Author: MistressCyberia aka charlotte ;)
Pairing: AJ/Kevin/Nick...and Brian pops up in parts 3 & 4
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: all authors thrive on it...so Give it to Me Baby! uh huh, uh huh... MistressCyberia@hotmail.com
Notes: This is basically a really long visual. The plot is there so I cram as much smut possible in...so just ignore the plot holes big enough to drive a tour bus through, and look at all the nice smut!! Also, this is completely AU...the Backstreet Boys don't exist, it's just these gorgeous guys. And I have exaggerated some characteristics of the guys for the sake of humor, so please read it with a sense of humor!
Warnings: This is really twisted...so if you're offended by any of the following, I would suggest you not read it: Violence, smut, language, bondage, s&m, rape, gunplay, knifeplay, leather, crossdressing, and poking fun at standardized religion. I may have missed something...but I think you get the idea. This isn't for the faint of heart. lol ;)
Disclaimer: just my own sick twisted fantasies....there's really not much point in suing me, im just a poor student...but they're not mine...yet...but someday i will save up enough to buy them, does anyone know how much they cost?
Chapter 1If you want someone dead, you can hire any thug with a gun to off them.
But sometimes you want someone dead who’s a little more dangerous than the average Joe.
Sometimes you want someone dead who seems impossible to kill.
Sometimes you want someone like Kevin Richardson dead.
And that’s when you call me, A.J. McLean.
Dangerous and impossible to kill is my specialty. See, no one is really impossible to kill. We’re all just mortals after all, even the elusive Mr. Richardson.
The impossible part comes from getting your target into a situation where you can shove a gun in their face and pull the trigger. This is where it gets tricky. And this is why I get called in. I have a talent for getting people into situations that they won’t get out of. I find their weakness and I exploit it to the fullest possible degree.
And, you see, I’ve already found the chink in Mr. Richardson’s seemingly impenetrable armor.
His name is Nick Carter.
And I’m standing outside his apartment.
Now I could just kick open the door and hit the guy over the head.
But any thug could do that, and I’m not just any thug.
I’m A.J. McLean, and I have a sense of style.
So I lift my arm and knock on the door.After a moment I hear a sweet little voice from inside. “Who is it?”
“It’s A.J.” I respond.
There’s a long pause, then the voice says, “Do I know you? ‘Cause Kevin told me not to let strangers in the house.”
Why a man with Kevin Richardson’s reputation keeps a guy like this around is completely beyond me.
“I’m a friend. Kevin sent me to get you.”
There’s some rustling on the other side of the door and I hear locks unlocking. Nick pokes out his head and looks around, luscious, pink lips in a curious little pucker, blond hair falling into vibrant blue eyes. “Where’s Kevin?”
Okay, so the bitch is pretty. But so are lots of people.
It still doesn’t explain why Kevin is so attached to him.
Nick’s bright curiosity fades into a look of utter confusion as I stand there and stare at him. His brow is wrinkled and he bites his full lower lip as he looks me up and down.
My hair is purple this week. I’m wearing sunglasses even though it’s night. I have on a white wifebeater, ripped jeans, and black steel-toed boots. A black leather trench coat completes the outfit and hides the shoulder holster containing my .45 Baby Eagle and the Glock in the small of my back. I also have a Beretta stashed in my right boot and knives strapped to both my forearms.
But Nick doesn’t know any of this. He’s probably just wondering if he really has seen me before.
That, or if I have any candy stashed in my coat.
I don’t give him time to figure it out. “Let’s go.” I grab his arm, briefly noting the firm muscles beneath his shirt.
We’re halfway down the hall when Nick digs his heels into the carpet and says, “Wait!”
I have to stop. I mean, this bitch is a hell of a lot bigger than me. So I turn and glare at him over the tops of my sunglasses. “What?” I demand.
“I forgot to turn off the lights. Kevin gets mad when I forget to turn off the lights.” He tries to tug his arm out of my grip, but I don’t let go. One, I don’t want him to bolt, and two…well, I just kinda like holding his arm. He’s a pretty nicely built bitch, after all.
“Kevin will be even more mad if we’re late.” I tell him.
He seems to contemplate this for a moment, and then shakes his head. “No, I gotta go back and turn off the lights. Last time I forgot he…” The blond trailed off, a look of distress creeping across his pretty features. “Well, he…um, it wasn’t good. And he told me never to forget again, or it would be worse.”
I have to confess I’m intrigued by what exactly it was that Mr. Richardson did to inspire such abject fear into the young man whose arm I’m holding. But I don’t have time to probe. If Kevin comes while I’m still here with Nick, the shit’s gonna hit the fan.
So I pull the Baby Eagle out of its holster and shove it into Nick’s ribs.
His eyes widen and I stand on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “You are coming with me. Now. And I don’t want to hear another word out of you. Understood?”
Nick nods furiously. “Is that a gun?” he whispers.
This guy is unbelievable. I let out a frustrated sigh and drop my head, reholstering the Baby Eagle.
And then I see it.
For a minute I can’t even comprehend what it is. Then it slowly dawns on me.
The guy’s got a hard on.
No, hard on is too mild a phrase. This guy’s got a tent in his pants the size of a freakin’ skyscraper.
I think I might be beginning to understand his appeal.
My grip on his arm tightens as I tear my gaze away and lead him to the staircase. Nick doesn’t protest anymore, just ambles along behind me.
But I can’t stop thinking about that damn skyscraper. I don’t even know what in the hell sprang him, but just picturing it is starting to make me hard as well. I mean, you could house the poor with that thing.
I shove Nick into the backseat of the car I left in the alley next to the apartment complex. It’s a blue Toyota, no plates. I climb in the driver’s seat, toss my sunglasses onto the dashboard, start it up, and we’re off.
After a few minutes, Nick pokes his head between the two front seats and cocks his head to look at me. I ignore him, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Do you really have a gun in there?” he asks, and I feel him touch the front of my trench coat.
I shrug him off and take a deep breath. My erection still hasn’t gone away, and it’s hard enough to concentrate on driving without the pretty blonde touching me.
He sighs and rests his head against my shoulder. I turn my head to glare at him, but his eyes are closed and his moist lips slightly parted, his breathing uneven.
Then I feel my seat begin to rock slightly.
Shit, the bitch is humping the back of my seat!
I force my eyes back to the road and try to ignore what Nick is doing to my seat, and, for that matter, to me. I shift a little, my pounding groin becoming more and more of a distraction.
I feel his hand caress my coat again, and when his fingers slip inside to rub the leather strap of my holster, I nearly jump through the roof. He just groans softly as he caresses my gun, and I feel his chin digging into my shoulder. His fingertips brush my nipple, and I feel his warm breath tickle my ear. His hand is sliding down my chest, trailing across my stomach. I have a death grip on the steering wheel and my whole body is tense as I struggle to keep control of the vehicle. There’s a tug on one of my earrings, and his hot, wet tongue flicks against my earlobe as his hand reaches lower to touch my aching…Shit!
I nearly run us off the road. The sudden swerving throws Nick back into his seat. I slam on the breaks and the tires scream before I wrestle the car to a stop on the side of the road.
I turn around in my seat to glare at him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I yell.
He just whimpers and curls up in the backseat.
“I asked you a fucking question, bitch!” I draw the gun out of my shoulder holster and level it at his face. He groans and bites his lip.
“I just wanted to see what kind of gun it was.” Nick mumbles, uncurling his body to sit with his arms crossed and legs open as he pouts. “Kevin’s is bigger.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Nick has a pretty damn big ‘gun’ himself, and right now its quite prominently displayed between his spread legs. I swallow and reholster the Baby Eagle, trying to gain some of my composure back.
“Just shut the hell up and stay back there.” I order him as I settle back into the driver’s seat, trying to ignore the blood pounding in my crotch. I take a deep breath, and try to remember what I’m doing this for.
I am going to kill Kevin Richardson.
And I’m going to use this sexy little prick to do it.
Okay, so there’s nothing little about his prick, but you get the idea.
I start driving again, and for a while I don’t hear anything from behind me. I guess he finally took the hint.
But as I turn into the abandoned industrial park, he asks, “What is Kevin doing here?”
“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up.” I glare at him in the rearview mirror.
“Are you gonna pull your gun on me again?” he asks hopefully.
Damn, my brain must be seriously blood-deprived from my erection. He wants me to pull a gun on him?
“Don’t tempt me.” I tell him. I hear a little breathy moan and watch in the rearview mirror as he begins to stroke the bulge in his jeans. I guess I finally know what sprang him in the hallway. The bitch has some sort of gun fetish.
What a sick fuck.
Yeah, I know why Richardson keeps him around.
I pull up in front of an empty warehouse and shut off the car. “Let’s go.” I say to Nick, and climb out of the car.
He follows and I start to turn around, only I’m suddenly pinned up against the side of the car, trapped in a hot, tongue tangling, knees-going-weak kiss.
Nick tastes like cotton candy, all sweet and sticky and soft. He’s rubbing his body against mine, and that skyscraper is pushing into my belly as my cock rubs against his thigh.
I groan into his mouth and tangle my hands in his mop of golden hair.
He breaks the kiss first, dropping down to his knees and begins to unbutton my pants, taking out my rock hard dick and placing his soft hot lips against the throbbing head.
I want to scream with the pleasure that jolts through me. His tongue curls along my shaft like a wet scrap of velvet. The bitch has got me trembling and moaning like a fucking pussy. I grab his head and shove my cock into his mouth and oh fuck this bitch can deep throat.
I feel his warm hand close around my balls and it’s too damn much. The ecstasy crashes over me in a white-hot flash and I shoot my load into his mouth with a throaty yell.
The world slowly starts to come back. I’m still sprawled up against the car, panting, and he looks up at me, licking my come off his lips, grinning stupidly.
So I slap him. Hard.
He tumbles over onto the ground, the grin effectively wiped off his face. He looks up at me like a kicked puppy.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” I demand.
His voice trembles with tears. “Didn’t you say you wanted to fuck?”
“What the hell? No, I didn’t.” I stuff my dick back into my pants and then haul him to his feet. His watery eyes peer at me with a mixture of hurt and confusion.
Nick is chewing on his lip again. “Yeah you did. You said ‘let’s go’.”
“I meant, let’s go inside.” I explained, and turned back around to open the door to the warehouse and slip inside.
I hear Nick make a little ‘ah’ sound of realization as his footsteps shuffle after me.
The warehouse is pretty empty except for some chairs and a table I have set up. I strip off my trench coat and toss it over the back of one of the chairs, and then park my ass on the edge of the table
Nick is still standing in the entrance, with that bewildered look on his face. I beckon to him and he trots over.
“Where’s Kevin?”
So he’s cute, has a dick the size of a fucking skyscraper, and gives great head.
But the fuck’s still as dumb as brick.
I grab the front of his shirt and pull him in between my legs, capturing that sweet little mouth with mine. When my tongue slips against his, he moans and rubs that huge dick against the inside of my thigh. I’m already starting to get hard again.
Nick is pressing me back onto the table as I attack his sweet little mouth. The Glock digs into my spine as he sprawls on top of me, slipping his hungry lips down my throat. His hot little tongue flicks against one of my nipples through the cloth of my wifebeater, and I grunt and arch up into his body.
Damn, the fucker’s hard. He’s roughly grinding against me and I tug at his shirt. He quickly strips it off, pressing all that warm, bare flesh up against my chest with a sigh. His eyes are closed and he’s rubbing his face into my chest as he dry humps me.
I slide my hand into the small of my back and grip the handle of the Glock, slowly easing it out of its holster. Nick is still grinding away, but when I place the gun against his temple his whole body goes rigid and still. His pretty eyes open with shock, and his choked moan whispers against my chest.
I dig the gun into his skull, and his eyes flutter shut as he goes slack on top of me.
“Get the fuck off me.” I command softly. He raises himself up on his forearms and I scoot out from under him and climb off the table, walking around to face him. He’s sitting in the center of the table stroking himself through his jeans, hair falling in his blue eyes, which watch my every move with barely leashed anticipation.
I press the gun just above his heart. “Lay down.”
He immediately obeys, and I retrieve four sets of handcuffs from my coat, securing each of his limbs to a table leg so he lays spread eagle before me.
I use the barrel of the gun to push to the hair out of his eyes. His baby blues watch me intensely as I slide the barrel down his cheek and across his jaw. I trail it over his throat as he swallows thickly, and slide it down the center of his chest. He squirms as I flick his rosy little nipples with its hard tip. I dig the gun into the soft flesh of his belly and run my other hand up over the bulge of his crotch.
He groans as I unfasten his jeans. I wanna see if this bitch is really as big as I think he is. I wrap my hand around his cock and pull it free. Damn, his dick so fucking hot and smooth.
And not only could you house the poor with it, but feed the hungry as well.
I lick my lips and brush the Glock against the head of his monster dick. He hisses and arches against it. I rub the barrel down his shaft, and he writhes in his bonds, whimpering, thrusting against the cool slide. I nestle the tip of the gun into his plush balls, and he’s thrashing wildly, panting, hips slapping the table.
This fucker’s gonna come any minute.
I move the gun out of the way and reach for the head of his cock.
But my hand freezes in midair when I hear the crash. I whirl around, bringing up my gun.
But I’m not fast enough. All I see is a blur of black before I’m slammed against the wall and my head snaps back, smashing into the concrete. The world is reduced to shifting grays and dancing pinpoints of light. I feel the Glock slip out of my nerveless fingers and clatter on the floor.
I swallow back a wave of nausea and realize there’s something blunt and cool jabbed underneath my chin. Slowly, I begin to feel other things…a long, hard body is pressing me into the wall…hot breath brushes my eyelids. I blink a few times, waiting for my vision to focus.
Color bleeds back into the world but I blink a few more times, because what I’m seeing can’t be real.
Kevin Richardson.
They told me that he’s dangerous.
They told me that he’s impossible to kill.
But they forgot to tell me how incredibly fucking gorgeous he is.
It’s like everything about him is in sharp relief. The strong arm across the front of my chest, pinning me to the wall. The rise and fall of his chest against mine. Beautifully chiseled jaw, clenched tight. Wide, sensual mouth. Lips thinned in an angry line. Soft fall of black hair across his forehead, brushing the tops of his shoulders. Straight black brows like wings above eyes the color of sunlight through leaves.
If those leaves were really pissed off.
Okay, so pissed off is an understatement. This guy’s fucking enraged.
Yeah, I’m so gonna die.
But there are worse things to be looking at when you go.
With a little start of laughter, I realize I’m still hard.
I’m staring Death in his pissed-off leaf green eyes, and all I want to do is rub my crotch against the firm thigh pressed between my legs. I’ll just chalk it up to the fact that I probably have a concussion.
But hell, I’m going to die anyway. Might as well enjoy it.
So I wiggle my hips and ah fuck that feels good. Little jolts of pleasure chase away the hazy snatches of pain still floating through my head. My body feels all tingly and warm.
You know, death ain’t so bad.
I thrust against his thigh again and groan at the rush of tingly pleasure. I’m still staring straight into those incredible wrath-filled eyes, but now I think I see a little surprise, and maybe I’m just hallucinating, or could that be the barest hint of desire?
I feel something poke into my belly. Now, I know I’m not imagining that. And unless Mr. Richardson has another gun in his pocket, he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
A giggle bubbles out of my throat, but it’s choked off as he presses the gun harder into my windpipe.
“So you wanna play?” he asks, low and husky, deep and intense. His voice vibrates all the way down my spine and sinks its teeth low in my belly. The gun slides off my windpipe and up the side of my face, and my eyes flutter shut as he runs it through my hair. I feel its hard tip nudge my lips, and I open my eyes to stare at him down the barrel. He’s like a beautiful statue, silent and still. My tongue snakes out and swipes over the slide of the gun. It tastes like metal and sweat.
Kevin lowers the gun and steps back, releasing me. I don’t know if it’s because of the concussion or unadulterated desire that my legs are so weak, but either way, I simply can’t stand. I fall to my knees in front of him. My gaze travels up his body. Black leather pants hug his thighs and hips, tenting over his crotch.
Damn, I don’t know who’s bigger, this fucker or his bitch.
He’s wearing a button-up black shirt, unbuttoned. It hangs loosely over his shoulders, revealing a long line of sculpted, smooth torso. Long, tapered fingers grip the gun he’s got leveled at my head.
And Nick was right. His gun is bigger than mine.
It’s a chrome-plated Desert Eagle, one of the biggest handguns made. My .45 Baby Eagle is shrunk-down version of it. My hand just doesn’t fit around the full-size. But Kevin’s large hand holds it comfortably.
My thoughts are beginning to clear a little. The full enormity of this situation hits me. I’m really going to die unless I act fast. Of course, there’s not much I can do when staring down the barrel of a Desert Eagle. I need him preoccupied.
Lucky for me, I’ve already set that in motion.
I give him my best sultry look, tongue darting out to moisten my lips. I begin a slow crawl, muscles rolling purposely, seductively. I reach him and sit back on my heels, running my hand up the inside of his leather-clad leg.
He presses the gun against my forehead. My hand cups the bulge in his pants and I hear a breathy moan above me. I begin to unfasten his pants, ignoring the warning click of the hammer being pulled back. I tug out his cock.
Damn, he’s hung like a fucking horse. I stroke him a few times, rewarded by the lessening pressure of the gun against my skull. My tongue tentatively brushes the tip and he thrusts slightly against my lips. I part them, letting him slide over my tongue. His flesh is clean and smooth, with a tantalizing hint of salt and spices. My mouth pumps him, tongue swirling around the head, hand gripping the base, massaging his balls.
I feel his other hand tangle in my hair and push my face forward as he thrusts into my throat. The gun falls away from my head as he begins to rock back and forth in my mouth, groans rumbling deep is his chest.
I slowly reach with my free hand to slide the dagger out of the sheath strapped around my forearm. I shift my hold on the handle, angling for the femoral artery by his groin. It is, after all, what I’m in the best position to strike.
I slide my hand up the length of his cock, so it settles just about the head, out of the way. I tongue his slit, he jerks against my lips.
I shove the dagger upward and at the same time the flat of his gun smashes into the side of my head. The dagger glances off his thigh and I fall onto my side, stunned.
The world is a pulsing mass of shadows, and there’s a warm trickle of blood sliding down the side of my face. Kevin squats in front of me, taking the knife out of my slack hand. His cock hovers inches away from my face. He takes the knife off my other arm and the Baby Eagle out of its holster. He grabs a fistful of my hair and hauls my face up next to his, hot breath fanning my cheek.
“You think you can fuck my bitch and I won’t come after you?” His eyes are blazing with anger and lust. “You think you can fuck with me and get away with it?” He presses the knife against my jugular and releases my hair, fingers raking down my body to hook in the waistband of jeans, unfastening them and shoving them down around my hips. He grabs my cock in a fierce grip and I groan. He slaps the head and pinprick of pain dance through my body. I cry out.
He grabs the back of my neck and shoves my face into the concrete floor. I feel the cold tip of the knife trailing down my spine and hear fabric ripping as cool air touches the sweaty flesh of my back. He smacks my ass and red pain glows under the skin.
I feel his fingers probe my opening and I arch against his hand. The blunt sticky tip of his cock pushes into my crack and inside me and ah it burns. He thrusts hard and fast into me, still slapping my ass and it hurts like a fucking bitch but feels so damn fucking good all at the same time and I’m coming all over the floor. I hear his deep, animalistic roar as he climaxes inside me.
The grip on the back of my neck eases as he slides out of me. I can feel something warm and liquidy seeping out of my ass. Whether it’s blood or come or a mixture of both, I can’t tell.
I watch dully as he saunters over the table Nick is handcuffed to. The bitch is still hard, and watching Kevin with a mixture of excitement and fear.
I still have the Beretta in my right boot. I can shoot him while he gets Nick out of the handcuffs.
But any thug could do that, and I’m not just any thug.
I’m A.J. McLean, and I have a sense of style.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I watch them both walk out the door.