Drunk and Stoned
It’s ridiculously easy to pawn the kids off on Mom and Dad. I knew it would be. If there’s anyone crazy enough to want someone else’s half a dozen kids in their house overnight, it’s our parents. And they can handle them, too. After all, they raised the seven of us under pretty crazy conditions, and well, at least five of us turned out normal and well adjusted.
The usual group is gathered at Angelene and Johnny’s, doing our usual barbecue and booze routine. Carrick isn’t there, but Austin is, and he’s brought some pretty good weed. He and I get really well acquainted with the alley beside the house, where no one else can see our smoke drifting up and mingling with the smoke from the grill. If they do see it, they don’t care enough to call us out. I know we’re not the only stoners there, anyway, but we’re the only ones not bothering to pretend that we’re responsible adults.
At some point, I do start to wonder why Carrick hasn’t shown up. He couldn’t possibly have better plans; practically everyone he knows in Tulsa is here. But that was before I started sharing this bowl with Austin. Now, I can’t really think about anything but the flecks of paint chipping off the side of the house, and that’s just fine by me. It’s nice to just not think at all.
All too soon, though, I’m distracted. Someone must have told a really funny joke, because laughter rings out all through the yard and of course, I have to look. Taylor’s right in the middle of the crowd, his eyes twinkling so brightly that it makes me smile even though I have no clue what he’s talking about. It doesn’t matter. He still lights everything up. God, I’m pathetic. I’m so far past the point of pretending this is just lust that it isn’t even funny anymore.
Taylor, of course, catches me staring at him. To my surprise, his smile only grows as he stares back at me. I’m not sure what to make of that at all. No matter what Taylor does, it seems, I’m totally confused. Maybe the problem is me, not him.
“Zac,” Austin says. “You wanna hit it again, or you ready to head back to the party?”
“I guess… umm…” I say, then shake my head to try to clear it. It doesn’t work. Slowly, I drag myself away from Taylor’s stare and back to Austin’s confused face. “Umm.. actually, I think I’m done for now.”
“Yeah, you look like it.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, then walk away from him, hoping that he was exaggerating.
I really don’t want to look like a total fucking burnout when I try to blend into the crowd here. I just need to be closer to Taylor. I don’t know why, but do I really need a reason? And when don’t I want to be closer to him? It’s pretty much a fact of my life that I will always want to be superglued to Taylor’s side.
Of course, my attempt to sneak into the fold doesn’t work out as well as I planned.
Johnny claps a hand across my shoulder as soon as I’m within reach and asks, “You having fun, man?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “Tons.”
“I can tell,” he replies, coughing exaggeratedly just to make sure I get his point. He’s smiling, though, because he really doesn’t care what we do as long as we don’t get the cops called. He’s a nice guy like that.
“Tay was just telling us about the prank you guys pulled on your last opener,” Joe says.
I’m pretty sure that prank was my idea, but I don’t feel the need to point that out. I don’t really care at all if Taylor has decided to claim it was his very own idea. It would be just like him, of course, to take credit for everything. But right now, when I’m so completely enamored with his entire existence, I don’t really care what he says or does.
Johnny finally removes his hand from my shoulder. “Alright, I better check on the grill again. Zac, Tay, do you guys care to run in the house and grab some more beer? I think we’re getting low out here.”
I’d question why he picked the two of us, but again, I really don’t care. I’m just glad he did. Tay’s still got a beer in his hand, and the cup sloshes a little as he decides it’s his turn to throw an arm around my shoulder. Again, I don’t really care. I’ll happily let him guide me into the house, even if I’ve already nearly forgotten why we were going into the house anyway.
We make our way into the house together, Taylor only letting go of my shoulder so that we can pass through the hallway without slamming into the walls. Once we’re in the kitchen, he drains the rest of his beer and slams the empty plastic cup onto the kitchen counter with dramatic finality. Then he just leans there, apparently expecting me to do all the work. So, naturally, I do.
I open the refrigerator and see that there’s an unopened twenty four pack on the bottom rack. I bend over and wrap my arms around it, and begin to ease it off the shelf. I don’t even notice that Taylor has, apparently, walked up right behind me, until I feel his body pressed along the length of mine.
“Need any help?” he asks, placing a hand on my hip as though that’s going to help me lift this case of beer.
“Umm,” I reply, my fingers slipping off the case. “I think… I think I can handle it.”
“Mmm, I’m sure you can,” Taylor replies.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“I wish you would have stayed last night…” Taylor says, a thought that seems totally unrelated to whatever he was saying before. “We could have finished what we started…”
Started? What did we start? I don’t have to ask myself that question long, though, before Taylor answers me. His answer comes in the form of his hand creeping around to grasp for my dick. And, of course, because I’m this damn close to Taylor, I’m already so hard that he has no trouble finding it at all and giving it quite a squeeze.
I let out a groan, not caring how loud I am because we’re alone inside the house, and slowly manage to straighten myself up so that I can feel Taylor pressed against every inch of my body. He backs me away from the refrigerator and slams the door, then slams me up against the refrigerator. At least I had the presence of mind to brace myself against it, my hands scrambling for purchase against the cool plastic of the door. Taylor’s lips find their way to my neck and I’m powerless to stop myself from moaning loudly.
I don’t care that we’re in someone else’s kitchen. I don’t care that there’s a party going on just outside. I don’t care that I’m stoned and Taylor is probably very drunk, if the heavy smell of beer on his breath is anything to judge by. I don’t fucking care. All I care about is that he’s close to me now and I don’t want him to stop. I need him – right here and right now.
“Taylor…” I gasp out, trying to put everything I’m thinking into words and only managing to come up with his name.
“Yeah?”
“I… I want…” I’m still kind of failing at the whole speaking thing. It’s just the effect Taylor has on me, though. I can’t even think when he’s touching me like this, his hand working me expertly even in spite of the layers of clothing between us.
Luckily, I don’t seem to need to words to let Taylor know what I want. We’ve always been kind of in sync like that, and I’ve never been more grateful for it than now. He tosses me around like I’m a ragdoll, like I’m absolutely putty in his hands, and I guess I am. Before I can even try to say anything else, his lips are on mine, his tongue sliding between them. He pops the button on my jeans, then slides the zipper down torturously slowly. He knows what he’s doing to me, how crazy he’s driving me. He has to know.
He’s kind of a bastard like that, and I don’t care at all, as long as he doesn’t fucking stop.
When he pulls back from the kiss, I find myself lurching forward, longing to be closer to him again. Seconds later, though, he’s dropping to his knees and I don’t mind at all that the kiss had to end. I know we shouldn’t do this here, where anyone can walk in, but when Taylor looks up at me and licks his lips, I can’t find it in myself to tell him to stop. He pulls my dick out of my underwear and slowly licks it from tip to base and the word stop ceases to be a part of my vocabulary at all.
I grab a fistful of Taylor’s hair, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll set his own pace and do this exactly the way he wants to, no matter what I say or do. Thankfully, he’s apparently decided that painfully slow isn’t the best pace right now, not when we’re in someone else’s kitchen. But no matter the speed, he’s still incredibly skilled. My head falls back against the refrigerator door and I give in to the feeling of Taylor’s mouth wrapped around me.
I wish this could last forever, but with Taylor’s expert tongue already probing my slit, I know it won’t. All too soon, I’ll be coming down his throat. The thought of that only turns me on even more, and I let out a loud groan. I want to watch. I need to watch. I open my eyes and stare down at him and it only makes me moan even louder. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Taylor look more beautiful than he does when he’s down on his knees. Is that twisted? No more so than the rest of this, I suppose.
Slowly, I become aware of the fact that we’re not alone. There’s a second set of eyes on me. I wonder how long we’ve been watched and why they haven’t said anything. I pry my eyes away from Taylor and look toward the doorway to see who it is.
Carrick.
He meets my eyes and I can’t read the look on his face at all. He’s just staring at me. So I stare back. Taylor, meanwhile, is blissfully unaware, still working his mouth around me, drawing me ever closer to my orgasm.
Every time I think that this can’t get more twisted, something proves me wrong. Here I am, getting head from my beautiful, talented brother… while my best friend just stands silently to the side and watches. I want desperately to know what Carrick is thinking, but I can’t ask. I can’t say a word. I can’t do anything to ruin this moment. It feels like if I even breathe too loudly, I’ll wake up from this dream and find myself alone. But even in my wildest, sickest dreams, I couldn’t have created a situation like this.
I tighten my grip on Taylor’s hair, as though I could hold him in place. If he looks up, or off to the side, and sees Carrick, I fear that would ruin this entire moment. No, Taylor can’t see Carrick. He doesn’t seem to care that I’m practically shoving him onto me, forcing myself deeper into his mouth. Taylor just keeps on sucking, totally oblivious to the fact that Carrick is standing mere feet away.
With Taylor sucking his hardest and Carrick staring right into my eyes, it’s really more than I can handle. In a matter of seconds, I’m falling over the edge. I never break my stare with Carrick, though, even when my orgasm hits me. I just grip Taylor’s hair a little bit tighter, not feeling the need to give him any more warning than that. He swallows all I’ve got to offer easily, though, and stays there to lick up every drop.
When Taylor finally pulls away and looks up at me, Carrick slips silently from the room. I’m left there, tucking myself back into my pants and wondering if that really happened at all, while Taylor effortlessly hoists the twenty-four pack over his shoulder and saunters out of the room.