Copyright November 14-15, 2001 by Matthew Haldeman-Time

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Howie Dorough/Chris Kirkpatrick

Disclaimer: The young men who comprise 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 slashwriters.

Wherein Chris is straight, JC is gay, and Lance founds a cult.

        He wasn't bi, either.

        He wasn't.  He didn't check out guys or fantasize about guys or do anything that he probably would do, if he were bi.  Or gay.

        JC and Justin, now, they were gay.  Or, JC was gay and Justin was bi.  But Justin wasn't interested in girls anymore, or any guys besides JC.  And if Chris ever saw JC with someone who wasn't Justin, he'd alert the National Guard to the presence of alien beings.

        Lance was bi.  Why Lance was dating AJ, Chris didn't know.  It had to be a sex thing.

        Chris was straight.  He was sure of it.  He liked girls.  Women.  They were beautiful and soft.  They tasted sweet.

        Sweet.

        Sweet like Howie.  Sweet like Howie's sweet kiss, sweet lips, the touch of Howie's soft tongue, the press of Howie's hand at his back urging him closer to Howie's body.  Hard chest.  Strong thighs.  Howie

        He counted to ten.

        Yes, he'd had sex with a man.  But he'd been on top.  Not literally, not all of the time, since Howie had - - but he'd fucked Howie.  He hadn't really done anything a straight man wouldn't do.

        Howie on top of him, riding his dick, chest glistening with sweat, brown eyes dark and wet with passion

        As long as he'd been the one doing the penetrating, not the one being penetrated, he was okay.  That wasn't exactly normal, and he wouldn't ever do it again, but he was still straight.  It didn't mean anything.

        He was straight.

        He liked Howie's hair.  It was long and thick.  Like a woman's.  See?  He liked women.  Female people with female body parts and female behavior.  Not male people with penises and facial hair.

        He'd stroked the dark hair along Howie's chin.  It felt like his own, only silkier.

        It wasn't like he'd been petting Howie, or anything.  No caressing.  Just a touch.  A brief touch.  More of a pat, really.  He didn't go around stroking guys's faces.

        It was just that he'd been laying there, in Howie's bed, watching Howie fall asleep, and he'd remembered the feel of Howie's goatee against his face, his chest, his thighs, his palm.  He'd wanted to touch it again, for a second, to know what it felt like.  Of course it would feel like his own, but at the moment, he hadn't thought of that.  Right then, Howie had been beautiful and exotic, new and mysterious.  Magical.

        He'd touched.

        It had been curiosity.  That's it.  Curiosity.  And now, his curiosity was satisfied.  He'd touched Howie.  He'd even screwed Howie.  He didn't need to wonder anymore.  It had been experimental sex.  Everybody experimented.  Now he'd done it, and he could go back to women knowing that he really wasn't missing anything.

        Not missing a thing at all.

        JC and Justin were happy, but they were in a league of their own.  Lance was happy with AJ, but Lance was bi and so was AJ.  Chris was straight.  Chris neither wanted nor needed a male lover.  Women were just fine.

        Not that Howie wasn't fine.  Howie was fine.  Howie was super-fine.  Howie was one fine man.  Man.  Howie was a man.  Chris was straight.

        Chris was straight.  A straight man.  Straight men liked women.  Straight men were attracted to women sexually, physically, and emotionally.  Straight men were not attracted to men.  Chris was attracted to women.  Chris was not attracted to Howie.  Chris was not attracted to Howie sexually, physically, or emotionally.  Howie was a nice enough human being, but so was Willard Scott, and Chris wasn't screwing Willard Scott.  Therefore, Chris was not going to screw Howie.

        He'd already screwed Howie.

        He was not going to screw Howie again.  Once and done.  It had been an experiment.  One time, for the sake of trying it, and then continue on with life.  Like licking cold metal.  Everyone said not to do it, don't do it, it's bad for you, it's wrong.  So you did it.  You licked the cold metal.  And you sure as hell never needed to try it again.  Once and done.  Powie, wowie, thank you, Howie.  Lick cold metal, check.  Fuck a guy, check.  Braid your hair, check.

        It wasn't like it had been bad sex.

        As a matter of fact, it had been pretty good sex.

        As a matter of fact, Chris had never wanted an orgasm more in his life.  And god, Howie had made him work for it.

        Oh, oops, there it went.  Down, Little CK.  Funny how he could never think about certain things without getting a hard-on.  Certain things.  Like every erotic instant of his time with Howie.

        Which did not mean that he was gay.  He'd had good sex, and remembering having good sex turned him on.  That was natural.  Yes, it had been sex with a guy, but he'd been the one doing the fucking.  He'd had the man's part, had done the man thing.  He was a man.  A straight man.  As heterosexual as they came.  Came.  Came.  He'd come in a man.  But that didn't disqualify him as Straight Man of the Year.  It just bumped him a notch below Joey.  He was still way ahead of JC in that contest.

        He'd had good sex screwing someone.  Screwing someone sexy with long hair and a soft mouth, with little pink nipples and dark, curly pubic hair and he'd never noticed before what great skin Howie had, all smooth...  Howie had a really good body, sexy and masculine, with more muscle than Chris had ever had.  Plus the hair, and the skin, and the eyes, and...  Howie was beautiful.

        No, no, no.  Howie wasn't-

        Yes, Howie was beautiful.  But guys could be beautiful.  Look at JC, JC was beautiful.  Chris had known that for a while now, and it didn't make Chris gay to know obvious information like that.  But Howie was beautiful in a different way.  Howie's beauty appeared in a different capacity from JC's.

        Howie was really good at sex.  That's what it was.  It wasn't a gay thing.  It was just that Chris had been able to benefit from having an excellent partner.  Chris had been with various women in his life, and not one had been able to overwhelm him like that.  Howie had taken control, had worked every second into erotic heat without effort.  It had been like screwing a porn star.  Not a cheesey, minor league porn star, either.  One of the amazing, naturally talented porn stars who could screw in any setting and no one would mind.  A true artist who could elicit orgasms through mere eye contact.  With Howie, Chris had come at least five times in the first ten minutes.  Or at least that's how it had felt at the time.

        But that's because he'd been with Howie.  It was a partner issue.  It was because of who he'd been with, not who he was.  Chris was straight.  Maybe Howie was gay - - probably most likely definitely Howie was gay, but Chris was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt - - but Chris was straight.

        Maybe he'd been stoned.  Accidentally drugged.  Whatever aphrodisiac JC had Justin hooked on must have been slipped into his food or something.  That would explain it.  He hadn't been himself.  He'd been high on Howie.  Which could be the reason that he'd fixated on Howie's hair.

        Dark, soft, silken strands lingered over Chris's fingers.  He twined a lock around his forefinger and brought it to his lips.  Then he lowered his head and kissed Howie's nipple.

        Drugged.  He'd been drugged.  Maybe he could sue.  Sue Howie?  Sue JC's dealer?  Sue Jive for letting them be in the same hotel as the Backstreet Boys?  Didn't people know better than to keep them separated?  Look at the disasters that befell whenever they had to go within twenty feet of those guys.  First Lance founded the Cult of James, then Chris was drugged and seduced.

        Maybe not drugged.  But whether or not he'd been drugged, the experience had been physical.  Strictly sexual.  One-night stand.  They'd had a preliminary make-out session, to make sure that they were compatible.  Then sex.  Then a handshake and good-bye, a simple parting on both sides.

        Not a handshake, exactly.

        He seemed to remember some kissing.  But definitely no lingering looks.  No gazes of longing.  Chris was straight.  He didn't moon and swoon over men.  Especially not short, hairy men.  If he wanted a short, hairy man, he could get a mirror.  No, no lingering looks.  Strictly business.  A peck on the cheek, and-

        Maybe not quite a peck on the cheek.  Maybe more of a smooch.  What was the precise definition of "smooch?"  And maybe it had been on the lips, instead of on the cheek.  He was a bit fuzzy on the details.

        After all, it was possible that what he did remember, he remembered incorrectly.  It was possible that he hadn't really been on top of Howie on Howie's bed, kissing Howie's mouth and trying to hump Howie's thigh minutes before they had to leave.  It was possible that he hadn't humped right through Howie's poise and right through Howie's sheen until Howie had bucked beneath him, panting and grinding and reaching for that orgasm hard, so hard that after coming, Howie was still greedy for every one of Chris's thrusts.

        When he forgot his suave, Howie was fucking wild in bed.

        At least, that's what Chris guessed.  He didn't know, or anything.

        He tried to think about ice cubes to lose his hard-on.

        Chris had talked to Howie since then.  Since he'd reaffirmed his heterosexuality by experimenting with semi-gay sex.  Howie had called, and they'd talked for a few minutes.

        A few hours.

        Who was counting?

        It hadn't been a big deal.  Some conversation.  Casual, friendly.

        He'd only gotten hard for a second or two.  Purely by accident.  Howie couldn't have meant anything by it.

        Howie hadn't called again.  There was no reason to.

        Maybe he'd call.  To say hi.  He could be polite, at least.  There was no reason to ignore Howie, just because he had no desire to let Howie suck his dick.

        Howie'd offered.  No, not offered, exactly.  More like...suggested the idea.  Brought up the possibility.  Mentioned it in passing.

        He wasn't going to bring it up again, and if Howie happened to mention it, he'd have to say a polite "No, thank you."  But that was no reason to avoid Howie.  Howie was a nice guy.  Maybe they could be friends.  After all, as long as Lance was with AJ, Chris might as well get used to the idea of the Backstreet Boys as human beings.  He should get to know Howie.

        He'd call.  Say hello.

        If Howie were gay, he was a possible resource.  Chris had a few questions.  Like, why did Justin scream like that during sex?

        Maybe Howie wasn't gay.

        After all, Chris wasn't.

        He scrounged up Howie's phone number.  Howie had written it on his left thigh, and he'd copied it to paper later.

        A few rings.  "Hello?"  Tired, unhappy.

        "Hi, it's Chris Kirkpatrick."

        "Chris."  Pleased.  Warmer already, in that one syllable.

        "Did I wake you up?"  He didn't know what time it was there.  He wasn't sure what time it was where he was, either.

        "You did, but that's all right.  I was hoping you'd call."

        "Really?"  Chris cleared his throat.  His balls felt kind of full.  "I didn't mean to get you up.  Wake you up.  I can go-"

        "No, like I said, I wanted you to call.  How've you been?"

        "Okay.  Kind of busy."  He stopped tapping his fingers.  "How's the tour?"

        They talked for a little while longer.  An hour or so.  Chris never had been one for sitting still, but he felt extra fidgety talking to Howie.  Like he was nervous.  He didn't need to be nervous.  He was just calling up an acquaintance to pass the time.  No big deal.  No deal at all.  He didn't know why he felt nervous.  There was no reason for it.  Nope.  No reason.

        Howie was perfectly nice.  Polite, friendly.  The time went fast.  There wasn't a word spoken in reference to their liaison.  It must not have been important to Howie, either.

        He sort of liked Howie.  He liked articulate, professional Howie.  Suave, flirtatious Howie.  Open, friendly Howie.  He even liked Howie's sense of humor, with its endearing transparency.

        Howie was kind of sexy.

        That was a human observation.  Chris was straight, but he could see Howie's natural sexual appeal.  Chris was not attracted to Howie personally, of course.

        They'd had sex.  He was attracted to Howie, on that level.  On the base, animal, sexual level.  And on the level of personality.  And on the human level.  He, as a human being, was attracted to Howie as a human being.  He was attracted to Howie as a person.  As an intelligent, talented, sexy, beautiful, fun, smooth, superior, enigmatic person.  It was a person-to-person attraction, not a man-to-woman attraction.  Howie was a man.

        It was like the way that Lance was attracted to AJ.  A fellow human being, a fellow artist, someone with whom he had a lot in common.  Except that Lance and AJ were a couple, and Chris and Howie were not.

        Not a couple.

        More like acquaintances.

        Friends, maybe.  Maybe friends.

        A lot of people had sex with their friends, once or twice, without it meaning anything.  Chris had screwed Howie, and now they could be friends.

        He sort of liked the idea of being friends with Howie.  They could hang out together.  JC and Justin were a little preoccupied with each other, which was normal; Lance was into AJ.  Chris could spend time with Howie while the guys were busy.

        He called Howie again, a few days later.  Then Howie called him.  They began to converse on a regular basis.  Once Joey tried to hide his phone so he couldn't call Howie, but JC gave it back to him.  He talked to Howie extra-long that day, just to get back at Joey.

        Really, the time just ran long, and he didn't even notice how long he'd been on the phone until he had to hang up and get to work.  But Joey didn't have to know that.  It would only make Joey bitch more about how everyone was falling under the BSB spell; and maybe Lance was, but Chris was not.  He and Howie were friends, that was all.

        Joey showed him a magazine photograph of the Backstreet Boys making an appearance somewhere.  There were two women there with them.  With Kevin and Howie.  Chris didn't know why Joey thought he'd care.  Of course Howie was dating.  It was unreasonable to expect that Howie wouldn't date someone.  She was pretty.

        He asked Howie about her.  It came up in the course of their conversation, very naturally.

        "...go there again, with that mob," Howie said.  "Nick got a little freaked."

        "Was there a crowd like that at the opening of the opera in Vienna?"

        "Very different crowd," Howie said.  "Much better dressed."

        "Did you go with anyone?"

        "We all went, the five of us."

        "You didn't have a date?"

        "Yeah, I had someone," Howie said.  "She's a friend."

        "Not your girlfriend?"

        "I don't have a girlfriend," Howie said.

        "Boyfriend?"

        "Maybe."

        "You have a maybe boyfriend?  Maybe he's your boyfriend.  Do you have a commitment problem?"

        "I may have a boyfriend, or I may not.  It's up to him."

        "You're telling me there's a chance on earth someone would decide not to be your significant other, given the opportunity?"

        "You tell me."

        Somewhere in Chris's brain was a shocked silence.  "Justin needs me.  Gotta go."  He hung up the phone and moved a yard away from it.

        Time passed.

        "Hello."

        "I'm straight."

        "Hi, Chris."

        "Are you straight?"

        "What do you think?" Howie asked.

        "I think that you can be anything that you want."

        "You can be anything that you want," Howie promised him.

        "That's what Mr. Rogers always told me."

        "What do you want?" Howie asked.

        "I want to know what makes Justin scream like that during sex."

        "Is that what you want?"

        No.  It wasn't.

        Howie was waiting for his answer.

        He told Howie the truth.  "I want to scream like that during sex."

        Howie told him the truth in return.  "I can help you with that."