Tell Me I'm Wrong
by northern

The sun was shining horribly down on him. His head felt naked, his hair not enough protection against the burning rays. People were running all over the place to splash in the pool or laughing giddily with friends they'd met minutes ago. Hot could not begin to describe how he felt. His shirt was damp and glued to his back, making it itch. His shorts were tight and chafed him. No visor, no sunglasses, no shelter whatsoever. The sunlight was like a weight, pressing him down into the ground. Even his sandals were getting hot from beneath. What was he doing, standing there like a fool next to the pool?

He got splashed when a girl suddenly ran out in front of him and jumped into the water. That kind of cool was not what he was looking for. He balanced on one foot and wiped the water off his shin. "Get a grip," he mumbled to himself.

He turned to the house and started making his way around it to the back. It took him a while. The house was large and old - a mansion, really - and there were a lot of people in bikinis and shorts cluttering up the lawn and the driveway with their drinks and happy chattering.

When he had finally made his way through the crowd, mumbling avoiding phrases to people who wanted to talk to him, and rounded the huge sandstone corner, everyone suddenly dropped away. No people trying to escape or having a smoke or a private conversation. The back of the house was empty and - in shade. He couldn't believe his luck. He strolled along the façade, feeling on top of the world. The trees here had needles, not leaves. They were plentiful enough that the garden seemed dark. If he breathed deeply enough he thought he could smell them, a fresh, coolish kind of scent. The temperature still admittedly wasn't cool, but anything was better than the sunshine and babbling people around the corner.

Speaking of babbling - someone, or several someones, were approaching from the other side of the house. They sounded very happy. Exuberant, even. He had to avoid them at every price. There was a niche in the wall right in front of him, sloping gently down to a large wooden door. It looked heavy, and Chris doubted it was open, but when he tried it, it swung open easily.

It was dark inside, but Chris didn't bother with finding a light switch in his hurry to hide. He got the door shut quickly and rested a moment against the wooden surface. It was hot against his forehead, but, blissfully and surprisingly, his surroundings weren't.

This must be some kind of storage cellar, Chris thought as he listened for any sound of the people outside. All that stone must keep it cool. It seemed kind of stupid to lean his head against the only hot surface of the room, so he stood up properly and turned around. It wasn't completely dark, now that he'd waited a while. He could see the outlines of the room. It was more like a broad kind of corridor, really, with crates and stacks of things along the walls. He couldn't see the end of it clearly in the dark, but he supposed there would be a door leading somewhere in the back wall.

This was perfect. He'd just stay in here until he felt cool again. He took some steps further into the room to explore a little. The air moved in weak currents against his arms and legs, drying some of the sweat.

Against one of the walls, there was some kind of bookcase, and behind it was a pile of dark fabric. He went closer to investigate, and the pile moved unexpectedly.

"Damn," it said.

Chris stopped in his tracks and eyed the dark shape suspiciously. That had sounded kind of familiar.

"What are you doing here?" the voice continued.

Chris peered through the shadows and saw a shock of blond, spiky hair, finally making the connection.

"And if it isn't little Nicky, hiding in the basement," he said, grinning and leaning against the bookcase, or whatever it was.

Nick Carter stood up, much too close to Chris, towering above him and invading his space. "Who's little?" He seemed flushed in the face and a little short of breath.

Chris smiled comfortably into the frowning face above him without moving an inch. "You are, escaping into the basement like a widdle boy."

Nick glowered even more, but then he seemed to think of something.

"Well, what are you doing, then? You're here in the basement with me, aren't you?" He shoved Chris in the chest, making him stumble against the bookcase. It clinked. Chris bent down and looked at the box on the first shelf, forgetting the childish fight he was trying to get into. He put his hands around the edges of the box and shook.

"Hey, Carter, they have bottles in here," he said to Nick, who still hadn't shifted his attention from the argument just starting up.

"What kind?" Nick crouched down and watched while Chris opened the box, revealing a dozen or so beer bottles, probably put there to keep cold.

Chris grabbed one. It was cold and slippery wet on the surface. It felt fantastic against his hot skin. He stood up and held it against his neck. Even better. He closed his eyes and made a little sound of contentment. "I went down here to avoid the heat," he said. "This is just what I need. You don't have an opener on you, have you?"

Nick was still crouched on the floor, looking at the box of bottles. He half-lifted one out of the box and turned it around, apparently trying to read the label. He tilted his head and Chris admired the strong line of the side of his neck. Looked just right for licking. "No," Nick said absentmindedly. "Use the edge of a shelf or something."

Chris shrugged, placed the bottle cap in position on a shelf and hit on it a couple of times until it loosened. He took a long drink out of the bottle. It was perfect. Cold and tangy. Nick was still trying to read on his bottle. Chris wondered what he was waiting for.

"It's beer. It's for drinking," he said helpfully. He put his bottle back in position against his neck and rolled it around a little. It was heaven.

Nick glared up at him. "I know that!"

Chris smiled and watched as Nick got his bottle opened and took a drink, slumping against the bookcase next to him. Immediately, he looked to be in a better mood. It was a truly good beer. Nick followed his example and held his bottle against the side of his face. Then he removed it and made a grimace. "I've been down here a while. It just feels clammy."

Chris watched the moisture left on Nick's cheek. It glittered faintly. He knew another way to fuck with Nick's head. He leaned forward into Nick's space, tilted his head up and licked the moisture away.

Nick went stiff and unmoving against him. He tasted not unlike the beer, tangy and rich. He didn't seem to be breathing. Chris leaned back again and took another swig of his beer, making sure to keep his comfortable smile on. Nick was staring at his mouth, still not moving. After a second, he shuddered slightly and breathed in. Chris prepared himself for the outburst.

"That felt warm." Nick's voice broke at the end of the sentence and he swallowed visibly. He said nothing else, though, and didn't move, either.

Well, well, well... This might be interesting, in a whole nother way. Chris tried to cover his shock and made himself slip into an almost Lance-like lounge against the bookcase. He tilted his head slightly and lowered his eyelids so that he was looking at Nick through his eyelashes. "Tasted good. You should try it," he said.

Nick's eyes opened wider and he seemed to freeze again, staring at him. He didn't seem likely to move any time in the near future, so Chris took another sample, this time by licking the neck he'd admired earlier in one long, slow swipe. Nick made a noise halfway between an indrawn breath and a whimper, and trembled under his tongue. Very nice. He leaned back again.

Nick's eyes were closed and his mouth was open, tongue sliding briefly over his lips. Chris felt hot just looking at him. "I came down here to get cool," he complained under his breath, and Nick's eyes opened.

"Wha... what?" he asked, blinking several times.

"Nothing." He put his bottle on an empty shelf and took Nick's out of his unresisting hand, doing the same. "You planning on doing anything else but standing there?" There was a dry challenge in his voice that he didn't bother disguising.

Nick blinked a couple of more times, and then Chris suddenly found himself pressed against the bookcase so violently that he had to stop himself from fighting against him. Nick was attacking his throat and face with bites and kisses hard enough to sting, and his back was digging uncomfortably into the shelves behind him. Then Nick found his mouth and he no longer had any attention left to worry about his back, nor the back of his head, which banged once against a shelf before Nick got his hands up and protected it.

Nick's kissing had nothing uninvolved about it, and Chris was content to lose himself in the kiss until it made him want more badly enough to do something about it.

Chris pushed his hips into Nick, trying to get some kind of relief for himself, but that only made Nick groan into his mouth and buck against him, making it impossible to keep any kind of rhythm going. Impatiently, he shoved his hand between their bodies and into Nick's drawstring pants. Nick moaned loudly and scrabbled futilely at the front of his shorts. Chris shivered at the momentary pressure and damned his clothing choice for the second time this day. He managed to get his shorts open with one hand and it was immediately pushed away to make room for one of Nick's large hands squirming inside.

Being kissed by Nick and jacked by Nick's warm hand almost made Chris's brain shortcut. For a moment he could do nothing but arch as close as possible and feel. Then he managed to remind himself that nothing came for free and busied his own hand in Nick's pants. He closed his eyes and gave himself up to laboured breathing through his nose and clinging to Nick with his free hand around his neck.

It didn't take long. Nick climaxed with spasms that tried to fold his body in half, putting a serious strain on Chris's neck, and Chris finished soon after by driving himself hard into Nick's suddenly rigid grip a couple of times.

They leaned against each other for a few long moments, catching their breaths before they parted. Conveniently, there was a roll of tissue paper on one of the shelves.

"What were you doing down here anyway?" Chris asked while he buttoned his shorts again.

Nick wiped his sweaty face with his t-shirt. "What do you think?" he mumbled.