Erica
Copyright January 10, 2001 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nick Carter/Brian Littrell
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 and the Savage Garden slashers. It's also for Diamond.
Wherein Brian reads, responds, and re...re...resomething.
Notice: I really enjoyed writing Nick's letters. I wanted to do it again, but I didn't want to write the same story again with different characters or some contrived plot just to enable me to have another one-sided conversation. I thought that writing Brian's thoughts on Nick's letters could be interesting.
Man, this is so stupid. No phone calls. No e-mail. Making me sit down with this lousy ass piece of paper. What are you, a girl or something? Making me write you letters.
Yeah, you go ahead and whip it out, prove you're no girl.
If you think I'm going to write to you, you can forget it. This is the only letter you're getting from me.
-Nick
Brian had known that Nick would complain first. He'd expected a few early letters where Nick would try to get a reaction. Because if he reacted, then Nick would hear from him.
But this separation was a necessary one, and Brian was determined to stick to it. Even if Nick called him a girl.
He wondered how many letters of protest, token and otherwise, he'd get before Nick caved. Nick was stubborn, but had a short attention span.
The phone rang that night.
It rang for a long time.
Brian didn't answer.
He didn't answer the next night, either.
Chris came by in the morning. Nick had tried to talk Justin into coming, but since *NSYNC hated Nick, it hadn't gone very well. They'd been curious enough to draw straws and force Chris to go, just to find out what was happening.
Brian was not about to explain his personal life to Chris Kirkpatrick.
Chris was not about to sing
on command to Brian Littrell.
Pick up the the goddamned motherfucking telephone or I'll
-Nick
Brian knew the stages of Nick's anger. When Nick was so angry that he lost coherency and couldn't get out the words, Brian had about ten seconds to run for cover.
Not Brian. Nick didn't blow up at Brian.
Either this letter was Nick's true rage, or a bluff.
Brian called the bluff.
If Nick were really that upset, he wouldn't be able to fold the letter, seal the envelope, and include a stamp and address. He'd throw the paper across the room and hit the wall, then regain enough coherency to yell. Nick didn't have the temperament to be clear-headed and methodical when he was angry.
Was Nick mad at Brian?
Yes. Brian knew it. He could feel it. He regretted it.
But he was confident in their friendship. He didn't doubt for a second
that they'd be okay.
Okay. You want to play it your way? We can play it your way.
Ahem.
Brian, darling, how have you been? The weather's lovely here. I hope that you're having a wonderful grand old time.
You lousy motherfucker.
I'd spray this with perfume or something, if I were a girl. I guess cologne would work, but you took the good stuff with you.
Maybe I'll just piss on it.
-Nick
Brian could see the scowl transforming Nick's face on "You lousy motherfucker." The spoiled, sullen scowl that said that Nick deserved much better than the world gave him. Nick's brows would come together, and his eyes would narrow, and his mouth...
Brian swallowed.
...his mouth...
He'd come here to focus his thoughts. He needed time and clarity. Nick was...a distraction.
A petty term for the stabilizing center of Brian's world.
And a non-descriptive term for someone who would threaten to pee on his letter.
Nick...
"Distraction" was the least of it.
The stabilizing center of his world. Life was like a box of chocolates. (If Nick asked him to do Forrest Gump one more time, Brian would go nuts. Nick didn't seem to understand that Forrest Gump was not from Kentucky.) Life was like a box of chocolates, and Nick was the inside of each piece - - soft and rich, smooth and creamy, hard and crunchy. Sweet. So sweet. And always a surprise.
But you could judge from the outside, sometimes, and guess what would be in each candy. Brian was good at judging Nick. He knew Nick better than anyone.
Which made him responsible for Nick sometimes. Everyone who had a question about Nick or a problem with Nick came to him. He wasn't Nick's keeper. He was Nick's friend. Best friend. Close, personal friend. They were as close as two people could get.
They even shared cologne. Nick had borrowed his, so he'd started to steal Nick's. Consequently, they always smelled like each other. When he'd packed to leave, he'd hesitated, not remembering which kind of cologne was supposed to be his. He'd taken the one that reminded him more of Nick.
When he smelled it, he could
almost taste Nick's skin.
I miss you.
-Frack
Brian had to smile when he read Nick's letter. Nick had to be drunk.
Or high.
He clenched his jaw at the thought. If Nick was high, Brian was going to make Nick and everyone even marginally involved regret it. And if AJ had anything to do with it, AJ was history.
The drinking was one thing. Brian didn't like it. He and Nick had been over that argument too many times to remember. They'd come to a compromise. Like most compromises, neither was fully satisfied, but they were willing to live with it. Nick got drunk only under certain, controlled circumstances.
Drugs, Brian would not and did not tolerate.
Nick had promised. Maybe expecting someone to keep his promises was naive, but Brian respected Nick enough to expect that Nick would honor a promise.
He decided that Nick had been drunk. Drunk and maudlin, and no doubt now regretting the letter.
Frick missed Frack sometimes,
too.
Kevin is pissing me off. He's the biggest bastard in the world sometimes. Please tell me you're not really related to him. Maybe his folks just picked him up by the side of the road. He's really an alien bastard son masquerading as a human being. But you can tell he's inhuman because he has no fucking emotions or feelings or anything, just a stick up his ass.
Maybe he doesn't even have an asshole.
Let me go rip him one.
I miss your ass.
-Nick
Brian was used to Nick and Kevin's conflicts. Kevin tended towards a conservative, professional approach, or attempted one, anyway; Nick was more interested in having fun than in making a good impression. Both were valuable styles, but they didn't mesh well. Brian was tired of being in the middle, and they knew it.
Something bad must have happened for Nick to write this letter. Nick was hiding something, upset and repressing the anger. This wasn't real Nick writing. This was Nick upset and hurt and angry and trying to pretend that everything would be okay.
Nick missed him. Not just his body parts. Him. Nick missed him. Nick needed him.
Brian almost answered the
phone.
I guess you have me writing to you after all. There's nobody here to talk to. Kevin's an asshole, AJ's doing his own thing, and you know about Howie. All of my other friends are losers. And my family's all about Aaron now.
When are you coming back?
-Nick
Nick was sending him on a guilt trip. An honest one. He couldn't really blame Nick for it.
He still felt a twinge of guilt over Howie.
Nick had said that he shouldn't. Nick had made the decision. It wasn't Brian's fault. Howie was over it.
Howie wasn't over it.
And Aaron. From one golden child to the next. Brian liked Nick's family. But couldn't they learn from their mistakes?
Nick missed him. He missed Nick. A guilt trip was not going to get him home any faster, and Nick knew it.
He admired the perseverance,
though. He'd expected nothing less from Nick.
Kevin hit me.
I wasn't going to tell you.
This photographer got a shot of the bruise. I can't wait to see that picture all over the place. AJ said you'd probably see it, so I should tell you. But you'll see it before this letter gets to you anyway.
It looks worse than it is.
-Nick
Brian read the letter again. Again. Kevin had hit Nick. Kevin had hit Nick. Kevin had hit Nick.
There was no excuse for that.
Nobody hit Nick.
For any reason.
Even at his angriest, even if Nick was acting impossible and pushing all of his buttons, Kevin had no right to hit Nick.
And Nick wasn't going to tell him. Nick hadn't planned on telling him. They'd attempted to keep it from him. Nick didn't keep anything from him.
Whatever temporary satisfaction Kevin had derived from hurting Nick, Brian hoped that it had been worth it.
He reached for the phone.
It wasn't hard or anything.
And he's really sorry.
-Nick
Brian couldn't believe that Nick was trying to smooth things between him and Kevin. Nick was trying to make it sound better, trying not to upset him.
He was upset.
And Kevin knew all about it.
Brian got no pleasure from making matters clear to Kevin. He wanted to make Nick feel better. But he couldn't do that long-distance. He needed to see Nick, touch Nick. Nick was a very physical person, very physically affectionate. Simple physical contact meant a lot to Nick. Brian had learned to judge Nick's moods in part by Nick's responses to his touches.
Right now, Nick was hovering somewhere between sagging against him and not moving, ever; and actually pulling away from him out of shame and fear. Brian could feel Nick's ambivalence. He hated it when Nick tried to cover up things for him. It never worked.
The phone continued to ring each night. Brian found it a disturbingly pleasant backdrop for his writing. He could feel Nick's presence. Nick's insistence, Nick's persistence. The phone, like Nick, was loud and liked to make itself known. It wouldn't let itself be forgotten. And when it stopped, there was a jarring sense of dislocation. After listening to the ring for hours, the sudden silence was almost shocking, and Brian felt as though he were missing something.
He was missing something.
And it was missing him.
Nick needed him. For friendship. For time and energy. He cared about Nick, and he paid attention to Nick. The others had their own commitments. They were all friends, in fact; they were very close. There was a special chemistry between them, and it took all five of them to keep it even. Without one of them, they were thrown.
Without Kevin, they were disorganized. Without AJ, they were lethargic. Without Howie, they were boring. Without Nick, they were...without Nick. Without Brian, they fought. They were petty and neglectful and thoughtless and inconsiderate. Brian wasn't a peacekeeper; he simply eased tensions by not causing any himself. Also, when he was around, Nick spent more time with him and less getting on everyone else's nerves. When the other three got on each other's nerves, sometimes it became a group discussion, which they tried to resolve with the best in mind for everyone.
They could be adults when they tried. They simply forgot to try sometimes.
In his next letter, Nick asked whether he should start seeing other people. Brian decided not to worry about it. Nick wasn't going to cheat on him. Nick just wanted to provoke a response, and thought that threatening was the way to go about it. Brian knew that if Nick wanted to see someone else, Nick wouldn't ask first.
Still, the very idea of Nick with someone else, anyone else, was almost frightening in its alienness. Nick with someone else? Nick belonged with him. Nick couldn't be with someone else. Nick never had belonged with anyone else. Not one of those girls. Not Howie. No one but Brian.
That was his ring on Nick's finger.
"Guess I'd better put it on the other hand," Nick said. He laughed nervously and switched hands, switched fingers, trying to find the best fit. "Don't want people to get the wrong idea."
"They might think you're taken, and then what would happen to all of those fans?" Brian asked.
"Don't you think it's weird having a friendship ring from a guy?"
"You don't have to wear it."
"No. I'm going to. I was just asking. Guys don't do this stuff. Do they?"
"We can do whatever we want."
"Whatever we want?" Nick asked. His cheeks turned red.
"Anything," Brian said.
He hadn't been thinking of sex. Not then. It hadn't even crossed his mind. Nick had been his best friend and his little brother. Part of what made their hectic life bearable, amid the pressures and stresses, was Nick. Nick's presence was Brian's personal stress relief. They talked together and spent time together and shared things, shared everything, shared their lives.
They'd gone through some tough times, relatively. Brian's health. Album sales that just weren't good enough. Always wondering how they could top themselves, what they had to do next to stay on the top, never quite sure what the costs would be now. Fear that Nick had gotten that girl pregnant. Fear that the press would find out that Nick was sleeping with Howie. Fear that Nick's slide into drugs would never, never end.
They'd gotten past all of it. Brian was fine and healthy. They were more interested in artistic development than the exact number of albums sold, which actually allowed them to sell more albums. No one was pregnant, and Nick wasn't with Howie anymore. And the drugs were in the past now. Nick wouldn't return there.
The media, the fans, might discover that Nick was sleeping with Brian. The news probably would end their careers. But Brian was confident that no matter what happened, when the Backstreet Boys ended, he could fall back on writing and producing. And Nick? Nick could do anything. Art, maybe.
Art, definitely. If
those sketches Nick had done of Brian while he slept were any indication...
I went out tonight. Met a hot guy. Got laid.
Jealous?
-Nick
Brian was beginning to become irritated. He could feel Nick's frustration, too. Nick didn't understand their separation, didn't understand Brian's silence, and was doing anything possible to end it.
If he thought that Nick actually might have done that, might have gone out and met someone and had sex, he would have reacted. He would have called. No, he would have gone home, immediately.
Nick wouldn't cheat on him. Not even angry and frustrated, not even miles away and lonely.
Since he was able to feel what Nick felt, he channeled it into his writing. He wrote of a frustrated lover, confused and desperate, trying to contact the distant and unresponsive beloved. He wrote of a lover left, alone, having no one else to turn to, longing for the beloved's return. He wrote of an angry lover, betrayed, abandoned, lashing out at the beloved in letter and song.
And he wrote songs for himself, from what he felt. Too wrapped up in someone else to have energy for himself. Neglecting his craft and losing his focus, swept up in the energy and pull that was his beloved.
Even from another continent, Nick was his inspiration.
And the guys were going to
love these songs.
Brian frowned. Reading this letter repeatedly was not going to give him any more insight into what it meant. Nick was angry. Why? What had gone wrong?
He couldn't read Nick's mind. He was close, but not enough to decipher this letter.
There was something almost friendly about it, though. Nick had written to him, turned to him, and even from far away it felt as though Nick were right here beside him, as though something had gone wrong and Nick had shouted, in sudden frustration, "Goddamnit!" It was almost funny.
He still didn't know what was wrong.
He counted on Nick to explain.
The next letter didn't give much of a clue. Nick was mad at Kevin. What had Kevin done? What had Nick done? Where had Nick picked up the term "royal bitch weasel?" It brought in humor, and if Nick was willing to bring in a lighter side, then the situation couldn't be life-threatening.
Brian changed his mind when, in the next letter, Nick threatened Kevin's life.
By then, Kevin had called him. The two of them had worked out a system of rings so that Brian would know that Kevin was calling and could call back.
Brian was not pleased with what Kevin had to say.
He also was not pleased when Nick found out that they'd been talking.
Nick was furious with him. He could feel Nick's confusion and betrayal. Nick stepped up the attack, cursing him out and threatening him, then trying to seduce him into responding. He smiled when Nick gave up; he could hear Nick's voice in that "Did that last letter sound like I'm a stalker?"
No, it hadn't sounded like that to him, because he'd understood. Nick knew everything about him. It was a fact.
What did you do to him?!
He's being so fucking nice to me it's scary. If he smiles at me one more time, I'm going to smack him.
And he apologized. Like he meant it. Like he really meant it.
You must have said something. Put the fear of God into him or something.
The fear of Brian?
Is that why you were talking to him?
-Nick
Brian smiled. Good. Kevin had apologized sincerely enough to scare Nick. Kevin was being nice to Nick.
And Kevin was going to continue to be nice to Nick.
Brian wouldn't have it any other way.
Personal conflicts were understandable. Grouping five very different people and keeping them together around the clock for years on end - - there were bound to be some people who rubbed each other the wrong way after that. Brian had been tired of Nick and Kevin grating on each other all of the time; couldn't they learn to be more respectful of their differences?
But Kevin hitting Nick was completely out of control and completely unacceptable and it was not going to happen again.
And what had been going on lately...Brian had never been so furious with anyone in his life.
Which Kevin understood now.
Nick missed him. Brian wanted to see Nick, too. More than ever, after Kevin's antics.
How dare he? He had no right. He had no idea. He had no brain. Brian was going to kill him if he tried anything like that again.
Brian trusted that Nick knew that Kevin was lying and wrong, that Kevin had been trying to goad Nick without basis in fact. Nick knew him too well to believe Kevin.
Nick started to ask him to write. Which said to him that Nick wanted reassurance that Kevin was wrong. That was only natural. He wrote.
When Nick asked whom he'd
been talking to on the phone, and asked whether he had a new boyfriend,
he was glad that he'd written. Of course he didn't have a new boyfriend,
and of course Nick knew that; but after hearing Kevin's lies, questions
and insecurity were bound to arise.
I know you don't have a new boyfriend.
You have me.
You'll never want anyone else.
Stop laughing.
-Nick
Brian missed Nick. His Nick. His Nick who knew him like no one else did and loved him like no one else did and made him laugh like no one else did.
Nick started to bring up sex again. Brian missed making love with Nick. He missed everything about Nick. He missed Nick's laughter and warmth and energy and seriousness and body. He missed Nick's touch. He missed touching Nick.
When Nick's letter threatened to hate him, Brian knew that Nick was just in a bad mood and making idle threats out of irritation. Nick in a bad mood was unpleasant and prickly.
The best way to get Nick out of a bad mood and back into a good mood was to make out with him. You just had to get close enough to kiss him first. Then, after a nice long make-out session, he would be feeling much better and would be willing to address the problem more maturely.
Except that sometimes they
forgot to stop to talk and just kept making out until they were having
sex.
We have a fucked-up relationship.
Thought you should know.
-Nick
P. S. Write to me.
They did not have a fucked-up relationship.
Well, maybe they did.
The fact that he was in Europe and not answering Nick's phone calls, although they weren't having a fight and he loved Nick as much as he ever had, was a clue they their relationship wasn't exactly storybook normal.
They were too close, for one thing. They were best friends and lovers and co-workers, they lived together and toured together and spent all of their time together. They'd been through good and bad; they'd never stopped talking and never stopped loving. Nick was writing to him across the ocean and through his silence, without stopping, because Nick knew that he was responding.
Maybe Nick could feel his
replies as truly as he felt Nick's, silent or not.
Fucked up.
But it's the best thing that's happened to me.
Thought you should know that, too.
But I think you already do.
-Nick
Brian knew.
He set his suitcases by the door and reached for the phone. He dialed.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Nick. I'm coming
home."