe, content with what you’ve done.

“Cool,” he replies, looking in the mirror.

In the past hour, you’ve both shared comfortable silences and fleeting glances.

“I can take care of it from here,” Mildred offered, seeing the trance-like expression on your face as you carried on a conversation with Nick.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You did good, toots.”

Even on cloud nine, you hate that she called you that.

“Thanks, Mills.”

Nick takes your hand, much to your surprise, and leads you outside.

Taking you to the grassy area of the field behind the venue, he sits down on a randomly placed bench.

You look around, letting the wind play with your hair.

The silence is soothing until minutes have passed and you find the moment becoming awkward.

“It’s such a nice day,” Nick finally says, making you jump. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you anything.”

“S-Scared? Psh, no.”

“Okay,” he laughs. “So what do you like to do around here?”

“Well, there’s shopping, reading, going on the internet, writing stuff; just the normal things.”

“Cool. Am I… am I boring you right now?”

“No, actually,” you reply with an honest smile. “It’s refreshing to actually have a conversation with somebody. All summer, I’ve been working with Mills and, contrary to popular belief, she’s not the most stimulating character to talk to.”

“I can imagine.”

Nick shifts a little in his seat and looks at you, his eyes squinted in reaction to the sunlight beaming down.

“So, you want to watch a movie?”

“A movie? Me? Don’t you have to prepare for the concert?”

“Not necessarily. All the sound checking and stuff like that isn’t for another, like, two hours. We just get dressed and everything for interviews and stuff. Which coincidentally, we don’t have any of.”

“So, you’re free?”

“Yes, I am. How about you?”

You think about it.

You’ve spent a considerable amount of time with him and looked past the fact that he’s Nick Jonas.

He’s a sweet, kind, adorable boy and you like him. Damn, his fame.

“Okay. I’d love to.”

Smiling a smile bigger than any you’ve seen all day, he gets up and takes your hand, leading you to the bus he shares with his family.

“This is huge!” you say in reaction to the enormous bus. “It’s, like, as huge as my school.”

“Doubtful,” he chuckles, “but alright then.”

Walking through the relatively narrow aisle between the bunks, you’re led to the back of the bus: the lounge.

It’s surprisingly clean, considering the fact that four boys share the space.

“Sit,” Nick says, gesturing for you to take a seat on the couch.

He goes to the shelf and takes out a comedy, popping the DVD into the player.

Sitting next to you, he realizes how close he is and immediately scoots down.

“I’m not diseased,” you laugh, “you can sit next to me.”

In all reality, you had hoped he would sit closer to you because damn, he smells good.

“Okay. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Far from it, Nick,” you assure him.

Moving closer, he sets his arm on the cushion behind you.

Okay, he smells really good.

The movie begins to play and you immediately belt out a laugh.

Reacting more at you then at the movie, Nick puts his hand over his chest and lets out his adorable laugh.

“Hey, you’re mean.”

“How?!” he continues to laugh.

“You’re laughing at my laugh!”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Oh, just watch the movie.”

“I’d rather watch you.”

You stop laughing, your breath caught in your throat.

“H-Huh?”

Turning your head, you see the look on Nick’s face.

“Your hair smells nice,” he says.

“T-Thanks.”

“Wow, I’m sorry,” he says.

He gets off of the couch, stuffing one hand into his pocket and running the other through his curly hair.

“Sorry for what?” you inquire.

“I’m a dumbass,” he mutters.

“You’re a what?”

“That was creepy, wasn’t it? I know it’s not an excuse, but being on the road everyday doesn’t necessarily give me a chance to brush up on my flirting skills.”

“You’re flirting? With me?”

Before you can control yourself, you laugh.

“Why would you be f-flirting… with me?”

You can’t stop laughing.

“I like you,” he says, seriousness in his voice.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He moves back towards the couch, setting his hands on either side of you.

You feel his breath on your lips and every thought going through your head is squashed.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his lips brushing against yours lightly.

You nod, your lips touching as you move.

He slowly closes the gap between you, pressing his mouth against yours.

Your hands move to his hips and unhurriedly brush up his torso, then his chest.

Pushing him up a little without breaking the soft kiss, you remove his suit jacket and toss it behind him.

Burying both of your hands in his hair, you tug lightly and Nick deepens the kiss.

Lifting you up, Nick lays you down on the couch and shifts himself so he’s over you.

“Where… is… everybody?” you say between kisses.

“Out,” he says simply, running his tongue along your bottom lip.

You part your lips, allowing his tongue entrance into your mouth.

His seeks out yours and upon finding it, he sucks on it, earning a moan to escape your mouth.

“Should we be worried?” you breathe, biting your lip when he sucks on your exposed collarbones.

“No.”

“Good.”

Your hands are once again able to function and your fingers are soon attacking his buttons, trying to resist ripping them apart altogether.

As soon as his shirt is completely unbuttoned, you push him away and instruct him to take off the shirt.

Doing as he’s told, he gets up on his knees and throws the shirt to meet with his jacket.

Left in only a wife beater, he leans back towards you and continues with what he’s doing.

His hands rest on your hips, playing with the hem of your tank top.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, his teeth grazing along your collarbone.

“My… mm… my pleasure.”

“Oh, it will be,” he smirks.

He brushes your skin with his fingers as he removes your shirt and tosses it over to his own clothes.

You pull him close, rotating your bodies and smiling when you’re straddling him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a smile playing on his swollen lips.

“My turn,” you reply with a smirk of your own.

Resting your hands on the zipper of his pants, you lets your fingers dance over the growing bulge.

“Ahh,” he says groans once your apply more pressure.

“You want me, Nick?” you say, biting his bottom lip and tugging lightly.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” you ask, tugging harder and pressing with more force.

“Ahh… yes, I want you.”

“How bad?”

“So bad… so bad…”

“Well, okay then.”

You stop pressing into his groin and start unbuckling his belt.

He helps you in the process and starts pushing his pants down, kicking them off when they’re at his ankles.

“The tank top has to go, too,” you instruct him.

He hastily takes it off, throwing it and neither of you knowing where it landed.

As soon as his upper body is completely bare, your lips attack the exposed skin.

“N-Nothing obvious…” he breathes, trying to restrain himself though you can feel him growing harder with every suck of his skin.

“Fine,” you reply, grinning at the darkening hickey at the base of his collarbones, “I’ll try.”

Pressing your hips into his, he groans with pure pleasure at the feeling of you against him.

His fingers dip into the elastic of your bohemian skirt and he slowly pulls at it.

Getting the message, you take off your skirt.

Looking at the mess of clothes on the floor a few feet away, you laugh inwardly.

His fingers brush up and down your sides as you suck harshly on his collarbones, neck, chest, torso, and any other area exposed.

Your lips tired, you cup your hand over his boxers and massage through the fabric.

“Ahh wow,” he flinches, tightening his grip on your sides.

“Like it?”

“Uhhuh,” he says, unable to form coherent sentence.

You smile at the way his lips are parted, biting your lip when he moans from deep in his throat.

“I want you, Nicholas,” you say, a deep desire in your voice.

Your hand slows and Nick looks up at you.

Pure lust is in his eyes and he takes you, rotating the both of you so that he’s on top.

“What are you gonna do to me, Nick?” you ask, anticipation growing inside of you.

“Anything you want,” he says lowly.

Hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties, he pulls them off slowly.

Your body craves for him and he runs his fingers over your stomach.

Kissing up your torso, his lips tickle the valley between your breasts before sucking on the base of your collarbones.

“Mm,” you moan quietly, shifting your legs around.

You lick your lips as they part, arching your back slightly when you feel his warm hand on your inner thigh.

Spreading your legs as if by instinct, you squirm when you feel his fingers near your entrance.

“Mm, Nick,” you moan again, his lips your jaw.

Nick easily slips a finger into you, earning a moan to erupt from your throat at the feeling.

Feeling the wetness, he inserts another finger much to your delight.

“Oh wow,” you breathe, his fingers pumping slowly.

“You like that?” he asks, licking his lips as he watches you writhe underneath him.

“Ahh yes,” you reply, arching your back.

His thumb rotates around your sensitive spot and you flinch at the sudden contact.

“O—mmm…” you respond. “Niiick, I can’t—”

“What?” he asks, almost in shock.

“No, not like… ahh… not like this.”

His thumb rotates over and over, him enjoying the fact that he’s taunting you.

“Niick,” you moan, trying to remove his hand.

He lets his fingers move for a little longer before finally removing them.

You look at him, your cheeks already pale.

Looking down, you see the last bit of clothing on him.

With your toes, you push his boxers down.

Looking at what they were hiding, you bite your lip, feeling yourself get wetter just at the sight of him.

Positioning himself as comfortable as possible between your legs, he hovers over you and you feel his throbbing manhood at your entrance.

“What are you gonna do to me, Nick?” you ask, repeating the same question.

“Rock your world, baby,” he says, biting his lip and smiling.

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

“How’s that?”

“First…” he says, his eyes scanning over your body.

He doesn’t even continue his sentence.

Instead, he eases himself into you.

“Mmm,” you moan, wincing a little in pain.

His body is still as he allows you to adjust to him.

Moving so he’s completely inside of you, Nick begins to rock his hips at a painfully slow pace.

“Oh, Nick,” you moan, tangling your fingers in his curls.

Trying to gain control of his breathing, Nick moves his hips faster.

A low groan escapes his throat when he feels your legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him further.

“Nick, baby,” you moan, trying not to scream. “Mm, oh god…”

“What do you want?”

“Hmm?” you bite your lip.

“How? How do you… ahh… how do you want it?”

He rocks his hips against yours, slowing your thought processes.

“I’m asking,” he says forcefully, slamming into you hard and making you scream, “… I’m asking you a question.”

“H-Harder,” you plead weakly.

He does as you wish, thrusting quicker and harder against your hips.

“Oh god,” you groan, your hands searching for his hips.

Before you can grab a hold of him, his hands grasp yours and hold them over your head.

“What are… ahh goddd… what are you doing?”

“Taking control,” he smirks, biting his lip and slamming into you again.

“Ohh my god, Nick,” you yelp.

With one of his hands holding both of yours, he takes his other and unwraps your legs around him.

Spreading your legs wider, he thrusts quickly, hitting a spot that makes your entire body tingle.

“Ohh, right there, Nick.”

“Like this?” he asks, hitting the spot over and over again.

“Ahh, yeah.”

Both of your bodies are damp with sweat, Nick’s hair sticking to his forehead.

His hips crash against yours repeatedly and you feel yourself beginning to tense.

“Feel g-good?” he says, his breath erratic.

“You don’t… oh god, you don’t even know.”

He thrusts into you a few more times and you finally feel yourself coming to your end.

“Niiick,” you moan as your body shakes underneath him, riding out your climax.

A final thrust and Nick also comes to his end, with a groan of your name.

Getting off of you, he tries to catch his breath.

Grabbing your clothes and sitting next to Nick, you take a deep breath as well.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Nick replies.

“Oh, sorry,” you say sheepishly, looking at his neck.

“What?”

You point at the dark circular shape on his neck and bite your lip.

“I kind of…”

“It’s okay,” he laughs. “A little souvenir, I guess.”

Putting back on your clothes, you roll your eyes when Nick watches you after replacing his boxers.

“What, that,” you point at the couch, “wasn’t enough?”

“Oh, baby, that was more than enough,” he says, pulling you towards him when you’re completely dressed.

“Oh really?” you ask, straddling him.

“Mmhmm,” he says, chewing on his lip.

“Well,” you kiss him, “how about another souvenir?”

He lifts his eyebrow at you and you smile back.

Your lips attack his neck, licking and sucking wherever you can.