Disclaimer: This is fiction. I don't know the Backstreet Boys, they don't know me (their loss). I don't know a thing about their sex lives, and I don't really care, unless that story in the National Enquirer is true, in which case I know too much.
Standard Blah: Hi, this is my first real attempt at slash, and it's pretty tame, but hey, I'm a girl, its not like I'm writing from experience. :)
Anyway, it's short, it's bittersweet and it's random. Like me. Oh, and I'm a feedback whore. Hit me, baby.
JJ whippedcream@audiohighway.net
Never Been Kissed
I can just hear the argument now.
"What do you mean you lost him?" That would be Brian, his face all red, his mouth set in an angry line. AJ would probably be just as pissed, though some of that would probably be directed toward me. Kevin would be calm, trying to work out a solution with the rest of the security staff, saving the anger for when he has me alone in the hotel room. And Howie would be frantic, the only one that would see past the present and realize that me alone in Southeast Washington, DC isn't good for anyone. Just think of the trouble I could get into. Especially after the events of the day.
I'd be thinking about it, if the pain weren't distracting me. I wince, and look down. There's a big red patch on my shirt, and it's starting to attract curious glances from people. But it has its advantage; as long as they're looking at my shirt, they aren't paying attention to my face. I can only imagine the chaos that would break out then. A lone Backstreet Boy, completely lost in the most dangerous part of the murder capital of the world, blood on his shirt, limping, and the sun rapidly setting. My mind breaks through the pain finally to register the encroaching panic.
I want my Mommy.
Breathe Nick, I try to calm myself. Freaking out isn't going to fix anything. But it sure as hell beats leaning against the grimy brick of another rundown building with shot out windows, trying to catch my breath and ignore the lancing pain that shoots through my side at each attempt. Maybe I should just pass out now.
It's dark. Why is it so dark? I open my eyes, and then wish I had kept them closed. Now it's too damn bright.
"Hey, are you okay?" I open one eye again, this time a little more carefully, to see a man leaning over me. Well, he's a man in much the same way that I am, I guess. He's probably not much older than AJ.
"Uh, yeah," I squeeze out, and then try to sit up. Ooooh, bad idea, I can feel something give in my side and suddenly all I see are stars. "Fuck!"
"Easy there," he says, "I wouldn't try that, if I were you." Thank you, Captain Obvious. I glare at him through my one open eye and he returns my look with a grin.
"Thanks," I mutter, lying back down and closing my eyes again. I can feel his cool skin as he brushes my hair out of my forehead then rests his palm there briefly.
"You're a little warm," he murmurs, "but I don't think you have a fever." "What happened?"
"I should ask you that. I found you out cold in an alley off 4th Street. Not a smart move." Does he have a mental ailment that makes him continually point out the obvious? Even I'm not that clueless.
"Trust me, it wasn't intentional." I feel him move around me and lift my head slightly, tucking a soft object just behind my neck. "Thanks again."
"So how'd you get out here? Oh, I'm Jake, by the way." I open my eyes to check him out again. Dark hair, dark eyes, nondescript. The kind of guy you'd pass on the street and not look at twice. Not like me, I think bitterly.
"Nick. I got lost, I think." I try to remember what happened today. We... "Where am I?"
"I kinda half-dragged you, half-carried you into my apartment. You passed out at my backdoor." Now that my head's stopped spinning, I risk a glance around the room. It's not exactly a penthouse at the Ritz, but not everyone gets to live like me.
"A tour," I mutter. He raises his eyebrows. It suddenly dawns on me that I'm shirtless. Like, I'm not wearing a shirt. Which is a minor miracle. I'm always wearing a shirt. "Where's my shirt?" Jake blushes.
"I, uh, had to cut it off, so I could fix the nasty hole in your side." I look down and almost pass out again. There's a big mess of bandages covering my side, and just thinking about it makes it throb.
"Oh, God," I whisper. Immediately, I feel Jake's hand just below my ribcage, its warmth radiating across my skin. Reassuring.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "It's not as bad as you think. Just a cut, and it stopped bleeding. I've cleaned it out, so it won't get infected."
"Once again, thanks."
"Do you want to try sitting up now?" he asks. I nod, and very gingerly, with one arm around me and the other supporting my waist carefully, we manage to get me slightly more vertical. The room slips a little, but then the v-hold steadies again.
"So, uh, what do you do?" I ask. I'm only half listening to him, though, my mind is on more pressing matters, like how the hell am I going to get to the others? "I'm a med student at GW," he explains. "I work at Amnesty International. I live here because it's dirt cheap." It had damn well better be.
"That explains this," I say, pointing to my side. He nods.
"So, Nick, how do we get you home?" I look into his face, into his eyes. Like really look, not the casual glance I'd come to perfect over the years, the one that has the teenyboppers fainting because Nick Carter looked in their direction. And he's not as nondescript as I had first thought. That stirs something vaguely unsettling in me; when did I become so blasé about people? He's actually not that bad looking, the kind of guy I think my sisters would find attractive. The dark hair is somewhere between long and short, cut in that style that screams budget, but somehow it suits him. And the dark eyes are actually very dark, and right now, they're looking at me with some mix of concern, worry and confusion.
"Uh," I manage to get out, realizing he just asked me a question, "call the hotel, I guess." I wince as I think about the reception I'm going to get, which starts my thoughts down an unwelcome path. Another night, another hotel room, and in the morning, off to another city, with me "grounded," of course. Like any of this was my fault.
"Okay," he says, reaching for the phone. "What hotel?" I look at him, as a thought suddenly strikes me. He doesn't know who I am. Right now, I'm just Nick. But if calls that hotel, I'm in deep shit.
"Listen," I hear myself saying. "Um, I don't think my, uh, friends will have checked in yet." My mind is frantically searching for a suitable explanation. But Jake just looks at me and nods.
"You don't have to go back if you don't want, Nick," he says softly, and I like the way he says my name, like I'm just another guy. Not screaming it in my ear, or threatening me, or yelling at me again for messing up.
"Thanks," I say, gratefully.
"But if you thank me one more time, you're sleeping on the street," he threatens, but there's a twinkle in his eye. A sudden image of Brian flashes before my eyes, and I realize how much Jake reminds me of my best friend.
"Okay," I say with false meekness, then pause for measure, "thanks." He just grins and shakes his head.
"Would you like something to eat?" he asks, suddenly, a frown creasing his forehead.
"Yeah," I confess, "I can't remember the last time I ate."
"Okay, I don't have much, but I have a feeling you shouldn't have too much either."
"You're the doctor."
"Not yet." But he's grinning again, one of those smiles that just lights up his face. I can't help but smile back. He gets up and moves toward the kitchenette, pulling open a few cabinets and removing some cans and setting about preparing something. My guess would be soup. Everyone has soup in their house. You can't mess it up. Well, I could mess it up, but like I said, not everyone is like me.
"So, Nick, are you in school?" he asks, his back to me, as he stirs the soup. I'm glad he's not looking at me, because I'm pretty sure my thoughts are evident on my face.
"Um, I'm a singer," I say quietly. I would make something up, but I hate lying. Besides, I'm supposed to be proud of what I do, right?
"Really?" and this time he turns to look at me. I sigh. I hate this.
"Yeah." I'm not saying any more unless he asks.
"Are you famous?" He's studying me now, the soup forgotten, and I fight the urge to cover myself. I feel naked. Well, I am. Half-naked anyway.
"Yeah," I answer reluctantly. Now he's gonna ask about my music, or what band I'm in, or if he should know me.
"So what were you doing in a dingy alley in the shady part of town at sunset?" he asks, and I'm a little taken aback by the question.
"Uhh." I start. "I got lost." He raises an eyebrow.
"Lost? Where were you supposed to be?"
"We were at the Capitol Building." He pauses.
"You were at the Capitol Building." Didn't I just say that?
"Yes."
"Today?"
"Yeah."
"Shit."
"Well said." He turns the knob on the stove and comes back to the bed, sitting on the edge of it.
"What was it like?" he asks, a mild curiosity in his face. I shrug.
"Having confronted mobs before, I'm kind of used to it, though having a crazy man fire three shots above my head is a new experience."
"Shit," he says again. Yeah. Then something I said must have registered.
"You're used to mobs of people?" he asks. Damn it.
"Um, yeah. A hazard of the business."
"How famous are you?"
"Very." I think he catches on because he doesn't press it.
"So let me guess, you got separated from your... friends? And your bodyguard?" I only nod. He falls silent.
"They must be frantic," he says, finally. I nod again.
"And angry." He looks at me, startled.
"At you?"
"Yeah."
"Why? It's not exactly your fault."
"I know that. You know that. And deep down, they know that. But getting angry at 'little Nicky' beats feeling guilty. I mess up enough anyway, at some point the anger will be justified." He doesn't respond for a moment.
"That sucks." Well, not only is he master of the obvious, but he has a way with words too. I decide I like him.
"How about that soup?" I ask, if only to change the subject. He smiles ruefully.
"Oh, right. Sorry." He stands up and moves back toward the stove, pouring the soup in a bowl and bringing it back to me. After a glance at the side table, and then me, he sits back down on the bed, this time closer to me, his knee poking slightly into my thigh. I reach up to take the bowl, and only then do I notice my hands shaking. Not trembling. Shaking. Jake notices too, because he frowns and retains his hold on the bowl.
"I think," he says, his voice carefully neutral, "that I should feed you." I would have choked, if there had been something to choke on.
"Uhhh..." He looks at me, his expression masked.
"You're going to spill it all over yourself. And that won't be good for your bandages." He's right, and I know that in some part of my mind, but the rest of me is concerned with the weirdness of the situation. Aw, hell, this day has gone badly enough, it can only get better, right?
"Okay," I surrender and open up. He smiles lightly, and places the spoon in my mouth. Mmmm, tomato. He feeds me, spoonful by spoonful, like my mom used to do when I was sick. Hell, like the guys used to do when I was sick. I miss being a kid.
But there's a new element this time. However I say this, it's going to come out completely wrong, but I'm going to say it anyway. It's kind of... sensual. I don't know what it is, maybe the intense way Jake is staring at my mouth. Most likely it's to make sure he doesn't miss it, but this is my mouth we're talking about. Whole fantasies have been constructed around it.
"This is really good," I say, hoping to create some sort of dialogue between us, trying to ignore the disturbing thoughts in my head. Jake smiles.
"I'll let the Progresso people know." We're on the last spoonful now and I feel a vague sense of disappointment. Stop it, Nick, I tell myself.
"All better?" he asks me softly. I wonder, if I say no, will he kiss me and make it better? Whoa. Where the HELL did that come from?
"Yeah," I say, just as softly. Something is happening here, and once again, I'm too clueless to figure it out. It's not attraction; I'm not attracted to guys. He places the bowl on the side table next to the clock radio and looks at me carefully.
"Are you feeling faint or dizzy or anything?"
"Kinda," I answer, without thinking. He's got concern etched all over his face now and he reaches over and lightly brushes the bandage. "Not cuz of that." Once again, I curse my talent for speaking before thinking. His hand stills, and then slowly, slowly, his fingers travel across the gauze of white and onto my bare skin. I can't help the sudden intake of air as his skin comes in contact with mine. Especially across my stomach, easily the most sensitive part of my body. He looks up again, and our eyes meet and I wish I had the life experience to be able to read the silent message in his eyes.
"What are you thinking?" he asks, and I guess he can't read my eyes either.
"I don't know," I say honestly. His hand has stilled again, just barely resting on my abdomen. I wouldn't even feel it, except that all my attention is focused on it. And then his hand starts to move again, this time skimming up my body. Lightly, the pads of his fingers play across my ribcage, stopping briefly at my collarbone before I feel the backs of his knuckles caress my neck. And then his hand is on my jaw, and suddenly, I can't see anything but his dark eyes.
"I've never done this before," he whispers, before he leans his head forward and gently touches his lips to mine. It's the faintest of caresses, but I can feel it all the way down to my toes.
"Me either," I reply when he pulls away half a second later. He looks a little startled, like maybe he thought I was experienced at this sort of thing. That makes me laugh. I barely know what to do with a girl, let alone another guy.
He smiles, and leans in to kiss me again, his eyelids fluttering close. This time firmer, a hint of passion that threatens to spill out. I barely even register my hand reaching up, my thumb running over his earlobe as my fingers tangle in his dark hair. I'm surprised at its softness, like he washes with baby shampoo. I find that strangely appealing.
The hand on my jaw moves back down my body again, his open palm pressing into my skin, a desperate ferocity that sets my nerve endings on fire.
His mouth is on fire, too, moving over mine insistently, and I have no choice but to open mine under the onslaught. And then everything I thought I was feeling pales before this new sensation as his tongue dances around mine, teasing and tasting, causing something I'd never felt before to stir deep within me.
I lean forward a little more, trying to move closer to him. I feel him shift and suddenly he breaks the kiss, his open mouth leaving my lips to drift down my jaw and onto my neck, moving to everyone's favorite spot, just below my ear. I can't help but moan and the hand that's settled on my rib cage presses deeper into my skin.
And then the sudden blaring of the TV snaps both of us out of our trances and we spring apart, looking for all the world like we'd just done something wrong. Jake smiles ruefully at me.
"Uh, wow," he says. Like I said, a way with words.
"Yeah," I respond. I look down to see my hand resting on the remote control and smile sheepishly. "Oops."
I laugh and run my hand through my hair, aware of his watchful gaze. I think maybe he wants to touch me again, but then again, I'm not one for reading people. I want to touch him again. Of its own volition, my hands reaches out, but the voice on the television makes me stop, my blood running cold.
"And in wake of today's incident at the Capitol Building, Metro Police state that Backstreet Boy Nick Carter is still missing. If anyone has any details as to his whereabouts, you are urged to call-" The announcer goes quiet suddenly as I hit the mute button.
"Shit!" I watch in horror as my face fills the screen. I can't look at Jake.
"That's you," he says, his voice devoid of any emotion. I sneak a peek. He's staring at the screen like it had just sprouted legs and done an Irish jig.
"Yeah," I say. There's no point in evading it now.
"I just kissed the guy my little sister fantasizes about every night," He turns to look at me, incredulously.
"No, that's Backstreet Nick," I reply. "This is just me. Just Nick." He's still staring at me.
"You are plastered all over her walls. I can't believe I didn't recognize you!"
"I cut my hair," I offer, inanely. He's either about to go into major teenybopper mode or kick me out, I'm not sure. Either way, I'm getting a little scared.
"You have to call them," he says, switching gears suddenly and pointing at the screen. I sigh. I hate my life.
"I know," I reply softly as he hands me the phone. I dial information and get the number of the hotel, all the time looking at Jake and wondering what he's thinking.
"Hi," I say, cutting off the receptionist's spiel, "can I talk to Michelle Andrews?"
"That's not important, but this call is."
"Well, let's just say if she finds out I called and you wouldn't put me through, you might want to look into another career. Preferably one involving a deserted island somewhere in the Pacific." Jake's watching me again, fascination and something else on his face.
"Michelle? It's Nick." I wait for her to take a breath.
"I'm okay, a little hurt, but nothing serious."
"I'm at-" I look at Jake.
"301B 4th Street, SE," he replies. I repeat the address to Michelle. She tells me to sit tight (would I be going somewhere?) and that they'd come get me soon. I thank her and hang up, then stare at my hands.
"Are they on their way?" Jake asks softly. I nod and blink suddenly. I think there's something in my eye.
"Um, about what happened," I say, but stop. I don't know how to address this.
"It was nothing," Jake says. I look up suddenly. Nothing? It didn't feel like that to me. He smiles gently. "You were lost and scared and I helped you out. You're grateful and I liked feeling needed."
"Oh," I reply. I don't know how to respond.
"But it was nice?" he offers. I feel the smile tugging at my lips. There's a knock at the door. Damn, that was hella fast. Jake gets up to answer the door, then pauses and looks at me. He heads to his closet and rummages around, then pulls out a t-shirt and walks over to me.
"Lift your arms," he says as the knock sounds again. I obey, and with a little bit of trouble, we manage to get the shirt on me. He stands again and goes to answer the door.
"Frack!" Brian brushes past Jake and runs over to me, dropping onto the bed and enveloping me in a tight hug. I see Jake over Brian's shoulder turn away, and I want to tell him it's not what he thinks it is. Brian and I are brothers. But these are things I can't say out loud.
He squeezes tighter, brushing my bandaged wound and I cry out in pain. He pulls away quickly, his eyes large with concern.
"Are you okay?" He looks down and frowns, then gently reaches for the hem of my shirt, lifting it. He gasps at the sight.
"It's not as bad as it looks," I offer.
"We should get you to hospital." I look up and finally notice the police officer that accompanied Brian.
"I'm fine," I say. "Jake's a med student." Brian and the officer turn, both of them slightly startled to see someone else in the room. Brian stands and walks to him, smiling.
"Thanks, man," he says, sincerely. "We've all been so worried." Jake just looks at Brian, then me, and smiles. And once again, I want to shake my head and dispel his thoughts, but I can't.
"He rescued me," I say instead, hoping no one notices the slight catch in my voice. Frick does, of course, and he frowns slightly. But he doesn't say anything.
"Let's get you back," he says. He and the officer approach the bed, and help me rise to my feet. I'm a little unsteady but I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. They lead me to the door and the officer passes through, leaving me leaning on Brian. I pause and turn slightly to look at Jake.
"Thanks," I say, sincerely and Brian nods. Jake smiles again, lighting up his eyes.
"Take care of him," he says to Brian, and then gently closes the door behind us.