For Emmy, since it's all her fault

The first time Nick attacked him, Wade was fairly sure it was an accident.

They were at an afterparty for the VMAs, which was cool because even a year ago, he would never have gotten in. And he wasn't sure why Nick was there to begin with, since Backstreet had presented one award and then jetted. But he was there, because he'd co-written Pop and they guys insisted and hell, afterparty. And Nick was there too, or at least his voice was there, floating over the crowd.

"Best Dance Video?" Nick sneered. "More like Best Strip Tease."

Wade turned around slowly, his cheeks flaming red. Nick was talking to one of his bandmates - AJ? He couldn't tell in the crowd. But he made eye contact with Nick over the person's head.

Nick was taller than he'd thought from the photos. Built like Joey. Like him. Only, Nick was clearly an asshole.

At least Nick had the grace to look away, once he realized Wade was there. Not many popstars would've done it. Not for a lowly choreographer, co-author of Pop or not. Child prodigy be damned. Chris wouldn't have done it, if Wade worked for someone else. Of course, Chris wouldn't say shit like that to begin with. Not in public.

"Wade? You coming man?" Justin was at his shoulder, and he'd lost sight of Nick anyway. It was hot, and crowded, and time to leave. He followed Justin outside, slapped the guys on the backs one last time, and waved them off to the limo.

"I just want some fresh air," he said, and that was that. They might meet up in Orlando in a bit, or not. He had Britney to choreograph, and work to do, and they were on vacation. And Nick Carter could to go to Hell.

* * *

Nick didn't go to Hell, of course. He went on tour, and then to LA. And the fact that Wade was in LA too, well. That was just coincidence.

The fact that Wade made it a point to be near Nick when they were both at a club, that was different. That was so he could give some payback, if Nick attacked again.

When Nick attacked again.

"Yeah," Nick was saying to Christina, "I saw Slave 4 U. I liked the general concept - shove her breasts in people's faces, and maybe they won't notice that she can't sing. To say nothing of her dancing."

"At least she tries to dance," Wade said, "instead of waving her hands around in an attempt to overemote."

Nick turned around slowly. "Well, well, well," he said. "The dance boy has claws."

"I protect my friends," Wade said.

"Very decent of you," Nick said. "Maybe one of these days you could be so kind as to protect Chasez into a decent wardrobe."

"Sure," Wade said. "He could borrow Kevin's leather skirt."

Nick stared at him. Wade crossed his arms. He would not be intimidated. He was just as big as Nick, just as strong. He was not going to let sneering lips and flashing eyes affect him. He glared straight back.

Nick burst out laughing.

"Man," he said, "that's. Wow."

Wade blinked.

"I wish one of us had said that to him, I. You rock, man."

Which was how he ended up with Nick Carter's number programmed into his cellphone, and a promise to "call and snark about boys, dude. It'll rock."

* * *

It turned out that it did rock.

Wade got used to random phone calls, which basically consisted of four lines of conversation.

"Nick?"

"Dude. What the fuck was up with Fatone's hair?"

"Why was Howie wearing a shirt that went out of fashion in the 1800's?"

"Good one. Talk to you later."

There was one time when he was catching a movie with some of Brit's dancers, and his pager started vibrating.

He slipped outside, to find the message "Watch TRL. *Now* --NC"

When he found The Wiz, and got them to change the channel, he fished his cellphone out of his jacket and called Nick.

"What the fuck is Chris thinking?"

"I don't know," Wade said. "I'm still stuck on Joey."

Nick laughed. "Hey, dude. You gonna be in LA anytime soon?"

"Few days, I think. Why?"

"We should get together. We could have coffee or something."

"Laugh at passersby?"

"Exactly. Phone me when you get in. And tell Chasez to give the fro back to Justin."

The line went dead before Wade could respond. It was a shame - he had been all ready to say, "I think AJ needs it more."

He'd have to save that one for later.

* * *

He met Nick at a Starbucks in the heart of LA, ready to spend a nice hour or two making of fun of strangers.

He hadn't even ordered his grande mocha frappucino when the first fan noticed them.

She was only seven, and she asked for Wade's autograph too, after Nick told her that he was "way famous," which was pretty decent considering she had no clue who he was. But still.

"We gotta go. I'm sorry, but once I've been recognized the bodyguards get nervous."

Wade nodded. It was the same for the guys - for his guys, he amended mentally.

"This sucks," Nick groused. "I haven't seen you in weeks."

"We'll find another time."

"I don't want another time," Nick said. "Listen, why don't you come back to the hotel. We can order in room service, and okay, there are no strangers to scoff at, but I bet there's someone freaky on TRL."

Wade laughed. "That's not much of a bet. Carson's on TRL."

"So you'll come."

"Sure," he said. "Sounds fun."

* * *

"Fun" turned out not, in fact, to be dissing Carson Daly, but rather to be making out with Nick. Because they got back to the hotel, and the room service was slow, and Nick was lounging on the bed looking hot, and Wade, who was lying next to him because the bed was king-sized, couldn't help himself.

He nudged Nick with his elbow, and Nick turned his head, about to ask what was up, and the instant that his lips parted, Wade kissed him.

For a second Nick froze, and Wade thought that maybe he'd made a horrible mistake, and Nick was really a straight man who just happened to have a bigger interest in fashion than anyone Wade had ever met. Then Nick kissed back, and he relaxed.

Or rather, he pushed Nick down on the bed, leaning over him so that they were more comfortable. Nick's hands had come up, sliding under his shirt, and Wade started a little at the first touch of fingers on his back. But it gave him an idea, and he began unbuttoning Nick's shirt, all the while fucking Nick's mouth with his tongue.

If there was one thing Wade did better than dancing, it was kissing.

Nick moaned a little, mewing in the back of his throat, when Wade pulled his arms away to slip the shirt off.

"That's what you get for wearing button downs," he said against Nick's lips, and Nick chuckled. Then he gasped, because Wade was sucking his nipples. Licking them, nipping at them, pulling them gently with his teeth, and sucking.

He tangled his fingers in Wade's hair, in the sheets, in anything that would give him purchase.

"Mother of God," he whispered when Wade slipped a hand down his pants.

Wade smiled, and kissed him again.

"You, too," Nick gasped, and tugged at his shirt. Wade removed his hands from where they were kneading Nick's stomach, and pulled his shirt over his head. Slowly.

"Fucker."

He smiled, and starting unzipping Nick's pants. Nick thrust against the light pressure of his fingers.

"Lift your hips," Wade said, and slid Nick's pants and boxers off. "Much better," he murmured.

"Wade," Nick said, "Wade. Are you sure?"

Wade kissed him. "I'm sure," he said, ducking his head down to lick Nick's cock. "I'm sure."

"Oh, good," Nick said, and then lapsed into unintelligible grunts and moans as Wade sucked.

"God," Nick gasped, when Wade deep throated. He was clinging to the bed sheets, trying to hold back. Wade laughed, and pulled back.

"Dude," he said, "don't worry about my vocal chords, 'kay?" Then he deep throated again, without warning. He grasped Nick's buttocks, and pushed them, pulling Nick deep, deep inside his mouth.

"No one," Nick panted, "has ever. Oh, God. Called me 'Dude.' Fuck. During sex be-sweet Jesus!" and he came.

Wade kept his mouth there, breathing warmly and sucking in aftershock upon aftershock. When Nick was completely empty and shaking, Wade finally pulled his head back to eye level.

"Do you have?"

Nick nodded weakly. "Top right drawer," he murmured, and Wade grabbed a condom and lube.

When he slid a finger inside, pushing back and forth and looking down into Nick's sex-darkened eyes, it was just about the hottest thing he'd every imagined. Except then he increased it to two fingers, and then rolled on the condom and slipped inside, and Nick was tight and hot, and bucking wildly against him, moaning, sucking his neck and scratching his back, and it was so good and he was so close and then

"Fuck!" he gasped, thrusting one last time before coming. He collapsed against Nick for a minute, before pulling out and tossing the condom.

"Well," Nick said. "That beat Starbucks hands down."

* * *

Fucking Nick turned out to be the best buddy sex Wade had ever had. When they were together, it was quick and hot and dirty and completely commitment free. They trolled clubs together, pointing out hot guys. They talked dirt. And they still took every opportunity to call each other and indulge in being blessedly, absolutely snarky.

The only problem was that he was back in Orlando, fucking Nick every other night, and rehearsing with the guys every week, keeping their choreography fresh. And it was only a matter of time until someone noticed.

"Hey," Joey said one day when Wade couldn't quite hide a hickey on his collarbone, "looks like someone's getting some!"

"What?" JC asked.

Justin slung an arm around Wade's shoulder. "Wade's been getting freaky-deaky," he said. Wade smiled wanly.

"Details!" Chris shouted, jumping on Wade's back.

He ducked his head, and pulled Chris' arms off his neck.

"There aren't really-"

"Come on," Lance said, "If I can share, you can share."

"Really," JC added, "we want to know."

"It's not that," Wade said, and he meant it. If he were fucking anyone other than Nick - well, okay, other than Nick, AJ, Howie, Brian, Kevin and those guys in O-Town - he'd be perfectly happy to share all the dirty little details. But.

"Do we know her?" Justin asked. "Is that it?"

"No," Wade said, "you most definitely do not know *her.*"

"Do we know *him*?" JC asked. Wade glared at him. JC was too perceptive sometimes. "It's not like we care if you're gay," Lance added.

"We still let *him* sing lead *occasionally,*" Joey said, rubbing JC's head. JC stuck his tongue out.

"We should really be rehearsing," Wade said, "time's a-wasting."

"He can't be *that* bad," Justin said. "I mean, he's not, like, Drew Lachey, right?"

"I think Drew's married," Lance said.

"Nick, then."

"No," Wade said tightly, "he's not Nick. Lachey."

"Oh my God," Joey said. "You're fucking Nick CARTER."

"I am not!"

"You are. You're fucking Nick fucking Carter."

Wade twisted away from Justin, and hit play on the stereo. Bye, Bye, Bye blasted through the rehearsal room.

"Let's get started," he said.

"Man," JC said, "you *would* steal the cute one."

"Places," Wade said.

"Whatever," Justin said. "AJ's hotter."

JC laughed. "Like you'd know, Mr. Straight and Monogamous."

"I know! I look!"

"Can we *please* fucking dance this one number?" Wade shouted.

They snapped into formation.

"One and two and-"

"Brian's the dreamiest," Lance said.

Wade sighed, and restarted the CD.

* * *

All things considered, Wade decided it really wasn't his fault that it took him three weeks to realize Chris wasn't speaking to him. Normally, yes, Chris would have been a pain in the ass, teasing him and jumping in his arms to be carried after a long rehearsal and generally goofing off (not to mention pushing Justin into goofing off with him,) but since Lance, Joey, Justin and JC were all mocking him constantly, he felt it was a forgivable lapse.

That was his first mistake.

Then Justin pulled him aside one day. "Dude," he said, "just so you know, Chris isn't, like, homophobic or anything. I mean, he likes C and all."

"What?" Wade asked.

"I don't know what his problem is yet, but it's not homophobia. I promise. So don't, like, freak, okay?"

"Sure," he said. But then he realized Chris hadn't been talking to him. At all. And he did kind of freak, because no matter how close he was to all of them, this was his job. And even if he was Justin's best friend outside the group, if one of them hated him, he would be gone. So he asked Chris to stay after rehearsal - which was his second mistake.

"Someone has to stay after cla-ass," JC sang.

"This is what happens when you don't go to high school," Joey said, and carried JC out over his shoulder. JC giggled, and waved at them as the door closed.

"What?" Chris asked.

"What did I do?"

"What?"

"You haven't spoken to me in, like, weeks."

"Fucking Timberlake."

"Justin's cool."

"I *know* that, Wade. I've practically lived with the boy for 7 years."

"I just. I mean. Is it 'cause I'm gay?"

"What?" Chris looked startled. "Why would you think that?"

"I know it was probably a bit of a shock..."

Chris laughed shortly. "Dude. Choreographer."

"Dude," Wade said. "Stereotype."

"I'm a dance boy queer. I can stereotype if I want to."

"You..."

"Yes," Chris said, "me. You have a problem with that?"

Wade stepped backwards, felt the cool mirror pressing against his spine. "No," he said.

"Good," Chris said. He leaned forward, his breath hot on Wade's cheek. Wade moaned as Chris licked his face, trailing his tongue down along his jawline, and then surged up and whispered in Wade's ear.

"Good," he said.

He nipped Wade's earlobe, and left the room. When Wade pushed away from the wall, his fingerprints left smudges on the mirrors.

He'd have to get a cleaner in before their next rehearsal.

* * *

Chris was stalking him. He was sure of this, because Chris had never been at the same clubs as him unless he was specifically going out with the guys. Not once. Not since he met Chris, anyway. And he was pretty sure he'd have noticed, even before he knew Chris personally, because Chris was hard to miss, even in a crowd.

Especially hard to miss when he was wearing black jeans and a tight black t-shirt that said "Let me blow your 'mind'" in glittering studs. Not to mention when he was staring at Wade across the dance floor, his eyes burning in the back of Wade's head.

"Dude," Nick said, "I thought your guys were cool with us?"

"They are."

"Then why does Chris look ready to kill me if I lean any closer?"

Wade sighed. "He kissed me three days ago."

"He what?"

"Well, okay. Not kiss. More like lick. With a little biting thrown in for fun."

"You fucker," Nick said. "You're supposed to *share* these things."

"Share Chris?"

"No! Well." Nick paused. "Yes, okay. Chris. But I meant details. You're supposed to share details. Otherwise, what's the *point* in being your sexy-as-hell buddy-fuck shopping partner?"

"Um," Wade said. "Good clothes?"

"I could get good clothing free if I skipped the middleman and just fucked Chris myself."

Wade swallowed thickly. "Yeah," he said.

Nick laughed.

"Dude. Go fuck him already."

"What? No."

"Why not? He wants you, you want him. Okay, it could be a really bad one-night stand, in which case you've blown your career as *nsync's choreographer. But you'll still have Britney, and your own album coming soon. And hey, we could always steal you away. So what have you got to lose?"

"My dignity?"

"Wade," Nick said patiently, "Go. Fuck. Chris. Kirkpatrick."

"Okay," Wade said. "I'll try."

"My baby's growing up," Nick sniffed, and wiped his eye. He shoved Wade forward.

"Go."

* * *

"Robson," Chris said evenly, as if he hadn't just spent the past 15 minutes undressing Wade with his eyes. Wade smiled.

"Hey, Chris."

"How's the boyfriend?"

"The? Oh, Nick."

"Yes," Chris said, "Nick."

"He's not my Ð I mean. It's casual."

Chris' eyes flickered over Wade's body, mentally weighing him in some cosmic scale. Wade was sure he would come up short.

"Buddy fuck?"

Wade blushed.

Chris smiled, suddenly, brilliantly, and Wade felt blinded. Which was perhaps (mistake number three) why he didn't notice when Chris grabbed his hand and pulled him outside.

"In that case," Chris said, "he won't mind when I fuck you senseless."

"No, he Ð what?"

"Car," Chris said, shoving Wade towards his Cruiser. He followed Chris obediently, his mind racing every which way and failing to find whatever it was looking for.

"ChrisÑ"

"I'm a busy man, Robson. I have shows to perform, clothing to sell, and a life to enjoy. Do you want to go home and wake up ready to *shop* tomorrow, or do you want a night filled with mind-blowing sex?"

"Um. The. The sex part."

"Right," Chris said. "Sit in the car."

Wade sat.

* * *

He'd never been to Chris' house before. He'd been to Justin's often, and Lance's once or twice, when there was a barbecue or something, but, the current situation to the contrary, Chris was not fond of cooking hot dogs.

He thought vaguely that he'd have to examine the house more closely in the morning. If he was still alive, which was not at all certain the way that Chris was pushing him, backwards, and with this Ð glint Ð in his eyes, up the staircase, towards what Wade could only assume was his bedroom.

He stumbled over the doorjamb, flailing out and catching himself on Chris' shoulder. Chris used the opportunity to pull him down for a kiss. His mouth fell open by reflex, letting Chris in, he was pretty sure he couldn't have stopped Chris even if his life depended on it.

He was used to thinking of Chris as a wacky Ð straight Ð guy, who jumped on his back and pushed Justin into immature, but amusing behavior and made fun of him and treated him rather like a younger brother.

He was sincerely glad Chris didn't actually *have* any younger brothers, because even if ripping their clothes off and pushing them onto a bed could not be considered incest, mauling them with his tongue while doing so most definitely *was.*

All he could do was moan, and help Chris pull off his own clothing, and impatiently buck his hips against Chris' groin.

Chris smiled. "Slut," he murmured, and put a restraining hand on Wade's stomach. He slowly licked a finger on his other hand, and Wade's legs fell apart without his control.

Chris twisted up inside of him, pushing back and forth with his finger, sliding along his prostate one minute and away from it the next. It was an agony of pleasure and pain and Wade was incoherent by the time Chris slid a second finger inside.

"Ohhh," he murmured.

"That's right, baby," Chris said, and then there was a sudden void, and all he could do was groan in protest. Chris laughed. "Gotta get the condom on," he said, and "no you don't," when Wade tried to touch himself, to keep the sensations going.

And suddenly he was filled with sensations, filled with Chris, and shifting against him, and it was too much.

"More," he pleaded, and Chris immediately slowed the pace, bit his shoulder reprovingly.

"When I want your opinion," he grunted, "I'll ask you for it."

"O-okay," Wade stuttered, wrapping his legs around Chris' waist and lying as still as he could. He'd turn to stone, if Chris would only drive deeper and faster and if he could have this every night, fucking Nick Carter certainly wasn't necessary.

Chris reached down between them, and started pumping Wade's cock, and it was too much, too overwhelming, and he came all over Chris' hand. Chris thrust, once, twice, and collapsed against Wade with a groan of his own, before pulling away and tossing the condom.

"Here," he said, wiping Wade's stomach with some tissues. Then he smiled softly, and kissed Wade on the cheek. "You," he said, "are the best buddy fuck I've had in ages."

"I don't know that I really *did* anything," Wade said, snaking an arm around Chris' shoulders.

"Oh, honey, don't worry about that," Chris said. "We have all tour to make up for it."

Wade laughed.

"Yes sir," he mumured, and fell asleep.
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