Copyright November 24, 2002-January 14, 2005 by Matthew Haldeman-Time

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairings: Backstreet Boys/*NSYNC/O-Town

Disclaimer: The young men who comprise the Backstreet Boys, *NSYNC, and O-Town 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.

Continued from part thirteen...

        Trevor blinked his eyes open, putting the pieces together.  He and Chris had been playing Rogue Warriors, and then they’d been watching Batman, and he must have fallen asleep.  “What time is it?”

        “Late,” Chris said.  “You can stay here, if you want, but I do have a bed.”

        Trevor pushed himself to a sitting position, working the stiffness from his arm and neck.  “Your bed, with you in it?”

        “That can be arranged,” Chris said, his look speculative.

        Trevor grinned.  “Fuck the floor.  Let’s go.”

        “You asked for it,” Chris said, rising and pulling him to his feet.  “Looks like I’m going to have to start keeping a toothbrush for you.  How disturbingly domestic.”

        Trevor liked that.  He wanted there to be a toothbrush waiting for him in Chris’s bathroom.  Everything that implied, he wanted to be true.  And some of it was.  Maybe even a lot of it.

        Chris made a dramatic presentation of a toothbrush, and they brushed their teeth, and Chris made a big show of placing their toothbrushes side-by-side.  “Panties on,” Chris said, taking him to the bedroom.  So Trevor took off everything except his underwear, and got into bed, grinning, waiting for Chris.  “Come on.”

        Chris sighed, and pulled off his T-shirt, dropping his jeans.  “I thought you were tired.”  Chris got in, and Trevor tugged him closer, kissing his mouth.  “Guess not,” Chris said, and started kissing back.

        Freshly naked skin was available to Trevor’s hands, and he took advantage of it, touching everything he could.  He stroked Chris’s back, caressed Chris’s chest, even rubbed up the back of Chris’s thigh until Chris reached back and smacked his hand.  Chris’s hands were on his back, rubbing a little, squeezing and scratching a little, and when he rubbed his thumb over Chris’s nipple, Chris made a surprised, happy sound.  Trevor kissed him harder, doing it again, and Chris’s hips rubbed against his.

        With only the thin fabric of their underwear separating them, Trevor was a lot closer to Chris’s hard-on this time.  He could feel the heat of Chris’s body, could feel how hard Chris was.  He wanted to put his hand down there and feel it for himself.  Grinding against it felt good as hell, but he wanted to see it, hold it in his hand, put it in his mouth, fuck Chris until he died, oh hell-

        “Whoa, off-limits,” Chris said, yanking his shorts back up the second Trevor shoved them down.  “No naked dicks.  I told you I’m not putting out tonight.”

        Trevor was so frustrated he wanted to curse.  “You also told me you’re the former Czar of Alabama.”

        Chris’s eyes narrowed.  “What’s your point?”

        “Chris, I really, really, really want to fuck you,” Trevor said, taking Chris in his arms again just to feel warm, naked skin under his hands.

        “Well, I’m glad that you can be this honest with me,” Chris said.  His kiss had Trevor moaning.  “I don’t think it’s ever going to happen.”

        “Never?” Trevor asked.  Chris couldn’t actually mean never.  “It’ll happen someday.  Someday soon.  How’s tomorrow?”

        “I don’t think I’m ready,” Chris said.  “I like you.  I like you a lot, and you’re very sexy, but I’m not ready.  I won’t be ready for a long time.”

        “Talk to Kevin,” Trevor said.  “Talk to Kevin, talk to Kevin!”

        Chris kissed him.  “Good night.”

        Trevor kissed him again.  “Are you sure we can’t try?”  Oh, wait.  Maybe he was misunderstanding.  “You do actually want me, right?  You want to do this?  You’ve never said you actually want to do this.”

        “Keep wondering,” Chris said.  “It’ll be good for you.”

        “You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met,” Trevor said.

        “I’m about to violate you,” Chris said, and suddenly, his hand was squeezing Trevor through cotton.  Trevor moaned, toes curling.  “Nice,” Chris said, cupping his balls and letting him go.  “Very nice.”

        “Can I touch yours?” Trevor asked, once he could breathe again.

        “No, thanks,” Chris said.  “That would be inappropriate.”

        “You grabbed mine!”

        “That was inappropriate, too,” Chris said, rolling over, his back to Trevor.  “Good night, peaches.”

        Trevor groaned, wrapping his arm around Chris’s waist, burying his face in Chris’s side.  “I can’t sleep with blue balls.”

        “You could always just go home,” Chris said.

        “No, I’m staying right here,” Trevor said.

        “There are pillows,” Chris pointed out.

        Trevor licked the skin above Chris’s hip.

        “But this is nice, too,” Chris said.

        Trevor rolled Chris onto his back, wrapping an arm around Chris’s waist, pillowing his cheek on Chris’s stomach.  He was very aware of Chris’s dick twitching right beneath his chin, but he didn’t touch it, and Chris didn’t mention it.  He was still rock-hard, but Chris’s fingers stroking his scalp were soothing, and eventually, he fell asleep.

        The thought bothered him, and he wondered what his problem was.  They spent all day together, every day.  He didn’t spend this much time with the people he lived with.  Well, he had, until recently, until they’d made new little friends and he’d met Brian.  But spending all of this time with Brian should have been more than enough.  Besides, as soon as Brian got home, they’d be on the phone, talking about tonight, making plans to hang out tomorrow.

        But he didn’t want Brian to go home.  He wanted more time together.  He wanted…

        He wanted to invite Brian in.  The way girls did after a date.  The way that led to-

        Shit.  Fuck.  Jacob had to get a fucking grip on reality.  He wasn’t gay.  Brian wasn’t gay.  Okay, he was gay, and Brian got head from Lance, but Brian wasn’t actually gay, and he wasn’t actively gay, so for all intents and purposes this was a completely heterosexual friendship, and he wasn’t going to fuck it up by lusting after Brian like an idiot.

        Brian pulled into his driveway and put the car in park.  “Are you okay?”

        “Yeah,” Jacob said, unfastening his seatbelt.  He let the belt slide from his hand and turned his gaze on Brian, meeting Brian’s eyes.  “Do you want to come in?”

        Brian laughed, that amused laugh like life was fun and the party never quite ended.  Jacob loved that laugh.  God, what was wrong with him?  “I don’t think I should,” Brian said.  “I’m awake enough to drive home now, but I probably shouldn’t risk trying it in another ten minutes.”

        “You can crash here tonight,” Jacob said, the words coming out of his mouth before checking in with his brain.  Damn, he shouldn’t have made that offer.  Now what was he going to do?  What if Brian said yes?

        Brian hesitated.  “I don’t want to put you out.”

        “I want you to stay.”  Good freaking god, had that sentence come from his mouth?  Shouting “I want your dick!” would have been less obvious.

        Brian smiled, that small, happy smile that put happiness in his eyes.  “Okay,” he said, and turned off the car.  “It’ll save me the price of a phone call.”

        Jacob grinned, relaxing, and got out of the car.  Together, they walked to the front door.  The house was quiet; the other guys were either in bed, or out getting laid.  The idea of the other guys getting fucked by members of *NSYNC made Jacob’s teeth hurt, so he decided not to think about it until morning.  He led Brian back to his room.

        Usually, his visiting friends slept on the sofa, or on the floor if he had more guests than sofas.  But he couldn’t let himself make Brian sleep on a sofa.  Something about it just didn’t sit well with him.  It wasn’t Brian’s celebrity status.  He didn’t believe in that.  It was just that…  He didn’t know what it was.  Maybe it was respect.  Maybe it was that Brian was used to better things than his other friends.  But Brian didn’t seem to care about that.  Brian cared about music, and religion, and loyalty, and-

        -and he was standing there, glaring at the bed, wondering what his issue was, while Brian was looking at him with a puzzled, amused smile, probably wondering the same thing.

        Forget it.  Brian was taking the bed, and Jacob didn’t care why.  Some things just were.  “The sheets are clean,” Jacob said.  He’d slept in them last night, but he hadn’t done anything nasty to them.  “I’ll be right out in the living room, so-”

        “You aren’t sleeping here?” Brian asked.  “I don’t want to put you out of your bed.  I don’t mind sharing; I’ve slept with all of the other fellas more times than I can count.”

        Jacob knew what that was like.  “I don’t want to bother you or anything.”

        “I’ll be asleep,” Brian said.  “I won’t notice a thing.”

        Jacob hesitated.  He wanted to resist, but if he made a big deal out of it, Brian would wonder what his problem was.  “Okay.  I guess you know where the bathroom is.  There should be a toothbrush under the sink.”

        “Thanks,” Brian said.

        Jacob waited while Brian was in the bathroom.  Then it was his turn.  When he came out, Brian was sitting on the bed in boxer-briefs and an undershirt, clothes piled neatly on the floor.  “Is this your side?” Brian asked.

        “No, that’s good,” Jacob said.  He couldn’t even be self-conscious about undressing, since he was used to doing it in front of more people than this.  Shoes, socks, T-shirt, jeans.  He pulled his dreads out of their ponytail and turned off the lights.  In only his boxer-briefs, he crawled into bed, pulling up the covers.

        “You’re so skinny,” Brian said.

        It didn’t sound like condemnation, only curiosity and fact, so Jacob shrugged easily.  “Yeah.  I’ve been trying to work out, to see if I can add some muscle, but Erik says I’m doomed to have the body of a twelve-year-old.”

        Brian laughed.

        There was a comfortable silence.  Jacob rolled onto his side, facing Brian in the dark.  He felt…oddly cozy.  Completely at ease, in a way he was only with the people he was absolutely closest to.

        “I had a great time tonight,” Brian said.  “I’ve lived here for years and I’ve never been to any of these places.  What else have I been missing?”

        Jacob laughed.  “Everything, man.  I’ve been to some great places.  I’ve tried to take the other guys, but after five minutes Ash starts getting freaked out.  He doesn’t like too many girls with nose rings grabbing his ass.”

        Brian’s chuckle was warm and understanding.  “And you’re used to it?”

        “After you go there enough times, they get used to you and leave you alone.  I think they just like to harass new people to keep posers away.”

        “Where should we go tomorrow?” Brian asked.

        “Anywhere you want,” Jacob said.

        “Let’s start at the beginning.  Breakfast is on me,” Brian said.  “There’s a really quiet place down by the lake.  Great view.  Everyone shows up barefoot and sandy.”

        “Then lunch is on me,” Jacob said.

        “Dinner’s on me,” Brian said.

        “The club is on me,” Jacob said.  “There’s this great spot that starts out mellow, but at midnight it turns into a punk party.  I’ve met some great people there.”  He usually picked up girls there, but for some reason he didn’t feel like mentioning that to Brian.

        “You’ve never been to my house,” Brian said, in a surprised voice.  “Come over and crash at my place tomorrow night.”

        “That sounds fair,” Jacob said.  He was sure that Brian had a guest room, so they wouldn’t be sharing a bed or anything.  Still, he got a warm feeling inside at the idea of spending the night at Brian’s house.  Waking up in Brian’s home.  It sounded nice.  Intimate.

        They talked, and talked, until Jacob had completely lost track of time.  Every time they lapsed into silence, and Jacob was right on the edge of sleep, one of them picked up the conversation again.  Finally, while he was explaining why the Honey Smacks cartoon frog freaked him out, he let his eyes drift shut.  He fell asleep mid-sentence, listening to Brian’s soft, sleepy chuckle.

        In his dreams, he was onstage, performing, alone.  The audience was rows upon rows of empty seats, stretching as far as he could see.  The only person there was Brian, sitting in the third row, smiling, applauding.  And then Lance was there, on his knees, giving Brian head, and Jacob wanted to stop them, wanted to get Lance out of there, but he couldn’t get off of the stage, he couldn’t even stop performing.  He was trapped up there, in front of the microphone, unable to put down his damned guitar, singing and singing, while Brian came in Lance’s mouth.

        Tonight was just wild.  First there had been the private jet.  A private jet with hot stewardesses that Dan could only imagine were Playboy bunnies.  The seats were more comfortable than the chairs in Dan’s house.  Not to mention, there was a Playstation onboard.  Dan didn’t even care that Justin kicked his ass in every game they played, because Playboy bunnies were bringing them Courvoisier.  Then the stewardesses asked them what they wanted for dinner.  Dan expected to be given choices, something like “chicken or fish?”, but Justin just said, “I’ll have a barbecue beef sandwich with fries, and Lieutenant Dan wants two PBJs, grape jelly, white bread, no crusts, with an apple.”

        When the stewardesses were gone, Dan said, “You think I’m the whitest boy you know, don’t you?”

        Justin just grinned at him.  “Yeah, but I like it.”

        When they got off of the plane, a security guard was waiting to usher them into a private, tinted SUV.  They were driven to a hotel and taken in the back way.  Dan wasn’t yet famous enough to take the kitchen entrance to a hotel, but Justin seemed used to it.  When they got on the elevator, Justin talked to the security guy like they knew each other, which they probably did.  Justin introduced him as Ty, and when the elevator stopped, Dan realized that they were at penthouse level.

        Ty checked out the rooms and gave them the all-clear, then left them alone.  Dan walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, staring out over the city.  New York City at night.  It was an amazing view.  It was an amazing penthouse.  Dan took a tour, lingering in each room.  The bedroom was raised from the rest of the suite, and then the huge, ten-person bed was on a platform.  There was a walk-in closet filled with, damn, were these designers Justin’s personal friends or something?  And just how many pairs of shoes did they think Justin was going to wear in two days?  The bathroom was enormous, all gold-trimmed white marble, with a huge tub, a separate shower, and a TV.  The sprawling living room had a flat-screen TV at least as large as Dan’s old dining room table, a VCR, a DVD player, and a full entertainment center with a Playstation with a large stack of games, and gigantic speakers.  There was a table piled with gift baskets from the hotel, the hotel again, the record company, radio stations, and several stores Dan could barely afford to walk into.  There were also formal, fancy-looking invitations from clubs with ultra-cool names that Dan had never even heard of.

        And then there was the kitchen.  It was a real, functioning kitchen with a full-sized, double-door refrigerator.  Justin had both doors open and was gazing into it as though it held the secrets of the universe.  That was such a normal, guy thing to do, Dan grinned and looked over his shoulder.  “They must think you’re expecting to feed a Mongol horde.  What is all of that?”

        “Hey,” Justin said with sudden interest.  “You want some cobbler?” he asked, pulling a dish from the second shelf.

        “I’m going to have to ask why that’s in there,” Dan said.  “I thought New York was too cool for cobbler.”

        “You mention you like something once on TV, people start throwing it at you,” Justin said.  “Next time you’re interviewed, say something random about giraffes, you’ll end up knee-deep in giraffe post cards, giraffe toys, giraffe-print clothes, giraffe figurines, like you have a serious fetish.  Some spoiled rich girl will try to buy you a fucking giraffe and ship it to your house.  I swear to God.”  Justin opened the silverware drawer.  “You want some?”

        “I’ll leave you to it,” Dan said.  “What else is in here?”

        “Whatever they thought I might want,” Justin said.  “Did you get to the bedroom?  Did they leave me anything to wear tomorrow?”

        “Nike, Versace, and Tommy Hilfiger have sent their love,” Dan said.

        “Great,” Justin said.  His spoon looked to Dan like it might be real silver.  “You can wear anything you want.  They sent shoes?”

        “Nike, Pony, and some dress shoes.”  Dan was opening cupboards, finding cereal and peanut butter, fine china, and, hello.  “Is this Cristal?”

        “Um,” Justin turned to look, “yeah.  Go ahead and drink it.”

        “Maybe later,” Dan said, putting it back.

        “You okay?” Justin asked.

        “Do you live like this?” Dan asked, studying him closely.

        “Not every day,” Justin said.  “But, yeah.”  Something flickered in his eyes, curiosity and defensiveness combined.  “Is something wrong with that?”

        “No,” Dan said.  “Yes!  You’re just a guy, you’re younger than I am, and look at all of this!  You show up in town and all of this is waiting for you.  What have you done to-”  He shut up.

        “You think I don’t deserve this?” Justin asked, his eyes focused.

        “I’m not saying you don’t,” Dan said.

        “I’m not saying I do,” Justin said, his voice just a shade too steady to be sharp.  “I’m asking what you’re getting at.”

        “I don’t know,” Dan said honestly, sinking down into the chair across from him.  “This is a lot.  The jet, the clothes, the food - - everything you want, anything you might ever consider wanting, they throw it at you before you even have to ask for it.  I’m suspicious of people who would treat you like that, and I’m a little jealous, and I’m trying to figure out who you really are.”

        “When I started out, when we started out, we didn’t get anything,” Justin said.  “It wasn't always like this.  I've been with the guys since I was fourteen, and I was working in the business even before that.  We spent a lot of years with no perks and no privileges, just a hell of a lot of sweat and tears without any kind of a break.  And then, after all of that, it started to get like this, more and more, every day.  The more it escalates, the more you start to ask for it, and then you start to expect it.  I appreciate all of it, because this is the big payoff for all of the work and time and blood I put in, but I’m also kind of used to it.  If the album goes the way I want it to, this’ll be nothing compared to what’s coming.  Some of this, they just offer me without me even thinking to consider it.  Some of this, management arranges for me.  Some of it, I ask for.”

        “Like what?” Dan asked.

        “I have a standing request that everywhere I go, I want a Playstation.  I might have asked for the penthouse when they first talked to me, I don’t know.  I asked for you.”

        Dan smiled.  “I’m sure they could have arranged for you to have more interesting company.”

        “More voluptuous company,” Justin agreed with his own grin.  “But not more interesting.”

        Dan liked that smile.  Justin showed a remarkable number of teeth when he was happy.  “I’m sure we have to get up early.  Where do you want me to sleep?”

        “I was thinking you could sleep with me,” Justin said.

        “And wouldn’t a million women love to hear that from you,” Dan said.  “Okay.”  It was weird to be in a hotel and not have to unpack.  “I’m going to go try to find a toothbrush in that bathroom.  If I get lost, send a search party.”

        While he brushed his teeth, Dan tried to find a word to describe the penthouse.  Plush?  Lush?  Lavish.  Everything was lavish.  The bathroom had a fucking warming towel rack.  He hadn’t even been sure what it was at first.  Justin was so pampered he needed warm towels?  What would happen if a room temperature towel touched him?

        Dan snorted.  He was being an ass.  They hadn’t specifically set that up for Justin; it was just one of the benefits of the penthouse.  It was probably there to impress guests with how luxurious the hotel was.  If Justin had one of those in his house, Dan would eat toothpaste.

        “I told Kevin where you are,” AJ said.  “He said he doesn’t care where you are.  You’re such a worthless fucking waste of human life he doesn’t care if you fucking die.  Even if you don’t die, even if you live to be a hundred, he doesn’t ever want to see your pathetic, useless face again.  And you’re in love with this guy?”

        Justin listened to it again.  Again.  Again.  Again.  Again.  Again, until he was huddled on the floor by the foot of the bed, shaking, the phone pressed tightly to his ear.

        “Justin, hey, hey, what happened?”  Dan crouched down in front of him, one hand on his arm, one on his knee.  “What is it, is that AJ?  I thought you turned your phone off.  Give it to me, come on,” Dan said, tugging the phone from his hand.

        “I had to,” Justin struggled to breathe, “check my messages.”  He put his hand out for his phone, but Dan was setting it aside, out of reach.

        “You should check your messages, that’s fine, but as soon as you hear his voice, the second you know it’s him, you delete it.  Don’t listen to a word he has to say.  You left him for a reason,” Dan said.  “You don’t need to hear anything from him.”

        “I love him,” Justin choked, “so much…”  Kevin wanted him dead, Kevin wanted him gone, Kevin-

        “It’s okay,” Dan said.  “It’s okay to feel anything you want to feel right now.  The important thing is that you were strong today.  You’re making me cold with all of this shivering.  Let’s get you in the bed.”

        Dan pulled him to his feet; he moved numbly, obeying the guidance of Dan’s hands, falling onto the bed.  Kevin didn’t care what happened to him.  He could develop cancer or get hit by a truck or trip and snap his neck and die, and Kevin wouldn’t care.  He could get shot by a mugger or be assaulted by a crazy fan or crash through a window and fall to his death, and Kevin wouldn’t care.

        What if it happened?  What if he walked out to the window in the living room, and admired that view with all of its busy, glittering lights, and then slammed through the glass and plummeted all of the way down to the sidewalk?  What if he did it, what if he jumped?  Would Kevin care?  Would Kevin go to his funeral?  Would Kevin even blink?  Would Kevin remember him next year?  Next month?  Tomorrow?

        “It’s okay,” Dan said, and Justin shook in Dan’s arms.  The covers were thick and warm, the bed was soft and cozy, and Dan’s arms were strong and protective, but Justin couldn’t stop shivering.  Kevin never wanted to see him again.  Never again, not once, not for as long as they lived.

        “I love him,” Justin said, stumbling over the words, his voice cracking.  “I’d die without him, I’d die if anything ever happened to him.  He hates me, how can he hate me this much when I love him so much it’s killing me?”

        “I don’t know,” Dan said, one sure hand rubbing between his shoulders.  “I don’t understand any of it.  I don’t know how anyone could know you at all and hate you at all.  I think you’re the best thing since peanut butter.”

        It was ridiculous, but Justin laughed, laughed so hard his ribs ached, laughed until he cried, cried until great, terrible sobs of pain were wrenched from his broken, broken heart.  Dan held him through all of it, the laughter and the pain, held him while he cried himself to sleep, held him close, kept him safe.

        Chris was asleep, and maybe because Trevor’s weight was off of him, he rolled onto his side.  Trevor grinned, looking at him.  When he wanted them to, Chris’s eyebrows could do this killer skeptical arching thing.  Trevor loved it.  Trevor loved the elfin look, too, and the demonic look, and the way his ears stuck out a little, and the way he had a five o’clock shadow before noon, and the way his eyes were a lighter brown than Trevor’s, and the way he looked when he was happy, or skeptical, or suspicious, and the way some days his hair was spiked in every direction but other days it was all perfectly groomed, and how soft his mouth was relaxed in sleep.

        Trevor kissed him, stroking his naked back, slowly shifting to press closer to his sleep-warmed body.  With a surprised, aching noise, Chris wakened and began to kiss him back, hand cupping the back of his neck.  “Oh…mmm…”  Trevor coaxed a few more warm noises from Chris, starting to-

        “Whoa, shit!”  Chris pushed him away, scrambling back.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”  Chris stared at Trevor in shock, pressing one hand to his own chest.  “Jesus.”

        “What?” Trevor demanded.  He was fucking sick of this!

        “Sorry,” Chris said.  “Sorry.  I didn’t…  Hi.  Good morning.”

        Trevor was a little slow first thing in the morning, but he wasn’t an idiot.  Chris had never kissed him like that before, not once.  Not like that, intimate and loving and hotter than hell and so fucking hungry it was like being eaten alive by someone else’s desire.  Chris had been dreaming about someone else, and had been kissing someone else.  Chris hadn’t been kissing him at all.  He was pissed that Chris had pulled away from him like that, and he was pissed that Chris never kissed him like that, and he was pissed that Kevin was fucking up his love life.  Sex life.  Whatever.  “I have to go.”

        “I was going to make breakfast,” Chris said.  “I can make pancakes in fun shapes.  I can make a ball, and a circle, and a smiley face with no features, and-”

        “I have to get home,” Trevor said, standing up, pulling on his pants, not looking at Chris.

        “No, seriously, I can do Mickey Mouse and Pluto and Donald Duck and Goofy, I have these things, what are they called, the shape things-”

        “I have to go,” Trevor repeated, stepping into his shoes.  He hesitated, then cupped Chris’s chin in one hand and kissed Chris’s mouth.  “Call me later,” he said, and dropped his gaze, and left.

        He was just starting down the road when his phone rang.  “Hello.”

        “Is it later yet?” Chris asked.

        “You’re driving me really, really crazy,” Trevor said, all anger bleeding away.  God, he loved Chris.  “Listen, I want you to do something for me.  The next time you see Kevin, I want you to think about what really happened between you guys, and how you really feel about him.”

        “I never see Kevin,” Chris said.

        “You just did, at Howie’s club.”

        “Okay, if I happen to run into him again, I’ll think about how I really feel.”

        “Thank you.”

        “Anything else?”

        “I’ll call you,” Trevor said.  “Okay?”

        “Okay, but don’t be shocked if I run away with another hot young guy with bedroom eyes.  I’m in very high demand.”

        “I know you are,” Trevor said.  “I’ll call soon.”

        “Okay.  Bye.”

        “Bye.”

        Jacob’s eyes opened.  “Mn.  Brian?”  Jacob sat up, and Brian drew his hand back, sitting up beside him.  “Hi,” Jacob said, rubbing sleep crud from his eyes.

        “Good morning,” Brian said, hugging one knee to his chest.  “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

        “No, it’s good,” Jacob said.  “What did we say we were doing today?”

        “I’m supposed to be taking you to breakfast,” Brian said.

        “Great,” Jacob said with a quick grin.  Brian liked seeing his love happy.  It wasn’t as good as seeing his love broken and begging and miserable would be, but it was nice.  “We can - - do you want to wear that, or should we stop by your house first, or - - there are five of us living here, we could find something for you to wear.”

        “I wouldn’t mind a clean shirt,” Brian said.  He was going to make sure it was one of Jacob’s, and he was going to make sure he kept it.  He still had a few of his pet’s things.  Mementos of…happier times.  Brian smiled to himself.  Happiness was so relative…

        The second Trevor walked into the house, his heart stopped.  Fucking God Almighty.  He’d expected for Joey to be in the house, maybe, but Brian fucking Littrell?  Standing there beside Jacob like it was completely normal to be there in Trevor’s house, rubbing the curls brushing his collar, speaking in that faint Kentucky accent that only served to remind Trevor that he was Kevin’s cousin.

        Brian Littrell.  Kevin’s cousin.  Brian Littrell.  Backstreet Boy.  Brian Littrell.  In Trevor’s house.  Brian Littrell.  Wearing Jacob’s T-shirt.

        If Jacob and Brian were fucking, Trevor was going to die in a horrible explosion of intense, killing jealousy.  And he was going to take Jacob with him.

        “Good morning,” Brian said, with a friendly smile.  “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow Jacob for a few hours.”

        “Go ahead,” Trevor said, proud of himself for speaking through the shock.  “Keep him if you want.”

        “Thanks,” Jacob said, putting his wallet into his back pocket.  “Where’ve you been?”

        “With Chris,” Trevor said.

        “Really?” Brian asked.  “How’s he doing?”

        Since, “He’s still fucked up over Kevin and it’s driving me crazy,” wasn’t the most appropriate answer, Trevor settled for, “He’s great.  He offered to make me Donald Duck pancakes.”

        Brian smiled.  “We’re going out to breakfast now.  Do you want to come?”

        Jacob gave him a look, the “I love you man but don’t get in my way” look.  Trevor would have killed to eat a meal with Brian, but he understood.  “No, that’s okay.  Thanks, though.”  That look told him that Jacob and Brian weren’t fucking, but Jacob wanted to change that immediately.  Trevor wasn’t all that shocked; he wasn’t supposed to know that Jacob was gay, but it wasn’t that hard to figure out.  He was surprised that Jacob was actively interested in someone, though.  That meant Jacob felt really strongly about Brian, more than he’d ever felt about any guy since Trevor had met him.  Trevor was happy for him.

        And intensely jealous.  Because, damn.

        JC was asleep pretty much on top of him, covering most of his chest and all of his right side, straddling his right thigh.  His arm was asleep, but who the hell cared; it was asleep because it was trapped underneath JC’s naked body, and he’d fucked JC last night, and nothing.  Else.  Mattered.

        Nothing else except maybe the fact that Howie was curled up against his left side, face so close to his he could feel Howie’s breath soft and even against his neck.  When he turned his head even slightly, Howie’s hair brushed his cheek.

        He was going to tell Trevor, and Trevor was going to die, and he’d be responsible for homicide, but it would be sooooo worth it.

        Ashley’s first thought was that his body hadn’t ached this much since the last time he’d spent three days learning new choreography.  He was sore all over, especially-

        Whoa.  Especially there, and he remembered why, and his eyes flew open.

        “I have to go.”  He was in Nick’s house, in Nick’s bed, and Nick was sitting on the bed, dressed, putting shoes on, talking to him.  A quick glance around the room gave him no clue where Joey was.  “AJ’s having another emergency.  Joey’s in the kitchen.”  Nick kissed him, a very personal, very sexual kiss that made his body ache in a whole new way.  “I’ll see you later.”  Fingertips trailed across his cheek, and Nick kissed him again, gently.  “Bye, Angel.”

        Nick was gone.

        Ashley stared up at the ceiling.  He would sit up, but he suspected he was a little too sore for that.  What the hell had he been thinking yesterday?  Nothing, he hadn’t been thinking anything, he’d been a brainless dickslave and he knew it.

        Fuck.

        It wasn’t supposed to be this way.  He was supposed to be stealing Joey away from Nick, not offering Nick his ass.

        But he must have proven himself to Joey last night.  He must have.  Now Joey would see, clearly, that he was as sexually capable as Nick was, with the benefit of also being in love with Joey, which would make him the better boyfriend.

        He hadn’t given Nick head.

        Where in hell had that thought come from?

        No, it was true.  He hadn’t given Nick head.  He hadn’t gotten Nick’s dick close to his mouth.

        And that mattered?

        Of course it didn’t matter, it was just an odd, random fact.

        It mattered, it mattered like hell, Nick’s dick was so thick and so long and so perfect he wanted it in his mouth, wanted to feel it pushing between his lips, wanted-

        “Hey, pretty.”  Joey came in, sitting on the bed, leaning in to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his mouth.  “Nick said you were awake.  What are you in here thinking about?”

        “You,” Ashley said, one hand rising to Joey’s face, fingers stroking across Joey’s beard.  He wished that it were true.  It should have been true.  Nick was dangerous; he had to get Nick out of his life, fast.  “You’re so good to me,” Ashley said.  He sat up, kissing Joey’s mouth.  “I owe you so much.”

        “You don’t owe me anything,” Joey said, and Ashley gazed into his eyes, wanting to see love there.  There was affection, and there was attraction, and that was where love came from, wasn’t it?  Ashley was close to getting everything he wanted, so close he could feel it, so close he was willing to do anything to cross that one final inch.  “You have to be starving,” Joey said, and kissed him again, briefly.  “Come on and have breakfast.  And then we’ll go somewhere, just us.”

        That sounded perfect.  Ashley smiled, giving Joey another kiss.  They’d go out together, and they’d have a good time, and he’d prove to Joey that he was all Joey would ever need.

        At least he’d figured out why he kept doing it.  If he was going to open his mouth for another guy’s dick, he wanted that guy to be excited about it.  Or something like that.  He’d never planned on doing it, so he hadn’t thought much about how the guy might react to it.  But if he had thought about it, he wouldn’t have wanted there to be no reaction at all.

        Okay, technically, Howie reacted.  Those quiet little sighs of vague pleasure, the slow stroking of his scalp, that counted as a reaction.  But it wasn’t a very big reaction.

        Erik personally found getting head to be a very exciting thing.  Having a mouth on his dick felt fucking incredible.  Howie acted like he was having a mildly pleasant experience.  Erik had seen people get more excited over a good sandwich.

        Each time he did it, though, Howie got slightly more into it.  He’d even started to hear the beginnings of an actual moan.  Someday, he was going to get a serious groan out of Howie, and he didn’t care how many blowjobs he had to give to do it.

        There was a thought he’d never, ever, ever expected to have.

        Damn, his life was getting freaky.

        Chris was hung up on Kevin, and that was playing hell with Trevor’s emotional balance.  He wanted to be with Chris, sexually and friend-wise, but Kevin was a serious roadblock.  Maybe if Kevin talked to Chris, or even to him, they might get past it.  Maybe all Chris needed was an apology, or a few answers.

        Kevin had said, “If there’s something I can do for you, you let me know.”  Most people who said something like that didn’t mean it, but Kevin was a man of integrity.

        One little phone call couldn’t hurt.

        He dialed from memory.

        “Hello?”

        “Kevin, this is Trevor.  Trevor Penick.”

        “Trevor,” Kevin said, in friendly recognition, and Trevor’s brain spasmed.  “What can I do for you?”

        “I…  This is really personal,” Trevor said, getting cold feet.  He couldn’t do this; Kevin’s private life was none of his business.

        “Then maybe we should talk face-to-face,” Kevin said.

        Trevor jumped up and down, screaming silently.  Falling still, controlling his voice, he said, “Okay.  We don’t have to, if you-”

        “No, it’s fine,” Kevin said.  “Why don’t we meet this afternoon?  How’s…  How about one o’clock, at Vilane’s?”

        “Vilane’s,” Trevor repeated.  “Okay.”  Jump.  Scream.

        “Great.  See you then,” Kevin said.

        “Bye,” Trevor said, and hung up, and threw the phone across the room in excitement.  “Whoo!”

        He watched JC get dressed.  JC wore a lot of jewelry some days, “Hi, I’m gay” jewelry.  But whatever JC had paid for it, most of it didn’t look very expensive.  Howie, though, Howie didn’t wear a lot of jewelry, but what he did wear was nice.  That ring, that ring had some serious bling.  “Where’d you get that?”

        “This?” Howie asked, giving it a brief glance, like he’d forgotten he had it on.  “I think an old friend gave it to me.”  This weird, split-second look passed between Howie and JC, and JC’s eyes got suspicious.  Maybe the ring was from one of Howie’s former lovers.  A rich former lover with great taste.

        “We should go,” JC said.  He kissed Howie.  Then he turned right around and kissed Erik.  “Bye, honey.”

        Erik would have responded to that, but his mouth was suddenly occupied.  Damn, Howie was good.  “Bye,” Erik gasped.  He followed JC outside, back to reality.

        JC paused, running one graceful hand through immaculately tousled hair, looking like a fucking movie star.  “Erik-Michael.”

        “Yeah?”  He’d considered telling them that they didn’t have to call him by his full name every single time, but it was starting to turn him on in some weird way.  They were so classy, in a way he couldn’t quite define, that he’d be disappointed if they started just calling him Erik.

        “I know you’re not comfortable with the idea, and that’s fine,” JC said.  “Howie’s never going to bring it up, so you’ll never have to do it, if you really don’t want to.  He’d hate it if he knew I told you this, but I think you should know.”

        If this was going where it sounded like this was going…

        JC’s gaze was direct, his voice gentle as though to soften the blow.  “Howie wants to make love to you.”

        Those weren’t the right words for it.  “You mean he wants to fuck me,” Erik said.

        “Yes,” JC said, just as gently.  “You have to understand.  I make love a certain way, and Howie makes love a certain way.  The way you and I make love just happens to be compatible.  What Howie wants from you isn’t any different from what I want from you, he just-”

        “He wants to fuck me,” Erik said.  God, it was-  “That doesn’t get any more different.”

        “He’s not going to try,” JC said.  “He knows you don’t want it.  He won’t even mention it.”

        That touch, last night, the one he’d shied away from.  That had been Howie’s touch, Howie’s hand, Howie wanting to fuck him.  Erik couldn’t do that.  Couldn’t do this.  “I have to-”

        “Erik-Michael.”  JC’s hand caught his arm; JC pulled him back, standing close, looking amazing, hand sliding down to his wrist, to his hand, fingers tangling in his.  “You have to trust us.  We would never do anything you didn’t want.  You can always say no.”  JC’s hand squeezed.  “We don’t want to hurt you.”

        “I can’t do that,” Erik said.  He was almost shaking, his voice intense.  “You have no idea how much I mean it when I say that’s never going to happen unless I’m fucking dead on the ground.”

        “I know,” JC said quietly.  “Honey, I know I’m gay, but I’ve met straight guys before.  I understand how this works.  I just want you to understand our side of it.  We’re not trying to hurt you, and we’d never want to scare you.  We just want to be close to you, and that’s Howie’s way of connecting with you.  I’m getting the best of both worlds,” JC said with a smile, “but it’s almost not fair.  I get to experience both of you, but you won’t get to connect with each other.”

        “Can’t I just fuck him?” Erik asked.  Not to be rude, but Howie was gay.

        “Howie doesn’t do that,” JC said.  “He’s never let anyone, not even me.  I think you’re both missing out on one of the most intense sexual experiences you can ever have, but if you’ve never tried it, you don’t know what you’re missing.”  JC touched his mouth.  “I’d better go.  Bye, Erik-Michael.”  A light squeeze to his hand, and JC was leaving.

        Intense sexual experience or not, it was never going to happen.  He’d just have to connect with Howie some other way.  Some other way that didn’t involve anything going into his ass.  He was seriously committed to exploring everything Howie and JC had to offer, but he had his limits.  Some thing just were never, ever going to happen.

        Never.

        Ever.

        He looked at the front door.

        He remembered being on top of Howie’s naked body, kissing Howie’s soft, sexy mouth, tasting Howie’s soft, panting breaths, rocking dick to dick until they came, Howie’s thick lashes lifting, Howie’s dark, liquid gaze pinning him, aftershocks echoing through his blood, Howie’s eyes telling him things sex ed. hadn’t covered.

        Ever?

        Brian’s phone rang.  Brian kept walking, putting a hand in his pocket, bringing back the silence.

        Brian had turned his phone off?  Turned the ringer off, anyway.  “Don’t you want to get that?” Jacob asked.

        “It’s probably one of the guys,” Brian said.  “We were talking about getting together today.”

        Jacob frowned.  “You’re blowing them off?”

        One heartbeat of eye contact was as good as a touch.  “I’d rather be here with you,” Brian said.  The naked honesty of it almost made Jacob stumble.

        One brief sentence, but it said so much, Jacob didn’t know what to think.  Brian had been with them for nine, almost ten years now.  Touring and working and living and loving and fighting, everything he’d been through with his group only more, and longer, and bigger.  Jacob knew, simply from talking with Brian, that those guys were his brothers, his family.  And Brian was blowing them off, in completely uncharacteristic style, to be with him, here, walking together.

        Jacob had to stop walking.  Brian turned to him, and he gazed into Brian’s eyes.  So bright it hurt.

        “Jacob?”

        “You don’t have to do that,” Jacob said.  “You can go, if you want to.  We can catch up later.”

        “No,” Brian said.  His knuckles slid down Jacob’s sideburn.  “I want to be here.  I made the right decision.”  His hand dropped slowly, and it was all Jacob could do not to reach for it.  “You’d do the same, for me.”

        Something squeezed in Jacob’s heart.  At that moment, decisions were made.  Promises, oaths.  He would do the same for Brian.  All other allegiances were secondary.  All other relationships, people, events, would be put on hold if Brian needed him.  If Brian would do this for him, the least he could do was return the respect.  He’d blow people off for Brian.  He’d turn his back on them for Brian.  No one, nothing, was this important to him.  Never had been.  Never would be.  Never.

        “Hi,” Chris said.  “Is this a bad time?”  It was sort of hard to tell, since Kevin always looked varying degrees of pissed off, at least whenever he was around.  “I know I should call first-”

        “You have serious trouble taking instruction, don’t you?” Kevin asked, stepping aside to let him enter the house.

        “It’s a chronic condition,” Chris admitted.  Kevin’s house was nicer than his was.  Like something out of Rich People Today, instead of Thirty-Something Adolescents with Too Much Money.  “So, uh, how are you?”

        “I have to meet Trevor in a few hours.  That’s why I was going to call you.  He wants to talk to me.”

        “I’m driving him nuts,” Chris said.  “Only half of it’s deliberate.”  He crossed his arms over his chest, looking around some more.  “So, what-”  His mouth closed as Kevin cupped his chin in one firm hand, tilting his face up to look at Kevin directly.  “Um?”

        “What do you want?” Kevin asked clearly, and he would have sounded patient if Chris had been deaf.

        “Sex?” Chris suggested, trying to make it sound like an off-hand comment and not his reason for driving across town before breakfast.

        Kevin’s gaze sharpened a little, which was impressive, since it had been capable of cutting glass already.  His fingers shifted on Chris’s chin.  Chris had no idea what he was thinking, which might have been a good thing.  “What happened?” Kevin asked.

        What, now he needed a reason to run to the arms of his best friend’s ex-fucker-upper who seemed to despise him and just happened to share DNA with his own personal reason for living?  “I was dreaming about Brian,” startling new information there, “and when I woke up there was a guy in my bed kissing me, and I sort of got confused, and for a second it was like I was with Brian again,” and he didn’t have to explain the heartbreak that had caused, right?

        Kevin’s gaze turned into something almost sympathetic, if Chris stretched the definition to include calculating eyebrow flickers.  The brush of Kevin’s mouth over his might have been condescending, but Chris didn’t care.  “All right,” Kevin said.

        All right?  That meant yes, didn’t it?  Chris was about to get laid?  Wow.  This was too easy.  Kevin had to be up to something.  Of course Kevin was up to something.  Oddly enough, Chris didn’t care what that something was.  He was already in such intense pain, Kevin couldn’t do anything to touch him.  He was finally developing something vaguely resembling a sex life to those who squinted.  Since his dick was getting action and his emotions were safe, Chris was seeing all pros and no cons in this one.  The fact that Kevin was a manipulative sadist was merely interesting information at this point.

        Kevin started walking towards his bedroom.  Chris followed, wondering how odd it would seem if he licked Kevin’s cheekbones for an hour.

        Since Erik was practically strangling him with excitement, staring at him with a somewhat crazed but happy look, Trevor guessed it must have been somewhere good.  “Disney World.”

        “Close.  All night, one bed, three people, one of the people was me and one was a former Mouseketeer.  One guess who the other one was.”

        Trevor grabbed Erik with both hands.  “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

        “I fucked JC!” Erik shouted.

        “You’re so fucking dead!” Trevor shouted back, shoving Erik off of him.  Erik took off running, and Trevor chased him through the room, around furniture.

        “I fucked JC!” Erik called, feinting right and then bolting for the kitchen.

        “You’re fucking dead!” Trevor yelled, running after him.  He pinned Erik by the toaster, and when Erik tried to vault over the kitchen table, Trevor grabbed him and dragged him down to the floor.  “Fucking dead!”

        Erik laughed, so high he was almost shaking with it.  “The three of us, Howie’s bed, all night, it was fucking insane, it was fucking wild, I had my dick up JC’s ass and he’s so fucking hot I almost fucked myself into a fucking coma!  And Howie!”  Erik rolled them over suddenly, and Trevor started to wonder if being in bed with two guys was teaching Erik better wrestling moves.  “Howie is so fucking - - have you ever been in bed with two people at once?”

        “Other than Jacob and Dan?” Trevor asked.

        “It was so fucking hot I think I fucking died in the middle of it,” Erik said.  “JC gives the best head ever, his mouth is like-”

        “I’m going to kill you,” Trevor said.  “Right now.”

        “Howie, Howie kisses like - - did you ever eat a girl out, and-”

        “I don’t want to hear where that’s going,” Trevor said.  “Give it to me straight.  You’ve kissed Howie Dorough.  And JC Chasez.  Within this past hour.”

        “Yeah,” Erik said, grinning madly.

        “You’ve given Howie head.”

        “Yes.”  Erik was almost vibrating with excitement.

        “You’ve gotten head from JC, and you’ve actually fucked him.”

        “Yes.”

        “And you spent all night last night in bed with both of them doing nasty things.”

        “Yes.”

        Trevor stared at him.  “It’s really disturbing how much I want to kiss you right now.”

        Erik grimaced.  “Gross.”  He got up, hauling Trevor to his feet.  “I’m not supposed to be telling anybody about this, so don’t tell anybody.”

        “Except Ashley and Dan.”

        “Except Ashley and Dan,” Erik agreed, like that went without saying.  “Maybe not Jacob right now.”

        “I don’t know, he can’t really say much about it, since I think Brian slept here last night.”

        “Brian, Brian?” Erik asked, looking stunned.

        “I don’t think they had sex, but that’s not because Jacob doesn’t want to.”

        “Jacob and a Backstreet Boy?  Isn’t that one of the signs of the apocalypse?”

        “Yeah, sort of like Howie and JC letting you touch them without gloves on,” Trevor said.

        “Jealous,” Erik said, poking him.  “Jealous, jealous, jealous!  So where are Dan and Ashley?  I want to tell them everything.  Ashley likes details, and damn, I have a million.”

        “Ashley’s AWOL, and Dan’s in New York with Justin.”  Life could be very, very cruel.  Oh, wait.  Trevor was meeting Kevin in a few hours.  Never mind.

        “What are you and Chris up to?” Erik asked.

        “We’re having a four-way with,” Trevor tried to think of anyone hotter than JC and Howie, “Kevin and Britney.”

        Erik snorted.  “I’m still winning.”

        “No, I just left,” JC said.

        “Is he alone?”

        “Yeah, Erik just left, too,” JC said, sounding puzzled and almost suspicious.

        “Great.  I have to talk to him,” Lance said, making it sound businesslike and casual.  “I didn’t want to interrupt anything with Erik.  Damn, I have to run.  Thanks.  Bye.”  He hung up, reaching for his keys.

        He had to get to Howie.  He’d spent all night wondering what Howie and JC were doing, what they were up to, how close they were getting, how much sex they were having.  That meeting had been a disaster for many reasons, but seeing JC and Howie walk in together like that, clearly fresh from a good fuck, had eaten away any sense of security he’d had.  If Howie didn’t want JC, he was doing a damned good job of faking it.  Fucking to impress Erik was one thing; fucking for the hell of it was something else entirely.

        At a stoplight halfway there, Lance remembered to check the mirror, to fix his hair, to redecide that outfit number two was fine, and he didn’t need to waste time going back home to change into number five.  Number five had much better pants, but two was green, and Howie liked him in green.  Everyone did, because it was supposed to bring color to his eyes, but that was exactly why he’d spent years avoiding it like the plague.  Once Howie had said something about it, though, he’d started investing in green clothes like he didn’t want anything else in his closet.

        Reaching Howie’s house, he got out and rang the doorbell.  Howie was going to be home, and they were going to talk.  What they were going to talk about, Lance didn’t know; no matter how deliberately he planned his conversations with Howie, they never ended up where he wanted them to go.  Howie was too good at evading and side-stepping and blame-shifting.

        Lance wanted to hate Howie sometimes.  It seemed like hatred would be easier.  Less confusing.  Less frustrating.  Love was hard, and frightening.  Maybe it was simpler with people who weren’t Howie, or maybe it was always this rough.  But he couldn’t hate Howie.  And he didn’t want to be in love with anyone else.

        When Howie opened the door, his smile was so polite Lance knew that anyone who hadn’t memorized every minute flicker of Howie’s every expression wouldn’t even notice how impersonal it was.  “Lance,” Howie said, like Lance’s appearance on his doorstep was a surprise.  Howie’s tone didn’t commit to “good surprise” or “bad surprise,” simply stopped at “surprise” and left the rest up for interpretation.  Howie was very good at letting people make their own assumptions and paint themselves into their own corners.

        Lance had given thought to his next line.  “Can I come in?” wasn’t going to work, because Howie could just say no.  “We have to talk” was guaranteed to get that door closed in his face.  He’d decided on, “How much time do you have for me?”  The words made it a pathetic, needy guilt trip, but he kept his voice firm, and he was pretty sure that the novelty of it would interest Howie.  He’d never said anything like it before, and that meant that it would get Howie’s attention.  That alone might get him in the door.

        It worked.  Howie gave him a quick smile, a bright flash of teeth, pulling the door wider.  “You know I can always make time for you, Lance.”

        Lance knew no such thing, but that was how this worked.  Howie said nice, pretty things that made it sound like they were a thousand times closer and more stable than they were, and as long as Lance played along and at least pretended to buy it, he might get laid.  What Lance got out of it was time with Howie, even sex with Howie; what Howie got out of it, only Howie knew.

        Stepping into Howie’s house, Lance wondered what had happened there last night.  JC and Erik had just left.  JC and Erik had spent the night?  JC and Erik had been in Howie’s bed?  “How’s Erik?”

        “He kisses like he’s giving mouth-to-mouth and doing dental surgery with his tongue at the same time,” Howie said, closing the door.  Two tiny hoops in Howie’s left earlobe today.

        “Things must be going well,” Lance said.  It sounded like things were getting serious.

        Howie shifted, moving closer.  “Let’s just say…”  Howie’s fingers touched the front of Lance’s shirt, a hint of pressure, then dropped, gaze meeting Lance’s eyes before finding Lance’s mouth.  “…I had a bad night.”

        Lance knew Howie’s signals, from the most faint to the most blatant.  He knew when Howie was in the look but don’t touch mood, knew when Howie was in the we’re just friends phase, knew when Howie was outright seducing him, and knew that, in moments like these, with cues like those, Howie was openly willing to fuck as long as Lance simply made the first move.

        Lance made his move, kissing Howie like they weren’t mid-conversation, hand sliding up the side of Howie’s neck, fingers curling into perfectly disarrayed hair.  Howie’s reaction was immediate, lips parting for Lance’s tongue, hands pulling Lance in by the front of his shirt before sliding back and down to Lance’s ass, spreading heat over every inch along the way.  Lance had met this hunger before, remembered it from long, long nights long, long ago when he’d tumbled Howie across countless beds and fucked Howie’s demanding body until the passion burned itself out and all that remained were polite smiles and pretty words.

        Lance felt Howie tugging open his fly before he realized how damned hard he was.  His dick had been shocked into full arousal by the demanding hunger in Howie’s kiss and the insistent greed in Howie’s hands.  He hadn’t been with this Howie in a long time, but his body remembered.  He pushed Howie down onto the nearest sofa, hastily opening Howie’s pants, kissing Howie with persistent thrusts of his tongue.  Howie made that primal, back-of-the-throat moaning sound he lived for, dragging him impossibly closer.  When Howie’s hand reached between their bodies and closed around his dick, Lance groaned into Howie’s mouth, blind from the pressure of it.  Howie’s hand was slick, coating him, and Lance wasn’t even surprised by that, because Howie had always had lube, kept it in his pocket with his wallet, warm against his body.

        Lance took it from him, used it on him, slicked him with it quickly because this wasn’t the time for procrastination.  Then Lance pushed and was in, natural aggression taking over, yanking Howie into place on his dick, fucking in fast and forceful.  The sound of Howie’s demanding, high-pitched panting echoed in his ears, Howie’s manicured nails digging into the base of his spine through his shirt, Howie’s cock hard and thick between their bodies.  Lance still had his shoes on, shirt on, pants shoved down to give him more freedom of movement.  He had one hand curled around Howie’s naked hip, one hand curled around Howie’s muscular, naked thigh, sweating through his shirt, groaning as he fucked the best thing he’d ever had.  He raised his head to watch Howie’s face, the tightening of muscles as Howie rode out another wave of pleasure, the-

        There.  On Howie’s neck.  Exposed by the slipping collar.  A bruise.  A love bite.  He hadn’t done that, that wasn’t from him.

        Without thinking, moved by animal impulse, Lance ducked his head, fastening his mouth over the mark.  He fucked Howie harder, closing his eyes, dragging his teeth over Howie’s collarbone, sucking hard, tightening his grip.  With the salt of sweat and the faint-faint, sweet-sweet spice of Howie on his tongue, he bruised Howie’s neck with his own mouth, making the stranger’s claim his own.

        Blunt nails slipping in the sweat on his back, and Lance realized that Howie was tugging up his shirt.  He took over, yanking it off and tossing it aside, going back in for more of Howie’s mouth, taking Howie’s dick into his hand in a twisting, pumping grip.  The sound of Howie’s overstimulated moan vibrated pleasure through Lance’s body, and he groaned, feeding off of Howie’s passionate energy, so close to orgasm he could feel the first beats of it rippling through his body.  When Howie’s teeth caught his lip he felt it, the explosion in his body, the explosion inside Howie beneath him, the sudden fierce tension in Howie’s hands on his ass, the hot pulses of cum splashing onto his chest, the splintering ecstasy translating from his body to Howie’s and back again.

        Lance dropped his forehead to Howie’s shoulder, breathing raggedly.  His fingers curled loosely against Howie’s naked hip.  He didn’t have a clue why what had just happened had happened.  He hadn’t thought Howie wanted him that way anymore.  He still wasn’t sure that Howie did.  Everyone was playing with everyone else.  He couldn’t trust Howie, he’d never trust Howie again.  But he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.  Weak, yes, that made him weak, and hypocritical, and not at all proud of himself.  Shaky in his self-image.  But he’d sacrifice whatever he had to sacrifice, to get time with Howie.

        His gaze caught on that love bite again.  Ever since they’d broken up, for lack of a more appropriate term, he’d known that Howie was screwing other people.  Of course Howie was having sex with other people.  Howie was with JC and Erik now, but there always had been other people, even before them.  But Howie had been too classy to be obvious about it.  Howie had never come to him marked before.  He’d never had to deal with the evidence in his face like this.

        He didn’t like it.  In fact, he hated it.  In fact, it made him want to wrap his hands around Erik’s neck and squeeze.  Hard.

        Howie’s hand was at the small of his back, massaging idly.  Lance closed his eyes, brushing a kiss to Howie’s neck.  He licked briefly under Howie’s jaw, a silent I love you, and raised his head.

        His pleasure was diminished, slightly, by the sweetly distant, perfectly civil look in Howie’s eyes.  That Howie was back.

        Howie kissed him lightly, soft pressure of soft lips.  “Is this what you came here for?”

        Lance looked into Howie’s perfectly friendly eyes, calculating.  He’d shown up, Howie had given “touch me” signals, he’d touched, Howie had demanded to be fucked, and now that the sex was over, Howie was back to normal.  His first conclusion was that Howie had just used him for sex.  But Howie would never be that blatant.  Howie was never that obvious about Lance’s purpose in his life.  To stay in Howie’s life, he had to understand that he was never going to know why he was there at all.  Howie wouldn’t show his hand for a quick screw.

        What did that mean?  Howie wanted him to think that their relationship, such as it was, was based on sex?  Howie wanted to confuse him?  Howie no longer cared what he thought?  What was Howie up to?

        Hell, what was Howie ever up to?  Lance never understood him.  Never really knew him.  Lance read Howie better than anyone could, he was sure of it, due to extensive training and observation.  Yet for all of that, he still couldn’t guess one motivation.

        He couldn’t afford to get mad.  JC and Erik were too close to taking his place for him to give them an inch.  That meant that he had to put up with this behavior.

        Or did it?

        Lance studied Howie’s eyes.  “I love you,” he said, revealing his heart in its naked, vulnerable state.

        Not a flicker of reaction, not a hint of interest.  “Yes, I know,” Howie said, his voice soft with feigned sincerity.  “You told me.”  His fingers ran once down Lance’s spine, slowly.  “Thank you.”

        And that was it.  No matter how often Lance tested Howie, and in which ways, the results were always going to be the same.  “You’re welcome,” Lance said, getting off of Howie, dragging his pants back up over his ass.  “You’re welcome,” he repeated, picking his shirt up off of the floor.  “Since you asked,” he said, facing Howie as he put himself back together, “I don’t know why I came here.  I don’t know what I think I’m trying to get from you, since I should know by now that you’re not going to give me anything.  Half of me wants to give up on you and move on, because I’m humiliating myself a little more every day with you, and you can’t possibly be worth it.  But half of me is so in love with you, it doesn’t matter what happens, I want to chase after you for the rest of my life.  You’re hell on my ego, you’re hell on my self-esteem, you’re hell on my sanity, you’re making me paranoid, you’re ruining my friendship with JC, and I can’t start a decent social life while I’m busy running after you.  Let me ask you,” Lance said, staring Howie down.  “Do you really think you’re worth it?”

        Howie shifted meditatively on the sofa as though he’d been asked a normal question, as though this conversation were about baseball or lima beans, as though he weren’t half-undressed with Lance’s dick fresh from his ass.  “I don’t know, Lance,” he finally answered, having given the question careful consideration.  “That’s something only you can decide.  The choice has to be yours.”

        “I choose you, Howie.  I always choose you,” Lance said.  “Even when I hate myself for it.”  Fully dressed, he leaned down and caught Howie’s mouth in a slow, lingering kiss.  “Even when I think you hate me for it,” he whispered, stepping back, opening his eyes.  Taking a long look at Howie’s unreadable expression, Lance turned away and left.

        Dan was dressed (in Justin’s gift-from-the-designer clothes) and sitting on the (luxurious) bed to tie his (brand new, exclusive, way too expensive for normal people but free for Justin) sneakers when Justin came out of the shower, walking to the closet with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips.  “What’s on the itinerary?” Dan asked.

        “Today?” Justin asked.  “TRL first, spa second.  Tomorrow’s shopping and clubbing.”

        “Spa,” Dan repeated.  He wasn’t really a spa guy, but it seemed to be the big thing to do.  People could find more ways to spend money…

        “I feel like shit,” Justin said.  “Maybe if I look okay, I’ll feel better.”

        Dan looked over, grinning.  That face on that body, and Justin called it “okay?”  Man, “If you think you look just okay, I’d hate to know how you think the rest of us look.”

        Justin smiled at him over one shoulder, eyes flashing with humor.  “Trust me, you’d love to know how I think you look.”

        Dan grinned.  “Anybody would look good in these clothes.”

        Turning back to the closet, Justin murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, “Bet you’d look even better out of them.”  Dan rolled his eyes, getting up.  He’d intended to wear his own shoes, but he hadn’t been able to resist all of those gleaming white sneakers.  New clothes, new shoes, a visit to TRL followed by a trip to the spa - - not bad for a vacation.

        The doorbell rang.  “Can you get that?” Justin asked from the closet.  “It’s probably breakfast.”

        “We already got breakfast,” Dan said.  Someone had appeared at the door earlier to wheel in a cart loaded down with doughnuts, bagels, muffins, scones, and other assorted mouth-watering pastries, not to mention coffee, orange juice, milk, four kinds of butter, and about fifteen kinds of jellies, jams, and cream cheeses.  Dan was pretty sure that if Justin asked for a partridge in a pear tree, not only would he get it, but someone would pick, wash, and slice the pears for him.

        “Real breakfast,” Justin said.

        Since that was all of the explanation Justin seemed to think was necessary, and whoever was at the door was waiting, Dan went to see what “real breakfast” was.  He opened the penthouse door.

        “Breakfast for Mr. Timberlake.”  A guy was holding two bags from McDonald’s.

        “Thanks,” Dan said.  McDonald’s?  He took the bags from the, what was he, a bellboy?  Was Dan supposed to tip him?  Did Dan have any money?  Someone was coming up behind the first guy.  The second guy had a take-out holder with two cups in it, and not from McDonald’s, either.

        “Coffee for Mr. Timberlake.”

        “Right,” Dan said.  Of course it was.  “Thanks.”  He set the McDonald’s bags on the table and took the take-out tray off the coffee guy’s hands.  He’d just gotten dressed, so his wallet was back in the bedroom.  “Hold-”

        “Hey, great,” Justin said, walking into the room.  McDonald’s Guy’s eyes went wide with shock and adoration; Coffee Guy looked totally unimpressed.  “Thanks,” Justin said, taking his wallet from his pocket and handing them each a bill.  “Appreciate it.”

        They left, Coffee Guy like he had other business to attend to, McDonald’s Guy like he’d really rather stay and get an autograph.  The door closed, and Justin picked up one of the coffee cups, taking off the lid and sipping.  “God, that’s good.  You ever been to Benitoni’s?”

        “No,” Dan said.  It was after twelve.  They’d woken up late.  Justin had called down to the concierge at eleven, to ask something about a club.  The breakfast cart had come up right after that, probably sent by the concierge once he knew Justin was awake.  Like the penthouse didn’t have a fully stocked kitchen.  Justin had ignored the kitchen and the cart to order breakfast from McDonald’s.  After McDonald’s had already started serving lunch.  Which meant that they’d specially made it just for him.

        It was tempting, strongly tempting, to get sucked into this kind of lifestyle.  To give in, to take luxuries for granted, to expect and demand preferential treatment.  When Dan went to McDonald’s, and they said, “We’re serving lunch now,” he changed his order.  That was normal, that was right, that was what people did.  When Justin went to McDonald’s, they said, “Hello, Mr. Timberlake, what can we get for you?”  They’d probably make him a Whopper if he asked for it.

        Dan didn’t want to be like that.  Being pampered, being fawned over, being granted every wish before it could be spoken - - where did that lead?

        But Justin wasn’t throwing diva fits.  Justin still thanked people and tipped them.  Justin hadn’t asked for the fridge to be stocked and hadn’t requested the breakfast cart.  If Justin wanted an Egg McMuffin for breakfast, why couldn’t he have one?  If McDonald’s was willing to make one for him after breakfast hours, wasn’t that McDonald’s problem?

        Justin handed him a cup.  “Best coffee in New York.”

        Dan tasted it.  “Damn.”  Justin grinned at him, like it was fun to make him happy.  “This is so strong my eyeballs hurt.  I love it.”

        Justin sat on the sofa, spreading breakfast across the coffee table.  “Eat whatever you want.  Looks like the clothes fit.”

        “Yeah,” Dan said, sitting on the recliner, picking up a hash brown.  “Thanks.”

        “You can take whatever you want,” Justin said.  “When we go home.”

        “Thanks,” Dan said.  He grinned.  “Including the shoes?”

        Justin grinned back.  “Hell, no.”

        Nick wouldn’t answer his door.

        JC didn’t know where Nick was, but he knew someone who might.  Standing in Nick’s driveway, JC called Joey.

        “You got Joey.”

        “Joey, do you know where Nick is?” JC asked.  “I have to talk to him.”

        “No, he’s not here, he’s with AJ right now,” Joey said.  His voice wasn’t quite natural; too cheerful, too casual, almost forced.  He had to be with Ashley.

        “Okay,” JC said.  “Thanks.”  He hung up.  Damn it.  He had to talk to Nick.  He had to explain and apologize.  He couldn’t let Nick think that he’d rather be with Howie.  He wouldn’t rather be with anyone else.  But everyone was in their way.  There were too many roadblocks and distractions.  Ashley, Erik, Howie, Joey, now AJ - - JC had to manage to get some time alone with Nick, without being worried about getting caught.

        He called Nick’s cell phone and left a message.

        “It’s JC,” Nick said carelessly, kicking his sneakers off and rewinding the tape.  “He said Howie’s a better fuck than I am.”

        “Oh, did that hurt your feelings?” AJ asked in a poor-baby voice.

        Nick snorted.  “No.  I know when JC’s lying, and he was lying, because he was pissed that everybody knows all about his sex life.”

        “He’ll get over it,” AJ said.  “How long are you going to make him wait?”

        “I want to see how desperate he gets,” Nick said.  “I want to make sure he learned his lesson from last time.”

        “Last time, when you had him so desperate to get you back he pledged his undying love, bought you that wicked Jaguar, sent you a tape of that obscene act of flexibility, and showed up in the middle of the night with a written apology and shaved pubes?”

        “He gave me a really good massage, too,” Nick said.  “And a great blowjob, but he’s always good at that.  I didn’t make him suffer enough, though.  He actually accused me of burning down that house.  Like I’d do that.”

        “Funny, how it burned down after he decorated it and put his stuff in it, but before your shit got there,” AJ said.

        “Yeah,” Nick said with a grin, playing the tape.  “Funny.”  Onscreen, Ashley moaned as Joey’s dick plunged deep into his ass.  “Do we have to see this?  It was hard enough to watch the first time.”

        “I just want to see how Joey’s doing,” AJ said.  “You still have that apology, don’t you?”

        “Sure,” Nick said.  “Signed, dated, he practically got it notarized.”

        “I thought you said Ashley was a screamer,” AJ said, watching Ashley pant and beg as Joey fucked him.

        “He is,” Nick said.  “When my dick’s in him.”

        Was it more wrong to have sex with Kevin while Justin was in town or while Justin was out of town?  When Justin was in town he was more likely to hear about it, which was a bad thing.  But when Justin was out of town, it made Chris feel like he was sneaking into Justin’s boyfriend’s bed behind Justin’s back.  Which kind of was what he was doing.  It was probably worse this time, because he’d approached Kevin about it.  Of course, he had Justin’s permission, sincere permission, but having Justin’s permission didn’t mean that he should go ahead and do it.

        When it came down to it, he had to weigh, “I don’t want you to stop because of me.  I can’t have what I want.  That doesn’t mean no one else should,” against, “I hate you!  I hate you!  You don’t fucking touch him!  I hate you!  You fucking traitor!  You motherfucking asshole, how could you fucking do this to me, I fucking hate you!”

        Yeah.

        As sincere as Justin’s permission had been, it was hard to beat the passion of Justin’s jealous rage.

        Chris didn’t even want Kevin.  He wanted the jaw line, and the link to Brian; and he wanted what Kevin’s dick could do for him.  But he wasn’t there for Kevin, the person.  The arrogance, the superiority complex, the “I can kill you with one look” thing Kevin had going for him - - Justin could keep it.  Chris wanted fun and warmth and laughter.  He suspected that Kevin was capable of those things, but Kevin certainly wasn’t sharing them with him.

        Brian had.  Brian-

        “Chris.”  Kevin was coming out of the bathroom again, and how had that happened?  Kevin was dressed, shoes on and hair done and everything.  Chris remembered that Kevin had places to go and people to see and Trevors to fuck with, so he should get his ass out of Kevin’s bed.

        “Yeah,” Chris said, making himself get up.  He pulled his clothes on automatically, wondering how he was going to continue to justify this behavior to himself.  He was fucking Kevin, and that was wrong, but he kept doing it anyway.  He was going to do it again, if Kevin let him, even though he knew it was killing Justin.  He didn’t even have a good excuse, besides that it dulled the pain.  It didn’t stop the pain, it simply dulled it, and even that was fleeting and temporary.  How could he weigh that against the pain he was causing Justin?

        Apparently, he was a selfish bastard.  He hadn’t known that about himself, before.  It wasn’t exactly a good thing.

        Dressed, Chris cleared his throat and attempted to make eye contact.  “I should go so you can, uh, go fuck up Trevor.  Thanks for,” well, “sex on demand.”  He decided to ask the question that was lurking in the back of his brain.  What was the worst Kevin could do?  “Why did you say yes?”

        Kevin smiled at him.  “I like sex.”

        Chris raised his eyebrows.  That didn’t begin to explain anything.  If Kevin wanted sex, Kevin could get sex anywhere.  Personally, he found himself to be sexy as hell, but he didn’t for a minute think that Kevin sat awake at night lusting after him.  Why would Kevin say yes to him, as opposed to Justin or random beautiful women?

        “You have your reasons for coming here,” Kevin said.  “I have my reasons for letting you stay.”  He kissed Chris with something almost like affection.  “I’ll call you when I’m finished with Trevor.”

        “Well, that’s nice,” Chris said.  His life was surreal.  “Is this how mid-day rendezvous are supposed to go?”

        “Yes,” Kevin said.

        “You’re going to meet Trevor, who’s trying to have sex with me, and I like Trevor but I’m in love with someone else, who’s seducing Trevor’s best friend and my best friend at the same time, except my best friend is-”

        “Don’t try to figure it out,” Kevin said.  “None of that matters.  The only thing that matters right now is Trevor.  That’s all you need to focus on.”

        “It doesn’t matter that I’m breaking Justin’s heart?” Chris asked.

        “No,” Kevin said.  “That’s never going to matter.”

        Wow.  That was cold.  “And again, I’m forced to wonder what he sees in you,” Chris said.  “Besides the sex.  That, I get.  You’re very good.  Understatement.  But besides sex, how did he ever get interested in you?”

        Kevin smiled.  “It’s my charming personality.”

        Chris eyed him with suspicion.  “You freak me out.”  It was definitely time to go.  “Thanks for the great orgasms.  See you again sometime.”

        “Wait,” Kevin said.  “I almost forgot.  You don’t have any of Brian’s things, do you?”

        Besides the lock of hair that he’d stolen and was never going to tell anyone that he had because it was his private business and anyone who went near it would be dead?  “No.”  He was quick to explain.  “I know that some people” Justin “try to sneak things to obsess over later, but I don’t need that.  I have Brian in my heart.  I don’t need little mementos to remember him by.  I could never forget him.”

        “Then you don’t want-”

        “Give it to me,” Chris snapped, hands reaching.  He didn’t even know what Kevin had, but whatever it was, it belonged to him, now.

        With a slight smile, Kevin handed him a small, square, red velvet jewelry box.  Chris snatched it up, opening it quickly.  “Oh!”  Brian’s, these were Brian’s, he knew these, Brian had worn them.  He remembered them, the silver bracelet, the silver watch, he knew these, they were Brian’s.  They’d hung around Brian’s wrists, and he’d traced the bones in Brian’s wrist with his fingertips, with his tongue.  Chris pressed the box to his chest, looking to Kevin’s eyes.  “Does he know that you have these?”

        “No,” Kevin said.

        Chris felt his eyes widen with shock.  “You have to take them back!  You can’t steal things from Brian!”  He’d never take anything from Brian that Brian didn’t want to give.

        Kevin considered him.  “Are you going to give them back to me?”

        “No!”  Chris hugged the box to himself tightly, denying Kevin access to it, then realized the dilemma.  Oh.  Well.  Hellfuck, these were his now.  They weren’t leaving his possession, not without a court order.  “Thank you,” he said, unable to stop clutching the box to his chest.  Brian’s silver bracelet and watch were inside, pieces of Brian, another slender tie to Brian, another handful of memories.  Too precious to be parted with.

        Kevin tipped his chin up and kissed him.  “You’re welcome,” Kevin said, looking into his eyes.

        Those were the wrong eyes, but Chris dropped a kiss on that jaw, unable to resist a small lick, nuzzling briefly.  “Have a good time fucking up Trevor,” he said, and walked out, hugging his sacred box.

        “My scalp itches,” Brian whispered.  “Lance, he’s driving me crazy.  If I end up killing him before the day’s over, you’ll testify on my behalf, won’t you?  It’s justifiable homicide.”

        Lance had to laugh.  “What are you two doing?”

        “Would you believe me if I told you that I’m calling you from inside a Port-a-Potty?” Brian asked.

        “No,” Lance said, laughing harder.  “That’s unbelievable!”

        “It’s unbearable,” Brian moaned.  “There are nine twenty-something unkempt convenience store workers on the other side of this door, who want to be professional skateboarders.  I’m supposed to spend the next three hours bonding with these people while they decide which one of them is going to be the next Tony Hawk.  And two of them are inviting me and Jacob to come over to their apartment after this so they can show Jacob the music they’ve been working on.”

        “You’re in hell,” Lance said.  “That’s pure hell.”  He was still laughing, because even though it sounded horrible, it also sounded hilarious.  Jacob didn’t have a fucking clue.

        “Get me out of this, please,” Brian said.  “I’ll beg you, I’ll pay you, you can have all royalties for the next ten years.”

        “Get you out of that?” Lance asked.  “Are you sure?  It sounds like fun.”

        “It sounds like hell,” Brian whispered desperately.  “Please?”

        “All right,” Lance said, giving in, unable to hold back more laughter at the image of Brian panicked, trapped in a Port-a-Potty, held prisoner by songwriting skateboarders from hell.  “What do you want me to do?”

        “Sir?”

        “Uh, I’m meeting someone here,” Trevor said, going for quick and smooth.  “Kevin Richardson.”

        “Yes.  Right this way, please.”

        Trevor followed, scanning the room ahead for Kevin.  There, standing by a table with, hell, legs for days and an ass he’d like to see first thing every morning.  She smiled, and Kevin took her hand, drawing her in to kiss her cheek.  When Kevin leaned back he was smiling, a smile Trevor felt all the way down to his toes.  Forget her, Trevor wanted some of that.  She turned away, and Kevin watched her go.  His eyes didn’t dip to her ass, either, which was more gentlemanly than Trevor would have been.

        Trevor’s approach must have caught Kevin’s attention, because he turned, and recognition hit his eyes.  “Trevor,” he said.  “Thank you, Silas,” he said, and the host left them discreetly.  “It’s good to see you,” Kevin said, and a busboy whipped in, clearing the table in point two seconds.  “Have a seat,” Kevin said, and the table looked fresh and neat.

        “Thanks,” Trevor said.  Kevin was so classy, Trevor wanted to be just like him.  Or have sex with him.  Or both.

        The second Trevor’s ass hit the chair, a waiter appeared out of thin air.  “Would you like something for dessert, sir?”

        “I’ll have some Irish coffee,” Kevin said.  “Make that two.”  The waiter disappeared, and Kevin met Trevor’s eyes across the table.  With that direct gaze focused on him, Trevor felt like he was the center of the universe.  The rest of the world ceased to exist; they were alone in the restaurant, and only what happened between them mattered.  “How’ve you been?” Kevin asked.

        “Great,” Trevor said.  Then he remembered that he’d called Kevin, and he’d had a reason for it.  “Actually, Chris is driving me nuts.”

        “That sounds like Chris,” Kevin said, but his smile was so fond, he sounded more affectionate than anything.  “Is that why you wanted to talk to me?”

        “Yeah,” Trevor said.  “I know it seems like this is none of my business, but it’s messing up my personal life, so I feel like it’s sort of my business.”  He was babbling at Kevin.  “Chris can’t get over you, and I don’t know how to change that, and it’s getting in my way.”  A cup of coffee was placed before him.

        “I can’t believe I’d be that hard to get over,” Kevin said with a small, self-effacing smile.

        Classy, handsome, strong-willed, mature, confident, hot as fucking hell, and humble, too?  Was there anything about Kevin that wasn’t perfect?  To avoid explaining directly to Kevin’s face why Trevor thought he’d be impossible to get over, Trevor took a sip.  It was strong, rich coffee, heavily laced with whiskey.  Trevor blinked as the alcohol burned the back of his throat, willing himself not to choke.  He tried to lick his lips surreptitiously, praying he didn’t have whipped cream on his face.  Whipped cream wouldn’t dare get on Kevin’s face, but if it did, damn, Trevor would love to lick it off for him.  He’d love to lick it off of anywhere on Kevin.  Especially his nipples.  Trevor had never seen Kevin’s naked chest in person, of course, but he’d seen it onscreen and in pictures, and those were some great nipples.

        Either that whiskey worked fast, or Trevor was going crazy simply by being this close to Kevin Richardson.

        He had really nice, long thighs, too.

        That wasn’t the whiskey talking.  That was hormones.  Apparently, now that Trevor had started making out with men - - or, a man, but that still counted - - he was trying to make up for lost time by wanting to jump the sexiest man on earth in public.

        “Things have been over between Chris and myself for a long time,” Kevin said.  “I’ve been worried about him lately, but I thought he’d moved on.”  Private smile.  “To you.”

        “I’m trying to get him to move on to me,” Trevor said.  “He keeps stalling out.  Every time, it comes back to you.  I thought, maybe you could talk to him for me, or you could talk to me and I could talk to him.”

        “I don’t know what to say,” Kevin said.  “Things ended badly.  When Chris and I were dating, I liked Chris, I liked him a lot.  He’s a lot of fun, he’s different from everyone else I’ve ever been with.  We had a great time.  But we never said that we were exclusive.”

        Trevor’s mind blinked.  What?  “He-”

        “Now, I know that’s what he thought we were doing,” Kevin said.  “But at the time...  I never knew that’s what he expected.  We were both on the road, and I talked to him every day.  Every day.  I didn’t think he expected me to be monogamous, but I didn’t tell him who I was having sex with, either, because that’s not appropriate.  So he didn’t know I was seeing other people, and I didn’t know he thought I wasn’t.”

        Talk about bad communication.  “What if you’d known what he wanted?” Trevor asked.  “What if he’d told you he wanted to be exclusive?”

        “By the time I understood that’s what he wanted from me, it was too late,” Kevin said.  “If I’d known before…I don’t think we’ll ever know.”  His smile was slight, his eyes glittering briefly with memory and possibility.  The glint faded and so did his smile.  “Things could have been a lot different.”

        Trevor took another sip.  No wonder Chris had issues.  Their whole relationship had been based on a different set-up in Chris’s head than had existed in Kevin’s head.  If they’d just started out on the same page, everything would have gone a different way.  They might even still be together.

        Chris was still in love with Kevin.  He’d said that he’d go back, if Kevin wanted him.  But he’d made it sound like Kevin had used him, deliberately cheated on him, intentionally betrayed him.  With this version of events, with that look on Kevin’s face…  “You could try again,” Trevor said.

        “No,” Kevin said, snapping from his reverie, haze clearing from his eyes.  He shook his head, a quick negation, final decision made.  “That’s over.  We said things we shouldn’t have said, we did things we shouldn’t have done - - and we’ve moved on.  Chris wants to be with you now, and he should.  You’re going to be great for him.  You’re what he needs,” Kevin said, looking into Trevor’s eyes.  “I want that for him.  He deserves to be with someone like you.”

        Trevor tried to get past the idea that he was talking one-on-one about personal, private things with Kevin Richardson.  “You should talk to him.  He doesn’t see things the way you do.  I think it would really help.  Now that some time’s passed, maybe he’ll be able to see things from a different perspective.”

        “Maybe,” Kevin said.  He finished his coffee.  “Maybe.  I’ll think about it,” he said.  With that clear, level gaze, those words weren’t a brush-off; Kevin was going to put some real thought into it.

        “Okay.  Thanks,” Trevor said.  “Thanks for meeting me.  It’s been, I really appreciate it.  If I can ever do anything for you, let me know, I’ll be right there.”

        Quick flash of a smile.  “I’ll do that.”

        “Thanks, again,” Trevor said, because he had to, because Kevin hadn’t had to give him even two seconds of time.  He pulled out his wallet, rising.

        “I’ve got it,” Kevin said.

        “No, I-”

        “Don’t worry about it,” Kevin said.  He took out his own wallet, and he didn’t have a huge wad of bills or anything, but he dropped three hundreds on the table like they were fives.  Trevor was surprised mostly because from what he’d seen, Kevin’s date had been eating salad.  It made him wonder what had been in that salad.  It made him wonder how much that coffee had cost.  It made him wonder if he had enough cash on him for the valet.

        They walked outside together, and Trevor looked around quickly for a sign telling him - - twenty-five bucks?  To park his car?  Shit, fuck, he only had twenty dollars, he knew he did.  Somehow, he had to get the valet to accept twenty without alerting Kevin.  Maybe if they got Kevin’s car and Kevin left, and then he dealt with them...

        Why the hell did they need twenty-five bucks plus a tip to park his car?  What were they doing to it?

        “It was good to see you,” Kevin said.

        “You, too,” Trevor said, smiling, playing it cool.

        “I’ll think about what you said,” Kevin said.

        “Great.  Thanks,” Trevor said.  Kevin was going to think about something he’d said.  He couldn’t believe the turns his life kept taking.

        “Thanks,” Kevin said to the valet, paying him.

        Trevor was screwed.  The valet was looking at him, Kevin was looking at him, everyone was waiting for him to pay.  He didn’t know what to do.  Hand over twenty and pray that the guy didn’t notice?  If the guy did notice, he could fake surprise and ask Kevin to cover for him.  Five dollars wouldn’t break Kevin’s bank.  But he couldn’t take money from Kevin.  And he didn’t want to look incompetent, like he couldn’t handle paying a valet.

        He wondered if valets accepted credit cards.

        Realizing that he was hesitating for way too long, and that the valet was starting to eye him with serious suspicion, Trevor began to reach for his wallet.  He pulled it out, flipping it open, taking out some bills.  He counted quickly, almost hoping that - - no, damn it, still only twenty.  “I’m a little short,” he told the valet, trying to project calm innocence.  “Do you-”

        “Let me get it,” Kevin said.

        “No, no-”

        “No, let me,” Kevin insisted with a flash of a warm smile.  “It’s my fault for making you meet me here, anyway.  You’ve helped me out, now it’s my turn to do a little something for you.”  He handed over some money.

        “I, thank you,” Trevor said.  He felt like a jackass.  He’d put out his second album and he still wasn’t Hollywood.

        “It’s not a problem,” Kevin said.  “I’ll call you,” he added, taking