Hot Dogs
I’ll never get tired of festivals. I guess I’m a little kid like that, but I just can’t get enough of the whole fair experience. We’ve always played them, from dinky little county fairs when we were still trying to make it to these huge music festivals, and I love them all. It’s like falling into a world of simple pleasures; music, food, games – what more could a guy ask for? Okay, I can think of one or two things, but I’m hoping those will come later. I’ve got Taylor here with me, after all.
I know I’m probably being a little bit presumptuous, but I know Taylor seems happier now. The second we stepped off the airplane, he seemed to relax. It was like he’d been holding in this awful breath for weeks and he was finally able to exhale. I can only hope that’s a good sign for me.
We all agreed to come to the festival a day early, since I guess I’m not the only one who loves these sort of events. Because of that, we get a few hours rest in our hotel before heading to the fairground. Even though the flight wasn’t long at all, it seems we’ve all made this unspoken agreement that we need a little afternoon nap before facing the crowds. Taylor and I are sharing a room, and it takes all of my self control to keep from climbing into bed with him. Instead, I end up just laying awake in mine and watching him sleep, sunlight pouring in the window and making him seem to glow. It doesn’t even mater that I’m exhausted; watching Taylor refreshes me enough that I don’t even mind missing out on a nap.
How pathetic am I? That’s a rhetorical question.
At some point not long after noon, he stumbles out of bed, barely even noticing my unwavering stare, and mumbles something about lunch as he pads to the bathroom. I can’t help but giggle a little; I’m pretty sure the two major motivating factors in Taylor’s life are food and music. He would probably add his children to that list, and I suppose that’s fair. But at this point, after a long day of flying and airline food, it’s no surprise that his first waking thought seems to be about his next meal.
I have to admit, I’m pretty hungry, too. My stomach growls, as if on cue, reminding me that as much as I’d like to try, I really can’t survive on Taylor alone.
In the hopes of not looking like I’m just waiting for him, I grab my cell phone from the bedside table and mindlessly flip through my photos while I wait for Taylor to finish in the bathroom. The most recent photos are a few I snapped of Carrick at the studio a few days ago; I had forgotten about them, but now I remember that day in perfect detail. It wasn’t anything special, but there was just something fun and carefree about that day. I’m sure there’s a certain symbolism in the fact that most of my best shots are of his hands and his lips.
“You ready to go?” Taylor asks, and I nearly jump off the bed. How long has he been standing there watching me look at pictures of Carrick? I’m not going to ask.
“Umm,” I manage to squeak out, glancing down at my wrinkled clothes that I haven’t changed since Tulsa this morning. Not that Taylor has changed his clothes, either. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Taylor offers me a hand and I accept it all too quickly. As soon as I’m on my feet, he lets my hand fall away. I guess I should have expected that; it’s not like my brother is going to go walking through the hotel holding my hand. That would just be silly. So why do I feel so disappointed now?
I try to let that disappoint go with a shake of my head, playing it off like I’m trying to fix my hair after laying in bed for so long. Taylor chuckles softly and runs his hand through my hair, a sure sign that my attempt to “fix” it just made it worse. But that’s okay, because it also made him feel the need to touch it – to touch me.
Like the hand holding, the moment passes quickly.
I follow Taylor like a lost little puppy dog through the hotel corridor. I’m absolutely shameless and I know it, but it seems like no one – not even Taylor – has noticed. In the lobby, we pass by Isaac and Demetrius and Taylor tells them we’re heading over to the festival. They’re debating which concert they want to watch that night and I’m too caught up in Taylor to even pay attention to what they’re saying. I wonder if I’m going to spend the entire afternoon like this, just caught up in a daze and unable to focus on anything but Taylor. There are worse ways to spend a day.
Our hotel is probably close enough to the festival to walk, but Taylor’s nothing if not lazy, so he hails a cab. That’s fine by me; I’m not exactly one for walking more than I have to either, and sitting in a cab is a perfect time to get just a little bit too closer to him. I scoot across the hot leather seat, just close enough that our legs are touching. It’s not much, but that little reminder that I’m here with Taylor is just enough. All too soon, though, the cab ride is over and we’re standing by the main entrance to Summerfest.
Since it’s a music festival and not a state fair or anything like that, there aren’t any of the sort of rides and games I’d been hoping for. There are, however, plenty of booths full of all sorts of tacky clothing and things for Taylor to enjoy. And since I enjoy seeing him happy, I don’t really mind at all just tagging along while he takes his sweet time admiring every single thing for sale in every single booth. He ends up buying a couple shirts, a scarf or two and three new pairs of sunglasses – one of which he insists is for me even though I’m positive they looked better on him.
“I’m hungry,” he finally exclaims, hours after I’d expected him to die of hunger. Like I said, food and music are his two motivating factors.
“I’m surprised you haven’t keeled over out of starvation by now,” I say with a smirk, ducking out of Taylor’s reach as he swats an arm at me. Luckily he’s loaded down with shopping bags so his aim isn’t very good. He didn’t try that hard, anyway.
I expect some sort of smartass comment to follow, but it doesn’t come. Taylor’s already found something else that’s caught his interest. He rushes away from me, toward some food vendor, and I struggle to catch up with him and see just what has him so excited.
Foot long hot dogs. Why am I not surprised?
I’m fairly certain Taylor has eaten a foot long at every single festival or fair we’ve ever played, and they’re a staple any time he barbecues. And yes, all the obvious jokes have already been made. But I still can’t help giggling every time I watch him bite into one. It’s either giggle or moan, and I figure the giggling is more socially acceptable.
“What do you want on yours?” He asks, turning away from the vendor to face me.
I shrug. “Just mustard, I guess.”
He orders his with everything and a beer for each of us before I can tell him I’d really rather have a soda. Beer in the afternoon just seems sinful. But most things I do these days are, I suppose.
Taylor is, surprisingly, able to eat and walk at the same time, so that’s what we do. It’s a relief, really, because it forces me to keep looking ahead, rather than just staring at Taylor’s mouth, wide open to swallow the hot dog that I’m totally not pretending is my cock. Okay, maybe the thought crossed my mind. Once or twice. Or so often that I have to just turn my head and stuff my own hot dog down my throat to keep myself from moaning or saying something really sexual.
“Oh, a photobooth!”
Is Taylor just completely ADD today? I hadn’t even noticed that he’d finished his hot dog, but apparently he has. He chugs the rest of his beer and tosses the cup into a nearby garbage can, and I do the same. Then he’s off like a shot, rushing to the photobooth. I just shake my head and follow him. I really am glad that he’s so happy today, but it’s a little strange to see when I’ve gotten so used to the sad, mopey Taylor.
I definitely prefer this Taylor, though. In fact, he kind of turns me on, and it’s not like anyone else seems to have even noticed that this photobooth exists…
I slide into the booth next to him, sitting just a little too close like I did in the cab. I just can’t help myself. While Taylor fiddles with the buttons, I run my hand up and down his thigh, trying to get some kind of reaction from him. And I get exactly the reaction I want – an obvious erection pressing against his jeans that I can’t help cupping in my hand.
“Okay,” Taylor squeaks out, his eyes darting to mine for just a second. “Umm, it’s gonna take like five pics in just a few seconds, so… smile.”
“Yeah, okay,” I reply, not moving my hand – at least, not removing it from Taylor’s cock.
I’m horrible, I know. We’re in public. But no one else was lining up for photos, or even seeming to notice that the photobooth existed. I think we’re totally safe. Which is why I can’t resist taking things a little further.
“Hey, Tay.”
Instead of replying with words, he turns his head to face me, raising an eyebrow just as the camera flashes the first time. I grab his face and kiss him hard, our lips still fused together when the camera flashes again. I’m pretty sure the camera doesn’t reach low enough to capture the way Taylor’s thrusting up into my hand now, and it probably won’t really show how hard he’s breathing – practically panting, really – in between kisses.
The camera flashes for the fifth time, but I’m not done yet. I reach into my pocket and pull out a few bills, shoving them all into the slot and stabbing at a few buttons without really paying attention to what I’m doing. As long as it buys me a little more time in here with Taylor.
“Zac, what…” he trails off as I kiss my way down his neck, but he doesn’t really try to stop me.
At least, not until I reach for the button on his jeans.
“You do realize we’re in public?”
I shrug. “Yeah, so? It’ll be fine…”
He stares at me for a moment, and I really start to worry that he’s going to push me away and tell me that we really can’t do anything here. But he doesn’t. He just sighs and leans back a little, which is as good as actually giving me permission to continue. It’s not a ringing endorsement, but I’ll take it.
I wiggle my way down to the photobooth’s floor. There isn’t a lot of room, and I’m not really small enough for something like this, but I’m determined to make it work. Taylor wraps his legs tightly around my body as I work him free of his underwear, and I don’t even have words to describe how much it turns me on, but I’ve already decided this moment is about him, not me. As soon as I get his cock out of his boxers, I dive down and take him into my mouth all at once. His head falls back against the wall behind him with such a loud crack that I’m actually worried he’s hurt himself, but the moan that follows doesn’t really sound injured…
Taylor trembles underneath me, and I guess it’s a combination of arousal and fear that we’re going to get caught. Somehow, that fear only turns me on more and makes me work even harder to please him. I know without a doubt that I’m better at this than the last time I did it to him.
And just like that, I’m once again comparing Taylor and Carrick. I really wish I could quit doing that.
I dig my fingers into his jeans, certain that the rough denim hurts me more than my fingers hurt him. That little bit of pain distracts me from my thoughts and brings me back down to the task at hand. Taylor’s still trembling beneath me, and I double my speed just to see how much harder I can make him shake. His moans, obviously softened in case we have an audience, still seem to echo through my body, and I know he’s close already.
He doesn’t give me any verbal warning before he comes, but I notice the way his body tenses and that little hitch in his breathing. It’s absolutely beautiful, just like everything else about him, and it’s all the warning I need. I hold on tighter to his thighs as he comes, practically getting off myself on the feeling and taste of it seeping down my throat. I’m aware that it probably isn’t normal to enjoy swallowing so much, but when I’m with Taylor, it’s pretty much a given that I’m going to enjoy anything that happens.
Once I’ve swallowed every drop, I pull myself back up to the photobooth’s little bench while Taylor tucks himself into his jeans. Several strips of photos are waiting for us and I snap them up quickly. It’s like a slow motion porn, really. The last few strips are just Taylor’s upper body, his head thrown back and mouth hanging slightly open. I’ve seen photos of him onstage that look similar, but it’s even better now, knowing that I’m the cause. I shove all the pictures in my pocket before Taylor even have a chance to see them.
“You are insane, Zac,” he says, but his tone is mostly teasing.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, I suppose not,” he replies, shaking his head. “You just… surprise me sometimes. Like I don’t even know you at all.”
I bite my lip to keep from telling him that he’s even more of an enigma than I am. The truth is, sometimes I know myself even less than I know him, and I never have any clue what’s going on in his mind. Someday soon I’ll get up the nerve to ask. But I don’t know if I’ll ever really figure myself out.
“Come on,” Taylor says, his eyes sparkling again like those heavier thoughts have passed him by. “Let’s go get another beer. And maybe some nachos.”
And just like that, his smile has pushed aside whatever questions I might have asked him. He practically crawls over me to get out of the photobooth, and I follow behind him, one hand on my pocket to feel the photos I know are inside. I can’t help feeling like I need to hold onto them. They might be dangerous proof of what Taylor and I are doing, but I feel like I need that. I need something I can hold onto.