for the Summer of Love Crossover Challenge

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
     --"Hallelujah", Leonard Cohen

He's not a baby. They can make it last, the two of them, because they're grown men, and they can take it. A few months apart, that's nothing. They've had three months together, just them and the occasional appearance but nothing bigger than each other. Just them, two adults, two men who love each other and even though their window is closing it'll be okay. He's not a baby.

That's what Kevin keeps telling himself, anyway. A year younger than Nick, whose relationship with Kevin sometimes reminds him of Bonanza's Adam and Little Joe -- and doesn't that just date him and label him a country boy? But Justin is long, long limbs and dirty whispers and strong arms that wrap around him. Justin is grunts and moans and tight hot heat and singing, constant singing in his ear as they fuck. Justin is golden sun and sand and feet that peel from not enough sunscreen and shoulders speckled with brown and laughter that rings in its own melody. He is romance -- which, oddly, Kris wasn't at all, hated wooing, and maybe that should've been his first clue things wouldn't work because Kevin is all Southern gentleman. Justin is a gentleman, too, and blue and blond and tan and lean and most definitely not a baby, not when Kevin pounds him into the sheets, not when he nuzzles the nape of Kevin's neck and scrapes his teeth over the skin, and sucks, and Kevin loses himself and nothing matters but pleasure and love and the man whose arms he's in.

It can't last, of course, because it's only a summer romance and when the summer ends there's Nick's solo album, and Justin's, and the Boys have to put up or shut up and Lance calls everyone off to Russia, and he'll be alone again.

No Kris, and no Backstreet, for the first time in 10 years, and he's ready to do it, he's been ready for ages, never thought it would last this long. His brothers told him to go for it, "you're only 21, it's better than Aladdin and if it doesn't work out, come back home." In his family, you could always go back home. And now it's 10 years later and he was certain, dead positive, that a group with an 12 year old and a 15 year old would never work, their voices would change and that would be it, they'd be lucky to have AJ one year or two. He shudders when he thinks how close they came to losing AJ for real, and compared to that what's selling records? They said it themselves, on TRL, better AJ's health, that was what mattered, that was what came first, and it's true, of course it's true, but he wonders, sometimes, if they won't resent AJ just a little for making their downfall that much sooner.

And Justin has yet to crescendo.

*NSYNC is still rising, and Justin leads the way, attached to that fucking star, and Kevin sits back and watches him, higher and higher, shooting into the night with no sign of stopping.

He thinks he must know how Joey feels, waving to Lance as he disappears.

Justin is so much more than he ever thought he could be -- not him, not the golden child of the golden group -- and it's all he can do to prepare himself. They'll try, of course, when things settle down. Phone calls, visits, but it's not the same. Not three hot months of surf and sun and the only thing warmer than the memories is the man he gets to share them with.

He sits on the beach, the wind chapping his skin, arms wrapped around his knees and he feels younger than he has since he stopped being the baby of three and became the oldest of five. It'll work, because it has too.

There's a man at his back, warm skin against his, soft breathing in his ear -- Justin won't ask what's wrong, because if Kevin could share it he would, and if he can't there's no use asking. It's perfect, so perfect he aches, so perfect it can't possibly last.

Nothing perfect ever does. Not Kris, not the Boys, not even his family or home. His wife gone, his brothers disbanding, his father dead, his home being destroyed by the Army Corps of Engineers and fuck it, he's not supposed to be the cynical one.

"Let's go inside," he says, and lets Justin lead him away from the sun.

And when he pulls Justin close and traces constellations on his shoulders, he doesn't know if it's warmth or cold he feels.