BittyBang! - The Circle Game - Part 1
Title: The Circle Game
Author: otherdeb
Artist: milosflaca
Pairing: Howie Dorough/Chris Kirkpatrick
Rating/Warnings: R (emotional baggage, m/m sex)
Word Count: 20,267
Summary: Howie and Chris have been everything from lovers to friends to enemies over the years. Can they make it last this time?
Link to art: art by milosflaca
“And the seasons, they go round and round/And the painted ponies go up and down/We're captive on a carousel of time/We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came/And go round and round and round in the circle game.”*
- - - - - - - - -
Chris and Howie had always been there for each other in a crisis. Always had been, and probably always would be. It had been that way ever since the day Howie had joined the chorus, and Chris had fallen in love with him. He remembered that day clearly - even all these years later.
“Class, this is our new countertenor, Howie. Howie, say hi to everyone.” Even though the professor meant well, it was clear that the guy was uncomfortable at being presented as if he were some sort of prize. Although, Chris told himself, the guy certainly was a prize, at least in the looks and hotness departments. If he could sing, too, well... Howie had, in fact, told Chris, long after they had become friends, that he had been wishing he could fade into the wall. Chris had grinned, and told him that he had, personally, thought he looked adorable, all fidgety and nervous.
Chris had, of course, seen Howie around campus, but figured there was no way he'd be interested. For one thing, Howie never hung out. For another, he dated girls. And even if he had dated boys, Chris was sure that Howie was so far out of his league that there was no way he'd be interested in him.
Chris remembered how annoyed he'd been that another countertenor was joining, remembered telling himself, Shit, this guy is gonna be up for all my parts in chorus. Why the hell should I cut him any slack? As the term wore on, though, he had learned that Howie was not temperamental, and that if he thought Chris was better suited to a part than he was, he would insist that it be given to Chris. He also found out that Howie was generous of spirit in other ways; once Howie had found out that Chris walked three miles from campus to work, he managed to be “going that way” a fair number of times, and had offered Chris rides. Eventually, they added going for sodas or coffee after rehearsals to those trips, and Chris found himself spilling his life story to Howie. Howie, in turn, shared tales of his family, tales brimming with so much love that it made Chris' heart ache.
Howie, however, had a full course load, and a part-time job, as opposed to Chris who had a full-time job and could only take a few courses each term, so their hanging out was pretty much restricted to those coffee runs and the times Howie was able to give Chris a lift home or to work. Still, a deep and fast friendship formed, despite the walls they both were reluctant to let crumble. It was clearly a friendship of opposites: the working class kid who was loud and supported his mother and sisters the best he could, and the quiet, much-loved youngest son of a middle-class family who gave him everything they could. The kid who got by with grades barely good enough to keep him eligible for choir and the conscientious kid who actually studied hard and pulled almost perfect grades.
When Howie invited Chris over for Thanksgiving, Chris declined. He wanted to be with his mother and sisters. When he also declined a Christmas invitation, Howie took matters into his own hands. He told his parents about his fatherless friend who was single-handedly trying to provide a Christmas for his mother and sisters. Howie's mother had reacted exactly as he thought she would, and on Christmas Day, the Dorough family descended on the Kirkpatrick household, en masse, with much food and merriment, and no sign of doing it as charity, or out of pity. When they left, Howie remained, and he and Chris spent the night quietly talking. At some point talking turned into cuddling. By New Year's, they were inseparable.
* * * * *
Chris sighed. That time, they had made it almost all the way through school before he had gotten drunk at a party and cheated. The break had been worse than painful, with Howie saying that he hoped when he got back from his new gig Chris would have gotten his head out of his ass. Neither of them had known how far that gig would take Howie, or how far the introduction Howie had made between Chris and his new manager would take Chris. And by the time Howie had returned to the States as a member of one of the fastest rising vocal groups in the country, things had changed. Lou had betrayed Howie and Backstreet by setting up Chris and his friends as a band to rival them. They managed to be civil at industry functions, but there was a wall between them. What no one outside of both camps knew was that a large part of the feud between their groups was Backstreet being determined to keep Howie from getting hurt again, although they didn't know just what the issue was, and *Nsync feeling the same way about Chris. Chris had spent much of that time hoping that none of his guys would slip and betray Howie's secret to his “brothers,” since Howie had obviously never discussed the real reasons for his problems with Chris with them.
Things probably would have stayed that way if Caroline had lived. Between her loss and Brian's need for surgery, which Lou kept insisting they postpone, not to mention the grueling schedule both bands were on, Howie was falling apart. Old enough to drink in a lot of the places they played, he was burying his pain with a bottle or other recreational substances. Chris had run into Howie and Kevin one evening, and helped Kevin get him back to their hotel. He offered to stay with Howie until he could function the next day, and Kevin accepted his offer. When Howie woke up to find Chris there, he was too hung over to protest much. Chris got him aspirin, and tea, and listened to Howie pour out his grief and fear. When Chris turned him over to Kevin later that morning, Howie was not only functional, he was almost himself again. Chris took to calling him, and to showing up to hang out when they were in the same city, and soon they were a (very closeted) couple again. Chris hated being closeted, but Lou had worked hard to convince each of them that being open would destroy their appeal, their bands, and their careers. Howie took being closeted a lot better because he was not out to anyone but his band mates and Chris, mostly for fear of devastating his very Catholic, conservative parents.
* * * * *
They had bought the house after both groups had hit big. It was far from the hot spots - the places where people would freak over seeing them, let alone seeing them together. Chris was not happy that Howie still refused to come out of the closet. Then again, at least Howie had progressed from only being open with the other Backstreeters, to including Chris' bandmates in the circle of people who knew he was gay. To his parents, Howie had justified buying the house with Chris as being good because he'd have someone around, and because, since both of them were working musicians, they would each understand the other's need for privacy and down times.
It had been their home for almost a decade when they split again. This time, the split was Howie's doing. He had always wanted kids and was going to marry a female friend to get them. Chris understood, really he did. And when Howie had told him to keep the house, he could see no reason not to. He didn't go there much, but it was there both physically, and in his mind; a memory of some of the best parts of his life. He had never expected the marriage to last as long as it did, but when it blew up spectacularly, and Howie disappeared, Chris had a feeling where he was heading. He beat Howie to the house by two days, and had things ready when a very drunk, very scared Howie appeared at the door.
“Hey Chris! C'mon. Answer the door. Please.” Chris could hear the edge of anguish and hysteria in Howie's voice.
“Hey, man. Come on in. You look like shit.” He held the door and stepped back Howie looked nothing like the immaculate, shiny pop star most people saw. He was unshaven, and clearly hung over.
“You knew I was coming?”
“I didn't know, but when you dropped out of sight so even your posse couldn't find you, I thought it might be in your head.”
“Yeah, well...I couldn't deal with any...with all the shit....” He dropped his bag and headed for the bathroom. When he reappeared, he was pale as a sheet.
“Go lie down.” Chris didn't even look up.
“I'm....”
“You are not okay. Go lie down.” Howie sighed and obeyed. After he'd had time to undress and had slid between the covers, Chris knocked on the door. “You want some tea, Howie?”
“Yeah. And, thanks.”
“Not needed. Get some sleep, and the tea'll be there when you wake up.”
“Chris....”
“It's okay. I'll sleep on the couch.” He turned and left before Howie could see how upset he was, totally missing that Howie had been about to ask him to stay.
* * * * *
When Howie woke up, Chris had been as good as his word. There was tea on one of those little warming thingies, and a honey bear beside it on the night table. There were clean clothes folded on the chair - clothes Howie recognized from when they had lived there as a couple. He showered and dressed, and went to the kitchen, where Chris was dishing up food.
As they ate, Howie told Chris his side of how his marriage had crashed and burned. It wasn't a pretty story, beginning with his wife miscarrying several times and blaming him, continuing with the fights and thrown dishes and other crockery, and how he had tried to take the abuse she dished out on a daily basis. How, when she could no longer get a rise out of him, she had started hitting, how he tried to defend himself without hurting her. How, when she finally had come at him with a kitchen knife, he had tried to disarm her, and how she told the police he'd attacked her and had him arrested. How Kevin had bailed him out and gotten an attorney. By the time he was done, he was shaking, and Chris ached to hold him, but there was no way he was going to do anything that would shatter the fragile shell that was clearly the only thing holding Howie together.
* * * * *
That time, Howie had stayed with him for three years. While nothing really terrible had happened, Chris had still known when their time was coming to an end. Howie had been restless when he was home, which wasn't all that often. He'd been burying himself in work, not just with Backstreet, but with DLF and with his real estate deals. Howie never said anything was wrong, but by then he knew that Howie would sooner have been crushed to death in his purple Porsche than admit that he was failing at a relationship again.
It was a lot harder to let him go this time, but Chris managed. He even managed to get on with his life after Howie was gone, and not be bitter about how it had ended. He did some reality TV, and started exploring different kinds of music - nothing like what Justin, Joey, or JC were doing; just stuff that made him feel good when he played it.
Chris officially came out about three months after Lance did. With *Nsync on a pretty obviously permanent hiatus, and the authorities finally catching up with Lou and bringing him to account for some of his misdeeds, it had seemed pointless to remain closeted any longer. And since media attention was still primarily focused on Lance and Reichen and their international jet-setting, he was able to do it fairly quietly: a couple of interviews, a lot of jokes about intra-boyband love, and then keeping a low profile, which worked since he wasn't seeing anyone at the time. The phone call from a still-very-closeted Howie, congratulating him for having the courage, was not surprising, but was gratefully accepted for what it was: a friend who would never come out being happy for his being able to make the decision to do so, and being able to do it on his own terms.
* * * * *
He hadn't planned on calling Howie after his knee surgery; hadn't planned on calling anyone at all, just holing up in his house except for physical therapy sessions. Yeah, Howie had come to see him in the hospital. He had never figured out how Howie had found out where he was. He knew Howie hated hospitals and why. Yet there Howie stood - nervous at seeing yet another friend in a hospital bed; quietly freaking because it was Chris - whon he normally needed all his energy to keep up with - in the bed this time. He stayed as long as he could stand being there, then politely made his excuses and left, and Chris would never forget the fear in his eyes.
Once he was home from the hospital, Howie had called a couple of times to see how he was doing. He thought he managed to keep the depression from his voice, but he was never good at fooling Howie. When he finally hit rock bottom one day - when it all became too much to deal with - he picked up the phone. When Howie answered, he just said one word, “Help.”
It had taken Howie about half an hour to get to Chris' house, and that probably included breaking a few of the more important traffic laws. He took one look at Chris and said, “Come to my place?” Chris just nodded.
Howie packed a bag according to Chris' instructions, grabbed a few sets of sheets and Chris' pillow, and stuffed it all into his car. He then helped Chris to get up and stable on his crutches, and waited by the vehicle, door open.
Chris grimaced as he reached the car.
“What? You wanted to vault over the door?” Howie was rewarded with a patented Kirkpatrick glare. He grinned back. They drove back to Howie's in a companionable silence. Howie knew that Chris had to have been in pretty bad shape to call him, but he also didn't want to pressure him. He knew Chris would tell him what was going on eventually. Chris was rotten at keeping things inside, even though he often tried to.
When they got to Howie's penthouse condo, Howie moved Chris' things into one of his guest rooms, and remade the bed while Chris watched the fish in Howie's aquarium wall, entranced. He'd always loved the sea - not like Nick, who had to be in touch with it regularly - but in a watch-and-wonder sort of way. He was so lost in watching that Howie had to call him several times to tell him that the room was ready for him. He forced himself up and hobbled his way, thankful that Howie had not chosen a room next to his own. Two rooms down and across the hall was enough distance for privacy, yet close enough that if he did anything stupid like fall or try to get out of bed without his crutches, help was nearby.
Howie watched Chris settle himself.
“Is this okay? I figured having your own stuff would make it more bearable.”
“Yeah, Howie. It's fine. And you are, ever and always, the perfect host.” He grinned, and it felt strange.
“Okay. I have to go out for a bit. Will you be okay? I could call one of your guys...” His voice trailed off at the look Chris gave him.
“Howie, I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter. Go.” He made shooing motions with his hands.
“If you're sure. Should I bring in something before I go?”
“Howie, I know this house as well as I know my own. I'll be fine. Honest.” He saw that Howie was genuinely worried. “Just let me know when you're on your way back so I can order the takeout.” He grinned. “And, no, you don't have to leave money. My treat.” Howie nodded.
“Okay. You have my number...”
“Still on my speed dial, boy. Now, go, for the last time.” When Howie had left the room he eased himself from a sitting position to a lying-down one. Fortunately, Howie had thought to turn down the bed covers, so he didn't have to ruin things by calling Howie back to do that.
* * * * *
Howie had been exhausted when he got home, so he decided to take a nap before dinner. He woke to a thud, but wasn't sure it hadn't been part of a dream, so he stayed still and waited to see if he'd hear anything else. A small groan, and he remembered that Chris was in his guest room. Stopping only long enough to pull on a pair of boxers, he headed there to find Chris on the floor, cursing quietly. Without a word, he helped Chris back onto the bed and got Chris' crutches.
“Bathroom?” he asked when Chris stopped for breath. When Chris nodded, Howie put the crutches down, pulled Chris up and said, “Lean on me?” Chris nodded again, figuring it would be quicker to let Howie help him. Once Howie'd gotten Chris there, he closed the door partway to give him some privacy, then retrieved the crutches. When Chris answered his knock, he reached in and leaned the crutches next to the door, then went back to Chris' room and waited.
Chris was a little surprised that Howie was in the room when he returned, but he just said, “Thanks, man.” Howie nodded.
“Chris, I know we aren't exactly close anymore.” Howie sounded tentative. “But if you need to talk, I'm here and I'd like to think you can still trust me enough to listen if you need it.”
“Of course I trust you. Would I have called you otherwise?” He waited until Howie nodded. “But I don't know how to say what I need to yet.” Another nod. “I just know that I needed to call you, so I did.”
“Not a problem. When you're ready, I'm around.” He moved to the bed and sat next to Chris. “You know I worry.”
“Yep.” Chris grinned. “That's you - the world's biggest Irish Puerto Rican Jewish mother.”
“I guess.” He nodded. “Speaking of which, did you eat today?”
“Yes, mother.” Chris' tone was mock-aggrieved.
“I'm only asking because I was thinking of ordering.”
“Did you check the fridge? I ordered for you when I ordered.”
“Oh?”
“Yep. Linguine with red clam sauce.”
“Cool. Thanks.” He turned to go.
“You want some company while you eat?”
“That would rock. Need a hand getting stable?” He gestured toward the crutches.
“Nope. But I can just see the look on Joey's face if I tell him you used 'stable' in a sentence about me.” They laughed all the way to the kitchen.
Howie made Chris a pot of coffee while his food was reheating. “You sure I should give you this? How much sugar have you had today?”
“Hey, I'm not Nick. I'll have you know I can handle my caffeine and sugar.”
“Yeah, I've seen how you handle it. There's a reason they never let you have any on tour, y'know.” He grinned at Chris, and placed a steaming mug in front of him, then watched Chris add cream and enough sugar to drop a small elephant, then sip it experimentally.
“Damn, boy! Your coffee can still double as paint remover.”
“You don't like it, you could make your own, y'know.” Howie sniffed in mock offense. “And who you calling 'boy,' boy? My job is to provide crash space, not maid service.” He got his food out of the microwave and sat across from Chris. “You need to take meds or anything?”
Chris grimaced. “Not for another two hours, but thanks.” He took another sip of coffee.
“You talk to any of your guys yet?”
Chris nodded and put his mug down. “I called Joey and Lance.”
“They okay with you hiding out for a bit, or did you tell them where you were?”
“They both deduced I was at your place from the number on their caller IDs.” Howie nodded.
“Joey said he thought my coming here was a 'Good Thing.'”
“And Lance?”
“He thought I was getting in over my head.”
“Is he right?” Howie took a bite of his dinner. “Mmm. You called Antonio's. Thanks.”
“I honestly don't know.” Chris sighed. “I want to think we can still be friends...”
“But?”
“But I'm afraid we'll only hurt each other again.” He watched Howie digest that. “I don't know why we always end up that way, but it seems we do.”
“Chris, I'm not pushing for anything. I hope you know that.”
“I do, but we always seem to end up in bed again.”
“Is that so horrible?”
“No, but the damage we end up doing each other is pretty bad.”
“Yeah, we have been kind of hard on each other's hearts. So what are you doing here then?”
“I needed a friend.” Chris shrugged.
“You could've called one of your guys.”
“I guess.”
“So why me?”
“You know me better?” Chris shrugged again. “I really don't know, Howie. You just seemed like the right person to call, okay? Can we leave it at that?” Howie nodded and went back to his dinner.
After they were done and Howie had finished with the dishes, they went into the living room. Howie passed the remote to Chris, who turned on the local basketball game. They watched in companionable silence for a while, Howie knitting, and Chris concentrating alternately on the game and on not grabbing Howie and ripping his clothes off.
Howie was still the hottest man Chris knew; that hadn't changed. And all the years they had been together, apart, and in between, hadn't changed his feelings. He wasn't sure he wanted to get involved again, though; wasn't sure he wanted to put in all the effort to be a partner only to get his heart ripped out.
He didn't bother trying to figure out what Howie was thinking. Howie never revealed much of what was on his mind. It was one reason that the fans thought he had to be so smart. That, and that he had learned over the years how to be articulate. His answers were timed so that interviewers all thought he was considering his answers, rather than just spouting the party line. Chris remembered semi-fondly the days when Howie would call him after interviews, upset at his bandmates' teasing; the days when only Nick was considered less coherent. They had both come far from those days, and Chris was proud of both of them. Chris yawned, and Howie looked up.
“Need a hand?”
“I think I can manage.” He levered himself off the couch and started back toward his room. Howie sat, knitting forgotten, watching him go, wanting to go after him. He knew it would be stupid; Chris had made it pretty clear that - whatever he had called him for - becoming his lover again was not it. Not that Howie blamed him. He'd hurt Chris too damned many times before. He picked up his knitting, noticed an error and began ripping back. He rarely made errors serious enough to require ripping, but he had only been half-concentrating.
It wasn't that he wanted Chris back in his bed again, necessarily. But he had always found Chris more than attractive, and the thought of Chris sleeping two rooms down the hall unnerved him a bit. Howie knew it would take iron control to not cross the gap between them; the gap that Chris clearly wanted.
* * * * *
A few weeks later, they were on Howie's couch, watching the Jazz cream the Lakers, when Howie touched Chris' hand. Even though he could tell that Howie was making an overture towards him, he was shocked by how tentative the touch was. The Howie he'd known for decades was never tentative. He knew what he wanted and went for it.
“Howie?” He waited until Howie looked up.
“Mmm?” Howie kept his eyes on the wall behind Chris.
“You okay?” Chris was concerned. He took Howie's hand. “If you don't want this...”
“I do. Really. I just wasn't sure you did.” He looked at Chris, really looked at him, for the first time since they'd touched.
“Have I ever objected to us having sex, Howie?” Chris knew he sounded amused, hoped Howie wouldn't be offended. After all, an unsure Howie was enough of a shock to his system.
“Not that I can remember, not even when you should have, maybe.” Howie looked away.
“Howie...D...even when things weren't so good with us the sex was fantastic.” He pulled Howie closer and held him tightly.
“Yeah, but I'm not sure we should even be thinking of this.”
“Want to tell me?” Chris kept his voice neutral.
“Every time we try, we just end up with one of us hurt, and badly. I don't think I can do that again, from either end.”
“Howie...” Howie put a finger to Chris' lips.
“I can't do this again, Chris.” Confusion was evident on Chris' face. “I can't fuck up another relationship.”
“One, who says you'll fuck it up? Two, I think I've screwed us up more than once. Three, who says we have to do this now?” He pressed Howie's head toward his shoulder.
Howie didn't say anything, just let Chris hold him. He felt Chris' hand slide from his cheek to his shoulder to his forearm. It was comforting to be held...it had been far too long since he'd been with anyone he wanted to be held by. He luxuriated in the feeling for a few moments, then pulled away. “I think this is a really bad idea.” Chris waited. “If I stay here, we're gonna end up in bed together....”
“I thought that was the point, D.”
“Yeah, well, your knee...I don't want to fuck it up more.” He took a deep breath. “And I don't want to fuck us up more, Chris. If we're gonna do this again, I want it to be when we're both in decent shape.”
* * * * *
Howie managed to keep something of a distance between them for a few days after that. It wasn't that he didn't want Chris, he told himself while dressing for the day. He knew better than to lie to himself about that. He'd wanted Chris ever since they had met at school. And he'd had him, too - several times - but each time he'd been stupid enough to run.
This time, he told himself, he was tired of running. He wasn't going to start anything between them, even though Chris had made it obvious that he wouldn't object. He'd failed at relationships too damned many times for him to ever believe he could sustain one with Chris again. Besides, they had managed to save their friendship, although with great difficulty, and he wasn't about to jeopardize that. Not even to feel Chris nuzzle his cheek at night or wrap too-warm arms around him, and murmur against his shoulder.
But it wasn't so easy to be distant when Chris was in his house. He was glad Chris had called him; glad to help, even; but God, how he wanted to go to Chris' room at night instead of his own. Or better, have Chris in his room, between his sheets, warm breath on his shoulder, Chris crying out beneath him as only Chris could.
Shaking off those thoughts, he headed for the studio.
* * * * *
“Hey D, you okay?” AJ practically jumped him at their first break.
“Yeah, why?”
“You've been too quiet, even for you.”
“You draw the short straw again?”
“Nope. But we all noticed.”
“Yeah, well...Chris is staying with me for a bit.”
“Kirkpatrick?” Howie nodded. “Okay, spill it.”
“There's nothing to spill, really. He had knee surgery a few weeks ago, and needed someone around, so he called me.”
“And now you're all mooney-eyed, hoping he'll fall into your bed again?”
“Not at all.” AJ just glared at him. “Well, not much,” he lied. “We're much better off as friends, and I think we both know that.” AJ just stood there, clearly not buying it. “Okay. I've thought about it a little.” AJ nodded. “But I can't do it. It would only screw things up again. I can't deal with another failed relationship.”
“D, if you need to, you know you can bug out to my place for a couple days.” Howie nodded.
“It's okay, Aje. It's nothing I can't handle.” He got up and hugged AJ. “Thanks, bro.”
“Okay, but you know you have the option.” AJ pulled away as Brian stuck his head into the room.
“Guys, food's here.”
“Be there in a minute.” Brian nodded and left.
“C'mon, or the pizza'll get cold.” Howie grinned.
“Assuming Nick leaves us any.” AJ shot back.
* * * * *
Howie got the door open, and got the packages he was carrying into the condo with no mishaps. After setting them down on the kitchen island, he went to find Chris, who was sitting on the terrace watching the sunset.
“Chris?”
“Hey, you're home!”
“Yeah. I brought dinner with me.”
“Cool. What are we having?”
“I'm making Mom's enchiladas.”
“Oh, man! That sounds great!” He got to his feet, and got the crutch under his arm.
“Hey! Only one crutch!”
“Yep. Progress, hermano.”
“I am not now, and have never been your hermano, gracias a Dios. Your friend, your lover, your enemy, yes, but never your brother. For which, I might add, both our mothers are probably more than grateful.”
“Yeah, well. You need help?”
“Like I'd let you anywhere near a kitchen knife.” Howie grinned, to show he was mostly kidding. Chris gave Howie his most innocent look. “Help no. Company, yes.” Howie relented a little. “Besides, I can tell you all about Nick trying to make AJ's head explode now that he doesn't have Kevin to pick on anymore.”
“AJ? I'd think he'd go after you. You're the eldest now.” Howie grimaced.
“True, sadly. But he knows I would just ignore him, which kills the fun.”
Chris nodded. “Still, he never turned on you like some 'kid brothers' have done. So I'd have to say you guys did a better job than we did.” He went quiet for a few minutes.
“Chris, it was none of your faults that Justin went and listened to the suits. And Nick did that too. Fortunately for us, Justin outsold him, so he got dumped back to Earth pretty quickly. And don't forget that crap where he had to pretty much sue himself as part of our lawsuit against Jive. That was a slap in the face he didn't need. We should have done a way better job of protecting him there.” They went inside and set about making dinner, working quietly side by side, despite Howie's initial protests.
After dinner, they moved to Howie's living room with dessert and relaxed, with the local baseball game on as background noise. Chris' beloved Marlins were getting killed by the Cubs, as usual, so he was only half paying attention, anyway. What he was really concentrating on was watching Howie. One of the things he loved most about Howie was that he could tell him anything - really anything - and Howie would sit there calmly, needles flashing if handy, and listen. He wouldn't say much...he never did, but he would listen and he would hear what was behind the words. And when he did offer advice, it would be good, well-thought-out advice. It was why he knew that calling him had been the right thing to do. Still, after all they had been through with each other, he wasn't sure that Howie would want to hear what he ached to say now.
* * * * *
“So.” Howie stopped knitting. “What's going on in that fevered brain of yours?”
“Huh?”
“I can hear you thinking from here, Chris.” Howie grinned at him.
“Nothing really. Just how comfortable being here like this is.”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe wishing we didn't have so much history.” Howie waited. “Maybe wishing you were next to me, not across the room.” Howie jabbed the needles into the ball of yarn in his lap, and moved next to Chris on the couch.
“Happy now?”
“Yeah.” He leaned his head against Howie's shoulder. “Except that we're gonna be in different beds later.”
“Chris, I...”
“Yeah, I know. You can't get involved with me again. Not that way.” Howie had the good grace to look stricken. “We're both older and wiser now. You could at least give me a try.”
“I want to. But it wouldn't work.”
“D...”
“You know I suck at relationships.”
“D, listen...”
“Chris, no.” Howie stood up quickly, then sat down again. He was so tired of running. “I can't...it would be so....” Chris put his finger against Howie's lips.
“Shh. Listen to me.” Howie nodded. “Promise?” Another nod. Chris removed his finger. “You want to know why I called you? I wanted you. Why? Because no one else knows me like you do. Because there is no one else I want around when I'm fucking helpless. Because I trust you.” Howie stayed silent, but Chris could see it was hard for him. “Let me finish. I want us to try again. I think we can make it this time.”
“I can't. I've thought about it since I got you here. When we tried to be together and I couldn't...”
“Howie, listen to me. You said it was a bad idea because of my knee. You were right then. But that was the only reason it was a bad idea.” Howie shook his head. “C'mon, D. Let me show you how different it could be this time.” Reluctantly, Howie let Chris take his hand. Chris stroked it gently, then pulled Howie close. “God, I've missed this.” Howie sagged against him. “Tell me you haven't, too.”
“Chris,” Howie's voice was soft, his breathing ragged. “Chris...I...”
“Shh.” Callused fingers were placed against Howie's lips. “It's okay, baby.” Howie nodded slightly. Chris moved his hand to stroke Howie's jawline. As Chris' hands explored his shoulders and back, Howie could feel himself harden, could feel the growing tightness in his groin. Yes, he wanted this...wanted more.
“Chris, please...”
“Yes, baby.” Chris' voice was almost a growl. “Pleasing you is exactly what I'm gonna do.” He pulled Howie's tee shirt off, feeling him shiver in the air-conditioned room. “So good to touch you.” He pulled Howie closer, feeling him tense up. “Easy, D. Don't fight me. You know I won't hurt you.” He could feel Howie exhale, then begin to respond to his touch. “That's it. C'mon.” He kept teasing Howie on, feeling him slowly stop fighting and allow himself to respond. Chris' hands were warm and gentle, and Howie couldn't fight what his body wanted. It had been too long, and here was someone he knew he could trust; knew cared for him more than anyone else ever had. “Easy, baby.” Chris' very words, barely breathed into his ear, were almost too much. If Chris didn't slow down, or speed up, or something, he was going to embarrass himself in the worst way.
“Chris..”
“Right here, baby.” He eased Howie back against the couch, then covered his body with his own. “Not gonna let you fall, babe.”
“No. Chris. Stop.” Chris froze.
“D?”
“Your knee.” Howie could barely string the words together. “Don't want you to hurt it.” He pushed Chris away, hating the need to do so. “Not enough room.”
“D...stop it. We can do this.” Chris was getting tired of Howie's excuses.
“No, really, man.” Howie shook his head. “I want to, but not here. You bang that knee up, your guys will kill me and you know it.” Chris laughed and pulled Howie close again.
“You nut. You hurt my knee and I'll kill you myself.” His hand ran along Howie's cheek affectionately to show he was joking. He pointed toward the bedrooms. “My place or yours?”
“Since the whole place is technically mine, I suppose I should just say, 'Mine,' and be done with it, but which is better for you?”
“As long as you're there with me, I don't really give a damn if it's in the middle of your swimming pool.” Howie laughed, a bit nervously. “But I know that would upset your sense of propriety, so why don't we head to my room?”
“Okay. Need help?” Chris allowed Howie to help him up and balanced on the single crutch.
“I can manage from here.” Howie nodded and went ahead of him. By the time Chris got there, he'd turned down the covers and fluffed the pillows. He watched as Chris settled himself against them.
“You want anything?”
“Yeah. You. Naked.” Howie didn't need to be asked twice. He dropped his trousers and briefs, and climbed onto the bed next to Chris. “Always the perfect host, are we?” He ran his hand along Howie's side, watching his reaction.
“Chris, I still think...” He was silenced by Chris' mouth covering his. When Chris finally moved away, leaving Howie clearly shaken, and with slightly swollen lips, he grinned.
“You think too much, baby. Just feel for a bit, okay?” He pulled Howie into his arms. “Know what? I miss your hair being a bit longer.” He rubbed his fingers against the short sides. “I used to love running my fingers through the curls.” He stroked the nape of Howie's neck, feeling him burrow closer. “That's it. Yes.” Howie nipped at his shoulder. “So good to hold you again. So good.” He ran his hand down Howie's spine, feeling Howie moan against his skin. “Yes. Again, baby.” He repeated the gesture. “You make such nice noises.”
Howie was actually shaking against him. He lowered one hand to the small of Howie's back, and felt Howie actually jump at the touch. He kept his hand there, gentling him, until he felt Howie sink against him again. He eased Howie onto his side, and spooned against him. “What do you want me to do, D?” He breathed into Howie's ear.
Frankly, Howie didn't much care at that point. Hands he had craved for years were stroking him, spurring him on. “Chris..”
“Right here, baby. Tell me what you want.”
“You...in me...”
“We'll get there, baby. Not just yet though.” Howie froze. “Easy. Not gonna hurt you. Never gonna hurt you.” He reached around and stroked his hands down Howie's stomach, traced the faint line of hair with one finger, playing with the short curls following it, stopping just short of where Howie wanted him to touch, feeling Howie's body trying to back damn near through him to be closer. Howie was moaning at every touch. Chris could feel the heat pouring off him. He knew he wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. “From in front or behind, baby?”
“Don't care.” Howie could barely get the words out. “Just...fuckin'...do it.” He wanted Chris in him, needed to feel like he belonged to someone again, even while part of his brain was screaming warnings. He felt Chris' hands prepare him, spreading his cheeks. applying lube. Then Chris got one finger inside and he went rigid. Chris breathed into his ear again, murmuring words he could barely hear. He moved over Howie, kissing between his shoulder blades. When he felt Howie start to relax, he eased a second finger in and began scissoring motions. When Howie was moaning again, a third finger followed.
Howie felt empty when Chris pulled his hands away, felt fear and anticipation. Then Chris put the head of his cock against him. “You ready for me, baby?”
“Please...” Chris re-lubed the opening, then himself, then placed one hand on Howie's ass to steady him. He eased himself into him, then lay still to give Howie a chance to adjust to him.
“How do you want me, baby?” He kissed Howie's back. He could see how close Howie was to losing control, and he wanted to push him over that edge. He moved a bit, not pulling out, just trying to gauge Howie's readiness. Howie's hands scrabbled for purchase against the sheets.
“Don't care.” Howie gasped. He was desperate for Chris to start moving in him, desperate for Chris to possess him. Every time Chris moved, Howie wanted to scream. “Chris.” It came out in a long moan.
“Right here with you, baby.” He moved as gently as he could, pressing against Howie. He began moving, trying to angle himself to hit Howie's prostate, knowing what that would do. When he had Howie writhing against him, trying to get him in still deeper, he reached around with one hand and began stroking Howie's cock. Howie was shivering with need now, moaning at every touch. He kissed the nape of Howie's neck and felt his hand become sticky when Howie totally lost control and came. He paused, waiting for Howie's body to still against him. “You ready for me?” He whispered against Howie's ear.
“Yeah.” It took effort to even get that one word out, but he managed. He felt Chris begin thrusting; deeper, harder, faster. Soon, he was ready again; sooner, he felt Chris' body tense up in his and knew Chris was there, too. He could feel himself being filled by Chris, feel his own body tensing at the sensations. He heard screaming, but it took a few minutes to realize that it was both of them at the same time. Exhausted, they lay there, Chris wrapped around Howie, murmuring endearments, and drifted off to sleep.
Howie woke and was startled that the bed wasn't his, and that there was an arm pinning him to the mattress. It took him only a few seconds to remember who that arm was attached to. Then he remembered why he was asleep in Chris' bed. Swearing at himself for breaking all of his good intentions, he tried to disengage, only to feel Chris pull him closer.
“Mornin', sunshine.” The words tickled against his ear.
“Um. Chris. Bathroom.” Chris let him go, not surprised when Howie took off for his own bathroom, rather than the one attached to Chris' room. He sighed, asking himself how he was going to convince Howie that last night was a Good Thing. By the time he had managed to get himself washed, shaved, and dressed, he could hear Howie in the kitchen and smell breakfast smells, including the coffee blend he knew Howie only used in the mornings. He worked his way down the hall, and stood in the doorway. “Need a hand or three?”
“I'm good.”
“Well, yes, I know that, but do you need a hand there?” He ducked the potholder Howie tossed at him. Fortunately, he knew Howie's tendency to do that, because ducking while leaning on a crutch took some creativity. He also knew that Howie generally threw like a girl, with about half the accuracy.
“Nope. Almost ready. Go. Sit.” Chris got himself seated at the table. Howie placed a platter of huevos rancheros on the table, then got condiments, plates and utensils. He took a covered plate and put it on the table. “Tortillas - warm.” He got the coffee pot and two cups. He poured himself a cup, then set the pot near Chris and got milk and sugar for him.
“Looks good. You actually gonna sit down and eat some?” Howie sat across from Chris. They ate in silence, last night hanging between them. Finally, Chris put his fork down. “Howie.” Howie held up a hand and finished swallowing.
“Chris.” His voice was even, measured.
“Look. It felt good to wake up holding you.”
“I can't talk about this now, Chris.” Chris waited. “I broke all my promises to myself last night, and I need to think about things.”
“Think about what? About how good it felt to be together again?” Howie just sat, letting Chris talk. “About how I wanted you just as much as you wanted me? What? What do you need to think about, dammit?” He slammed his hand against the table in frustration.
“Chris, I told you I thought this would be a bad idea.” Howie sighed. “And I think I was right.” He held up a hand as Chris started to protest. “I suck at relationships. I think the years have proven that. And I don't want to hurt you again. And we both know that sooner or later I will.”
“D, you can tell yourself that shit all you want. Hell, you can tell it to the whole damned world, but you cannot tell it to me.” He managed to move his chair closer to where Howie was sitting. “We've been everything from friends to enemies and in between.” Howie nodded. “And we will always be involved with each other somehow. So why not as lovers again?” Howie looked away for a moment.
“Because I want different things than you do, Chris.” He waited for Chris to protest, but Chris stayed silent. “I want a family, kids, animals, the whole nine yards. You never wanted that, and I've no right to demand it of you.” He looked into Chris' eyes. “Verdad, last night was good. I will not lie about it. But it won't happen again, Chris. On my honor as your friend, it won't happen again.” He rose and started cleaning up the remains of their meal.
Chris rose and followed Howie. “Howie.” He grabbed Howie's arm and pulled him around, so they were face to face. “Howie...no, Howard,” he amended to emphasize the seriousness of what he was going to say. “There is not a night in all the years I've known you that I haven't wanted you in my bed, or to be in yours. There will probably never be a night like that.” Howie started to shake his head, not wanting to hear what Chris was saying. “And I don't want there to be a night one of us isn't with the other. Yeah, we've both screwed up along the way.” Using his free hand, he pulled Howie back to the table. “Sit.” Howie was so shocked that he lowered himself into the chair Chris indicated. Chris maneuvered himself into the other chair. “Look. You aren't the only person to screw up, dammit. I've done my fair share of it. In fact, if I recall, I was the first one to fuck up.” Howie waited. “I want us to be together, Howie. I really think we could do it this time.”
“Well, I don't, and I couldn't take it if we messed each other up again. So, subject closed.” Howie rose. “And if you can't accept that, then maybe I'd better take you back to your place.” He left the kitchen. Chris sat for a moment, mouth gaping, then followed him.
“You really want me to leave?”
“No,” Howie admitted. “I love having you here. But I really can't go through this again, Chris. Please respect that.”
“You are the most stubborn man I've ever met.”
“Pot, kettle much, Chris?”
“Howie...” Chris moved to the bed. “Little help here, please.” Howie moved next to him, straightened the covers quickly, then turned down the blankets on Chris' side.
“Need anything else?” Howie began moving toward the door.
“Well, yes, but...you don't seem willing to provide it.”
“Chris,” Howie's eye caught the time on Chris' alarm clock. “Oh, shit...I'm late. Can we talk later?”
“If you really mean you will sit down and we'll talk this out, yes.”
“Okay, but I can't promise that it'll come out the way you want.”
“Not asking that, D. Just asking that we work on things.” Howie shook his head.
“There's nothing to work on. Anyway, if I stand here much longer, AJ's head will explode.” He shook his head. “Who'd've thought he'd become the disciplinarian among us?”
“Go. We'll talk tonight. D...” Howie turned. “Thai or Chinese?”
“Surprise me.” The words were flung over his shoulder as he left the room. Chris heard him get his things and leave the house. He exhaled - a breath he had not even been aware he was holding - and punched the bed in frustration. Even after some of the best sex they had ever had together, Howie still refused to acknowledge they belonged together. He was going to have to change that, somehow, even if it meant tying Howie to the bed until he saw reason. Not that that would help. Howie's pride would only make him dig his heels in further, as Chris well knew. He'd have to come up with something more devious; get past Howie's defenses. Of course, it would probably take a howitzer to do that, given that Howie's walls had walls, but Chris was nothing if not persistent. He'd get there. He'd managed to do it before.
Author: otherdeb
Artist: milosflaca
Pairing: Howie Dorough/Chris Kirkpatrick
Rating/Warnings: R (emotional baggage, m/m sex)
Word Count: 20,267
Summary: Howie and Chris have been everything from lovers to friends to enemies over the years. Can they make it last this time?
Link to art: art by milosflaca
“And the seasons, they go round and round/And the painted ponies go up and down/We're captive on a carousel of time/We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came/And go round and round and round in the circle game.”*
- - - - - - - - -
Chris and Howie had always been there for each other in a crisis. Always had been, and probably always would be. It had been that way ever since the day Howie had joined the chorus, and Chris had fallen in love with him. He remembered that day clearly - even all these years later.
“Class, this is our new countertenor, Howie. Howie, say hi to everyone.” Even though the professor meant well, it was clear that the guy was uncomfortable at being presented as if he were some sort of prize. Although, Chris told himself, the guy certainly was a prize, at least in the looks and hotness departments. If he could sing, too, well... Howie had, in fact, told Chris, long after they had become friends, that he had been wishing he could fade into the wall. Chris had grinned, and told him that he had, personally, thought he looked adorable, all fidgety and nervous.
Chris had, of course, seen Howie around campus, but figured there was no way he'd be interested. For one thing, Howie never hung out. For another, he dated girls. And even if he had dated boys, Chris was sure that Howie was so far out of his league that there was no way he'd be interested in him.
Chris remembered how annoyed he'd been that another countertenor was joining, remembered telling himself, Shit, this guy is gonna be up for all my parts in chorus. Why the hell should I cut him any slack? As the term wore on, though, he had learned that Howie was not temperamental, and that if he thought Chris was better suited to a part than he was, he would insist that it be given to Chris. He also found out that Howie was generous of spirit in other ways; once Howie had found out that Chris walked three miles from campus to work, he managed to be “going that way” a fair number of times, and had offered Chris rides. Eventually, they added going for sodas or coffee after rehearsals to those trips, and Chris found himself spilling his life story to Howie. Howie, in turn, shared tales of his family, tales brimming with so much love that it made Chris' heart ache.
Howie, however, had a full course load, and a part-time job, as opposed to Chris who had a full-time job and could only take a few courses each term, so their hanging out was pretty much restricted to those coffee runs and the times Howie was able to give Chris a lift home or to work. Still, a deep and fast friendship formed, despite the walls they both were reluctant to let crumble. It was clearly a friendship of opposites: the working class kid who was loud and supported his mother and sisters the best he could, and the quiet, much-loved youngest son of a middle-class family who gave him everything they could. The kid who got by with grades barely good enough to keep him eligible for choir and the conscientious kid who actually studied hard and pulled almost perfect grades.
When Howie invited Chris over for Thanksgiving, Chris declined. He wanted to be with his mother and sisters. When he also declined a Christmas invitation, Howie took matters into his own hands. He told his parents about his fatherless friend who was single-handedly trying to provide a Christmas for his mother and sisters. Howie's mother had reacted exactly as he thought she would, and on Christmas Day, the Dorough family descended on the Kirkpatrick household, en masse, with much food and merriment, and no sign of doing it as charity, or out of pity. When they left, Howie remained, and he and Chris spent the night quietly talking. At some point talking turned into cuddling. By New Year's, they were inseparable.
* * * * *
Chris sighed. That time, they had made it almost all the way through school before he had gotten drunk at a party and cheated. The break had been worse than painful, with Howie saying that he hoped when he got back from his new gig Chris would have gotten his head out of his ass. Neither of them had known how far that gig would take Howie, or how far the introduction Howie had made between Chris and his new manager would take Chris. And by the time Howie had returned to the States as a member of one of the fastest rising vocal groups in the country, things had changed. Lou had betrayed Howie and Backstreet by setting up Chris and his friends as a band to rival them. They managed to be civil at industry functions, but there was a wall between them. What no one outside of both camps knew was that a large part of the feud between their groups was Backstreet being determined to keep Howie from getting hurt again, although they didn't know just what the issue was, and *Nsync feeling the same way about Chris. Chris had spent much of that time hoping that none of his guys would slip and betray Howie's secret to his “brothers,” since Howie had obviously never discussed the real reasons for his problems with Chris with them.
Things probably would have stayed that way if Caroline had lived. Between her loss and Brian's need for surgery, which Lou kept insisting they postpone, not to mention the grueling schedule both bands were on, Howie was falling apart. Old enough to drink in a lot of the places they played, he was burying his pain with a bottle or other recreational substances. Chris had run into Howie and Kevin one evening, and helped Kevin get him back to their hotel. He offered to stay with Howie until he could function the next day, and Kevin accepted his offer. When Howie woke up to find Chris there, he was too hung over to protest much. Chris got him aspirin, and tea, and listened to Howie pour out his grief and fear. When Chris turned him over to Kevin later that morning, Howie was not only functional, he was almost himself again. Chris took to calling him, and to showing up to hang out when they were in the same city, and soon they were a (very closeted) couple again. Chris hated being closeted, but Lou had worked hard to convince each of them that being open would destroy their appeal, their bands, and their careers. Howie took being closeted a lot better because he was not out to anyone but his band mates and Chris, mostly for fear of devastating his very Catholic, conservative parents.
* * * * *
They had bought the house after both groups had hit big. It was far from the hot spots - the places where people would freak over seeing them, let alone seeing them together. Chris was not happy that Howie still refused to come out of the closet. Then again, at least Howie had progressed from only being open with the other Backstreeters, to including Chris' bandmates in the circle of people who knew he was gay. To his parents, Howie had justified buying the house with Chris as being good because he'd have someone around, and because, since both of them were working musicians, they would each understand the other's need for privacy and down times.
It had been their home for almost a decade when they split again. This time, the split was Howie's doing. He had always wanted kids and was going to marry a female friend to get them. Chris understood, really he did. And when Howie had told him to keep the house, he could see no reason not to. He didn't go there much, but it was there both physically, and in his mind; a memory of some of the best parts of his life. He had never expected the marriage to last as long as it did, but when it blew up spectacularly, and Howie disappeared, Chris had a feeling where he was heading. He beat Howie to the house by two days, and had things ready when a very drunk, very scared Howie appeared at the door.
“Hey Chris! C'mon. Answer the door. Please.” Chris could hear the edge of anguish and hysteria in Howie's voice.
“Hey, man. Come on in. You look like shit.” He held the door and stepped back Howie looked nothing like the immaculate, shiny pop star most people saw. He was unshaven, and clearly hung over.
“You knew I was coming?”
“I didn't know, but when you dropped out of sight so even your posse couldn't find you, I thought it might be in your head.”
“Yeah, well...I couldn't deal with any...with all the shit....” He dropped his bag and headed for the bathroom. When he reappeared, he was pale as a sheet.
“Go lie down.” Chris didn't even look up.
“I'm....”
“You are not okay. Go lie down.” Howie sighed and obeyed. After he'd had time to undress and had slid between the covers, Chris knocked on the door. “You want some tea, Howie?”
“Yeah. And, thanks.”
“Not needed. Get some sleep, and the tea'll be there when you wake up.”
“Chris....”
“It's okay. I'll sleep on the couch.” He turned and left before Howie could see how upset he was, totally missing that Howie had been about to ask him to stay.
* * * * *
When Howie woke up, Chris had been as good as his word. There was tea on one of those little warming thingies, and a honey bear beside it on the night table. There were clean clothes folded on the chair - clothes Howie recognized from when they had lived there as a couple. He showered and dressed, and went to the kitchen, where Chris was dishing up food.
As they ate, Howie told Chris his side of how his marriage had crashed and burned. It wasn't a pretty story, beginning with his wife miscarrying several times and blaming him, continuing with the fights and thrown dishes and other crockery, and how he had tried to take the abuse she dished out on a daily basis. How, when she could no longer get a rise out of him, she had started hitting, how he tried to defend himself without hurting her. How, when she finally had come at him with a kitchen knife, he had tried to disarm her, and how she told the police he'd attacked her and had him arrested. How Kevin had bailed him out and gotten an attorney. By the time he was done, he was shaking, and Chris ached to hold him, but there was no way he was going to do anything that would shatter the fragile shell that was clearly the only thing holding Howie together.
* * * * *
That time, Howie had stayed with him for three years. While nothing really terrible had happened, Chris had still known when their time was coming to an end. Howie had been restless when he was home, which wasn't all that often. He'd been burying himself in work, not just with Backstreet, but with DLF and with his real estate deals. Howie never said anything was wrong, but by then he knew that Howie would sooner have been crushed to death in his purple Porsche than admit that he was failing at a relationship again.
It was a lot harder to let him go this time, but Chris managed. He even managed to get on with his life after Howie was gone, and not be bitter about how it had ended. He did some reality TV, and started exploring different kinds of music - nothing like what Justin, Joey, or JC were doing; just stuff that made him feel good when he played it.
Chris officially came out about three months after Lance did. With *Nsync on a pretty obviously permanent hiatus, and the authorities finally catching up with Lou and bringing him to account for some of his misdeeds, it had seemed pointless to remain closeted any longer. And since media attention was still primarily focused on Lance and Reichen and their international jet-setting, he was able to do it fairly quietly: a couple of interviews, a lot of jokes about intra-boyband love, and then keeping a low profile, which worked since he wasn't seeing anyone at the time. The phone call from a still-very-closeted Howie, congratulating him for having the courage, was not surprising, but was gratefully accepted for what it was: a friend who would never come out being happy for his being able to make the decision to do so, and being able to do it on his own terms.
* * * * *
He hadn't planned on calling Howie after his knee surgery; hadn't planned on calling anyone at all, just holing up in his house except for physical therapy sessions. Yeah, Howie had come to see him in the hospital. He had never figured out how Howie had found out where he was. He knew Howie hated hospitals and why. Yet there Howie stood - nervous at seeing yet another friend in a hospital bed; quietly freaking because it was Chris - whon he normally needed all his energy to keep up with - in the bed this time. He stayed as long as he could stand being there, then politely made his excuses and left, and Chris would never forget the fear in his eyes.
Once he was home from the hospital, Howie had called a couple of times to see how he was doing. He thought he managed to keep the depression from his voice, but he was never good at fooling Howie. When he finally hit rock bottom one day - when it all became too much to deal with - he picked up the phone. When Howie answered, he just said one word, “Help.”
It had taken Howie about half an hour to get to Chris' house, and that probably included breaking a few of the more important traffic laws. He took one look at Chris and said, “Come to my place?” Chris just nodded.
Howie packed a bag according to Chris' instructions, grabbed a few sets of sheets and Chris' pillow, and stuffed it all into his car. He then helped Chris to get up and stable on his crutches, and waited by the vehicle, door open.
Chris grimaced as he reached the car.
“What? You wanted to vault over the door?” Howie was rewarded with a patented Kirkpatrick glare. He grinned back. They drove back to Howie's in a companionable silence. Howie knew that Chris had to have been in pretty bad shape to call him, but he also didn't want to pressure him. He knew Chris would tell him what was going on eventually. Chris was rotten at keeping things inside, even though he often tried to.
When they got to Howie's penthouse condo, Howie moved Chris' things into one of his guest rooms, and remade the bed while Chris watched the fish in Howie's aquarium wall, entranced. He'd always loved the sea - not like Nick, who had to be in touch with it regularly - but in a watch-and-wonder sort of way. He was so lost in watching that Howie had to call him several times to tell him that the room was ready for him. He forced himself up and hobbled his way, thankful that Howie had not chosen a room next to his own. Two rooms down and across the hall was enough distance for privacy, yet close enough that if he did anything stupid like fall or try to get out of bed without his crutches, help was nearby.
Howie watched Chris settle himself.
“Is this okay? I figured having your own stuff would make it more bearable.”
“Yeah, Howie. It's fine. And you are, ever and always, the perfect host.” He grinned, and it felt strange.
“Okay. I have to go out for a bit. Will you be okay? I could call one of your guys...” His voice trailed off at the look Chris gave him.
“Howie, I'm fine. I don't need a babysitter. Go.” He made shooing motions with his hands.
“If you're sure. Should I bring in something before I go?”
“Howie, I know this house as well as I know my own. I'll be fine. Honest.” He saw that Howie was genuinely worried. “Just let me know when you're on your way back so I can order the takeout.” He grinned. “And, no, you don't have to leave money. My treat.” Howie nodded.
“Okay. You have my number...”
“Still on my speed dial, boy. Now, go, for the last time.” When Howie had left the room he eased himself from a sitting position to a lying-down one. Fortunately, Howie had thought to turn down the bed covers, so he didn't have to ruin things by calling Howie back to do that.
* * * * *
Howie had been exhausted when he got home, so he decided to take a nap before dinner. He woke to a thud, but wasn't sure it hadn't been part of a dream, so he stayed still and waited to see if he'd hear anything else. A small groan, and he remembered that Chris was in his guest room. Stopping only long enough to pull on a pair of boxers, he headed there to find Chris on the floor, cursing quietly. Without a word, he helped Chris back onto the bed and got Chris' crutches.
“Bathroom?” he asked when Chris stopped for breath. When Chris nodded, Howie put the crutches down, pulled Chris up and said, “Lean on me?” Chris nodded again, figuring it would be quicker to let Howie help him. Once Howie'd gotten Chris there, he closed the door partway to give him some privacy, then retrieved the crutches. When Chris answered his knock, he reached in and leaned the crutches next to the door, then went back to Chris' room and waited.
Chris was a little surprised that Howie was in the room when he returned, but he just said, “Thanks, man.” Howie nodded.
“Chris, I know we aren't exactly close anymore.” Howie sounded tentative. “But if you need to talk, I'm here and I'd like to think you can still trust me enough to listen if you need it.”
“Of course I trust you. Would I have called you otherwise?” He waited until Howie nodded. “But I don't know how to say what I need to yet.” Another nod. “I just know that I needed to call you, so I did.”
“Not a problem. When you're ready, I'm around.” He moved to the bed and sat next to Chris. “You know I worry.”
“Yep.” Chris grinned. “That's you - the world's biggest Irish Puerto Rican Jewish mother.”
“I guess.” He nodded. “Speaking of which, did you eat today?”
“Yes, mother.” Chris' tone was mock-aggrieved.
“I'm only asking because I was thinking of ordering.”
“Did you check the fridge? I ordered for you when I ordered.”
“Oh?”
“Yep. Linguine with red clam sauce.”
“Cool. Thanks.” He turned to go.
“You want some company while you eat?”
“That would rock. Need a hand getting stable?” He gestured toward the crutches.
“Nope. But I can just see the look on Joey's face if I tell him you used 'stable' in a sentence about me.” They laughed all the way to the kitchen.
Howie made Chris a pot of coffee while his food was reheating. “You sure I should give you this? How much sugar have you had today?”
“Hey, I'm not Nick. I'll have you know I can handle my caffeine and sugar.”
“Yeah, I've seen how you handle it. There's a reason they never let you have any on tour, y'know.” He grinned at Chris, and placed a steaming mug in front of him, then watched Chris add cream and enough sugar to drop a small elephant, then sip it experimentally.
“Damn, boy! Your coffee can still double as paint remover.”
“You don't like it, you could make your own, y'know.” Howie sniffed in mock offense. “And who you calling 'boy,' boy? My job is to provide crash space, not maid service.” He got his food out of the microwave and sat across from Chris. “You need to take meds or anything?”
Chris grimaced. “Not for another two hours, but thanks.” He took another sip of coffee.
“You talk to any of your guys yet?”
Chris nodded and put his mug down. “I called Joey and Lance.”
“They okay with you hiding out for a bit, or did you tell them where you were?”
“They both deduced I was at your place from the number on their caller IDs.” Howie nodded.
“Joey said he thought my coming here was a 'Good Thing.'”
“And Lance?”
“He thought I was getting in over my head.”
“Is he right?” Howie took a bite of his dinner. “Mmm. You called Antonio's. Thanks.”
“I honestly don't know.” Chris sighed. “I want to think we can still be friends...”
“But?”
“But I'm afraid we'll only hurt each other again.” He watched Howie digest that. “I don't know why we always end up that way, but it seems we do.”
“Chris, I'm not pushing for anything. I hope you know that.”
“I do, but we always seem to end up in bed again.”
“Is that so horrible?”
“No, but the damage we end up doing each other is pretty bad.”
“Yeah, we have been kind of hard on each other's hearts. So what are you doing here then?”
“I needed a friend.” Chris shrugged.
“You could've called one of your guys.”
“I guess.”
“So why me?”
“You know me better?” Chris shrugged again. “I really don't know, Howie. You just seemed like the right person to call, okay? Can we leave it at that?” Howie nodded and went back to his dinner.
After they were done and Howie had finished with the dishes, they went into the living room. Howie passed the remote to Chris, who turned on the local basketball game. They watched in companionable silence for a while, Howie knitting, and Chris concentrating alternately on the game and on not grabbing Howie and ripping his clothes off.
Howie was still the hottest man Chris knew; that hadn't changed. And all the years they had been together, apart, and in between, hadn't changed his feelings. He wasn't sure he wanted to get involved again, though; wasn't sure he wanted to put in all the effort to be a partner only to get his heart ripped out.
He didn't bother trying to figure out what Howie was thinking. Howie never revealed much of what was on his mind. It was one reason that the fans thought he had to be so smart. That, and that he had learned over the years how to be articulate. His answers were timed so that interviewers all thought he was considering his answers, rather than just spouting the party line. Chris remembered semi-fondly the days when Howie would call him after interviews, upset at his bandmates' teasing; the days when only Nick was considered less coherent. They had both come far from those days, and Chris was proud of both of them. Chris yawned, and Howie looked up.
“Need a hand?”
“I think I can manage.” He levered himself off the couch and started back toward his room. Howie sat, knitting forgotten, watching him go, wanting to go after him. He knew it would be stupid; Chris had made it pretty clear that - whatever he had called him for - becoming his lover again was not it. Not that Howie blamed him. He'd hurt Chris too damned many times before. He picked up his knitting, noticed an error and began ripping back. He rarely made errors serious enough to require ripping, but he had only been half-concentrating.
It wasn't that he wanted Chris back in his bed again, necessarily. But he had always found Chris more than attractive, and the thought of Chris sleeping two rooms down the hall unnerved him a bit. Howie knew it would take iron control to not cross the gap between them; the gap that Chris clearly wanted.
* * * * *
A few weeks later, they were on Howie's couch, watching the Jazz cream the Lakers, when Howie touched Chris' hand. Even though he could tell that Howie was making an overture towards him, he was shocked by how tentative the touch was. The Howie he'd known for decades was never tentative. He knew what he wanted and went for it.
“Howie?” He waited until Howie looked up.
“Mmm?” Howie kept his eyes on the wall behind Chris.
“You okay?” Chris was concerned. He took Howie's hand. “If you don't want this...”
“I do. Really. I just wasn't sure you did.” He looked at Chris, really looked at him, for the first time since they'd touched.
“Have I ever objected to us having sex, Howie?” Chris knew he sounded amused, hoped Howie wouldn't be offended. After all, an unsure Howie was enough of a shock to his system.
“Not that I can remember, not even when you should have, maybe.” Howie looked away.
“Howie...D...even when things weren't so good with us the sex was fantastic.” He pulled Howie closer and held him tightly.
“Yeah, but I'm not sure we should even be thinking of this.”
“Want to tell me?” Chris kept his voice neutral.
“Every time we try, we just end up with one of us hurt, and badly. I don't think I can do that again, from either end.”
“Howie...” Howie put a finger to Chris' lips.
“I can't do this again, Chris.” Confusion was evident on Chris' face. “I can't fuck up another relationship.”
“One, who says you'll fuck it up? Two, I think I've screwed us up more than once. Three, who says we have to do this now?” He pressed Howie's head toward his shoulder.
Howie didn't say anything, just let Chris hold him. He felt Chris' hand slide from his cheek to his shoulder to his forearm. It was comforting to be held...it had been far too long since he'd been with anyone he wanted to be held by. He luxuriated in the feeling for a few moments, then pulled away. “I think this is a really bad idea.” Chris waited. “If I stay here, we're gonna end up in bed together....”
“I thought that was the point, D.”
“Yeah, well, your knee...I don't want to fuck it up more.” He took a deep breath. “And I don't want to fuck us up more, Chris. If we're gonna do this again, I want it to be when we're both in decent shape.”
* * * * *
Howie managed to keep something of a distance between them for a few days after that. It wasn't that he didn't want Chris, he told himself while dressing for the day. He knew better than to lie to himself about that. He'd wanted Chris ever since they had met at school. And he'd had him, too - several times - but each time he'd been stupid enough to run.
This time, he told himself, he was tired of running. He wasn't going to start anything between them, even though Chris had made it obvious that he wouldn't object. He'd failed at relationships too damned many times for him to ever believe he could sustain one with Chris again. Besides, they had managed to save their friendship, although with great difficulty, and he wasn't about to jeopardize that. Not even to feel Chris nuzzle his cheek at night or wrap too-warm arms around him, and murmur against his shoulder.
But it wasn't so easy to be distant when Chris was in his house. He was glad Chris had called him; glad to help, even; but God, how he wanted to go to Chris' room at night instead of his own. Or better, have Chris in his room, between his sheets, warm breath on his shoulder, Chris crying out beneath him as only Chris could.
Shaking off those thoughts, he headed for the studio.
* * * * *
“Hey D, you okay?” AJ practically jumped him at their first break.
“Yeah, why?”
“You've been too quiet, even for you.”
“You draw the short straw again?”
“Nope. But we all noticed.”
“Yeah, well...Chris is staying with me for a bit.”
“Kirkpatrick?” Howie nodded. “Okay, spill it.”
“There's nothing to spill, really. He had knee surgery a few weeks ago, and needed someone around, so he called me.”
“And now you're all mooney-eyed, hoping he'll fall into your bed again?”
“Not at all.” AJ just glared at him. “Well, not much,” he lied. “We're much better off as friends, and I think we both know that.” AJ just stood there, clearly not buying it. “Okay. I've thought about it a little.” AJ nodded. “But I can't do it. It would only screw things up again. I can't deal with another failed relationship.”
“D, if you need to, you know you can bug out to my place for a couple days.” Howie nodded.
“It's okay, Aje. It's nothing I can't handle.” He got up and hugged AJ. “Thanks, bro.”
“Okay, but you know you have the option.” AJ pulled away as Brian stuck his head into the room.
“Guys, food's here.”
“Be there in a minute.” Brian nodded and left.
“C'mon, or the pizza'll get cold.” Howie grinned.
“Assuming Nick leaves us any.” AJ shot back.
* * * * *
Howie got the door open, and got the packages he was carrying into the condo with no mishaps. After setting them down on the kitchen island, he went to find Chris, who was sitting on the terrace watching the sunset.
“Chris?”
“Hey, you're home!”
“Yeah. I brought dinner with me.”
“Cool. What are we having?”
“I'm making Mom's enchiladas.”
“Oh, man! That sounds great!” He got to his feet, and got the crutch under his arm.
“Hey! Only one crutch!”
“Yep. Progress, hermano.”
“I am not now, and have never been your hermano, gracias a Dios. Your friend, your lover, your enemy, yes, but never your brother. For which, I might add, both our mothers are probably more than grateful.”
“Yeah, well. You need help?”
“Like I'd let you anywhere near a kitchen knife.” Howie grinned, to show he was mostly kidding. Chris gave Howie his most innocent look. “Help no. Company, yes.” Howie relented a little. “Besides, I can tell you all about Nick trying to make AJ's head explode now that he doesn't have Kevin to pick on anymore.”
“AJ? I'd think he'd go after you. You're the eldest now.” Howie grimaced.
“True, sadly. But he knows I would just ignore him, which kills the fun.”
Chris nodded. “Still, he never turned on you like some 'kid brothers' have done. So I'd have to say you guys did a better job than we did.” He went quiet for a few minutes.
“Chris, it was none of your faults that Justin went and listened to the suits. And Nick did that too. Fortunately for us, Justin outsold him, so he got dumped back to Earth pretty quickly. And don't forget that crap where he had to pretty much sue himself as part of our lawsuit against Jive. That was a slap in the face he didn't need. We should have done a way better job of protecting him there.” They went inside and set about making dinner, working quietly side by side, despite Howie's initial protests.
After dinner, they moved to Howie's living room with dessert and relaxed, with the local baseball game on as background noise. Chris' beloved Marlins were getting killed by the Cubs, as usual, so he was only half paying attention, anyway. What he was really concentrating on was watching Howie. One of the things he loved most about Howie was that he could tell him anything - really anything - and Howie would sit there calmly, needles flashing if handy, and listen. He wouldn't say much...he never did, but he would listen and he would hear what was behind the words. And when he did offer advice, it would be good, well-thought-out advice. It was why he knew that calling him had been the right thing to do. Still, after all they had been through with each other, he wasn't sure that Howie would want to hear what he ached to say now.
* * * * *
“So.” Howie stopped knitting. “What's going on in that fevered brain of yours?”
“Huh?”
“I can hear you thinking from here, Chris.” Howie grinned at him.
“Nothing really. Just how comfortable being here like this is.”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe wishing we didn't have so much history.” Howie waited. “Maybe wishing you were next to me, not across the room.” Howie jabbed the needles into the ball of yarn in his lap, and moved next to Chris on the couch.
“Happy now?”
“Yeah.” He leaned his head against Howie's shoulder. “Except that we're gonna be in different beds later.”
“Chris, I...”
“Yeah, I know. You can't get involved with me again. Not that way.” Howie had the good grace to look stricken. “We're both older and wiser now. You could at least give me a try.”
“I want to. But it wouldn't work.”
“D...”
“You know I suck at relationships.”
“D, listen...”
“Chris, no.” Howie stood up quickly, then sat down again. He was so tired of running. “I can't...it would be so....” Chris put his finger against Howie's lips.
“Shh. Listen to me.” Howie nodded. “Promise?” Another nod. Chris removed his finger. “You want to know why I called you? I wanted you. Why? Because no one else knows me like you do. Because there is no one else I want around when I'm fucking helpless. Because I trust you.” Howie stayed silent, but Chris could see it was hard for him. “Let me finish. I want us to try again. I think we can make it this time.”
“I can't. I've thought about it since I got you here. When we tried to be together and I couldn't...”
“Howie, listen to me. You said it was a bad idea because of my knee. You were right then. But that was the only reason it was a bad idea.” Howie shook his head. “C'mon, D. Let me show you how different it could be this time.” Reluctantly, Howie let Chris take his hand. Chris stroked it gently, then pulled Howie close. “God, I've missed this.” Howie sagged against him. “Tell me you haven't, too.”
“Chris,” Howie's voice was soft, his breathing ragged. “Chris...I...”
“Shh.” Callused fingers were placed against Howie's lips. “It's okay, baby.” Howie nodded slightly. Chris moved his hand to stroke Howie's jawline. As Chris' hands explored his shoulders and back, Howie could feel himself harden, could feel the growing tightness in his groin. Yes, he wanted this...wanted more.
“Chris, please...”
“Yes, baby.” Chris' voice was almost a growl. “Pleasing you is exactly what I'm gonna do.” He pulled Howie's tee shirt off, feeling him shiver in the air-conditioned room. “So good to touch you.” He pulled Howie closer, feeling him tense up. “Easy, D. Don't fight me. You know I won't hurt you.” He could feel Howie exhale, then begin to respond to his touch. “That's it. C'mon.” He kept teasing Howie on, feeling him slowly stop fighting and allow himself to respond. Chris' hands were warm and gentle, and Howie couldn't fight what his body wanted. It had been too long, and here was someone he knew he could trust; knew cared for him more than anyone else ever had. “Easy, baby.” Chris' very words, barely breathed into his ear, were almost too much. If Chris didn't slow down, or speed up, or something, he was going to embarrass himself in the worst way.
“Chris..”
“Right here, baby.” He eased Howie back against the couch, then covered his body with his own. “Not gonna let you fall, babe.”
“No. Chris. Stop.” Chris froze.
“D?”
“Your knee.” Howie could barely string the words together. “Don't want you to hurt it.” He pushed Chris away, hating the need to do so. “Not enough room.”
“D...stop it. We can do this.” Chris was getting tired of Howie's excuses.
“No, really, man.” Howie shook his head. “I want to, but not here. You bang that knee up, your guys will kill me and you know it.” Chris laughed and pulled Howie close again.
“You nut. You hurt my knee and I'll kill you myself.” His hand ran along Howie's cheek affectionately to show he was joking. He pointed toward the bedrooms. “My place or yours?”
“Since the whole place is technically mine, I suppose I should just say, 'Mine,' and be done with it, but which is better for you?”
“As long as you're there with me, I don't really give a damn if it's in the middle of your swimming pool.” Howie laughed, a bit nervously. “But I know that would upset your sense of propriety, so why don't we head to my room?”
“Okay. Need help?” Chris allowed Howie to help him up and balanced on the single crutch.
“I can manage from here.” Howie nodded and went ahead of him. By the time Chris got there, he'd turned down the covers and fluffed the pillows. He watched as Chris settled himself against them.
“You want anything?”
“Yeah. You. Naked.” Howie didn't need to be asked twice. He dropped his trousers and briefs, and climbed onto the bed next to Chris. “Always the perfect host, are we?” He ran his hand along Howie's side, watching his reaction.
“Chris, I still think...” He was silenced by Chris' mouth covering his. When Chris finally moved away, leaving Howie clearly shaken, and with slightly swollen lips, he grinned.
“You think too much, baby. Just feel for a bit, okay?” He pulled Howie into his arms. “Know what? I miss your hair being a bit longer.” He rubbed his fingers against the short sides. “I used to love running my fingers through the curls.” He stroked the nape of Howie's neck, feeling him burrow closer. “That's it. Yes.” Howie nipped at his shoulder. “So good to hold you again. So good.” He ran his hand down Howie's spine, feeling Howie moan against his skin. “Yes. Again, baby.” He repeated the gesture. “You make such nice noises.”
Howie was actually shaking against him. He lowered one hand to the small of Howie's back, and felt Howie actually jump at the touch. He kept his hand there, gentling him, until he felt Howie sink against him again. He eased Howie onto his side, and spooned against him. “What do you want me to do, D?” He breathed into Howie's ear.
Frankly, Howie didn't much care at that point. Hands he had craved for years were stroking him, spurring him on. “Chris..”
“Right here, baby. Tell me what you want.”
“You...in me...”
“We'll get there, baby. Not just yet though.” Howie froze. “Easy. Not gonna hurt you. Never gonna hurt you.” He reached around and stroked his hands down Howie's stomach, traced the faint line of hair with one finger, playing with the short curls following it, stopping just short of where Howie wanted him to touch, feeling Howie's body trying to back damn near through him to be closer. Howie was moaning at every touch. Chris could feel the heat pouring off him. He knew he wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. “From in front or behind, baby?”
“Don't care.” Howie could barely get the words out. “Just...fuckin'...do it.” He wanted Chris in him, needed to feel like he belonged to someone again, even while part of his brain was screaming warnings. He felt Chris' hands prepare him, spreading his cheeks. applying lube. Then Chris got one finger inside and he went rigid. Chris breathed into his ear again, murmuring words he could barely hear. He moved over Howie, kissing between his shoulder blades. When he felt Howie start to relax, he eased a second finger in and began scissoring motions. When Howie was moaning again, a third finger followed.
Howie felt empty when Chris pulled his hands away, felt fear and anticipation. Then Chris put the head of his cock against him. “You ready for me, baby?”
“Please...” Chris re-lubed the opening, then himself, then placed one hand on Howie's ass to steady him. He eased himself into him, then lay still to give Howie a chance to adjust to him.
“How do you want me, baby?” He kissed Howie's back. He could see how close Howie was to losing control, and he wanted to push him over that edge. He moved a bit, not pulling out, just trying to gauge Howie's readiness. Howie's hands scrabbled for purchase against the sheets.
“Don't care.” Howie gasped. He was desperate for Chris to start moving in him, desperate for Chris to possess him. Every time Chris moved, Howie wanted to scream. “Chris.” It came out in a long moan.
“Right here with you, baby.” He moved as gently as he could, pressing against Howie. He began moving, trying to angle himself to hit Howie's prostate, knowing what that would do. When he had Howie writhing against him, trying to get him in still deeper, he reached around with one hand and began stroking Howie's cock. Howie was shivering with need now, moaning at every touch. He kissed the nape of Howie's neck and felt his hand become sticky when Howie totally lost control and came. He paused, waiting for Howie's body to still against him. “You ready for me?” He whispered against Howie's ear.
“Yeah.” It took effort to even get that one word out, but he managed. He felt Chris begin thrusting; deeper, harder, faster. Soon, he was ready again; sooner, he felt Chris' body tense up in his and knew Chris was there, too. He could feel himself being filled by Chris, feel his own body tensing at the sensations. He heard screaming, but it took a few minutes to realize that it was both of them at the same time. Exhausted, they lay there, Chris wrapped around Howie, murmuring endearments, and drifted off to sleep.
Howie woke and was startled that the bed wasn't his, and that there was an arm pinning him to the mattress. It took him only a few seconds to remember who that arm was attached to. Then he remembered why he was asleep in Chris' bed. Swearing at himself for breaking all of his good intentions, he tried to disengage, only to feel Chris pull him closer.
“Mornin', sunshine.” The words tickled against his ear.
“Um. Chris. Bathroom.” Chris let him go, not surprised when Howie took off for his own bathroom, rather than the one attached to Chris' room. He sighed, asking himself how he was going to convince Howie that last night was a Good Thing. By the time he had managed to get himself washed, shaved, and dressed, he could hear Howie in the kitchen and smell breakfast smells, including the coffee blend he knew Howie only used in the mornings. He worked his way down the hall, and stood in the doorway. “Need a hand or three?”
“I'm good.”
“Well, yes, I know that, but do you need a hand there?” He ducked the potholder Howie tossed at him. Fortunately, he knew Howie's tendency to do that, because ducking while leaning on a crutch took some creativity. He also knew that Howie generally threw like a girl, with about half the accuracy.
“Nope. Almost ready. Go. Sit.” Chris got himself seated at the table. Howie placed a platter of huevos rancheros on the table, then got condiments, plates and utensils. He took a covered plate and put it on the table. “Tortillas - warm.” He got the coffee pot and two cups. He poured himself a cup, then set the pot near Chris and got milk and sugar for him.
“Looks good. You actually gonna sit down and eat some?” Howie sat across from Chris. They ate in silence, last night hanging between them. Finally, Chris put his fork down. “Howie.” Howie held up a hand and finished swallowing.
“Chris.” His voice was even, measured.
“Look. It felt good to wake up holding you.”
“I can't talk about this now, Chris.” Chris waited. “I broke all my promises to myself last night, and I need to think about things.”
“Think about what? About how good it felt to be together again?” Howie just sat, letting Chris talk. “About how I wanted you just as much as you wanted me? What? What do you need to think about, dammit?” He slammed his hand against the table in frustration.
“Chris, I told you I thought this would be a bad idea.” Howie sighed. “And I think I was right.” He held up a hand as Chris started to protest. “I suck at relationships. I think the years have proven that. And I don't want to hurt you again. And we both know that sooner or later I will.”
“D, you can tell yourself that shit all you want. Hell, you can tell it to the whole damned world, but you cannot tell it to me.” He managed to move his chair closer to where Howie was sitting. “We've been everything from friends to enemies and in between.” Howie nodded. “And we will always be involved with each other somehow. So why not as lovers again?” Howie looked away for a moment.
“Because I want different things than you do, Chris.” He waited for Chris to protest, but Chris stayed silent. “I want a family, kids, animals, the whole nine yards. You never wanted that, and I've no right to demand it of you.” He looked into Chris' eyes. “Verdad, last night was good. I will not lie about it. But it won't happen again, Chris. On my honor as your friend, it won't happen again.” He rose and started cleaning up the remains of their meal.
Chris rose and followed Howie. “Howie.” He grabbed Howie's arm and pulled him around, so they were face to face. “Howie...no, Howard,” he amended to emphasize the seriousness of what he was going to say. “There is not a night in all the years I've known you that I haven't wanted you in my bed, or to be in yours. There will probably never be a night like that.” Howie started to shake his head, not wanting to hear what Chris was saying. “And I don't want there to be a night one of us isn't with the other. Yeah, we've both screwed up along the way.” Using his free hand, he pulled Howie back to the table. “Sit.” Howie was so shocked that he lowered himself into the chair Chris indicated. Chris maneuvered himself into the other chair. “Look. You aren't the only person to screw up, dammit. I've done my fair share of it. In fact, if I recall, I was the first one to fuck up.” Howie waited. “I want us to be together, Howie. I really think we could do it this time.”
“Well, I don't, and I couldn't take it if we messed each other up again. So, subject closed.” Howie rose. “And if you can't accept that, then maybe I'd better take you back to your place.” He left the kitchen. Chris sat for a moment, mouth gaping, then followed him.
“You really want me to leave?”
“No,” Howie admitted. “I love having you here. But I really can't go through this again, Chris. Please respect that.”
“You are the most stubborn man I've ever met.”
“Pot, kettle much, Chris?”
“Howie...” Chris moved to the bed. “Little help here, please.” Howie moved next to him, straightened the covers quickly, then turned down the blankets on Chris' side.
“Need anything else?” Howie began moving toward the door.
“Well, yes, but...you don't seem willing to provide it.”
“Chris,” Howie's eye caught the time on Chris' alarm clock. “Oh, shit...I'm late. Can we talk later?”
“If you really mean you will sit down and we'll talk this out, yes.”
“Okay, but I can't promise that it'll come out the way you want.”
“Not asking that, D. Just asking that we work on things.” Howie shook his head.
“There's nothing to work on. Anyway, if I stand here much longer, AJ's head will explode.” He shook his head. “Who'd've thought he'd become the disciplinarian among us?”
“Go. We'll talk tonight. D...” Howie turned. “Thai or Chinese?”
“Surprise me.” The words were flung over his shoulder as he left the room. Chris heard him get his things and leave the house. He exhaled - a breath he had not even been aware he was holding - and punched the bed in frustration. Even after some of the best sex they had ever had together, Howie still refused to acknowledge they belonged together. He was going to have to change that, somehow, even if it meant tying Howie to the bed until he saw reason. Not that that would help. Howie's pride would only make him dig his heels in further, as Chris well knew. He'd have to come up with something more devious; get past Howie's defenses. Of course, it would probably take a howitzer to do that, given that Howie's walls had walls, but Chris was nothing if not persistent. He'd get there. He'd managed to do it before.