Alla
Copyright November 14, 2000 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: NC-17 for naughtiness
Pairing: Brian Littrell/Nick Carter
Disclaimer: The young men who comprise the Backstreet Boys are their own people. The author has not met anyone here described, nor does the author mean to suggest that these people act this way in real life. This writing is a work of fiction. I make no money from this venture.
Dedication: This one's for Ewan McGregor, the Savage Garden slashers, and Becky.
Wherein there's one wish, and then another, and then another - - hence the title.
Notice: David was talking about polls. I suggested a few.
One of them was:
Brian's stranded on a desert
island. Suddenly, a genie appears. (What he rubs to make the
genie appear is up to you.) He's granted three wishes. Does
he wish for:
Nick, lube, his guitar
Food, water, clothing
Food, water, Kevin
Nick, Kevin, AJ
Howie, Howie, Howie
Becky said, "I'm liking
the Nick, lube, and his guitar...that would make a really interesting story
(BIG FAT HINT), I'd definitely read that."
Yes, I know that she wasn't
talking to me, but since I made up the question, if she's going to be kind
enough to answer it, I might as well make an attempt to write the story.
She'll forgive me, I hope.
(It turns out that she
was talking about me. Thank you, Becky.)
They couldn't just leave him out here. That would be illegal or something.
He'd taken the cruise just for fun, to relax after the tour. How was he supposed to know that word of his plans got out and Backstreet Boys fans booked the cruise, too? And it wasn't his fault that they mutinied and forced the captain to play "I Want It That Way" over the ship's PA system for three days straight, sparking a second mutiny of suddenly rabid anti-BSB passengers, ending in the gagging of his fans and his solitary habitation of this island.
So he'd been dumped out of a ship and deserted. Someone would save him. If the ship's BSB fans ever reached port, they'd send help. Unless the anti-BSB passengers killed them first, but that wasn't likely. Was it?
It was a nice enough island. You know, with a good beach, a waterfall, a campfire, horses, a trunk of a young woman's belongings including a camera, a bottle of champagne, and a thin white dress...
(Sorry.)
Brian wasn't much for drinking, but by his fourth day on the island he was beginning to consider opening the bottle of champagne and getting drunk just for something to do. This island was boring. Yes, he'd been incredibly fortunate that he wasn't starving, and that he hadn't been eaten by animals, and that the ship's captain hadn't dumped the Backstreet Boys fans here with him. The looks that some of those girls had given him...and that request to wear leather, okay, no thanks.
Brian shuddered.
But it was boring here alone. If he just had something to do. If he had his guitar, maybe. The captain hadn't let him take it with him. Not that this climate would be good for it, anyway, but what else was he supposed to do?
He wished that Nick were here. It was impossible to be bored around Nick.
Oh, this was like one of those stupid games, "If you were on a deserted island and could only have three things, what would they be?" Let's see. Food, water, and clothing. Shelter, his guitar, and his Bible. Well, food and water he had. He'd brought his suitcase from the ship, so he had clothes, too. Shelter wasn't a problem. Did he really need his Bible? He still wanted his guitar, though.
How sad was it that he could only come up with one thing for his list?
Well, he had time to think of more.
In the meantime, he was still bored.
Except that he was a guy. And a guy was never bored as long as he could...yeah. Might as well. Wasn't like there was anyone around watching.
He undid his jeans, tucking his hand inside, pulling out his cock. Hey, why not?
Later that night, even licking his palm first wasn't working. He could only jerk off so much before he started to get sore. And yeah, he took breaks in between; it wasn't like he just whiled away the hours yanking on his dick. Still, it would be nice if he had some lube.
Lube. Definitely needed lube. Number two on the list. First guitar, then lube.
Brian tracked down the champagne bottle, sitting on the beach and watching the ocean. Big ocean. Big, big ocean. He'd be stuck here forever.
With his cock sore but his fingers still interested in that stroking motion, he started to rub the neck of the bottle absently, watching the rhythm of the waves. It was really dark here, but the stars were bright, and the air was just on the cool side of warm. Nice. He could get used to this. He'd better get used to this, since he'd be here forever.
"What do you want?"
Brian almost fell as he scrambled to his feet, looking around quickly, startled. There was no one there. Great, now he was hearing things.
"Well?"
"What?" he asked, and his voice wasn't nearly as strong as it could have been. Okay, it was dark, but not that dark; he knew there wasn't anybody there.
"What...do...you...want?" the voice asked, sounding very put-upon and sort of mocking, which wasn't nice. If he were going nuts and hearing voices, at least they could be friendly voices. "Well?" it demanded impatiently. It sounded sort of like Robin Williams, which was mildly disturbing.
"Lube," he said, then snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide. Okay, Brian, stop answering your insanity with your libido.
And he was not, not, not going to look anywhere near that huge bucket that had just appeared by his feet, because he didn't want to open the lid and see what was in there. Now he had visual hallucations to go with his auditory hallucinations. Fantastic.
He pushed at the bucket with his toes, then reached down and carefully tugged up the lid.
Okay, so there were several hundred tubes of lubricant in there. That didn't mean anything. He replaced the lid.
"What do you want?" the voice asked, definitely irritated with him.
"My guitar," he said, as a test. And there it was, in his hand, the familiar neck against his palm, his fingers curving naturally over the strings.
"Come on, one more, what do you want?"
Rescue. Cell phone. Working cell phone - - better be specific. A few inches in height. A few inches - - ah, better not go there. A jaw that didn't look like he - "Nick" - and had that word just come out of his mouth?
Nick pushed back his hair with one hand, glancing around, curious. "Hey."
Brian sat heavily on the bucket, staring.
"Brian?"
"Nn," was all that he managed to say.
"What am I doing here? What are you doing here. What are we doing here?"
Fair question. "Lube."
Nick's eyebrows went up; so did the corners of his mouth, a moment later. "Lube, hunh. Okay. Got anything to eat?"
They ate. They talked. Nick opened the bucket. "Think this'll be enough?"
"It should be."
"I don't know. Might not be." Nick grinned at him. "We'd better share it."
"Share it?"
"Get off together. Cut down lube use by half."
Brian had serious questions
about whether that would reduce the amount of lube they used, but he kept
quiet. And he had to admit, to himself, and to Nick sometime the
next morning after washing the lube out of his ass, that at least he wasn't
bored anymore.