by Zoicite

You see him around a lot, more often than you would have thought. Sure, you both live in the same city, but really, considering that neither of you are at home often, it’s surprising that you keep bumping into him. It figures, really. You never saw him before, except at the usual pop star functions. You’re at the movies this time with JC, and there he is, sitting a few rows ahead of you. He has a cap shoved over his hair and he’s wearing glasses. You still recognize him. He’s with Howie, also appropriately disguised. You cringe and slouch in your seat, but you can’t stop your body’s reaction. You’re hard in a second and you sit through the movie, uncomfortable and confined, cursing Nick Carter. JC can tell you’re pissed off but he isn’t sure why. He hasn’t noticed Nick or Howie. JC isn’t very observant. He frowns at you but quickly turns back to the movie, forgetting that you’re acting pissy. It’s easy for the guys to do that, disregard your mood swings like nothing happened. The little blond brat. Spoiled rotten and throwing a fit again. You pull JC out of the theater as soon as the credits start rolling, anxious to get to the car before Nick spots you. You almost make it when you hear someone calling you across the parking lot. JC turns to look and you groan inwardly because you could have escaped if it hadn’t been for JC. Nick and Howie catch up and they’ve been running. They stop short and Nick holds up his hand, trying to catch his breath. You think about making a nasty comment, something about needing a personal trainer, but you bite your tongue. “Hey, Justin.” Nick says and you think it’s sort of pathetic, him chasing you across a parking lot. “Hi,” You reply with a little half-hearted wave. JC is looking from you to Nick and back to you and you just shrug at him and roll your eyes. Nick sees you do it and he frowns, looking down at the pavement, at his black boots. You all stand there for a few minutes, mostly just looking uncomfortable. Finally Nick starts to open his mouth and you’re almost afraid of what he’s going to say so you cut him off. “Look, Nick. I don’t want to stand out here all night. I’ll see you around, all right?” Nick just looks at you with wide blue eyes and nods. He says something to Howie and when he turns back to you the hurt is gone and replaced with a loathing that makes you flinch. You start unlocking the car manually so that you don’t have to look at him and when you glance over your shoulder he’s gone. JC climbs into the car beside you. He’s quiet and you know he’s waiting for an explanation. Well, too bad. It’s not his business and you don’t have to tell him anything. You pout all the way back to his house and after dropping him off you head to your favorite bar for a drink. They know you; they’ll let you in. You sit at the bar, sipping a rum and coke and think about how you’ve screwed everything up. If you’d just let go. You don’t want to admit that you want him. You can’t admit it. It’s like admitting that he’s better than you. And Nick Carter is not better than Justin Timberlake. Not by any means. He’s stupid and he can’t dance and he’s fat and he can’t write for shit and he doesn’t sing, he whines and he’s gay. You’re none of those things. Well, almost none. You can admit that sometimes you whine too. Only, your whining has soul. You had to push him away because up until that moment he was in control. You put him in his place. You’re in control now. Before you know it your drink is gone and you order another, tipping the bartender extra for being cute. She smiles at you, and winks, and you think you might take her home. You’re about to call her back over when someone sits down at the stool beside you. You frown because the bar is fairly empty and there are plenty of other stools. “Justin.” He must be stalking you, there’s no way that this is coincidental. You sigh, dramatically, then turn to face him. “Nick.” “Are you following me?” Is he serious? Why would you be following him? “I think we both know that you’re following me.” “But –“ “Hey, Nick. I didn’t think I’d see you tonight. The usual?” The cute bartender is back and she’s already placing a drink in front of Nick. He smiles and tells her to put it on his tab. “So, you come here often? Trying to be like your pal AJ?” You say it to be mean and it works. Nick’s eyes are flashing and angry and you think he’s probably about to punch you or at least shove you off your stool but he gets himself under control pretty quickly and pushes his drink away. “Bastard.” You get up to leave, pushing your stool away from the bar with enough force that it hangs on the edge of tipping for a moment before regaining it’s balance. You flip Nick off and stalk out of the bar. Nick Carter doesn’t call Justin Timberlake a bastard. You’re out of the bar and on the sidewalk, breathing in the fresh air deeply to clear your head and then suddenly Nick is beside you, pushing you against the brick wall of the bar and his lips are on yours, wet and insistent. It’s exactly like last time, only now you have no intention of pushing Nick off. You won’t slap him this time or kick him out of your car calling him a no talent cock-sucking pathetic excuse for a pop icon. Not this time. Because he’s not giving you a choice now. He’s taking and he’s giving you exactly what you want but can’t ask for. You won’t ask for it. It’s like admitting defeat. Instead you writhe against the wall, gripping Nick’s soft button down shirt with both hands, fisting it in your palms and pulling him closer. Whatever control you thought you had is gone and you push your tongue between his lips tasting him. His hands are between your legs now, kneading through your jeans and you’re moaning into his mouth, spreading your legs against the wall to give him better access. Your hand is trying to work it’s way under his shirt when suddenly he grabs your wrists pushing you back against the wall and moving away quickly. “Get your fucking hands off of me, you little primadonna bitch.” You stare at him, mouth open, hand straying to the bulge in your pants. He can’t be serious. You move toward him and he holds up one hand warning you to stay back. “Nick, I –“ “Save it, Timberlake. This is the way it’s going to work. You want me? You’re going to have to work for it. I’m not taking your shit anymore.” “Fuck you,” you spit back. You can’t believe this. Cocky bastard. “Not until you beg,” Nick says and then his hands are on himself and you might have whimpered, you’re not sure. Nick smirks at you, leaning in to kiss you and it’s lingering and he’s biting your lower lip gently and then he’s gone and you’re left on the sidewalk ready to come in your pants. You press the palm of your hand against your cock, straining against the confines of your clothing and then you are coming, your legs shaking, and your other hand reaches for the wall to steady yourself. Your breath is ragged and you try to compose yourself, looking up and down the street to make sure no one witnessed your pathetic display. No one is around; the street is deserted, dark except for the light up Christmas trees tied to the telephone poles. You pick yourself up off the wall and head to your car, cursing under your breath. So Nick thinks he can make you beg for him. You snort. Sure, right, like that’s going to happen. You strut to your car even though you feel like running and hiding because you’re Justin Timberlake. You feel rejected and bad because that’s how you’ve made Nick feel. Nick’s been feeling the way you are now for two weeks. Because you lied to him, you wouldn’t tell him the truth. You wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. Needed to hear. And you still can’t. You don’t beg. Ever. You aren’t going to start now. Especially not for a chubby awkward Backstreet Boy. You try not to think about it. You go out with Chris and you laugh at his antics and you tell yourself that you aren’t distracted. You aren’t thinking about pursed red lips, wet and swollen. You aren’t thinking about large blue eyes framed by delicate lashes and shapely arched brows. You’re paying attention to Chris, flirting with a large breasted brunette, because it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve witnessed in days, and you’re in awe of anything Chris does anyway. Besides, maybe Chris will let you share. He does, beckoning for you to follow them into a private room in the rear of the club and you participate for awhile, suckling plump breasts and palming creamy thighs, but eventually you step back, preferring to sit in a corner and just watch. You pull out your cock and you bring yourself over the edge, free hand gripping the chair and you aren’t thinking about a head of thick blond hair, perfect for running your hands through, pulling, gripping in ecstasy. No, not at all. Later, you think you might have said Nick’s name when you came and you hope that Chris was too busy to notice. The next day Chris and Joey are in your living room, patting the couch for you to sit beside them. Joey pops a tape into the VCR and pushes play. It’s a recent Backstreet appearance that they must have taped specifically for this moment and they are looking at you and smirking. You ignore them and try to play innocent, watching the tape quietly. Joey leans close to you and moans “Niiiick” right into your ear. You punch him hard. “Ow,” Joey pouts and rubs his arm. “That’s what you get bastard. What is this all about anyway?” “We know you’re in luurve with a Backstreet Boy, Justin. You don’t need to play ignorant with us,” Chris is smirking and Justin thinks he probably hates them both. “I am not,” he mutters, pouting, but still watching the tape intently. Chris snorts, “Okay, you watch that tape. I’m just going to go over there and masturbate in the corner while calling out Nick Carter’s name in the throws of passion.” “I wasn’t - I met this girl. Her name is Nicole.” You know it’s lame, but it’s the first thing that pops into your head and you can’t think of any other way to save yourself. Joey’s the one snorting this time and you shut off the television. “C told us about the incident at the movie theater, Just. The gig is up.” You roll your eyes at them. “You sound like you’re in a bad movie, Joe.” Joey just shrugs and grins. He likes bad movies. “And that was hardly an ‘incident’.” “Whatever, Just. Facts are facts, and the fact is, you’re lustin’ after a Backstreet Boy.” Joey humps the air a little as he says it and that’s the last straw. You push them both out of your house telling them not to come back until they’re ready to admit that you have better taste than to be smitten over Nick Carter. You stare at the wall for several minutes, upset that everyone knows about you and Nick. You then realize that Joey and Chris may be gone but they left something behind. You turn the TV back on, rewinding the tape to the beginning. You watch Nick sing and overemote and goof around with Howie and you definitely aren’t thinking about thick strong thighs begging to be grabbed, nibbled, or a soft stomach perfect for nuzzling. You aren’t thinking about that at all. You go to Lance’s holiday barbecue and you’re lounging by his pool, sipping warm cider and talking to JC about the song you’re writing with Wade. When Lance comes over and asks to borrow your cell phone you give it to him without a second thought. You don’t think about the fact that you’re at Lance’s house and he has ten phones of his own until he’s already handing yours back to you. When you pull out your phone later that evening to call Britney, scrolling through the memory for her number, you see that Nick Carter’s number has been added. You smile at it for a minute and think about calling before snapping the phone shut and cursing Lance under your breath. You are not going to call Nick Carter. You contemplate deleting the number from your phone, but end up leaving it. You run into Brian at a local radio station and he’s friendly to you. You chat about business and holiday plans and then he’s gone with a smile. You ask the DJ about Brian but he just shrugs and says he didn’t know that Mr. Littrell was in the building. You’re frowning now and the DJ shrugs again. Nick is up to something, you think. You can’t stop thinking about Nick and every time you turn there is someone else there to remind you. To remind you that he’s waiting for you. Waiting for you and you can have him, have all of him if you just ask. That’s all he wants. It’s not so much really. The radio interview goes by in a blur and you hope you didn’t say anything too stupid. All you remember is the Backstreet Boys photo on the wall behind the DJ’s head. Nick’s wide smile, white teeth, impossibly red lips. Those lips. You can almost feel them around your cock. That’s where they wanted to be. They told you. They’d just wanted you say that you wanted it too. Lonnie hands you a small package as you step out of the station, squinting in the bright afternoon sun. You look down at it, sizing it up in your hands. It’s rectangular and wrapped in plain brown packaging paper. You’re name is written on the outside, nothing else. You look at Lonnie and he just shrugs at you. He must know where it came from. He wouldn’t give it to you otherwise. You wait until you get in the car to open it. You carefully tear off the brown packaging and it’s just an ordinary cardboard box. You frown at it, shaking it a little and hear something thud softly inside. There is a card attached to the outside and you tear it off, ripping it open. You groan inwardly when you see that it’s a Backstreet Boys greeting card. It’s Kevin looking all dark and sinister as only Kevin can. Brian must have given the package to Lonnie when you were walking in for your interview. You open the card and read the message from Nick. ‘I thought you might be needing this. Merry Christmas. Love Always, Nick’ Do you really want to know what’s in the box? You do, so you open it, pulling out tissue paper and packing peanuts and finally a tube of lubricant. You drop it on the seat beside you, pushing the box off of your lap and onto the floor. You almost catch yourself smiling, because it’s the kind of thing you might send someone as a joke. Nick’s not joking though. The idea that Nick knows that you’ve been jerking off to him is appalling and arousing at the same time. You toss the lube back into the box, covering it with the packaging bits and bring it inside with you when the car drops you off. Chris is in your kitchen when you walk in and he’s singing ‘All I Have to Give’ and he tackles you when he sees that you have a present. “Whadja get? Huh? Come on, J! Let me see.” He’s jumping all around you trying to grab the box from your raised hands. You manage to keep Chris from seeing the embarrassing gift by distracting him with the take-out Chinese menu that’s on the counter behind you. It’s a long shot and you’re surprised it works but Chris turns his attention to ordering dinner and you’re able to hide the box. You find it again later, after Chris has left, and you sit with it on the couch, fingering the tube between your fingers. You reread the card over and over again and the closing line makes you warm inside even though Nick doesn’t really love you, doesn’t really know you even. You want to call him. Leave some snarky message on his answering machine but you don’t because he might answer and what would you do then? The lube is flavored, cherry, and you think its sort of funny that he would buy you flavored lube just to masturbate with. You twist off the cap, squirting a tiny dab of it onto your fingers and rubbing them together. You’re about to taste it when your cell phone begins ringing. You jump, startled, wiping your hand on your pants and then you’re digging in your jacket, searching for your phone. You answer it without so much as a glance at the caller ID. “Hello?” “Justin?” Shit. It’s him and your knees suddenly feel a little week and your heart is beating a little faster and his voice sounds lower than normal, a little breathless. “Um, yeah. Nick?” “I was wondering if you got my gift-“ You hang up the phone, turning it off completely so that he won’t be able to get through a second time. You spend the rest of the night staring at his phone number. All you have to do it call him. Apologize for being a bastard, for your stupid pride. Tell him the truth. You were afraid. Afraid to want him. Tell him that you didn’t even think you were really into that kind of thing until him. Because you weren’t. You’d messed around with Chris before, but it was never serious and you never really gave it much thought because it was Chris. Nick was a whole other ball game for you. You fall asleep on the couch, the cell phone cradled in your lap. You dream, you know you do, but they disappear when JC shakes you awake the next morning. “Justin?” You reach up to rub your eyes and the cell phone falls to the floor. JC is leaning over you, staring down at you, and his hand is on your arm, still shaking gently. When he sees that you’re awake he begins looking around you and slowly picks up the tube of lubricant. Tomorrow you’re going to go change the locks on your door. JC’s reading the tube, and then he spots the card. Frowning he picks it up and you want to grab it from him but you’re still half asleep and you just aren’t quick enough. He reads the card and then he’s laughing and it starts out as a chuckle but when he turns to look at you it turns into a full high pitched JC giggle-fest. There’s even a bit of knee slapping involved. You just glare at him and pout. He collapses on the sofa beside you and leans his huge head of hair against you, still shaking a little with suppressed laughter. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” you say, still pouting. “You sent me the same gift two years ago, when I wasn’t getting any. Remember? Card said practically the same thing to.” “Oh.” The lube you sent JC wasn’t flavored. JC’s wearing a bright green shirt with red sleeves. Dork. JC was always one of those people that liked to decorate himself for Christmas. You smile down at him and he grins back fondly. “So why don’t you just call him? You’ve been agonizing over this for weeks,” JC asks, picking at the whole in the knee of your jeans. “I can’t. I’ve already acted like a complete ass. And I don’t know, C. I mean, I’m not even gay, you know?” “You slept with Chris.” You shrug. You’re pretty sure you’ve all slept with Chris at one point or another. “That doesn’t count,” You say and JC nods. “And Chris isn’t a Backstreet Boy.” JC smiles, “Yeah, they didn’t want four black hairs.” You chuckle remembering how Chris made fun of Howie when he read that in a Rolling Stone article. JC sits up and turns to you. “Seriously though. That doesn’t matter, Justin. Nick’s a good kid. We’ll still love you if you hook up with a Backstreet Boy.” “I can’t do it now anyways. I want to. Wow, do I want to. That’s all I’ve thought about for weeks. But I was such an ass. I don’t even know how to apologize. And he said he wants me to beg. I can’t do that.” “I’m pretty sure you can.” “Well, I won’t.” You punch JC’s shoulder lightly, jokingly but he frowns and rubs it with his other hand. You always forget how small JC is. “I hooked up with AJ once,” JC is still rubbing his arm and he’s looking at his cell phone on the floor. “You did not!” “No, I did. Two years ago.” You can’t even imagine JC with AJ. “We were at a club, drunk. He found me on the dance floor. Wow, can he dance. And then I let him take me home.” Your eyes are wide now, because you can imagine it. “What happened?” “Nothing.” You raise your eyebrows. “Okay. Not nothing. Wild hot sex. Some of the best sex I’ve ever had. But nothing after that. We both knew it was a one time thing,” JC reaches into his back pocket, “Oh, hey, I’ve got something for you.” You want to ask him more questions about AJ but he’s handing you a slip of paper and you open it. It’s Nick’s phone number and a message that says ‘call him’ in Joey’s big sloppy handwriting. You look at JC and he just shrugs. “Joey told me to make sure to give it to you, but it looks like you already have the number,” he says pointing at the cell phone on the floor. “Yeah.” “Call him, Just. He’s been driving us nuts.” “What?” “Oh, oops. Wasn’t supposed to say that. I’ve gotta go. Meeting Lance for a meeting in fifteen minutes,” JC gets up and starts heading for the door. “Hey, C?” He turns. “I think I might be bi.” “I know, Justin.” You smile and then he’s gone and you look at the note from Joey. JC’s right. You just have to suck it up, put your pride aside, and call. You pick up your cell phone. Nick answers after one ring. “Justin?” “Yeah, it’s me.” “Hey,” he says, and he sounds breathless again. “I, um…I just wanted to say that…uh. I –” You’re stumbling and you really don’t know how to say it. How to tell him that you want him and he’s all you can think about and you were such an ass. “Just? Can I come over?” You blink at the phone because you didn’t expect him to ask, you expected him to be snarky and sexy, not quiet, breathless, and blunt. “I guess. Yeah.” He hangs up and you stare at the floor for a second before racing upstairs to shower and get ready. You rush to the door as soon as you hear the doorbell, then pause so that you won’t seem too eager. He’s smiling when you finally open it and he’s wearing worn jeans and a white sweater. His hair is a tousled yellow mess. You move aside to let him in and he brushes against you as he passes and you feel your cock jump. “Justin.” You look at the floor and try to think of something to say. You decide to cut right to the chase. “Nick, I want –“ “I’m sorry, Justin.” You blink and stare at him because that’s supposed to be your line, isn’t it? “Why are you apologizing?” “I shouldn’t have played with you like that,” Nick’s walking into the living room now, smiling when he sees his gift sitting on the couch. “I was upset and hurt and I shouldn’t have acted like I did. I knew it was hard for you. I was just – it hurt so much. You pushing me away and saying what you did,” Nick is fingering the note from Joey now, “And then you were so cold afterward. Neither of us handled it well.” You stare at him. He stole your apology and now you feel stupid and you don’t know what to do. He holds up the tube of cherry-flavored lube. “Did you like your gift?” You smile, “Yeah.” “How about the card? I was going to get you one of me, but the grocery store was out, so I had to settle for Kevin.” You laugh, “I thought maybe you were trying to tell me that I was lusting after the wrong Backstreet Boy.” “No way. Never.” “Why cherry? I don’t really need flavored lube just to masturbate with.” “I didn’t plan for you to use it alone,” Nick’s grinning at you now and then he’s moving toward you. He leans in and kisses you gently, his hands in your short curls. “Is this okay?” You nod and the kiss is sweet and almost innocent and nothing like any of the other kisses you’ve ever shared. You pull away for a moment and Nick backs up quickly, holding up his hands in defense and you laugh at him. “I’m not going to push you away again. I promise.” “Yeah. I’m not pushing either this time.” You move in again and now the kiss is hot and more like what you expected, battling, probing tongues and Nick’s hand on your ass, squeezing. You guide him toward the couch and then you’re on your back and Nick’s on you and he’s so big, you feel tiny in comparison. He’s pulling at your shirt and it’s over your head and you shiver a little and then a lot because his mouth is on your nipple, licking and tugging gently. You’re talking and you aren’t sure what you’re saying but he’s grinning at you and you pull at his sweater, impatient to get him undressed. You can hear yourself now and you realize why Nick’s grinning like that. You’re saying “Please, Nick.” And “I want you so bad.” And it sounds an awful lot like begging to you. It’s easier than you thought it would be. Nick’s hands are kneading you through your pants now and you writhe on the couch, not really sure what to do. You’re pinned and you can’t really do anything but moan and keep talking. You think that might be exactly what Nick wants you to do because he’s breathing on your stomach and thrusting his erection against your leg. Your pants are shoved down over your ass and then suddenly you’re engulfed in Nick’s hot mouth. You look down and there are those lips, the ones you haven’t been able to get out of your head, and they’re wrapped around your cock. You grip his hair, soft beneath your fingers and you can hear yourself pleading. You need to come, now. A tentative finger strokes behind your balls and then moves back, probing gently and you cry out and then you’re coming, shaking and probably pulling Nick’s hair a bit too hard. He crawls back up your body and his lips are red and swollen. He kisses you, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You can taste yourself on him and you can feel him pressing into your hip. “Cocksucker,” You whisper with fondness because you think it really might have been the best blowjob you’ve ever had. “I’ve never heard anyone beg for it as much as you just did. Shit, Justin. That was so hot. I almost came in my pants.” You growl at him and push him off of you, leading him upstairs. His pants are off by the time you arrive in your room, discarded somewhere along the staircase. You push him down on the bed and there are his thighs, large and solid, just like you knew they would be. You climb onto him, licking up the inside of his right leg and sucking gently, leaving a small red mark. He’s whimpering and his cock is leaking and you move to taste it. You’ve never done this. Not even with Chris. With Chris it was mostly mutual masturbation and a few blowjobs, but always with you on the receiving end. You lick around the head and it’s salty and the smell of him is almost intoxicating. You wrap your hand around the base and pop the head into your mouth. Nick cries out and arches off the bed and you have to hold him down with your other arm to keep him from thrusting down your throat. You aren’t ready for that. It doesn’t take long. He’s coming and shouting in a few moments and you swallow it, licking him clean afterward. You think you did a pretty good job for your first time and Nick doesn’t look about to disagree. He’s watching you with heavy lidded eyes and he looks beautiful and big and golden and you curl into him, resting your head on his chest and throwing your arm across his soft stomach. His hand rubs up and down your back and you sigh, content. “This isn’t it, is it?” You’re thinking of JC and AJ and you can’t help but ask. “I don’t want it to be. I hope not, we haven’t even tried out your gift yet,” He kisses the top of your head and you smile against his skin. And it’s everything you’d been imagining for the last few weeks, but nothing like it. There is no embarrassment in giving in to Nick. No shame. He isn’t here just to mock you. And his mouth. Wow. You think that maybe it’s time to rethink your begging policy. Back/Home/Feedback