Copyright October 9-November 13, 2000 by Matthew Haldeman-Time

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Disclaimer: The young men who comprise 98 Degrees, the Backstreet Boys, and *NSYNC 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.

Notice: This slashfic follows "I Need You Tonight," "Boy Lead the Way to Ecstasy," "Not Easy," and "No One."  Read those stories before reading this one.

        They'd been home for two weeks now.  Home home home.  Home in their Orlando apartment, resting from their tour, taking the time to remember that there was such a thing as relaxation.

        They were going to go back on tour soon enough to promote their latest album.  It was a nice blend of sounds, and they'd made more contributions themselves in the songwriting.  Already it was wildly popular in the US and even more so abroad.  JC itched to get out and perform it for the crowds.

        Amazing.  They'd just come off of their last tour two weeks ago and already he wanted to be on the road again.  After the tour it was great to live real life, to return to stability; but on the road there was a certain stability, a routine, and after spending month after year in that routine, he missed the rhythm of it.  In a sense that was his real life, and this time was vacation from that real life.

        Opening his eyes, he removed his arm from around Justin's waist and tugged up the covers, pulling them over his and Justin's shoulders.  The movement disturbed Justin, who shifted restlessly before turning around in his embrace.  He settled on his back and Justin, still asleep, settled on top of him, laying on his chest and against his left side.  He held Justin and closed his eyes again.

        Peace.  Solace.  In the darkness, at home, in his warm soft bed, with warm naked Justin.  He welcomed the dead weight of Justin's sleep-heavy body.  As long as he was holding Justin, JC's world was right.  He could rest in peace.

        The phone rang, shattering the stillness.  JC's eyes shot open.  Who could be calling now?  It was two in the morning.  Maybe something was wrong.  A family member, one of the guys-

        No, it was probably a fan who'd gotten hold of their private number.  Or a non-fan who wanted to call and insult or threaten them.  Either way, he wasn't going to answer.

        As the phone rang a second time, Justin muttered into his chest, "You getting it?"

        "No.  Go back to sleep."

        As the phone rang a third time, Justin sat up and shoved a hand through his curls and reached for the phone on the bedside table.  JC sighed and sat up, too, as Justin said, "Hello?"

        "Justin?" asked a shaky voice.

        Justin's brow furrowed.

        "Justin?  I don't know what time it is there - - I don't even know what time it is here, I-"

        "Justin?"  A new voice, now.  Slightly more in control.  "Justin, this is Brian, we're in Japan.  We heard a report of something happening at one of 98 Degrees' concerts in Germany.  They're supposed to be in Heidelberg today.  We can't find out anything from here."

        Justin could hear Nick crying in the background.  "Oh my god.  Yes, I'll find out, I'll do it right now and call you back on Nick's cell phone.  Just...  I'll call you right back."  He thrust the phone at JC and scrambled out of bed, pulling on clothes haphazardly as he tried to track down his address book.  He knew that he had contact numbers for 98 Degrees somewhere.  Maybe if he called Jive and made them call Universal?

        A report of something happening.  A report of something happening.  Yeah, he knew exactly what that meant.  A bomb, a shooting, a death threat realized.  It could as easily have happened to *NSYNC or the Backstreet Boys.  Why 98 Degrees?  Why not him?  He and JC had been the first to come out publicly, had married first.  And, to be brutally honest, in most circles *NSYNC was more popular, therefore more well-known, therefore more likely to be targeted by the violent homophobes.

        What could have happened?  Could fans be...  Could...  Images of 98 Degrees, those four friendly, talented, fun, handsome, nice, downright normal guys flashed through Justin's mind.  And Nick, crying.  Nick crying.  He'd never heard Nick cry.  And Brian had sounded so unnatural, someone trying to stay calm, someone forcibly normal but screaming and dying inside all the while.  Maybe Brian wanted to stay strong for Nick's sake.

        Justin slammed through the apartment, trying to find his address book.  Finally he came across JC's sitting neatly by the computer.  He decided that the current crisis gave him the right to invade JC's privacy, so he flipped the pages as he hurried back to the bedroom.  As he hurried, he almost walked right into JC, who was coming out of the bedroom, one hand buttoning jeans, the other hand holding the phone.

        "I don't care," JC was saying very calmly.  "I need to know what happened in Heidelberg tonight.  If you can't tell me what happened, tell me who can tell me and I'll talk to him."

        Justin walked with JC to the living room sofa, tossing aside the address book, hugging a throw pillow and listening intently.

        "They are personal friends of mine.  I'm worried about them.  I want to know what's happened to them.  Someone must know.  Thank you!"  JC clenched his jaw and waited.  Justin waited.  "This is JC Timberlake Chasez.  I want to know what happened to 98 Degrees in Heidelberg tonight.  They were having a concert tonight and something went wrong.  I want to know what happened.  They're close friends of mine.  I don't care if - - I don't care!  Tell me what you do know.  Then tell me who does know.  Then tell me whom to call at Universal!  What do you know?  Was there a bomb?  A shooting?  A threat?  Was anyone hurt?  Was anyone killed?"

        Justin wanted to hold onto JC and pretend that Nick had never called.  He didn't want this to happen.  He didn't want to face JC's terrifying questions.  Threats were one thing.  Threats he'd received aplenty.  But actual violence?  They'd come close, yes, but no one had ever been hurt.  Not even during a few riots, not really.  Bombs, shootings, those were real, those were dangerous, those were deadly.  People could have died.  Fans.  Nick, Jeff, Drew, Justin.

        "Yes, thank you, this is JC Timberlake Chasez.  I need to know what happened to 98 Degrees tonight in Heidelberg.  Yes, that JC.  Yes.  I want to know-..."  JC closed his eyes in frustration.  "Then who can tell me?  Just give me a number.  Tell me whom to ask.  I need to know."

        And if Justin was scared, what must Nick and Brian be feeling?  Drew was on another continent, time zones away from them, and they didn't know whether he were living, dead, wounded, injured, perfectly safe, or under attack.  Not knowing, waiting, waiting for the phone to ring, eager, dreading.

        "Thank you."  JC held the phone away from his ear and dialed another number with his thumb, then listened again.  "Hello, this is JC Timberlake Chasez.  I'm calling to find out what happened to 98 Degrees tonight.  Yes.  Yes.  Thank you."  He waited.  "Yes?  Yes."  Silence.  JC inhaled shakily.  "Yes.  Thank you."  He set the phone on the couch cushion and slowly raised his eyes to Justin's.  "What's Nick's number?"

        "What happened?" Justin asked, not wanting JC to tell him.

        "I can't..."

        Justin took up the phone and dialed, then handed it over to JC.  JC's free hand grasped Justin's.

        "Brian.  It's JC.  They were onstage, performing.  Some of the security team, hired locally for the venue, were part of a hate group that had been planning to infiltrate...  There were about four gunmen, probably more.  There were about ten fans shot, probably more.  The guys are in the hospital.  They were wounded.  They should recover.  All four of them.  They should recover."  JC dropped the phone; he and Justin moved into each other's arms as one.  He held onto Justin, keeping Justin close, moving even closer to feel Justin's heartbeat.  Solid, young, vibrant, whole, healthy Justin.

        "You're cold," Justin said, ending the silence, smoothing a hand down JC's naked spine.  "Come back to bed."  Not that they could sleep easily, now.  And he felt guilty for having the comfort of a warm bed while their friends were traumatized.  But what could he do?

        "We need to find out what happened," JC said.

        "We can try again in a few hours.  They should have more reliable information then."

        On the other side of the world, Brian Littrell held Nick Carter in his arms.  He waited as Nick's tears lessened and Nick stopped shaking, watching AJ pace around Howie's hotel room.

        Kevin came into the room and closed the door.  "We're not going on tonight."

        "What?" Howie asked.

        "They're pulling us out.  Tonight.  Tomorrow night, too."

        "They can't!" AJ said, facing Kevin.

        "It's possible that this was just the first of several attacks.  There are reports that the gunmen belonged to a group.  If they did, and they're planning other attacks-"

        "We're going-"

        "We are not," Kevin said.  "We can't.  The venues don't want it any more than our management does.  Yes, the fans will be upset, but better upset than dead."

        "So we know all this about the shooters but nothing about their victims?" AJ asked.

        "There are no reports on how the guys are," Kevin said.  "We're not even sure which hospital they were taken to, or how many fans were hurt."

        "So they could have been grazed slightly or had..."  AJ dropped onto the sofa, not willing to finish that violent sentence in front of Nick and Brian.  "And we're supposed to sit here and wait and wonder and worry.  We don't know how they are, we don't know whether we're next, we don't know whether we'll ever get onstage again."

        Nick's cell phone rang.  Brian reached for it on the floor at his side, since Nick made no signs of moving.  "Hello."

        "Brian?"

        He couldn't breathe.  "Drew?"  He could feel his heart pound, feel a shiver run through him once, twice.  Nick tensed against him.

        "Hi.  There was sort of a problem tonight."

        "You're...okay?"

        "You heard?  I hoped you wouldn't."

        "You're okay?  Are you okay?  Are the others...?"

        "We're okay.  I mean, we're hurt, be we'll be all right.  There were some fans..."

        "Drew..."  He was overjoyed, overwhelmed, and his heart was breaking.  "It's not your fault."

        "Five of them.  They were younger than we are.  Just young women, girls, really, and-"

        "Drew."

        "They gave me some drugs, painkillers, I'm not...  They wanted me to go to sleep but I said that I had to call you and Nick first.  Is Nick okay?  Are you-"

        "Hold on a second."  He pressed the phone into Nick's hand.

        Nick didn't straighten, continued to lean into Brian, but put the phone to his ear.  "Drew?"  His tone was full of hope but threaded through with fear.  Brian stroked his hair and finally let tears fall.

        On another continent, another country, another city, Nick Timmons-Lachey's wheelchair was parked by his husband's bed.  He reached up and stroked his fingers over Jeff's forehead, cheek, as Jeff slept.  Drew had finished calling Nick and Brian and had succumbed to sleep; Nick had just come from visiting Justin, who was sleeping after what apparently had been an easy, positive surgery.  And now Nick was allowed to see Jeff, whose surgery had been described to Nick as "clean."  Justin and Jeff had been hit hardest by the bullets, but it seemed that they would be back to normal in time, bearing no more ill effects than a few scars.

        A few scars, memories of terror, and guilt from five dead fans.

        Their fans.  Who had come to see them.  They were supposed to be fun and entertaining, not dangerous.  People should come to them in a carefree and relaxed manner, not in bullet-proof vests.

        They'd been shot.  Shot.  He'd been shot.  Justin had been shot.  Drew had been shot.  Jeff had been shot.  His very best friend, his brother, and his life partner.  Shot.  Bullets ripping through flesh, chipping bone, and the three people most important to his life lying onstage in rapidly spreading pools of their own blood.  The fans, those thousands of people, their screams.  He was used to screaming fans, but not that kind.  The sheer sound of panic and fear, terror, had never been more real to him.

        After the Heidelberg shooting, the gunmen's group was captured and interrogated until it was determined that they had, in fact, been a private group of six.  They'd communicated with no other groups.  So the Backstreet Boys were allowed back onstage.

        The fans rallied.  98 Degrees fans, Backstreet Boys fans, and *NSYNC fans came together in a way that most had never thought possible, considering the animosity that some fans held for the others.  Before now, they'd shown their support in various ways, but now they were determined.  They organized themselves.  They held rallies; they showed up en masse to hold counter-demonstrations when protestors appeared at hotels and concerts; they formed groups.

        Some groups were general, supportive of the band members' rights to love whomever they chose.  Some were more specific.  For JC and Justin, there were The Jays, Josh&Just, and TLC (which stood for TimberLake Chasez).  For Jeff and Nick, there were NJ for JN, a group that originated in New Jersey but quickly spread; Timmons-Lachey = True-Love; and 2 Degrees (Hot Enough for You?).  For Nick, Brian, and Drew, there were Two Tenors and a Baritone, which had started off as Three Tenors for about a day before someone noticed the problem; a group started by BSB fans called We Love Drew 2!, which was also known as Drooling for Drew; and LiLaC.  There was also a group called B 'n' D, which made a few fans nervous.  There was a growing awareness, fed largely by rumors, that AJ and Lance were more than just good friends.  Therefore, there was a quickly-rising group known as The James Connection.  But that group was looked down upon by many fans as being wishful thinking without basis in reality.  After all, seven out of fourteen band members already were far beyond the usual statistics; nine out of fourteen simply wasn't possible.

        Since the BSB tour quickly resumed, there was no chance for Nick or Brian to see Drew.  As soon as all four Degrees were out of the hospital, they hired a physical therapist and resumed their tour, too.  In addition to speaking with Drew as regularly as usual over the phone, now Brian spoke with the others too, making sure that everyone really was all right, also making sure that Drew was doing as well as Drew claimed.

        Due to serious bureaucratic problems at VTV, the Planet Earth VTV Music Awards had been moved permanently from September to December.  Therefore, the three bands were waiting with great impatience for December, when they'd be granted a few days to see each other.  Nick Carter talked often and with all sincerity of skipping the awards, skipping the performance, and just locking Brian and Drew in a hotel room with him.  As time progressed, Brian's protestations to that idea went from laughing to nonexistent.

        All three groups had released an album in time to meet the PEVTVMA deadline.  All three groups were launching promotional tours.  All three groups were nominated in just about every possibly applicable category.  With the bands being close friends now, and several members of them romantically involved across group lines, there was a bit of tension.  Everyone wanted his own band to win, and knew that he would be upset if his band lost, but it would be unsportsmanlike to feel sorry for oneself while one's close friend or lover had won.

        The PEVTVMA's were not popularity-based.  The entries were judged on talent, style, innovation, and overall worthiness.  It wasn't simply a matter of who sold the most albums; it was a matter of being the best.  Consequently, the suspense was raised, and so were the stakes.

        98 Degrees showed up at the PEVTVMA-assigned hotel first, having had a concert nearby.  Within minutes, *NSYNC entered the building.  There were exclamations and hugs and handshakes, then some mocking of the missing Backstreet Boys.  Drew and Lance left at that point, to catcalls and whistles.

        Drew sat on the floor in front of the sofa in Lance's hotel room, hugging his knees to his chest.  "I noticed a few times that when I called and talked to Nick and Brian, they said that AJ was talking to you."

        "Yeah."  Lance was sitting to his right.  "I knew it would be...weird.  I have a boyfriend I see once every few months.  What kind of life is that?"

        "Are you thinking of giving it up?"

        "No," Lance said.  "No.  As long as I still feel like this every time I know I'm going to see him, there's no way I'm breaking up with him."

        "Good."

        "Right now, with me and AJ, it's all rumors.  Nobody knows for sure.  I'm worried about when people know, when it's official and public.  We might..."

        "Be killed?  Gunned down onstage?"  He knew that if he didn't say it, Lance wouldn't.

        As long as Drew was bringing it up, Lance might as well ask.  "How can you live like that?"

        "It's terrifying.  But you've already accepted it.  When Justin and JC came out, and they got death threats, and gunmen came to this hotel, and there was always the risk every time you got onstage, every time you stepped outside, you stuck with it.  You stood by them.  You can stand by yourself, too."

        "It's different.  People would be aiming for me, too."

        "Being a target is more dangerous, yes, but you've been standing next to a target all year.  It's scary and it's dangerous but what are you going to do?  Either hide your relationship with AJ or dump him?"

        "I can't dump him.  And I don't want to hide."

        "What've you been doing?"

        "Waiting."

        "For what?"

        "Until I feel good about knowing that I'll be shot."

        Every time a new celebrity arrived outside, the fans went crazy.  Jeff had his window open to gauge the screams.  When they got extra riotous, he looked outside and smiled.

        "Who's out there?" Nick asked from the bed.

        "You'd better get Drew."

        Nick grinned and headed for the door, followed by Jeff.

        The Backstreet Boys got their luggage, ignored the protestors, waved to the fans, and trudged toward the hotel entrance.  "Nice red carpet," Howie said.

        "Where's the welcoming committee?" AJ asked.

        "This doesn't count?" Howie asked, gesturing to the fans and reporters.

        "Screaming girls are nice.  Flashbulbs are annoying.  I want Lance," AJ said.

        "He's probably around here somewhere."

        "Ah!  Run and hide!" AJ exclaimed, stopping short as Justin Timberlake Chasez walked from the building in their direction.

        "Timberlake!" Nick shouted.  "What're you doing here?"

        "I came to win some awards, Carter.  What're you doing here?"

        "Which award are you winning?  Best white boy afro?  Best BSB wannabe?  Best bottom boy?"

        "Oh," Justin said, raising his hands, moving back a step.  "Oh no no no, Carter.  You did not say that."

        "I didn't say what?" Nick asked.

        "Which one is he taking offense at?" Howie asked Kevin.

        "Hard to say," Kevin said.

        "First of all, you and your Leonardo DiCaprio hair can just shut up about my locks," Justin said.  "Second, I don't wanna be BSB because I'm gonna beat BSB."

        "Shouldn't there be a third?" AJ asked.

        Justin licked his lips slowly and said, "I think Nick's just jealous that I am the best bottom boy."

        "The hell you are!" Nick exclaimed.  "I know I'm better than you!"

        "Since when?" Justin asked.  "And just how do you know?"

        "Can we go inside please?" Brian asked.

        "You better would," Justin said.  "Drew's waiting for you."

        "Drew's in there and you-" Nick shoved aside Justin and ran for the hotel, Brian quick behind him.  Justin laughed and rested an elbow on AJ's shoulder.

        "So.  You here to see Lance?"

        "I'm here to kick some *NSYNC butt at the awards ceremony," AJ said.  "Where is he?"

        "If you admit you're going to lose to us, I'll tell you."

        "Sorry.  My mother didn't raise me to lie."  AJ removed Justin's elbow from his shoulder and stalked into the hotel.  There were more reporters in the lobby, whom he waved to but didn't answer.  He got his room assignment and took the elevator upstairs.

        AJ stood at one end of the hallway, suitcase and room key in hand.  Lance stood a few yards away.  Between them, Nick was holding onto Drew, sobbing, sinking to the floor, supported by Brian.  Drew held him, and Brian stroked his hair, and AJ looked across the three to Lance.  This could have been them.  Could be them.  If they came out, it would be them.

        But 98 Degrees had been lucky.  Extremely lucky.  All four could have been killed that night, easily.  Next time...  There would be a next time.  And they might not be as lucky.

        AJ wondered how long Brian's years of grace would hold.

        He moved respectfully around the three to get to his room.  Lance followed him inside, closing the door.  He dropped his suitcase, tossed his keys, and turned to face Lance.  Still blonde.  Still green.  "You need to shave," he told Lance.  He tossed his hat and removed his sunglasses.

        "It's good to see you."

        "You too."  Fuck this.  He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Lance's shoulders, held on hard.  Lance's embrace was just as he'd remembered, only better.  It hit him, suddenly, practically knocked him on his ass, how badly he'd missed Lance.  He closed his eyes.  He had the insane urge to stay there forever, never to leave the room, just to hold onto Lance and never ever let go.  That was fear talking, and too many sappy song lyrics.

        "AJ?"

        "What."

        "Would you think any less of me if I asked you to make love to me right here and right now?"

        "God's answering my prayers," AJ said, and found Lance's mouth with his.

        They stripped each other and themselves indiscriminately as they pushed and pulled their way to the bed.  AJ remembered the lubricant and had to scramble for it in his packing while Lance crouched behind him and licked along the top of his spine.  When they made it back to the bed, his fingers made themselves at home in Lance's ass.  The tight heat made four months of fantasies pathetic in comparison.  He licked his way into Lance's mouth, wondering all over again how Lance could be this masculine and still taste this sweet.  When he thrust into Lance's body, and Lance closed in on his cock, he had to bite something to keep from screaming.  So...fucking...good.  The first time he bit down, it was on the pillow.  The second time, it was on Lance's shoulder.  He apologized for it in shame and horror later; Lance accepted a blow job in exchange and all was right in AJ's world.

        Brian's fingers traced along Drew's jaw.  "Are you all right?"

        "I'm okay," Drew said.

        "Your brother said you've been having nightmares."

        "I had a few.  Bahenito said it's normal."

        "Your therapist."

        "Right."  The members of 98 Degrees had been given not only a physical therapist after the shooting, but a psychological one as well.  Both had since been dismissed.  "Brian, I'm okay.  We're all going through the same thing.  I have thirteen other people living with the same fears I have.  Some nights it's hard to step out on that stage, but Nick and Jeff and Justin are there with me.  And I know that you, no matter where you are, both of you, are right there with me.  We're all going to get through it."

        "It's so hard to be away from you."

        "I know."  Drew's left hand came to the back of Brian's neck; Drew pressed his lips to Brian's.  He rested his forehead against Brian's forehead, looking into Brian's eyes.  "We'll make it."

        Brian closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of Drew this close.  "I can't do this anymore."

        Drew closed his eyes, too.  His right hand was in Nick's hair, Nick curled up half in his lap and half falling on the floor.  Nick wasn't crying anymore, silent now, holding onto him.  He forced himself to speak.  "I know."  There was a long stillness, before Brian moved in to embrace him.

        "Just looking," Chris said.

        Howie tossed Kevin a puzzled glance; Kevin shrugged and opened his newspaper.  Howie waited for five full minutes before he looked at Chris and demanded, "What?!"

        "Nothing," Chris said.

        "You're staring at me."

        "I'm just looking."

        "Can't you go look at somebody else?  Go bother Joey or something."

        "He's busy."

        "Do you have to be in here?"

        "Just visiting."

        "Why don't you go and come back later?"

        "Kevin's here."

        "That's because his room is right beside Brian's, and that's where Brian and Nick and Drew are, and - - Kevin's allowed to be here, he's my friend.  You're a strange little man."

        "I'm taller than you are."

        Kevin snorted.

        "You're half Irish?" Chris asked.

        Howie's eyebrows went up briefly.  "Yes.  Half Irish, half Puerto Rican."

        "But you don't speak Spanish."

        "I learned it in school."

        "What's it like?"

        "School?"

        Kevin chuckled behind his newspaper.

        "Being...you."

        "It's fun, but I wouldn't recommend it for everyone."  Howie's facial expression indicated his suspicion that Chris could use a psychiatric evaluation.

        "You're...  I'm a short old first tenor with a goatee, and you're a short old first tenor with a goatee, but you used to run around flashing your body and being sexy.  How do you do that?"

        "We're different people.  You can't compare us."

        "But you...I don't get it."

        "We're even; I don't get you."

        Kevin snickered.

        Howie resumed ignoring Chris and crouched down by his suitcases, rummaging in his carry-on.  He felt a slow pull at his nape and realized that Chris was tugging off his hairband.  His thick, dark hair fell in waves about his shoulders.  There were fingers against his scalp, in his hair.  He turned, slowly, and stood, more slowly, rising before Chris.

        Kevin ducked deeper behind his newspaper.

        Chris's hand guided Howie closer as dark brown eyes gazed into darker brown.

        "You are not going to kiss me."

        Chris let go and backed up so fast he almost stumbled.  "I have to go - unpack - see Joey - I think my mom's calling me - later-" and he was out the door.

        Howie shook his head in disgusted disbelief and pulled back his hair.

        Kevin bit back his smile.

        "Hey," Kevin said.

        "Are you going to Callum's?"

        "Yeah."

        "Is..."  His voice didn't work.  "...Howie?"

        Howie, who'd just emerged from the bathroom barefoot and naked to the waist in white leather pants, glanced at him.  "What?"

        "Who else is going?" Kevin asked Chris, resuming his place on the sofa.

        Chris entered the room.  "Everybody except Lance, AJ, Brian, Nick, and Drew."  He came up behind Howie, noticing the slow concave arch of Howie's spine, and tugged Howie's hair free of its ponytail.

        Howie turned, brow creasing, dark hair spilling over his shoulders.  "Give me that."

        Chris's eyes ran down Howie's bare chest, flat stomach.  He handed over the band absently, distracted.  Howie turned away again and reached into the closet for a shirt.

        The gossip columnists reported the following occurrences: Jeff acting like a starstruck adolescent every time he saw another famous person; Justin and Justin spending an inordinate amount of time standing together in a dark corner; JC dancing intimately with Joey; and Chris curling his fingers in Howie's hair on several different occasions.

        "Like you wouldn't get excited to talk to Shawn Stockman?" Jeff demanded.

        "We were talking about - - look, he's straight, he's in a band with three very public non-straight guys.  He wanted to know what it was like from their position, what they were going through, what he could do for them," Justin said.  "Who better to ask than me?"

        "I can't dance with my friends in public?" Joey asked.  "He's married, I'm straight.  Get a life."

        "If he touches my hair one more time I'm cutting it off," Howie said.  "All night he's pulling out my ponytail."

        "You could just leave your hair down," Kevin suggested.  "If it bothers you that much."

        "It's my hair!  I can do with it what I want!" Howie said.  "What is his problem?"

        Kevin declined to reply.

        Joey choked on his French fry.  "What?"

        "Am I?"

        "Yo, hey, don't ask me," Joey said.  "I'll let you guys handle that one."

        "Sexy," Justin repeated.  "I don't know.  Sexiness is this...thing.  JC has it.  AJ has it."

        "You think Howie's sexy?" Chris asked.

        "Yeah," Justin said.  "I think so."

        "You're sexy," JC said to Justin.

        "You have to think so," Justin said.  "You don't count."

        "I don't know.  When I look at you I don't think 'sexy,'" Joey told Chris.  "I'd go with handsome.  Good-looking.  Attractive."

        "You're sexually appealing," Justin said.  "Just not sexy."

        "But that's a good thing, right?" Chris asked.

        "Totally," Justin said.

        "You think I could get somebody?"

        "You have someone in mind?" JC asked.

        "Someone short, dark, and handsome?" Joey asked.

        "What is it with you guys and the Backstreet Boys?" Justin asked.  "Joey, if you start on Kevin..."

        "Nope.  Sorry, I'm still straight," Joey said.

        "You, Kevin, and Justin," Justin said.  "We're running out here."

        "Howie's straight," Chris said.  "I'm...you know...I was."

        "There's no way Howie's straight," JC said.

        "I thought he was," Joey said.

        "Ten bucks," JC said.

        "You're on," Joey said.

        "You guys don't care?" Chris asked.

        "About what?" Justin asked.

        "That I'm...not straight."

        "Of course we care," Joey said.

        "We're happy for you," Justin said.  Chris got three quick, tight hugs.  "You gonna eat those fries?"

        "Sorry."

        "What is wrong with you?"

        "Are you straight?"

        "Am I straight?" Howie asked.  "Yes, I'm straight."  Kevin glanced over at them.  "Will you leave me alone now?"

        "You want a quick cheap experimental fling?" Chris asked.

        "Chris."  Howie's hands settled on Chris's shoulders.  "I'm straight.  You're straight.  Get over it.  Okay?"

        "Okay," Chris said.  "You smell good."

        Howie laughed.  "Thank you."

        Chris's hands settled on Howie's shoulders in return.  "Can you teach me how to be sexy?"

        "I don't think that it can be taught."

        Chris reached back and tugged loose Howie's ponytail.  He slid his fingers through rich dark hair, pulling it forward over Howie's shoulder.  "I like this."

        "I noticed."

        "My hair sucks."

        "It looks good.  Now."

        "You sure you don't want to make out with me?"

        "I'm sure."

        Chris sighed dramatically.  "Okay."

        "Now can you all go so I can go to bed?"

        "Night."  Kevin left.

        "Me too?" Chris asked.

        "Yes, you too."

        "I could stay."

        "I don't think so."

        "Ten more minutes?  Please?"

        "Ten," Howie said, and stepped away from him, dislodging his fingers.

        Chris stood and waited while Howie went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and stripped to the waist.

        "Are you leaving?"

        "I have three minutes left."

        Howie put a hand on Chris's chest and propelled Chris back toward the door.  "I'll owe you three minutes later."  He winked and closed the door.

        The next morning, the groups went in for their rehearsals.  AJ lounged around in the front row of seats to watch *NSYNC; Howie sat beside him, ostensibly to talk to him, and Chris forgot the dance steps.

        Nick barely made it through the Backstreet Boys rehearsal.

        As soon as 98 Degrees finished, Drew hurried back up to Brian's room and soothed Nick.

        "I've come for my three minutes."

        "Okay.  Come on in."  When Chris was inside, Howie closed the door.  Chris reached over and turned the deadbolt.  "What are you doing?"

        "Locking the door."

        "Why?"

        "Privacy."

        "For what?"

        "My three minutes.  You're going to kiss me."

        "Am I?"

        "Yes.  For three minutes."

        "And who's timing this?"

        "I'll let you know when the time's up."

        "I'm not kissing you."

        "You owe me."

        "I owe you time.  And you're wasting it with this argument."

        "We're not arguing."

        "You want me to kiss you for three minutes."

        "Yes."

        "That's a long time."

        "Not long enough."

        "Start timing."  Howie leaned in, lashes lowered, lips parting.  Chris squeaked.  Moaned.  Groaned.  Pushed Howie toward the bed.

        When *NSYNC performed, Chris, Joey, and Lance got pretty female dancers, and Justin and JC danced around each other.

        98 Degrees' performance was dedicated to the fans wounded and killed in Heidelberg.

        The Backstreet Boys swept their categories.

        "Why did we bother to show up again?" Lance asked.

        "I don't know, why did you?" AJ asked.

        "I remember why," Chris said.

        "Yeah," Joey said.

        "Why?" AJ asked.

        "To watch the Backstreet Boys lose Album of the Year," Chris said.

        "That's definitely it," Justin agreed.

        Drew relaxed back against Nick's chest.  "Every time I get comfortable you have to jump up and win some award."

        "Oh, is that annoying for you?" Jeff asked.

        "Why don't you just stay up there instead of popping up and down?" Drew asked.

        "They might as well," Jeff said.

        The Backstreet Boys performed.

        Lars Ulrich and Britney Spears announced the winner of Album of the Year: "The Backstreet Boys!"

        "Motherfucker!" a nameless member of *NSYNC exclaimed.

        Among the applause, the five of them stood.  They hugged each other, then their friends and lovers, and headed up to the stage.  Kevin stepped to the podium first.  "We've thanked a lot of people this evening, and they all deserve it.  And everything that's happened tonight has meant a lot to us.  But this one's special.  We want to thank God, and all of you."  He stepped away, then slipped offstage as AJ took his place.

        "It's been a busy year for us," AJ said.  "A lot's changed.  We want to thank our friends, our families, and especially our fans, for sticking by us despite everything.  You don't know what it means to us."

        Brian took AJ's place.  "We want to thank Kevin, AJ, Howie, Lance Bass, Joey Fatone, and Chris Kirkpatrick, for taking the stage and sticking with it and being the best source of support.  We want to thank Justin Jeffre for standing in the line of fire and coming back.  We want to thank Nick and Jeff Timmons-Lachey for being true to themselves and putting themselves out there.  We want to thank Drew Lachey for being brave and strong, and to thank Justin, Nick, and Jeff for taking care of him when Nick and I can't be there.  I can't tell you what all of those guys, all of them, mean.  And everything goes out to Justin and JC Timberlake Chasez, for doing it first, for standing right up here last time and showing us all what it is to be courageous in love."

        Kevin came back onstage, gently pushing Drew before him.

        Drew gave a shy wave and smile to the crowd.  Brian scooped him up for a quick hug and kiss.  Nick wrapped around him from behind, arms around him, chin resting on top of his head, presenting him to the audience.  Drew's hand came beneath Nick's chin to get Nick off his hair; Nick leaned down to buss his cheek and resumed position.

        "Last time, Justin stood up here and proposed to JC," Brian said.  "This is the first and only time that the Backstreet Boys will follow in *NSYNC's footsteps.  Drew and Nick and I can't get married all at once.  But we can take legal steps to look out for each other.  And as soon as we get back to the States, we're going to change our names.  Just so somewhere, on some legal documents, someone has to acknowledge what we mean to each other.  We'll know it's there."  He stepped back and made a small gesture to AJ, who moved up to the podium.

        "My love life is nobody's business, but I'm sick of the rumors," AJ said, "so let me straighten you out once and for all, and then you can leave me alone.  Lance Bass is my blond bombshell.  You all keep your hands off of him."

        Howie ducked forward and said, with a wink, "Hi, Chris."

        He was beginning to understand how Lance felt.  A hectic schedule and a lover on another continent and quick phone calls whenever possible and never knowing whether there might be a shooting or a bombing or a death threat that wasn't just a threat this time.  And maybe it would come for him, or maybe it would come for Howie.

        So he was gay.  Or bi, anyway.  And he was in love.  Why was that again?

        Howie shifted slightly in sleep.

        Yeah.  That was why.  Just that.

        He'd been there through it.  Sat by Jeff's hospital bed.  Helped Jeff's shaky, too-soon departure from that bed, from that hospital.  Watched Jeff too tired and too weak and too wounded to perform, watched Jeff push and push.  Jeff pushed too hard, far too hard, all day long, determined to get back onstage, determined not to give up, not to give in, and Jeff's natural enthusiasm and warmth were there but not quite, a little too forced, a little too bright.

        What was Nick supposed to do?  His best friend and his brother and his husband had been shot.  Shot.  Almost dead.  Almost, almost, way too close to dead.  He'd been shot, too.  And he pushed himself through the recovery, struggled back to himself, so that he could be there for them, so that he could support them.  Justin was so strong, Justin was even more of an innocent victim than they were, and Justin was honest about limitations and smiled without seeming forced and held on, recovered, got through it.

        He held his little brother when Drew cried, talked to Brian over the phone, wanted to do something to help, wanted to fix it and make it better, but he couldn't do anything.

        He was helpless.

        And they needed his help.  Jeff needed his help.  He didn't know what to do.  He tried to be quietly supportive, he tried to be encouraging, he tried not to push, he tried not to expect, he tried to wait, he tried to smile, he tried to initiate sex, and everything he did, everything he tried, earned him a smack in the face.

        Not literally.  Jeff never, ever would do something like that.

        But it felt like it.  He was rebuffed and pushed aside, and he knew that Jeff really wanted to yell at him but was too nice, too Jeff, to do it.  He felt helpless.  Useless.  Jeff was hurt, body and soul, and he just stood there and watched.

        What kind of husband was he?  Not a very good one, obviously.

        They got better, all four of them.  Then they were ready for their first concert post-shooting.  They'd made a few appearances, one here, one there, easing back into it, trying to conduct an interview without losing it on-camera in front of their fans, but this was the real thing, a real performance.  Justin vomited and Drew fainted and Nick found himself whispering, over and over, "I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't," like some psychotic Little Engine That Couldn't.  And then Jeff was there, holding his face in two hands, looking into his eyes.

        "You can," Jeff said very, very gently and very, very firmly.  "You can."

        And that was Jeff, there for him, giving him warmth, giving him strength.

        He nodded.  They went onstage.  They performed.  They went back to the hotel.  Jeff made love with him.  And Jeff thanked him for being supportive, for helping Jeff through the recovery, and Jeff meant it.  Meant every word.  He had done something right after all.  Something.  He had no clue what, but Jeff seemed to think that it had been really important.

        He still had his scars.  Jeff still had scars.  He could find them even in the dark.

        The thing with brushing your teeth before you went to bed...it kind of ruined the effect of the Colgate if you gave somebody a blow job.  Or gave two blow jobs and a rim job.  Jism was not ADA approved.

        They'd have to say good-bye in the morning.  It got harder and harder every time.  And now...  They'd almost lost Drew.  Almost lost him for real, for good, forever.

        They had plans.  Get a place together, an apartment, even a house, for the three of them.  Orlando or Ohio or New York?  Get married.  Brian and Drew or Brian and Nick or Drew and Nick?  It was so fucking stupid that they couldn't just be together, that there were legal problems and logistical problems and people trying to kill them.

        Sometimes Nick thought that Brian and Drew should get married.  Sometimes he wanted to get married.  Sometimes he couldn't decide.  They couldn't, either.  He knew that Drew thought that he and Brian should be the ones to get married.  But there was also a lingering, unvoiced sentiment that Drew should marry one of them, because there were already enough Brian-Nick ties.

        Nobody had to get married.  They could just be together.  Make a few legal changes, so that they could look out for each other, so that they could make legal decisions if...if...something else happened.

        He traced the scars on Drew's back.

        He was in love.  With two people.  Who loved each other.  He'd never been happier.  And now he couldn't stop being terrified.

        "You were.  Did I wake you?"

        It was kind of nice how JC touched him all of the time.  So much for keeping your hands to yourself.  "What are you thinking about?"  Like he didn't know.

        "You."

        Bingo.  "Think about how happy I'll be if you'll get some sleep."  He knew that JC wasn't doing happy, "Isn't he cute when he snores?" thinking.  JC was doing, "I wonder if I could get him to wear a bullet-proof vest onstage?" thinking.  Not that JC would ever tell him that.  JC didn't want to make him worry.  JC was obsessive enough for the two of them.

        Mmm, a kiss, that was nice.  "Go back to sleep."

        "You gonna tell me a bedtime story?" he asked.

        "Once upon a time there was a guy named Justin who was disgustingly cute and needed to get some rest," JC said.

        "Wow, you should get that one published."

        "Close your eyes."

        "I'm not disgustingly cute."

        "What would you call it?"

        "Devastatingly handsome."

        "You wish."

        "JC?"

        "What."

        "Wanna have sex?"

        "We did that already."

        "Yeah, no kidding.  I'm just saying, we're in bed, we're naked, we're not sleeping.  We might as well do something."

        "We are doing something.  We're going to sleep."

        "You're not."

        "You are."

        "I don't want you to stay up all night worrying."

        "I won't."

        "You will and we both know it."

        Another kiss.  This time deeper.  Not to distract him, he knew that; just because JC wanted to kiss him, wanted to do this now in case something happened tomorrow.  When JC finally let go, he tucked his head under JC's chin and stroked JC's bicep slowly.  If JC could stay up all night worrying, he could, too.

        They'd have to separate in the morning.  Bye-bye, AJ.  Back to long, way-too-short phone calls; listening to Backstreet Boys CD's just to feed his need; coming in his hand every night.  One night he'd combined those last two activities, listened to "Spanish Eyes" while he masturbated, except that unfortunately he timed it wrong and came during one of Brian's parts, and boy that made for an interesting guilt trip.

        He hated it, this long-distance, never-together relationship.  They never saw each other.  They never got to be together.  They were busy and touring and running on different time zones and why couldn't he have fallen for Chris or something?

        AJ was sexy and smart and strong and so talented it made him want to be better.  They fit together, in some weird, simultaneous, opposites-attract, birds-of-a-feather kind of way.  He'd done some reading, and apparently people weren't just 100% straight or 100% gay or 100% bi; it was more like a sliding scale.  So he was bi, probably, but also sort of straight.  Because he liked girls, women, whatever; but his attractions to men were more emotional than sexual.  So it was sort of confusing; he was half heterosexual and half AJsexual, or something.  Half-straight, half-bi?

        A mutter into his shoulder.  "Are you awake?"

        "No."

        "Good."  Fingers tracing down his spine lazily.  "If you were awake, why would you be?"

        "Just thinking."

        "About?"

        "Am I bi?"

        AJ's head lifted, their gazes meeting in the dark.  "You want me?"

        "Yes."

        "You love me?"

        "Yes."

        "That's what matters."  Kiss, mmm, tongue, he'd miss that badly.  "Sleep."

        Lance closed his eyes and rested his hand on AJ's bicep.  Sleep.