The slam of the apartment door jerked Chris awake. Once he'd calmed down enough to remember where he was and what had probably woken him, a new kind of panic set in. "What the fuck time is... oh fuck." Nine o'clock was far too late to be away from the hotel. Even if they didn't have anything scheduled, Lance was almost definitely up.

Chris felt for his phone. Fortunately he hadn't missed any calls. He punched a number.

"Tiny?" he asked the bodyguard who answered. "I don't have my schedule. If Lance is mad at me, cough for yes and sneeze for no."

"Nope."

"You're supposed to sneeze, man."

"Kirkpatrick..."

"Yeah, got it," he interrupted quickly. "When's the first thing today?" He listened as Tiny rummaged for the day's schedule, probably tucked into a jacket pocket.

"Only one thing today. Starts at noon."

"Thank God. Ok, I need a pickup. Can you meet me at Amsterdam and West 108th in twenty minutes? Thanks man."

Nick hurried down the stairs, hoping the slam of the door had woken Chris. Nine in the morning was pushing it as a wake-up call. Sure, whatever press NSYNC were doing this weekend was probably spread out a day or two beyond the album release on Tuesday but schedules seemed to fill up without warning on trips like this.

Nick reached for his cell phone. Normally he only carried it with him on Thursdays, however the key word for the weekend was looking to be "flexible".

"Morning Mrs M..." he grinned, jogging along the sidewalk. "Yeah, it's me. No, no emergency. More like a favour... uh huh. I need NSYNC's itinerary this weekend... Yeah, she'd probably have it... Email. I'll check it at lunch and call you back. Okay? Thanks Mrs M., you rock." He broke into a run. "Hold the bus!"

"So," Lance began conversationally. "Where were you last night?"

Chris looked up from his brunch, attempting to exude innocence. "I went out with C. Some little coffee house in the Village. "A Latte Night Music". What a name..." He trailed off at Lance's skeptical expression. Lance's eyes could really bore into a guy. He hated when Lance did that.

"Tiny went to pick you up this morning."

Chris kept bluffing. "Walking through New York this weekend? Suicide."

Lance sighed. "Chris, all I wanna know is, how many people do I have to pay off, how much and are there any negatives?"

"Lance, you wound me! I am the very soul of discretion."

"You wandered off in the Village around two am." Lance explained patiently.

"What, do you get reports from the bodyguards as soon as you wake up?" Lance raised an eyebrow and waited. Chris sighed. The bastard probably did. He wasn't good at early-morning third degree. Name, rank and serial number, right? "Ok, so I went off and got laid." If only that was true. "Somebody I know, it would hurt him more than me if it got out, and nobody followed me. Tiny picked me up a cab ride from his place so don't bother canvassing the neighbourhood, ok?" he finished, pushing back from the table.

"Sure don't sound like y'all got laid." Lance teased as Chris retreated.

Nick bolted for the nearest computer lab as soon as class broke for lunch. Mrs. M. had done admirably, providing him with everything from NSYNC's hotel to the various press agencies who had access to them over the weekend. He printed everything out and pulled out his cell.

"Hi Mrs. M. Thanks a lot, this is great. Okay, first I need a room at the hotel. Can you get somebody to... Yeah. No, I need them to check in for me and bring two keys, um, back to the office I guess... Uh huh. Yeah, put it on the monthly bill. Ok. Now... lemme see... " he flipped some pages. "I think that's it. Oh, can you get me the layout of the... page ten? You're right. You know me too well... Ok. Thanks Mrs M. Have a great weekend if I don't see you later."

He shoved the papers in his knapsack, ignored the rumbling in his stomach and went back to class.

On the bus home from the lawyers' office, Nick stared at the pages before him, considering his options. Absent-mindedly, he marked off the safest routes through the lobby to his room.

Saturday was some sort of TRL special, two photo shoots across town from each other and a smattering of radio interviews, plus some party or other in the evening. Sunday, a Much Music taping, time with concert winners in FAO Schwartz, a tour logistics meeting and a rehearsal for Monday's appearance on Good Morning America.

Really, his best opportunity looked to be the night ahead. Friday's schedule listed only one thing, but it was a doozy - a press junket from noon till eight. Nick would bet good money it would actually last until at least ten. Five guys, one room, interviewer after interviewer after interviewer. It was an efficient and highly boring method of dealing with the world's press. More pertinent to Nick's plans, it almost guaranteed none of the group were going to want to see each other until morning.

Nick checked his watch as the bus driver signalled his stop. Time enough for some preparations before meeting Carter for darts at Keogh's.

Chris was ready to drop. Just turn on the TV to the most brain-dead thing he could find and veg for several hours. A day of sitting, being polite and repeating himself over and over and over again was remarkably tiring. Sure, terrorizing the catering staff with Rick the Temp had been fun, but even hanging onto the Much Music VJ's ankle hadn't stopped him from leaving eventually. He'd call Rick if he had the brainpower necessary to find his phone.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the phone started ringing. And hey, his phone wasn't even that far away. If he leaned back he could just...

"Ooof. Kirkpatrick."

"I'm on the eighth floor with hot, greasy pub food, assorted junk food, a hot tub and four movies."

"Hi Nick."

"The Muppet Movie, Mission Impossible, Charlie's Angels and The Goonies."

"You manipulative bastard."

"Room 813." Nick hung up.

It was an obvious trap. Lure him down with promises of a mindless, effortless, harmless good time and then wham! "We need to talk."

Nick was sneaky, but Chris knew sneaky. He was in a band with Lance after all. Unfortunately, greasy food was just what he needed after a day of deli trays and finger sandwiches. And junk food. Nick the Master Planner would have brought his own big bags instead of those tiny, stale vending machine snacks. Plus, Chris had seen all the pay-per-view movies already. It was a really well-baited trap.

The hot tub didn't count as bait, Chris had one of his own. It wasn't running at the moment, and didn't have Nick in it, but it was his.

"Manipulative bastard," he repeated when Nick answered the door. "Feed me."

Nick just grinned. "Should've brought Little Shop of Horrors too. Food's on the desk."

Three large styrofoam takeout boxes lay on the desk. The first held chicken wings, the second, fish and chips and the third, a club sandwich with fries.

"Expecting company?"

"Thought I'd give you some choice," Nick explained. "I ate already."

"Got all your bases covered, huh? Probably trying to poison me."

Nick rolled his eyes. "It's all from Keogh's. I had the fish and chips there earlier tonight."

"A likely story," Chris sniffed before picking up the wings. He scooped some fries out of the fish and chips container. "And to drink?"

"Mi minibar es su minibar, man. I got a couple of Cokes on ice in the sink if you want one - they're cheaper from the machine."

They settled in to watch Charlie's Angels, sitting beside each other on the bed. It was pretty easy for Chris to stop thinking about anything else - his brain hurt and Nick wasn't pushing at all. He relaxed.

About two thirds of the way through the movie, Nick reached for a fry. Chris slapped his hand away.

"Ow. First he ignores me, now he's beating up on me!" Nick complained to the TV.

"Got what you deserved," Chris tried to play it off. "Nasty little fry-stealer."

"Chris..." Nick had obviously decided it was Time. Chris finished the last wing and wiped his fingers. He'd caught Nick watching the last time he'd licked them.

The DVD was paused but Nick hadn't found anything to say yet, so Chris went on the offensive.

"When did this become a relationship?" he asked, not entirely sure he was getting to the heart of the matter.

"I don't do fuck-buddies real well," Nick admitted. He looked a little guilty. Chris decided he deserved it. He would have liked that bulletin way up front.

"We were doing fine until you and your..." the right adjective escaped him, "call," he finished, feeling lame.

"It was stupid," Nick said, seeming to agree wholeheartedly. "I was tired, it was a long day, I wasn't thinking."

Whatever shreds of control he'd had over this conversation were definitely dwindling. Wasn't there supposed to be shouting and denials about now? "But you meant it?"

"Of course I meant it!" Nick snapped. "I'm not going to take it back, I do miss you. I miss hanging out, I miss talking to you, I miss your emails. I miss the sex too, not that we'd done it enough to call it a habit." He stood up. "I know I weirded you out. I'm sorry."

"Y'know, normally this would be where you freak out at me for my committment issues," Chris pointed out.

"Yeah well, maybe I've had *my* commitment issues pointed out to me a little too often." Nick ran a finger along the top of the TV, inspecting for dust. "You're a good friend, Chris. I don't wanna throw that away."

"Wait, wait, wait." Chris almost wished he'd opted for something alcoholic, even a light beer he could blame for his spinning head. "So first you ..." he gulped, "miss me, now you want to back off?"

"You want a fuckbuddy, I can't be that," Nick shrugged, turning back towards him. "I got a choice?"

"Yeah you got a choice. Fight for me, goddammit!" He pounded the mattress and Nick had to dive to save the fries from landing on the carpet.

""Stroke my ego!"" Nick laughed, mimicking him.

"I had a two-year-relationship I'll have you know," Chris poked Nick's shoulder. "I can commit!"

"I'm about thirty miles deeper into the closet than you are right now, Chris. Why would you want to?"

"Stop being so fucking reasonable!" Nick scooted backwards, startled by the force in Chris' voice. "What is up with you? I feel like I'm in a play and you're the one with the script!"

That seemed to rattle him a bit. Chris watched with satisfaction as Nick fumbled for words. "I... uh..." He turned red. "Okay. Yeah. I've been here before." He stood, starting to pace. "It dragged on and got real messy before it ended. I'm tryin' to skip that part."

"Oh." Chris could guess who Nick was talking about. He'd heard rumours. He eyed Nick, starting to reevaluate his position.

"It was hard enough living with him every day." Nick kept pacing. "You're so far away... once you go on tour... I get, like... possessive."

"I never heard any domestic abuse stories," Chris joked.

"God, no!" Nick stopped short. "I just... He said I loved him too much. That he couldn't love me back as much."

It was a pretty pathetic statement to make to a lover, but breakups could get pretty pathetic. "Look, Nick. I'm not Howie, and you're a big boy. If I think you need to back off a little, I think you can do that, without stepping off completely. I'm not..." Chris took a deep breath. "I'm not even saying you *should* back off. Just... let me get used to it."

"You'd actually want to..."

"Ok I think it's been proven that I actually find the sneaking around a huge turn-on," Chris pointed out dryly. "It's only for a couple more months, anyway. As for touring, you've obviously missed the bulletin. I'm *old*, man. I haven't had time to get laid since I last saw you, you think I'm going to be out partying after a two hour show every night?? It'd be nice to have someone to call when they all abandon me for the clubs." He held up a cautionary finger. "Not that I'm swearing off clubs. But y'know. Not every night."

"I've got night class on Tuesdays. You can party then." Nick offered.

"I'll put it in my Palm Pilot," Chris grinned. He beckoned and Nick crawled back onto the bed with him. "See? I can commit. Now can we finish Charlie's Angels?"

"Nope." Nick leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn't wholly unexpected but Chris still found his brain melting out his ears. Nick's kiss was deep, thorough, hot... and gentle. He pressed Chris down slowly. Chris lay back, blinking when Nick finally pulled away, giving him a look that was both adoring and appraising. "You sure you're ready for this?" he whispered, his voice already beginning to slide into a lower register.

"Gimme your best shot, Carter," Chris returned shakily.

At that, Nick settled himself across Chris' hips, his body a comfortable weight Chris was going to really miss in the morning. His hands, too, Chris decided, as they slid under his shirt. He arched into those big, warm hands as they stroked up his body, slowly pushing his shirt up. Nick seemed to be determined to go slowly, his kisses gentle, his hands wandering. Chris almost didn't notice when his pants were removed.

He did notice when Nick let him go, watching in dazed appreciation as Nick skinned out of his clothes, tossing them to the floor. So much skin. He was only given a minute to notice it before that skin was pressed against his, and those eyes... Nick's eyes were a lethal weapon and Chris was fairly sure they were set to kill. There wasn't really anything he could do except pull him in for another kiss and hang on for dear life.
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