Wannabe

Wannabe

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairing (so to speak): Nick Carter/JC Chasez/Brian Littrell/Justin Timberlake

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: Ewan, slashers of Darren and Daniel, Diamond.

Wherein they do the dishes, they order Chinese food, and they throw forks.

Notice: I was talking about Brian and Nick, and JC and Justin, having sex. Someone (ahem-Diamond-ahem) mentioned all four of them together. I said, man, that'd be cool. She said, can you do that? I said, sure. It turned out nothing like I'd intended. Sorry.

Diamond

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Nick rolled away from the obnoxious sound of the alarm, trying to deny its existence and its meaning. He heard a tired grumble, and the sound stopped. A kiss graced his cheek, a hand patted his shoulder, and Brian left the bed. Nick submerged himself in slumber.

When he resurfaced, he could hear someone - - Brian, probably - - unloading the dishwasher. Glasses clinked, porcelain met porcelain, cupboards opened and closed. A warm body cuddled up to Nick.

Shit. Not again.

Justin Timberlake had to be the snuggliest person on the planet. It was like sleeping with an extremely affectionate octopus...on Valentine's Day...after being off at war. Lord only knew how JC had put up with this all of these years.

Nick always tried to extricate himself. He'd push and wriggle and pinch. But Justin slept like the dead. Usually Justin got all snuggly-close with JC, or wrapped around Brian, but sometimes it was just Nick's luck to be the little boy's stuffed animal.

They were supposed to be getting along. Nick might get along better if Justin gave him elbow room. Or at least breathing room. God damn it. Nick opened his eyes and prepared to free himself, if he had to draw blood to do it.

But when he opened his eyes, JC was looking at him over Justin's shoulder. All calm blue eyes and understanding smile. JC was half-asleep and amused. Great. There was no reason that Nick should be feeling that low stir of desire, just for meeting JC's eyes...in bed...with his arms full of Justin. Naked.

JC's eyes slid shut and JC was asleep again.

Justin gave a tiny snore, and his hand slid down Nick's thigh.

Nick closed his eyes and listened to Brian and fell asleep.

It wasn't much later when he decided he was awake again. Nick yawned and wrestled himself free of Justin's embrace. Justin frowned and rolled over and found JC, who was used to that sort of thing. They looked good together. They looked really good together. They looked fucking fantastic together.

Nick left the bed and went to the bathroom. He hung around in there, taking care of whatever, and pulled on some clothes. Food. Food would be good. Assuming that they had any. There was a set system of food in their house: Brian and JC bought it; Nick and Justin ate it.

Justin didn't gain weight. He gained muscle.

Nick wasn't that fortunate.

Just another reason to despise Justin. He had a whole mental list. It was fairly long.

Nick was eating formerly frozen waffles when Justin shuffled into the kitchen. Justin was not a morning person. Right now he was wearing JC's T-shirt, Nick's sweatpants, and one sock. He looked half-asleep and half-ready to scowl. If those screaming girls who wanted to run their fingers through his curls could only see him first thing in the morning...his 'fro was a fright. He opened the bread drawer, picked out a bagel, and stood there, holding it in one hand, as though he had no idea what to do next, what a bagel was, why he was standing there...

A minute passed.

Justin made an attempt at a blink and managed to pour himself a glass of milk. Drinking that seemed to spur him on to action, and in a few minutes he had his bagel toasted and spread with cream cheese. He even found himself an orange and sat at the table.

Nick was still trying to figure out why Justin was wearing a sock. One sock. Why one? Why not two? Why socks at all? He knew that Justin had been naked in bed. And why was Justin wearing other people's clothes?

The shower started. JC.

Nick cleaned up, sort of, and went to brush his teeth. He lingered, just a little, a very little, really...

A little more...

The shower stopped, and the curtain slid back, and JC stepped onto the bathmat, reaching for a towel. "Hey."

"Morning," Nick said, looking. There was no reason to pretend he wasn't looking.

JC, wet and naked, ran a hand over his hair and gave Nick a kiss, right on the mouth. "Brian left?"

"Yeah." This was still sort of new for Nick. He was used to Brian. If it was possible to get used to Brian. Which maybe it wasn't. But Brian was familiar. This JC thing, this was new. This relationship. These possibilities. These opportunities. New. Exciting. Not that Brian wasn't exciting. He still got thrills and vibrations there. But JC was still new and sparkly. Still surprised him every time.

JC hadn't shaved. Nick always shaved, more out of habit than anything. Facial hair, even a little bit of stubble, was not his best look. Besides, he was supposed to be young and cute, and stubble ruined the image.

Justin had stubble sometimes. Apparently Justin's publicist didn't care. He even showed up in concert, at awards shows, with fuzz on his chin. Justin was younger than Nick was, but he didn't have people hounding him about maintaining his image, keeping the-

Shit.

"You okay?" JC asked.

"Yeah."

"I'll be back for dinner," JC said. "It's Justin's turn to cook. Make sure he orders from the place on Oakridge and not Parker, okay?"

Nick smiled. "Okay."

It was just the two of them today. Maybe Justin had plans. Maybe Justin was going out for the afternoon. Maybe he wouldn't be stuck in this house with...him.

While JC dressed, Nick went out to the living room and plopped onto the sofa. He found the remote control on the coffee table, beneath the sports pages, on top of a pile of old magazines, beside a stack of Justin's CD's. Let's see. Would he rather watch ESPN or the Cartoon Network?

Why was there a fork on the floor?

Oh, right. He'd been fighting with Justin, and Justin had snatched the fork from his hand and thrown it over there, and Brian had grabbed Justin and made them stop yelling, and Justin had said that Brian always took Nick's side, and Nick had said something extremely cruel about why that might be, and Brian had taken Justin to the bedroom and closed the door, and he'd heard them talking, and then it had gotten quiet, and then he'd heard them having sex.

That little slut.

He hated Justin Timberlake.

"You're going?" Justin asked.

"Yeah," JC said. "You have any big plans today?"

"High tea with the royal family," Justin said.

"Tell them I said hi," JC said, and Nick heard them kissing. "See you later." Then JC leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed Nick's cheek. "No fighting, no biting."

"We'll be good," Justin promised.

"Bye," Nick said. JC left.

Things were okay at first. Nick watched TV. Justin did whatever in the background. Nick foraged for food. Justin made vague attempts at cleaning. Nick played video games. Justin talked on the phone.

Then Nick was slumped on the sofa, flipping channels and eating chips, and Justin started rapping. It started off quietly, the way it usually did. Nick was used to that, the background noise of Justin's weird habits. It was just something that Justin did, like tapping a pencil or chewing fingernails. But then Justin started to get into it, did it more consciously, and it got louder, and then Justin was into a full-fledged routine, and Nick turned around and threw a magazine and hit Justin in the side and said, "Knock it off."

Justin looked startled and hurt and pissed all at once. Instead of making him look threatening, it just made him look confused and young. "What?"

Justin wasn't young; he was a grown man. Okay, nineteen, technically still a teenager. But old enough to drive and vote and everything. "Knock it off." Nick turned around and settled in again, deciding to ignore him.

"What's your problem?" Justin muttered. It wasn't outright confrontational, but it was designed to make Nick respond. Passive-aggressive little shit. Nick grit his teeth and declined to rise to the bait. He wouldn't give that little boy the satisfaction of-

"My problem?" he demanded, turning around again, glaring at Justin over the back of the sofa, across the room. The living room and kitchen were all one open-air room taking up most of the first floor. Justin was over near the kitchen table, giving Nick a dark glower.

"Who taught you to throw, your sister?" Justin asked.

Oh, that was so lame it didn't deserve a comeback. "Ask me what your mother taught me."

Nick had to admit it; Justin moved gracefully. "Carter, you take it back."

"If I do, will she give me a refund?"

Justin shoved; he shoved back, getting to his feet. There was a brief girly back-and-forth tussle; then they started getting into it, and Nick forgot himself and pushed too hard and Justin stumbled off-balance and fell. Pissed-off, Justin kicked out at him and grabbed at his jeans, and then they were wrestling across the floor, and god damn it if he got a black eye he was suing Justin's ass.

And he was furious and Justin was hard and the phone rang but he didn't care because Justin's sweatpants had slipped down and Justin wasn't wearing any underwear and he got a handful of soft cotton and tugged, and Justin made a noise like a frightened virgin, but he tugged anyway and bared that sweet ass, that half-hard. Justin was trying to push him off and he was trying to get his hand in between muscular young thighs, and the phone had stopped ringing.

Justin smacked him hard upside the head and kneed him in the groin and slipped out of his grasp, muttering, escaping to the bedroom and closing the door.

Bitch.

Nick waited for the agony in his balls to lessen, cursing.

Justin's mother was leaving a message on the machine.

Great timing, Lynn. At least Justin wasn't picking up and begging her to come and rescue him from the evil nasty Backstreet Boy. Although Nick wouldn't put it past him.

The machine cut off abruptly. Oh, shit. Justin had picked up after all. Nick got to his feet and crept towards the bedroom door. Holding his breath, he tried to hear.

"-screening calls again," Justin was saying. He sounded familiar and casual. Golden boy. "Yeah, you never know when one of Chris's fans will come looking for him." He laughed. "You never know. How do I know, I haven't talked to him since...yesterday. I know, can you believe it? Joey was going to stop over later today, but - - yeah, just hanging out here. No, he's out, and Brian's - - yeah, yeah. Yeah, Mom. No, I'm just - - oh, he's around here somewhere, I don't know. He's hard to keep track of. You never know with Nick. Right, maybe. Mom, come on, he's... No, I - - yeah, Mom. No, yeah. I just... You gotta understand - - no, no, okay. Right. Yeah. All right. No, I'm listening. I'm an - - no, I know."

Nick knew this part of the conversation. This was the part when JC or Brian walked over and put his arms around Justin.

First came the attempts at arguing maturity. Then came the watery eyes. Cue the "Mom, I love him" routine. Nick rolled his eyes and waited. Attempts at reconciliation, promises to call home soon, vague mentions of a future visit, "I love you, too," and the phone call ended.

Something that Nick had noticed, whether it meant anything or not, was that with his mother, Justin said, "I love you, too." With JC and Brian, it was always, "I love you," or "love you," but never "too." It drove Nick nuts, not knowing the significance of the difference. Was it conscious on Justin's part?

Nick loitered for a minute, then returned to the sofa, the TV, and the chips.

Justin came out of the bedroom a little while later and sat beside him. Stole two chips from the bag in his lap.

"How's your mom?" He didn't turn his eyes from the television screen.

Justin shifted uncomfortably at his side. "She wants me to move out."

"Move back with her."

"Yeah."

"Doesn't she think JC can take good care of you?"

"Don't start."

"Are you moving out?"

"You wish."

"Yeah."

"Not gonna happen."

"Yeah, I'll never get that lucky."

"Lucky? You get JC and Brian every night and you're complaining about-"

"I have to share them with you."

"How do you think I feel? I have to share them with you."

"Move out you won't have that problem."

"You move out I won't have that problem."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Nick Carter's going nowhere. I could've told you that."

"Least I've been somewhere."

"Where's that, in your mother's-"

This time when they hit the floor, they rolled into the coffee table. Ow, shit, ow - - god damn it, there was no way he was letting this little - - motherfucker - - ouch! - - what the fuck, did Justin have some trigger that fighting always pumped up Little JuJu?

This time when Nick pulled down those sweatpants and got a hand in there, Justin rubbed against him and kissed him. Lots of tongue, heavy panting, eager writhing. Slut. Wet tongue, "Carter," kiss, "oh god," kiss kiss tongue, "suck me," fast slick tongue, "god." But Nick had other ideas. He let go and slid his hand back, back there, pressing his finger to that tight little hole. Justin made a no-no-no sound and tried to squirm away, but he pushed and his fingertip popped in, and he pushed a little more and slid his finger in there, and Justin was panting harder now, not sure whether to ask for more or run for help.

One naked foot, one sock, sweatpants around his knees, T-shirt rucked up around his nipples, on his back, ass clenching tightly around Nick's finger, kissing fast and sloppy, panting, moving quick and uncertain. Justin's fingers dug hard into Nick's shoulder. His cock was leaking pre-cum onto his stomach.

Nick pulled his finger free and spat into his hand.

Justin was an easy lay. He got excited easily, and he didn't mind pain like JC did, and he got looser than Brian. He always made this sharp, eager sound when his body accepted that first push of cock. Like, oh, here it comes, good, give me more. Slut.

Nick didn't give it to Justin often. But this wasn't the first time. He'd been here, done this. Felt Justin all hot around his cock, shoved himself up in there, made Justin moan from the pleasure of it. He could make the little shit beg. He could make cute little Justin Timberlake cry. It was as easy as one...two...three sharp thrusts, right there, the perfect angle, and he was coming.

God damn it, that felt good.

It was just sex. Fucking. It wasn't anything like it was with Brian or JC. This was getting off. More interesting than masturbation, but not really meaningful in any sense.

Justin's fingers were clutching at the front of his shirt. "Don't you dare," Justin said, sort of breathlessly. "Carter, don't you - - please, man, just do it."

"If I do?"

"I'll owe you. Come on. Don't make me beg."

"What do you want?"

"Nick, don't-"

"What do you want?"

"Nick. Nick, please. I'll owe you."

"You already do."

But he did it anyway. It was good practice. Justin's set of cock and balls wasn't as full as JC's or as pretty as Brian's, but it was okay. At least the guy was anatomically correct. Justin's pubic hair was this soft golden-brown fur. It was sort of tempting, actually.

Justin liked to be fingered while he was sucked. He was such a bottom boy it was pathetic.

Nick got him off. Swallowed and everything. Nick always swallowed. Then Nick left Justin there on the floor and went to clean up a little.

Joey came over later, and Justin left with him. Nick was alone in the house. There was nothing good on TV.

Justin came home first. He took the phone into the bedroom and closed the door.

At five, Justin came out to the kitchen, opened cupboards, made vaguely irritated noises. "It's my turn to cook, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm thinking Chinese."

"Whatever."

"You think...Oakridge, Parker, or Glassier?"

"JC likes the one on Parker."

"Okay."

Brian came home soon after Justin placed the order. He was all quick kisses and happy smiles. When he teased Justin, Justin actually giggled. Giggled. Like a girl. Disgusted, Nick went to the bedroom to get away from them.

The food came, and Brian called Nick to come and eat. He joined them in the kitchen, helping to find plates. As they settled around the table, JC arrived. After a detour to the bathroom, JC sat down with them. They exchanged conversation and passed around cartons of food.

"Oh, this is - - Justin, where'd you call?" JC asked.

"What's the place," Justin said. "On Parker Street."

"You don't like it?" Brian asked.

"But I thought-" Justin looked at Nick and fell silent. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay," JC said. "Food's food. What'd you guys do today?"

"Hung out with Joey," Justin said.

"Cried on the phone to Mommy," Nick added. Justin kicked him under the table. He kicked back, harder. Justin's eyes got wide with outrage. Oh, the poor injured child routine. Nick was not impressed.

"Your mom called?" Brian asked. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah," Justin said, and kicked Nick.

"She wants him to move back home," Nick said, and kicked Justin.

"Still?" JC asked Justin, with a serious-concerned-there's no way in hell you're moving back home look.

"Yeah," Justin said, and kicked Nick again. "She doesn't like Nick."

They'd been here before, in this conversation. Justin's mother didn't like Nick. If they kicked Nick out, she'd be pacified, Justin would be happier, and everything would go more smoothly. A simple solution. Better for everyone in the long run. Then they could have their cosy, happy little family.

Fuck that. Nick wasn't leaving. If anyone was getting lost, it was going to be Justin. That swivel-hipped rapmaster wannabe could go and fuck himself. Nick was here to stay. As long as Brian and JC were here, Nick was in for the long haul.

"She doesn't know him," Brian said.

"To know Nick is to love him," JC said.

Nick tuned out the rest of the conversation. Sometimes he wondered what he was doing here. How long it would last. How long they could keep kidding themselves.

What did they think they were doing, really? What was this supposed to be? A gay tenor commune? A foursome? Brian, JC, and their spoiled brat lovers?

There was no way it could last. Four people in one relationship...there was no future here. Justin's mother was right to want him out of it, ASAP. If Nick's mom gave a shit about him, she'd run over and drag him out by the ear.

But when Justin was loading the dishwasher and Nick was pretending to read the paper and Brian and JC were sitting on the couch talking, it was sort of domestic. And when Brian and JC started a lazy make-out session, and Justin was humming and doing a little quick-footed stepping...Brian was starting to crawl on top of JC and JC was making that low hot sound, and Justin was graceful and sexy in that erotic, well-oiled way, and Nick wouldn't give this up for anything.

Justin stopped humming and started watching Brian and JC.

JC started opening Brian's pants.

Brian laughed and stopped JC, and they started talking again, resting there on the sofa.

Justin went over and curled up beside them and joined their conversation.

Nick took out the trash and debated telling JC and Brian that he'd fucked Justin on the floor.

They never took Justin on the floor. That wouldn't show the little slut the proper respect. They always used lube, too. Nick knew better. He knew how Justin really wanted it. Fast and rough. A little scrape of pain. A little careless. Justin was used to everyone oohing and aahing; Justin wanted someone to slap in a bit of a reminder: you're just a little bitch. After days, months, years of screaming crowds and sobbing girls and media everywhere, after growing up with all of that potential and making it big, Justin needed to be shown that there was still a time and a place where being the Justin Timberlake meant nothing, where all that mattered was the cock forcing its way into that tight little tunnel.

Brian came over and perched on the kitchen table, resting a foot on Nick's chair. "You coming to the court tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I can't play long. Aaron's thing is at four."

"Want me to go with you?"

"No, that's okay."

"I wanted to go," JC said, coming over from the sofa. "I promise I'll let Justin pick out my clothes."

Nick smiled. "Yeah, okay. You can come. If you want. It's no big deal."

"We could go out after, if you want," Brian said.

"Yeah, that'd be cool."

"What's that new place?" JC asked. "The one with the palm tree out front."

"DeTesto's?" Brian asked.

"No, the one on - - you know, the big orange sign."

"DeTesto's."

"No, hold on, I had a card," and JC was heading off for the bedroom, and Brian was going with him, and Justin was standing sort of nervously by Nick's chair.

"What?"

"You want me to come, too?" Justin asked.

"It's up to you."

"I could."

His little brother was cuter than he was and making it big at a younger age than he had and getting everyone's attention. Aaron even liked *NSYNC better than the Backstreet Boys. Nick was old and fat and washed-up. Hello, Loserville.

But Brian and JC were going to be there with him, tomorrow. A show of support. They knew he was dreading tomorrow evening. They were going to be there with him.

And Justin wanted to come.

"Sure. If you want."

"Okay." Justin leaned down superfast and kissed him supersuperfast and hurried off to the bedroom, lithe and promising.

Maybe tomorrow would be okay.

matthew@matthewtime.com
Sequel: "Slack"
"Attainable"
Series
Boyslash
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