Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairing: Nick Carter/Kevin Richardson

Disclaimer: The young men who comprise the Backstreet Boys are their own people.  The author has not met anyone here described, nor does the author mean to suggest that these people act this way in real life.  This writing is a work of fiction.  I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor; the Savage Garden slashers; and David, who put thoughts into my head.

Wherein Kevin takes what's offered, tries to take more, and is taken.

Notice: Blame David.

        Nick walked into the hotel suite and dropped his glasses on the bureau in the bedroom.  By the bed, he toed himself out of his sneakers, sighing.  "Why does she wear so much fucking perfume?  I reek now."  Once his feet were naked, he pulled his shirt off over his head and held out one arm to the figure on the bed.  "Lick it off."
        Kevin sat up and took Nick's offered arm in two strong, gentle hands, his blue-eyed gaze flickering over Nick's bared torso before he pressed his lips to the pulse point on the inside of Nick's wrist, licking a slow trail up Nick's forearm.  He could smell her, smell her on Nick, and it was no secret why.

        When he reached the sensitive skin at the crook of Nick's elbow, Nick made an impatient noise and pulled free, turning slightly.  He kissed the satin smooth skin of Nick's abdomen, and he could smell her here, too, her perfume and her sex.  He didn't want to smell her; he wanted to smell Nick, Nick's sweat and musk and life.

        He raised his eyes to Nick's face, looking up the pale expanse of Nick's chest.

        "I just left her a minute ago after fucking her twice.  Give me a break and take it slow."

        Twice.  She only made Nick come twice?  Amateur.  He unbuttoned and unzipped, pushing jeans and boxers down to Nick's knees.  A cleansing was definitely in order.  He was not going to let Nick spend another second with her scent lingering.

        Down to business.  He sat lotus-style, one hand resting on Nick's hip, the other hand holding Nick's heavy cock, and leaned in to administer a bath.  A tongue bath.  He started at the base of the cock, licking carefully, dwelling on each gorgeous inch until he was sure that all that remained was pure Nick and a thin protective sheen of his own saliva.

        As he licked lovingly over the head of Nick's cock, Nick's hand rested on his head, affectionate.  "You're so good at this," Nick said, relaxed, half-dreamy.  "I could do this all day."

        So could he.  He took Nick's balls into his mouth, eyes closing, massaging with his tongue, savoring the feel of Nick's fingers against his scalp.  His jaw was starting to hurt and there was a crick in his neck, but his discomfort barely registered.  There was no good in loving Nick without a little pain.  He'd learned that fast.  He'd had worse, much worse.  And physical pain was nothing compared to other, seductive, devastating kinds of pain.

        Oh, yes, he could do this all day.  All day, all night, his face in Nick's groin, his tongue on Nick's balls, licking back between Nick's thighs-

        -flat on his back with a burning in his scalp, Nick standing by the bed towering over him.  "You little bitch!" Nick shouted.  Nick's eyes narrowed, voice lowering to a tightly controlled tone that flashed "Danger!  Danger!" in his brain.  He knew what this meant, knew what he'd done, knew that it was wrong.  He knew better, he did, but he just couldn't help himself sometimes.  Why did he always go too far, push for too much, when he knew that Nick would get mad?

        Or did he do it knowing that Nick would get mad, wanting Nick to get mad, wanting Nick's attention, Nick's sweet punishment that made him absolutely tremble.

        "You forget," Nick said, "who the fuckboy here is.  Don't you?"

        "No."  Sometimes Nick's questions were rhetorical, and sometimes they were meant to be answered.  He was learning which ones to answer, and exactly how to answer.

        "Who's the fuckboy here?"

        "I am."  His heart was racing.  He knew better than to try to get up; he'd lie here on his back with Nick looming over him for as long as Nick wanted him there.

        "Who's the fuckboy here?" Nick repeated, sharply.

        "I'm the fuckboy."  At first, it had cost him dearly to say that, cost him everything.  The words came easier now.  He knew his place.  And if he were going to shudder and cry, it wouldn't be for that, not anymore.  He was Nick's fuckboy.  And in that moment, at that point, that was all that he was.

        It had been a good answer.  The right answer.  He wouldn't be punished.  Nick reached down to him, slid a careless hand up his chest, reached around for his nape, and pulled him up, leaning down until they were nose-to-nose.

        "You're the fuckboy," Nick agreed, and kissed him.  He let Nick into his mouth and moaned softly over Nick's tongue, thighs spreading.  "Beautiful whore," Nick whispered, and kissed him again.  "Roll over."

        Up and over, on his hands and knees, head down, trying to breathe.  He heard a quiet rustle as Nick stepped out of jeans and boxers, felt body heat; then hands were on his hips and Nick was on the bed, on him, at his back, against him, oh oh holy fuck in him, inside, his ass responding like a greedy thing.

        They didn't use condoms.  He didn't have anything, and Nick was his only partner.  Nick, who was similarly disease-free, used condoms with everyone else, semi-regular partners and one-night stands alike, everyone but him.  Because he was...special.  He got the real thing.  He was privileged.

        Nick didn't have to bother to lube him.  Nick knew without asking, without checking, that the job was done.  Of course he would be here naked and waiting, already stretched and slick.  Hell, every night on their way back to the hotel after a concert, he pulled out the Astroglide and finger-fucked himself in the bathroom on the bus.  Just in case Nick came to him that night.  If that wasn't a measure of the duality of his life, nothing was.

        Usually Nick came to him.  Sometimes Nick didn't, and he would clean himself and go to bed alone, waiting for the next night.

        Nick was here now, pounding an even path into his body.  Muscles quivering from the stress, he tried to hold still, tried to endure.  Then Nick's hand came down hard where his ass met his thigh, and he bucked, not in startled reaction but in gratitude.  Now he could move, and he did, rocking back against Nick's thrusts, harder, faster, until he couldn't breathe, sweat trickling from his temples and burning into his eyes, every thrust slamming pleasure up his spine and sparking it through his brain, bruises forming on his hips where Nick gripped him.

        Nick hissed, and one-two-three pumps and Nick was coming, coming inside of him.

        He waited until Nick's breathing evened.  When Nick pulled free of his body, the sense of loss was tremendous.  He felt Nick touch his ass, and then there was a finger in front of his face, wet with grease and jism.  He opened his mouth and accepted it, sucking slowly on Nick's finger, licking with pleasure, eyes closing to enjoy the sensation.

        "Let go," Nick said, patient but firm, and he did, reluctantly.  "Roll over."  He did, dropping to the mattress and lying on his back.  He'd been hard since Nick's first "Lick me," and he'd been ready to come since he'd sinned.  Pre-cum was leaking onto his stomach.

        Nick, sweaty and friendly post-orgasm, joined him on the bed, climbing right on top of him, warm and heavy, licking into his mouth, shifting in his arms.  Of course Nick was lying on his cock, and of course he wasn't allowed to come yet.  He touched Nick everywhere that he could reach, trying to run his fingertips over every line and angle of Nick's beautiful body.

        Nick's kisses were deep tonight, just this side of satisfying.  Feet on the mattress, he hugged Nick's hips with his thighs, arching as Nick rubbed against him, moaning softly in time with Nick's slowly rocking rhythm.  They both knew that Nick was tormenting him on purpose.

        He would bet that he had the best self-control of any man he'd meet.  He'd been trained very quickly.  If he were good and came only when Nick wanted him to, he was rewarded.  If he came without permission, he was deprived.  Deprived of Nick, who'd avoid him and pay attention to other people instead, give other people access to Nick's beautiful body and gorgeous, twisted sexuality.  It didn't take long before he could keep himself from orgasm, mastering the concept of mind over matter in a way that could have stunned millions.  From his own experience, he thought that anyone could do it, if given the right incentive.

        He'd been given the right incentive.

        Without warning, Nick rolled off of him and turned around, and he sat up, wondering what was coming next, tensing.

        Nick tossed back his hair and stretched out, lying back languorously on the mattress, half-propped on the pillows.  "C'mere," he said lazily, eyes half-closing.

        He crawled over and settled in carefully between Nick's legs, head on Nick's chest.  His cock throbbed and ached impatiently, but he ignored it.

        Nick yawned, one hand resting on his collarbone.

        He watched the ceiling and felt Nick breathe.

        Nick's leg bent, foot resting on his stomach.

        He watched the ceiling and felt Nick breathe.

        Nick's foot slipped down an inch and bumped his erection.  Orgasm hit so hard and fast that he didn't have time to scream; the overwhelming wrench of pleasure left him stripped of breath anyway.  With his ears ringing and his heart racing, it took him a moment to come down again.  When he did, Nick's foot lifted.  "Lick it off."

        He shifted to one side, then moved up on his hands and knees, facing Nick.  Supporting Nick's heel in one palm, he put his mouth to the top of Nick's foot, sucking and licking his semen from Nick's skin.

        Nick sank into the mattress more comfortably, eyes closing.  Kevin's tongue traced around his anklebone.