NOTES: NEWBIE, NEWBIE, NEWBIE - There you have it! This is my first post so any comments would be appreciated. But please, if you can't be kind, at least be funny. : -)) Please let me know what you think at kenitra_canada@hotmail.com or kenitra@canada.com
LEGALITIES: You know the drill. If you are under the legal age for whatever state, province or country you live in, don't read this story. If you are offended by material about homosexual relationships, DON'T READ IT.
This is a complete work of fiction, as everyone should know. It is not intended to imply anything about any one of the Backstreet Boys or any one else. The characters and characterizations are completely invented.
Hope you enjoy! Kenitra
Fate's Reason +++++++++++++ Part 1 **************************************
"Hey Fag!"
As soon as Mark heard the words, he knew he was in trouble and his happy mood vanished. It was three AM and he was walking home after clubbing with some friends after going to the Backstreet Boys concert at the Skydome. The street was basically deserted and a quick look around showed Mark there wasn't going to be any help.
He turned to face his tormentors. "What do ya want?" he asked the four obviously drunk men. They kept walking until they were directly in front of him. Mark could smell the alcohol from his position and before he could reconsider and think about running, the men fanned out around him. He was trapped. 'Shit' Mark thought. He knew he would have to make a break for it and just pray that someone cam along willing to help. 'Ya right,' he thought. When it looked like the guy in front of him zoned out, Mark darted past him.
Despite their intoxication, the guys were quick and grabbed Mark before he could get away. They threw him against the wall. The biggest and drunkest of the bunch moved in and began smashing his fist into Mark while two others held him. Mark was strong and athletic, but he could defend himself against the onslaught.
He yelled for help, but the thugs just laughed. "Who's gonna help a fag?" another one leered.
Mark began to slide to the ground, dizzy from the punches to his head. As soon as he did another one moved in and began kicking him. Mark tried to curl up in a ball and protect his head and groin, praying for it to end.
"Is there a problem here?" a new voice asked, causing the thugs to turn around. Mark remained where he was.
"Mind your own fuckin' business," one of the assailants spat out.
"Or what?" the voice asked nonchalantly walking closer.
The thugs laughed, what could one slight man do against them? "Hey when we're done with this one, will move on to ya!" They began to walk towards the man, then halted. Mark wasn't sure why. He tried to open his eyes but they filled with blood from a gash on his forehead. Squinting to see, he could see the feet of the new man. Then he noticed four more sets of legs walk up behind.
A second new voice spoke. "I would suggest that you get the hell outta here - now!" the man threatened.
The drunks thought about arguing then finally said, "You want the fag so much - have him. We're done, for now." They stumbled out of the alley. Mark was rapidly losing his battle to remain conscious and didn't here the thugs leave. When someone touched his shoulder, he flinched.
"Please stop," he begged, hoping he wouldn't get kicked or punched again. The man touching him felt his heart go out to the beaten soul.
The hand on Mark's shoulder didn't inflict pain. It just stayed there, gently rubbing his shoulder. Mark forced himself to concentrate on what was happening.
One of the new voices was asking him, "Are you okay, man?"
Another voice, "We should call the cops."
"He needs a hospital," another voice said, the man closest to Mark and the one who had first spoken to the thugs. At that suggestion Mark tried to sit up.
"No!" he whispered painfully, discovering his lips were cut and already swollen. He sat back, leaning his head against the cement and brick wall. He was shivering even though it wasn't cold, even for November.
The voices moved away from Mark.
Voice 2: We should still call the cops.
Voice 3: Lets just take him to a hospital.
Voice 1: No. He doesn't want that.
Voice 4: We can't just leave him here.
Voice 1: It was probably the t-shirt. We should take him with us.
Then the men returned to Mark. A man knelt beside him, gently wiping the blood from his eyes with a kleenex. Once the blood was gone, Mark could see slightly better, out of one eye only as the other was completely swollen shut. In the limited lighting of the street, Mark could see five men, the one kneeling beside him and four standing around.
"Why don't you want to go to the hospital," the one beside him asked. Mark recognized the slightly accented voice as the one who had challenged the thugs.
Mark tried to turn his head to see the man better but stopped when pain shot through his skull. "Police report," he whispered.
"Huh?" one of the others asked.
"Can't tell gay bashed...job...get fired," Mark managed to say through his painful lips.
There was another pause as the men looked at each other. The one man, tall and dark haired, sighed and nodded at the golden haired man beside Mark. "Do you think you can walk?" the kneeling man asked.
Mark nodded and tried to push himself up. Two pairs of hands immediately reached under his arms, steadying him. Once standing, the helping hands remained as they walked out of the alley.
Mark had no idea where he was being taken and didn't care; he was too busy trying to remain conscious and walking. Everything was a blur. At one point he knew he was on an elevator, then in a room; a hotel maybe. Hands gently removed his dirt and blood-soaked jacket, and then returned to strip him of his shoes, pants and shirt, leaving him only his black boxer briefs. Then he realized he was lying on a bed under blankets.
Before he finally gave in and passed out he grabbed the hand of one of his rescuers. "Please take care of the t-shirt." Then he fell into oblivion. His rescuers found Mark's wallet and were finally able to put a name to the man they had helped. While four of the rescuers left for their own rooms, the golden- haired man remained. He sat watching Mark toss and turn in his sleep, wishing he could do more to help him.
A few hours later, Mark woke up screaming, fighting off the hands that he thought were hurting him, kicking him.
"Shhh, Mark, its okay. You're safe, its okay," a soothing voice said as cool hands touched his forehead and rubbed the back of his neck. Mark turned into the comforting arms and wrapped himself in their protection, falling into a more peaceful sleep.
Hours later, Mark stirred. He knew his head was resting on someone's chest because he could hear the steady heartbeat and feel the rise and fall of breathing. He had no idea where he was.
Mark let out a loud moan when he licked his dry lips, finding the cut still raw. The events of the previous night came rushing back. He had no idea who his heroes were, but he owed them his life. Tentatively he tried to move. His entire body screamed at him; every muscle and bone ached. Slowly, Mark rolled off the warm chest he'd had his arm flung across.
He found himself flat on his back, breathing hard, wondering if dying would have hurt less. The man beside him stirred, and looked down at Mark, unsure what to say. Mark closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying not to groan with pain. He just focused on breathing, in and out.
A soft voice beside Mark spoke, "About all I can offer you is aspirin." All Mark could do was nod. He felt the bed move as the man got up and went to the bathroom.
He returned and walked around to the other side of the bed. He gently put his arm under Mark's shoulders, raising his head so he could swallow water and the two pills he put in Mark's mouth.
Mark grimaced as he lay back down. "Thank you for everything," he said, opening the one eye not completely swollen shut. He couldn't see the man clearly although he could tell he was young and blond. "I don't even know who to thank," Mark said in barely a whisper, his throat sore and dry.
The man smiled, grateful that Mark was awake and alert. "My name is Brian," he said, waiting for Mark's reaction.
Mark just nodded. "Thank you Brian. You and your friends saved my life." A new thought occurred to Mark and he tried to sit up, immediately falling back on the bed. He moaned loudly. "Shit!" he said, with a sigh.
"What's wrong?" Brian asked.
"I need to call my work; let them know I won't be in today."
"It's already done," a new voice said from the doorway. Mark turned his head but couldn't see anything but a shadow. "Kevin found your employee card in your wallet. He called, saying he was a friend and that you had been mugged last night so wouldn't be in today." The man walked further into the room.
Mark thought about what the new man had said. Then he smiled to himself, figuring these guys wouldn't get it. "So, Brian and Kevin. Who does that make you? Howie?" he asked.
The man laughed. "No, actually I'm A.J., Howie is still eating breakfast."
Mark froze. The man wasn't joking. Mark slowly turned his head and concentrated on focusing on Brian sitting on the side of the bed. His face finally came clear and he was smiling at Mark. "Oh my God!" Mark said softly.
Brian turned to A.J. "I think he just recognized us," he said with a grin. All Mark could think about was those dimples and that smile.
"I think I'm insulted. He even had a t-shirt to help get the names and faces right." A.J. said, moving to a position where Mark could see that, yes, it was A.J. McLean.
Mark tried to smile. "Well if I could see more than two feet in front of me, I'm sure I wouldn't have insulted Howie with such a mix-up."
Brian laughed and A.J. grinned. "Ouch!" he said, still smiling.
Another man walked in. "I think I found some clothes he can wear." Mark knew immediately that the newest arrival was Nick Carter.
He felt strange lying there with these particular guys around him. He clenched his teeth and pushed himself into a sitting position. He gasped at the pain and Brian immediately reached out, helping him lean against the headboard, putting pillows behind Mark's head and back.
Mark could barely see Nick looking at him. "Jeez, I told you guys we should have put ice on those eyes." He turned and went out the door, tossing the clothes he'd brought, onto the bed.
A.J. picked up the clothes, holding up a pair of jeans and a button down flannel shirt. "Kevin's jeans and Nick's shirt. Should fit," A.J. commented to no one in particular.
Mark looked at Brian when he touched his hand. "Sorry, your other clothes were unsalvageable; even the t-shirt."
Mark cursed himself for blushing as he remembered asking his rescuers to save the t-shirt he'd bought at the concert. Mark caught his breath when Brian smiled. "I think we can find you a Backstreet Boy ...t-shirt, if you want one." Mark thought he'd heard Brian pause but knew it was wishful thinking.
"Thanks," he said.
Nick returned carrying a folded towel. He walked over to the bed and handed it Mark. "Put this on your eye. It'll help." Mark carefully placed the towel, filled with ice, over his worst eye, leaving the other uncovered so he could see.
"Thank you Nick," he said softly.
"No prob man," Nick replied with an easy smile.
Mark suddenly felt uncomfortable. These guys probably had the day off and here they were nursing him. "You know, if someone called me a cab, I could go home and get out of your way," he said. "I'm sure you have better things to do."
Brian froze, hoping Nick and A.J. wouldn't do anything. When no one said anything Brian decided to test Mark. "Fine. If you can make it out the door, I'll call you a cab," he said and stood up, crossing his arms, watching Mark.
It wasn't exactly what Mark had expected; it sounded like Brian didn't want him to leave. He took a deep breath and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His body screamed and Mark gritted his teeth. He had to catch his breath. Grabbing the bedside table for support, Mark forced himself into a standing position. Brian watched, thinking 'god this man is determined.' Mark realized he was wearing only his boxer briefs. He felt exposed, but Brian had challenged him so he was going to keep going. Taking a deep breath, Mark began to walk. He made it about five steps before his legs refused to go on and his entire body stopped obeying. He would have crumpled to the floor if Brian hadn't been standing right behind him and grabbed him under the arms. Nick jumped forward to help and between the two, they managed to help Mark back to the bed.
He collapsed against the pillows, exhausted. Brian sat back down on the edge of the bed. "We'll let you know if you become too much of a bother, okay?" he said. Mark nodded and returned the towel with ice to his eye.
He heard the door open and could see the shadow of another man walk in. From his height, Mark figured it was Kevin. "So how's it going in here?" Kevin asked casually, walking around the bed so Mark could see him better.
"I'm sorry for causing you guys so much trouble," Mark finally said.
Kevin shrugged. "Hey, you give us something different to do on our day off."
Mark smiled weakly, "Not exactly what you had in mind."
"So have you guys offered Mark anything to drink or eat?" Kevin continued. No one said a word. "Mark, can I get you anything?"
Mark thought for a moment. He could really use a drink. "Some orange juice, with a straw, would be terrific," he said.
Kevin looked over at Nick. Getting the hint, Nick volunteered to go get the orange juice.
"I don't know if they told you, but I called you work to let them know you wouldn't be in today." Mark nodded and Kevin continued. "So what exactly is Forever's Child Mark?" Kevin asked curiously.
"It's a place where terminally ill kids can go, and do things that other kids get to do, but with added support. The kids can go to school, play sports, learn an instrument, whatever they want for however long they have," Mark explained. The room was absolutely quiet.
"Wow!" Brian said softly, thinking what an amazing man Mark was.
"I second that Bri," A.J. added.
"So what do you do there?" Howie asked, having arrived in time to hear Mark's explanation.
"I do physiotherapy with the kids who need it and run the athletic program," Mark explained weakly.
Nick returned carrying a large glass of orange juice with a straw. He handed it to Brian who held it for Mark to drink. When done, Mark slumped back against the pillows, closing his eyes.
"I think we should let Mark get some rest," Kevin announced, heading to the door. A.J., Howie and Nick followed. Brian remained where he was. "Brian?" Kevin asked from the door.
"I'm going to stay. Make sure he's okay," Brian replied, not even looking at his cousin. The others left, closing the door softly behind them.
Mark opened his eyes to look at Brian. "You don't have to stay, ya know."
Brian smiled. "I want to. Now try to get some sleep." Brian moved over to the nearby chair and began looking at a magazine. Mark watched Brian for a few minutes before giving into his body and falling asleep.
TBC *********************************************** Please feel free to email any comments to me. I have a much bigger story already well underway and could use any suggestions to make it better.
B.T.W. the sex is coming, soon!
Thanxs, K.