AN: Don't you just love the chapters that write themselves? Thanks everyone for the wonderful feedback... Oh, and on a note, this story is based in the hazy BSB future, just for the curious. ******************** Curiosity Killed... Chapter Twelve ******************** I think I might be a little country because I know I sure as hell look it. My jaw hasn't quite managed to drag itself off the ground yet. Finding out that the Backstreet Boys are Vampires was a nifty surprise. Being backstage at a Backstreet Boys concert is totally blowing my hick mind. I watch avidly, wide eyed, the hulking Billy at my side, from the corner I was promptly stashed away in. I can see most of the area behind the stage and some of the stage itself and its fascinating to see dozens of crew members, technicians, and fans weaving back and forth across the vast space. Backstreet Boys race by at different intervals and sound check is interesting if only because I've never seen one before. I have the feeling I'll be more than bored if this routine repeats and I'm attending as many concerts as I fear I'll be attending. Its cool on some levels because yay, free concerts for me but the downside is boo, I'm prisoner of a Vampire boyband. Not so fun. No one talks to me, probably thanks to some spiffy mind melding tricks, and I'm mildly impressed that they can pull off that level of control. It takes time and a hell of a lot of power to control groups of people. Individuals are pretty easy, though strength of mind and character is a deciding factor, but large masses of people can be tricky. Although I'm not sure if its mind tricks or Billy's overwhelming presence which keeps the curious away. Maybe I'm just over rating myself. Maybe I'm just not that interesting. I glance up carefully at the bodyguard standing at near attention next to my chair. He's tall, and built, and scowling something fierce. Nah. Its all Billy, and the boys totally have his mind wrapped around their little fingers. I sigh and slump downwards. ************************************************************************************* "Wow," comes the awed exclamation as I stare, ever wide eyed, around the huge interior of the venue, which is already packed to the seams with a veritable sea of screaming fans, dressed to kill, waving signs and in some cases, their bras. I blink a little and let Billy guide me not so gently to my seat, which is in the middle of the first section and slightly to the left of center stage. My damn nice seat. Its not until I'm ushered into the all important VIP section that I realize all the attention I've drawn, at which point the hugeness in the venue seems crushingly small, especially when so many stares are so avidly hostile. Again with the slight claustrophobia and problems with popularity. I stammer a thanks to Billy as he glowers and takes a stand a row or so behind me, leaving me virtually alone in the three by three section quartered off for prestigious Backstreet guests. And their hostages. "Who is she...?" "A new girl...?" "Nick is available..." "They're all available..." "Trailer trash..." "Skank..." I absently twirl a lock of hair and bite my lip. Wow, kinda glad I'm not a real girlfriend. Some of these fans are vicious. But, before I can get too worked up, the lights lower and the opening act, a new trio of girls called Victoria's Angels, come on and I'm promptly sucked into the glory of Backstreet world. It takes me all of five minutes to forget my discomfort and get totally, really, into the show. Makes me wish I'd gone to a concert earlier, like, before I was forced too. The opening act whirls by and before long I find myself so damn eager for the guys to come on I think I'll burst. As much as I love the Boys' old albums, 'Millennium' anyone?, I love their new one more. 'Despite the Odds' is a masterpiece of pop and represents something more than a reliving of past glory days. It's the making of new ones. A lot of old fans have been saying that the Boys finally found their strides as artists and that this new CD, after such a long hiatus, complete with solo albums, is the first thing that is really, truly, all Backstreet, from writing and production to the tour itself. Forgive me if I forget my problems long enough to want to see if I agree with them. And suddenly there's strobe lights, and smoke, and enough screams to drown out an earthquake, and five very pretty men dressed in leather in black on stage with microphones. All breath leaves me and I stare, mesmerized, by the pretty, pretty Backstreet Boys and their liquid hips. Who says I'm invulnerable to mind tricks? ************************************************************************************* I'm smiling despite myself, grinning ear to ear if you must know, giddy from two solid hours of watching liquid sex and hearing suggestions to make it better in the promise of their voices. Damn those boys can sing. It's nice to know I'm not a fan for nothing though, right? I follow complacently enough through the throngs of glaring, eager, giddy teens who mirror my happiness and resent the all access pass around my neck. Thank goodness for Billy's mammoth size cause I never could have navigated these crowds. Little, tiny, crowds, bad. Backstage is chaos, a definite change from the careful if disorderly activity of sound check. "Where are we going?" I ask the bodyguard, my first words this evening, and the huge man glances down at me, almost surprised to hear my voice. "Kevin's," comes the short, gruff reply and I sigh as I lengthen my stride to accommodate his long legs, cursing the skirt that tries to ride up. Stupid skirt. Stupid AJ. Stupid Kevin. Speak of the devil. Billy stops in front of a room that I assume is Kevin's dressing room, knocks, opens, and pushes me in. I stand there in shock for a moment, only a short moment, before promptly trying something that is very stupid. I reach for the doorknob with something along the lines of escape in my head. Silly, foolish, naïve me. "Going somewhere?" asks a deadly calm voice that reminds me so much of Dracula in this instant I shiver instinctively. I don't want to risk him hearing a lie, no matter how flippant, in my voice, and turn slowly, silently. And wow, oh wow, naked Kevin. Or nearly naked Kevin. I'm not a Kevin girl, really I'm not, cause I've always sort of had a thing for AJ or Howie when I'm in the right mood, but definitely not Kevin. Only, the last two hours have made me oh so aware of all the wonderfully supple ways Kevin can move. And how low he can sing. Damn me for being a sucker for basses because he's not really naked, not fully, but he's standing in front of me shirtless and bronzed, dressed all slick and sweaty in black, tight, leather pants from the show, a towel draped across broad shoulders. Oh the sin of those pants. They cling to places no pants should cling. I feel a very strong flash of need that I swallow quickly. Not quickly enough. The irritation, the anger fades in a heartbeat from Kevin's face leaving sure knowledge lighting his pale, strange, oh so pretty green eyes. Yay for Kevin Richardson knowing I want him now. I swallow and back up as he steps closer, sudden fierce desire darkening his bright catlike gaze. Yay for me knowing Kevin Richardson wants me. I swallow again and again as I retreat and he advances until my back hits the closed door with a thump. I'm breathing shallowly by the time he takes that final step. He places his hands on either side of my head, effectively boxing me in a nice six foot Kevin box as he stares down at me, all five feet of me, hungry in ways I never thought to see from a man I would have sworn was singularly unattractive not three hours past. His hair is too long and it falls into his eyes, tangled, wet, as full lips curl into a smirk that reveals glistening fangs. His already dark gaze pools slowly to black and my breathing takes a suddenly panicked path. "Did I ever tell you that you look great this evening?" Oh boy, he picks now to compliment me. I shiver even though I know better. Know I can't let this happen. Can't let him happen. There's too damn much at stake. Stake. I wince at the thought but am not allowed any more thoughts as he leans down and kisses me. He's as dark, as sweet, as I remember and it's like kissing a star, a comet, because I see space as fire burns my lips. And he's better than Howie, and better than anything I've ever known. So good I don't know how to stop it, not with their music echoing in my mind and my hips swaying to the memory of their dancing. Kevin groans against my mouth as I arch against him, shamelessly blissful of the consequences of my actions, as his hands leave the wall to trail down my body before resting on my hips like red-hot irons. Things might have gotten really interesting right then if AJ hadn't chosen that moment to pound on the door. "Train, you ready to go? Where' Cat by the way?" Kevin curses and I choose that moment to break away from him with a gasp. I'm trembling from head to toe and itching for the comfort of a stake as I wipe the taste of his lips away from my swollen mouth with the back of my hand. We stare at each other. "Catherine..." he begins but I back away from him, reaching blindly for the doorknob, irrationally afraid. I've faced death and pain and torture but I've never been this shaken- and by a kiss. I've never felt anything as intimate as this kiss. And I hate it. Hate him for it. I wrench the door open and face a surprised AJ McLean with scare concealed relief. "We're ready," I bark as I brush past him into the comfort of the hall. AJ glances from a rather disheveled me to the shirtless Kevin and shakes his head. My glare dares him to say something but neither do. "I'll, umm, take her to the car Kev. Let's go Cat..." And I let AJ take my hand, his touch surprisingly gentle, because I'm grateful, so damn grateful. Without his interruption I'm not quite sure what would have happened. Or, more accurately, I know what probably would have happened, and it scares the shit out of me. I've been with the Backstreet Boys for twenty-four hours and Kevin Richardson has already almost seduced me. That is not a good sign.