What it Was

“You know, I could see you dancing up there,” Nick announced, grinning and rubbing his damp hair with a towel as he walked into his dressing room. Freshly showered and wearing clean and dry, albeit worn-out, clothing, wandering around the backstage area barefoot, glasses perched on his nose, and hair standing up in a tangle of damp blond spikes, onstage-Nick had become backstage-Nick.

“I know,” Howie replied, and Nick saw him glance over his shoulder, grinning impishly, before turning his attention back to the cupboard above him.

“What on earth are you looking for, Howard?” Nick asked, a bemused expression on his face, motioning to the black sound equipment box that Howie was standing on.

“Did you bring the mix? It wasn’t in the box wi– Ah ha! There it is,” Howie interrupted himself, turning around to face Nick and holding up the half-empty bottle of dark red liquid triumphantly.

“But… dancing. You were dancing,” Nick repeated emphatically, watching as Howie jumped off the crate and back onto the floor.

Nick knew that Howie had heard him because he’d shrugged his shoulders slightly as he poured Bacardi and daiquiri mix into the blender, humming to himself as he watched the two liquids flow down amongst the ice cubes and mix together. But, stubbornly ignoring Nick's attempts to goad an explanation out of him, he didn’t respond.

“You know,” Nick continued as he walked toward the mini refrigerator in the corner of the room, “everyone could see you from up there.”

Howie just shrugged again as he turned the blender on, the whir of the machine temporarily stopping Nick’s analysis of what had occurred earlier that night.

Reaching across the table, Howie pulled two glasses and a long knife out of the cardboard box that was resting on the table.

Howie turned off the blender and looked at Nick, expectantly. “Lime?”

Extending the hand that was not currently holding the knife, Howie caught the small fruit as it sailed through the air in a clean arc. “Thanks.”

Nick watched as Howie, still humming to himself, poured the drinks and cut the lime into quarters, then cut each quarter in half again before twisting a splash of lime juice into the drinks and putting a wedge onto the rim of each glass.

“Excellent,” Howie pronounced, nodding his head in satisfaction and holding one of the glasses out to Nick, who took the drink eagerly, before falling backwards onto the sofa.

Nick pulled the lime off the rim, squeezed the juice into his glass and dropped the wedge into the drink, licking his fingers clean. Howie just took a sip of his drink and laughed to himself before he joined Nick on the sofa.

Nick spread himself out on the couch, leaning with his back against the arm rest and his legs stretched out along the sofa, nearly touching the other arm rest, where Howie was sitting, facing him, his feet resting on the seat on either side of Nick’s legs.

It was a conversation about nothing, really. Mindless chatter meant more for enjoying the other’s company than anything else. Drinking and talking, Howie occasionally poking Nick’s feet with his toes, Nick laughing and trying to kick Howie off the sofa in retaliation. It was comfortable and full of something that gave Nick the feeling of déjà vu, memories of concert venues and tour buses of the past. Because, although the steadfast friendships had been Nick and Brian, and AJ and Howie, both in public and private, since the dawn of the Backstreet Era, there’d always been something comforting, some peace lurking in the background of the times that Howie and Nick spent alone.

Kevin, the youngest in his family had taken his newfound role as the oldest, the protector, as it were, very seriously. Having been suddenly transplanted from being the youngest in his family, to the oldest in this family of a very different sort, he felt it was his duty to look out for everyone, all the time. In the beginning, there where times were Nick found Kevin downright intimidating. Now that he was older, Nick could appreciate how much pressure Kevin must have felt. How much responsibility he probably felt like he was shouldering, and how much he’d worried about each of them. Now he loved and respected Kevin all the more because of it.

AJ, as much fun as was, especially in the beginning when they were still so very young and the whole fame thing was exciting and new, wasn’t someone Nick wanted to take his problems to. Whether he was homesick for Florida and anything that was familiar, or when the European climate didn’t agree with him, and he was physically sick. More often than not, AJ would be feeling the same way but was unwilling to acknowledge it.

Brian. Nick supposed that he could have gone to Brian. They’d been close since the very beginning of Backstreet, playing basketball, videogames, laughing and goofing off together whenever the time allowed. Brian was older than he was, but not so old as to be intimidating, or thought of as an authority figure. Now, Nick figured, he hadn’t gone to Brian back then because he’d still been trying to impress him with his coolness and maturity, and there wasn’t really a better way to blow his cover than to climb into Brian’s hotel bed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, hiccupping, and asking when they were going to get to go home. Nick hadn’t realized until much later in the game that Brian didn’t like him because he’d always acted older than his age, Brian had loved him in spite of it.

Basically, Nick recalled, that had left Howie. Though, truth be told, he probably would have gone to Howie, anyway. Howie, who was older and responsible, but wasn’t so forthcoming with his attitudes about “keeping the babies in line.” He’d always cared, but in his own way, with concerned glances, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, and arms that would hold him close when things just got to be too much. A caring that was so different from the way that Kevin’s concern, which would, more often than not, manifest itself as resentment or disappointment.

So, that was how it was, in the beginning. It was regarded as so very commonplace that when the touches began to linger, and the embraces were more frequent, it slipped in under the radar of the rest of the band. It had happened so gradually that it had sort of snuck up on everyone, Nick and Howie not excluded.

It wasn’t until it started to be pointed out to them – by management and, eventually, by a few overly observant fans – that any of the Boys had even noticed it at all.

After then, Brian, Kevin, and AJ had each, at one point, tried to intervene, when they began to feel like it was getting out of hand. The talks never worked, though. Mostly because Nick and Howie weren’t ever able to put a label on it. It. What it was. It wasn’t really tangible. There were never any promises, no definitions.

It was a shoulder to cry on, a hug when they needed one, but it was also more than that. It was knowing that there was always someone to call. To knock on the door at two o’clock a.m. and know that there would be someone to talk to. Or, there would be someone who would just be there. It was someone to sleep with. It was short and sweet or long and lazy kisses when you were lonely. It was someone to be affectionate with in public without the press, who were apparently the only ones not concerned with the whole situation, jumping onto the story like a pack of wild dogs. Someone to be there, without exception when you were feeling lonely, recovering, convenient, comforting, and even sometimes, but not often, it was recreational sex, born initially as much out of loneliness and convenience rather than any mutual attraction. And, much to the amazement of the other boys, it always seemed to stop as easily as it started whenever they found someone. Mandy, Howie’s latest fling, it didn’t matter. They were faithful to their partners, but also to each other, picking up, seemingly, right where things left off as soon as they were unattached.

In one of his bouts of psychological introspective, a result of his growing fascination with self-help books, AJ had come to Howie with some elaborate theory about how the two of them were simply testing the “if you love someone, set them free” theory. Howie just laughed and relayed the message to Nick as they were wrapped around each other, watching television on the tour bus later that night, Nick pressing silent kisses into Howie’s neck.

They’d never defined it, they’d never had to. They never said what it was. It was what it was. And what it was, was surprisingly less complicated that it could have been.

It was only right towards the end of the tour for the last album that either of them had bothered to think about why the two of them had both been single for the last little while.

But then, hiatus. Everyone suddenly got busy with other things. Families and friends and foundations, mostly. Brian had his wife and baby, Kevin had his musical and his foundation, Howie was busy with making photo ops and with his foundation, AJ with the wedding that almost was, and he, rightly so, didn’t have time for anything but getting his life under control, and Nick’s solo album. Everyone was busy. Still 'brothers', but busier. And not together. At first, it was a welcome change from the constant strain of living in each other’s back pockets, even with separate tour buses that often ended up being not-so-separate, a lot of the time.

When heavy promo for the album started, Nick was as busy as he’d ever been. There was a video shoot, appearances, and then finally, the tour. He didn’t have time to enjoy his newfound solitude, because, just as he was getting used to not having his brothers around, he started to miss them. Right about then was when Howie just started showing up, popping up everywhere to “to show his love.”

Sometimes, he would fly in unexpectedly, not arriving in time for the performance, but would be waiting backstage to surprise Nick after the show. Occasionally, if time and scheduling allowed, he'd ride with Nick to the next city, hopping a plane when they arrived, to make it to his meetings and appearances, after a long night of catching up.

The first time he’d come, he’d shown up with a small cardboard box containing, what he claimed to be, tour necessities.

Ever since then, they always had a drink together after things settled down backstage, no matter who was waiting and where he was supposed to be. It had become habit. The backstage staff was used to seeing Nick carry the same small cardboard box into the backstage area of the venue before every show. The same way that they were becoming used to Nick having to stop at a grocery store in every city where Nick was playing a show in somewhere other than a nightclub. Sometimes he bought things like breakfast cereal, or chocolate-covered peanuts, or bags of multicoloured gummi-worms – he had a real propensity for combing the daily specials bins at the end of the aisles and by the checkout counter – but the purpose for the visit was to visit the produce aisle and the freezer section. No matter what city they were in, if they weren’t going to be easily at his disposal at the concert venue, Nick had to buy ice and limes for Howie’s raspberry daiquiris. Even in the towns Nick wasn’t expecting Howie to show up in. It was those towns where Nick had time to think about things that he hadn’t thought about since his last tour.

No one ever asked about his daily ventures to the grocery store. Nick assumed his PR people were secretly grateful. He figured they’d probably be sticking their noses a little further into his business if he was stopping in the local CVS and buying condoms before every show. Limes and ice and Cheerios were a lot easier to explain, should anyone feel the need to ask, and not nearly as tarnishing to the image.

Howie took one last sip of his drink and put the lime into his mouth, noisily sucking the juice as Nick rambled on about the night’s performance, giddy and excited, still coming down from his performance high.

“What were you doing dancing up there?” Nick asked -- again -- watching as Howie took his glass over to the sink so he could rinse it out. “You looked ridiculous.”

Howie just raised his eyebrows, looked at Nick, and commented, “Nicky, I sincerely doubt that anyone was watching me out there tonight. Especially not with the way you were only one layer of clothing away from a strip show.” Howie turned around to face Nick, dishcloth in hand, and shimmied his hips slightly, in demonstration.

“Nick,” Howie continued patiently, climbing back onto the equipment box. “For someone who was supposed to be preoccupied with giving a concert out there tonight, you seem to be strangely fixated on what I was doing. In fact, I wasn’t even the only person in the building who was dancing. It was a concert, I thought I was supposed to be having fun. I was just dancing. You, on the other hand, were all but singing “Quit Playing Games” to me. What the hell did you think YOU were doing?”

As Howie turned around to put the bottle of daiquiri mix back in the cupboard, Nick began to speak.

“Watching you dance,” Nick said, pointedly, before continuing in a smaller, less-sure voice. “Watching you dance. Feeding a rumour. Concentrating on making sure I didn’t fuck up my pronouns. Just, basically, not giving a rat’s ass about everyone else for once.”

As the implication of his words hung in the air, Nick saw Howie freeze in position, breathing heavily, apparently unable to speak, unable to move. Walking up behind him, Nick placed his hand gently on Howie’s shoulder. The sudden contact must have surprised Howie, because he gasped lightly and his grip on the bottle loosened. Nick watched as the bottle fell out of his hands and crashed to the floor.

“D?” Nick whispered, using the gentle pressure of his hand on Howie’s shoulder to turn him.

Nick’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at Howie. Slowly, breathing shallow, ragged breaths, Nick leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Howie’s.

The box that Howie was standing on wasn’t too high, about 5 or 6 inches off the ground, probably. Tall enough that Howie could look Nick almost directly in the eye.

For a long time, neither dared to speak, move, and they stood in silence, barely breathing, sharing breath back and forth until Nick gently tilted his head and rubbed his nose against Howie’s, slowly and subtly – two words not often in Nick Carter’s vocabulary – but, very characteristically Nick in its playfulness.

Some time later, Nick heard Howie breathe a low, shaky breath as he ghosted his lips over the bridge of Howie’s nose and he felt Howie smile against his chin. With a smile of his own, Nick wrapped his arms tightly around Howie’s waist and pulled their bodies closer together.

As he slid his arms around Nick’s shoulders, Howie’s shirt, silk and long sleeved, felt cool and smooth against Nick’s bare arms which were flushed and each nerve ending firing so rapidly that it felt as though every inch of his skin was on fire.

Nick pulled back slightly, again rested his forehead against Howie’s, and stood for a moment, watching Howie’s long, dark eyelashes flutter softly, casting a shadow on his cheeks.

Nick saw a small red spot on Howie’s cheek. Reaching up with his right hand, he wiped it away with his thumb, trailing his other fingers gently along Howie’s jawline.

Nick felt Howie’s head tilt to the side and press against his palm. Slowly, Nick traced his fingers down Howie’s neck and along his collarbone, tracing over Howie’s lip with his thumb.

Nick watched as Howie slid his tongue slowly along his lower lip to lick the red syrup off his mouth. Nick brought his left hand up to Howie’s face, placing his fingers behind Howie’s ear and his thumb on his cheek. Nick traced a line with his right hand from Howie’s collarbone to his chin, the motion causing Howie to tilt his head back with a small sigh.

When Howie’s lips parted to let the small breath of sound escape, Nick bent his head forward and placed his lips lightly on Howie’s. Closed mouth and chaste, the pressure was so light that it was almost non-existent. It was a slight pressure of his lips against a pair he knew so well, but all of a sudden, felt different beneath his.

It was unlike the kisses in their past. It wasn’t simply convenient, neither of them was drunk, on the rebound, ill, or upset. There was something different about it. There was everything different about it.

Nick felt Howie’s fingers tracing patterns along his neck, fingers twisting into his hair, tickling gently. Tracing Howie’s cheekbone with his left thumb, Nick pressed his lips against Howie’s with a bit more pressure, his tongue sliding between his lips to lick at Howie’s mouth, tasting the red syrup that now lay seeping from the broken bottle at his feet.

Nick couldn’t stop a small sigh from escaping his lips when Howie’s mouth opened to his own, and he felt Howie lick hesitantly against his teeth, the last bit of hesitation remaining in the kiss.

As Nick opened his mouth, tangling his tongue with Howie’s and tasting the inside of his mouth, both Nick and Howie were overcome with a wave of familiarity. There was something, always in the background of their kisses and their caresses and their time together that now lay in the forefront, a feeling Nick was finally able to grab onto.

Howie’s mouth was warm, but sour, the flavour from the lime in his drink clinging to the inside of his mouth, a sharp contrast to the sweet syrup on his lips, and the raspberries and rum Nick could still taste on his own tongue.

Nick felt dizzy and had to gasp for breath between kisses and between sighs. Slowly, unobtrusively, Nick felt a warm feeling that began somewhere in his chest and moved outward to his fingertips and his toes, a tingling sensation that coursed down his spine and enveloped him.

All of a sudden, Nick understood perfectly, he pulled back slightly and opened his eyes. Looking down at Howie where he now sat on the counter, Nick tightened his arms around Howie’s waist and, for the first time in a long while, he didn’t think, he just felt. He felt the warmth in his spine, the pounding in his chest, the hands on his body -- one in his hair, and one in the small of his back -- and the feel of Howie’s thighs on either side of his waist. Breathing heavily, Nick saw Howie look up at him, heavy-lidded and smiling the same smile that Nick could feel on his own face.

Right then, everything began to make sense.

And, Nick knew exactly what it was.

Inspired by the infamous breakfast cereal shopping incident at Nick's Toronto show (which, I am sure, has now caused hundreds of teenage girls to start eating Cheerios religiously), and by my U.S. spies who assure me that Nick did, in fact, sing QPG to Howie. The rest of this is the product of my overactive imagination.