Sarah
Copyright March 29-30, 2001 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex
Pairings: Lance Bass/AJ McLean, 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 slashers.
Wherein some win, some lose, and some...
Notice: I just moved my writing center from one room to another, and I hung up some posters, and I keep distracting myself by ogling. I don't have any *NSYNC posters. It's a crying shame.
"I'm okay with losing. I can handle losing. We lost to them. To them!"
"Where's the justice?"
"Where's the sanity?"
"What was that self-indulgent drama onstage? You call that an acceptance speech?"
"Self-impressed tripe."
"Did you say 'tripe?' In a sentence? On purpose?"
"Who decides these awards, anyway?"
"Deaf people."
"Blind people."
"They're not that bad-looking."
"Where were you looking?"
"Why are you sitting over there beaming? It's spooky."
"Howie said hi to me."
"Oh, god, not another one."
"He wasn't talking to you. He was talking to another Chris."
"What is with you guys and the Backstreet Boys?"
"You couldn't even pick a good one."
"There are good ones?"
"Wait, I'm thinking."
"Brian?"
"He's taken, twice over."
"Exactly. The only good Backstreet Boy is one that's staying far away from us."
"And since when does AJ own you? You're not his. And look, I'm touching you. I'm touching Lance! I'm not keeping my hands off of Lance! Ooohh, somebody better run and tell AJ! I'm touching his blond bombshell!"
"Grow up."
"Blond bombshell. What is that, Marilyn Monroe?"
"Lance is a girl."
"Hey, then Joey can date him and we can forget all about those...those...ugly little people."
"Stop beaming!"
"He said hi to me."
"They're not ugly little people! Some of them are ugly big people. Some of them aren't people at all."
"Oh, look, we hurt Lance's feelings."
"Poor Lance. We're sorry. I'd comfort you, but I have to keep my hands off of AJ's blond bombshell."
"Do you two ever stop touching each other?"
"Why would we want to?"
"Hey! Hey! Out! This is *NSYNC private property! We don't let your kind in here!"
AJ lounged in JC and Justin's doorway. "I've come for my trophy." Raising one exposed, tattooed arm, he slid his sunglasses down his nose. "You coming, James?"
"His name is Lance."
"Lancesten."
"Marilyn Monroe."
"Lance is a girl."
"Hey! Where are you going! Get back here!"
"See you in the morning," Lance said. He was disappointed and relieved when AJ pushed those sunglasses up again, covering dark eyes that had an unnerving tendency to have sex with Lance in public.
The two of them walked side-by-side to AJ's room. Lance was trying to act normal. Casual. Nothing going on here. Just two guys headed down the hallway. Together. Towards one room. One bed. AJ's bed. AJ. Sex. He was going to have sex with AJ. Again. His heart beat a fast prayer.
Door. Light. Calm. He was calm.
AJ. Very close and very sexy and very much wanting him. AJ wanted him. AJ wanted him and his heart was pounding and when would he ever be able to take this in stride?
Calm. He was calm.
AJ wanted him.
He swallowed.
One quick move and the sunglasses were on the table and AJ's hands yanked Lance's hips forward and AJ's mouth was on his mouth, AJ was kissing him. Hard and fast.
"We won."
AJ's kiss, AJ's mouth. He liked AJ's mouth, the sweet cut of the upper lip, the defiant set of - - AJ was getting naked.
"We won." Stripped to the waist, AJ ripped open Lance's shirt. "And I want my award."
He liked that shirt! "I'm not-"
"We swept. The Backstreet Boys are finally getting some respect. And I," AJ said, opening Lance's pants, "have you in my bed."
Something clicked in Lance's brain, something about backgrounds and earning respect and what claiming Lance before the world might mean to AJ. But before he could catch it all, AJ steered him back towards the bed. Displaying natural grace, he tripped over the pants around his ankles and AJ pushed him onto the mattress. In seconds he was naked and AJ, in half-opened pants, with a predatory grin, was crawling over him.
Anticipation rode Lance's spine. Oh yes. This was going to be so good his balls would melt.
"We won," AJ said.
"You shouldn't have."
"I always do what I shouldn't do. I always want what I shouldn't have," AJ said. "I take whatever I want. Especially if it's off-limits." His hand was hot on Lance's skin, sliding up over Lance's chest.
"And what do you want?" Lance asked.
AJ's eyes narrowed, and his hand ran down again. "You. You're mine."
Lance raised his head and kissed AJ, closing his eyes, opening his mouth for AJ's tongue while his fingers tugged at short, dark hair. "AJ."
"Lance." AJ's kiss was hot.
He flexed, pushed, and rolled. AJ was beneath him, muscular and sleek as an untamed animal, simmering with dark energy. He was only still on top because AJ was waiting, stealthy and superior, to see what he would do. AJ measured him with wary caution and suspicion. He was prey.
Prey became predator when Lance slid his hand inside AJ's half-opened pants, finding AJ's aroused cock. Desire flashed in dark eyes. "Lance."
"AJ." He stroked the filling cock, leaning in to lick up AJ's sideburns. He had this dangerous, sexual, thrilling man in bed, in hand. He kissed the slow rise of AJ's collarbone. He'd seen AJ onstage tonight. Singing and dancing...that barely covered it. Those words were almost misleading. AJ performed. Sexual, violent, complete. Physical, emotional, unique. Nobody ruled the stage like AJ McLean. And no one but AJ McLean could perform for just one song and make Lance's balls sweat.
AJ wriggled out of his pants and kissed Lance, deep and wet. His mouth was a furnace. When he rolled them over, his touch made Lance's body smolder. When he kissed Lance's chest, his tongue sketched flames over Lance's skin.
"Toss me the lube," AJ said, and cupped Lance's balls with one lean hand.
Lance's first instinct was to suppress his natural, true first instinct to spread his thighs and offer himself to AJ's hands. He still had trouble opening up to AJ the way he wanted. It was a difficult, new, and frightening thing to throw away two decades of training and let his lover touch him. He shouldn't even have a lover, he should have a girlfriend, not this wicked man who was pressing a dangerous finger to a dangerous place.
Lance could feel his heart pounding. He could feel his body tensing. He wanted this, he wanted this, he'd been wanting it since he'd looked into those dark eyes and felt his soul shudder. And that first time, when he'd let AJ in, when he'd said no to everything he'd been told and said yes to everything AJ made him feel...
He twisted and stretched, found the lubricant on the bedside table, and offered it to AJ.
AJ gave him a blood-heating, darkly promising half-smile.
Lance spread his thighs and
offered himself to AJ's hands.
But Chris kept remembering being kissed, being kissed and kissed and kissed, his fingers catching up silken strands, his heated body forgetting itself and writhing-rubbing-grinding against Howie.
And Howie had been hard. Chris wasn't used to making out like that with someone who got hard, who grew a thick knot where Chris was used to a welcoming place. But he had been hard and Howie had been hard and when their hips ground together, Howie's soft groan made Chris forget to make any sound at all.
Then his hands had found their way under Howie's shirt, discovering warm skin and muscle definition. A man's body, a masculine body, a perfect body. Howie was perfect. And Chris could do the nipple thing to Howie just like he could with a woman. Which was sort of cool, because that was one of his better tricks.
And then Howie had been on top of him, and Howie's erection had been against his thigh, and a soft curtain of hair had fallen against his cheek, and then, no, no, no, Howie had stopped kissing him.
"Time's up."
Chris opened his mouth to protest. He hadn't been sure what he was going to say, but he was going to protest.
"I already let you stay past your three minutes."
Well, yes, but-
"Good-bye, Chris." Howie had gotten off of him and gone to the door and opened it, waiting.
Half floating on air and half miserable, Chris had left the bed and approached the door. "Two more minutes?"
"Good-bye, Chris."
"Thirty seconds."
Howie had kissed his cheek. A seductive whisper had passed his ear. The door had closed in his face.
Chris still got hard thinking about it.
Joey had offered him ten bucks if he stayed away from Howie.
Joey could offer him the moon, and it wouldn't make a difference.
He knocked.
Howie opened the door. Smiled. "Hi."
"Congratulations. On winning everything we should've won."
Howie touched Chris's earrings. "You looked good tonight."
"You look good now."
"We should sing together."
"Let's make beautiful music together." Howie was still touching him. Rubbing a thumb over his chin. Probably feeling the fuzz of his goatee. Being with someone who had facial hair was a new thing. For him. For Howie? He'd assumed. But maybe he wasn't Howie's first male partner. Maybe Howie had done this before, with a guy. He didn't know how to ask. "Do you do guys?"
"Does it matter?"
Yes. No. Yes. No. "Yes. No."
Howie hooked a finger in
the neckline of his shirt and pulled him into the room. Pushed the
door shut behind him, then backed him up against it. Let go of his
shirt, held him in place with warm brown eyes. He heard the deadbolt
by his ear.