Making It Count

Making It Count, second in the "Complete Series"

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairing: Brian Littrell/AJ McLean

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 slashfic is for Ewan McGregor.

Wherein AJ thinks, and loves, and remembers.

Notice: I want to thank Melissa, Steph, and Becky for their feedback and encouragement.

Becky

I took his face in my hands. Just to hold him still. Just to look. Gaze. Stare. Brian Thomas Littrell is one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen. His high, sharp cheekbones give his face exquisite shape, and are almost overbalanced by his wide, square jaw. Whenever he smiles, and his blue eyes crinkle at the corners, I get this warm feeling in my chest, right around my heart.

It's hard to hold Brian still. Sometimes he's boundless energy personified. He's always in motion, smiling, laughing. He's a friendly person. Warm-hearted. Affectionate. All of that comes out when we make love. When we're in motion, when he's over me, when he's under me, he's very assertive and very considerate. And when we're finished, lying there together waiting for our hearts to stop racing away from us, we wrap around each other.

There's only one guy I know who has less of a concept of personal space than Brian.

At first we didn't get much of a chance for getting all romantic and cuddly. We had to keep separate hotel rooms. If the cleaning people noticed that one of the Backstreet Boys wasn't using his room, word would spread and rumors would start. Not that anyone would assume that we were sleeping together, but whatever they would imagine could be just as damaging. Speculation does no one any good.

We got over that fear, though. Now I just go to my room, mess things up in the bed and bathroom, and spend the night with Brian. All night. We make love, we sleep, we wake up and screw around some more, and then it's back on the road.

Notice how I said "make love" and "screw around" in the same sentence? That's how it is with us. We can make love and have sex and fuck and anything in between.

I can tell you a million things about making love with Brian. The way the calluses on his fingers feel against my naked skin when his hands slide up my chest. The way his stubble creates a slow burn against the insides of my thighs when he moves in to kiss my cock. The way he arches and twists just so when I kiss behind his ear. The way he makes me tremble like a girl when he licks the corner of my mouth. The way his cock flushes dark-dark when he's ready. The way he makes me want to beg him when he twists his fingers inside of me. The way his muscles flex when he's fucking me. The way his tongue moves when I'm sucking him, like he wants to be sucking me, too. The way he groans, slow and soft, when I push my way into his body. The way he can't resist cupping my balls when he undresses me.

Does he know that my balls aren't as big as-

The way he looks right into my eyes, deep into my eyes, when our bodies connect. Like he wants to look into me, look right inside of me.

So he knows for certain that he's with me, me, and not someone else.

Sometimes we draw it out, go for foreplay, make the night last. Sometimes we just grab each other and wrestle our way across the bed and hope that we get our clothes off before we come on them. It depends on our moods, how late it is, how tired we are, how good the show was.

Who's in the next room.

I'm the only guy Brian's ever kissed, groped, gone to bed with, or let grope him. He's the only one I've ever had, either. He's three years older, which isn't a big deal, but he did have more opportunities to get it on with other guys than I did. I just don't think that he knew that he wanted to be with guys, until he met-

-until he came to the Backstreet Boys. But he figured out that he was bi, and I knew that I wanted him, and when you're with somebody day in and day out, living in each other's pockets on tour, it's hard to hide what you're feeling.

Especially when it's written all over your face, in your every gesture, aching behind each word.

So we knew that we were interested in each other. He made the first move; I wasn't about to move first.

I didn't want to hurt anybody.

He moved first. We were all getting ready to leave our hotel early one morning, and he came into my room, said good morning, and kissed me. Just like that. Warm and soft and chaste, even, but it set my body on fire. I thought that I was getting hot flashes or something. So I grabbed him back, kissed him this time.

We're guys. We're horny. And we know each other pretty well by now. And yes, Brian's all southern gentleman, but it didn't take long before we were all over each other. I bought condoms, he bought lube, and the rest is history.

He got to fuck me first. As long as we were taking each other's guy-on-guy virginity, I wanted him to take mine first. I had this weird thought that he might be saving himself for

someone

something. Obviously he wasn't. And yeah, we did the whole "I love you" thing. Still do. Because we mean it. I mean it. He means it. We love each other.

We don't go all public-display-of-affection on each other. Besides the homophobia issue itself, we are public figures. Very public figures. In some countries, we can't step outside without being mobbed. In other countries, it's worse. So if I hold Brian's hand, the entire world will know about it within the hour, if not sooner. And the Backstreet Boys have an image to protect. No one can know that we're gay, or bi, or fucking each other.

There are times when it's just the five of us. When the fans, the photographers, the security guys, the agents, everybody's gone, and it's just the five of us. And then it's okay. Then Brian and I can lean against each other, or touch each other, or get flirtatious, and it's cool. Because it's just between the five of us, and it isn't like Kevin's going to take a picture and post it on the internet or anything. We're safe with the guys.

I don't know what I'd do without Brian and Kevin and Howie and Nick. We all feel that way about each other. We work together, but it's a lot more than that. We're coworkers and best friends and brothers and partners. We love each other. Sometimes I feel like I'm closer to the Backstreet Boys than I am to my own family. And for myself and Nick, we were young when we started this group. So it's like we grew up in this atmosphere. Especially Nick.

He's not as young as he used to be. Nick's growing up. Grown up.

Before I fell in love with the short blue-eyed country boy, I was closest to Howie. He's the one I met first, the one I knew the best when we started this gig. We drive each other crazy sometimes. Howie can be uptight, and I can be embarrassing in public. Brian was

closest to Nick. They were inseparable. Frick and Frack. Peanut butter and jelly, macaroni and cheese. They were like one person, BrianandNick. It's not like the five of us split up into distinct cliques or anything; it was always the five of us together. But at the same time, Brian and Nick were their own separate entity.

That's

not

over now.

One morning, Brian came into my hotel room and kissed me for the first time.

The night before, after the concert, before we skipped out of the venue, Brian and Nick were sitting on the concrete floor in a long hallway, and we had to leave, and Brian stood and held his hand down to Nick, and Nick took it and rose, and they just stood there for a minute, looking at each other, fingers twining.

I took his face in my hands. Just to hold him still. To look at him, to memorize him, to get each tiny freckle burned into my mind.

Because you never know when your last chance will be. I'm storing it up now, every chance I get. And every time we're together, I make it count.

I don't want my last memory of him to be the way his palm felt against mine in a lonely hallway.

matthew@matthewtime.com
Next in the series: "Just a Guy"
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