DIRGE

Nick is over it. Over Justin and he's happy about it. He lies to himself about it and says that every single fucking day.

He never told anyone about it, except maybe AJ and Howie and he was drunk so he doesn't exactly remember how explicit he was. He couldn't tell anyone else, couldn't bring himself to tell Brian or Kevin, because it wasn't real, it was just a few times, maybe twenty times at different times and there was never any future to it.

In some fucking dive bar in Orlando, maybe the only dive bar in Orlando, and one none of Nick's friends would ever go to, the jukebox is playing some song Nick has never heard before. He decides to wallow, gives himself permission. The jukebox plays, 'I hate myself for lovin' you' over and over again.

*

He had two distinct feelings about Justin Timberlake.

The first was hatred. Nick did it all first and Justin Timberlake was the token cute blond young one trailing behind, sniping at their tails and to make it worse, Justin grew up in the spotlight and never, ever took a bad picture. Justin was apparently born with a six-pack stomach he never hesitated to show off and he always had perfect skin and he was never gangly or fat. Fucker.

At the same time Nick loved every picture of Justin. He jacked off to them in bathrooms and backstage and in his hotel rooms. Nick was pretty convinced that there wasn't a gay boy alive who didn't think that way about Justin Timberlake and Nick was a gay boy, upright and breathing. Lucky for him, editors kept dressing Justin like a whore.

He wasn't really prepared for the real thing.

It started at an awards show, the one where the Rolling Stone reporter was trailing along behind them, and NSYNC was suing Lou and Nick said nice things from the podium because of course Backstreet won, of course they did. It started when Nick actually liked the way he looked, finally, when he was on the fucking top of the fucking world. When things were so fucking good.

Justin came up to him at the after-party and smiled and they'd met before but never for real. So Justin started saying something about how what Nick had said was really nice and he was quiet and serious. And Nick smoothed down his slacks and thought Justin was even fucking hotter in person. And maybe even sweet.

In person, when Nick was finally hot himself and believed it, Justin cruised him. Said his nice piece and looked Nick up and down and opened his eyes wide with interest. A wet dream come true so Nick said, "There's, uh, if you want?" Babbling, maybe, but Justin grinned and followed him. To the bathroom, so it was pretty obvious what was going on. And Nick pulled Justin into the handicapped stall and they were kissing, just like that. Just like that. In reality, Justin tasted like chapstick and a hint of something sweet like bubblegum. He was only a little shorter than Nick and he moaned as Nick sucked on his tongue. Real live Justin pressed against him and ground his crotch against Nick and clawed at the expensive suit Nick wore.

Nick sunk to his knees and then squatted because he didn't want to get anything on his suit pants. He tugged at Justin's pants and then his underwear and he clung to Justin's hips to keep him up. Skinny fucker, skinny little ass and Nick's hands almost touched behind Justin's back. He licked and sucked and Justin moaned. Nick let go of Justin's hip with one hand and opened his own pants, stroking himself and they came at the same time.

Justin's head lolled back against the wall and he said, "I would'a. You, I would'a." He pulled Nick up and they kissed again. Nick went back to the party and told the Rolling Stone reporter that some guy from NSYNC had thanked him for what he said. He left out the blowjob.

They did it again and again. Even after No Strings Attached blew up, even after Black and Blue didn't blow up enough, even after Celebrity did better than Black and Blue and Nick started to think Backstreet would never ever catch up. They fucked in bathrooms at award shows and parties. AJ lived next door to Chris and they'd see each other across the lawn and end up fucking in their cars. Twice in Justin's, three times in Nick's.

Justin called sometimes, emailed more and Nick called more than he felt comfortable with, and emailed very little. Nick was a shitty speller and even the spell check on his email program couldn't figure out what word he meant sometimes. Nick remembered seeing some picture of Justin at 13 with a spelling bee trophy. Not one of Justin's hottest by any means, but he still had looked better than Nick at that age.

It wasn't anything. Nick Carter, famous boy, could date girls, get ripped off by them, wade through the crap of appearances and sing and strut. And Nick, horny gay boy, had his not boyfriend on the side that he never saw and still managed to fuck a lot. Justin, he thought, felt the same way, and Justin divided up his life and kept the part with Nick separate from the part where Justin was insanely famous. More famous than Nick, at least in the States.

Nick never asked about Britney, and didn't know what was up with her and Justin. He had no idea and he never asked. He assumed Britney was just part of famous Justin and not the Justin Nick saw. Because Nick knew enough to know Justin was pretty experienced at everything he and Nick did.

They had sex as soon as they spotted each other every time. Famous Nick always always had to hurry up and wait and the Nick that got to fuck Justin refused to live like that. They talked afterwards or on the phone. Never about work, about their other lives. They talked about TV shows and movies and comic books. Nothing deep, nothing that made Nick think he knew more than the average reader of J-14 about Justin Timberlake.

He knew what Justin looked like naked and the face he made when he came and the way he growled when Nick first thrust in, but that wasn't Justin Timberlake. That was Justin.

Nick told himself he wasn't in love, he couldn't fall in love with someone he sometimes he didn't even see for two or three months. A lengthy pattern of lying to himself repeated.

Justin called in the summer. He said, "I just wanted. The next time we run into each other, I can't."

Nick thought, casual, you don't care and his voice broke anyway when he said, "Why?"

Justin mumbled, something about Brit and Jive and Nick couldn't get it at all. Justin had never even said Britney's name to him before. It was separate, wasn't it? Justin got that, he thought. Nick said "why" again and bit his lip.

Justin said, "I just fucking can't. Fucking A, Nick. I can't. I have things that need to happen here and I can't be fucking you in bathrooms anymore. I can't and I won't. Don't fucking call me, okay?" And then he hung up.

Kevin explained it all to him, without knowing. Kevin pointed out the blind item on Page Six about the boybander who was getting busy at some party and Kevin said, "That's not you, right?" The last item like that had been about Lance Bass, but this one, Nick thought, this one was Justin. Nick hadn't been at that party.

Nick said, "No. I wasn't at that party."

Brian said, "It's Timberlake, I bet you. I've heard things about him."

Nick mumbled, "me, too," and left the room. He sat in the bathroom for a long time. He wondered how many guys Justin had had to call.

*

He isn't special, he isn't anyone unique. He thinks about calling Britney and asking if she wants to come out for a drink and they can bitch about Justin. He wonders what she'd say. He wonders if she knew, if she would tell him how many other guys there were.

Mostly he wonders why he let himself believe. He should have known. He'd known since he was thirteen it was a divided life and Nick Carter got to be happy under flashing lights and Nick would never fall in love. Nick Carter had places to go and Nick hated his mother, wanted to protect his brother from her and he'd fail. Nick Carter loved pretty girls and Nick had loved Justin and he should get over that.

THE END

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