by Zoicite

The room is small and dark, filled with young people all dressed in black with various types of silver spikes adorning their limbs and studs pierced through their flesh. They’re moving blindly with the harsh metallic beat of the music. You don’t know why you’re there. You aren’t really into this scene and you think the music is pretty bad. You can’t even remember the band’s name although Brent told you right before you arrived. You’re pretty sure Satan was part of the title. You’ve long since lost Brent and you’ve been spending most of the night trying to locate the bastard. You can’t believe that he dragged you here and then ran off, leaving you to fend for yourself and avoid the girls with the fangs. He’s lucky no one recognizes you here. You doubt there is a person in the room that listens to your music and you’re pretty sure this crowd might hurt you if they knew who you were. They won’t figure it out though. Most of your fans probably wouldn’t even recognize you. You’re wearing tight black leather pants that are really quite uncomfortable and a skintight sleeveless shirt, black as well, and lace up boots. And surprise, the boots are black. A collar adorns your neck and there are two smaller bands wrapped around your wrists. You keep poking yourself with the metal spikes whenever you move your arms. Not that you can move much, what with the people packed in around you on all sides. Your bare arms look very pale underneath the lights and you guess that your face probably does too. Your hair is sticking straight up, patchy dark red streaks mingling with the "natural" blond color. Dark smudges surround your eyes because Brent insists that you need to wear mascara and black eyeliner, a lot of it. You think you look ridiculous. The girls with the fangs are back and they’re watching you, although they are pretending they’re not. You know when people are watching you. People are always watching you. The music is beginning to settle somewhere in your brain and it’s giving birth to a nice throbbing headache, and this is a bar, isn’t it? You look around, silently thanking heaven for making you tall and then you spot it and you head that way, pushing past a guy in leather straps attached to a leash. It’s less crowded near the bar, at least there’s that. You order something hard, on the rocks, and you collapse into the only available stool, dropping your head onto your arms to shut out the crowd. You can feel people milling around you, brushing against you and you don’t care, but you do hope it’s not the girls with the fangs. Then your drink is there and you down it quickly and order another. You feel someone standing behind you and you’re just about to scoot over, to make room at the bar, when you feel a firm hand on your shoulder. You move to turn and tell whoever’s daring to touch you to fuck off when someone begins yelling in your ear to be heard over the noise. “Carter?!” You groan inwardly because it turns out that someone has recognized you after all and what are you supposed to do now? You’re going to kill Brent if you ever find him again. You turn and your eyes widen in surprise when you see who’s standing there. Joey fuckin’ Fatone. He removes his hand from your shoulder, looking you up and down, then nodding his approval. Joey is dressed simply, all in black as is the norm. He’s wearing his signature ‘Boy-Bands Suck’ T-shirt. His hair is gone, shaved, and he has a full beard now. You think that if he were wearing flannel he’d resemble a lumberjack, or Al Borland. There’s someone standing behind Joey too, hiding behind him almost, and your mouth drops open when you realize who it is. JC. He’s wearing pretty much the same getup as you are and you can’t help but notice that his arms are tanned and strong and well defined. You look away before your jealousy becomes visible and you look at his face instead. JC looks so out of his element that it’s almost funny. His eyes are huge and bright and he looks poised to bolt at any second. JC looks just like a spooked deer. You laugh and then Joey punches you jovially in the shoulder. “Holy shit, Carter. I can’t believe that it’s actually you. JC said it was but I didn’t believe him. What the hell are you doing here? In make-up!” Joey is laughing and you like the way that his eyes twinkle but you know that he’s laughing at you and your shoulder fucking hurts, so you scowl at him and say, “I could ask the same of you, Fatone.” It’s a lame comeback and you know it, but shit, your shoulder hurts and you don’t want to rub it because then Joey will know. Joey shrugs. “Something different, ya know? I just needed a change of pace for a bit.” And you nod because you do know, sort of, although this is the last place you would have chosen to come to and you're sort of surprised that Chris isn’t here because really this seems to you like the sort of thing he might get into. Then again, you don’t really know Chris. “A friend dragged me,” you say and then you nod toward JC, “You too?” JC looks at you and then all of a sudden he’s all over you and hugging and it feels like he’s using you as protection from the big bad scary Goth bar. He’s bony and ow. You think he must be on something and when you look at Joey he rolls his eyes and you think you’re probably right. You shrug JC off and down the rest of your drink. It’s better that Chris isn’t here, you think, because he wouldn’t have thrown himself at you. He would have been snarky and he would have laughed at you and then he probably would have punched your other shoulder. Fucker. You never did like *Nsync. Joey has his arm around JC’s waist and he’s looking expectantly at you and you don’t really have anything to say to him. You aren’t in the mood to make small talk and your headache is getting worse. “This music blows,” you say, looking at the ice in the bottom or your glass. Joey grins. “Yeah, isn’t it great!” You snort and look away and you should probably find Brent because he’s your ticket out of this hellhole. You’re just about to stand up and walk away when Joey’s hands are on you, one gripping your arm and the other running soft warm fingertips across your face. You look up at Joey and he’s not laughing at you anymore, just touching your face tentatively. You can’t stand it, the awkwardness of it, and you grab his hand just as it slides down to your neck. You shrug off his other hand and glare at him. “You look good, Carter. Very hot.” And your face suddenly feels hot because that’s not really what you expected him to say and you look down at your empty glass again. “Fuck,” you hear Joey curse and when you look up he’s glancing around nervously. “Dammit,” he mutters, and then he turns to you. “Hey Nick, I’ve got to go find Jayce before he gets himself in trouble. Stay right here, I’ll be back, okay?” And then he’s off into the crowd and there is no way Nick Carter is going to sit around waiting for Joey Fatone. You get up from your seat and head off into the crowd once more, looking for Brent. You immediately regret it because there are people all around you and it’s hot and stuffy and you can’t breath and then suddenly you’re face to face with JC and he still looks scared. You think he might be mute too, because he hasn’t spoken once. He takes your arm and you groan because these *Nsyncers are really grabby. He drags you off into the crowd and you follow reluctantly and then you’re in a dark hall and you’re worried because JC is on something and what is he doing with you? He leans in towards you and whispers, “Vampires. They’re following me.” So, he’s isn’t mute after all. You smile because he must mean the girls with the fangs and you’re starting to wonder if by some strange coincidence they happen to be fans. You look at JC and his eyes are sort of glazed over and you wonder what the hell Joey let him take. He leans in toward you again and all of a sudden Joey is there and he’s angry and he pries JC off of you and then he kicks the wall and wow, that must have hurt. You wonder what he thinks you two were doing because you weren’t doing anything at all but now that you think about it, it probably looks like you were. “What the fuck, Carter? I told you to wait for me by the bar!” You blink, stunned, because he’s upset that you left the bar? He actually thought you’d stay? “Fuck off, Fatone. I need to get out of here.” You push Joey aside and turn to say good-bye to JC but he’s starring at a chip in the wall so you just leave. Then you’re back in the crowd and those damn girls are trailing you and you’re starting to think that Brent really did ditch you. After circling the room several times you down a few more drinks and go to wait outside. You’ve had enough of the punk Goth scene to last you for a long time. You lean against the black brick wall and suddenly you’re spinning a little and you wish you had a cigarette, not because you like to smoke, you don’t, but more because it just seems like you should be smoking. Some guys walk by and whistle at you. They make obscene gestures but you ignore them and luckily they move on. You really wish you weren’t wearing eye make-up. It itches and you rub at your eyes a bit before closing them and breathing in the fresh air. Then there are fingers on your face and you jump and push and Joey stumbles backwards cursing. You feel sort of bad, but he should know better than to do that to someone and so you don’t apologize. You hear JC laugh and then you see him slumped against the wall and you wonder how long they’ve been there. You feel disoriented and you aren’t sure how many drinks you ended up having. You think maybe someone slipped something into one of them. Joey’s mumbling something about “fucking Backstreet arrogant bastards” and he’s lifting JC off the ground and walking away and suddenly you realize that that’s a way home so you run after them. “Joey,” you call and then you’re beside him and he’s looking at you strangely. You offer to carry JC but he shakes his head and continues walking. “Hey, listen. I’ve been ditched and I was wondering-“ “I’m not driving you all the way across town, Carter.” You sigh because you were sure he’d do it, you saw the way he’d looked at you earlier. “Please, Joey. You don’t have to take me all the way home. I can crash on your couch. Hell, I’ll sleep on the floor. I don’t care.” And you don’t because right now you just want to get out of there. Joey’s looking at you again and you meet his gaze. “You been cryin, Nick?” and his voice is softer now, the sharp edge gone. You touch your face and your fingers come away black and shit, you have that make-up smeared all over. You must look awful. No wonder Joey won’t take you home. “No, I…it’s this make-up,” and you gesture toward your black fingers. Joey nods and then starts walking again and you don’t know what to do so you follow. You feel pathetic and tired. You look at JC slung over Joey’s shoulder and he looks like he weighs nothing. He probably doesn’t. Joey’s arm looks strong and meaty around JC and you wonder what it would feel like around you and you think that it would probably feel really good. You stop walking for a second because did you just think about Joey’s meaty arm feeling good on your body? And yeah, you did and maybe someone really did slip something into your drink. Joey reaches his car and shoves JC into the back seat. He opens the passenger side door and looks at you expectantly. Oh. He’s waiting for you to get in. You do, and you’re grateful because Joey must be taking you home. Either that or he is going to dump you in a field somewhere. You grin at him when he climbs behind the wheel and he smiles back and there’s that twinkle again. He starts driving and you try to think of something to say but really there is nothing and so you sing along with the radio and JC is singing along with you from the back seat. You’re looking out the window watching Orlando fly by and you’re just about to turn back to Joey, to thank him, when you feel a large hand on your thigh. It’s warm and it kneads your leg a little through the leather and then it moves up to rest higher on your thigh. You look at Joey and he’s driving, watching the road, but there’s his hand on you and then you think you get it. Joey’s taking you home because he thinks you’ll sleep with him! You can’t believe it! If you had known…You won’t do it. You won’t. Because he’s big and stupid and an ugly presumptuous lumberjack. If you’re going to hook up with an *Nsyncer it had damn better be Justin Timberlake, because after all, you’re Nick Carter and you deserve the best. Joey’s hand is rubbing little circles into your upper thigh and then his fingertips brush your cock and where did that come from? Joey’s grinning now because he feels it, he knows you’re hard but it doesn’t matter because you don’t owe him anything, especially not that. And you won’t do it. Except that you know that you will. You want to. Maybe he doesn’t even really want you. Maybe the touch means something else. You don’t want admit that the thought disappoints you. But really, how can you misinterpret when Joey’s fingers are repeatedly rubbing over the bulge in your pants? JC laughs in the back seat. Can he see you? You don’t think so but you lift Joey’s hand out of your lap anyway. You’re about to let go when Joey gives your hand a squeeze and it’s almost a comforting gesture and you don’t want to let go of Joey’s hand anymore. Instead you touch it, examining the thick fingers, the dark hair sprinkled over the back, the veins running across it. You touch the veins, pushing them down with your fingertips and Joey laughs and pulls his hand away. You almost reach for it again but Joey is turning off the car and you’re in his driveway. You climb out and stand back as Joey lifts JC out of the back seat, handing him to you and then heading toward the house. JC smiles at you and pokes at your spiky hair and says, “Thanks for saving me from the vampires.” Then he closes his eyes and begins to snore. You never realized how strange JC was before. You were right too, because JC really doesn’t weigh anything. Joey unlocks the door and you follow him inside, waiting for directions on what to do with sleeping JC. “Here, let me take him. You can wait in there,” he gestures towards what looks like a living room. “You better be there when I get back Carter, I mean it this time.” You hand over JC and watch Joey haul him walk upstairs before venturing into the other room. You’ve never been in Joey’s house. You’ve never been in any ‘boy-band’ member’s house that wasn’t one of your boys. Joey’s house looks a lot like yours, except that the awards on the walls are for *Nsync and not the Backsteet Boys. You wander into the kitchen and open the fridge. It’s nearly empty and that doesn’t surprise you because yours is too. But there’s beer and you grab one, popping off the cap and taking a long swig. You still feel disoriented from the club. Suddenly there is warmth pressed against your back and Joey is there. “You’re hiding from me again. Why are you hiding, Nick?” His lips are right near your ear and you shiver because you had no idea that Joey Fatone could purr. He’s touching your waist, fingers dancing over you, and you’re thinking about drugs again and what you might possibly have taken. That date rape drug? What was that called? You don’t think it’s that though because doesn’t that make you unconscious? You don’t feel faint. Ecstasy? That makes more sense because you’re really really really enjoying Joey’s hands on you and there’s no other way to explain it. You don’t know what ecstasy looks like though and you aren’t even sure if it can be slipped in a drink. You think that for a troubled youth in America and a celebrity, you know pathetically little about drugs. You’ve smoked pot a few times with Howie, but that’s about it. Joey grabs a beer for himself and nudges you back toward the living room. You pass a mirror and you see yourself and you do look really awful. There are black streaks across both of your cheeks. You try to wipe at them but they don’t come off, not even when you lick your finger and scrub them. You sigh and follow Joey. He sits on the couch and pats the cushion next to him and you sit at the far end instead. He pouts at you but you don’t move, because you know it’s the drugs that are doing this to you and so you won’t give in. You look around and there is a picture of Lance on the end table and he looks like a complete tool and you feel like he’s staring at you so you set the picture face down on the table. Joey moves closer to you and you eye him warily because you want him closer, you want him to touch you, and for that reason you want him to get far away from you. You aren’t even talking. You don’t even know him for god’s sakes! This is so stupid and you wipe your hands on your pants and they make a squeaky sound and you cringe. “I think someone drugged me,” you say and Joey’s frowning now, probably because he doesn’t want to have to deal with two drugged guys, and then he’s right up next to you, holding your face and staring at your eyes. “You don’t look drugged,” he says and you shrug. How would he know anyway? “I think they slipped something into my drink. That place was full of weirdo’s that could have done it. Guys on leashes and girls with fangs. You could have done it.” You poke him in the chest while you say it, right in the second ‘b’ of ‘Boy-Bands Suck’. You can tell that Joey is amused and you want to tell him to fuck off. “Maybe I did drug you.” You scrunch up your face and look at him and you aren’t sure if he’s serious but then he’s laughing and you feel really stupid for believing it at first. He’s still really close and you can smell him, you can smell his cologne and his…Joeyness. You smile because it’s funny, this whole thing is funny and he’s smiling too but then he’s not, he’s coming closer, closer, and then his lips are on yours. It has to be Ecstasy. Has to be. Because this feels really fucking good. You’re kissing Joey Fatone and your loving every second of it and what’s happened to you? What would Kevin say? It doesn’t matter. You just won’t tell Kevin. Because you’re not stopping. Not now. You push Joey back a little and now you’re in charge of the kiss and damn, Joey has a lot of facial hair. You’ve never kissed anyone with facial hair before. You like it. It’s a little scratchy and a little soft and a lot manly and you rub your fingers along the sides of Joey’s chin as you kiss him just so that you can feel more of it. “If I sleep with you can you hook me up with Justin Timberlake?” You say it before you think and you’re joking, of course, but what if Joey thinks you’re serious? He’s staring at you and his face is blank and then he’s laughing and you smile too. Joey leans back and lies down on the cushions pulling you over him and it’s funny because you’re the same size practically but he’s making you feel small. You never feel small anymore. You stretch out your legs and accidentally kick Lance off the end table and then Joey’s kissing you again and he’s fingering the collar at your neck, the bands on your wrists. He flips you over so that he’s on you, holding you down with your wrists held above your head and then he’s licking your neck, licking around the leather band of the collar. You moan and try to get your hands free so that you can touch but you can’t move, or maybe you just don’t really want to all that much. “Joey,” you pull at your wrists, “let me go.” He stops licking and looks down at you and you’re pouting, you know, but you’re good at it and you might as well use your talents. He kisses the pout and lets go of your wrists but before you can touch him he grabs your hand and he’s taking you upstairs, up to his room. You look at the pictures hanging on the wall on the way up but they’re all of *Nsync and it’s weirding you out so you watch Joey’s ass instead. When Joey flicks on his light you almost expect to see JC curled up in his bed, but it’s empty, waiting for you. Joey cuts right to the chase, pulling off his shirt and then his pants and finally he’s standing there in his boxers. You just stare at him, not knowing what to do and overwhelmed by all of the suddenly exposed flesh. You reach out and run a hand down his chest, then back up, and it’s hairy, like his hands and his face but not disturbingly so, and you like it. When your hand runs over his nipple he flinches and then smiles. You really like Joey Fatone’s smile. You secretly thank whoever slipped the drugs in your drink because Joey has you on the bed now and he’s removing the collar and the wrist cuffs, and then your shirt is off too, and Joey’s mouth is on your right nipple. You moan and put your hands on Joey’s head, rubbing a little, and then you rub some more. His hair reminds you of the material they make car seats out of. Soft, short, and fuzzy. Joey’s working at pulling off your pants. You’re relieved because they were warm and your legs are sticky with sweat. You’re underwear somehow come off with the pants, but that’s okay, because now Joey’s hand is on your erection and it feels so good. Your hands are still on his head, massaging gently and he’s kissing you again, thrusting into your mouth with his tongue, and you moan and whimper and thrust into his hand. He pulls away a bit, and he’s just watching you and running his thumb over the head of your cock, and you feel like he’s been watching you forever. “God, Nick. You look…you look like a bruised angel.” And then he’s blushing because he thinks he’s being lame, and he is, sort of, but you like it. You think normally you would have laughed at him, but the drugs have messed with your head and it just sounds sort of sweet now, in a weird way that being called bruised can be sweet. He’s touching the smudged smears of make-up on your cheeks and around your eyes. You take the opportunity to push off his boxers, providing yourself with a nice handful of Joey ass. You squeeze and Joey looks down at you, surprised, and then he grins and kisses you again. He trails kisses down your chest and then his mouth is on you. He’s playing with your balls, and licking up and down your cock, and you groan and writhe on the bed. He stops and you look down, disappointed, and then Joey’s running out of the room and you’re left naked and hard on the bed. “What the fuck, Fatone,” you mumble, but then he’s coming back and grinning, waving the condom and lube in his hand. You laugh and you spread your legs, because you just assume that that’s how it’ll go, but Joey’s on you and he’s rolling the condom onto your cock and then you’re flipped over and suddenly you’re on top, kneeling between Joey’s legs. He hands you the lube and you take it and squirt some onto your fingers, rubbing them together thoughtfully. You think that you’ll miss this when the drugs wear off tomorrow and Joey is just Joey again and not this incredibly sexy being lying under you. You lean over and lick the tip of Joey’s cock as you slip the first finger in, twisting, and Joey’s hot and tight and your own cock jumps in excitement. Joey’s moaning and his hands are pulling at your blond spikes and you like it, you like the prickles of pain. You add another finger and take Joey’s cock further into your mouth and your fingers are thrusting and plunging and twisting and Joey is practically arching off the bed. He’s so loud, you’re afraid he’ll wake JC. Then you think that JC probably won’t be waking up for awhile. You can feel that he’s ready, and he’s telling you that he is, so you let his cock slip from between your lips and you pump your own cock, dressed up pretty in the condom, and when it’s nice and lubed you aim and then look up at Joey. Joey’s watching you and he’s whispering things that you can’t hear. Probably more bruised angel weird Joey stuff. You begin to push in and Joey is so tight, it feels impossible, but then suddenly the head is in and you and Joey are both whimpering. Joey, because you know it probably hurts like a bitch, and you because it’s so tight and so good that you almost can’t stand it. You slowly move further into Joey, slowly, until your balls rest against his ass and then you lean down and you kiss his closed eyelids softly. He opens his eyes and then he’s pleading “Nick, please, Fuck. now. I need it, hard.” And you smile, because you like it hard too, so you give it to him hard, thrusting roughly in and out and the bed is shaking and the headboard is hitting the wall and Joey is clawing at your back. It’s too good, too tight, and Joey is doing wonderful clenching things in there, and it’s making you see stars. He screams when he comes and if you weren’t so into it, if you weren’t so drugged, it would have been funny because Joey Fatone just screamed, and it was high, and then Joey’s panting your name over and over again and his ass is still clenching around your cock. You’re moaning something and then cursing and grunting and coming in Joey, in the condom and it’s sharp, and it’s bright, and it’s sweet, and so good. When you wake up it’s light out. Joey is no longer in bed and you turn your head toward his pillow. Out of the corner of your eye you see blotches of red and black on the pillowcase. Your make-up and the temporary hair dye mixed with sweat and dried onto the white linen. You feel bad because it’s dye and probably a lot more permanent on cloth than it was on your hair. You hear a noise and you roll over and there’s Joey, completely naked, and folding your clothes, setting them neatly on a chair. He doesn’t notice that you’re awake and he walks around collecting the collar and wristbands and then he’s drumming a beat on his stomach with his hands and humming along to the silent song. He turns and sees you and then he’s blushing, not so much because he’s naked, but more because you caught him playing drums on his pudgy middle. You smile at him to assure him that you think it’s kind of attractive, because you actually do think so. He comes over to the bed and leans down, kissing you, and you grin because it wasn’t drugs at all. Back/Home/Feedback