Rating: NC-17 for male-male sexual situations

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.

Wherein some relationship issues are divulged, and Kevin seems to have passed a test, and who wants a healthy relationship, anyway?

Notice: Fourth in a series.  Blame David.

        They were on the road, living on long days of stress.  Nick got irritable, tense, and short-tempered; after a little of his attention, Nick was happy and relaxed.

        He knew Nick.  He knew the hot spots on Nick's body, the ones that got Nick excited and horny, the ones that he couldn't touch, the ones that made Nick sweet and relaxed.  He could make Nick come superfast, or keep Nick on the edge, or build it slowly and draw out the pleasure.  He could get fucked in any number of positions.  He always, always made Nick satisfied, and he never, never said no.

        But he was just the whore.  He wasn't Nick's boyfriend or Nick's lover or Nick's significant other.  Half of the things that Nick said to him were humiliating.  Of the other half, the majority was either meaningless or a lie.  The only thing that Nick ever said about him that Nick really seemed to mean that sounded like praise was "beautiful whore."  And even though he loved those words and ached to hear them, and when Nick said them he wanted to rub against Nick and purr in contentment, they weren't exactly the words of a lover.  Not in a healthy relationship.

        But nothing about their relationship was healthy.

        On occasion, Nick picked up someone else for the night.  And, sometimes, Nick spent the night alone.  But Nick spent most nights in his room, or asked (told) him to come to Nick's room.  He sucked Nick off so often that his jaw developed a slight, permanent ache.  He skinned his elbow open when Nick literally kicked him out of bed one night.

        Nick was, technically speaking, abusive. Nick treated him like shit.  But Nick also gave him the very privileged position of being Nick's whore, of having access to Nick's body.

        He spent blissful hours making love to Nick with his mouth, kissing his way all across Nick's body, letting his fingers travel over the beautiful pale satin skin.  He worshiped Nick's beautiful, beautiful body, the long heavy limbs, the broad shoulders, the tight pink nipples, the thick cock.  He licked into Nick's ears and massaged Nick's feet and grazed Nick's sensitive inner thighs with his teeth.

        Some nights, Nick was in a good mood, and then they'd have marathon kissing sessions; and sometimes Nick jerked him off while they kissed or fucked; and once in a while, if the mood struck, Nick might even fuck him face-to-face.  Sometimes, if Nick couldn't be bothered with his cock, Nick gave him permission to touch himself.

        Nick preferred not to gag him.  Nick liked his mouth too much for that.  There was, however, one gag that Nick couldn't resist using on him from time to time.  It had a strap that closed at the back of his head, which he could undo himself if emergency struck but which he didn't dare touch.  It was a dildo, a fake cock, soft and leathery, smaller than Nick's and not nearly as pretty.  Nick would push it back between his teeth, force it into his mouth, and fasten the strap.  When it was in, he couldn't help but lick at it and suck on it, wishing that it were real flesh, wishing that it were Nick's, desperately working on it while Nick fucked him.  But it couldn't ever hope to compare to the real thing.  Nick only gave it to him when he'd been very, very bad or very, very good.

        Nick didn't tie him up often.  If his fingers ghosted too close to - - god, he couldn't even think about it - - then Nick would deny him the use of his hands.  Sometimes Nick just held his hands personally, pinning his wrists to the mattress, but on occasion Nick got out the handcuffs.  They weren't regular handcuffs, because Nick didn't dare risk bruising or chafing that someone might see.  They were padded with butter-soft white leather, and Nick had two pairs.  So his hands might be cuffed together, or cuffed to the bedposts or whatever was handy in the hotel room.  And whatever Nick had expected of him before he'd been cuffed, Nick still expected.  So he learned to give blowjobs, and get fucked, and anything else, while cuffed.  Getting fucked while chained to the bed was a little difficult, since it threatened to pull every muscle in his arms, but he didn't complain.

        The toys...he never saw that first, troublesome butt plug again.  That second thing, he'd never actually seen anyway.  But Nick did invest in a short, fat black thing on a chain.  It held him open all day long but didn't have as much risk of inducing pleasure as that first one had, since it didn't quite reach his prostate and didn't vibrate.  He lived with that thing for four days before Nick decided to prefer him tight-assed, and then went through a phase of wanting him as tight as possible.

        Then Nick hit on the beads.  They were plastic, too, and Nick pushed them one by one into his body.  They vibrated, too.  Then Nick pulled them out slowly, and put them back in, and pretty much spent an entire, long night playing with them.

        He wondered, sometimes, all of the time, what it might be like.  What it might be like to be Nick, to be on Nick's end of the...relationship.

        No.  What he really, really wondered, what he desperately wanted to know, he couldn't even admit.  He didn't dare think about it, not even to himself.  It was blasphemy.

        He wondered whether other people...what Nick did with those others.  What Nick let them do.  Did Nick let them...?  Did Nick...?  Was it possible?  He couldn't ask.

        He gave expert foot massages.  Nick wanted more.  So one night he had Nick naked, spread over his bed, under his hands.  It was a beautiful, perfect night.  And when he was working down Nick's back, his oil-slicked hands reached Nick's waist, and he wondered whether he had permission to continue.  He kept going, knowing that if Nick wanted him to stop he'd hear about it.  Slowly, lovingly, thoroughly, he massaged the muscles of Nick's rear, and then...oh god...there it was, sweet and secret, between the pale, round mounds of Nick's ass, with a trail of blonde hair leading right to it, right there, that tight little rosebud pucker.  He wasn't breathing anymore and his heart was racing double-time and there was this roaring in his ears, and he blinked suddenly, forcibly jerking himself back down to earth, and he continued on, kept going, down onto Nick's thighs.  But his eyes kept tracing back there, to that secret little place.

        He'd never actually touched it.  He didn't dare.  He'd come close, but never nearly close enough, and when he ventured anywhere near it Nick...reacted.  He couldn't believe that Nick had actually let him get that close during the massage.  Maybe it had been a test.  He hoped that he'd passed.

        Nick never actually hit him, in the sense that Nick never actually struck him across the face.  He was threatened, jerked around, pushed around, had his ass smacked, had his hair pulled a lot, and was choked just enough to get his attention but not enough to cause any sort of physical damage.  He'd been kicked out of bed, as noted, and had been knocked into furniture and walls a few times.  Mostly all of that was to get his attention, not to hurt him.  Nick very rarely actually bruised him.  Although he did have Nick's fingerprint bruises on his hips from where Nick usually gripped him during sex.  But he didn't count those.

        Nick's body rocked against his slightly as Nick licked into his mouth.  He shifted a little on the mattress, getting more comfortable beneath Nick.  "Do you know what today is?" Nick asked.

        It was hard to talk with someone else's tongue in his mouth.  "No."

        "Do you remember where we were a year ago?  In Jakarta?  In the hotel with the connected rooms?"

        It hit him hard and fast.  A year.  A year ago today.  The very first night.

        Nick stopped kissing him.  "You remember."

        He looked up into Nick's face.  A year.  They'd been doing this for an entire year.

        "It's our anniversary."  Nick's smile was...mischievous.  "I got you a present.  It's a little black collar to wear on your pretty long neck.  But that's for tomorrow.  Tonight you get to pick your own present.  Tonight, you tell me what you want."

        His mind was still stuck on the fact that they'd been doing this for an entire year.  Then he got sidetracked thinking about a little black collar.  He could imagine it, how it might feel, how it might look, how it might make Nick treat him.  "Does it have a leash?"

        Nick smiled and kissed him.  "Yes."

        His cock twitched.  "Is the collar...leather?"

        "Yes.  They had some with silver studs, but I didn't get that kind.  I have a sweet, tame whore.  Now tell me what sort of present you want."

        His throat was tight.  "As long as I'm yours I don't want anything."

        "There has to be something."

        "Fuck me."

        "I'm going to do that anyway."

        "Please."

        "You have to tell me what you want first."  Nick gently licked up his sudden tears.  "Just tell me.  Tell me what you want."

        "I don't want anything.  Please."

        "My beautiful whore," Nick murmured, kissing his mouth.  "Tell me what you want."

        He could say anything.  He could say anything at all.  Besides which, Nick was only asking, making no offers actually to give him what he wanted.  "Please."

        Nick caught his jaw in one hand, looking down into his eyes.  "Tell me."

        He had to answer, had to say it, he couldn't look away, he couldn't lie, and his voice was shaking.  "I want you."

        Nick's eyes narrowed in sudden understanding.  Anger.  Betrayal.  "You bitch."

        He'd known that he was asking for Nick's wrath, but he couldn't lie, it was all he could imagine anymore, the only thing that Nick never gave him.  "Please, I want you."

        There was a long silence.  He looked up into Nick's eyes, waiting for his terrible punishment, and Nick looked down at him.  Finally Nick let go of him, rolled off of him.  He reached for Nick; Nick moved away and said, "Go to sleep," in a voice thick with hatred.