Date: Thu, 29 Jun 2000 22:40:55 EDT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Beneath-It-All-3

It's hard to believe this is only the third instalment.

This part comes in a bit shorter than previous instalments.  It just worked
itself to a close sooner than the others, so I let it.  The next instalment
should be a bit longer.

Special thanks to DLS, for the ideas and for the free editing. :) If only
you could work faster, D . . . and pay me for the honour. :) Both of his
stories are damn good go read.

And, while you're at it, check out the last two Lucky Me instalments see
what Lauren's been up to.  And then wander back to me, cause Mirrors is the
next to be updated. :)

(Lord, 3 stories in this next awards for me.  Thank goodness my readership
has plummeted since LISA. :)

Remember, this isn't based on real people.  I'm not claiming Nick is
anorexic, I'm just borrowing his face to tell a tale.  There's no sex in
this, so age restrictions aren't necessary.  This is all fantasy attached
to real faces.

On with the show.

ScottyT
thepoetboy@hotmail.com

Part 3.

Nick put a towel around his waist and allowed himself to be led from the
bathroom.  He wiped his eyes clear, but seconds later the world was blurred
again.  John took his hand, pulling Nick towards the guest bedroom.  He
didn't pause in his path -- didn't slow to find the doorway.  It was right
where it always was.

When they were in the room, John released Nick and went to sit on the edge
of the bed.  Nick sat directly beside the older man, so their thighs and
shoulders were touching.  There were no sobs to the crying, not anymore --
but the young man still didn't trust himself to speak.  Any words would
just give the cry an opening.  It would retake his throat, and his battle
for control would have to start again.

John pulled his arm back and wrapped it around the young man's shoulders --
the move became more hesitant when it felt the shirtless skin, but the role
of comforter kept it from pulling back.

"Just how close to having that bath were you?" John said with a small grin.

Nick smiled and wiped his eyes again.  He gambled on speech.  "You don't
want to know."

A blush spread across John's cheeks, and Nick laughed.

The laughter held on for just a moment -- just long enough for Nick to
realize how much he'd wanted John to be there.  There was something about
the older man that made everything seem calmer.  Silver linings came out of
the darkness when that little smile showed up in a room -- the happy man
spread calmness like a rain cloud spreads life.

John squeezed his hand on Nick's shoulder.  "So what's up?"

The remainder of the laugh -- the smile that had lingered on -- finally
faded from Nick's lips.  His head fell until he was staring at the
thousands of little loops that made up the fabric of the green towel.  "I'm
in way over my head," Nick said softly.  The sentence branched in his head,
forming links with so many parts of his life.  It echoed back from
everything he found important.

It echoed back from his image of John.

"With your career?"

"It's not my career.  I'm just along for the ride."

"You're an important part of the group.  It's hard to think of the
Backstreet Boys without Nick at the helm."

"That's Brian.  He's the front man -- I don't get used as much."

"With five of you, it's got to be hard to keep things balanced.  They can't
just have you and Brian singing lead on all the songs."

Nick smiled, his lopsided grin that had graced so many teen mags and won so
many hearts.  "Na, that's NSuck's approach."  The smile was only partly
from the joke.  Mainly it came from Nick's surprise at John's knowledge of
the group.

"Why don't you ask for more front time if that's what you want?"

Nick wiped his eyes one last time and found them dry.  He put his hand back
down, resting it on John's knee.  "But that's not what I want.  I like the
more balanced thing."

"Then what is it?"

Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  "I just don't think I can
handle being in the group anymore."  The long blond hair flopped down over
his eyes.  His small lips pursed in thought.

John pulled his arm back and lay down on his side, settling in for a long
talk.  "Why not?"

"You've seen how AJ treats me.  And the fans -- it's horrible.  They think
they deserve to know everything about me.  If I do anything, the rumour
mills grab at it and stretch it all out of proportion.  If I go somewhere,
there they are -- watching.  If I say something, they're listening."  Nick
flopped onto his back beside John.  "And judging.  You should see some of
the stuff on the net -- talking as if they have a right to tear me apart,
picking on me just because of who I am and what I look like."  There Nick
bit his tongue.

"They want to know you.  I'd take that as a plus."

Nick looked over at John, who was propped up on his elbow, holding his head
in his palm.  Nick could feel the older man's breath on his bare chest.  He
wanted to reach out for John's hand, to feel that added security again.

"At first I did.  It was all fun and ego-tripping.  But once you let them
in, you can't just push them back."

"There are no cameras here."

"I know.  I like it here.  It's quiet, and safe."  And you are here, he
added silently.  "But at the end of the week I have to go back, and the
photographers will be there, the fans.  AJ.  I think I want out."

John's brows tightened as he thought it through, tried to enter this boy's
world.  "Why did you get into the group in the first place?" he asked,
poking his finger into Nick's rib cage playfully.  Then the finger stayed
there, finally the hand rested on the pale skin.

"For the music.  The chance at fame."

"Don't you have those?"

Nick brought a hand up to rest on John's.  "It stopped being about the
music the minute we got the first record deal.  It's all about
merchandising, and sales, and appearances."

"The last album was great -- there's still the music.  If the albums
sucked, no-one would care about spreading rumours.  No-one would make the
effort to take your picture.  It'll always come back to the music, and you
guys are damn good at it."

Nick smiled again.  Each one was lasting longer than the last.  The world
wasn't fixed, but for a while it was too far away to matter.

"Thanks," he said.

***

Denny showed herself shortly after dinner.  Nick and John were sitting on
the back porch.  John's guitar was resting on his lap and he was randomly
plucking away at the strings.

"You and Michael sounded good."

"We're not Backstreet Boys, but we get by."  John smiled.  "Any requests?"

"None."

"Then you've been a wonderful audience, g'night everybody."

Nick laughed.  "Have you written anything?"

John shook his head.  "Michael does most of the lyrics.  I do the music."

"He sings?"

"Let's just say you should be glad this morning was acoustic."

"That bad?"

"I've been trying to get Denny to replace him as lead singer.  Besides,
some female blood would sell better."

Nick laughed and put his arm around John's shoulder.  "Then play me some
music you came up with."

John's eyes closed as he decided on something to play and tried to remember
the intro.  Nick watched, intrigued at the reflex -- one that went beyond
sight to something more innate, more human, if there was anything more
human than disability.

The song came out quiet and mellow, a smooth ending to a jumpy day.

"How much can you see, anyway?"

John turned his head to Nick.  "Like, do I see any light?  Weird shadows or
silhouettes?"

"Yeah."

"Nothing."

"And it was always like that?"

"From day one."

The mellowness spread until Nick fell into it -- he yawned widely -- and
watched as Denny slowly limped around the back yard.  The old dog had
reawakened, and the pup was asleep, at least until the next long walk came
to pass.  He couldn't help but remember how quickly the pup knew what her
master wanted.  She'd led him home that afternoon without pause, without
having to be asked.

I want someone to lead me home, Nick thought, turning back to look at John.

Soon the cosy evening brought sleep.  With his head on John's shoulder, the
young man found a rest that was complete and comfortable, thinking of
fallen barns being raised in distant fields.

***

Nick ran his fingers lightly up the back of John's neck.

The fingers lightly slid over the hair on the back of John's neck.  John
leaned into the caress.

"Nick?"  A sly grin spread across John's face.

"Yeah?"

"Just damn well kiss me and get it done."

"Works for me."

Nick put his fingers to John's chin and turned the older man's head.  He
leaned in and tilted his head -- noticing that John's eyes closed again.
John's lips felt like butterfly wings must, soft and alive, knowing that
time is short and intent on experiencing all the beauty there is.

The dream flowed in a circle, a perfect moment.  The kind of dream that
leaves you grinning for days, with the memory, and the feelings that were
part of it -- the feelings of dreams being more pure than anything in
wakefulness.

And through it all, there was John's music, a sound honed over years.  It
soothed Nick's empty stomach, and danced around the dream, weaving in and
out.

***

Nick woke up to the country darkness.  He was lying on his side on the back
porch bench, with his head in John's lap.  John's hand was resting on his
shoulder.

Denny was slowly trying to climb up onto the bench, looking for a place to
lie down beside Nick, hoping to get closer to her master.

She finally settled in the cramped area and rested her heavy head beside
Nick's, her puppy breath on his forehead.  Nick smiled and put an arm over
the old dog, making her welcome.

"You awake?" John whispered.

"Yeah.  Barely."

"You had a long day, don't worry about it."

"Is Michael back?"  Nick was running his fingers through the dog's long
hair.  Her coat seemed yellower than usual from the little bit of light
that leaked out of the kitchen window.

"Nope.  But I think your friends just pulled in."

"Where'd they go today?"

John shrugged and scratched Denny's ears.  She responded with a deep,
grateful rumble and a lolling of her tongue.

"They didn't say."

Howie and AJ could already be heard at the front door, letting themselves
in and laughing loudly about something from some other world, another
reality than that of the back porch.

There was a loud thumping as someone ran up the front stairs, and a jingle
in the kitchen as someone else opened the fridge door.  Then a few moments
of silence before the back door opened.

Howie stopped at the door, finishing his orange juice, and then saw the
trio on the heavy wooden bench.  A smile spread across his face.  "We're
turning in for the night, guys."  His voice was quiet, not wanting to
intrude too much.  "Sleep well, Nicky."

The smile spread further as Howie quietly let himself back into the house.

There was nothing but the distant sound of wind in the fields.

***

In the dark of the kitchen, Nick moved towards the fridge.  Three steps and
reach out.  His hand closed on the handle and pulled the door open,
bringing light back to the room.  He grabbed the lemonade and went in
search of a glass, keeping the fridge door open to light his hunt.

He wasn't in love, he knew that.  With all of the fans, that was one thing
he knew -- there was a line between love and infatuation and people were
quick to assume they'd crossed it.  People were in love with the idea of
being in love.  Every little crush took the label.  It was used recklessly.

No, he wasn't in love, he thought, draining his glass.  But he was getting
there fast enough.

Nick couldn't get Howie's smile out of his mind -- that smile that betrayed
a deeper knowledge, and a lack of surprise.  It was the facial equivalent
of a hug of support.

So Howie knew.  He knew Nick was gay and that John was set in his sights.

>From a crumbling pile of timber in one field, to a newborn barn in the
next.  Things had a way of rebuilding, life had a way of coming back.

Things weren't perfect, Nick knew, but with John around they were
manageable.

He put the glass in the sink and closed the refrigerator door.

***

Michael was on the back porch by the time Nick reappeared.  He was sitting
next to his brother with his head flopped back in exhaustion.  His head
rose to smile at Nick when the screen door banged shut.

"Hey, Nick.  You caused quite a stir today."

"I suppose I did," Nick said, looking over at John and running a hand
through his own blond hair.

"And you're looking better.  I thought for a while there that the wind'd
take you away.  You looked a little light on your feet."

Nick sat down on the back steps, to sit beside where Denny had settled in
his absence.  He stroked her thick fur.  "I guess the sun was getting to
me."

"Well, lots of girls were asking about you after you left.  I told them you
were taken, just to keep them from climbing up the walls while you're
sleeping."  He laughed, a deep resonating laugh that seemed dwarfed in the
darkness under the stars.

Nick smiled.  "I've got some good prospects of my own, thanks."  He noticed
John's head turn away.  "I guess I'm going to turn in."

"Night, kiddo," Michael said, letting his head flop back again.

"Breakfast is going to be oatmeal, eggs and bacon, Nick.  Be ready to be
hungry."  John turned his head and smiled, a smile Nick matched tooth for
tooth.

"I'll do my best."

***

Nick found the stairs as long as ever.  He stood at the top as the panting
came to the surface.

He walked into his room and pushed the door closed with his foot, easily
finding his way to the window where he pushed open the curtains and propped
open the door to the balcony.  The starlight that was let in was enough to
make out the sleeping form on his bed.

Nick quietly walked over and put his hand on Howie's shoulder, shaking him
lightly.  Howie's eyes opened and searched the darkness before settling on
Nick's.

"Hey, Nickie."

"What's up?" Nick whispered.

"That's what I'm here to find out," Howie said with a grin.

Nick sat down on the edge of the bed.  "What've you and AJ been up to?"

"We went into the city to do some shopping.  Brian says hey -- he'll call
you tomorrow.  And now, your turn."

Nick stomach was a hollow cave, with his nervousness echoing off the walls.
There was a heavy thought in his mind -- and a conversation on the brink of
happening.

Conversations were rare for Nick, at least before John showed up.  There
was always so much he couldn't say, so many edits and avoidances.  He had
to be careful about everything he said to anyone.

But somehow Howie already knew.  Nick could feel the knowledge in the
darkness.

"I think he likes me," Nick said softly.

"Good.  He seems like a sweet guy."  Howie put his hands back to prop up
his head.

"How would you know?  You haven't been around."  Nick laughed, but it was
forced, and both men saw the falseness.

"Would you rather AJ be around?"

Nick's shoulders fell.  "No."

"Either I go with him, or he hangs around here and bitches, and picks on
you."

"I know."

Nick realized what was happening, could feel himself being put right back
into the box marked "Nick, Age 14."  This time he knew it was wrong, and
this time he looked for a way out.

"But I don't care, Howie.  He can be an ass if he damn well wants to be,
but I can't just wait for it to stop.  Cause it won't stop -- not on it's
own."

Howie laughed.  "You sound like an after school special."

Nick smiled.  "Sometimes that's the way you have to sound."

There was a lull in the conversation, and the sound of Denny slowly making
her way up the stairs to her bed in her master's room. For a moment there
was a sniffing at Nick's door before the old dog continued down the hall.

"And you like John?"

"Yeah.  A lot."

"The blindness thing doesn't bother you?"

Nick lay down, his shoulder next to Howie's.  "No.  I thought it would, but
it doesn't."

"You're a bigger man than I," Howie said.

"Or so AJ thinks."  Nick's laugh was sincere this time, not catching on the
rough edges of one of AJ's barbs.

"Screw AJ.  You're not fat."

"I know."  Somehow.  When he really thought about it, he knew.  But Nick
never had the time or energy to really think about it, and as soon as a
mirror came in sight, all the thoughts in the world couldn't compete with
the image.

"I'm gonna go turn in.  AJ wants to go to some fair about thirty miles
south of here tomorrow.  Wanna come?"  Howie pulled himself up until he was
sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Not a chance," Nick laughed.

"Then good luck, Romeo.  See ya tomorrow."

"Night, Howie."

***

Nick stood on the balcony, leaning against the wooden railing.  He was
watching the stars, finding the patterns he knew were there.  The Big
Dipper, Orion's Belt.  The names were familiar, but he couldn't remember
where he'd heard them.  He was surprised to be able to locate more than a
few.

His muscles ached and he couldn't remember ever feeling so tired.  He
wanted to climb into bed and stay there until the whole week was over, but
couldn't.  That would mean too much time away from John, too many wasted
chances to be together.

And it wasn't a romantic together he was longing for, not with John.  The
elements were there for romance, of course, even the dreams.  But when he
thought about the rest of the week, it included walks, long talks on the
porch, watching as John cooked.

Gay and straight had no factor on the remaining events, in Nick's mind.
Maybe it was love, then.  Maybe what I'm feeling, Nick thought, is what
real love is -- with no possession, no ownership, and no words to mess it
all up.  Maybe, he thought, love had no gender.

The stars spread out above him, moving in paths he couldn't understand, and
he disappeared into the dark attic bedroom.

***

End part 3.

thepoetboy@hotmail.com