Sucker

Copyright November 24, 2002-August 13, 2007 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 ninety-three

            He played cards with Lance, but he kept thinking about that glimpse of Dan’s pale arm, and he paid no attention to the game, and frequently forgot which game they were playing anyway.

            He needed to know that Dan was all right.  He had to know that Dan was okay.  He wanted to call.  Or go over there and see for himself.

            If he asked, Lance would take him to the Townhouse.  Lance would do it just to defy AJ.  But Justin had to be obedient.  Disobedient cunts got punished.

            When the doorbell rang, Justin froze.  Was it Kevin?  Was it Dan?  He looked at Lance for help.

            Calmly, not giving a fuck, Lance set down his cards and rose like it didn’t matter.  “I’ll get it,” he said, totally not caring, and headed for the front door.

            “What if it’s Dan?” Justin whispered, following him.

            “He wouldn’t be surprised to see you in AJ’s house,” Lance said, and checked the peephole.  “Oh,” he said, and relaxed, opening the door.  “Hi.”

            “Lance!  Hi,” Brian said, embracing him.  “I know that this deserves a face-to-face meeting, and I couldn’t wait to tell you.  I just had sex with Jacob.”  Over Lance’s shoulder, he met Justin’s eyes and smiled, mouthing, “Hi,” and wiggling his fingers in greeting.

            Oh, god.  While his internal organs curled up in fear, Justin forced a weak smile onto his face.  Brian.  Not in front of Lance, though, Brian wouldn’t do anything in front of Lance.  As long as he stuck close to Lance’s side, and Brian couldn’t get him alone, he’d be okay.

            “You fucked Jacob?” Lance asked, stepping back and staring at Brian.  “When?”

            “Actually,” Brian winced and scratched his head, “Jacob fucked me.”

            Chris opened his eyes.  Dizzy.  “Uh?”

            Setting the washcloth aside, Trevor eyed him, so worried, so confused.  “Are you okay?  Can I call somebody?  Do you have a doctor?”

            This felt really familiar.  “Did we just do this?”  Maybe not; his memory was notoriously unreliable.  Things happened but didn’t, or didn’t happen but did, or did and then didn’t.

            “Yeah,” Trevor said, helping him to sit up, looking at him with the deepest, most worried eyes in the world.  “You passed out in the closet, and then you did it again.”

            His shirt was off, and his mouth tasted hideous; he must’ve thrown up.  Yeah, looked like he’d done it at least twice, judging by the state of the floor.  “Sorry.”

            “What’s wrong?” Trevor asked.  “Is it medical?  Is it…what’s going on?  Did Brian say something?”

            Completely unprepared for that question, unprepared for Trevor to invoke Brian’s name, Chris almost threw up again.  He’d barely suppressed that urge when he felt his eyes rolling back in his head; gripping Trevor’s forearm, he thought about good things, solid things, real things, positive things, like the way Brian had been with him in Atlanta.  Closing his eyes and breathing carefully, he got through it, finally opening his eyes and relaxing his grip.  “Sorry.  No, he wanted to talk to Lance, about something, I don’t know, he said that he had good news about something.”

            “Then why were you in the closet?” Trevor asked.

            “What, you’re too good to play hide and seek?” Chris asked.  Rubbing his face, he decided that he wasn’t well enough to stand up yet, so he stayed put.  His hand back on Trevor’s arm, he looked into those deep, worried eyes.  “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

            “What is it?” Trevor asked.  “Is…is something…wrong with you?”

            “Yes,” Chris said, because obviously something was, “but not really.  It’s just a thing that happens sometimes, pretty much out of the blue.  It’s only been the past couple of years, it hasn’t been my whole life.  Only Lance knows about it.  I feel weird, I throw up, I pass out, and everything’s fine again for weeks and months at a time.”

            “Chris, that’s not okay,” Trevor said.  “Have you seen a doctor?  What if it gets worse?  That’s not normal, you can’t-”

            “If I’ve managed to hide it from JC and Justin and Joey, it can’t be that serious,” Chris said.  “There’s nothing doctors can do about it, they can’t give me pills, there’s nothing medically wrong with me.  It’s supposedly all in my head.  Lance thinks that it’s stress.”

            “You’re freaking me out,” Trevor said, hugging him.  “You scared the shit out of me.  You can’t just go through this, Chris, you can’t just throw up and pass out sometimes.  That’s not safe, it’s not healthy.”

            “It’s not that bad,” Chris said.  “It’s inconvenient, and it gets messy, but it’s not that serious.”

            “Lance knows about this?” Trevor asked, sitting back reluctantly.  “How’d you manage to hide it from everybody else?  Does Kevin know about it?”

            “Kevin seems to know everything about everything,” Chris said.  “Or, he thinks that he does.  I’ve never done it around JC or Justin or Joey, I’m usually alone, or in a hotel room.  I didn’t tell them, because I didn’t want them to worry about me.  It’s not that serious, and there’s nothing they can do about it.”

            “Have you seen a doctor lately?” Trevor asked.  “Maybe there are more tests that they could run, or-”

            “I can afford the best medical care in the world,” Chris said.  “I’ve seen doctors.  There’s nothing to fix, there’s nothing medical about it.  It just happens sometimes.”  Those were largely unrelated statements.  He had seen doctors in his lifetime, it was true, just never for this.

            “I can’t believe that you just live with it,” Trevor said, a hand on his knee.  “I’m going to be terrified for you for the rest of my life.”

            “It’s not that bad,” Chris said.  His phone rang; doing his best to look normal, he glanced at the ID.  AJ.  He had to answer.  “Kirkpatrick,” he said, putting his hand over Trevor’s.

            “Brian wants you at his house in half an hour with a brand new necklace,” AJ said.  “It’s on hold for you at his favorite place.”

            That was one of the best and worst things Chris had ever heard.  “Thank you for letting me know,” he said.  “I’m on my way.”  AJ hung up on him, and he put his phone in his pocket, looking at Trevor.  “I have to go, but I’ll-”

            “You were unconscious thirty seconds ago,” Trevor said.  “You aren’t going anywhere.”

            “I’m better now,” he said, getting up.  He had to shower, he had to brush his teeth to get rid of the vomit smell, he had to find something to wear, he had to pick up the necklace and get to Brian’s house, he hadn’t shaved yet, he, shit, he had to drop off Trevor, too.  “Want to drive one of my cars home?”

            Trevor looked at him, really looked at him.  Expression shifting from worried and upset to utterly, utterly disgusted, Trevor turned away and walked out.  Walked right out on him, right out of his house.

            A small but true part of Chris hated himself for rushing to the shower and letting Trevor go.  There was vomit all over his floor, and he’d just treated a genuinely good and giving and supportive and fun and sexy person like shit one too many times, but he only had half an hour to get to Brian, and he couldn’t waste time on someone who’d be better off without him anyway.

            Brian let Lance take the lead in their relationship; that was obvious.  He complimented Lance, and he let Lance slip into a condescending tone once in a while.  Justin would never dare to speak to Brian like that, but Lance got away with it.

            Lance guided the conversation, and combed his fingers through Brian’s hair.  Brian answered Lance’s questions and shuddered over how disgusting Jacob was, dropping plenty of flattery about what a great lover and teacher Lance was.

            Brian kept dwelling on the fact that Jacob had fucked Lance, innocently returning to it every few minutes, despite the fact that Lance clearly didn’t want to talk about it and kept changing the subject.  Brian was way more perceptive than that; apparently he just liked to humiliate Lance with shameful, painful memories.

            “He’s not very pretty,” Brian said.  “I kept hoping that, if I saw it all at once, in context, he’d have a cute little body, but…”  Shaking his head, he grimaced.  “He doesn’t.”

            Cute little body.

            “Aren’t you pretty,” Brian murmured approvingly, running both hands over his chest.  Shame and anger burned through him; it took everything he had not to shove Brian away.  “What a cute little body.”  Brian’s fingers traveled the ridges of his six-pack.  “Kevin tolerates only the best.”

            No, it was a coincidence.  That was probably just a phrase that Brian liked, just something that Brian said.

            “He’s skinny and underdeveloped,” Lance said.

            “He kept telling me how much he loved me,” Brian said with a shudder of displeasure.  “He kept telling me that he was mine.”  His gaze, a cool, light blue, slid over to Justin, and his cheek rounded as he pressed the tip of his tongue to it, mimicking the bulge that, that, that Justin’s dick had made when, when, oh god.

            “Excuse me,” Justin said, lurching to his feet.  He had to get out, he had to get away.  “It’s good to see you, I’m sorry, I need to go to my room.”

            “Justin,” Lance said as he turned away.  “Are you okay?”

            He couldn’t turn around, he couldn’t face Brian again, he didn’t want to risk eye contact.  God only knew what expression would be on that false face.  “I’m okay, I just want to rest,” he said, as naturally as he could, before he got the hell away.

            Brian was evil.  It wasn’t like Kevin’s kind of evil, either.  It wasn’t like AJ’s.  Maybe it was like Nick and Howie’s, the kind that could kill and then smile.  Afraid of him, not wanting to be near him, escaped to the guest room, locking the door and sitting on the bed, quickly turning on the TV to escape into the bright world of busy soundtracks and canned laughter.

            Humiliating people and getting off on it, that was sick.  Brian was sick.  Something in there was broken.  Justin didn’t know how Chris had survived a continuous assault from someone like that.

            Brian was playing Lance, and Lance didn’t see it.  Justin wanted to tell him, but that would mean angering Kevin.  Announcing, “Hey, Brian’s a sociopathic freak, stay the hell away from him,” wouldn’t go over well.  Besides, what proof did he have?  How could he convince Lance without mentioning that Brian had given him head twice?  And who would ever believe that he hadn’t wanted it?

            The door opened.

            Jerking around, Justin froze on the bed as Brian entered the room.  He’d locked that door, that door had been locked, he knew it, he was sure of it, he’d locked that door.

            “It’s good to see you today, Justin,” Brian said, with a knowing little smile.

            “It’s good to see you, too,” Justin said, crawling back and slipping off of the mattress, the bed between him and Brian.  “Where’s Lance?”

            “Oh, he left,” Brian said lightly.  “He went to pick up lunch and a change of clothes.”

            Left?  Lance was gone?  He’d left Justin alone with Brian?  Did he really have no idea how crazy Brian was?  Alone with Brian, he was alone with Brian; what did Brian want?  “He’ll be back soon,” Justin guessed, hoping, praying.

            “Not that soon,” Brian said, smiling at him and gesturing him closer, a crooked finger beckoning.

            Oh, god, he had to obey, that was a direct order.  Sidling around the edge of the bed, Justin said, “You and Lance look like you’re getting along pretty well.”  Maybe he could distract Brian with conversation until Lance got back.

            “I don’t want to talk about Lance,” Brian said, fingers rising and grazing his temple, a light touch, a feather-light caress that made him want to jerk away.  “I want to talk about you, Justin.”

            He wanted to smack Brian’s hand away, but he didn’t dare.  Taking advantage of Brian’s generosity had gotten him punished before; he knew what would happen if he rudely rejected Brian’s advances.  Being rude to Brian was probably even worse than being rude to Kevin, in Kevin’s eyes.  “I’m not worth talking about,” he said.  “There are more important subjects, like you, or Kevin.  Or the game.”  They could talk about the game, about worms, about the carpet, anything but him.

            “Your little mouth is so soft and pretty,” Brian said, smiling.  “I’d love to watch AJ chew on it.”

            “Thank you,” Justin said.  God, he missed AJ.  Shit was easier to take when AJ was around.  And if Dan were around, he wouldn’t have to put up with any of this, none of it.

            Head tilting slightly to one side, Brian gazed up at him with a dreamy half-smile.  “Do you know what I think of, when I hear your name?” Brian asked, eyes warm with understanding, one single fingertip lightly dragging across Justin’s lower lip.  He wanted to pull away, he wanted to bite down, he wanted to shove Brian off of him.  “Do you know what hearing ‘Justin Timberlake’ brings to mind?”

            He wanted to tell Brian to fuck off and leave him the hell alone.  What was Brian talking about?  “I don’t know,” he said, since he had to answer.  He didn’t want to know, either.

            “It’s a picture, a photograph I saw on-line,” Brian said.  Then he laughed, his finger still maddeningly, slowly, brushing back and forth across Justin’s bottom lip.  The too-light touch was driving Justin crazy, tickling and teasing.  It was an effort not to grind his teeth, not to lash out.  “One that Kevin took.”

            He was so distracted by the way Brian was touching him, he’d almost missed the significance of what Brian said.  But that last sentence plowed into him like a train.  Kevin, Kevin, one that Kevin took, a picture that Kevin had taken, a picture that Kevin had taken and posted for the world to see.  Kevin had a lot of pictures of him.  A lot.  But the only ones that went on-line went up as punishment.

            “Kevin says that no one who comes across it will recognize you,” Brian said.  “But I’d know that pretty little asshole anywhere.”

            The soft whir of the camera.  His utter helplessness.  The way his cries had gone unanswered.  The sight of his body, his nudity, his vulnerability, available for public consumption.

            “The sight of that little pink asshole, quivering like that, glistening with lube, just begging to be fucked,” Brian whispered, stroking his lip.  “Everything that they said about pounding that pretty little hole, about coming in it, was so right.  We could all tell, just by looking at it, how hungry you were for us.”

            The comments.  The responses.  The things that those people had said.  Kevin had read them to him, one crude sentence after another, while he masturbated and asked for more and pretended to like it.

            But only filthy whores posted pictures like that, Kevin had told him, and only twat trash got off on obscene comments like those, and if Justin was such a cunt that being degraded like that turned him on, then he deserved it.  He deserved it and, secretly, he must want it.

            “Your pretty little cunt,” Brian whispered.  “My favorite picture is the one where it’s really slick and still open a little, like you’ve just gotten fucked, like you’re aching for more.”

            Burning with shame, Justin wrapped his arms around himself.  He couldn’t hit Brian, couldn’t curse at Brian, couldn’t push Brian away, he couldn’t, he shouldn’t.

            “It makes me think about what came just before it,” Brian whispered, his finger drifting across Justin’s lower lip.  “It makes me want to give that to you myself.”

            No, no, god, no, no, he couldn’t, that was too much, that was too far.  No, no, no-

            “That hungry little cunt,” Brian breathed, and there was a second of physical relief as Brian’s finger lifted.  But his hand settled right on Justin’s stomach, assertive, aggressive, sliding up beneath Justin’s T-shirt, riding up his torso.  “I know how much you want it,” Brian said, eyes dark, voice rich with obscene lust.  “I see it in your eyes, every time you look at me.  It’s so obvious, the way you look at me, everyone sees it.  You’re shaking with it, right now, needing me, wishing I’d do it, praying for me just to go ahead and do it.”

            He was shaking, trembling with fear, with anger, with shame.  Unable to maintain eye contact, unable to look at Brian’s lecherous expression for another second, he turned his face aside, looking away.  Brian knew, Brian had seen, Brian knew.  Knew him, what he’d done.  His secrets, his shame, his private torment.

            “Every time I hear your name,” Brian whispered, “that’s all I can think of, that used hole, that dripping cunt.  I can’t wait for the day, the bright and glorious day, that everyone else shares it with me, that your name is synonymous with your never satisfied, always available, wide open hole, wet…and glistening…and begging for it.”

            Closing his eyes, Justin tried to shut it out, the words, the threats, the taunts, the obscene, degrading knowledge.  It wouldn’t happen, it wouldn’t, no one would know, no one could ever know.

            “Justin,” Brian whispered, fingers digging into his ribcage, nails in his flesh.  “Let me see it.”

            Home was miles away.

            He’d left his phone, his wallet, his house keys.

            The guy who refused to be his boyfriend made it a habit of giving him anything but the complete truth.

            Sitting on the sidewalk and giving the fuck up sounded like a great idea, but he had a long way to go.

            Head down, ignoring the voice in his head that told him to go back to Chris’s house, Trevor trudged along.

            Parking in the garage, he approached the back door anxiously, hands shaking so badly he almost dropped the jewelry box.  Being late wasn’t good.  Being late meant Brian would be upset with him.  An upset Brian was as unpredictable as a happy and playful Brian, and a happy and playful Brian was wildly unpredictable.

            Not knowing what he was walking into, Chris opened the door and entered Brian’s kitchen.

            “You’re late,” AJ said.

            “I’m sorry,” Chris said.  He hadn’t seen AJ’s car out there.  Was it a good sign that AJ was here, or a bad one?

            “If you don’t want to see me, just let me know,” AJ said.  “Then I won’t waste my time waiting around for you to show up whenever the fuck you feel like it.”

            What was happening?  “I want to see you,” Chris said.  “It’s great to see you.”  It was always a pleasure to see AJ.  Where was Brian?

            “You don’t respect my time, you don’t respect me.  I know that you’ve got a lot of shit on your plate, you have to pacify Nick and deal with your bitch, but I’ve got a twenty-four-hour baby-sitting gig with that psycho you call a best friend, so when I finally have time to dump him off on someone else and spend a little time on myself, I don’t need you holding me up.”

            Pacify Nick and deal with your bitch.  Pacify Nick and deal with your bitch.  Oh, god, he was Joey.  “Is Brian here?” he asked, holding the jewelry box against his chest for protection.

            Stepping forward, storm clouds gathering, AJ demanded, “I tell you to respect my fucking time, and you ask about Brian?  Are you here for me, or are you here for your own goddamned reasons?”

            He knew the answer to that one.  “You,” he said immediately.  “I’m here for you, AJ.”  This was AJ, wasn’t it?  Was Brian not here at all?  “I was happy when you called.”  Wait, he was Joey.  He had to say Joey things, things that Joey would say to AJ.  “You look great.”  How long was this going to last?  What did AJ want?  Oh!  “I brought you something,” he said, happy to have an offering.  Or should he not give this to AJ?  Wasn’t it for Brian or Jacob?  Was it okay to give it to AJ?  It had come gift-wrapped, so he hadn’t seen inside.

            Suspicious but less angry, AJ reached for it.  “You haven’t given me shit in a while,” he said, giving Chris a speculative look.  “What’s the occasion?”

            Joey, he was Joey, what would Joey say?  “I was just thinking about you.  Thought you might like it.”

            Relaxing against the table in a consummate AJ pose, he peeled off the paper, tossing it aside, then flipped open the lid.  Grinning, he raised his eyebrows, then gave Chris an approving smile.  “Not bad.  I like it.”  Fingers curling in the neckline of Chris’s shirt, he pulled Chris forward to his mouth for a quick, fierce kiss.  Letting go, he picked up the necklace, dropping the box on the table, admiring the fancy chain and gothic pendant.

            Lips burning, face hot, the rest of him frankly terrified, Chris realized that he was breathing too fast.  AJ had kissed him.  He hadn’t wanted AJ to kiss him, but it had happened, and now he could officially include himself on the list of Men AJ McLean Had Kissed.  AJ had kissed him, because he was Joey, and AJ kissed Joey.  So AJ hadn’t actually kissed him at all; AJ had kissed Joey.

            “This is great,” AJ said.  “Didn’t set you back too much, did it?”

            Chris had to tell Joey to give AJ presents.  Unless AJ only accepted gifts from Chris-Joey and not from real-Joey.  “I can afford it,” he said, shooting for breezy, casual, matter-of-fact arrogance.  He scraped through his brain to locate information on AJ and Joey’s relationship.  What should he say?  What should he do?  Lately, as far as he knew, AJ and Joey mostly just had sex, without bothering to engage in other activities.  Then again, it wasn’t like Joey ever told him anything about what was really going on with AJ, so maybe they did a lot of things together, like talk and share and bowl and play checkers.  What could he do, what could he say?  Oh!  “You want me to put that on you?”  Genius!

            “Yeah,” AJ said, handing the necklace to him.  “How’s your whore?”

            His whore.  The one accusing Brian of bad things.  “He still hasn’t learned to be grateful that anyone wants him,” Chris said, stepping behind AJ to fasten the clasp.  “I guess we’ll have to teach him to take it and shut up.”

            “He’s pretty grateful for your dick,” AJ said, turning to pose against the table again, giving him an approving grin.

            He was Joey, and Joey would flirt with AJ.  Joey loved to flirt with AJ, to get his attention, to get his approval, to get his body.  “Can you blame him?” Chris asked.  “The way I fuck him has finally put some meaning in his life.”

            “Your dick has put a lot of meaning into my life,” AJ said, and gave Chris a sexy, dirty, approving once-over.

            Oh!  He’d been so worried about coming up with the right responses, he hadn’t been paying enough attention to AJ’s signals.  He’d gained a lot of experience in reading body language from his interactions with Brian, and he saw it now.  The table pose was an invitation.  He was supposed to approach AJ and make the first move.  AJ liked Joey to be the aggressor, sometimes.  Right.  Okay.

            Now that he’d figured that out, he couldn’t think of anything to say; words spilled from his mind and rolled away like frightened little marbles.  Chris had done a lot of self-destructive things in his life, some of them almost literally suicidal, in his time with Brian, but walking up to AJ and kissing him seemed like it would rank among the top five stupidest things he’d ever done.

            He didn’t even know how to do it.  This was AJ.  Real, actual, flesh-and-blood AJ.  AJ, who hit and humiliated, who got violent and got revenge, who used teeth a lot during blowjobs.  AJ was Brian’s best friend and the love of Joey’s life.  He was sharp and intense and intimidating and had more tattoos than Chris had body parts.  Chris couldn’t do this.

            Joey could, though.  Joey loved it; Joey would do it all of the time, would do it every hour of every day, in a perfect world.

            Walking away wasn’t an option; Chris knew better than to risk Brian’s wrath.  He knew better than to reject AJ, too.  And if he had Brian and AJ mad at him, it didn’t take a genius to decide whose side Kevin would take, and then Chris’s quality of life would take a serious nosedive.  Since he’d already vomited and passed out twice already that day, he wasn’t going to risk his life getting any worse.

            This was AJ; he was Joey.

            Joey.  Chris cleared out a broad mental space.  Joey.  He took a deep breath.  Joey.

            AJ raised his eyebrows.  “Joseph?”

            Joseph.  He stepped forward, gripping AJ’s hips in his hands and yanking AJ’s body forward as he parted his lips and took AJ’s mouth in a brutal, searing kiss.

            Justin had said that he wanted to rest, but it wasn’t like him to nap in the middle of the day.  “I’ll check on him,” Lance said.  Brian nodded sympathetically, and Lance went back to Justin’s room, tapping lightly and opening the door, peeking in.

            The room was dark, the curtains drawn; Justin was curled up on one side, eyes closed.  Was he asleep?  “Justin,” Lance whispered.  No response.  He was sleeping on his own, without someone there for support; that had to be a good sign.

            Pulling the door shut, Lance returned to Brian.  After they ate, Brian gave him slow, sweet head, all soft lips and wet tongue, moaning gratefully.  Apparently, after some time with Jacob, Lance’s dick looked even better than usual.  Lance couldn’t blame him.

            After Brian left, Lance went to Justin’s room.  “Justin,” he said softly, sitting beside him on the bed.

            Slowly, blue eyes opened.  “Is he still here?”

            “Brian?” Lance asked.  “No, he just left.  Do you want something to eat?”

            “No,” Justin said, rolling away and getting up.  “I think I’ll take a shower.”

            A shower?  “You just took one this morning,” Lance said, watching him slip into the bathroom.  “You haven’t even done anything since then.”

            “There’s cum on me,” Justin said, closing the door.

            “There’s what?” Lance asked.  Had he heard that incorrectly?

            “My cum, I came on myself.  In my sleep.”  Water started.

            Wet dreams again.  Better than nightmares.

            Maybe walking out on Chris had been the wrong thing to do.

            Maybe it had been the right thing to do, but he still should’ve planned it better.

            A sleek, shiny, jet-black sports car pulled up in front of him, rims gleaming.  It was perfect, it was hot, it was the kind of car that said “money” and “power” and “I get so much pussy my dick’s still wet from last night.”  While Trevor forgot about the light and stared at the car, the passenger side window rolled down.

            Kevin Richardson leaned across the front seat toward him.  “What’s a nice guy like you doing on a corner like this?”

            Kevin!  Oh, thank god.  “Hey,” Trevor said, bending down.  “I’d say I’m just out for a walk, but that’s such a lie, lightning would strike me down.”

            “Get in,” Kevin invited, gesturing him in and sitting back.

            Man, was the world looking out for him or what?  “You’re an angel from heaven,” Trevor said, opening the door and sitting down.  “My feet are not happy with me right now.”

            “You on your way somewhere special?” Kevin asked.

            “Uh, home, actually.  If you don’t mind.  If it’s out of your way, if I could borrow your phone, I could call the house and get one of the guys to pick me up.”  Dan would probably be there, if no one else was.

            “I don’t mind,” Kevin said.

            As the car pulled away from the curb, Trevor relaxed, his feet as grateful as the rest of him.  He couldn’t believe it: Kevin to the rescue.

            Through the window, down the street, he could see the hotel he and Lance stayed at when they came to Vegas.

            The last time he’d come to Vegas, he’d been with AJ.  They’d been in one of the back rooms, at a blackjack table.  The cards hadn’t been in AJ’s favor, but Howie had been doing well, when he’d heard a low, friendly, very familiar, “Is this seat taken?”

            He didn’t know how Lance had known that he was going to be there.  Maybe a mutual acquaintance had said something; he hadn’t asked.  Lance had been uncertain and desperate, but no one else would ever have noticed a thing.  He’d smiled, and Lance had joined them.  They’d played for a while longer, chatting informally, making small talk that was punctuated by enough polite silences not to give anything away to the dealers and other players.  AJ had taken off, and Howie had casually, in a friendly manner for the eyes and ears around them, invited Lance for a drink.

             They’d skipped the drink; Howie had gone straight to his room, and Lance had followed a few minutes later.

            He remembered being pushed down across the bed, on his back, Lance’s kisses urgent and devouring, Lance’s hands aggressive and adoring while stripping his clothes off.  He’d missed Lance so much, he’d loved the reality of Lance’s touch, of Lance’s body against him again; he’d undulated to rub himself against Lance, which had made Lance groan with deep, rare pleasure, and the sound of Lance’s sexy, rumbling groan had vibrated all the way through him.  They’d made love all night, just like before, feeding each other’s passion, sharing in each other’s ecstasy.  To prolong their time together, Howie had stopped and ordered room service, and they’d talked, not polite small talk but real conversation, about their lives.

            A phone call had interrupted them, a call from AJ, and while Howie had talked, Lance had begun to seduce him again.  He’d kept the call going longer than necessary, just to enjoy Lance’s devotion to his pleasure; by the time he’d hung up, they were both near orgasm and shuddering with need for each other.  They’d made love again, and then again, until-

            “Howie?” JC asked.  “What are you smiling at out there?”

            “Nothing,” Howie said, turning his smile on them.  “I was just thinking about how happy I am to be here with you.”

            He responded very, very well to aggression, and the rougher Chris got, the more he seemed to enjoy it.  He really did like being grabbed and shoved and bitten and scratched; it turned him on.  He made all sorts of growling noises, and he moved a lot; he shoved Chris back against the wall, pushed Chris practically on top of the table, dragged Chris down to the floor.

            There was no denying how much AJ wanted it, how much AJ’s body burned for it; AJ conquered orgasm like a ferocious, ravenous beast bringing down prey, all blood and claws and teeth.  He wanted to come, wanted to fuck, wanted sex, but he also seemed to want Chris, or Joey, or whoever was in this body.  He made eye contact a lot, with those dark, intense, passionate eyes; he talked in between growls, muttering encouragement and praise in a distracted yet sincere tone.  And he was, for someone hell-bent on getting laid now, incredibly patient with Chris’s sluggish libido.

            Chris’s mind was doing its best to keep up, but Chris’s dick was frightened - - this was AJ!  Joey’s AJ!  Where was Brian?  What did AJ want? - -  and refused to participate.  At first Chris hoped that AJ wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t care; whatever AJ wanted, Chris’s dick probably had nothing to do with it.  When AJ fondled his soft dick and, nipping at his lower lip, said, “I can’t wait to get you in me,” Chris was stunned.  Could AJ really mean…?  Terrified, absolutely sure that there would be dire, dire, dire consequences to fucking AJ, Chris’s dick rebelled, his balls trying to creep up and away from the scary, scary man.

            To Chris’s further surprise, AJ went down on him a few minutes later.  Chris’s dick didn’t want to join in the fun, but AJ’s mouth wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Chris, breathless and trembling and making a repetitive, helpless little mewling sound, got hard enough for AJ to lick his balls and say, “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

            “Anything I can help you with?” Kevin asked.

            Trevor looked at his profile, the powerful line of his jaw.  Kevin was the last person he wanted to tell how fucked up everything was with Chris, but the guy had rescued him at the side of the road.  He owed Kevin some kind of explanation in return for hauling his sorry ass home.  “I left Chris’s house kind of…suddenly.”

            “Without your phone?” Kevin asked.  “Or your car?”

            Not feeling at all intelligent, mature, or responsible, Trevor admitted, “Yeah.”  He’d have to go back for it, later.  Or maybe Chris would bring it by.  Maybe Chris would show up with his wallet and with an actual explanation of what was really going on.  Maybe gravity was just an optical illusion.  “We had a fight.  A disagreement.  I basically walked out on him.”  He hoped that Chris was okay.  He wouldn’t have passed out again, would he?

            “Do you want me to take you back there?” Kevin asked.

            That was an option?  Trevor actually considered it, for a second; the idea of seeing Chris, making sure that Chris was okay, appealed to him.  But Chris wouldn’t even be there; Chris was off on some magical errand to wherever Chris kept going instead of being with him.  “No, that’s okay.  There’s no point.  There’s too much shit going on.”  He didn’t want to talk to Chris until Chris was ready to be up-front with him.  Which might not ever happen.

            He wondered if Kevin knew about Chris’s, what was it, health problem.  Chris hadn’t really said yes or no.  Did Chris ever make any direct, factual, verifiable statements?  Was it all a sea of bullshit?  Everything that sounded real was a little sarcastic, a little funny, a little bit of a joke.  Chris hid behind humor and passed around outright lies like they were candy.  Trevor had been willing to put up with it, because that was just part of who Chris was, but now it was serious.  Chris had been sick and unconscious in a closet.  That wasn’t a fucking joke.

            “Are you going to be all right?” Kevin asked.  Pulling up in the driveway, Kevin put the car in park, turning to him, looking right at him, into him, green eyes probing, concerned.

            “Yeah.”  He couldn’t find a way to stop being in love with Chris.  He didn’t know how to deal with this.  “I just don’t know what to do,” he confessed.  He wanted to put everything into Kevin’s confident, capable hands.  He couldn’t imagine that Kevin ever didn’t know what to do.  Kevin never needed to be rescued at the side of the road.

            A smile curled Kevin’s lips; his hand rose, the backs of his fingers brushing Trevor’s cheek.  Holy fucking shit Kevin was handsome.  “Chris is very lucky to have you,” Kevin said quietly, sadly, fondly.  This was a moment, a once-in-a-lifetime moment, a poignant moment, and Trevor’s brain scrambled to catalog every second of it, motions, words, tone.  “If he hasn’t already realized that, he will, soon.”

            Kevin was still interested in him.  He should ditch Chris and go for it with Kevin, he should, it would make sense, it would be smart.

            But it wouldn’t feel right.  Fuck.  Trevor hated himself.  So goddamned hung up on Chris he couldn’t even act in his own interests.

            “Good luck,” Kevin said, his touch withdrawn.

            It was insane that Kevin wanted him.  It was exactly, perfectly in line for Kevin to be too ethical to hit on him while he was fucked up over Chris.  It was completely fucking ridiculous for Trevor to ignore obvious perfection for Chris, whose imperfections were pretty much why Trevor was in love with him.  “Thank you,” he said.  For the ride home.  For the car.  For wanting him.  For not taking advantage of him when he felt like shit.

            Kevin nodded.

            He got out of the perfect car, leaving the perfect man behind, not at all remembering the time he’d been on Kevin’s couch making out, Kevin’s strong, muscular, hard body, Kevin’s arousal thickening under his hand.

            He was turning Kevin down for Chris.

            Love was insanity.

            Chris’s dick was completely on board.  It was so enthusiastic about AJ, it lost control at inopportune times, then popped right back up with brand-new excitement.  The first time he came, it was all over AJ’s ass, as he was trying to push back in.  The second time he came, it was, for long and horrifying seconds, on AJ’s face and neck, as they were shifting positions, just when Chris’s dick happened to rub accidentally against AJ’s shoulder and get overexcited.  Fully prepared to be ripped apart for his crime, Chris felt his stomach drop to the floor.

            AJ just wiped his face carelessly with one hand and dragged Chris in for another kiss, not even missing a beat.

            That was the moment for which Chris was indebted to AJ for the rest of his life.  AJ had been granted an obvious and genuine opportunity to flay him, and had passed it up in favor of kissing him.  It was like being given a second chance at life.  AJ was a kind and generous angel.

            Eventually, after coming in Chris’s mouth again, AJ decided that they were basically finished with the sex part.  Some kissing followed, gradually slowing down, until there was something really nice about it.  It wasn’t intense or aggressive or passionate, it was slow and lingering, like they were sharing something.

            Finally, pushing himself up on one elbow, AJ looked down at Chris, casually running his fingers through Chris’s sweaty hair.  “I hate this role-playing shit.  You know that you’re Chris, right?”

            Stomach churning, Chris swallowed.  Reality was not his friend.  Trying to speak, he found his mouth stuck to itself, words coming out as a half-croaked breath.  Wanting to go home, he nodded.  He’d just fucked AJ on Brian’s bed.

            “You going to lose it?” AJ asked.  “You strong enough to keep your shit together?”

            “Is this what Brian wanted?”  He shouldn’t have assumed that he was supposed to go along with it.  It might have been a test; he might have failed.  He might have miscalculated.  It was bad enough that he’d done it, but if he’d done it and Brian hadn’t wanted him to, then-

            “Yeah.”  AJ relaxed beside him.  “He’s going to come back here eventually, so relax.”

            He’d done what Brian wanted.  Brian might be happy with him.  “Where is he now?”

            “My house.  Lance is baby-sitting Justin for me.”

            Justin was in love with Kevin, Kevin kept having sex with Chris, Chris was in love with Brian, Brian kept fucking Lance and had done things with Justin, Justin kept having sex with AJ, AJ had just had sex with Chris…  Brian had molested Ashley, Ashley was in love with Joey, Joey was in love with AJ, AJ had just had sex with Chris…  Chris thought that he should be screaming right now, or crying, but he was just painfully, profoundly miserable.  “It’s hard to love Brian.”

            “It’s easy as hell to love Brian,” AJ said.  “It’s just hard to get him to love you back.”

            Maybe that was the problem.  “He loves you,” Chris said.  AJ’s body was a lot more decorated than anyone else he’d had sex with.  Brian loved AJ.  Kevin loved AJ.  “How’d you do it?”  It was impossible to get Brian’s love, impossible to get Kevin’s, but AJ had both.  So did Howie.  So did Nick.  What was their secret?  Brian claimed that it was simply part of the Backstreet bond.  Was it that easy?  “If I were in the group instead of Howie, would Brian love me?”

            “We wouldn’t be Backstreet without Howie,” AJ said.

            Brian might be back soon.  “Does he want to find me here in bed with you, or should we pretend that this never happened?”

            “He’ll get off on the sight of us in his bed together,” AJ said.  “You might want to wash up, though.”

            Chris started to get up, then stopped and looked at AJ, who still looked completely unfazed, as if he fucked Joey’s friends in Brian’s bed all of the time.  “Thank you,” Chris said.

            AJ nodded.  “No problem.”

            “Bye,” Joey said impatiently.

            “Smartass,” Nick said, and kissed him one more time.  “Love you.”

            “Love you,” Joey said, watching him go.  Alone, Joey finished breakfast, then got up and hauled Nick’s suitcase onto the bed.  Right away, he saw a brown paper bag with “Joey” scrawled across it; he set that aside and rummaged around anyway.

            Clothes.  Toiletries.  Random shit.

            A jewelry box.  Joey opened it and whistled.  Damn.  That was one nice chunk of rock.  He’d never seen Nick wear anything this nice.

            God damn, holy shit, Immortal Warrior Assault IV.  How the fuck had Nick gotten a copy this early?  And why the hell had he brought it to Vegas?  Damn, Joey might just have to steal this.

            Searching further, he found a book.  A book?  Could Nick even read?  It looked brand-new, and fancy, slim and leather-bound with gold lettering on the cover.  Words from the Heart.  What the hell was Nick doing with this?  Joey flipped through the book.  Poetry.  Nick had a book of love poems.

            Oh, hell.  Suddenly understanding, Joey turned to the first page and saw Nick’s inscription.

            I’ll always remember what we had.

            Shit.  The sick, arrogant motherfucker.  Nick intended to give JC a book full of love and romance.  What we had?  That was bullshit, that was cruel, Nick was going to break JC’s heart and expect him to fucking smile about it.

            Nick didn’t give a fuck about JC; JC was nothing more than free ass to him.  And he thought that tossing out a few meaningless trinkets would make up for taking JC’s love for granted?

            Some of the lines in the poems were underlined.  Nick had written comments in the margins, too.  With an arrow leading to one stanza, he’d scribbled, “You and me in Hawaii.”  On another page, “You and me in New York.”  “That night in the rain.”  “Our first time.”  “You, me, moonlight, and margaritas.”  “I think I said everything on this whole page to you that night on the beach.  God, I’m so fucking weak for you.”

            What the hell was this?  Did Nick actually give a fuck?  Was he just stringing JC along for fun?  Why would he keep pretending to care?  Why would he fill love poetry with memories of his relationship with JC?

            This was either the most fucked-up and cruel and twisted thing Joey had ever seen, or damned romantic.  He couldn’t figure out which one.  Nick couldn’t really mean this shit, could he?

            Could he?

            The last pages were filled with Nick’s handwriting.  Three more poems.  They read weirdly like…lyrics.

            As Joey read over them, trying to figure out if he should let Nick give this to JC or just burn it, a folded slip of paper fell out.  A list.

            Words f t heart (igy, hwah, wntw)

            IWA4

            Flowers

            Bracelet   piercing ring   necklace

            Dinner (steak)

            Lube

            Cologne

            Nick had gotten Immortal Warrior Assault IV for JC?!

            The necklace was for JC, too.  Shit, Nick was hitting it from every angle.

            The lube Joey found in Nick’s suitcase looked expensive and smelled like berries; it was nothing like the generic stuff Nick and Joey used, and probably tasted pretty good.  The cologne Joey found was a light and sexy scent in a heavy and expensive bottle.

            Nick was setting up a fucking seduction.  Why was he going to this much work to win JC’s affection?  He knew that he could get JC to roll over and profess love just by showing up.  Why was he doing all of this?

            To mock the romance they no longer had?

            Or because he wanted to, because he liked to treat JC well?

            Flowers, too?  Nick was going to bring JC flowers?

            Staring at the list, Joey hated Nick and resented the fuck out of JC, too.

            Joey didn’t want flowers.  Didn’t want poetry.  Didn’t want cologne.  Didn’t want jewelry.  Didn’t wanted flavored lube.  Didn’t want Nick.  But he’d give up a lung and two limbs to get AJ to put forth a tenth of the effort Nick had put into this shit.  AJ didn’t put any thought into his time with Joey, didn’t put any work into it, didn’t trouble himself to do more than pick up a phone and take off his clothes.

            Maybe this was all a sham and a lie and a mockery, but at least Nick was pretending.  AJ couldn’t even be bothered to fake it anymore.

            Putting everything back, Joey closed Nick’s suitcase.

            Maybe JC would let him play Immortal Warrior Assault IV later.

            Maybe JC could tell him how to get not just sex, but affection.