Bleed For Me
Wow. That took a *long* time.
[N'sync/BSB crossovers] [NC-17]
Bleed For Me
This is a hugely AU series (because yes, I *am* writing popslash for NaNo *grin*) wherein the mafia is involved, and kidnapping for murder takes place, and you can't help falling in love with people you shouldn't be falling in love with.
“Fuck it, Lance! I don’t fucking know where he fucking is, okay?”
Lance never lost his cool. Never. The last time he’d actually acted on impulse had been so long ago Chris couldn’t remember what had happened anymore - only that it had involved a car collision, and maybe one or two scars. And pain. That part was clear - the pain.
So watching Lance pace the room like a caged tiger was making Chris nervous.
“He should know better,” Lance was frustrated, that much was obvious. He forced himself to calm, clenching his hands together into tight, white-knuckled fists. “He should know. They’re out there.” Lance slammed his hand onto the table, listening grimly to the satisfying thud.
Chris pressed a knuckle to his forehead, frowning. “The kid won’t talk.”
“I fucking know that!” Lance shut his eyes, tightly, “That’s what worries me.”
“Ni-“ Chris cut himself off. “The guy he’s seeing. Maybe they’re out sorting things through. Give him a couple of days. You know what Justin’s like.”
“Well, he needs to cut it out.” Lance’s eyes gleamed angrily. “He needs to learn how to keep it in his fucking pants when he has to.”
“Lance.” Chris’ voice was sharp, tangy.
Lance just pressed his lips together in a tight, thin line, and didn’t say anymore.
JC, who’d been leaning against the wall in the corner of the room the whole time, straightened himself then, and gave Lance a little nod. “I’ll make some calls.”
The gratitude in Chris’ eyes spoke volumes, and warranted a smile from JC; the man exited the room, gracefully, already mentally running through the list of people who might be of any assistance.
Lance sat down, feeling the anger begin to simmer, and clicked a button on one of his complicated looking gadgets that Chris didn’t think he’d ever figure out. “Howie. Come in a second.”
There was a soft creak of the door. Howie slid inside without a smile. Chris’ eyebrows furrowed.
[“That’s your pretty-ass guard dog? He looks about as scary as a giant rabbit!” There was loud, brash laughter, and Chris felt his blood boil. Howie’s smile never wavered, and he made no indication to show that he’d heard a word.
Chris made to knock the living daylights out of the stranger.
But Howie got to him first. The man went down with a sickening crunch and a moan.
“It’s too bloody for you,” Howie explained, still smiling apologetically, rubbing his knuckles off with his other hand, smudging the drying red flecks even more. His ponytail bounced.
Chris stared.]
Chris never acted as though Howie needed protection anymore - in truth, Chris probably needed it more than Howie did. Howie’s edges were rough beneath the soft curves and pretty smile; he didn’t need anyone running to his rescue. They’d end up looking like broken knights in tattered armor.
So Chris let Howie nod to Lance’s request, ignoring the rolling of his stomach, and the unpleasant feeling in his gut, knowing that whatever Howie was about to face wasn’t something he wanted to think about. At all.
“McLean’s behind this, so tread carefully. I don’t want you getting hurt, too.” Lance’s voice was factual, but his eyes softened slightly as he spoke, and when Howie’s smile widened a little more, Lance nodded, and let him leave the room.
“I’m going to-“ Chris started.
“Go,” Lance dismissed Chris with a wave of the hand.
Chris slipped out of the room after Howie. He didn’t flinch when he saw Howie relaxed against the wall, already waiting for him. “Cocky bastard,” Chris had to laugh, inching closer.
Howie let his lips curl into a smirk, shrugging. “You’re always running after me.”
Chris let it slide, whispering instead, “how long?” and reached to press his lips to Howie’s skin - I love how you taste.
“Couple of days.” Howie ran his hand over Chris’ back, and left it warm around the other man’s neck. He leaned forward to touch his lips to Chris’ ear, voice soft, an intimate gesture, “It’s an easy mission. I’ll be back before you know it, don’t worry.”
Chris forced the stranger’s face, that night’s bloody scene, out of his head, and didn’t think about Justin - there was so much blood - by shifting so he could kiss Howie.
“Fucking Timberlake,” Nick curled his hands into fists, fingernails digging into his skin, willing down the anger. He was close to loading his gun and firing random shots out the window to vent his aggravation. Maybe he’d practice on pigeons.
Then there was a knock, and Nick bit his lip, keeping his emotion in check. When Kevin entered the room, he met Kevin’s gaze levelly. Like a professional. Which he was. “You got a job for me?”
“Alex is gonna be out of town for a couple months with Brian and Fatone. So. Low profile.”
“I got it.”
“And keep working on Bass. Anyone from his team’s a good catch. Orders are to shoot on sight.”
Nick just nodded, his voice suddenly stuck in his throat. He jammed his hand into his jean pocket as Kevin exited the room, hand clutching the bandanna nestled warmly there, “Fucking Timberlake.”
[The door to the apartment slammed as Justin forcibly pulled himself through it. His left hand was wrapped around his stomach, knuckles white where it gripped his side. He leaned against the closed door, pain wracking his body, and slid down to the floor, a trail of blood following the motion of his body.
There was a soft ‘oh god’, and then Nick stepped out of the shadows, reaching for the wall. “Don’t,” Justin rasped, eyes fluttering, “Don’t hit the lights.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Nick reassured him, voice shaking somewhat, as he knelt by Justin’s side.
“Nick, fuck, Nick.” Justin’s breathing was shallow, his lips drained of color, and his knuckles were white where they clutched his body, although the flow of red was still palpable from between his fingers, and Nick could see a trickle of blood drying on the side of Justin’s face. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Nick could feel himself panicking. ‘Keep calm,’ he thought, helplessly, reaching to dab the blood off of Justin’s face, trying not to acknowledge the wince that crossed Justin’s lips. ‘Don’t lose it now, Nick. Not now.’
“J. God Justin. What happened?” Nick grabbed a box of tissue off the table, pressing a ply gently to Justin’s forehead. ‘Keep him talking,’ Nick ordered himself. ‘He’s not going to fucking die on me now!’
“I was at the pub,” Justin sounded breathless, “and they. The drink - they spiked it. A fucking *coke* and they.” He choked, “Your boys, Nick. They were your boys.”
Nick felt himself tense involuntarily, and he bit his lip hard, gently stroking Justin’s forehead. Discretely, he pulled out his phone, sending a text message to a number he’d memorized by heart - Chris’. “Keep talking, J,” he murmured, soothingly, his fingers flying nimbly over his keypad.
Justin had shut his eyes. “Can’t remember. My head. They hit me with a bottle, outside the pub. Tried to take my gun, but I wouldn’t let them.” Justin’s weapon hung limply in his free hand. “Then they hit me. And I couldn’t.”
Nick nodded. “I know,” he said, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”
“Your boys. They’ll know. They’ve found me.” Justin’s voice grew faint. “They’re chasing. So close, Nick. They can’t see you here. You have to get out.”
‘Can’t leave you like this!’ Nick wanted to say, but he settled for squeezing Justin’s shoulder, and brushing a strand of hair out of Justin’s eyes. Then Nick moved Justin gently away from the door, carrying him to a chair, trying not to wince when Justin’s face contorted from the pain. The younger man’s lips moved, but there was no sound, and Nick clasped Justin’s fingers with his own. “Don’t die on me, J,” he whispered, but his only response was a soft groan.
Nick stood, then, wishing there was more he could do. But if he touched any of Justin’s wounds, they’d know. They’d be caught; Nick shuddered at the thought of the consequences.
Justin’s soft voice stopped him from leaving, just yet. “Don’t. Whatever you do, don’t touch them, Nick. If McLean finds out, you’ll-”
“Shh,” Nick leaned over, pressing his lips to the corner of Justin’s mouth tenderly, inwardly seething. “Shh, don’t talk. It’ll be okay.”
“They’ll… talk.” It was taking obvious effort for Justin to speak. Nick silenced him with another soft kiss. And later, when Nick slid out the door, his eyes were dark, murderous, and he only had one thought in mind.
Dead men don’t talk.]
Justin felt himself being jerked awake by a bucketful of cold water to the face. He forced his eyes open, blinking rapidly, hoping to clear his vision. After a moment, he was able to make out someone advancing on him with a knife.
He struggled for a second, trying to get into a defensive pose, but he was held down by rope from almost everywhere, and he was still gagged. There was a brief pause as the stranger loomed over him, weapon glinting, and Justin closed his eyes, body sagging. He waited with abated breath and when he felt the rush of air as the knife was dragged downwards, he wondered if it would hurt.
But he never found out.
“Get up,” the edge of a foot nudged his stomach, and Justin opened his eyes wearily; he’d only been cut loose from his uncomfortable position on the floor. He took a minute to get his bearings - realizing, at last, that he’d been held captive in a van for the past… however long it had been - and then tried to stand.
He gave up on his third try.
His capturer rolled his eyes, and then reached out to pull Justin roughly to his feet. There was a moment where Justin felt his legs tremble and he tried to reach out to steady himself, but his wrists were still tied firmly behind his back, and he nearly fell forward, his still bound ankles preventing further movement. But then there was another flash of the knife, and the rope around Justin’s ankles lay in pieces on the floor.
“Walk.”
Justin couldn’t make his legs move. It still felt as though his knees were going to collapse beneath him.
“*Walk*.” The voice was directly behind him now, and Justin felt the sharp point of the knife cut sharply into his back. A hand crushed itself over Justin’s shoulder, and he winced as he was propelled forward.
Justin tried. One step, two. It was difficult, and the sole task of putting one foot in front of the other required all his concentration. His legs were still numb when he was released, and he stumbled a little, till a hand reached out to steady him, and he felt his gag being removed.
When Justin looked up, he immediate reflex was to pull away. McLean leered at him, a smirk Justin didn’t like decorating his face. His hand was warm on Justin’s back, and with a slight tug, Justin fell forward against McLean’s chest, leaning heavily against the older man.
McLean’s breath was hot against Justin’s ear, although both men remained silent for a long time, both waiting for the other to give in.
Justin won out.
McLean glared, and shoved Justin backwards, into the arms of the earlier man, and Justin felt the familiar prick of the knife against his spine.
“Just to make sure you know what you’re doing here,” McLean started, his eyes assessing the damage that had already been done to Justin’s body, “we’ll run through this very quickly.”
Justin felt his heart start to race, If they’ve found out about Nick, they’ll…
“You’re not going to kill me, or you would have done it already.” Justin interrupted, his face a mask of calm, even as he tried to take his mind off Nick, and what they might have found out. “And I’d rather die than become your hostage.”
“You don’t have a choice.” McLean hid his smile. The boy was good.
“I’m making one.” Justin threw himself backwards, waiting for the feel of the knife sliding into his body. His movement was quick. Sudden.
And completely expected.
Justin fell as he leaned backwards, and instead of a knife, or a sturdy chest, his back found the floor. His hands, still behind his back, broke his fall, and Justin felt something twist beneath his skin. He couldn’t hold back a wince; it shadowed his face briefly and then disappeared.
McLean moved closer, his unpleasant smile never wavering. “Justin, I know you. I can predict every move you’ve thought up, or will think up, in that pretty blonde head of yours. So I suggest you don’t try anything funny; it’s not going to work.”
Justin’s eyes were dark. He spat in McLean’s face, and when McLean didn’t move away quickly enough, a half-triumphant grin settled on Justin’s lips. “Not quite.”
McLean glared, taking Justin’s chin between his index and thumb. Their eyes locked, and for a long, terrifying moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, and the intensity of the other’s eyes.
Then Justin lifted a leg, so quickly that no one realized what he was doing. But the loud “fuck” that escaped McLean’s mouth, the hand that went straight to his crotch, the pained disbelief that had been written clearly over his face - that made the thrashing Justin got worth it.
[N'sync/BSB crossovers] [NC-17]
Bleed For Me
This is a hugely AU series (because yes, I *am* writing popslash for NaNo *grin*) wherein the mafia is involved, and kidnapping for murder takes place, and you can't help falling in love with people you shouldn't be falling in love with.
“Fuck it, Lance! I don’t fucking know where he fucking is, okay?”
Lance never lost his cool. Never. The last time he’d actually acted on impulse had been so long ago Chris couldn’t remember what had happened anymore - only that it had involved a car collision, and maybe one or two scars. And pain. That part was clear - the pain.
So watching Lance pace the room like a caged tiger was making Chris nervous.
“He should know better,” Lance was frustrated, that much was obvious. He forced himself to calm, clenching his hands together into tight, white-knuckled fists. “He should know. They’re out there.” Lance slammed his hand onto the table, listening grimly to the satisfying thud.
Chris pressed a knuckle to his forehead, frowning. “The kid won’t talk.”
“I fucking know that!” Lance shut his eyes, tightly, “That’s what worries me.”
“Ni-“ Chris cut himself off. “The guy he’s seeing. Maybe they’re out sorting things through. Give him a couple of days. You know what Justin’s like.”
“Well, he needs to cut it out.” Lance’s eyes gleamed angrily. “He needs to learn how to keep it in his fucking pants when he has to.”
“Lance.” Chris’ voice was sharp, tangy.
Lance just pressed his lips together in a tight, thin line, and didn’t say anymore.
JC, who’d been leaning against the wall in the corner of the room the whole time, straightened himself then, and gave Lance a little nod. “I’ll make some calls.”
The gratitude in Chris’ eyes spoke volumes, and warranted a smile from JC; the man exited the room, gracefully, already mentally running through the list of people who might be of any assistance.
Lance sat down, feeling the anger begin to simmer, and clicked a button on one of his complicated looking gadgets that Chris didn’t think he’d ever figure out. “Howie. Come in a second.”
There was a soft creak of the door. Howie slid inside without a smile. Chris’ eyebrows furrowed.
[“That’s your pretty-ass guard dog? He looks about as scary as a giant rabbit!” There was loud, brash laughter, and Chris felt his blood boil. Howie’s smile never wavered, and he made no indication to show that he’d heard a word.
Chris made to knock the living daylights out of the stranger.
But Howie got to him first. The man went down with a sickening crunch and a moan.
“It’s too bloody for you,” Howie explained, still smiling apologetically, rubbing his knuckles off with his other hand, smudging the drying red flecks even more. His ponytail bounced.
Chris stared.]
Chris never acted as though Howie needed protection anymore - in truth, Chris probably needed it more than Howie did. Howie’s edges were rough beneath the soft curves and pretty smile; he didn’t need anyone running to his rescue. They’d end up looking like broken knights in tattered armor.
So Chris let Howie nod to Lance’s request, ignoring the rolling of his stomach, and the unpleasant feeling in his gut, knowing that whatever Howie was about to face wasn’t something he wanted to think about. At all.
“McLean’s behind this, so tread carefully. I don’t want you getting hurt, too.” Lance’s voice was factual, but his eyes softened slightly as he spoke, and when Howie’s smile widened a little more, Lance nodded, and let him leave the room.
“I’m going to-“ Chris started.
“Go,” Lance dismissed Chris with a wave of the hand.
Chris slipped out of the room after Howie. He didn’t flinch when he saw Howie relaxed against the wall, already waiting for him. “Cocky bastard,” Chris had to laugh, inching closer.
Howie let his lips curl into a smirk, shrugging. “You’re always running after me.”
Chris let it slide, whispering instead, “how long?” and reached to press his lips to Howie’s skin - I love how you taste.
“Couple of days.” Howie ran his hand over Chris’ back, and left it warm around the other man’s neck. He leaned forward to touch his lips to Chris’ ear, voice soft, an intimate gesture, “It’s an easy mission. I’ll be back before you know it, don’t worry.”
Chris forced the stranger’s face, that night’s bloody scene, out of his head, and didn’t think about Justin - there was so much blood - by shifting so he could kiss Howie.
“Fucking Timberlake,” Nick curled his hands into fists, fingernails digging into his skin, willing down the anger. He was close to loading his gun and firing random shots out the window to vent his aggravation. Maybe he’d practice on pigeons.
Then there was a knock, and Nick bit his lip, keeping his emotion in check. When Kevin entered the room, he met Kevin’s gaze levelly. Like a professional. Which he was. “You got a job for me?”
“Alex is gonna be out of town for a couple months with Brian and Fatone. So. Low profile.”
“I got it.”
“And keep working on Bass. Anyone from his team’s a good catch. Orders are to shoot on sight.”
Nick just nodded, his voice suddenly stuck in his throat. He jammed his hand into his jean pocket as Kevin exited the room, hand clutching the bandanna nestled warmly there, “Fucking Timberlake.”
[The door to the apartment slammed as Justin forcibly pulled himself through it. His left hand was wrapped around his stomach, knuckles white where it gripped his side. He leaned against the closed door, pain wracking his body, and slid down to the floor, a trail of blood following the motion of his body.
There was a soft ‘oh god’, and then Nick stepped out of the shadows, reaching for the wall. “Don’t,” Justin rasped, eyes fluttering, “Don’t hit the lights.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Nick reassured him, voice shaking somewhat, as he knelt by Justin’s side.
“Nick, fuck, Nick.” Justin’s breathing was shallow, his lips drained of color, and his knuckles were white where they clutched his body, although the flow of red was still palpable from between his fingers, and Nick could see a trickle of blood drying on the side of Justin’s face. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Nick could feel himself panicking. ‘Keep calm,’ he thought, helplessly, reaching to dab the blood off of Justin’s face, trying not to acknowledge the wince that crossed Justin’s lips. ‘Don’t lose it now, Nick. Not now.’
“J. God Justin. What happened?” Nick grabbed a box of tissue off the table, pressing a ply gently to Justin’s forehead. ‘Keep him talking,’ Nick ordered himself. ‘He’s not going to fucking die on me now!’
“I was at the pub,” Justin sounded breathless, “and they. The drink - they spiked it. A fucking *coke* and they.” He choked, “Your boys, Nick. They were your boys.”
Nick felt himself tense involuntarily, and he bit his lip hard, gently stroking Justin’s forehead. Discretely, he pulled out his phone, sending a text message to a number he’d memorized by heart - Chris’. “Keep talking, J,” he murmured, soothingly, his fingers flying nimbly over his keypad.
Justin had shut his eyes. “Can’t remember. My head. They hit me with a bottle, outside the pub. Tried to take my gun, but I wouldn’t let them.” Justin’s weapon hung limply in his free hand. “Then they hit me. And I couldn’t.”
Nick nodded. “I know,” he said, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”
“Your boys. They’ll know. They’ve found me.” Justin’s voice grew faint. “They’re chasing. So close, Nick. They can’t see you here. You have to get out.”
‘Can’t leave you like this!’ Nick wanted to say, but he settled for squeezing Justin’s shoulder, and brushing a strand of hair out of Justin’s eyes. Then Nick moved Justin gently away from the door, carrying him to a chair, trying not to wince when Justin’s face contorted from the pain. The younger man’s lips moved, but there was no sound, and Nick clasped Justin’s fingers with his own. “Don’t die on me, J,” he whispered, but his only response was a soft groan.
Nick stood, then, wishing there was more he could do. But if he touched any of Justin’s wounds, they’d know. They’d be caught; Nick shuddered at the thought of the consequences.
Justin’s soft voice stopped him from leaving, just yet. “Don’t. Whatever you do, don’t touch them, Nick. If McLean finds out, you’ll-”
“Shh,” Nick leaned over, pressing his lips to the corner of Justin’s mouth tenderly, inwardly seething. “Shh, don’t talk. It’ll be okay.”
“They’ll… talk.” It was taking obvious effort for Justin to speak. Nick silenced him with another soft kiss. And later, when Nick slid out the door, his eyes were dark, murderous, and he only had one thought in mind.
Dead men don’t talk.]
Justin felt himself being jerked awake by a bucketful of cold water to the face. He forced his eyes open, blinking rapidly, hoping to clear his vision. After a moment, he was able to make out someone advancing on him with a knife.
He struggled for a second, trying to get into a defensive pose, but he was held down by rope from almost everywhere, and he was still gagged. There was a brief pause as the stranger loomed over him, weapon glinting, and Justin closed his eyes, body sagging. He waited with abated breath and when he felt the rush of air as the knife was dragged downwards, he wondered if it would hurt.
But he never found out.
“Get up,” the edge of a foot nudged his stomach, and Justin opened his eyes wearily; he’d only been cut loose from his uncomfortable position on the floor. He took a minute to get his bearings - realizing, at last, that he’d been held captive in a van for the past… however long it had been - and then tried to stand.
He gave up on his third try.
His capturer rolled his eyes, and then reached out to pull Justin roughly to his feet. There was a moment where Justin felt his legs tremble and he tried to reach out to steady himself, but his wrists were still tied firmly behind his back, and he nearly fell forward, his still bound ankles preventing further movement. But then there was another flash of the knife, and the rope around Justin’s ankles lay in pieces on the floor.
“Walk.”
Justin couldn’t make his legs move. It still felt as though his knees were going to collapse beneath him.
“*Walk*.” The voice was directly behind him now, and Justin felt the sharp point of the knife cut sharply into his back. A hand crushed itself over Justin’s shoulder, and he winced as he was propelled forward.
Justin tried. One step, two. It was difficult, and the sole task of putting one foot in front of the other required all his concentration. His legs were still numb when he was released, and he stumbled a little, till a hand reached out to steady him, and he felt his gag being removed.
When Justin looked up, he immediate reflex was to pull away. McLean leered at him, a smirk Justin didn’t like decorating his face. His hand was warm on Justin’s back, and with a slight tug, Justin fell forward against McLean’s chest, leaning heavily against the older man.
McLean’s breath was hot against Justin’s ear, although both men remained silent for a long time, both waiting for the other to give in.
Justin won out.
McLean glared, and shoved Justin backwards, into the arms of the earlier man, and Justin felt the familiar prick of the knife against his spine.
“Just to make sure you know what you’re doing here,” McLean started, his eyes assessing the damage that had already been done to Justin’s body, “we’ll run through this very quickly.”
Justin felt his heart start to race, If they’ve found out about Nick, they’ll…
“You’re not going to kill me, or you would have done it already.” Justin interrupted, his face a mask of calm, even as he tried to take his mind off Nick, and what they might have found out. “And I’d rather die than become your hostage.”
“You don’t have a choice.” McLean hid his smile. The boy was good.
“I’m making one.” Justin threw himself backwards, waiting for the feel of the knife sliding into his body. His movement was quick. Sudden.
And completely expected.
Justin fell as he leaned backwards, and instead of a knife, or a sturdy chest, his back found the floor. His hands, still behind his back, broke his fall, and Justin felt something twist beneath his skin. He couldn’t hold back a wince; it shadowed his face briefly and then disappeared.
McLean moved closer, his unpleasant smile never wavering. “Justin, I know you. I can predict every move you’ve thought up, or will think up, in that pretty blonde head of yours. So I suggest you don’t try anything funny; it’s not going to work.”
Justin’s eyes were dark. He spat in McLean’s face, and when McLean didn’t move away quickly enough, a half-triumphant grin settled on Justin’s lips. “Not quite.”
McLean glared, taking Justin’s chin between his index and thumb. Their eyes locked, and for a long, terrifying moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, and the intensity of the other’s eyes.
Then Justin lifted a leg, so quickly that no one realized what he was doing. But the loud “fuck” that escaped McLean’s mouth, the hand that went straight to his crotch, the pained disbelief that had been written clearly over his face - that made the thrashing Justin got worth it.