"Something"

Something

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Disclaimer: Chris Kirkpatrick/Nick Carter

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and the Savage Garden slashwriters.

Wherein Nick is young, male, and a Backstreet Boy.

Chris stabbed at the piece of paper with his pen. "I don't want to name drop or anything, but I know Justin Timberlake. Look, would you just let me - - yes! I'm Chris Kirkpatrick from *NSYNC. Chris, as in Christopher. Kirk, as in Cameron. Patrick, as in Swayze. Can you - - what?" Chris drew a vicious non-smiley face. "Can you at least tell him that I'm calling? Can you ask him to call me back?" He drew devil horns. "Forget it, never mind, thank you very much." He hung up the phone and called it names.

Shit.

Chris dropped onto his back across his bed. He glared at the ceiling. "Life sucks!" he shouted. No one disagreed. He patted his hand over the mattress and found his pillow, which he cradled to his chest. "You don't suck," he told it.

He sighed.

"I suck."

Chris tried to look suave. Live interviews weren't as kind to him as taped ones. If he swore or farted or did something dumb, it was out there for the world to see.

"And we're back, talking with Chris Kirkpatrick from *NSYNC. Chris, we've talked about *NSYNC, and your friendships with Justin, JC, Lance, and Joey. We've talked about your clothing line and your interests outside of the music industry."

Save the best for last. Chris tugged at his cuff and attempted an even smile. Was he sweating noticeably?

"Can we talk about Nick?"

What if he said no? Sure, no problem, ask away. Chris tried to sit up straighter.

"Are you a couple?"

"A couple of what?" Chris asked. "No, we're... We're friends."

"Just friends."

"He's a Backstreet Boy, I'm in *NSYNC. Even just being friends is pushing it."

"Has that group rivalry been a problem?"

"We won't be working on a huge collaborative project, but the fans have enough love that this town really is big enough for both of us."

"Is Nick's age a barrier? He's nine years younger than you are."

"Justin's ten years younger, and I have to put up with him every day. And I think that I can relate to that maturity level."

"Do you plan to remain friends with Nick, long-term?"

"Sure. He has my Footloose soundtrack."

Way to go Chris. He'd been flippant and annoying to the point of antagonism. That poor woman.

The interview had gone well until the end.

He didn't want to talk about Nick.

Nick was his business. His heart. Too precious, too new, too... Intangible, temporary, fleeting... Unreal. Nick wasn't real, couldn't be real, and the more Chris spoke of it, the more attention he brought to it, the sooner Nick might disappear.

Vanish.

So Chris kept Nick protected. Private.

They'd been...friends...for three months now. Dates, anniversaries, the passage of time, usually slipped his mind. But he remembered how long Nick had been in his life. Something inside counted each day. Because each day counted.

*NSYNC's tour had only just ended, and the Backstreet Boys were coming home soon. What would it be like, to be off tour, to have the luxury of time? Time with Nick.

He was supposed to use this time to work.

He knew that he wouldn't.

He'd use this time to love Nick.

After the first few weeks of Chris's friendship with Nick, Justin and Lance had set up an intervention. They sat him down and explained the situation to him. Nick was wrong for him; he was wrong for Nick; the relationship was doomed; he'd only hurt himself; etc. And then Joey had said, "Guys. Guys, guys! Forget it. He's in love."

He was in love.

With Nick.

Yes, that Nick.

Nick was young. Male. And a Backstreet Boy.

Immature. Undereducated. Troubled.

Arrogant. Spoiled. Oversexualized.

Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.

Last month, during the tour, Chris had had a day off. Nick had called and asked if he'd come over. Come over. As though he were visiting a friend down the street. So, Chris went over. Flew to France. When he got back, instead of hitting the road rested and relaxed, he was exhausted and inattentive. His body didn't know what time zone it was in anymore, and didn't much care, either; his brain was busy fantasizing about wide smiles, warm laughter, soft kisses...

Kisses. Nick had a pretty mouth, pink lips, attractive teeth, soft tongue... His kisses were slow, wet, fast, hot, delicious, soft, dreamy, erotic, lewd, romantic, flirtatious, innocent.

When Chris had first arrived in France, Nick's kiss had welcomed him. It had been friendly, inviting, and promising.

When Chris had left, Nick's kiss had tried to keep him. Nick had already begun to miss him.

In between, Chris didn't get much action. Granted, Nick had a busy day, but...they could have snuck some quality time in there somewhere.

The fact that Nick didn't act like a horny guy, didn't grope, didn't make room for make-out time; it said something to Chris.

It said something. Nothing good, but something.

Something like, Nick didn't want him. Something along the lines of, Nick was getting attention elsewhere.

Chris knew touring. Knew life on the road. Knew what it was like to be a guy Nick's age. To be a guy, period. To be a guy in a popular band on the road with sex available all day, all night.

There was no way Nick was living a celibate life.

And if Nick wasn't getting it from him...Nick was getting it from someone else.

Quite possibly, from several someone elses.

Nick liked him. For all intents and purposes, Nick had come out of the closet to be with him. But there were too many questions and too many doubts.

Maybe Chris was a safe place to rest while Nick gathered strength for the next step. Coming out, that wasn't to be downplayed. It was a huge accomplishment. Nick could take a breather, adjust to this life, and tread water with Chris for a while. And then, when he was ready, Nick could leave Chris and head off to deeper waters. Real relationships. Sex.

Not that Nick didn't have sex. Nick had sex. With women. He could feel wanted, he could feel loved, and he could release some of his sexual tension.

However, Nick was gay. Chris didn't know why Nick didn't just go for it and start doing men, but Nick wasn't taking that step. Unless Nick was doing it behind Chris's back. Which seemed likely. Fast kisses, experimental gropes, picking up guys in clubs...

Nick was out. Nick was screwing around. Why, exactly, did Nick need Chris?

It was a head-scratcher, all right.

For cover? For legitimacy? For...?

Chris asked Joey.

"It's purely sexual, Chris. He loves you for your body."

Ah. Should've guessed.

Chris went to the final concert on the Backstreet Boys tour.

Watching Nick perform made him hard.

After the show, at the party, Chris tried to hang off to one side. This was Backstreet Boys time. But Nick came over to him and kissed his cheek and pulled him along to meet some people.

And after the party, Chris found himself in Nick's hotel room.

They'd started out talking. Or, he'd been talking and Nick had been stalking him around the room. Then he was on his back on Nick's hotel bed, and Nick was sucking his mouth off his face, and Nick's cock was hard and digging into his hip, and Chris remembered how very horny guys Nick's age were.

Nick rolled them over, and Chris found himself on top, looking down into Nick's beautiful, flushed face. Strong hands rubbed up and down Chris's sides through his shirt.

*NSYNC's tour had ended. The Backstreet Boys's tour had ended. Between appearances, Chris could spend as much time with Nick as he chose. As much time as he wanted.

Chris kissed the corner of Nick's pink mouth. Small kisses wound their way back to Nick's ear, then along Nick's jaw. Nick tasted like a boy, like a man, like sex and innocence. He liked the attention, wanted more of it, liked being kissed and adored and desired.

Nick wanted nothing more than to be loved, to be special, to be important.

Chris wanted nothing more than to be allowed to love him, to make him feel how special and important he was to the world, to Chris in particular.

Chris planted soft, loving kisses in a wandering path down Nick's neck. One hand fisted gently in the hair at the back of Nick's head, soft blond hair, and pulled Nick's head back to show off that long, smooth neck.

Nick rubbed his hard-on up against Chris, wrapping an arm around Chris's shoulders. Muted moans of pleasure and encouragement left Nick's throat. Chris caressed his collarbone with gentle fingers and, very gently, very softly, licked his earlobe.

Nick wanted to be loved.

Chris wanted to love him.

Chris did love him.

Nick was distracted, working to create friction between their hips, undulating gracefully beneath Chris's body, moaning in soft, pleased, gentle tones. Some of his attention was on Chris, what Chris was doing to him; some of his attention was on the sensations and reactions of his own body.

Chris took the opportunity. He began to say things, soft mutters against Nick's skin. Quiet, heartfelt, long-suppressed words of adoration. He spoke of his love, of how Nick made him feel, of what he felt for Nick, of what he thought of Nick. He kept his voice hushed, because the sentiments were too private. Too sacred.

He eased off Nick's shirt, stroked the long curve of Nick's spine with a cherishing touch. He kissed over Nick's chest, licked Nick's small pink nipples, sucked smooth, pale skin. When he tried to open Nick's fly, Nick's hips jerked, excited. He opened Nick's pants and lowered Nick's underwear.

Oh, god. Beautiful. Chris could hardly breathe. Thick, long, dark with arousal. The round head; the small, curling hairs. Translucent pre-come, making Nick wet for his mouth.

Nick fit so well in Chris's mouth that he almost didn't fit at all. Chris's jaw began to ache, but there was never a thought of stopping. Hot, throbbing. The smell of musk, the taste of boy.

Nick lifted his hips, aiming down Chris's throat on instinct. For Chris, the world tilted.

Chris's hands were possessed with the need to stroke, adore, feel Nick's naked flesh. Chris's mouth was filled with Nick's hard, thick cock. His tongue, his throat, his very essence lived and worked to please Nick. He loved and sucked until Nick came in hot spurts.

Nick collapsed, drained. He panted, fingers twitching, legs splayed, eyes half-closed.

Chris wiped his mouth with the hem of his shirt, sitting up, watching Nick come down from ecstasy.

Nick's heavy breathing evened. He slept.

Chris heard a voice. Talking. Nick.

Hotel. Nick. The salty, bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

Chris opened his eyes, wary.

Nick was beside Chris, on his stomach on the bed, on the phone. "Yeah, he's still here. Yeah. No, he's coming home with me. Yeah, not for a while."

"He's coming home with me." They hadn't talked about it, hadn't so much as mentioned it. But Nick was assuming it to be true, casually, naturally.

He was going home with Nick.

He sat up, trying to fix his clothes and his hair. Nick gave him a brief wave. He spent a moment looking down Nick's long body, the strong limbs, the round ass. Ogling Nick did not ease his morning erection, so he left the bed.

He was going home with Nick.

Chris was used to hanging out with guys. He'd spent the better part of his life doing just that. But hanging out with Nick in particular was different, in many ways.

They did guy stuff. They spent a lot of time at the ocean, in the water, on the water. They played basketball, watched TV, played video games. They hung out with (shudder) Backstreet Boys.

Nick was a toucher. Physically affectionate, touchy-feely, whatever - - the guy was a toucher. Chris liked it. When they sat together, they sat together, pressed up beside each other. During conversation, especially while laughing, Nick would reach out and touch him, rest a hand on his arm or leg.

Nick had a great laugh. He laughed easily, and sometimes even got the giggles. Chris loved it. He'd start to snicker, with his wide pink lips parted, his even white teeth visible, and he'd be happy, young and carefree even for just a moment.

Chris, who tended to be a lunatic anyway, did his very best to make Nick laugh as often as he could. Sometimes it was simply a matter of playing with Nick, of giving Nick someone to play with. Nick was a boy at heart.

Sometimes Nick kissed him. Sometimes he got to admire Nick, adore Nick, with kisses and caresses. He got to stroke Nick's thighs, got to put a hand on Nick's ass, but that was as far as he went. He'd feel Nick's arousal against his body, would feel Nick rubbing against him and wanting to come, and he'd want to take that in his hand and give Nick a little assistance, but he wasn't sure he was allowed. And Nick never invited him there.

God, Nick was beautiful.

God, Chris was in love.

Sometimes they slept together. In the same bed, be it Nick's or Chris's. It was kind of like sharing a bed with Joey or somebody: friendly, comfortable, but strictly het. Sweet torture.

Chris watched Nick sleep.

He was kind of Nick's boyfriend. But kind of not.

Maybe he should ask. To be sure.

He really wanted to get laid. He really wanted Nick. He would have settled for anything, anything. Could he get Nick to grope him through his pants, at least? Could he get Nick to acknowledge that he had man parts? Could he get Nick to show some interest in those parts?

Kissing Nick was great. Amazing. Fantastic, incredible, to-cum-for. But, dear sweet god, Chris wanted more. His body ached for more. Literally.

It was affecting his mental processes.

Maybe he'd never get some. Maybe not from Nick.

Was Nick going to go back to women? Was Nick going to find other guys? What the hell was he waiting for? There was no way Nick was putting off sex until marriage. Nick was no virgin.

Maybe Nick didn't want Chris. Not enough for sex. Maybe he was good enough to spend time with, good enough to kiss, but not good enough for Nick's beautiful sexuality.

Maybe that blow job hadn't been good enough.

The Backstreet Boys had an appearance to make. Nick was going out of town.

Chris stayed home. Visited the guys. Saw friends. Went out. Went clubbing with Joey. Met somebody. Made plans. Went out the next day with the guy. Went home with the guy. Got laid. Twice.

Nick came home. He was happy to see Chris. They spent all day out on Nick's boat. Then they went back to Nick's house, and ate, and went to bed, and Nick was horny. Nick was restless, eager. Chris stripped him naked, fully naked this time, and gave him a blow job. After he fell asleep, Chris covered him with a blanket and slept at his side.

That night did not mark a turning point in their sexual relationship. Nick continued to dole out his affection with innocence, as though unaware that Chris might have a burning need for more. Apparently, he wasn't going to ask for more, himself; but he would, it seemed, succumb to Chris if seduced.

Nick wasn't getting Chris off. Masturbation was not Chris's ideal way of life.

Having sinned once, it was all the easier to sin again. When Nick spent a weekend with Brian, Chris spent a weekend making a friend of his own.

A few days afterward, when he and Nick were on the couch, Nick's breath hot and quick in Chris's ear, Nick's neck smooth and tempting beneath Chris's lips, Chris whispered, among other things, "I love you." More than once.

And it was true.

Whether Nick heard, or comprehended, Chris didn't know.

Then it was Chris's turn to go out of town. He'd told himself that he was an adult, and he was perfectly capable of living a good life without sex, but then he met this guy... He tried to be discreet, but Lance saw him. It wasn't like he was cheating. He wasn't Nick's boyfriend. He and Nick had never made promises, never made commitments, never labeled their friendship. Okay, so he wasn't going to impress God with his actions, but he wasn't doing anything wrong. He just didn't like to remember the look on Lance's face. He just didn't want to imagine the look in Nick's eyes...

But Nick didn't know. Nick wouldn't know. There was nothing to know.

Casual sex. Bodily functions. Biological urges. The men didn't mean anything to him. They were nice, they were cute, but they weren't important to him. They couldn't hold a candle to Nick.

If Nick wanted a commitment, or if Nick indicated that they were a couple, or if Nick ever let him get some, of course he'd stay monogamous. But, as matters stood...

He wasn't cheating on Nick.

He couldn't. There was nothing to cheat on. They were friends.

He wasn't going to mention his liaisons to Nick, of course. There was no reason to.

What Nick didn't know, couldn't hurt him.

What Nick found out...

They were at Chris's place, in bed. Chris was supposed to be out with Joey, but Nick had come over, and Chris was being a very, very bad friend. He was standing up Joey to stay home with Nick.

They'd eaten, and talked, and watched a movie. They'd watched the movie from Chris's bed. The movie was over now, and Chris's hands were pulling off Nick's shirt, and Nick was soaking up Chris's love, glorying in Chris's attention.

Every day, every night, Nick was more of a slut for Chris's sweet, tender, generous love. Chris would have felt like a bastard for exploiting that, except for the simple fact that he meant every word, was sincere in every touch. His love was real. Nick's response was amazing. Gratifying. Chris was careful not to lie, not to exaggerate, not to use his love to enhance Nick's seduction. No matter how much or how little ground he gained each night, it would be honestly won.

The phone rang. Probably Joey. Chris was very busy at the moment. Joey could curse out the answering machine.

The answering machine clicked on.

Nick arched his back, turning his head to one side, moaning softly as Chris's mouth found the skin below his navel.

It wasn't Joey on the phone.

It wasn't Joey who left a message.

It wasn't Joey.

Nick said, "Wait, wait," pushing Chris aside. He sat up slowly, frowning. "Who was that?"

Chris didn't realize the treasure he'd been given, the miracles that had been on the verge of realization, until they were being taken from him.

Nick's trust, not easily won. Nick's love, budding and blossoming. Nick's heart, so very close to being placed in his hands.

It was all gone, now...

matthew@matthewtime.com
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