FIC: Dancing Slow, 1/1

[beanside]

Title: Dancing Slow
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Backstreet Boys (oh, the pain!)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I don't know them, I don't make any claims about their sexuality. No offense is intended, no lawsuit is preferred.
Summary: Boy sees boy. Boy boffs boy. Whee.
Notes: As always, it's Nix's fault.


I should have brought ear plugs. I know better. This isn't Brian and his polite Christian folk crap. This is Nick. Nick doesn't believe in quiet. Nick doesn't believe in gentle. Nick believes in rock and punk.

Which would explain why he's singing Guns 'n Roses, I suppose.

He looks awesome. Absolutely great. He looks like he's having fun; he's playing the kind of music he wants, the way he wants to play it, and the hell with the rest of the world.

Thing is, he's good at it.

I wish AJ and Brian would come to one of his shows. Maybe they'd finally understand. Probably not, though. They'd probably just give me that long-suffering sigh, and ignore it. I thought of all of them, Alex would understand. I mean, he's not exactly wedded to the whole boyband thing. At least, the Alex I knew wasn't. I'm not so sure about the Alex we've got now. The couple times I've seen him, it was because Brian had called a band meeting or what not, and he just didn't seem himself.

He's gotten cold, pragmatic. Like Brian's mini-me.

And then, there was that great statement the two of them came up with. The one where they basically said that Nick didn't have any right to use the Backstreet name or logo to promote his solo album, because it wasn't up to our "standards."

I mean, they have been around for the last three albums, right? They've seen the utterly banal crap we've unloaded on our fanbase?

Of course, said fanbase sucked up the banality and proclaimed it deep and meaningful, so I can't blame them entirely. If the people around you suck your dick long enough, telling you that you're the best, eventually, you start to believe them.

Thing is, Nick's album was good. Not great, but a good start. He kept it fun, at the very least.

Nick in concert, however, is great. Nick was made for live shows, to put his heart and soul on the line every night, and rock out.

I head backstage after the last song, slipping past the throngs of fans. It's the bonus of being the short one; I'm past them before they realize who I am. Which is the way it should be. This is Nick's night.

Mind you, it's tempting to say hello to some of them. Not all of them are thirteen year olds any more, and some of them are looking pretty hot. It's been awhile since I had the time or the opportunity to get laid, so it's taking some serious willpower.

I congratulate his band first. He's got a great rapport with them, an easy friendship that seems to come easily to Nick these days.

It's nothing like the teenager who spent more time talking with his fists than anything else. My jaw thanks Nick for growing out of that phase.

As I'm complimenting his guitarist, I feel strong arms slide around my shoulders, squeezing me tightly. "Sweet D!" he crows hoarsely in my ear. "You made it!"

I turn, hugging him back. Whew, someone's deodorant stopped working. "Of course I did. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. You were great!"

Nick's eyes light up and the smile widens. "Thanks, man. I appreciate that."

"So, what are you doing after the after-party? Maybe we can go grab a drink and catch up."

He rolls his eyes. "Back on the bus, I guess. Don't get me wrong, D. I'm enjoying the tour and all, but damn, I hate that shower."

I know my mouth is moving, I know I'm about to say something I shouldn't, but I'll be damned if I can stop myself. "I've got a double, if you don't mind me snoring in the next bed," I offer. "It'll be just like the old days."

He nods. "If it's not putting you out, I'd love a decent bed for a night."

"Mi casa es su casa, or mi hotel room at least," I grin. Why am I doing this? I had every plan to hit one of the clubs, see if I could find a warm body for the night, and not put up my band mate. You'd think I didn't want to get laid!

But it's Nick. And I figure we all owe Nick whatever we can give him for taking a sweet twelve year old, and fucking him over so badly. We were young, and we would have sold our souls to make it.

Too bad that all Lou wanted was our bodies. Pedophiliac bastard.

I should have stopped it, I should have forced Nick out of the group, but I didn't. I shut the hell up, and looked the other way. And when Lou came to me, I closed my eyes and let him do what he wanted.

I don't really know that I could have stopped any of it, realistically. Thing is, I didn't even try.

So, when Nick got older, and started swinging, I let him. I figured I deserved it.

How he grew up nearly as well as he did, I'll never know. Nick's forgiven us all for not doing more. I haven't. I don't think I ever will.

He should have turned into AJ Jr. God knows he looked like he was heading that way. But something pulled him back from the edge. And now, we have this Nick. He's not going to make the new Backstreet album easy.

That's just fine with me.

The party goes pretty much how you'd expect--lots of busty chicks hanging on Nick like he's the Second Coming, lots of booze, lots of hangers on telling him how great he is.

Nick bolts down a bottle of water, one beer and dances with one chick. The adrenaline high is dissipating, I can see it in the droop of his head, so I 'm not surprised when he comes over and asks if I have a spare key.

I slip it to him, and he squeezes my shoulder with a grin before he bids his fangirls good night, and leaves, alone. "I won't be long," I assure him.

"Take your time," he says, grinning. "Have a drink, have a chick. I'll probably be dead to the world by the time you get in."

I hang around for a little longer before I duck out. There's this really great looking guy who keeps coming onto me. If he weren't so damned pushy, I might have considered it, but once you start pushing, I start thinking that you're tabloid press.

The last thing I want to see is a headline that screams "My Gay Love Affair with a Backstreet Boy! Pictures inside!" to show up in the Enquirer.

I knew Nick wouldn't be asleep. I know him too well. Ten years of growing up together'll do that. I can hear the sound of his guitar as I step off the elevator, picking out a slow, melancholy song that sounds familiar.

I open the door quietly, not wanting to disturb him, but the melody doesn't even pause.

He's sitting on the bed, relaxed, eyes closed as he strums absently, letting the song guide him. It's one of those moments when I'm glad our fans were smarter than our management. They used to stuff him in every oversized, full-coverage outfit they could find, all because he put on a few pounds. Nick wasn't ever meant to be willowy, let's face it. He'd look stupid.

He looks good with a little padding. He looks especially good right now, half naked and on my bed.

"Did you write the book of love, and do you have faith in god above, if the bible tells you so," Nick sings softly, voice still a little strained from the concert. It gives it an edge, a little bitter note weaving into the clarity.

His eyes open slowly, focusing on me. He gives me a little nod, just an acknowledgement that I'm standing there. "Do you believe in rock and roll, can music save your mortal soul."

Okay, maybe it wasn't the vocal strain, judging from the bitter twist of his lips, and the way his fingers come down on the guitar strings with a discordant jangle.

"Hey," I offer softly. "Everything okay?"

He starts to say yes. His lips are forming the "Y" sound. Then, he abruptly shakes his head. "Not really."

I sit next to him on the bed and rest my hand on his arm, over the shark tattoo. I can ignore the little flinch at the touch. It's something that everyone Lou's managed does. "You want to talk about it?"

"I don't know. It's just." He sighs softly. "For all these years, I've had people telling me what I should be. My parents, Lou, Jive. And now, I'm out here, and they're telling me to be myself. And at the beginning, I don't think I really knew who me was. But now, I do. And we're supposed to start recording in a month, and I don't know if I can do it. I don't think I fit that mold anymore. I don't think I ever did."

"Nick, you know I'll stand by whatever you decide, but you know, the others-"

"I'm gay, Howie."

"WHAT?!" Okay, that didn't sound like the patron saint of acceptance I was working on, but Jesus fucking Christ, give a guy a break. "Suck what?"

"Well, bi, probably," he amends, eyes downcast. "Shit. Brian's going to freak."

"Nick, of all the possible ideas you could have, telling Brian is the worst, trust me on this. He will not only have another heart attack, he'll also go all weird bible belt on you, and tell you how sorry he is that he won't see you in heaven. Daily. He will leave you 'God loves you' voice mails."

He blinks. "I'm guessing this is more than just your imagination," he smirks.

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Well, I'll be damned. I'd never have guessed."

"That's kind of the idea of being in the closet. Like I would have guessed that a bastion of heterosexuality like-" I make fluttering motions with my hands, gasping. "-Nick Carter, was bi?"

He grins, flipping me off, and sitting the guitar to the side. Oh. Only wearing boxers. Nick is like a brother to me. A brother. No incest! Bad Howie, no biscuit!

"So, was that the only existential crisis you're having at the moment?" I ask lightly.

To my surprise, he blushes. Out and out blushes. "Nick?"

"Um. I kind of. Yeah. I might be crushing on someone I know."

"One of the group?"

He nods.

"Please, god, tell me it's not Brian," I say.

He makes a face, sticking out his tongue. "Ew."

Nice tongue, would be good for-like a brother, Howie. Incest, dammit! "Who?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he walks over to the window, looking out over the Strip. "Someone who's been there for me, who's kept an eye out for me, all along."

Kevin. Well, it figures. At least it isn't AJ. Kevin'll let him down gently. AJ would have flipped out.

"What do you think? Do I have a shot?"

"Good God, no. A, very, very straight. B, married!"

"Who?"

"Kevin, of course. Who the hell were you talking about?"

"You, you dumbass," he yells, throwing his hands up. "Look, I give up. Bad idea, lack of sleep. I'll stay on the bus. Just. Yeah. I'll see you in three weeks, in the studio." He yanks his jeans on and reaches for the guitar, but I've already got a grip on the strap.

I think I'm holding the strap, at least. It might actually be my sanity, who can tell these things?

"Let go."

"Not a chance," I return, fighting down a hysterical laugh. "You're not going anywhere."

"Howie," he starts.

"You can't just drop that on me and run, Nick. Jesus, what reaction did you expect. I'm sitting here trying to remind my dick that you're my little brother, and thinking you look sexy is incest, and you tell me you've got the hots for me? Give a guy a minute!"

He lets go of the guitar, letting it fall back on the bed. "Well, I thought you were hot 'til you brought up the brother comparison, thank you so much. Therapy bills, here I come." He makes a sour face.

"Yeah, right. Nick, if you were going to go for therapy, it'd have been long ago." I close my eyes for a moment, forcing my thoughts to stop chasing each other around like puppies. "Okay. I think I've got it sorted out now."

"And what did you decide?" he asks, voice closer than I'd expected.

I open my eyes, meeting aqua colored ones. "This."

Without warning, I let my hand snake up, curling around his neck. Ignoring the intake of breath, I pull him down, until I can brush my lips over his, almost chaste, except for the phantom glide of his tongue against my mouth. That's far hotter than it has any right to be.

He leans into me, kissing me again, this time, not so chaste. He nibbles on my lip, teasing me with the slow rasp of his tongue. He's still not touching me, though. His hands are firmly by his side. I know why, just like I know Nick. He won't touch someone in a sexual way without permission. Legacy of Lou.

He shivers as my hand slides down his spine, skin warm under my touch. I keep it slow, like I'm trying to gentle a wild animal. Not too far off base, really.

Finally, I reach his arm, and let my fingers slide over his bicep, down to his forearm. Nick's getting some muscle. Without a word, I tug at his arm, bring his hand over to rest on my waist, silently letting him know that it's okay.

That seemed to be all he was waiting for. His arms slide around me, pulling me against him. Oh. Hard cock. Hard cock, good. Monosyllabic mental dialogues, not so good.

"N-Nick, um," I try, breaking off with a shudder as his fingers curl around my ass, lifting me against him. Before I can breathe, I'm pressed to the wall, strong fingers undoing the buttons of my shirt to slide inside.

I reach for him, wanting to touch, but he bats my hand away and goes back to his single-minded exploration. My shirt hits the ground, followed in quick succession by my pants.

Now, I guess we're even--Both of us in underwear that do absolutely nothing to hide our hard ons.

It's funny, I've known Nick forever, but somehow I still feel horribly exposed, vulnerable. I want to cover myself, turn out the lights, anything so I don't have to see his eyes on me. I know I'm not in bad shape, so I don't know why--Oh, holy mother of God!

Hand on my cock. Hand on my cock!

Nick's smirking at me, fingers barely moving, just tracing along the bulge lightly. He bends, lips nuzzling at my throat, moving to nip at the curve of my shoulder.

God, I'm a sucker for that.

Nick clues in pretty quick for someone who's been named the dumbest man in pop before. Maybe the moan helped him along. Either way, I don't care.

Mostly because he's focusing on that area, licking and biting until I'm moaning steadily, soft, breathy sounding little noises that rise and fall with each touch.

I almost don't notice the hand creeping beneath the waistband of my Jockeys. No such problem with the hand curling around my dick. Hard to miss that.

Oh, man. He's good at this. Way, way too good. Just the right pressure, jerking me off slowly. I can feel my knees wobbling beneath me.

"Want to lie down?" he asks. I swear, he's laughing at me.

I nod, and he steps back, finger still in the waistband. "Off," he says firmly.

Okay, now I really feel vulnerable. He pauses, tilting his head. "Everything okay, D?"

I nod a little, shrugging. "Just, y'know."

He smiles. "I know. It's weird, huh? Us." He scratches his head with a shrug of his own. "Not like I haven't seen the equipment before, but it's still kind of. Yeah."

Sadly, I understood that. "Maybe if you," I gesture towards his boxers. "Off?"

I'm thinking I'm not the only one who's a little shy, judging from the way his cheeks get red, and his hands stutter on their way to his waistband.

Maybe I can offer him a hand. He shivers as I slide my hands over his, tugging them down. God, he's gorgeous. Not in that too-pretty untouchable way that he used to be. He's real now. Solid and touchable.

So, of course, that means I've gotta touch. There's something incredibly erotic about his voice, hoarse and raspy, moaning my name, his fingers fighting not to grab my hair as I nuzzle along his cock, the short, soft breath when I finally give in and taste him. Beautiful. God, I want him.

"Can I fuck you?" I ask softly.

Nick stills, and I curse silently. Push him, why don't you? Way to go, Dorough. After a moment, I risk a glance up at him.

And he nods.

Oh, holy shit.

I offer my hand, and he crawls onto the bed next to me, awkwardly waiting for me to make the next move. After a couple of moments of stunned silence, I break the spell, nudging him back onto the bed and sliding on top of him, skin to skin. I could get used to this, I think dimly as my lips cover his.

After a minute, I lift my head, breathing hard. God, he's responsive as hell. Every touch, ever movement and he moans, arching and rubbing against me. So fucking hot.

"Please, Howie," he finally gasps.

I nod, reaching for nightstand, where my travel kit is. "Wanted this, wanted you," I mumble, fumbling a condom package open and rolling it on. Lube, need lube. Lots of lube.

I slather some on me, and then nudge his legs apart.

"Screw that," he growls, reaching for me. "Now, Howie."

"But-"

"I'm not a trembling virgin, D. Fuck me already."

I flash him a grin and get settled. He wasn't kidding, judging from the way he's arching up trying to push me in faster. I take my time anyway, enjoying the slid glide of his skin on mine. So tight. Jesus, so tight.

We're both shaking by the time I'm inside him. Either that, or it's the earth that's moving. Maybe a touch of both. His eyes are closed, lip pulled between his teeth. "Am I hurting?" I ask. God, say no. I don't think I could pull out if I tried.

Clear aqua eyes open at that, and a shaky grin touches his lips. "Just give me a sec. I'm okay."

Only a few moments pass before he exhales hard, relaxing under me. "I'm good. Go for it."

I try a few tentative thrusts, fighting down the urge to just bury myself, but Nick's not having any of it. His hands knot in my hair again, leaning up for a near-brutal kiss. "Fuck me," he demands, arching hard, tightening around me.

Oh, man. Like anyone could turn that down? I just let go, forget everything except the feel of his body under me, the slick movement, starting slow, but just until we find a rhythm.

What do you know? All those years of being forced to stay in lockstep? They really do count for something. Nick plants his feet on the bed, arching up against me hard, and I lose it, just slamming into him as hard as I can. Like he said, not a trembling virgin, not glass.

I feel his hand sliding between us, feel it moving frantically on his cock as we move. God, that's hot. He's not letting up, meeting every thrust, voice ringing through the room with husky half words, begging for harder, faster.

I give it; harder than I've ever dared before. He's not complaining, arching, other hand tangling in my hair, yanking me close.

It's not pretty or gentle. Not hearts and flowers, but it's enough. It's what we both need right now.

He tenses suddenly, voice breaking into incoherent gasps, and I feel the wet heat bloom between us. I moan, so fucking close, just need--

"That's it, Howie. So big inside me, want to feel it. Come for me," he groans, eyes meeting mine.

My mind blanks for a moment as the wave sucks me under, shattering intensity.

When I can think again, I'm slumped on him, sucking wind. Jesus. He's not doing much better, so I don't feel too bad. I lift my head slowly, shivering as the cool air washes over sweaty skin.

Nick's smiling. Not that smarmy-yet-sincere thing he's used in countless posters, a real one, like he wears on stage. "Hey," I murmur.

The smile widens. "Hey," he returns.

"Am I too heavy?"

A faint smirk touches his lips. "Um, actually, yeah. You're kinda crushing my 'nads."

I laugh, shifting off. "Can't have that."

"Not that I don't want to cuddle and all that. I'm sensitive and all that crap, but Nick Jr. and the twins are kinda special to me," Nick teases, laughter running up his voice.

"Please, never call it Nick Jr. I just had the mental image of Blue's Clues, and that should never enter into my sex life, thank you." I grin as he joins in the laughter, relaxing.

"I can do that," he finally says. He's quiet as I go grab a towel to clean us up with. As I slide back into bed, he turns to face me. "Howie? What was this? I mean, one night thing, or is this going to be a start?"

Nick would call me on it, wouldn't he? "I don't know. I think I'd like to give it a try as a start," I murmur.

He grins again and loops his arm around me. He doesn't answer, but he doesn't really have to. We'll give it a go, and see what happens. We've all beat the odds before. Maybe we've got one or two more lucky streaks in us.

Finis

Comments

[katzb101.livejournal.com]

Umm... okay tell me why I've just read boyband fic... again? *g*

Oh yeah 'cause Teesa wrote it. :-)

That was a wonderful read, hot and yummy. Even though it had me squirming a touch at a point or two.

Still don't have a clue who it was about though. *smile*