"Niiick, this is never gonna happ-en!" Aaron complained. His voice was working its way into a nasal whine and Nick sighed, remembering the tone. He'd done the same thing at that age, whining unintentionally when he got tired. He didn't hear it as often in Aaron's voice, meaning Aaron had to be exhausted right now. Of course, Aaron tended to be worked to this stage of exhaustion far too often when Nick wasn't around. Which was the whole point of this conversation.

"It'll happen," he insisted stubbornly, staring at the agenda on his monitor. "What about right after the interview, before you get to that party thing?"

"It's a phoner from the limo on the way there."

"Dammit." Nick hung onto his mental chant of "I love my mother, I love my mother, I love my mother," to keep from saying anything that might really upset his brother.

"See? It's impossible. I can't get away on my own." Now he was whining on purpose. Nick could almost see the pout. Hell, he'd taught the kid how to pout. "Can't you come get me? Just this once?"

Nick sighed into the phone. Aaron didn't get it. He understood why Nick wanted to avoid their mother, having been witness to more than a few of their fights. Sometimes, like now, he too needed a temporary escape from all the pressure his handlers put on him. But he hadn't been able to take in the situation and just *get* it the way Chris had. He was just a kid having a lot of fun. Overall, he still liked his fame. And it was so hard to say no to that voice. How had Kevin not killed him years ago?

Wait. Party. Industry party. In New York.

"Hey bro?"

"Yeaaaaah?"

"Anyone we know on the guest list for that party?"

"Probably. We know everybody."

"Aaron, do you want to visit me or not?"

"Ummm..." As Nick knew he would, Aaron grabbed the first, ergo biggest, name he could think of. "NSYNC. Yeah. Mom said they'd be there. But I don't wanna hang out with NSYNC. I wanna see you."

"That's a first," Nick muttered dryly.

"Shut up."

"Yeah, yeah. Ok, I think I can get you out of there. Just... make sure you got some kinda of ID on you for when we go home. And anything you really want to bring with you."

"I promise. Nick, this is gonna be so cool! Three whole days! We only got one last time."

"I know, buddy, I know."

"Oops. I hear Mom."

"Ok. See you in a week. Love you kiddo."

"Love you Nick."

Nick didn't care that he was probably grinning like an idiot. Three days in private with Aaron. Ok, so at least the first twelve hours were going to consist of Aaron sleeping but still. It had been too long. It was always too long.

It took him a few minutes until he was ready to make the second call. He hadn't spoken to Chris since that very interesting Saturday night. Hadn't known what to say. He dialed slowly.

"Funny Farm, to whom are you speaking? What? Speak up, I'm very deaf in this eye. Don't take that tone of face with me! Beep."

"Hi Kirkpatrick, it's me. Need a favour. Call me back."

Smooth, Carter. Very smooth.

Chris called back during the British Lit final, while the cell phone was sitting silently in Nick's apartment and Nick was on campus trying to remember how to spell the name of that obscure character he desperately wanted to quote. When he got back, his Math textbook was waiting for him with a big "FINAL TOMORROW, STUDY!" Post-It on top. It was lucky he thought to check his messages at all. He certainly wasn't going to turn *on* the phone and have it possibly start ringing with something Backstreet-related when he had less than twenty-four hours to somehow figure out a way to pass his most hated subject.

He was just stressed out enough that it didn't occur to Nick until after Chris' phone rang ten times and Chris picked up with a very snarky, "Who gave you this number?" that there was anything wrong with calling from his landline.

He coughed. "It's me, Chris."

"Thank God." Chris' voice warmed immediately. "I have a FuMan teleconference tomorrow and I thought I'd have to give them a new cell phone number."

"You're working?" Nick was startled out of study-panic mode for a moment. "But you're recording."

"Yeah, it turns out that Justin's a first and second tenor, a baritone and a bass. Who knew?" When Nick didn't respond, he elaborated. "I'm not exactly needed in the studio all day every day, Nick."

"So?" He was still very confused. "You don't *leave* when the album's being *recorded*."

"This coming from a member of a band that travels one member to each bus."

"But that's personal time," Nick protested. "We'd go nuts without some space on the road. Recording is *work*. It's *Backstreet*. You leave all the opinions to some producer?"

"'Some producer' is usually JC or Justin," Chris explained.

"And who reminds them they don't speak for the whole group?"

"Um..." Chris wondered if Nick had ever really looked at the credits on an NSYNC cd. "They write the songs."

"You guys are fucked up," Nick declared.

"I thought you wanted a favour?"

"Oh. Right. Not fucked up. Um... different. Yes. It's those kinds of differences that let us share the teenybopper market."

"You're too kind, Carter. Now, what do you want?"

"I need somebody to kidnap my kid brother for me."

"I think you need Joey. He's got the mafia connections."

"No. Someone who knows where I live."

"Is this a covert mission? Will this message self-destruct in thirty seconds? 'Cause man, I really *like* this cell phone."

"Someone who can think like that," Nick laughed. "You up for it?"

"What do I get out of it?"

"Hmmm." Nick considered, feeling the pull of his Math notes again. "You get to skip out of the Teen People party early."

"You interest me. What else?"

"I'll feed you."

"You already owe me pizza. Doesn't count."

"It'll be fun?"

"Oh really?" Something in Chris' tone made Nick's mouth go dry. "Promise?"

Was he imagining that, or did Chris... Either way, he knew the answer. "Promise."

"Cool! I'm in."

"Okay. I'll call you back with details. Bye."

"Later, darlin'."

Nick hung up. Chris Kirkpatrick was weird. And possibly interested in continuing whatever had happened on Saturday. And... what was he doing? Books... paper. Right. Finals.

The good thing about Finals week was that you could panic all you want and blame it on your exams.

Chris was nervous. Really, it was understandable. Right when he'd convinced himself that hey, he'd found out what he wanted to know, more or less, and given Nick a little comfort and it was a good night's work, no regrets, there was the beyond casual message on his machine. And Nick had all but hung up right after Chris had gotten a little bit flirtatious. But he had said "Promise." Although the several pages worth of instructions that had turned up in Chris' inbox hadn't mentioned pizza, much less any other type of quality time together. But they had turned up. And in... five minutes he was going to have to start going through with it.

"Chris!" Joey sounded only mildly exasperated about having Chris climb over him to check traffic. "Get your gut out of my face, old man!"

"Gut?" Chris plopped himself securely into Joey's lap. "You only wish you looked this good at my age, Fatone."

"Oh yeah you're a star." Joey shoved Chris back onto the seat seconds before the door opened. As he got out, Chris found himself eternally grateful for his sunglasses. He still failed to understand why other media showed up at events put on by a magazine. Of course at least half the "other media" was less than reputable. He hoped there weren't too many skulking around the back. The last thing he needed was someone accusing him of pedophilia.

Once past the red carpet, Chris started on step one of the plan.

"Hey Lonnie?"

The big man raised an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut. "I'm gonna slip out early, visit a friend. Don't worry 'bout it, all right?"

A slow nod was all the reply he needed.

His ass covered, Chris moved on to the next step - contacting his target. He and Joey were both flying solo tonight. They took up seats at a table with a prime view of all the schmoozing. He felt vaguely guilty about plotting to disappear, but he couldn't pass up a good adventure and Nick's plan was something out of James Bond. Also, it was getting increasingly difficult to pass up the idea of Nick. And anyway Joey, despite his faithful-to-Kelly intentions, didn't look too miserable checking out the scenery.

Chris made a game out of his surveillance, keeping Joey entertained with a running commentary about the various celebrities he spotted while looking for Aaron.

"And in the centre of the action, Mr. and Mrs. Britney Spears. No deep dark corners for those two - wouldn't be wholesome. Although I think that particular dance move has got to be at least PG-13."

"Hey, there's Hayden Christensen. With Nathalie Portman. And, boing! There's Dork!JC. Poor man. He was doing so well today, wearing normal clothes and shit, and then Darth Vader walks into the room. Bam! Three weeks of therapy gone to waste."

"It wouldn't be a party without the wannabes of this century. After what... three seasons of TV, O-Town should really learn to keep away from alcohol. And... whoops, away from Justin's girlfriend. That's gotta hurt."

"Damage control," Joey muttered under his breath and headed quickly towards the dancefloor. It wasn't that anyone from NSYNC really cared whether Jacob's ability to dance became... impaired, but once Justin's temper flared he needed a little help cooling down. Britney's whole "I can stand up for myself" routine wasn't very helpful.

Chris took advantage of the diversion to take a really good look around. It was almost eleven-thirty, where was Aaron? He hadn't left already, surely? But no, there he was... just walking in the door. Chris frowned. Apart from Aaron's bodyguard there were two... three adults with him if that girl was legal. He recognized Jane Carter, decided the girl was BJ, and relegated the man with them to the status of "handler".

"Wow, who's getting the death rays tonight, Chris?" Lance's voice cut through his plotting.

"Huh?" He looked over, realizing Lance and Laura had joined him at the table. "Oh. The Wicked Witch of the West."

"Jane Carter? Does that make Aaron her flying monkey?" Lance wasn't known for his jokes even when completely sober. Chris didn't much appreciate this one.

"I'm gonna go get a drink."

The event was actually in a ballroom/conference room at one of the swankier hotels in New York. Teen People had made some sort of media presentation earlier in the evening - NSYNC were cool enough that they'd missed it and Chris wasn't entirely sure what the party was about. The advantage to the setup was the three cash bars. More specifically, the fact that the way to one of those bars took Chris past the group of people Jane was showing off her progeny to.

"Hey AC!" Chris clapped Aaron on the shoulder. The teenager looked over at him - he was about Chris' height now and showed no signs of stopping - and grinned. It was a fake plastic smile, the kind Chris had put on millions of times. Aaron's eyes told another story. "Haven't seen you in a while. Buy you a drink?"

"Chris!" Jane reproved in a "look everyone, we kid around with NSYNC" tone of voice.

"Just Pepsi, I swear!" He played along, plastering on one of his own fake smiles, raising his hands in an exaggerated gesture of playful innocence. "C'mon Aaron." He took Aaron by the arm and half dragged him towards the bar.

Out of earshot of his mom, Aaron dropped the playacting and stepped away from Chris a little, his whole body slumping in tiredness. "I ain't up to playing tonight, Chris."

In a gesture of solidarity, Chris bought them both Pepsis. "Not even Mission Impossible?"

That brought a spark to the blue eyes. "You?"

"Meet me in the john in ten minutes. And drink up. You could use some caffeine."

"Can I hug you?"

"Don't blow my cover, kid." It wasn't the world's best Dirty Harry impression, but it seemed to make Aaron happy enough.

Instead of going back to the table, Chris approached J.C.. He was hanging out near another of the bars, talking to someone Chris vaguely recognized as someone J.C. had worked with before. He had the usual bevy of hangers-on around him, but for the moment was deep into a music conversation. Perfect.

"C?"

"I still think they'd do better with a moog or something... you know, electronica, but old style. Beatles..." J.C. rambled, his hands waving a little.

"C!"

"Oh, hey Chris. This is..."

"C, I'm gonna check out early, k?"

"Oh, okay."

"Make sure they don't send out a search party."

"Mmm hmmm." But J.C.'s mind was already back on the music. He'd forget this conversation for several hours, until someone pointed out to him that Chris was missing and the group needed him for something. But Chris could now say honestly that he'd let someone know he was going. Telling Lonnie kept the bodyguards off his back, but they didn't mention discussions of that type to anyone. This way it didn't look like Chris was keeping secrets. Nick was a pretty good details man, he reflected.

Nick knew details like the layout of the hotel. He'd known that the celebrities would be allowed to use the staff washrooms in the service corridor just outside the main ballroom instead of the public ones in the lobby. He'd also known that while the corridor led to the kitchen, the other end opened into a secluded hallway.

When they met, Chris slipped Aaron a packet of cigarettes.

"I've been told that if even one is missing he'll skin me alive."

"He'd do it too," Aaron nodded casually. "Me too, right?"

"Yup."

"Not on your life." This time his grin was brilliant. Somebody had a bad case of hero-worship. "So, what're they for?"

"That big guy you passed coming in here?"

"Uh huh."

"Tell him you're going out for a smoke. Slip him some money if you have to, and go out the other door. Turn left. Nick says you'll see a door to the outside. I'll meet you out there."

"'Kay."

"And if you get caught, remember: name, rank and serial number."

Aaron gave a half-hearted salute and headed out. Chris looked at himself in the mirror. "What the fuck am I getting myself into here?"

His reflection didn't know.

"I'm just doing this 'cause Nick's a decent guy and Aaron deserves a break, right?"

Right. He rolled his eyes at himself and went back to the ballroom.

There were still fans and press outside the hotel. A true popstar, Chris waved gallantly while waiting for the doorman to hail him a cab.

After a little adventure that involved three cabs, two blocks of walking alone in the snowy New York City night and a near hit-and-miss with a couple of overanxious paparazzi, Chris had Aaron in the backseat of a cab, heading for their rendez-vous with Nick.

"Timeout! Timeout!" Darcy protested, doing one of those neat little turn-and-stops that only girls could do on the ice. Nick plowed to a stop in front of her.

"Just because I almost caught you..." he teased.

"Fucker," she stuck out her tongue at him. Nick's friends had decided to celebrate the end of exams with a late-night skating party at Rockefeller Center. Figuring it made a good crowd-populated place to meet up with Aaron and catch one last cab home, he'd joined them. Currently he was It in a game of tag.

Their friends gathered round, waiting to hear what was up.

"I'm tired, cold, and my ankle's about to give out."

"I told you to wrap it," Phil reminded her.

"A, you're a music major, not pre-med, babe. B, I did. We've been out here for three hours, what do you want from me?"

"Hey, hey!" Carter, the worst skater of the bunch, finally arrived. "Break it up. Timeouts are ten seconds only."

"Whatever. I'm gonna go sit down, guard our stuff. When the rest of you idiots are ready to go, lemme know."

While Phil escorted his girlfriend to the bench, Nick checked his watch. It was quarter to midnight. Had Chris had problems getting to Aaron? Had he decided to renege completely? For a second, he contemplated calling a timeout to call Chris.

"Nick!" A snowball exploded against his shoulder. Carter couldn't skate well but his aim was pretty good. "Wake up and count, dipstick!"

"You little..." Nick took off towards his friend. "One!... Two!..."

"Cheater! I wanna lodge a complaint with the ref!" Carter scrambled down the ice, laughing.

The attendants were starting to look antsy and Nick was getting more worried when Phil tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced in the direction of Phil's gesture. Darcy was standing by the bench, waving. Next to her was Aaron, struggling into the winter jacket Nick had bought for him earlier in the week.

"That's your cue out of here, man."

"You bet your ass. Merry Christmas, Phil." He waved to various members of the skating and made his way towards his brother. Chris didn't seem to be around. Nick patted his disappointment down firmly and stopped at the edge of the rink.

"So where's Ni... argh!" Nick answered the question by picking Aaron up from behind.

"Hey, squirt. You're late."

"Talk to mom," Aaron shrugged as he was set down again. Darcy, who had been the first person at Columbia to recognize Nick, winced at his expression.

"Yeah, I'm gonna."

A few people gathered to say goodbye as Nick swapped skates for boots. Darcy had put a hat on Aaron, since not everyone knew who Nick was. Phil and Carter patted the teen's head in passing.

"Bye guys!" Once he'd collected everything, Nick waved to the skating party and pointed Aaron towards the street. To his surprise, his brother dragged him in a different direction.

"Gotta meet Chris," he explained. "We had to split up."

Nick wasn't too alarmed. He was concentrating more on the first part. Chris could have gone back to his hotel, or wherever he was staying in New York, and left Aaron to meet up with Nick on his own. Which meant Chris wanted to see him. A nice warm feeling settled over Nick.

Chris was the picture of nonchalance when they caught up to him, casually loading toppings onto a hotdog. "Got a cab waiting," he told them without looking up. "Get in."

They climbed into the cab idling by the side of the road. Chris slid in a few minutes later, without his hotdog.

"Where's your grub, man?" Aaron asked, already starting to slur as he relaxed towards sleep.

"Oh, there was this kid..." Chris brushed it off and leaned over towards the waiting cabbie. "521 West 111th street. The direct route."

"Here," Nick handed Chris his keys. He leaned back into the cab to scoop Aaron up.

"Tragic, a hernia at such a young age," Chris remarked, holding the door open for them.

"He's not that heavy," Nick protested, moving slowly up the stairs.

"Whatever, just don't fall backwards, okay? No need to kill all three of us."

Nick didn't waste breath on a reply.

Chris opened the door and was told,

"Make yourself at home. Pizza number's seven on speed dial, if you can find the phone." Nick disappeared into his bedroom with Aaron.

Chris followed the phone cord to the phone (sitting nearly out on the fire escape). He ordered an extra large with everything. Teach Nick to let him order food. He found a half-empty carton of egg nog in the fridge and proceeded to help himself. Nick still hadn't emerged and Chris was on the verge of boredom. The box of vinyl caught his fancy, so he dragged it out to take a look.

Nick's vinyl collection was small, varied and disorganized. Chris tutted and began sorting everything by artist and year. Vinyl deserved respect, man. He found what looked like the entire Journey catalogue, one or two Beatles records, the Who, a Grease soundtrack with "To Nick, Happy Birthday from B-Rok" scrawled on the back, Blondie's Parallel Lines album, The Wall, some Jackson Five and Simon and Garfunkel. A lot of Simon and Garfunkel. Hey...

"I'm going to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis Tennessee...." Chris murmured, grinning. Gingerly, he slid the LP from its sleeve and mounted it on the turntable. At first, no sound issued. A quick inspection revealed that the headphone jack was occupied. Nice headphones. It had been a while since Chris had seen his own, but these looked familiar. Obviously Nick was a man with good taste in audio equipment. Chris found a likely-looking nook and stowed them away.

Nick came out to join him with the first few notes of "The Boy in the Bubble". He looked tired and upset.

"Is it too loud?" Chris asked, not knowing Nick nearly well enough to read his expression.

"Naw. He's sleeping like the dead, you know the deal." Nick scratched the back of his neck. "I just... I love my mom." He let himself fall onto the couch with a sigh.

"Oh." Nick had been falsely cheerful in his brief call to Jane Carter during the cab ride, but it looked to Chris like she'd started to give him an earful before he hung up on her. "You want to talk about it?"

"No." He shook his head forcefully. "I go over it again and again... all the guys have heard it. I'm doing what I can."

Nick didn't sound convinced. Chris decided maybe he needed to be distracted. He leaned over the turntable, lifted the needle and carefully set it down at the end of "Diamonds in the Soles of her Shoes".

The sound of trombones filtered through the speakers and Chris attempted to dance Nick around the room. The fact that Nick was bigger and resisting made it a challenge.

"Oh right, I forgot. Backstreet Boys can't dance." He let go and began dancing around the couch. "A man walks down the street/He says why I am soft in the middle now" he poked Nick, grinning. "Why am I soft in the middle/The rest of my life is so hard.. C'mon man this is totally your song."

""I need a photo opportunity"?" Nick quoted skeptically.

"Maybe not totally," he conceded. More distraction. Chris sat down to think. Nick's floor was soft. And not as low as you'd expect. Chris had a look at what he was sitting on. "Sleeping bags?"

"Uh huh."

"Bags? More than one?"

"Two, I'm pretty sure." Nick glanced over the back of the couch at him. "But count 'em if you want."

"Why do you need..." Chris' voice wasn't supposed to go quite that high.

"My bedroom's pretty small. We're gonna camp out in here tomorrow night." Nick stretched. "You can use one tonight, if you're planning on staying."

Their eyes met. Chris was suddenly absolutely certain that he wasn't going anywhere tonight. In fact, if he couldn't find somewhere else to look, he wasn't going to move from that spot all night.

With an effort, he wrenched his gaze away. He found a clock on the wall opposite him. "Hey. Pizza should be here soon."

"Oh yeah?" Nick switched off the sex vibes or whatever that had been and patted his pockets. Chris offered the keys. "They always get the wrong apartment number. Great pizza though."

"I'll come with you?"

"Not letting you out of my sight." As he headed downstairs, Chris had the distinct feeling Nick was checking out his ass.

They made small talk as they sat on the floor of Nick's apartment and ate, the sleeping bags spread out beneath them. Chris wasn't entirely sure if anything he was saying made sense. The eventual end of the evening hung over him, heavy with a sense of fate. Unfortunately, Nick either wasn't in a hurry to get down to business, or he wasn't sure how to actually say the words.

When Nick licked his lips in search of some errant tomato sauce, Chris gave up.

"That's not playing fair," he groaned, shoved the pizza box out of the way and climbed on top of Nick.

Nick gasped, his open mouth allowing Chris' tongue easy access. His eyes closed as Chris took him by storm, kissing hungrily, one hand already moving down Nick's body to his zipper while the other pinned him against the edge of the couch by his shoulder.

Chris worked fast, muttering things about "tease" and "keeping me guessing" as he slid Nick's jeans and underwear down. As the cold hit his legs, it occurred to Nick that Aaron was in the next room. This was not smart. Of course it wasn't as if Nick had done anything smart with regard to Chris Kirkpatrick in the past couple of weeks.

Nick felt his lips being released. He opened his eyes to see Chris sitting back on his haunches, watching him speculatively. And then Chris' hand closed around his cock, tight and firm, and all that was left of "smart" was being put into the effort of not saying anything too stupid while he bucked up hard at the sensation.

"Oh, God!" he groaned.

Chris chuckled. Wicked bastard. He'd gotten his confidence back, anyway. "How long's it been, Carter?" That pretty, light voice could rasp at the right times, apparently. "And how much is this sleeping bag worth to you?"

If it was about to get him laid, Nick would have it bronzed. Encrusted with diamonds, if Chris ended up being as good as he'd hoped. He grabbed handfuls of the material as Chris pulled his hand down slowly, increasing the pressure every second. Or maybe that was just Nick getting harder. Could he get any harder? He made a noise that was as near as he was going to get to "please".

It had been a very long time and that was the only thing that kept Nick from feeling like a horny fifteen-year-old after it took Chris only one, two, three fast, hard pumps to get him arching off the floor making a desperate, high-pitched sound as he came all over both of them.

"I hope there's a laundry in this building," Chris commented after a moment, pretending to be upset.

"Should have... taken some of it off," Nick pointed out, still short of breath. "Smug bastard."

"Your pillow talk leaves something to be desired, Mr. Carter."

"No pillows."

"Are you always Captain Obvious after you come?" Chris surveyed the apartment. "Have to be one of the chairs, then."

"Huh?"

"This is the part of the story where I fuck you," he explained as if reciting a fairy tale. "And while this is a great sleeping bag, the floor's still hard and I don't want you in too much pain... this time."

The idea of being stiff after a night of sex sounded kind of appealing. And he wasn't ready to get up anyway. Plus, he preferred it on his back."Stop planning and just fuck me."

"We are romantic, tonight, aren't we?"

This was no time for romance. Nick pulled a little something out of his bag of tricks. "Chris."

Golden eyes darkened with desire almost immediately. Nick chuckled. What was it about the lower register that always made people horny? Hornier, in this case.

"Chris. I'm lying here. Half-naked. Waiting."

"You..." It seemed Chris hadn't heard the rumour that Nick could out-bass Lance when he wanted to.

"Touch me," he purred, rumbling as low as he could. "Fuck me."

"Oh boy..." Chris was mesmerized but not paralyzed. "Lube. Lube... need..." he scrambled up and away towards the bathroom before Nick could say another word. Oh, tonight was going to be fun.

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