Not Like That
[Popslash] [Nick Carter/Aaron Carter] [NC-17 -- incest!]
Not Like That
Aaron doesn’t think it’s strange when Nick drapes his long frame over Aaron’s. Nick has always been affectionate, giving stolen acceptance and love where no one else ever will. It’s habit now, Aaron thinks, for them to slide into each other’s arms, casually, needing simple human contact, needing a warm touch.
Aaron just can’t remember when that innocent touch started to evolve into more.
Nick is overly touchy tonight. It’s not like it’s not bad enough on normal days, with loneliness and fatigue and a need for acknowledgement of the love that flows through their veins with each pumping rush of blood, because Nick has always been the one to initiate contact, desperate and helpless and wanting.
Aaron always gives Nick what he wants, how he wants, because Nick is the only one who will take what Aaron has to give, and never ask for more. Nick makes Aaron feel like Aaron’s the one taking. And taking, and taking, without ever giving back.
But it’s never been like this.
Nick is a warm, solid mass behind Aaron, and their bodies are pulled flush against each other. There’s no indication of anything more, but Nick’s lips are suddenly pressing against the back of Aaron’s head. That’s new, and Aaron is surprised, but only for a second, and then he goes lax against Nick’s body, and continues asking Angel if she’s enjoying their Christmas party.
Aaron trusts Nick.
But just as Angel turns away, Aaron finds Nick’s lips warm on his nose. That’s okay, too, except that in the next moment, the corner of Aaron’s mouth is burning from the touch of Nick’s. Aaron doesn’t have time to think, or blink, or breathe, before Nick pulls away, and disappears into the milling crowd.
A split second later, confusion and repulse churn Aaron’s stomach. Fear stings his eyes where sudden tears threaten to fall, and Aaron reaches out blindly to grab Angel before she can move away. He pulls her into a tight, close hug, kissing her cheek fervently to rid himself of the unpleasant tingling on his lips, over and over again.
When he finally releases her, Angel all but flees from his sight. Aaron can’t blame her - he’s shocked at what he’s just done, too, and the back of his palm is now moist from rubbing over his lips one too many times.
Aaron’s terrified. He doesn’t want to admit it, as the world spins blurrily and the laughing crowd disappears from his sight for a moment, but he takes two steps back, leaning his weight on a pristine white wall, gasping for breath that shouldn’t have been hard to gain.
Aaron doesn’t know how he feels. And he doesn’t want to think about it when his world finally rights itself again. Just drunk, he tells himself, even though he knows it’s his pathetic way of making excuses for Nick again. Aaron supposes that’s just how it works, though.
He doesn’t know what to do. If it happens a second time, Aaron thinks he’ll probably lose it. He wants to push Nick away, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t want to have to learn to deal with life without Nick in it. He’s afraid that that’s exactly what will happen, if he rejects Nick’s advances. And he can’t afford that.
He doesn’t want to think, either, about how this should affect their relationship. How it should change the bond between them - either tighten or destroy it. His respect and love and *need* for Nick - for Nick to just be there for him - hasn’t lessened, not at all, and Aaron’s not sure what that means.
So Aaron shuts his eyes, and chants just drunk, just drunk, just drunk… over and over in his head like a broken mantra, and manages to soothe his racing heartbeat somewhat. There won’t be a second time, he promises himself. There won’t.
And when Nick walks back over, Aaron’s in control again. He tries not to cringe when Nick smiles at him, but he can’t stop himself from inching away when Nick tries to move closer. He doesn’t want to be left alone with Nick again.
Knowing that his subconscious knows that makes Aaron feel terrible, like he might be sick all over the pretty, pretty carpet. God knows what Jane will do if he lets that happen.
Aaron feels like he should tell someone, because it’s almost like he’s going to explode with all the confusion he’s keeping inside right now, as he moves further away from Nick. Nick doesn’t try to follow, and the fact that Aaron can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed sends a lightning bolt of fear down his spine.
“Don’t stop loving me, Nick!” he wants to yell. But he can’t find the words. So he keeps backing up, knowing that he can’t, and won’t, tell anyone what just happened, despite the earnest feeling in his gut.
Aaron doesn’t want their pity or their accusations. He doesn’t want them to think less of him for being unable to reject Nick. He doesn’t want them to think less of Nick for being unable to resist temptation. All Aaron wants is help.
But the only person to get that from is Nick. And everything replays in the bitter, bloody cycle once again, that leaves Aaron’s mouth dry, and his palms sweaty.
“Aaron.”
Aaron bites back a sob at the sound of his name, and Nick’s arms are warmer, heavier, around his neck. Almost like they pose a new threat. “Aaron, I love you.” Nick’s voice is hushed, and it bites into Aaron’s skin, stings and prods and raises doubts that shouldn’t be there.
“No,” he mumbles, into the warm crook of Nick’s arm.
“I love you.” Nick tightens his hold on Aaron for a second, and Aaron’s stomach turns, again; he is still utterly terrified.
And it’s not because he’s doesn’t know that Nick means every word.
But now Aaron wonders when Nick began to mean those whispers more than he’d let on. His skin crawls as Nick murmurs the words repeatedly, because the one thing he wants more than anything in the world is now the one thing he wants to get away from.
Aaron wishes that habit would remain, that it would stop evolving into more than it’s meant to be. He wishes he could find the words to tell Nick, but he knows he never will.
His stomach heaves.
-fin-
Not Like That
Aaron doesn’t think it’s strange when Nick drapes his long frame over Aaron’s. Nick has always been affectionate, giving stolen acceptance and love where no one else ever will. It’s habit now, Aaron thinks, for them to slide into each other’s arms, casually, needing simple human contact, needing a warm touch.
Aaron just can’t remember when that innocent touch started to evolve into more.
Nick is overly touchy tonight. It’s not like it’s not bad enough on normal days, with loneliness and fatigue and a need for acknowledgement of the love that flows through their veins with each pumping rush of blood, because Nick has always been the one to initiate contact, desperate and helpless and wanting.
Aaron always gives Nick what he wants, how he wants, because Nick is the only one who will take what Aaron has to give, and never ask for more. Nick makes Aaron feel like Aaron’s the one taking. And taking, and taking, without ever giving back.
But it’s never been like this.
Nick is a warm, solid mass behind Aaron, and their bodies are pulled flush against each other. There’s no indication of anything more, but Nick’s lips are suddenly pressing against the back of Aaron’s head. That’s new, and Aaron is surprised, but only for a second, and then he goes lax against Nick’s body, and continues asking Angel if she’s enjoying their Christmas party.
Aaron trusts Nick.
But just as Angel turns away, Aaron finds Nick’s lips warm on his nose. That’s okay, too, except that in the next moment, the corner of Aaron’s mouth is burning from the touch of Nick’s. Aaron doesn’t have time to think, or blink, or breathe, before Nick pulls away, and disappears into the milling crowd.
A split second later, confusion and repulse churn Aaron’s stomach. Fear stings his eyes where sudden tears threaten to fall, and Aaron reaches out blindly to grab Angel before she can move away. He pulls her into a tight, close hug, kissing her cheek fervently to rid himself of the unpleasant tingling on his lips, over and over again.
When he finally releases her, Angel all but flees from his sight. Aaron can’t blame her - he’s shocked at what he’s just done, too, and the back of his palm is now moist from rubbing over his lips one too many times.
Aaron’s terrified. He doesn’t want to admit it, as the world spins blurrily and the laughing crowd disappears from his sight for a moment, but he takes two steps back, leaning his weight on a pristine white wall, gasping for breath that shouldn’t have been hard to gain.
Aaron doesn’t know how he feels. And he doesn’t want to think about it when his world finally rights itself again. Just drunk, he tells himself, even though he knows it’s his pathetic way of making excuses for Nick again. Aaron supposes that’s just how it works, though.
He doesn’t know what to do. If it happens a second time, Aaron thinks he’ll probably lose it. He wants to push Nick away, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t want to have to learn to deal with life without Nick in it. He’s afraid that that’s exactly what will happen, if he rejects Nick’s advances. And he can’t afford that.
He doesn’t want to think, either, about how this should affect their relationship. How it should change the bond between them - either tighten or destroy it. His respect and love and *need* for Nick - for Nick to just be there for him - hasn’t lessened, not at all, and Aaron’s not sure what that means.
So Aaron shuts his eyes, and chants just drunk, just drunk, just drunk… over and over in his head like a broken mantra, and manages to soothe his racing heartbeat somewhat. There won’t be a second time, he promises himself. There won’t.
And when Nick walks back over, Aaron’s in control again. He tries not to cringe when Nick smiles at him, but he can’t stop himself from inching away when Nick tries to move closer. He doesn’t want to be left alone with Nick again.
Knowing that his subconscious knows that makes Aaron feel terrible, like he might be sick all over the pretty, pretty carpet. God knows what Jane will do if he lets that happen.
Aaron feels like he should tell someone, because it’s almost like he’s going to explode with all the confusion he’s keeping inside right now, as he moves further away from Nick. Nick doesn’t try to follow, and the fact that Aaron can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed sends a lightning bolt of fear down his spine.
“Don’t stop loving me, Nick!” he wants to yell. But he can’t find the words. So he keeps backing up, knowing that he can’t, and won’t, tell anyone what just happened, despite the earnest feeling in his gut.
Aaron doesn’t want their pity or their accusations. He doesn’t want them to think less of him for being unable to reject Nick. He doesn’t want them to think less of Nick for being unable to resist temptation. All Aaron wants is help.
But the only person to get that from is Nick. And everything replays in the bitter, bloody cycle once again, that leaves Aaron’s mouth dry, and his palms sweaty.
“Aaron.”
Aaron bites back a sob at the sound of his name, and Nick’s arms are warmer, heavier, around his neck. Almost like they pose a new threat. “Aaron, I love you.” Nick’s voice is hushed, and it bites into Aaron’s skin, stings and prods and raises doubts that shouldn’t be there.
“No,” he mumbles, into the warm crook of Nick’s arm.
“I love you.” Nick tightens his hold on Aaron for a second, and Aaron’s stomach turns, again; he is still utterly terrified.
And it’s not because he’s doesn’t know that Nick means every word.
But now Aaron wonders when Nick began to mean those whispers more than he’d let on. His skin crawls as Nick murmurs the words repeatedly, because the one thing he wants more than anything in the world is now the one thing he wants to get away from.
Aaron wishes that habit would remain, that it would stop evolving into more than it’s meant to be. He wishes he could find the words to tell Nick, but he knows he never will.
His stomach heaves.
-fin-