Last Night's Tears

The man was the oldest person to be seen on-air on this particular channel; the elder statesman of MTV. Now he was seated on a high stool against a plain black background, with only a single band logo visible over his right shoulder.

"Hi. This is Kurt Loder with an MTV news brief. Three hours ago, a small plane carrying Kevin Richardson and Howie Dorough of the Backstreet Boys, along with Richardson’s wife Kristen Willits and an unnamed pilot, went down over the Amazon rainforest. Details are still forthcoming, but group management confirms that the three were there for meetings to discuss a benefit concert for the Rainforest Foundation. Richardson is a licensed pilot, but it is not known at this time if he was flying the plane. The twin-engined, six-passenger Cessna was borrowed from a member of the local government. Attempts are being made now to locate the crash site and rescue any survivors."

Loder paused for breath and looked directly into the camera, notching up the intensity.

"MTV extends its best wishes to everyone involved; the friends and families of all four missing persons. We hope and pray for a happy outcome. Our thoughts are with you."

He paused again, and for a moment he looked tired.

"We’ll have updates as they become available. Stay tuned to MTV News."

* * * * *

"Shhh...it’s okay now, Kristen. It’s time for you to rest. I’ll take care of Kevin for you."

He was talking to a dead woman. Howie noticed that his hands were shaking as he pulled the edge of the blanket over Kristen’s slack face. Her eyes were closed now, but her mouth still gaped open in that final expression of agony.

Her last words had been about Kevin; she had begged Howie to take care of him, even as she died.

He sat on his knees beside her, his hands in his lap, shivering. It wasn’t actually cold, not at all, but his body shook with harsh random shudders. He couldn’t stop looking at her, hidden beneath the blanket.

Her body was as perfect as ever, underneath that blanket, without bruise or blemish. He’d unbuttoned her yellow sundress and looked for broken bones, something obvious that he could try to fix, but there had been nothing wrong – nothing he could see. Something inside of her had been broken, and she had died while he tried to comfort her. While he promised to look after Kevin.

Now it seemed that he was doomed to fail her and break that promise.

Kevin lay where Howie had dragged him from the wreckage, just a few feet away. He was still, and deathly pale. The only sign of life was the slow rise and fall of his chest under his baggy white silk shirt.

With a hitch in his chest, Howie leaned forward and crawled over to him. He touched Kevin’s face; it was cold, or maybe that was just his hands.

Before Kristen had started screaming he’d been pulling stuff out of the plane. The pilot had died on impact, his body was still strapped to his seat, impaled there by a broken branch. Howie remembered seeing the man smoking a cigar in the small lobby of the little airport, and hoped he might find some matches on him. But that meant he would have to get up and go look. Maybe there would be another blanket or a first aid kit in the cockpit. The front of the plane was so mangled he wasn’t sure how he would get in, but he had to try.

He checked Kevin’s pulse, relieved that it was strong and steady. When he pulled away Kevin made a soft sound like a moan.

Howie sat on his knees, unaware of the layers of mud and dead leaves he was sitting in. He was so tired. Tired and very cold. His back throbbed with a fierce burn, but there was no way he could look at it. He’d barely been aware of it until now. He’d been too busy watching Kristen die.

It would have been so much worse if not for Kevin, he knew. Kevin had protected him, Howie, and saved him from being badly hurt. They had gone down so fast – there had been no way for Kevin to reach his wife. She had been up front, taking pictures out the window while Kevin and Howie sat in the last row of seats looking out over the scenery and studying a map. Kevin had shouted to Kristen...

If he hadn’t done that, Howie might be the one lying there so pale and still now. And Kevin would have been the one to watch his wife die.

Howie just wanted to lie down. To curl up next to Kevin in the mud and the leaves and sleep. Sleep until help found them, until someone else was there to deal with the horrors of the day and the fear of the coming night.

Kevin was the strong one. Centered, grounded, immeasurably kind, he had the type of gentleness that big men can get, though he wasn’t huge, exactly. Howie figured it was because they had all been so much younger when the band started. Younger and smaller. The others had gotten bigger, but not Howie. Not really.

Kevin was what Howie thought of as a true Southern gentleman. So different from Brian, who could alienate people with his well meaning but holier-than-thou attitude. Kevin managed people, but deftly. Made them feel like what he wanted them to do was what they really wanted to do anyway. He just knew how to do it.

From the beginning Howie had relied on Kevin. To calm Nicky down, to keep AJ sane, to keep Brian out of people’s hair. To protect Howie, to listen to him. Though he’d been young, Kevin had quickly become the father figure of the group. Howie went to him when he had a problem too serious for AJ or too sensitive for Brian’s ears.

Now Kevin, unknowingly, was relying on Howie. He'd failed Kristen. He really understood that there wasn't anything he could have done, but he had still failed and now Kevin's wife was still dead. And Howie had to find a way to save Kevin - and himself.

If he could just get warm he could think more clearly. It was starting to get dark. Animals might come, drawn by the smell of death.

Get warm. He needed to get warm, and keep Kevin warm. A fire would do that.

Howie touched Kevin’s waxen face, and spent a moment gathering himself.

"I’ll find something to start a fire, Kev. And some more blankets. Then we’ll be okay until they find us. You just lay there and, y’now, keep breathing, okay? Just keep breathing."

He pushed himself up with both hands. It hurt, it felt like someone was ripping the skin off his back. On his feet, he swayed. But Kevin was lying there, helpless. So Howie staggered back, stumbling over fallen branches, to the remains of the Cessna, impaled on a broken tree, turned on its side, ripped open with things falling out of it like it was a half-dead pinata.

Their luggage was back at the hotel. It was to have been a short flight, to show them some of the area protected by the Foundation. It had been such a beautiful morning. Howie had come on this trip basically because he’d had nothing else planned. He was usually at loose ends when they finished a tour, feeling aimless and a bit lost. Knowing that, Kevin had invited him along.

It was hard to pull himself into the lopsided plane. His arms protested, his back screamed. Harder still to squeeze past the pilot’s corpse; pinned to the seat by that branch, his chest destroyed. The smell of him was ripe in the heavy air. His bowels had released and Howie fought to hold back the bile that rose and threatened to choke him. He wouldn’t puke on the dead, it just wasn’t right.

There was a lighter in the man’s breast pocket, miraculously intact. Howie palmed it and then bent double, trying to rummage under the two seats, to see what he could find there. He had hopes... but came up with only two bottles of water.

Better than nothing, he thought. His face brushed the dead man’s leg and searing bile filled his mouth, burning his nose and throat. He gagged and retched, unable to breathe. The air tasted like vomit and shit.

He stumbled and fell as he scrambled out of the cockpit. Hands flailing, he tried to grab something – anything! – that would stop his tumble toward the ripped side, which awaited him with razor sharp edges.

His left arm was flung wide as he fell through, a shower of debris and loose seat cushions with him. The new pain, a deep gash in his triceps, took all of his attention for a few minutes. It was bleeding freely and there was nothing to use as a bandage. He pulled off his t-shirt and balled it up, holding it to the cut. But then both of his hands were busy – using his right hand and his teeth he tore a strip off the shirt and clumsily tied it around his arm.

He had the lighter, so he grabbed a couple of the cushions that had fallen. Everything around him was wet, the rainforest as perpetually damp as its name implied. Maybe these would burn. They were dry, at least.

The fall had triggered a rush of adrenalin. He felt better. Warmer and more in control. He went back to Kevin, relieved anew to find him still breathing, and cleared a spot on the forest floor to start a fire. A torn seam on a cushion provided him with dry compressed foam, and he piled it eagerly, anticipating the warmth and security of a hot red blaze.

But when he set the lighter to it, the foam just smoldered and refused to catch fire. He tried again and again, but the fluid was getting low in the lighter and he was afraid to use it all. What would they do then? Suppose help didn’t come right away. Then they could never make a fire.

It was very dark, stars and moon blocked by the tops of the trees. A patch of faint light filtered through the hole the plane had made in the canopy. It looked huge to Howie, but was it big enough for a search plane to spot?

Whether they could or not, rescuers weren’t going to find them tonight. The loss of adrenalin left him drained and weak and, once again, cold.

Howie scarcely noticed the tears trickling down his face as he curled close to Kevin in the damp. He pulled the shredded cushions close, trying to cover them with the foam and fabric. Anything to get warm. With his head on Kevin’s shoulder and his body pressed close to his friend’s, he shivered and thought with vague longing of the blanket covering Kristen’s body, only a few feet away. But it may as well have been miles, the impenetrable darkness and his own exhaustion making the distance too large to consider crossing.

Kevin was cool and solid. His body gave off almost no heat, but just being close to him made Howie feel better. It didn’t make sense, but not much in his life did right now.

Sleep hit him like a sledgehammer, leaving no room for argument.

* * * * *

"Crowds of fans have gathered here, outside the MTV Times Square Studio, to hold a vigil for their missing idols. MTV has set up a hotline for the most current updates on the search. The number should be on the bottom of your screen, or you can go to MTV.com. We’ll continue to have hourly updates."

Tabitha Soren actually looked sad. The camera panned over crowds of sobbing girls and women, and even some boys, holding flowers, teddy bears, pictures and candles.

"As search efforts are continue the Brazillian government has set up a field station for journalists covering the story. This is Tabitha Soren of MTV News."

"Tops stories: Two members of the internationally popular band the Backstreet Boys are still missing tonight, twenty-four hours after their plane went down somewhere in the Rainforest. Though rescuers continue to search, experts say that there’s little chance anyone could have survived a crash in that location or the hours of exposure that followed it."

As the CNN reporter spoke, factoids about the band appeared in the window beneath her image; a parade of boiographicsal data and information about the band. The fact that Kevin and Kristen had only celebrated their first anniversary a few months ago.

"Parents of fans are be urged to talk to thier children and watch for signs of excessive grief that could lead to emotional displays or self-destructive behavior."

* * * * *

"Howie?"

The soft whisper became insistent.

"Howie. Wake up. *Howie*."

He was so cold. He couldn’t feel his feet. But his back burned and his arm ached.

Rough hands shook him.

"Howie! Wake up! Where’s Kristen?!"

The normally low, soothing voice was high with emotion. Ragged at the edges. Howie opened his eyes and saw Kevin staring at him from only a few inches away. His eyes were shot through with red, one pupil hugely dilated.

That meant something, but Howie couldn’t remember what. He noticed that it was light enough to see again.

"Where’s Kristen?!" Kevin shook him again and Howie moaned in pain. Numbly, he lifted his good arm and pointed at the blanketed figure, just visible between the trees. Kevin had to sit up to look.

Kevin stared. For a long time. Howie let his arm drop and just lay there. He wished he could die, anything was better than seeing that look on Kevin’s face.

Then Kevin shook his head, and a greenish flush spread over his face. He lay back beside Howie.

It was really quiet for a long time. Howie thought that maybe Kevin’s shouting had scared the birds he’d listened to last night.

"How long?" Kevin whispered at last.

"We, um, landed yesterday." Howie wasn’t sure what he was asking. "We were going to head back for lunch, remember?"

"How long did it take her to die?" Kevin was holding himself very still, stiff. His arms were rigid by his sides. Howie began to scoot away. He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty, he’d done everything he could, but what if Kevin blamed him for her death?

He could lie and say that she’d been dead when he found her, that it had been quick, but Kevin was his friend and he deserved the truth.

"Hours," he said, and there was no way to hide how much it had hurt him. "She seemed okay for a while, but then she started screaming and she died."

"You were with her?" Kevin turned his head so he could look at Howie. His eyes were bright with tears. "She didn’t die alone?"

"I stayed with her the whole time." If this was the only comfort he could offer, it was also the truth. "She was worried about you."

"God." Kevin stared at him.

Howie felt his own tears slipping down his face.

"I’m sorry," he mumbled, using his right hand to scrub at them. His face was sticky with mud and sweat and last night’s tears. "I’m so sorry, Kevin. I - I - " a sob escaped him, swallowing what he wanted to say.

"No, Howie, no. Sweet D." Kevin got on his knees and pulled Howie into an embrace, pressing Howie’s face to his torn shirt, rocking him gently. "You did all you could. Ah know that. At least she didn’t die alone. I would’ve hated it if she’d died alone."

Howie’s sobs faded quickly. He wasn’t a man given to bawling. None of them were. Even now, with his wife dead and their lives in jeopardy, Kevin didn’t cry. He just held Howie and rocked him until he calmed and could breathe evenly again. And still Kevin rocked.

Howie pulled his head free and looked into Kevin’s face. His friend was staring blindly into space, but he soon noticed Howie’s gaze and gave him a weak, pathetic attempt at a smile. It was ghastly, but Howie stretched his own lips and tried to return it.

"So." Kevin resolutely stared at Howie, a flicker of determination crossing his chiseled features. "What have we got? Does the radio work? Can we start a fire? Is there any food? Have you seen a search plane, or heard one?"

He shifted Howie to one side, the embrace over; only one allowed per crisis, straight man’s rules. The pain in Howie’s back exploded and he shrieked in the same falsetto he so often sang at.

"Where are you hurt?!" Kevin demanded, his hands skimming over Howie. "Oh, God, what’s wrong?"

"My back - my back -" Howie gasped as the stabbing pains of agony receded. "It wasn’t so bad yesterday..."

"And you’re bleeding!" Kevin lifted Howie’s arm more gently than his words expressed. "Hang on, let me fix you a place to lie back down..." He looked around desperately.

"I couldn’t find any more blankets," Howie whispered, apologetic. Kevin’s fingers were warm on his arm, he felt so cold.

"That’s okay, you did good, really good." Kevin began pushing more of the forest floor away from the pile of decimated cushions. "Just let me try to make a nest or something..." Abruptly he stood. He staggered and grabbed onto a tree with both arms, leaning against it and panting for breath.

"Kevin? Kev!" Howie couldn’t move for fear of triggering another stab of pain in his back.

"‘m okay. Just - just dizzy..." Kevin took a faltering step toward the plane and went down gracefully, first to his knees and then toppling to one side. He moaned and then retched.

Despite the screaming agony in his back, Howie crawled toward him, his shouts of panic ringing through the trees.

"Kevin! Kevin! Kevin!"

The other man pushed himself up to his elbows before Howie reached him. He held out a hand in a stop motion and Howie collapsed where he’d stopped, eyes closed, breath whistling as he fought against the pain that wanted to devour him.

"Ah went too fast." Kevin’s accent only appeared when he was seriously upset. "Just have to take it slow. Ah’m fine."

When Howie opened his eyes a little later, Kevin was over by the plane, gingerly picking up seat cushions.

"Howie." He lifted one up. "Catch." Instead of carrying them, he began to toss them, one by one, across the space toward where they had slept. With every muscle protesting, Howie crawled back in that direction, gathering cushions as he went. He began assembling a bed on the muddy, stinking ground. By the time Kevin got back to him he had a surprisingly comfortable-looking mattress. Kevin lowered himself to it slowly and lay back with a groan.

"You going to be sick?" Howie sat beside him, his hands clenching as he tried to decide; touch or don’t touch? The need to offer comfort was only offset by the fear he would make it worse.

"Yeah," Kevin gasped. "God, my head hurts." He shut his eyes tightly, face twisting into a grimace.

"I’m sorry." The expression helped Howie choose. He reached over and rubbed the knotted forehead with careful fingers. "I couldn’t find any medicine or anything."

"In Kristen’s purse," Kevin muttered. "She had some headache stuff, and those antibiotics she got last month when she had a cold. She felt better so she didn’t take them. She never cleaned her purse."

"I’ll get them. We’ve got some water." Howie got up again. Just the thought of painkillers was motivating.

"We’ll need the blanket, too." Kevin grabbed his leg. "I can’t do it, D. You - you get the blanket."

Unable to speak past the lump in his throat, Howie nodded. He would cover her with leaves or something. If he had something to take the edge off the pain he could do that.

"Don’t go to sleep," he told Kevin. "I’m afraid. I don’t want to be alone here." He was really afraid that Kevin would never wake up again.

"My head hurts." Kevin sounded like a frightened child. It shook Howie. "It hurts."

"I’m going to find her purse," Howie promised. "You just stay awake." He started to walk away from him, watching over his shoulder.

"Okay," Kevin said, and promptly closed his eyes.

"No! Kevin, no!" Howie shouted at him.

"But my head hurts." Kevin opened his eyes and fixed Howie with a feeble glare. "The light hurts my eyes."

"I know." Howie tried to think, but he was too cold, too sore, and too tired. "Why - why don’t you sing? Then you can close your eyes but I’ll know you’re still awake and I won’t be afraid."

"What should I sing?"

Howie swallowed down a hysterical laugh. If he started laughing he would start crying and he wasn’t sure he would stop.

"We’re Backstreet Boys, we can think of something." He suggested the first song that came to mind. "Do ‘Being Lonely’. It’s an easy one." As soon as he said the song name he felt stupid. But Kevin just nodded and closed his eyes again. Howie waited until he began to sing, then started moving again.

"Show me the meaning, of being lonely..." Kevin faltered, and Howie joined in. They harmonized automatically and Kevin’s voice gained strength. "Show me the meaning, ..."

The song and the singing seemed to give Howie strength. As he searched the rubble for Kristen’s purse, he felt oddly calm. They finished the song and Kevin began ‘Shape of My Heart’.

They both loved to sing, though Kevin didn’t like center stage and Howie was usually relegated to falsetto. When they spontaneously traded parts mid-song Howie found himself smiling, though he could feel tears running down his face again.

They sang on. The forest was quiet around them. It was like being in a church.

He found the purse, a jacket, and a handful of granola bars that Kevin must have stashed. There were no more blankets, but with this bounty in hand Howie turned his attention to Kevin’s dead wife. He glanced at his friend and saw that Kevin still had his eyes tightly shut. He wasn’t going to watch. He was still singing, with less strength now, so Howie pushed himself to sing louder, to put more strength and calm into his own voice.

He pulled the blanket off, trying not to look at her bloated, disfigured form. The seams of her cheerful dress were stretched grotesquely.

"Forgive me," he whispered, dropping out of the song. Kevin stopped and then, after a pause, began again, a new song, an old one Howie didn’t really know the words to.

"Love hurts. Love smarts. It wounds. It mars. Any heart love knows...."

Silently Howie gathered piles of leaves and covered Kristen’s remains until she was safely out of sight again. He would have liked to bury her, but he just wasn’t strong enough right now.

Dragging the blanket behind him, he made his way back to Kevin, the plaintive song rolling out as liquid pain.

"To take a lot of pain. To take a lot of pain. Love is like a flame, it burns you when it’s hot - Love hurts...."

Kevin looked at Howie. The younger man’s face was tight with pain. It had taken hours for him to search and gather things, and now they were facing another night of darkness, with no fire.

The lack of fire didn’t really bother Kevin. At the moment nothing really bothered him; not the damp or the bugs or the fact that they were stranded here and his dead wife’s body was on the ground only a few yards away.

He suspected this was shock. But he didn’t really care.

"Let me see your arm." He sat up slowly, mindful of his pounding head. Howie sat beside him. They moved closer together and Howie wrapped the blanket around both sets of shoulders as they huddled.

He watched with wide eyes while Kevin unwrapped the makeshift bandage from his arm.

"This looks bad." Kevin held the arm gently and they both stared down at it.

The edges of the wound were green-tinged, and around it the skin was red and puffy. Howie winced when Kevin prodded it with a fingertip.

"I’ll find the medicine." Kevin lay the arm in his lap and picked up his wife’s purse. "She always keeps a bag of bathroom stuff with her, just in case, she says."

He closed his eyes for a minute.

"Kept. She kept a bag..." he stopped talking, and began digging.

After pulling out makeup and things; a wallet, a hairbrush, a half-dozen scrunchies, Kevin paused with a pink plastic circle in his hand. He held it in front of his face.

"She was going to stop taking these when we got back."

Howie recognized the label. Birth control pills.

"We waited until after the tour so we’d have plenty of time to get the job done." Kevin felt an urge to laugh. His mouth tasted bitter.

"I’m sorry." Howie was looking at the ground in front of them. "I’m so sorry."

With a grunt, Kevin hurled the plastic disk into the forest, away from them. The movement made Howie flinch and gasp.

Kevin patted his shoulder and pulled out a familiar brown pharmacy bottle from the purse.. He picked up a bottle of water and opened it, offering it to Howie.

"You better take two to start. She only took a couple of them, there’s lots left. But they’ll probably make your stomach hurt.

Accepting the large red capsules without comment, Howie swallowed them down. The water tasted good, but he made himself stop after a few sips. Then he offered the bottle to Kevin, and sighed as his friend drank. They both took some Tylenol.

"I don’t know if you should sleep." Howie told him while Kevin tied the bandage back around the arm.

"I figure I’ve got a concussion, D." Kevin didn’t look at him. Howie looked so lost, so damned young. It was a thing about him; his sweet nature and small stature could make you think he was just a kid. But right now he looked filthy and exhausted. There wasn’t anything Kevin could do about it, and that bothered him. "It didn’t kill me last night, so I should be okay tonight." He fastened the bandage carefully, then gave Howie’s shoulder a pat. "We need more rest. Tomorrow we’ll have to decide what to do next."

"‘Kay." It was clear that Howie was hurting, but hopefully the Tylenol would start working soon. He lay back and Kevin lay beside him. The improvised bed was narrow, so they moved closer together. After a minute Howie began squirming, trying to get the blanket out from underneath them. It was obvious that the movements hurt.

"I’ve got it." Kevin put a hand on his chest to still him. "Don’t hurt yourself."

Howie’s skin was cool and Kevin felt a resurgence of worry. He watched the younger man as Howie closed his eyes with a sigh, lying quiet while Kevin worked the blanket out from under them to cover them both.

When Kevin lay back down he started to take his hand from Howie’s chest, but Howie covered it with one of his own, holding it there.

Kevin turned his hand over and entwined their fingers.

They lay silent, listening to the forest coming to life around them. There were so many sounds. Monkeys and small creatures rustling and things he couldn’t identify.

"There’s nothing to be afraid of," Kevin said softly into the dark. "It’s just night and there’s nothing to be afraid of."

Beside him Howie swallowed audibly and Kevin hoped he believed it.

Soon the demands of their bodies overrode their fear, and they slept.

* * * * *

"...missing for seventy-two hours, little hope is being held out for a rescue...."

"...management issued a statement of sympathy and said that there will be no decision concerning the future of the group at this time..."

"...arrested last night for public intoxication at a downtown Orlando club. MacLean underwent treatment for alcohol dependence during the recent Black and Blue tour, during which the band was forced to postpone several concert dates. There’s no word on MacLean’s condition tonight, and there has yet to be a statement from the group’s management or other members..."

"...and in Lexington, Kentucky today, two teenage girls are dead and one is in critical condition in what is being called a suicide pact. All three victims were fans of the pop band the Backstreet Boys and a spokesperson for the Lexington Police Department stated that the girls were distraught over the rumored breakup of the band, two members of which have been missing since Sunday..."

* * *

"I don’t think anyone is coming for us."

From his place on the cushions, Howie watched as Kevin cautiously built the fire up. They had finally gotten it going this morning, using pieces of the pilot’s clothing and Kristen’s linen jacket.

"They’re looking for us." Kevin rested his hands on his thighs, sitting on his knees across from Howie.

His head had cleared and he’d told Howie he felt fine. This morning, after he got the fire going, he had used a piece of branch to dig two shallow graves. Then, with a piece of t-shirt tied over his face, he’d buried Kristen and the pilot. He’d never learned the man’s name. When Kevin told him he didn’t know what to say, Howie remembered a movie he’d seen and suggested ‘Amazing Grace’. The first time he’d sung it alone, but the second Kevin had joined in. His rich deep voice had rolled through the trees and filled the space.

They were out of water, and only had one granola bar left. Howie was lying still so his back didn’t hurt, trying to conserve the Tylenol, which only helped a little anyhow.

This would be their fifth night here.

At least they had a fire.

"I don’t think they’ll find us in time." Howie voiced his biggest fear.

"If they don’t come tomorrow then we’ll leave." Kevin added a small dead log to the fire and stood up, coming over to Howie. His eyes looked haunted, his face a stark mask of planes and shadows in the firelight. "We were on our way back, we can’t be that far from the city, and we have the map."

Most of a map. It had gotten damp and torn in a couple of places, but they had a lot of it.

Not far away, but far enough.

"I can walk it if I have to," Howie agreed, willing to work with this. "How long do you think it will take?"

"If we head east it should only take a few days." Kevin didn’t mention that they didn’t have a compass, which both of them knew. "We can collect rainwater to drink." The last two mornings they had been awakened by a cloudburst. "If we eat what the monkeys eat we should be okay."

"Okay." Howie closed his eyes. The pain was unrelenting, an angry burn through his shoulders and back. He felt and heard Kevin lay down beside him and shifted to share the blanket. It was too warm now, but it kept the bugs off.

"We’ll get out of here, Howie." Kevin’s hand rubbed his shoulder, offering reassurance. "I’ll get you out of here."

Howie knew that Kevin kept his promises. But maybe he wouldn’t be able to keep this one.

His arm felt like it was on fire. His back throbbed.

This time there might not be anything Kevin could do.

* * * * *

"We have a special guest today: Brian Littrell of the Backstreet Boys. As all of you probably know, two members of that band, Kevin Richardson and Howie Dorough have been missing for more than a week after their plane crashed in the Rainforest." Katy turned to the subdued blond man sitting in the chair across from her. "Good morning, Brian. I would welcome you, but I know how devastated you must be with your friend and your cousin still missing. You and Kevin grew up together, right?"

"Yes, we did. Kevin has always been more like a brother to me, and Howie is one of my best friends. Everyone is taking this very hard."

"Do you still believe they’ll be found?" Katy looked sympathetic, but it was a cruel question.

Brian shifted in his seat, uncrossing and recrossing his legs.

"Well, you know that the official search for them has been called off. But me and the other guys have convinced our management team to fund a continuing effort. We’ve all contributed a share and the search is going to continue."

"Have you set a time limit on it?"

Brian gave her a look. It wasn’t angry, just disbelieving.

"These are our friends. We’ll look for them as long as it takes. What else is money for?"

* * * * *

"I gotta sit down, Kev. I can’t breathe." Clutching at his friend, Howie stumbled yet again, and dug his fingers into Kevin’s body. "Sorry - Kevin - "

"I gotya." Strong arms circled his waist and helped him sit down gently. When they were both on the ground, Howie lay his head in Kevin’s lap, twisting feverishly.

"It hurts. Kevin, it hurts."

"Shh, shh..." Kevin rocked him. "I don’t have anything to give you, D. Just - just try to rest and we’ll try again."

Howie moaned and pushed his face into Kevin’s bare stomach. The remains of the silk shirt had been sacrificed to make a sling and bind his arm tightly to his chest. Flies buzzed incessantly around them. His head pounded, his eyes felt like they were filled with sand.

"Can I have some water?" he mumbled, his nose filled with Kevin’s scent; rank, powerfully musky, earth and sweat.

"Hang on." A cushion relieved of its stuffing was hung over Kevin’s shoulder, fixed there by a strip of shirt knotted through a hole. Kevin pulled out one of the small bottles, filled that morning from a hollow tree that had caught the rain. It probably wasn’t safe to drink, but there wasn’t much choice. "There’s a piece of that weird fruit left, if you want it."

It was sweet and bitter, grainy and didn’t taste like any fruit Howie had ever eaten before. He shook his head, cheek still on Kevin’s stomach.

"You eat it. You’re carrying everything." He opened his mouth as Kevin poured a little water in it. He waited until Howie had swallowed and then gave him some more before drinking himself.

Capping the water, he put it away.

"I thought I saw something edible off that way." He pointed to the left. "I’m going to go look while you rest."

He arranged the ‘pack’ and folded blanket under Howie’s head and arm, careful to put his bad side where the pack would hold it off the ground with as much cushioning as possible. Howie bit his lip at the shift, then lay panting while Kevin walked off through the tree.

Howie rested. He was actually feeling better. They’d been walking for a week now, and Kevin was sure they would reach the end soon, or run into one of the native tribes that could show them back to civilization. Yesterday Howie had been so sick and in so much pain that they hadn’t moved at all. But the antibiotics seemed to be keeping the infection in check, rationed out at one a day. They weren’t wiping it out, but at least it didn’t seem to be spreading.

The cut on his arm burned and stung. Mostly it had throbbed lately, so this was a change. Howie half-sat and tugged at the bandage to unwrap it. The filthy fabric was crusted with blood and ooze and came away with a painful pull.

At first he didn’t recognize what he was seeing. As soon as he did his mind kicked into overdrive and he started screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Howie?!" Kevin, halfway up a smallish tree, stopped climbing and turned his head, but his friend was out of his line of sight. "Howie!"

The screams continued as he scrambled back down the tree, twisting a knee in the process. At least, he thought ruefully, as long as he’s screaming I know he’s alive.

It was important that Howie be alive. Without him to take care of, Kevin knew he would have curled up on top of Kristen’s grave and just died himself. But as long as Howie needed him he had something to do. A reason to live.

When they were found, then he would curl up and die. The pain was there, at the back of his throat, just waiting. It knew. It understood that it was going to get him eventually. The longer he waited, the worse it would be. The pain understood this, and so waited willingly.

He saw Howie and slowed his run. The younger man was just sitting there staring at his arm, mouth wide open, eyes terrified.

"What is it? What’s wrong?" Somewhat calmer now that he knew Howie *wasn’t* being gobbled down by a man-eating Boa Constrictor, Kevin dropped to his knees beside his friend and pulled his arm away to get a closer look at the wound, careful not to hurt him.

He looked at the arm and gagged.

"Oh, gross! Oh, shit."

Howie managed to stop screaming, but his eyes were tightly closed and he looked like he might faint.

"Get ‘em out!" His free hand gripped Kevin’s thigh painfully. "Oh, God, Kev, get them out!"

Despite their best efforts to protect it, the wound was now crawling with maggots. Not very big yet, but there seemed to be hundreds of them; fat and white, twisting and writhing inside and around the angry red gash.

Kevin couldn’t look. He was going to throw up. This was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen.

He fumbled for the water, getting the cap off and dropping it on the ground. Trying to pour it on the cut without looking at it, he splashed them both liberally. Howie yelled as the water ran over and into the wound.

When the water bottle was empty, Kevin anxiously looked at the arm.

"Are they gone?" Howie asked, without opening his eyes. His fingers were digging bruises in Kevin’s leg.

"Hang on." There were a few stubborn survivors clinging to it, and several more on Howie’s arm and hand. Kevin picked up a small stick, and wiped it on the sling, then began flicking them off. Howie winced and hissed whenever he touched the cut. When one fell inside and Kevin had to dig for it he moaned.

"I’m sorry." Kevin continued to work. He wasn’t going to leave a single one of those things anywhere near them. "Just a little more."

Howie nodded, white lines around his scowling mouth, no doubt grinding his teeth together. Kevin finished with the arm and used the stick to brush off the ones that had fallen onto Howie’s legs and squash the ones on the ground around them.

"That’s it. They’re all gone." He used his size and strength to move his friend, to move both of them away from that spot. "You okay?"

Half leaning against him, half slumped over, Howie was holding onto his arm and panting.

"Nope. Not at all," he replied with a gasp. "This is - this is bad, Kev. It’s all bad."

"We’ll be okay." Kevin snugged him closer to hold him. "Just rest, and it’ll be okay." He wasn’t sure he believed himself, so there was no telling what Howie believed. "I’ll go ahead and make camp here, we can both rest."

The darkness was no longer as threatening as it could have been. They were used to it. The lighter had run out of fluid days ago. They’d tried to carry the coals with them, to carry the fire, but it kept going out. They had nothing that really worked to carry them in.

Kevin lay on his back in their nest of leaves against the base of a big old tree and stared upwards. He could just make out a few stars between the interlaced branches of the tree. Howie was curled next to him, his head on Kevin’s shoulder. They’d had another bad day. The only thing he’d found to eat was more of that yucky fruit. Howie’s fever was getting steadily higher and there were only a couple of antibiotics left. Without them there would be nothing to fight the infection. Kevin thought that, if he had to, he could find some way to take the arm off – to keep the infection from spreading any further – but that might just kill Howie itself. And he really, really didn’t want to think about that.

And now they both had painful stomach cramps and diarrhea. It could have been the water or the fruit, but their trek was frequently broken by urgent sidetrips that left them drained and nauseous. Whatever it was, it would either run its course or kill them. There wasn’t much they could do about it.

"Kevin?" Howie’s whisper broke what Kevin had come to think of as the silence, though the forest was never quiet at night.

"I’m awake." He tightened his arm around Howie’s shoulders briefly.

"Oh. I thought maybe."

"Yeah." Kevin kept staring upwards. They didn’t talk much. It was almost like, by talking about what was happening, they would make it worse. Make it stronger, somehow. More likely to kill them.

Kevin had no intention of dying here. That was for later. After Howie was safe.

"Kevin -" Howie sounded sleepy, and his words were slightly slurred – the fever must be up again. "You know what they say about me? In the tabloids and on the Internet."

"You know I don’t pay attention to stuff like that, D." Kevin hugged him more tightly, using his free hand to check his forehead. He was burning up.

"I know, but you know what they say, right?"

Kevin sighed. He knew. How could he not? It was the biggest area of public speculation on Backstreet Boy life. But he really didn’t care what they said. It was none of his business.

"I know, yeah. But I don’t care. It doesn’t matter to me."

"You think it’s true." Hurt accusation, made all the more poignant because Howie could barely get the words out.

"Honestly, Howie, I don’t know." Kevin turned on his side and pulled his friend to his chest, cradling him there, Howie’s face pressed to his dirty skin. "And I really don’t care."

Howie let himself be cuddled for a few minutes before he whispered.

"It is true, Kevin."

Kevin stopped breathing for a minute, then started again. He was more worried about Howie than his confession at the moment, so he just said softly; "Really?"

"Really." Howie nuzzled closer and moaned softly; the movement having jarred his arm. "I’ve never had a chance to meet anyone... I was only 15 when we started, and it was pretty clear from the beginning that I couldn’t date guys and be in the band. So I just never did."

"You’ve been alone all this time?" That surprised Kevin. He could have sworn he’d seen Howie with girls, flirting with them, picking them up the same as the other guys. "You’ve never dated any of those girls that hang around you?" He hadn’t been paying enough attention, that much was clear. He should have known that. How could he take care of them if he wasn’t paying attention?

"It was the easiest thing to do." Howie gave a little half-shrug. "I just - y’know. I just wanted someone to know. In case I don’t get out of here."

"So now I know." Kevin hugged him again. "I’m honored that you told me that, D. I promise I’ll never let it affect the way I feel about you."

"Thanks, Kev." Howie settled further into his arms and after a few minutes Kevin heard the breath whistling in his lungs. That usually meant he was asleep.

So, Howie was gay. He hadn’t really suspected, but it didn’t really surprise him, either. His money would have been on AJ, if he’d had to take a guess at which of them might be. The man was so rampantly heterosexual that it almost seemed like a cover.

But Howie.... Howie was just his sweet self. Ever the peacemaker. Always there when someone needed him, with what they needed.

That was all that mattered to Kevin right now. That and getting them out of here alive.

What had he been thinking?

Trudging along beside Kevin, Howie didn’t really have the energy to think, but his mind kept going back over the conversation they’d had last night. He hadn’t meant to tell Kevin that. Had never planned to tell *anyone*. Years ago he’d taken a look at his life and resigned himself to spending it alone. Women intrigued him, yes. He loved to talk to them, to listen to them, to be with them. But the thought of touching one made his blood run cold. On the other hand, he cherished every casual touch he got from his friends; Nick’s exuberant hugs, Brian’s pats on the back, AJ’s slap on the butt. The group hugs. If the others knew, he might lose those casual touches.

And the affectionate cuddling sessions he could occasionally slip into with Kevin. Late at night in an anonymous hotel room watching a movie, it was okay for him to lie down on a sofa and use Kev for a pillow. To fall asleep on his shoulder. Kevin had put him to bed more times than Howie could count. Sometimes he woke when Kevin lifted him and carried him oh-so-easily to the nearest bed. Sometimes he woke, but kept his eyes shut and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of closeness, the strength and warmth of his friend.

Today that unfailing strength was faltering. They were walking side-by-side because they were both working to keep each other upright. Kevin was gripped by terrible intestinal spasms, so bad he was no longer embarrassed by them, just in pain. Howie’s arm alternated between numb and agonizing. It was swollen all the way to his shoulder now, all of it shiny stretched skin and bright red pain.

Kevin’s pain made last night’s confession that much harder to swallow. What had he been thinking, saddling him with that? Better to die without anyone ever knowing. And if they survived, what then? He trusted Kevin, but the man wouldn’t leave it alone. He’d worry about Howie, encourage him to be true to himself, to find someone to love.

But doing that would probably be the end of the BSB, and Howie didn’t want to be responsible for that.

* * * * *

"Naturally, the new CD is going to be a little late." The blond young man grinned widely at the camera when he spoke. There didn’t seem to be any sadness in him. "We talked about using already recorded material, but that’s just not the way we want to go."

"You seem pretty relaxed, considering what’s happening in your life right now." Montel shook his head and offered a look of sympathy. The three young men on the stage just stared at him blankly. "AJ was just released from his second term in rehab, your CD is stalled and your friends have been missing for 32 days. Yet you act as if they’re going to walk out on this stage any minute."

"Not on the stage, but out of the jungle, sure." Nick’s grin widened. "I know these guys. I know Kevin. If anyone can get them out of there alive, he’s the man to do it."

Montel glanced at the camera, looking skeptical.

"Kevin Richardson. He’s been a professional ballroom dance instructor, a performer at Disneyland and now he’s a backup singer in a pop band. How does that qualify him to survive the Amazozian rainforest?"

Nick looked hurt as the talk show host subtly corrected his use of the word ‘jungle’. It wasn’t the correct term, he knew that, but it was just easier to say. Before he could say anything else AJ jumped in.

"‘Cuz you don’t know Kev, man. There’s a reason he’s called Train. If he’s got a mission, nothing stands in his way. He’s like a locomotive with an endless supply of coal; get out of his way or be run down."

"And he’s like that about *everything*," Brian spoke up. He looked less convinced than his friends did, but he spoke up. "He’s a major part of the success of the Backstreet Boys. If he wants to get them out of there alive, he will find a way."

"Your confidence in him is inspiring." Montel sounded sincere. "Are you certain that The Firm, your current management team, agrees with your assessment?"

"Hey, they’ve been run over by da Train before!" Nicky spoke loudly. It was hard to tell if his cheerfulness was real or faked. "They know even better than we do."

"We’ve got to take a break. When we get back, we’ll talk more about the Backstreet Boy’s upcoming album and their fans’ reaction to the tragedy that has shaken their lives."

* * * * *

"Kevin - Kevin, man, wake up." Howie gave his friend a gentle shake. When that didn’t work he shook him harder.

"Wha?" Kevin managed to open his eyes and Howie looked at him, just looked at him for a minute.

With the scraggly beard and the coating of mud over his exposed skin – to discourage the biting insects – Kevin was about as far from his pretty-boy Backstreet image as he could get.

"You were mumbling, man." Howie

"I was?" He didn’t really look awake. Howie half-sat and pulled Kevin closer.

"Yeah. Does it still hurt really bad? I thought it was better; you managed to get to sleep."

"It’s better." Kevin stared at him. His green eyes were wide and shining. "What was I saying?"

Howie shrugged. "I couldn’t understand it."

They were silent for a moment. Kevin slid an arm around Howie’s waist and leaned into him, his head on the smaller man’s shoulder. Howie hugged him as best he could with only one arm functioning.

"I think about her," Kevin said quietly. "She’s been part of my life for almost ten years. She’s seen all of it; when I was nobody, the fame, the money... she was there before it and during it and she would have been there after it."

"She loved you." Howie nodded. He allowed himself to press his cheek to the top of Kevin’s head.

"I love her." Kevin began to shake. Howie didn’t know if it was physical pain or emotional; he just knew he had to hang on. "What am I going to do without her?"

Kevin’s eyes were still wide and he wasn’t crying. Howie thought this was kind of strange, but neither of them had the energy to spare for an emotional scene right now.

The pain on Kevin’s face drew him. Though he was aware that they were both filthy; covered in stinking mud, drenched in weeks old sweat, their clothes little more than rags, he did something he’d never really thought about before.

He bent his head down, and kissed Kevin.

Howie pressed his lips to Kevin’s and held them there long enough for the pressure to register and then lifted his head back up.

It was comfort offered.

Kevin raised a hand and pulled Howie’s head back down and kissed him back.

Comfort accepted.

It could be nothing more than that. Their reality was too bleak to allow any misconceptions. They were going to die here, in the jungle, just the two of them. First Howie, probably, and then Kevin. His would be the longer, harder death from starvation or malnutrition or some bacterial infection. So Howie kissed him, knowing these things and Kevin, accepting them, kissed him back.

The pressure on the back of his neck was the most powerful thing Howie had ever felt. To have Kevin holding him there, pulling him close, was almost too painful to bear. The kiss itself was little more than warmth and pressure and the urge to taste that he stoically resisted.

Kevin’s lips moved under his, and Howie, for the first time in his life, was being kissed by a man.

He’d wanted it for so long that the wanting had become part of him. He’d resigned himself to never knowing what this felt like, and to feel it now, knowing all that they knew, was too much.

Howie tore his mouth away and buried his face in Kevin’s shoulder, curling around him, and began to sob.

Kevin held his friend, shocked. Not at what he’d done; he’d understood the offer of comfort and taken it as freely as it was given.

No, he was shocked at how quickly that single kiss had reduced his strong-willed friend to tears. Not even tears, he thought as he listened, and began, once again, to gently rock. This pain was too deep to be described as ‘crying’. It came from someplace far inside, harsh, raw sounds that told of years of denial.

I shouldn’t have kissed him like that, Kevin thought sadly. He’s never had anyone love him, and now he never will. It wasn’t fair of me to use him that way, even if Howie had offered it.

The raw sounds continued, making Kevin hold Howie tighter, unmindful of his swollen arm. He was afraid Howie was going to make himself sick, to lose what little he’d managed to keep down during the day; the scrap of fruit and water that had to keep him alive one more day.

"Howie," he whispered, his lips next to the younger man’s ear. They had both dumped their earrings days ago, afraid they would get pulled or snagged and there would be another wound to get infected, to keep the flies from. Kevin vividly remembered the tiny pile of gold and silver and diamonds, lying in a patch of moss atop a stump. A treasure for someone to find, someday. They wouldn’t be going back for it.

Pieces of their lives dropped along the way, leaving a trail no bird could follow.

"D... don’t. Please, don’t, don’t cry. Don’t hurt like this."

Howie grabbed him tighter, his fingers digging into Kevin’s back. He lurched closer to the bigger man, kneeling almost into Kevin’s lap.

He didn’t try to talk, just bit his lip and shook with the force of the sobs he held back. Trying to be quiet, to stop crying, because Kevin had asked him to.

"No, no, no - " Kevin pulled him closer, wrapping his legs around Howie and crushing him in his hold. "Cry, please, cry if you need to -- don’t stop for me. I hate to see you hurt. It hurts so much."

Howie still refused to let the sounds out and Kevin felt as if he’d failed him. By asking Howie to not cry, he’d asked him to deny his pain, for Kevin’s comfort, and he was trying to do that. But this silent shaking was worse than the crying had been.

"D, I didn’t mean it like that – " Kevin was at a loss. With both arms wrapped around Howie’s back, he raised his hands and grabbed the back of his head, forcefully lifting it so he could look into Howie’s eyes.

They were squeezed tightly shut, tears seeping out the edges. His lip was bleeding where he bit it, muffling the sounds he needed to make.

"No, no." Kevin was horrified. "Howie. D – I - " He had no idea what to say.

So he kissed him again. Once, hard and fast. Brutal.

"Forgive me." One kiss wasn’t enough. Anything to make that pain go away, to make Howie stop hurting. Kevin kissed him again, and again. The kisses became gentler, softer and sweeter, until he was kissing him with the sort of passion he used to reserve for Kristen. It wasn’t sexual, but there was a hunger behind it. The need to be close to another human, to feel alive in the midst of death.

Caught up in the feelings he was experiencing, Kevin stopped thinking. He noticed when Howie began to kiss him back. He tasted the tears that slipped between them and fell onto his tongue. His hands flexed on the back of Howie’s neck as he held him close and kissed him. Kissed him. Listened to Howie moan and sob as he kissed him back.

Tongues grown stiff with disuse limbered themselves in a heated tangle. There was no taste but salt, no sound but sobs. Kevin felt nothing but the unending need to forget, forget, forget...

He felt only Howie’s mouth. Howie’s heat. Howie’s pain.

Until he became aware of pain; his back. Howie was beating on him with a fist, trying to pull his head away, to break the kiss.

Startled, Kevin opened his eyes and saw Howie staring at him, looking terrified. Kevin yanked his hands away from Howie’s neck and fell backwards, taking the younger man with him.

Howie curled up beside him, his face once again in Kevin’s neck, and bawled like a baby.

Stunned by what he’d done, Kevin lay in the leaves and dirt and stroked his friend’s back with one hand, rubbed him and tried to calm him down.

He began to croon; a song without words, just the low sounds of a love for his brother and hope for a future.

After a very long time, the sobs became gasps, the gasps became sniffles, and Howie slid from wake to sleep.

Kevin lay in the not-silent silence and held him. His mind was numb and he didn’t think anything, except that the world was dark and there was no hope for either of them.

* * * * *

"Backstreet publicist Jessie Viago today released a statement confirming that the search for the missing band members is ongoing. Rumors also continue to emerge that the group’s management company, The Firm, has issued an ultimatum to the surviving members to get back into the studio or be held in breach of contract. MTV contacted The Firm and a spokesman said those rumors are completely untrue."

Once again, Kurt Loder was sitting on a high stool, in front of an electronic mural of the band with Kevin and Howie in happier times.

"With members Kevin Richardson and Howie Dorough missing for nearly two months now, thier families have begun planning memorial services, and The Firm has issued a statement saying that the Backstreet Boys will begin auditioning replacements in the coming months. Surviving members have denied this. In particular, Brian Littrell, cousin of Richardson, has become quite aggressive on the subject during recent interviews."

"This is Carla Mishoun for CNN Headline News. In the entertainment world tonight; Orlando, Florida has been flooded with hopeful young men, and a few women, who have been drawn there by the rumors of open auditions for replacement members of the megastar pop group the Backstreet Boys. City officials say youth hostels, shelters and bus stations are packed with thousands of teenagers and young adults wanting a shot at an audition."

On screen, a pudgy black man in a suit was talking.

"This is crazy. We don’t have anywhere for these people to stay, we don’t have the facilities to feed them. They all need to go home!"

Scenes of crowds at stoplights, in parks and bus stations documented the thousands of young men of every race, size and style, most of them apparently just hanging out and waiting.

The reporter returned.

"Backstreet’s management company has denied these rumors and indicated that if they do search for new members, the auditions will be by invitation only. They and label executives urge all of these young people to return to their homes and lives."

* * * * *

Howie looked up at the sky. They had stopped the night before in a tiny clearing, only a few feet across, next to the forest giant that had fallen there many years before and left the gap. He liked being able to see the sky. It made him wonder who else might be looking up at it the same time he was.

"I wonder what they said at our funeral." Howie muttered. He was sitting on the ground. Sprawled, really. This morning, when he’d tried to get up, his legs had refused to work. They’d rested all day, but it hadn’t helped. Whatever messages his boiling brain was sending, his legs weren’t getting them.

Kevin had gone to find food and returned with some suspicious-looking berries, but Howie had refused to eat them. He figured that Kevin still had a chance and needed all the energy he could get.

Kevin stared at him. They both looked like wild men now. Raised by wolves, maybe.

"They haven’t had funerals, Howie."

Howie thought about that.

"When you get back, you’ll tell them to have mine?"

Kevin stood. It was hard, his body ached everywhere, but he stood. He yelled at his friend.

"You’re not gonna have a funeral!"

"But, Kev...." Howie just looked up at him with big dark eyes. "I can’t walk."

"Then I’ll carry you."

"You can’t." Howie shrugged. "Kevin, I’m not going to get better. I can’t feel my arm anymore, which is a blessing, but I know enough to realize what that means. Half the time I don’t even know where I am."

Kevin stared down at him, his hands on his hips, his lips drawn into a scowl.

"You’re going to live, Howard Dorough. If I have to carry you out of here on my back, God*damnit*."

"Kevin..." Howie felt a wash of exhaustion. "I just want to lay back down and sleep a little while longer. Is that okay? Can I do that?"

Kneeling beside him, Kevin slipped an arm around him and gave him a gentle hug. He spoke into Howie’s hair.

"Sure, D. You rest. It’ll be good for you."

Too tired to argue, Howie lay back right where he was and closed his eyes. He heard movement and opened them again, reaching out his good hand.

"Kevin? Kevin!"

"I’m right here." Kevin sat on the ground beside him and grabbed that hand with both of his. He held it to his chest.

"Stay with me?" He wasn’t really frightened. Not as much as he should have been. He was just tired, and thought that sleeping forever actually sounded wonderful. No more pain, no more loneliness, no more wanting what he couldn’t have.

No more music. No more stars.

"Yeah, D. I’ll stay right here." Kevin’s voice sounded strangely thick. Howie wanted to make him feel better.

"It’s okay, Train." He used the nickname they’d given the older man when he and AJ and Nick had just been kids. "It doesn’t really hurt anymore."

"Shit." Kevin didn’t talk like that, and it made Howie more upset to hear it.

"No, really, Kevin - it’s okay. There were just a few things I wanted to say, before I go."

"No!"

"Before I go to sleep," Howie amended, though he really didn’t think he was going to wake up again. He could almost feel his heart slowing in his chest. The infection was spreading through his body.

"Howie. D -"

"Just take care of the guys, okay? ‘Specially AJ. You’re the only one he listens to, you know that, right? You’re the father he didn’t have."

"I know." Kevin brought Howie’s hand to his face and kissed the back of it. "I did the best I could."

"And just, y’know, thank you," Howie closed his eyes again as he said the words. He felt heavy, like his body was sinking into the ground... "For letting me find out what it felt like to kiss someone."

"If you stay I’ll do it again." Kevin forced out a shaky grin. "Anything you want, D. You’re going to be fine, Howie. You’re going to wake up in the morning and everything will work and we’ll walk out of here together."

"Kevin, I love you." Howie sighed, and his hand went slack in Kevin’s. Frantically the older man checked his pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it slow but steady. There was no way to know if he was going to wake up again, but Kevin thought he wouldn’t. He’d been sick too long.

So now it was up to him.

* * * * *

"It was like a miracle! I heard a noise and I turned around, and there he was. Like Hercules, he came out of the jungle with the other guy in his arms and he just looked at me. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing!"

The heavyset man in beige robes gestured emphatically as he spoke into the microphone.

"I've never seen anything like this! He was dead on his feet and he was carrying that other guy. He wouldn't let go, wouldn't let us take him at first. It was like he didn't know he'd been rescued, that he was safe."

The woman holding the microphone didn’t look impressed with her interviewee, but she smiled at the camera brightly, despite the wind pulling at her hair.

"That’s an eyewitness report from Landola, Brazil, where natives and a group of international missionaries got the surprise of their lives today when Backstreet Boys Kevin Richardson and Howard Dorough walked out of the Rainforest at 2:32 today, after being missing for 64 days."

The camera panned over a little village, which consisted of mud huts with neat gardens and a small church.

"Even more miraculous is the fact that the missionaries, ten men and women from the International Relief Foundation, were actually operating a video camera in the village when this event took place. We have that footage ready to show to you now."

The screen went momentarily blank, then sprang to life with the image of a group of small brown children, all skipping in a circle around a tall white woman, singing a happy song in the native dialect. Suddenly there was a shout from off camera whoever was filming turned towards the commotion.

Two men and one woman are running toward the edge of the jungle, where the trees stopped so abruptly it was clear it had been cut back to that point. Stepping out of the darkness within was a tall man, stooped by the burden he was carrying. He stopped and looked at the people coming at him with something like fear on his face. He was covered in mud and flies, his hair was clumped around his head in stringy patches, and his body bore the marks of deprivation in the visible ribs and numerous bruises.

In his arms he held the limp, seemingly lifeless body of a second man; bound in scraps of cloth so dirty the color couldn’t be determined. With long hair sticking to his lolling head, he was barely recognizable as a human. He could have been a native, he could have been an ape, he could have been a corpse. There was no way to tell.

When the shouting people reached him, the tall man flinched and turned as if to go back into the forest. They grabbed at him and he fell to his knees, hugging the body of the smaller man to him, curled around it as if to protect him.

One of the women went to her knees beside him, motioning the others to stay back. The person with the camera walked closer until the tape began to pick up what she was saying.

"Kevin! Kevin, I know who you are. People have been looking for you for months. My name is Sarah, can you let me help you? You’re safe now, no one is going to hurt you, please let me help you."

The man looked at her and, under the mud and filth and fear, his eyes shone like emeralds, reflecting the sunlight.

He looked at her and it seemed like the world was holding its breath.

Then he opened his mouth and spoke in a grating whisper. The only reason the video camera picked it up was because everyone around him was absolutely still and silent.

"I think he’s dead," Kevin said. "I think Howie’s dead."

The tape fuzzed at that point and the screen went blank.

* * * * *

"Good God. How long have they been lost?" The country doctor stared in shock as the two celebrities were unloaded from the missionaries’ jeep. He had one native nurse and a small clinic that really didn’t do anything but immunizations and education on birth control. These men looked like they were on death’s door.

"Two months!" The leader of the visiting team, a middle-aged nun named Sarah, barreled past him to open the door. "This one’s the most critical!" She pointed at a young, Hispanic-looking kid that was being carried in first.

The second man was awake, his eyes wide and frightened, his breathing labored. He held onto the sides of the board they were carrying him on with a death grip.

"Help him." He reached out and grabbed at the doctor, who barely avoided it. "Help him!"

So firmly reminded of his duty, the doctor turned and led the way into his tiny examining room, where he had perhaps a chance of keeping the man alive until a rescue flight could reach them.

***

"They're here!"

The shout wasn't needed; the distinctive sound of the helicopter was already filling the air. As one, the team of doctors and nurses bent low and scuttled forward. The two patients were unloaded and transferred with talented precision, and then taken inside, where the teams split up.

The first team grabbed the first young man unloaded and dashed for the door. The doctor was yelling as they went, the paramedic yelling back.

"Talk to me!"

"We’ve got an Hispanic male, age 27, Howard Dorough. Suffering from unknown infection, dehydration, exposure, malnutrition, shock, various lacerations, insect infestation."

"Vitals?!"

"Temp is 103 pulse is steady but very weak at 58, blood pressure 90 over 50! Blood type O pos, one bag of ringers in!"

The group of doctors, nurses, paramedic and Gurney vanished into the building. The second one wasn’t far behind, though they were traveling at a less hectic pace.

"Kevin Richardson, white male, 29. Patient sedated before transport," the paramedic was saying. "Agitated, suffering from dehydration, malnutrition, shock, assorted lesions and lacerations. Temp 101, pulse steady at 100 over 70."

"Why was he sedated?" This doctor was a woman; petite, delicate-looking, her dark eyes snapping with intelligence. She flipped open a penlight and searched her patient's eyes for clues.

"He wouldn't stop trying to get to the other one." The medic explained. "Kept
saying he couldn't leave him alone, that he had to get him out."

"Probably delirious from the dehydration and fever."

She looked over at the bed in the next room. A single large pane of glass separated
them. There was a flurry of activity in there.

"He's stable." She told a younger doctor standing beside her, waiting for instructions. "Go see if they need you."

He dashed off with the eagerness of a student, bursting into the second room
without warning.

Two nurses were cutting off the remains of what had long ago been a nice pair of jeans, and the doctor was busy trying to get an IV line started for a blood transfusion.

The young doc watched for a couple of seconds.

"You want me to get that?" he asked. IVs weren’t usually something the important guy did.

"He’s too dehydrated and I want to get this *in*," the man grunted. "Get that arm unwrapped and let's see what we're dealing with."

The young doc grabbed up a pair of small scissors and started, only to find that the
cloth, whatever it had been, was too encrusted with mud and blood and other things
to cut easily. He had to work at it, grinding away until he finally had a patch big
enough that he could take it in his fingers and pull. First he unwrapped the strips tying the arm to the body. The bruises he saw on the ribs and torso were still bright yellow and looked incredibly painful, even if they were old. Then he started on the heavy layer of fabric on the arm itself.

The smell was overwhelming. He gagged and turned his head, but it didn't help, and
the older doctor shot him a glare. He couldn't let his stomach interfere with the care
of a patient.

"We've already paged the bone docs. That arm's going to have to come off," he
said, and the young doc appreciated the words. He was trying to get him to focus on
the patient, on what was important. And it helped.

With steady hands he tugged and twisted and coaxed the filthy fabric away from the
flesh of the doomed arm. It seemed to all give way at once; the underlying layers
were so rotted that they just fell apart when he reached them, revealing what lay
beneath.

He yelped, and cursed and jumped backwards. The doctor turned to look and paled,his face turning rather green.

One of the nurses screamed, and the other one covered her mouth with a hand.

"Well," the older doctor said. "That looks better than I thought it would."

Everyone in the room, except the patient, turned and stared at him.

The open wound, which now covered most of his upper arm, was crawling with
maggots. Well-developed, fat and sassy, they were squirming with obscene joy in
the man's body.

"If he's had those in there all along, there might be a chance to save the arm." The
doctor smiled grimly. "They eat the rotting flesh and protect the rest of it from
putrifucation. Not as good as the ones we use here, but they’ll get the job done. More chance of infection, of course, but far better than nothing."

"Gagh," the younger doctor said. "It wouldn't be worth it."

"To save his arm? Absolutely. Let's get to work. He'll need to be cleaned up and
we *should* get that fever down before we can work on that wound."

The others stood rooted until he snapped at them.

"Get to it!"

With guilty looks, they returned to their tasks, each trying to determinedly keep their
eyes off the writhing white mass of insect unholiness.

The working silence of the room was occasionally broken by the fat *splat* of a
careless maggot hitting the tile floor.

* * * * *

Waking up hurt as much as he’d expected it to. Not to misunderstand, he appreciated the fact that he did wake up; he’d just known it was going to hurt.

His eyes felt like they were sewn shut, it was like peeling skin to get them open, actual pain. And the hovering circle of faces staring at him with varying degrees of joy and approval didn’t help.

"Yikes," he joked weakly, not surprised his voice was reduced to a whisper. "Did St. Peter screw up my travel arrangements?"

He thought it was a pretty good line, considering the circumstances. The faces broke into smiles and he realized he could hear them as well as see them. His mom, his brothers on one side of the bed. Brian, Nick and, there, peeking out from between them, a subdued-looking AJ, on the other side.

As soon as he heard them, memory surfaced and he realized who was missing.

Kevin lurched up in the bed, sore body apparently rested, and grabbed at Brian, wrapping his hands in the front of his white cotton shirt.

"Howie?"

Brian covered Kevin’s hands with his own and held them.

"He’s hanging in there, bro."

Kevin allowed himself to be pushed back onto the bed and tucked in by his mother. She stroked his chest and patted him. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what she wanted to ask.

"Kristen died - she died right after we crashed," he whispered. "It was just Howie and me."

"He’s going to make it, Train." Nick leaned in and rubbed his shoulder. The younger man had grown so tall, Kevin hardly recognized him, though he knew they hadn’t been missing *that* long. It was just perspective. "The docs saved his arm and he’s getting stronger every day."

"He just has to wake up," AJ added, and he didn’t look as confident as the others.

"He’ll wake up." Kevin blinked, tears coming to his eyes. He forced them away, swallowing the lump in his throat. "He has to."

* * * * *

"... arriving at Orlando Airport today after being hospitalized for three weeks in Rio de Janeiro, the missing band members are described as ‘being on the road to recovery’. Fans have gathered at the airport, holding signs and carrying gifts of flowers and candy, but the name of the hospital the two are destined for is not being released. Earlier today Maria Shriver was allowed time for a short chat with the hero of this adventure, Kevin Richardson..."

"I’m told that your friends call you ‘Train’?" Maria smiled and Kevin smiled back. He was sitting up, in a chair, and it felt great. For the first time in what felt like forever he could breathe and he didn’t feel so exhausted that he wanted to go right back to sleep. "I would say that you certainly lived up to that moniker. Can you tell us, Kevin, how many days did you have to carry Howie before reaching the village where you were rescued?"

He swallowed, not sure how to answer. He’d never wanted to be a hero, and didn’t like the way the media was painting him as one. Seeing that he was having trouble answering, Maria picked up the pitcher of water on the table beside her and poured a glass, handing it to him. He drank, closing his eyes briefly.

Water tasted so damned good.

She waited patiently. When he opened his eyes she nodded encouragingly.

"I’m not sure. It wasn’t that long, really. He was walking most of the time. There was a while there when I was sick – something in the water we were drinking – and he dragged my butt along. Then one morning he woke up and he couldn’t stand up."

"So you carried him." It was gentle and reassuring. Kevin nodded.

"I promised him I would get him out."

"How many days, Kevin? How many days did you carry your friend through the rainforest, with almost nothing to eat and only rainwater to drink?"

He closed his eyes again. He’d counted, but lost track.

"Five. Maybe six. I couldn’t remember what day it was, by the end of it. I didn’t know where I was going... just that I had to go. Then I heard kids, singing. It made me think of church. It made me think of picnics. And I thought that if I could just find that sound, Howie would wake up and I could put him down again."

He opened his eyes and she was staring right at him. Her expression was intent and powerful.

"So you followed the sound of the children singing, and found your way to the village."

He nodded. He was out of words now. Out of energy.

"You’re a remarkable man, Kevin Richardson, and a brave one. I’m sure everyone in the audience agrees with me that you are, indeed, a hero."

He ducked his head in protest, feeling his cheeks heat, and then the interview was over.

"...Reports from the hospital have Richardson resting comfortably as he recovers, while Howard Dorough’s condition is listed as critical but improving. Outpourings of support have come from all over the world, including a call from former Duchess of York Sarah Ferguson. Her daughters, Princesses Beatrice and Eugenia, are fans of the band. And a letter from the President himself. There’s been no word on when either of the two might be released..."

* * * * *

"Hey, D. How ya doing?" Kevin sat at Howie’s bedside and talked softly to him. The younger man still wasn’t completely with them yet, but he watched Kevin with half-lidded dark eyes.

The room was dark except for the splash of moonlight that came in the window. Kevin had drawn the curtains back, wanting Howie to see the stars. His bed was right beside the window, because Kevin had made Brian and Nick move it there.

It was deep into the night. Everything was still and quiet, even here on the critical-care ward. Howie was no longer in danger, he just needed to regain his strength. But he’d been having trouble sleeping, so Kevin had taken to sitting at his bedside so he could be there when Howie woke up, because he often seemed frightened and confused. The nurses let him; they didn’t like to see Howie upset any more than Kevin did, and he got plenty of sleep during the day.

Now that everyone was out of danger and the world had righted itself, the other band members had gone back into the studio to work on the record. Kevin would join them next week, when he was finally released from the hospital. The intestinal infection he’d picked up – the one he’d thought he’d recovered from – had returned with a vengeance a week after they got back to the US, and he’d spent the next week in agonizing and semi-agonizing pain until they got the spasms under control and the bacteria itself on the run.

Howie was just looking at him and Kevin realized that his mind had been wandering. He reached out and lay his hand next to Howie’s, and smiled at him as gently as he could.

"You want me to sing to you?" It had been such an important thing while they were lost. He sang that first night he was awake, while Howie covered Kristen with leaves. Then later, while they were walking. And at the end, when his voice was almost gone, the words of songs had run through his head, like clues to a puzzle he couldn’t see.

Now it helped Howie go back to sleep, and helped him stay asleep.

Kevin glanced out the window at the night sky. They were up high and stars twinkled at them soothingly. When he looked back at Howie the younger man looked expectant.

Kevin smiled and began to croon. He didn’t remember all the words to the song, but that was okay. He didn’t need them all.

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you.

And everything you do

yeah they were all yellow

I came along I wrote a song for you

and all the things you do, and it was called yellow

so then I took my turn, oh what a thing to’ve done

and it was all yellow

I swam across, I jumped across for you

oh what a thing to do

cuz you were all yellow

I drew a line, I drew a line for you.

Oh what a thing to do

and it was all yellow

you’re skin, oh yeah you’re skin and bones,

turning into something beautiful

do you know, d’y’know i love you so much

d’y’know i love you so much..."

Howie’s eyes widened and then he smiled, just a tiny little ghost of a smile. He turned his hand over and held onto Kevin’s and Kevin’s smile grew into a grin. He sang softly while Howie closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

"...you’re skin, oh yeah you’re skin and bones,

turning into something beautiful

do you know for you I’d bleed myself dry.

For you I’d bleed myself dry.

It’s true

look how they shine for you

look how they shine for you

look how they shine for you.

Look how they shine for you

look how they shine for you

look how they shine

Look at the stars

look how they shine for you

and all the things that you do..."

When he was sure Howie was sleeping soundly again, Kevin walked unsteadily to the other bed in the room – the empty bed that he thought of as his – and lay down. The song ran through his mind and he watched the patch of moonlight until sleep slipped him away too.

***

The stairs had proven to be more of a challenge than Kevin had expected. He could have taken the elevator, but he was feeling stubborn today. Besides, as he’d told Nick, *Nick* needed the exercise.

"I eat when I’m worried," Nick had defended himself. "So it’s your fault."

"I’m flattered. Now you can go to the gym with me and keep me from killing myself." Kevin hugged him at the second landing of the stairs. Nick hugged him back and Kevin closed his eyes, holding onto the younger man for a few seconds longer than necessary. When he let go Nick left a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with concern on his face.

"Kev? You okay? You good?"

"Yeah," wiping his eyes, which were suspiciously wet, Kevin smiled at him. It felt so good to be back here. To be safe and alive and with his friends, doing what he loved. "I’m great."

"Take it easy, Train," Nick steadied him with an arm across his back. "You’re not a hundred percent yet."

"I’m good," Kevin retorted, ignoring the pain in his chest and taking the last few steps two at a time just to prove it. He regretted it, but didn’t let that show. "Heroes can’t take it easy, Nicky – it would ruin our image!" He laughed and Nick laughed with him.

"We’d never tell."

They arrived in the studio just a few minutes late. The other guys greeted them with back slaps and grins, the crew and producers all taking the time to welcome Kevin back and apologize for his loss.

He listened and smiled sadly and nodded at the right times, but it didn’t really touch him. Every day he told himself that he needed to call Kristen’s mom, but every day he found a reason not to. It just felt like if he let it go long enough he would just forget and the waiting pain would have to give up and go someplace else.

"Okay. We’ve put down the vocals for the first eight tracks, and just need your part and Howie’s." Kevin was seated in the soundroom, headphones on. "I know you wanted to get more front time this record, and we can do that on the last three tracks."

"What about the piano piece?" He’d written it months ago, it had been meant as an anniversary present to Kristen. She’d been looking forward to having it on the album.

Brain took the mic.

"We weren’t sure you’d still want it on there, so we were going to go with one of the alternates instead."

Kevin frowned. "I want it on there."

"That’s okay." AJ was standing behind Brain, getting his attention. "We can change the name, make it a tribute to her, right?" He looked through the glass at Kevin and Kevin nodded, not really caring. "Everyone will like that, since he wrote it for her in the first place."

"Then we’ll schedule a day next week to record it." It seemed agreed, but Kevin spoke up again.

"I want Howie to sing it."

Nick looked startled. He had been practicing that piece. He always sang the lead. Well, almost always.

"It’s not in his range, Kev." Brian said with calm assurance.

"I’ll re-write it."

"It’s not his sort of song." Nick tried.

"He’ll do it if I ask him to." Standing up - the chair was only there because they’d been afraid he would get tired - Kevin adjusted the micstand to the right height. "A’m not going to let this one go, guys."

"Talk to Howie and then we’ll decide." AJ was playing peacemaker today.

"We need to get to work. We’ve lost enough time on this one." Brain ended the discussion and Kevin frowned at the tone. Like it was his fault they were late. He must have been imagining things, though, because Brian looked at him and smiled widely. "I am so glad you’re back, cuz. That you’re safe."

"Yeah," Kevin smiled back. "Me, too."

***

It had taken several days of arguing and pleading, but Howie was relieved when he finally found himself going home. Not his home, but Kevin’s, because the doctors didn’t want him to stay alone. They were worried about a relapse. His immune system had taken a huge hit and there was some question as to whether it would ever fully recover. He would have to be careful about things he used to do, like visit hospitals and sick kids.

He was going to Kevin’s because Kevin had offered. Howie didn’t feel quite comfortable with the other guys yet, even AJ. McLean had his own problems to deal with right now, with his court case and everything. And having his mom stay with him just felt too much like high school, though he’d never really gone to high school, he’d been tutored along with the rest of the younger band members. It just didn’t feel right to let his mom move in and take care of him. She had her business to run, still, too. He was okay, just needed to get his strength back.

They made it inside the house okay, then he decided that he needed to lie down. Kevin was being helpful and casual about the whole thing. Exactly what he needed.

"Okay... easy there. You got it?"

"Yeah." Howie gritted his teeth and used his good arm to pull himself up the stairs by the railing. "I can do it, Kev."

"I never thought about how many stairs there are in this world." Kevin hovered behind him. Howie could feel the heat of his hand, just below his back, at his waist. "Everywhere I turn, more stairs."

It was kind of comforting knowing that Kevin was there. If he slipped or his legs gave out, the bigger man would catch him.

"This isn’t what the doctor had in mind when he let you go, D." Kevin’s hand was actually on his back now, giving him a gentle push. "You promised to take it easy."

"Is it my fault your place has so many stairs?"

"You *could* have taken a nap on the couch. It’s really a very nice couch."

Pausing for breath, Howie tried to cover it by looking back and giving Kevin a glare.

"After months in a hospital bed, I wanted a real bed. Not an overstuffed excuse for a sofa."

"My mother chose that couch."

"I rest my case." Howie grinned at Kevin, and then forced himself to take another step. It was only one flight of stairs, this was ridiculous.

"How ‘bout you just rest?" There was movement and big hands, and Howie felt himself being lifted. He grabbed at Kevin, protesting loudly.

"Hey! Train, put me down! You can’t - "

"Can’t what? Carry your skinny ass?" Kevin glowered at him. "You callin’ me a wimp, D? Hm? That what you’re doing here?"

Clutching at the broad shoulders in an exaggerated show of anxiety, Howie shook his head.

"Okay, then." Kevin started up the steps. "The housekeeper got the room next to mine ready, but you can sleep in my bed if you’d rather. Easier for me to keep an eye on you that way."

Howie shook his head. His hair was long again, shaggy now. He needed a haircut pretty badly.

"No, Kev." He couldn’t explain why that felt like such a bad idea to him. Kevin had been staying the night in the hospital with him almost every night, even though he’d been released weeks earlier. When they were lost they had slept close together, and he did miss it... but something told him that it wasn’t a good idea to start that again.

Their lost time was special. It was like they had stepped out of their real lives for those weeks, and it wasn’t right to bring what happened there back into real life with him. It didn’t fit here, and it wouldn’t work.

He kept the memories safely tucked away in his mind. It wasn’t pathetic, like he hoarded them and drooled over them in the wee hours – they were just there and they made him feel good, once he got past the shock and pain.

"There isn’t an intercom panel in the guest room." Kevin trudged up the stairs. Howie could feel how hard his heart was beating and hoped he wasn’t hurting himself.

"Maybe you should put me down. I don‘t want you to hurt yourself." He squirmed, and Kevin held him tighter.

"No, I need to do this. I’ve been feeling like an invalid too long." Kevin gave Howie a teasing shake. "You’ve lost so much weight, I could probably play catch with you."

"No!" Howie laughed out loud when Kevin reached the top landing and lifted him, threatening to throw him into the air. "Anything but that!"

"Then you’ll rest in my bed where you can reach the intercom and call me when you need me? I’m going down to the den working on that song." Although they were finished with the stairs, Kevin didn’t put him down, just carried him to the end of the walkway to the last bedroom of the four up here.

"Okay, okay." Howie gave in. They seldom saw Kevin act cute. It was inspiring. "Kev, if the guys really want Nick to sing that song, you should let him. We’ve caused enough trouble for this record."

"We didn’t do anything." Kevin walked through the open bedroom door and deposited him on the king-sized bed. The room was decorated in shades of pale blue and cream. It looked decidedly feminine, and Howie felt a pang of regret as he remembered who Kevin was supposed to share it with. "It was an accident and if they want to somehow punish us for it, then they aren’t our friends the way I thought they were."

"Not punish us, exactly." Howie unbuttoned his jeans and wriggled out of them. Casual nudity wasn’t the rule for the band, but it did happen. There was no way to avoid it when all five of them were trying to change at once backstage, or in the shower after a choreography session. "They just want to get on with things."

"We will." Kevin waited until Howie handed him the jeans, and then pulled back the covers, waiting for him to crawl beneath them. When he did, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, Kevin covered him up and tucked him in. "The ‘com button is right there." He pointed to the panel on the wall by the bed that controlled the temperature, the security system and the intercom. "I’ll be in room 6."

***

He was playing that damn song again.

Kevin sat on the couch in his own living room, and felt like he didn’t belong. The room made him think of Kristen. Made him remember Kristen. Right now he didn’t want to do that. It had been months since her death. Nearly a year. Perhaps it was crude to wish that he could forget her so quickly. She’d been a part of his life for so long – how could he want to forget her?

The couch was suddenly uncomfortable, though it was just as soft and welcoming as it had always been. He got up and walked slowly to the piano.

It was singularly his. She had never played, and he had never really played for her. Though she liked his songs, she hadn’t been the type to sit around and watch while he wrote them. She had her own life to lead.

He sat on the bench and lifted the cover. The ivory keys gleamed softly in the darkened room, lit by moonlight from the bay window. The black keys were shadows, as deep as the ones in his soul.

The com was still open to the guest bedroom. He could hear that song playing.

When he’d sung it to Howie that first time, that night in the hospital, he’d just wanted Howie to go to sleep. Wanted him to rest, and heal. He hadn’t chosen that song for any particular reason he could think of. It had just come to him. He’d looked out the window at the stars and remembered how much they had missed them when they were lost and couldn’t see them. Howie had looked so sick; thin and sick and weak.

Kevin had just wanted him to rest.

Rest and heal.

To get better.

Now he was better. And somehow he had remembered the song. It wasn’t that surprising. Kevin had sung it to him many times after that. Because it always came to him when he sat by his Sweet D’s bed and waited for him to get better.

Kevin hadn’t thought he would remember the song.

He especially hadn’t thought that it would mean so much to him.

But now he played it every night. Over and over again. Privately Kevin admitted that the singer in the band that actually sang it did a much better job than he ever had. But he didn’t think that was why Howie listened to it.

Night after night.

Things had gotten back to normal after their rescue. They had recorded the record. It had taken a lot longer than expected; because he and Howie took months to fully recover, because AJ kept having problems. Then there were videos to shoot and publicity to do. They had just returned from a two-month jaunt, designed mostly to reassure fans that the band was still together and in no danger of breaking up. And that he and Howie were really well.

During the jaunt they had shared a room at almost every hotel. Nick had shared with AJ, because they all thought AJ shouldn't be by himself. Brian had slept alone, when Leighanne hadn't joined them.

Howie hadn’t played the song too much lately. Between publicity and recording, he’d been too tired. Now the album was finished and they had a break before the tour.

They were home. In Kevin’s house, at least, and why was Howie here? He did have a home of his own, and there was always his mother’s house. His sister’s.

He had wanted to stay here. And Kevin had let him. He’d welcomed him.

Now he sat, alone in his living room with the couch his mother picked out that reminded him of his dead wife, and his piano.

And that song.

The words whispered in his mind as he listened, trying not to.

Look at the stars, look how they shine for you.

And everything you do

yeah they were all yellow

I came along I wrote a song for you

and all the things you do,

and it was called yellow

Yellow. That’s what he was. A lily-livered yellow-backed coward. Why couldn’t he do it? He knew what he wanted to do – why couldn’t he just do it?!

A quiet sound from behind him roused him from his self-flagellation, and he turned, too quickly. The bench seat was polished and he slid and had to catch himself by grabbing the keyboard. The resulting chord crashed with disharmony.

"Who – oh, D –"

Howie stood on the third step, with his arms wrapped protectively across his chest, hands clasping his shoulders. He was wearing a pale blue t-shirt that was a couple sizes too big and baggy grey sweatpants. He looked ridiculously young.

"Sorry," he said, but he didn’t move. Just stood there and stared at Kevin with those wide, dark eyes that seemed to look inside him.

"I thought you were asleep," Kevin said, feeling clumsy in both words and deed.

"Not yet. I haven’t been sleeping so good, y’know." It wasn’t accusatory, just a simple explanation.

"Yeah." Kevin did know. He could count on one hand the number of times Howie had reluctantly turned to him for help during recording. The number of times since his release from the hospital that they had slept in the same bed, because it comforted Howie to have him near. They’d gotten so used to it; maybe they should have weaned themselves off gradually instead of stopping so suddenly.

It comforted him as well, to have Howie close. To hold him and listen to his breathing in the night. To wake next to him and see him sleepy-eyed and as sweet as any man could be.

He could still hear the song, though now he wasn’t sure if it was still playing or if it was just in his head.

you’re still, oh yeah, you’re still

turning into something beautiful

do you know do you know I love you so

do you know I love you so much?

"Maybe it’ll get better now that we’re back. Now that the jaunt’s over and we all have some time to ourselves." It wasn’t what he meant to say or how he meant to say it, but maybe it was as close as he could get right now.

"Maybe." Howie didn’t look convinced. Actually, he looked....sad.

If he wanted to sleep in Kevin’s bed again, that was okay. They could do that. It would be hard, to keep his mind on track and Kevin might not get a lot of sleep, but if that was what Howie needed...

"What are we doing, Kev?" He saw the muscles in those forearms flex as Howie took a step down. The moonlight caught him, held him, limned him with strength.

His mouth was too dry to speak. He gave an aborted half-shrug, and licked his lips, hoping it would help.

"Are we doing something here?" Howie freed one hand to wave around the room. "Or is it all in my head?" He scrubbed the free hand over his face and then grabbed his shoulder again, and looked at the floor. "If it isn’t something, then I need to go home, Kevin. If this isn’t *something*, then I need to go away."

"No!"

Kevin was on his feet before the word left his mouth. He was halfway across the room before he said anything else.

"Howie – D – you can’t leave." Me. You can’t leave me. He stopped, in the middle of the room, and the words wouldn’t come.

"Kev, I *have* to. This is killing me here."

Finally, air. And a rough, halting whisper.

"You can’t leave me too."

The song played; in his head, on his face, in his heart.

do you know for you I’d bleed myself dry.

For you I’d bleed myself dry.

"Howie...please don’t leave me."

And suddenly, it was easy. As if the Earth had realigned herself, and he was once again where he was supposed to be. Kevin filled his lungs, and walked over to the stairs. He put his arms around Howie’s waist and squeezed gently.

He lay his head on Howie’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

He listened to the song.

do you know do you know I love you so

do you know I love you so much?

"Kevin?" Howie sounded more worried than frightened, and that was good thing.

"Shh, Howie." Kevin raised his head and met the dark eyes with his own. He lifted a hand and cupped a brown cheek roughened by faint stubble. "Sweet D."

It’s true

look how they shine for you

look how they shine for you

look how they shine for you.

Howie stared at him his eyes growing wider, as Kevin lowered his head and covered Howie’s mouth with his own.

Look how they shine for you

look how they shine for you

look how they shine

He tried to be gentle. He wanted it to be sweet. To be comforting and full of love.

Howie’s lips were warm and dry beneath his own. They were still but yielding, letting him take control without a thought. Willing to be taken.

Look at the stars

look how they shine for you

and all the things that you do.

Too soon Kevin felt the need for more. He slid his hand around to the back of Howie’s neck and tipped his head back, moving up one step so he was once again taller. He slipped his tongue out to trace the edges of Howie’s mouth and tasted the moan that drew. It gave him the opportunity to search inside and he took it. Sliding his tongue into Howie’s mouth and tasting him deeply.

Howie’s rough moan made him instantly hard. Kevin tightened the arm around his waist and pulled him closer, wanting to invite him into the kiss, to urge him to become an active participant, and Howie must have felt it, because suddenly he was kissing Kevin back, and it was like that night in the jungle and yet a thousand times better. And not just because they were safe and dry and well.

Because now they both knew what they wanted and they were both willing to take it.

Kevin pulled his head away, Howie following with open mouth, and gasped.

"Bed."

"Kevin..." Howie panted. He pushed his groin into Kevin’s thigh and he could feel the hardness there, the readiness.

Howie couldn’t wait, Howie needed him, needed him now. But he didn’t want their first time to be on the stairs, or on the floor, or even – especially – on the couch. He wanted them in a bed, with sheets and blankets and pillows and all of the domesticity those things represented. Permanence and safety, sanctuary and refuge. Home.

Their home, their bed.

Love.

"Hang on," he said, and he shifted enough to bend and lift, picking Howie up. He hadn’t carried him since that one time after coming home from the hospital, and he’d gained back some weight since then. He probably weighed more now than he had when they crashed, because he’d been spending so much time working out. Kevin grunted and grinned and Howie rolled his eyes, but settled into his arms with a resigned grin that plainly said they weren’t going to make a habit of this. But Kevin liked being big. He liked being big and strong and put a lot of effort into it. Just so he could do things like this, though he’d never really had a chance to before.

Kristen would have thumped him soundly for trying.

Up the stairs, and thoughts of her left behind. Right at the landing and into the guest bedroom that was entirely Howie’s.

The sheets were turned down and the pillows were stacked and he tossed his friend onto them with a wicked grin, then followed him down.

Howie’s hands grabbed at him and pulled, making his wishes clear and Kevin settled on top of him, his legs outside Howie’s, his weight eased by an elbow to one side and a lean, one hand holding Howie’s chin so he could kiss him some more. Kiss him properly. With all the hunger and need and want in his aching, confused soul.

He wasn’t confused about this. Not anymore. At least, he didn’t think so. But there were so many other things....

There was a small CD player beside the bed. Without thinking about it, he reached out and slapped at it, until the song stopped and a local radio station came on. Salsa music, but slow and sweet this deep in the night.

"Kevin." Howie breathed his name when Kevin lifted his head so he could look at him, wanting to see him with swollen lips and darkened eyes.

"Mmm..." Kevin sighed, and lowered his head to kiss Howie’s chin, and then his neck. The smaller man tipped his head back with a gasp and grabbed Kevin’s head, his fingers tangling in the long hair.

"Oh God." Howie arched beneath him, his erection hard and hot on Kevin’s belly where his shirt rode up. There was a damp spot on Howie’s sweats and Kevin could smell him, how hot he was.

He nibbled Howie’s neck, sucking gently, and trailed his hand down his chest, stroking in a way meant to sooth as much as excite, not wanting him to be afraid. He slipped his hand under the T-shirt and rubbed at the flat, hard stomach, a moan torn from his own lips when Howie shuddered under him.

"So hot..." he whispered, and then worried it might be misunderstood. This wasn’t about the sex. Not just about the sex. "You’re beautiful, D. I love to feel you under me, to listen to you."

"God, *Kevin*." Howie lifted his head, mouth wide open, tongue out, reaching for him. Kevin took his mouth again, reveling in the freedom to do this, to taste him and touch him. If anything was still confused, it wasn’t this.

This he really, really understood.

"I’m going to make you feel so good," he promised.

"Kevin," Howie held onto his lover’s shoulders, one leg around Kevin’s leg, pulling him down. "Do you - do you want to -" He couldn’t seem find the words. He bent his other leg up and lifted his hips, making the offer.

It was something he’d fantasized about. So many lonely nights.

He’d made the decision to be alone when he was young, and he’d never regretted it. He’d believed it was the only way he could sing with the group and still be true to himself.

And it hadn’t been that hard. He’d kinda figured that maybe his sex drive just wasn’t that strong. Because it didn’t bother him, really. Most of the time he hardly noticed it. He went through puberty with a minimum number of embarrassing erections – probably because he was so damned tired all the time, between school and Backstreet – and it seemed to slack off after he turned twenty.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t lonely. Or that his thoughts didn’t turn to sex on occasion. Or that his body never ached for something it had never had. Once in a while, when it was too strong – when the ache seemed to become physical pain – he would touch himself to make it go away.

This was one of the things he thought about, when he did that. Belonging to someone, being part of someone, giving himself *to* someone.

More than anything in the world he wanted that someone to be Kevin. Only Kevin didn’t seem to understand. Howie felt himself blush, but he used both hands to tug Kevin’s head up, his mouth away from Howie’s neck, even though it felt so good there.

"Kevin -" he tried again. "I want you to..to..." but he’d never said this to anyone and just couldn’t say it.

Kevin stared at his friend. He knew what Howie wanted. There had been many women in his life and he was startled to realize that his experience with them translated to this. He could never think of D as a girl, but his movements were a lot like what a woman would do when she was ready.

Howie wanted him. Kevin was the first man Howie had ever loved, and the only man Howie had ever touched. The magnitude of that staggered Kevin. He knew he was worthy of love. Perhaps even of Howie’s devotion; he would love him and care for him always. The bonds they had forged in the jungle were unbreakable...but what did that say about his love for Kristen? He had sworn in front of God and family that he would never love anyone the way he loved her. Would it be a betrayal of that oath to make love to Howie now?

"Hey."

Lying still, Kevin realized he’d been caught up in his thoughts, and had stopped moving. Howie’s hands were resting gently on his head. He lifted his own from Howie’s chest, not remembering when he’d laid it there, and looked at him.

"Sorry." It was clear from Howie’s open, vulnerable expression that he was expecting to get slapped in the face.

He thought Kevin was going to reject him now. Because of what he hadn’t been able to say. Because he wanted it.

"I love you," Kevin said. It tugged at his heart, to see Howie look like that. He wanted to make him smile again. Bring back the expression of happiness and want he’d been wearing a few minutes ago.

"I love you too." Guarded. Cautious. "If - "

"I want you." Kevin cut him off. He rolled his hips so Howie could feel just how much Kevin wanted him. Howie was very hard and hot, his cock burrowing into Kevin’s abs. "I want this to be good for you. I want it to be special." It wasn’t a girly thing to say. It was rough and honest.

Howie stared at him, wide-eyed. His hands ran through Kevin’s hair, but he kept his body still.

"Let me take care of you, D?" Kevin moved up to kiss him. "Let me give you something special." He kissed him again, tasting him, swallowing him.

A man who had waited this long to make love deserved something special.

"Whatever you want, man," Howie whispered when the kiss ended.

"I want you," Kevin repeated, hauling himself up. He straddled Howie’s chest and leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose and make him grin. "Wait here." He swung himself off the bed. Howie sat up and pulled a blanket over his lap.

He looked wonderfully flushed and aroused. Kevin had never seen anyone look so good, not even Kristen. He may never have wanted anyone more.

Not even Kristen.

Stubbornly pushing thoughts of her out of his mind, he couldn’t help but think that it was sad Howie had denied himself for so long. Sex was a gift, a way to make joy. Even when you weren’t in love with someone, it was the deepest way to connect. Kevin had learned that with his first kiss, when he was 14. It had changed the way he thought about the world.

Howie was looking at him glassy-eyed. Looking up and down Kevin’s body. With a small smile Kevin touched both nipples and then slid his hands slowly down his front, feeling the sweat on his skin. It made him hot and his cock throbbed eagerly.

He ran his fingers lightly across his flanks, teasing himself, letting his eyes close as he enjoyed the sensation. Howie’s groan brought them open again and the smile widened.

"I’ll be right back," he promised, then turned and walked toward the bathroom, with a little strut in his stride.

Howie could only stare at Kevin as he walked away. He was doing that on purpose, Howie was sure. That shake-wiggle-roll thing with his hips that made the well defined muscles in his back and ass clench rhythmically.

It was all he could do to just watch when all he wanted was to get up and follow him.

Throw himself on the floor in front of him and beg to be taken. Screwed. Fucked.

Dirty words. He’d used them many times, but never in reference to himself. He even hesitated to use them when talking about other people’s love lives. So he was a romantic at heart. Nothing criminal in that.

But guys weren’t like that. Even the gay guys he’d met, when he allowed himself to talk to them, weren’t like that. They were all about dominance and submission and who was on top. It was about who looked the best and who made the most money and who gave the best head.

Even the ones who said they were in love seemed stranded in the shallow side of the relationship pool. Young men lived with old ones because the old ones had money. Old men used young men for their youth and beauty and then discarded them like broken toys.

Yeah, there were other reasons he’d decided to be celibate. Not only would a gay member have meant the end of the band before it began – or at least the end of his place in it – what he knew of the gay ‘lifestyle’ wasn’t what he wanted for himself. If he couldn’t have love, faith, fidelity and family, then he would do without. Why settle for just sex?

Of course.... Howie lay back, pulling the blanket up over his chest and tight around himself.... that was what he was doing now, wasn’t it?

Kevin said he loved him. He probably meant it, too. Howie had always known Kev felt strongly about the other band members. It was in his nature to take care of people, in ways that Howie didn’t. Howie knew he was a peacemaker, but Kevin managed things. He knew who needed a kind word, who needed a kick in the butt, who needed encouragement, and who needed a call home. From the first he had protected them, standing between them and management, even between the boys and their parents, when he thought it was necessary. Covered for them, fought for them and, on occasion cried for them.

He was the warm shoulder, the strong arm, the back they sheltered behind. The rock they all leaned on.

Yes, of course he loved them.

So was he doing this because he thought Howie needed it or because he really, truly loved *Howie*, the way one person was supposed to love another forever?

The way Kevin had loved Kristen.

Or was this about Kevin missing Kristen and being alone and needing someone himself but not knowing how to ask for it? Mistaking their closeness in the jungle for something more, something that he needed to replace what he had lost.

Howie swallowed, and it hurt. Kevin wasn’t lying to him; he really believed it when he said he loved Howie.

But Howie was finding it hard to believe.

"Hey, Sweetness." Kevin appeared in the open bathroom door, lit from behind. The room had darkened slightly, the light outside fading from twilight to night.

He posed casually, one arm on the frame above his head, one hip cocked forward. His cock hung thick and long down his right leg. He rested his free hand just above his waist on that side.

Howie tried to breathe and couldn’t. He gasped.

"You’re so cute when you do that." Kevin came to the bed, padding silently. His mood seemed to have changed. His face was more serious now, his expression still passionate but with an edge of concern. "Hey."

He sat on bed beside Howie and reached for the blanket with one hand.

"Hey," Howie replied stupidly. If Kevin didn’t really love him... if Kevin loved him and then left him.... could he forgive him and let him go? Find a way to understand what had driven his friend to this in the first place and forgive him?

When Kevin touched him, he felt like he was going to die. Like he was going to explode with happiness, like he could take off and fly. Romantic nonsense, yeah, but he couldn’t find any other way to describe it. It was like his brain went on vacation and all he could do was *feel*.

He wanted this. Whatever the reasons behind it, however the future worked out; he *wanted* this.

He was too old to be a virgin anymore anyhow.

"Felt a little - shy," he tried to explain, feeling a blush tint his cheeks.

"God, you’re gorgeous." Kevin leaned over and muzzled his neck, making Howie squirm. Then he sat up again, looking faintly worried. "You don’t mind if I say that, right? I mean, you don’t look like a girl or anything..."

"I should hope not." Howie glanced down to where his cock was tenting the blanket. "I’d have to ask what kind of girls you dated."

It was the wrong thing to say, and it just hung in the air there between them. Howie swallowed again, and closed his eyes, deeply embarrassed.

Gentle fingers, soft with no calluses – except the odd little ones he got from piano playing – stroked his cheek and turned his face back toward Kevin.

"It’s not like she never existed, D. I loved Kristen for a long time. But she’s gone now and I’m over that. I’ve moved on."

He leaned in and kissed Howie. Closed lips, dry and soft. He smelled so good.

"I love you. Trust me?"

Howie nodded. Then he thought that maybe he needed to say something, too, because this was important.

"I trust you, Kev. I love you."

"I hope you never have to learn that the two don’t always go together." Kevin smiled at him as he lifted the blanket and slid into the bed beside Howie. He stuffed something under his pillow and Howie didn’t ask what it was.

He snuggled closer to Kevin and kissed his chest. Kevin gasped and put a hand on the back of his head, encouraging him. Howie nuzzled his way to a nipple and sucked on it, hard.

"Ah - gently.... I’m sensitive," Kevin tugged at him and Howie eased up.

This didn’t embarrass him. He had a pretty good idea of what to do, and with practice he would get better at it.

He hoped he had time for plenty of practice before Kevin came to his senses.

It was too easy, to lie back and let Howie do what he wanted. And it was probably good for him, to be able to do that without restraint. But still Kevin felt like he was copping out. This was supposed to be beautiful and special, sure – for *Howie*. But right now Kevin was the one getting all the attention.

Howie nuzzled and licked his way down past Kevin’s hips and mouthed his erection carefully. He had a bit of stubble and Kevin held his breath, anticipating pain, however slight, but it didn’t come. Instead, Howie took the head of Kevin’s cock into his mouth and sucked gently. With enthusiasm but not a lot of skill. It just made it sweeter to Kevin.

He’d never made love to a virgin of either sex. Howie giving this to him was wonderful, something to treasure. The need to give Howie something just as special in return prompted him to reach down and pull his friend up, up where Kevin could kiss him, where he could taste a faint hint of himself on Howie’s tongue. Salt and musk; Howie was hungry now, hungry for more. He thrust into Kevin’s thigh erratically while they kissed. Kevin’s hands went to his hips, holding them, showing them the rhythm that would bring the most pleasure.

Howie groaned into his mouth and broke the kiss, panting for air. His hands were tight in Kevin’s hair, his eyes tightly shut and his face flushed.

"Oooo, God, yeah, D, you look so hot." Kevin groaned and thrust up against him.

"Gotta get closer." Howie moaned in response. Hearing the frustration in his voice, Kevin took a tighter hold and rolled them both over so he was on top. Howie stilled for a second, his eyes opened wide, then he closed them and went back to what he’d been doing.

Kevin held his hips down with both hands, gentling the movement, easing it to a stop while Howie whimpered with frustration.

"I know this is good," Kevin leaned to whisper in his ear. "Just trust me, D, hang on, I’m gonna make it better."

Howie didn’t see how Kevin could make this better. He’d already figured out that Kevin wasn’t going to fuck him, even though Howie really wanted him to. Maybe it had something to do with Kristen, or just the fact that Howie was a guy.

He wasn’t really disappointed, what Kevin was doing felt great and he knew he’d never forget this night, no matter what happened afterwards.

Kevin was kissing his stomach, his tongue playing a little game with Howie’s navel that made him thrash and moan.

"We’re going to be as close as can be," Kevin muttered. His voice was thick and his hands seemed clumsy as he sat up, knees on either side of Howie’s hips. "You’re going to love this, D."

He grabbed Howie’s cock, holding it upright, a little tightly, Howie whined in protest, but kept still, almost afraid to move.

In the light from the window, Kevin looked huge. Huge and beautiful and a little bit wild, his hair tangled over his shoulders and in his face, his body sheened with sweat. Howie couldn’t help but reach for him; he wanted to pull him back down, kiss him again, hold him, love him.

"Be still, be still..." Kevin was muttering to him as he shifted on his knees and suddenly Howie realized what he intended to do.

"Kevin, no - Kev, you - Kevin..." he stammered, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Kevin shook his hair back from his face and gave Howie the sweetest, gentlest smile he’d ever seen.

"This is for you, Sweet D." He began to sit back, Howie’s cock at the unbelievably hot entrance to Kevin’s body.

"Oh God." Howie couldn’t look away. He wanted to; he wanted to close his eyes and lose himself in the amazing things his body was feeling. So *tight* and hot and God-it-almost-hurt. It was hurting Kevin, too, he could tell by the way Kevin sucked in his breath and held it, by the way his eyes scrunched tight and his erection quickly deflated.

Howie was going to tell him to stop, but the words wouldn’t come to his mouth. He knew he should, but this was so wonderful.... such a fantastic gift from Kevin, he couldn’t bring himself to make him stop. Even when Kevin moaned and it sounded like he was in pain, Howie did nothing more than put his hands on Kevin’s hips to steady him and rub little circles with his thumbs, there in the soft skin, to distract him.

Kevin was pale and sweating like a racehorse. Howie was only halfway in. He regretted the fact that he’d never let himself read gay porn or even books on how to make love if you were gay – he hadn’t wanted to test his own control that far. But he was sure it shouldn’t hurt this much. Maybe they were doing it wrong? There had to be an easier way; if they used another position, maybe?

"Kevin -" his own voice sounded so strange, like he was half-strangled, pretty much the way his cock felt right this minute, "Kev - Train -"

"Just -" Kevin gasped and forced himself down another inch, the strain showing in the sharply-outlines tendons of his neck and shoulders, the hard ridges of his six-pack like cement. "Gimme a minute, D. Hang on – "

"No, I mean, we should like, move or something." He was losing brain cells fast. He’d read about that happening, but never believed it. Sex really did make you stupid. At least temporarily. It had to be temporary, because Kevin used to have sex with Kristen all the time, and he stayed the smartest guy in the group.

Okay, thinking about Kristen, bad. Thinking about what Kevin was doing, good. Howie shoved Kristen thoughts into a pretty pink mental box and locked it tight, then realized that he could hear himself breathing. Panting, and Kevin was gasping and had stopped moving.

His cock was aching fiercely. Every nerve he had, including many he hadn’t realized were active during sex, was screaming at him.

With so much information coming in, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

"C’mon, Howie, this is the time," Kevin opened his eyes, just enough to look down at him. He brought a trembling hand to Howie’s chest. "I’m not going to be able to get any further on my own."

"You’re hurting." Howie trembled as well, his body taut with anticipation.

Yes, he was hurting. This hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced, and that included the 2-month headache he’d had after the crash. It was almost like that time he and Kristen had gotten crazy and he’d practically fucked himself raw. He’d screamed the first time he’d had to take a piss the next morning, his cock so over-sensitive that the very thought of touching it had made him cringe.

This, though – this was a whole new definition of pain. Like having a steel rod shoved up his ass, and the pain just burned its way all the way up his back, grabbing his lungs on the way and squeezing them hard.

He’d wanted to do this, wanted to give this to Howie, but, Christ, he’d never imagined it would hurt so much. People did it all the time, surely something that hurt like this couldn’t be that damned popular?!

He sucked in a breath, held it for a minute, and then released it slowly. It didn’t ease the pain any, but it made him feel less like screaming. Another deep breath, hold it longer this time....

Look down at Howie, who looked beautiful and very scared. He wasn’t going to enjoy it as long as he was certain he was hurting Kevin.

Kevin let this breath out and, carefully, afraid to actually move, reached a hand to his own cock. If he could just get it interested again he might be able to distract himself from the mind-boggling pain.

Howie reached and touched about the same time he did. Kevin moaned again, still in too much pain to enjoy his friend’s obvious pleasure in their activity.

Howie touched him tenderly, petting him and exploring with careful hands. Eventually his actions had an effect and Kevin felt himself begin to grow hard again. The pain was still paramount, but he thought he could bear to move, at least a little bit.

"I’m going to - " he couldn’t get any words out.

"Whatever you want, man." Howie looked dreamy-eyed and happy. His cock was just this hard thing in Kevin’s ass, but it didn’t feel as bad as it had a minute ago and Howie was clearly enjoying himself.

It was what Kevin had wanted, after all.

"You - you move." Kevin managed to grunt out. He put his hands on Howie’s chest and braced himself. Even that small movement hurt, and he dreaded what was to come. "Come on, D."

"If you’re sure." Howie could see that Kevin was hurting. In the way his eyes crinkled, the way he was breathing, the tightness in his belly and shoulders. He didn’t want to hurt Kevin.

But he was already hurting and it was supposed to get better, he knew that. Everyone said it hurt at first, and of course Kevin had never done this before.

The thought that he was the first man to be inside Kevin sent a surge of desire through him and he bucked a little, startled.

"God!" he moaned, shocked by how good it felt. He’d never imagined anything could feel like this.

Kevin moaned and leaned further forward, as if he were trying to escape Howie’s cock. But Howie put his hands on Kevin’s hip and thrust up again, as gently as he could manage.

"Yeah, oh God, Kevin, this is amazing..."

"Can’t be too amazing if you’re still talking." Kevin closed his eyes and one hand went to his own cock. He worked it, and then pushed back against Howie, just a bit. "Ohhhhhhh...." he moaned and Howie took that as a signal to continue.

He thrust, and he thrust and suddenly it seemed like he wasn’t in his body anymore! He was *inside* Kevin and it was so amazing and so good and he wanted more, and more!

With barely a thought Howie abandoned control and began to fuck Kevin steadily, using his hands to hold his friend in place above him, driving his cock in and out of that hot, tight place that gripped him so good.

It was all Kevin could do; hang on for the ride and try to keep from screaming.

The pain was intense. He held onto his cock because his hand was already there, and he didn’t want Howie to notice that he wasn’t hard anymore.

Howie probably wouldn’t notice anyhow. He was too busy getting to that good place, the place Kevin wanted him to be. His knees were bent, his arms were tight. His eyes were glazed and his mouth open, panting for breath as he pushed himself on to Nirvana.

Kevin could hang on. He could take it, for Howie.

It would be nice if Howie slowed down a little, though. Make it not quite so painful.

"Howie -" Kevin moaned, trying to swallow the sound. "Not so fast..."

Howie’s eyes flickered, glanced at him and then blinked open wide. He grunted and bit his bottom lip, already plump and full from kissing, and held back the next thrust for a few seconds. Kevin used the time to suck in a deep breath and shift his pelvis forward just a bit, hoping to relieve the pressure.

Something sparked inside him and a rush of sensation washed through him, making him lose his breath in a groan of surprised pleasure.

Howie pushed up, into him, more carefully than before, and it happened again. Kevin moaned and his hand began stroking his cock, almost of its own accord.

"It that good, Kev?" Howie asked, panting as he did it again. "Is that better?"

"Fuck yeah." Kevin had forgotten about the pain. It was all about that feeling, and getting it back again. "God, Howie."

It was better now. He knew Kevin had been hurting, but it was so hard to stop... it was better now. Kevin was hard, and touching himself, and tossing his head while he moaned and Howie moved inside him. It was easier now, too. Not as tight, maybe, but so good.

Howie felt weightless and alive at the same time. It was like his body didn’t exist except for a few specific points; Where Kevin’s ass met Howie’s pelvis, where Howie’s hands gripped Kevin’s hips, getting slippery with wonderfully musky sweat. And his cock, which threatened to make the rest of it fade away completely.

Kevin was moaning with every thrust Howie made, using both hands to touch himself. One hand was curled around his cock, pulling roughly, and the other was milking the head. He moved into Howie’s thrusts, making him go deeper and harder.

Howie had never thought it could be this way. That someone he loved could be so open, so exposed to him. Right now, caught in the throes of passion, Kevin seemed somehow more vulnerable. Despite his size and the way he towered over Howie in the bed.

Howie was inside him, and Kevin was enjoying it with a kind of pure, uninhibited beauty.

"Howie -" Kevin groaned, his knees holding onto Howie tightly. "Oh, God, I’m gonna come, God, D, I’m gonna -"

Howie held his breath and tried to stop. He wanted to watch the moment, see what he was doing to Kevin. As Kevin arched back, both hands on his straining cock, Howie tried to stop, but Kevin’s muscles clamped down on his cock and threw him into a frenzy of thrusts. He came just as Kevin finished, pouring himself into the man he loved, almost frantic with the need to become a part of him.

Kevin opened his eyes, feeling dazed. He didn’t remember closing them.

He didn’t remember lying down, either.

The orgasm had been huge, blasting through his system like an explosion, and he’d had no defense against it.

He did remember Howie’s desperate movements at the end and wondered just how sore he was going to be, but didn’t move because he wasn’t ready to find out yet. Instead he took stock of the situation slowly, his brain not ready to let go of the warm fogginess yet.

He was on his back, completely sprawled, taking up most of the bed in that way that used to make Kristen nuts. No one was touching him, and that alarmed him. He half-sat and bit back a groan as pain radiated up his back and down his thighs.

He couldn’t see Howie, but the bathroom door was partially closed.

"Howie? D?" he called, not really wanting to get up and go find him. He’d probably just wanted to clean up. Right? "Sweet D," he tried again, hearing the way his voice sounded with surprise. Low and sweet and replete with satisfaction. Except for the sore ass, he felt really good. Complete and relaxed and content.

It had been the right thing to do. The certainty of that resonated through his bones.

Howie wasn’t answering him. A frisson of fear crawled through Kevin and he forced himself up, off the bed. It hurt, but it wasn’t so bad. Like he’d overdone a workout, nothing more.

Walking was a bit worse, but he managed it with long strides and not lifting his legs any higher than he had to. He hoped this wouldn’t last long, and understood why women sometimes looked like they were lopsided the morning after.

The morning after.... he smiled widely. He’d done it.

He’d let Howie make love to him and he’d *loved* it. It had been, possibly, the most sexual experience of his life. He still didn’t think he was gay, it was just that it had been Howie. And Howie had needed it so much.

For Howie he could do anything. Even if it meant people said he was gay. Kevin didn’t care. He knew the truth.

He wasn’t gay. He was just head-over-heels in love with Howie Dorough.

"Howie! Sweetheart, come back to bed -" Kevin pushed into the bathroom, limping and smiling, and stopped cold.

Howie heard Kevin coming and tried desperately to stop crying. He felt like such a fool. Hiding in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet with a towel in his hands to smother the sounds he was making. Naked as the day he was born.

"Kev -" startled by the smiling, man that barged in, he sat up and used the towel to cover his lap. "I -"

"Howie?" Kevin knelt before him on the fluffy rug, his hands coming up to touch Howie’s face. "You’re crying?"

Confusion and pain blossomed over Kevin’s features and Howie grabbed at his hands.

"You’re sorry?" Kevin looked like he’d been kicked in the teeth.

"NO!" Howie shouted, too loud. The sound bounced off the tiled walls. "I mean, no, Kev, I could never be sorry I love you, but - but -"

"What, D?" Kevin rose up on his knees and embraced him. Howie let himself be held, breathing the scents of sweat and sex, a part of him rejoicing in the strength of the man holding him. He wanted that strength to himself, forever. "Is it something I did?"

"I hurt you." Howie whispered. "I wanted to clean up, and there was blood..."

Kevin flinched minutely, but held onto Howie when he tried to pull away.

"Well, a virgin is supposed to bleed, right? So now you have the proof." Kevin chuckled wryly near his ear. "I’m okay, D. I promise. Just a little sore."

"You should see a doctor." Howie held onto him as tightly as he could.

"There’s no way the media wouldn’t find out about that." They were watched more closely than ever after the jungle adventure. Like people were just waiting for them to go postal or something. "I’ll be fine. And if I’m not I’ll schedule an appointment to see my regular doc. I can trust her."

"Promise?" Howie leaned back and studied Kevin’s face.

"Of course, sweetness." Kevin caressed his face with a hand. "This has all been a lot for you, I know. Let’s go back to bed. We can cuddle and talk about things, or just cuddle and rest. I never asked you, but I’m big on cuddling after sex."

"I don’t know if I am." Howie snorted as they disentangled themselves enough to let Kevin stand, his hand still on Howie’s face. "Never gave myself the chance to find out."

"Now’s the time, then." Kevin tugged at him, but Howie resisted. He gently turned Kevin around by the hips, then stroked his fingertips across the pale curves of his ass.

"Just let me check, okay?"

Kevin blushed, but didn’t object when Howie gently spread his cheeks and inspected him. The washcloth Howie picked up was pleasantly cool and goosebumps rose on his back and ass. He shivered and reached for the countertop in front of him, leaning a bit to give Howie better access.

"Kevin?" Howie’s voice tickled his back. "I’m going to try something. Just tell me if you don’t like it, okay?"

"What are you -?" Kevin let the question end on a groan as he felt more wetness, this time warm and mobile. Howie’s tongue. Oh, God.

He had to say it, too.

"Oh, God." Maybe his sweet talk needed a little work, he seemed reduced in vocabulary. But what Howie was doing would surely qualify as an excuse?

He’d heard about this, but never expected to experience it. It certainly wasn’t something you asked your *wife* to do.

"Jesus!" Like a flash-fire, arousal shot through him as the tip of Howie’s tongue wormed into him. It tickled and made him want to squirm, it felt so good. His cock hardened again instantly, which he hadn’t expected. "Howie?" He wasn’t sure he should be liking this so much. Was it something Howie actually wanted to do?

"Can’t talk with my mouth full, Train." Howie pulled his head back enough to make himself heard.

He’d had no idea that, presented with Kevin’s butt, he would want to do this. Sure, he had a thing for asses, particularly Kevin’s, and he’d heard of this, but never before thought of doing it.

Seeing the red soreness around the little pucker, though, all he’d thought was how much better it might feel if he gave it a lick or two. Grooming behavior, maybe. Pack care.

And once he started, he didn’t want to stop. So it was a good thing that Kevin seemed to like it, if his panting and cursing were any indication.

Howie wiggled his tongue further inside of Kevin. He could taste the sharp bitterness of his own come, and that excited him. Mixed with the musky heavy taste of Kevin’s private place, it was almost too much.

Kevin began grunting and moved a hand down to his cock. Howie saw the movement out of the corner of his eyes and for a few minutes it didn’t register. Then he realized what Kevin was doing. With an effort, he pulled away again and pressed his cheek to Kevin’s back.

"Hey, Train. Want to go back to bed and fuck me?" he could say it now. Since he’d done it just a little while ago.

Kevin jerked when Howie said those words. His hand stopped and he missed the stimulation of Howie’s tongue.

Howie began tracing the line of his spine with that tongue, and Kevin moaned.

What about Kristen? He’d decided to not think about her. He’d decided that as long as he didn’t give Howie what he’d given her, he wasn’t betraying her.

That had been before Howie had made love to him. Before Howie had made him feel more alive than he had since the crash.

He realized that he wanted to make Howie feel that way, too.

Kevin straightened and turned around. He lifted Howie by the shoulders and kissed him hungrily. The taste in Howie’s mouth was strong and different, but not at all repulsive.

Howie was gasping when Kevin broke the kiss. He blinked at Kevin and grinned, just a little bit shy.

"Was that a yes?"

"That was yes, and I love you, and I want you." Kevin swallowed heavily and pulled Howie too him, holding him too tightly. "Forever."

"Kevin...." Howie wriggled, probably not comfortable with the words. Kevin promised himself that he would make him comfortable with them. With hearing them and believing them.

"Sweet D." He cupped Howie’s face in both hands and just looked down at him. "We’ve been through a lot lately. It’s been a long, hard journey. But I know now that this is where I’m supposed to be."

"But what about -" Kevin covered Howie’s lips with his thumbs and he shushed.

"We can handle anything that comes. I didn’t carry you out of the rainforest to abandon you in the real world. You’re mine. I earned you, with my own blood, sweat and tears."

"I don’t think I deserve this." Howie whispered. He tried to look away, but Kevin wouldn’t let him. "I couldn’t save Kristen, Kev. I tried to. It doesn’t feel right to have what was hers. It doesn’t feel right to be alive and happy when she’s not."

"Wherever Kristen is now, I know she’s happy." Kevin shook his head gently. "She always made her own happiness. I know that hasn’t changed."

Howie still looked doubtful. "I thought this would just be a fling."

Kevin grinned at him, a wide, predatory grin.

"You’re not going to get rid of me that easily."

Howe grinned back. It was tentative, but real.

"Uh-oh. Train on the tracks. I can’t get away, can I?"

"Not a chance." Kevin bent over and lifted, swinging Howie not into his arms, but over his shoulder in a caveman carry.

"Kevin!" Howie hollered, laughing.

"What you did tonight was amazing." Kevin chatted as he carried his lover back into the bedroom. "Now it’s my turn to make you crazy. I’m going to show you what making love is all about."

He tossed Howie on the bed. Howie bounced, and then sat there, with his arms open. Kevin fell into them and they clutched each other close as they kissed with rising passion.

"I remember that night, in the jungle," Howie whispered as they broke apart for air. "How you kissed me and how scared I was that you would never kiss me like that again."

"Whenever you want, D." Kevin was busily sorting them into position, Howie spooned in front of him, one leg forward to make entry easier. "I’ll kiss you and love you and fuck you – whenever you want."

"I love you." Howie twisted so he could look at Kevin when he said it.

"I love you." Kevin chuckled back at him. "Now lie still. I’ve got something for you...."

Howie moaned, and lay back into the embrace, Kevin’s chest strong, supporting him, Kevin’s hand warm and loving him.

So this was love. He’d waited so long, resigned himself to never having it, and now it was here.

Cool.

*************************************

song: coldplay; yellow

Look at the stars, look how they shine for you.

And everything you do

yeah they were all yellow

I came along I wrote a song for you

and all the things you do, and it was called yellow

so then I took my turn, oh what a thing to’ve done

and it was all yellow

you’re still, oh yeah, you’re still

turning into something beautiful

do you know do you know I love you so

do you know I love you so?

I swam across, I jumped across for you

oh what a thing to do

cuz you were all yellow

I drew a line, I drew a line for you.

Oh what a thing to do

and it was all yellow

you’re skin, oh yeah you’re skin and bones,

turning into something beautiful

do you know for you I’d bleed myself dry.

For you I’d bleed myself dry.

It’s true

look how they shine for you

look how they shine for you

look how they shine for you.

Look how they shine for you

look how they shine for you

look how they shine

Look at the stars

look how they shine for you

and all the things that you do.

~~~~~~~ end ~~~~~~~~

feedback may be sent to: saraid@wf.net