Predator and Prey
I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m really just not a party sort of person. At every party I’ve been to in the last few weeks, which feels like more than ever before in my life, I’ve found some secluded room or corner to hide and be alone. That strange upstairs kitchen in Carrick and Austin’s house is the perfect spot. I can get drunk and be a hermit. Absolutely fucking perfect.
I should know by now that perfect things can’t last forever.
When I hear footsteps on the stairs, I assume it’s Carrick. Other than Austin, who really knows what’s upstairs? Who else would be looking for me? It’s self-centered to assume that whoever is coming up the stairs is looking for me. Maybe they just need to piss and the bathroom downstairs is occupied.
But no. It’s Taylor, and he is looking for me. At least, I think he is. He just sort of leans against the door frame, giving me this grin that makes me shiver. Whatever it was that turned me off a few days ago seems to have passed. Now things are back to normal – if it was normal for one stare from my brother to turn me into a puddle of goo on the floor.
“Why aren’t you partying?” He asks, his voice just a little fuzzy around the hard edges of the words, a tell-tale sign that he’s been partying.
I just shrug and hold up the bottle of tequila I’ve been drinking from. He doesn’t need to know that I’m too much of a lightweight to do more than swallow two or three gulps that hardly even qualify as shots. The bottle was already half empty when I found it, so I look like a pretty big drunk swinging it around in my hand like I’m responsible for it’s emptiness.
“Not much of a party up here by yourself…” Taylor mumbles.
I raise an eyebrow. “You really want me to come downstairs?”
“Nah,” he replies, shaking his head. “We can stay up here. Actually, I’d prefer if we did…”
Now I see where he’s going with all this. I knew there had to be some ulterior motive; with Taylor, there always is. He’s only come to me now because he wants me. I can’t help feeling a little stupidly happy about that. Even if I don’t really know how he feels about me, there’s some part of my self-esteem that gets a boost from knowing that Taylor wants me. And if he wants me now, even here in Carrick’s house, I’m not sure I can refuse him.
He glances around the room, then over his shoulder into Carrick’s bedroom. With a quick glance back at me, he turns on his heel and walks that way. If I lean my chair just a little bit, I can watch his ass as he disappears through the doorway. But what am I doing just watching him when he’s obviously just invited me to do more than watch?
The little bit I’ve had to drink is enough to make me wobbly and uncertain as I walk into Carrick’s room. Or maybe it’s just the effect Taylor has on me. Either way, my vision is blurry so that all I can make out is Taylor, in front of me, reaching behind me to slam the door shut. I swear it echoes all around us, and it makes me wonder just how long this can go on before someone finds us. That wonder isn’t quit turning into worry, though. At least, not enough to stop me.
I keep my eyes open as Taylor kisses me, because if there’s a chance this is going to be interrupted, I want to see every second of it before it is. I want to see and feel all of it and have it burned into my memory, into my fucking retinas so that I never forget what it’s like to have sex with Taylor.
Not that I think I could ever really forget, but I’m not taking any chances.
His hands find their way to my shoulders, nudging me toward the bed. He’s not forceful, really, just very deliberate. Taylor knows what he wants and he knows he’s going to get it; that’s how he’s always been. How could I think he would be any different in bed? And me, well, I’m just me. Powerless to resist him, letting myself fall easily onto the bed – Carrick’s bed, I try not to remind myself – and gazing up at Taylor as he crawls over me with a predatory look in his eyes.
Taylor seems to be everywhere at once. His hands run up and down my sides, easing my shirt over my head, while his lips plant kisses on nearly every inch of my bare skin he can reach. It’s almost too much stimulation for me to handle. This is the closest we’ve been, the first time we’ve been really alone somewhere, the first time any clothes have been removed just because they could be and not because they needed to be. If it were up to me, I’d leave my shirt on, but if Taylor really wants to see my chest, then, well, I guess he can.
There’s not much Taylor can’t do if he wants it. And right now, with his hands working on my zipper, I’m really beginning to realize that he wants me.
Maybe I’m just really slow, but in the weeks that he and I have been fooling around, I’ve never felt wanted by him. I’ve never felt like this was more than just a game, more than just a temporary fix that he needed, like the coffee and energy drinks he mainlines to keep himself away from the real drugs. Could I really be what he wants and needs, though? Could this really be going all the way?
It certainly seems like it is. Taylor’s hands are working their way into my pants now, sliding into my underwear. I suddenly feel really self conscious about my plain white boxer briefs, even though I know that’s irrational. I’ve always felt so inadequate next to Taylor, in every possible way. Having my body bared to him only makes it worse. In the hopes of alleviating some of that anxiety, I start tugging on his shirt while simultaneously trying to shimmy out of my pants. It’s not my most sophisticated or coordinated maneuver, but he gets the hint. In seconds, he’s got his shirt unbuttoned and is shrugging it off his shoulders. Now I don’t feel so naked, so exposed.
But I am. Taylor’s hand is wrapped around my bare cock now, nothing separating our flesh at all. I can’t help groaning at the feel of it. I don’t think I would be disappointed if things don’t go any farther than this, and let’s be honest, with as talented as Taylor is, they may not. Already it feels like too much, the pleasure just building and building inside me and threatening to break free.
I have to slow this down, even though a big part of me doesn’t want to. But I want this to last. I want to make the most of this time alone with Taylor. I wiggle around until I can get my hands around his belt buckle, pulling and tugging on it until I finally manage to loosen it and shove his pants down. I haven’t seen Taylor since the night I drunkenly went down on him, and I really don’t remember a thing about it. I’m sober enough now that I think I’ll be able to commit every inch of him to my memory. So when he stands up to finish wigging out of his too tight jeans, I do exactly that. I stare at every inch of him exposed to me – which is basically every inch of him, since apparently he didn’t wear underwear today. Not that I’m complaining.
When his eyes land on me, on my body, I can feel myself blushing. I don’t have those naturally rosy cheeks like him, so when I blush, I just look like an idiot with a sunburn. Taylor doesn’t seem to notice or mind, though. He licks his lips as he crawls back on top of me, letting those lips come to rest on my throat as his hand finds my dick again.
This still feels almost too good, and when he starts trailing kisses down my chest, I’m pretty sure I might actually explode before all is said and done. His hand is a little cold, but his mouth is like fire, each kiss feeling like a brand on my skin. Taylor is a brand I wouldn’t mind wearing at all.
I’m pretty sure I can guess where his lips are heading, though, and soon enough they reach their destination. He places a surprisingly gentle kiss against the head of my dick before wrapping his lips around it. I let out a loud groan as he takes me into his mouth, inch by inch. Only Taylor could make sucking cock look so effortless and yet still be so amazing at it. I’m not even comparing him to Carrick, although of course as soon as I realize that I’m not, thoughts of Carrick start flooding into my brain. I try to shut them out, but they keep seeping in, even as I try to focus on how fucking amazing it feels to have Taylor’s lips wrapped around my cock. I know I couldn’t possibly be as good as this as he is, so it’s probably a good thing I haven’t attempted to go down on him again. I wonder if he’ll want me to tonight. I still have no clue where, or how far, this is going
When he pulls back and slips one of his fingers between his lips, I think I can figure out exactly where this is going.
I haven’t done this before. I mean, Carrick and I have fooled around a lot, but we never went all the way. I have a feeling Taylor isn’t going to draw that same line and stopped with just a few fingers. Isn’t this what I’ve wanted, though? To give everything, all of me, to Taylor.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous right now.
Taylor doesn’t seem to notice, though, and I don’t want him to. I want this. I really do. But I can’t help looking away and closing my eyes as he brings his hand closer and closer to its final destination. He’s not overly gentle with me, but he’s not rough, either. It’s not like I can’t handle this, though. It barely hurts at all as he eases the first finger inside of me, the motion smooth and practiced. I hate how obvious it is that he’s so experienced, but it’s in every single thing he does. I couldn’t ignore it if I wanted to. I could never ignore just how out of my depth I am with him.
But I know I’ll just let him keep dragging me deeper in.
It takes him no time before he has me writhing around and moaning. My chest is heaving with the effort to breath, and even though I know it’ll only make things worse, I have to open my eyes and watch him. It’s torture, in a way, to watch him like this. If he looks beautiful on stage, sweaty and absolutely in his element, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now, lazily sucking my cock while working his fingers in and out of me.
He’s got two fingers inside of me now, almost pushing me past my limits. If this is too much, if this is almost pushing me over the edge, pleasure and pain at the same time, then how could I possibly take this all the way? I’m starting to panic a little at the thought of it, but at the same time, there’s no way I could ask him to stop.
Taylor definitely shows no signs of stopping on his own, not even when the bedroom door creaks open and I glance up to see Carrick standing there. Taylor only pauses, his fingers remaining in place and his breath tickling my sensitive skin.
I glance back and forth between the two of them, absolutely clueless as to what I should say. I know I should say something. One of us has to, and it ought to be me, since this is all my fault. I’m the selfish one, the one who can’t choose between the two of them. The one who has gotten us all into this mess.
I look up at Carrick, and he’s breathing hard, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. He looks like he’s going to run away, though, if he can loosen that death grip he’s got on the door frame. I don’t want him to run away. So I say something – probably the worst, stupidest thing I could choose to say.
“Carrick. Stay.”