Alone
The rest of the evening seems to drag by. I know Taylor didn’t promise anything specific, but I can’t help thinking that once we’re alone in the hotel, good things are going to happen. I’ve never been happier to share a hotel room with him.
When we were younger, sharing a hotel room with Taylor was the worst form of torture. We seemed to get paired up all the time, probably because we were best friends and Isaac claimed to need his privacy. Taylor never seemed to need or want privacy; he would walk around the hotel room in nothing but his underwear and sometimes less than that. To a normal brother, it would have been disgusting, I suppose, but to me it was just a reminder of what I couldn’t have.
Oddly, it wasn’t so bad after we both began dating. Then there was a reason to leave the room, and after he got married, a reason not to share a room with him at all. Not being near him hurt far less than having to see him with someone else. The farther I was from him, the less I was tempted.
That’s all irrelevant now, though. Not only are our wives—if you can even call them that—not here right now, but I don’t have to watch Taylor walk around the room and know that I can’t touch him. I can touch him now. What’s that saying about how the best way to get rid of temptation is to give in to it?
I plan on giving in to temptation very soon.
Taylor and I both have a few more beers before leaving the festival, which leaves me feeling even more uninhibited than earlier. I know how risky that little public display of affection was, though, so I manage to contain myself until the elevator doors close behind us. As soon as it does, I practically pounce on him, pinning him against the wall and kissing him hard.
I’m tired of sitting around waiting for Taylor to make the next move. His true feelings might still be a mystery to me, but I don’t doubt that he wants me too. So why wait for him?
The kiss doesn’t last long, since we’re only a few floors up, but it’s enough to leave us both breathing heavily. Taylor’s off the elevator before me, taking long strides down the hallway that give me a wonderful view of his ass. He glances back at me as he slides the key card into the door and I rush to catch up with him. He pulls me into the room with him, letting the door slam behind us.
Our sense of urgency seems to vanish then. I guess it’s because we’re alone now, with no one but each other and no reason not to slow down and enjoy this night. Even though we still haven’t spoken it aloud, I know where this night is going. For once, Taylor and I are on the same page.
Still, I’m not sure why Taylor bothers with the pretense of turning on the television and taking his time shuffling around the room, kicking off his shoes, setting down all his new purchases. But he does. He takes his sweet time finding his way to the bed. The room has two, of course, but we’ve managed to cover one of them with suitcases and clothes already. I wonder if that means we’ll be sleeping in the same bed tonight—after we do more interesting things in it, of course.
Speaking of more interesting things…
Taylor leans back against the headboard and gives me a look that says he’s expecting me to do all the work now that I’ve proven that I can. I think I can handle that. Probably. What I’m not going to do is argue about it. If Taylor wants me to take charge, then that’s what Taylor’s going to get. Even if it seems like I’ve got the upper hand, I guess I really don’t.
I kick off my shoes as gracefully as I can possibly manage, which isn’t very graceful at all, and try not to look overly eager as I crawl onto the bed. I’ve given up trying to look sexy when I’m with Taylor; though I can’t see why, he seems to want me just the way I am, and there’s no way I could upstage him no matter how hard I tried. So if I look like an idiot crawling toward him while he reclines ever so beautifully against the headboard, then that’s just how things are going to be.
It doesn’t take Taylor long to prove that he definitely still has the upper hand. As soon as I reach him and move in for the first kiss, he flips me over onto my back. The move is more gentle than it sounds, and really, it’s not like I mind having Taylor on top of me.
Every other time Taylor and I have been together, it’s been rushed or fueled by alcohol. Even though we’re both a little tipsy—I can taste beer with every swipe of his tongue across mine—this night is different. We’re taking this slowly, taking time to actually feel things a little bit more. Taylor’s hands take their time wandering up my chest and nudging my shirt off. As much as I want to get Taylor naked, I don’t mind that it takes us a few minutes and a lot of kissing to remove all of our clothes.
Taylor kisses his way down my chest, and I get so lost in the feeling of that, how surprisingly gentle it is, that I almost don’t notice him reaching for something on the nightstand. A bottle of lube. I wonder when he put that there? Obviously he had the same plans for this trip as me, and that thought makes me smile even more than I already am. He pulls back from me for just long enough to squeeze a little lube onto his hand, and then he’s between my legs, pressing a finger into me at the same moment that his tongue touches my dick. It barely hurts at all this time, a far cry from the last time Taylor and I were together just a few short days ago.
Everything about this time is different. He takes his sweet time getting me ready, drawing me almost to the edge and relaxing me completely at the same time. I’m basically a boneless puddle of goo by the time Taylor crawls on top of me and positions himself between my legs. He slides into me with a sound that’s more like a sigh of relief than anything else, and I can’t help feeling exactly the same.
Taylor and I fall into an easy rhythm, our bodies moving together like we’ve done this a million times and not just once before. I don’t want to think about that other time; it was awkward and strange and filled with all the wrong sort of emotions. It was confirmation that I’m a horribly greedy person, but right now, all I want is Taylor. If this moment with him could never end, that would be perfect.
But of course it has to end.
I was already perilously close to the edge when we began, and Taylor doesn’t even need to touch me to push me the rest of the way over. I wrap my arms tightly around him as I come to try to stop myself from shaking. It doesn’t work, and I end up collapsing back onto the bed, both of our stomachs coated in my come. Taylor trails a finger across my trembling chest, then pulls it to his lips and sucks on it. He actually moans, apparently savoring the taste of, well, me. And just like that, he’s coming too, his other hand gripping the sheets tightly as he fills me with his own come.
It wasn’t entirely sweet and romantic, but I have a feeling it’s as close as we’re going to get.
Taylor rolls to my side, seemingly content to just lie there covered in sweat and come. I feel gross, though, so I mumble something about taking a shower and make my way toward the bathroom. My whole body aches, but it’s a good ache considering the cause, and I know a warm shower will only leave me feeling even better.
I don’t linger long in the bathroom. Being away from Taylor for even a few minutes is a few minutes too long. I know that makes me horribly pathetic, but I’ve accepted this about myself. When it comes to Taylor, I just am pathetic.
As I shower, I start to wonder how this trip will change things for us. Maybe it won’t change anything at all. Maybe when we get back to Tulsa, we’ll go back into our old routine of barely seeing each other outside of band stuff and parties that we’ve both agreed to go to.
And then there’s Carrick.
I have no idea what’s going to happen with him. We had something; I know we did. I’m just not sure what it was, and what this growing thing with Taylor will mean for whatever was between me and Carrick.
The only thing I’m certain of is that my marriage is ending. As for everything else, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
I finish showering as quickly as possible and try to remind myself to stop worrying about the future. The only thing that matters right now is that Taylor’s right outside this bathroom, waiting for me to come to bed. What else could be more important than that?
Even though it makes me a little self-conscious, I walk out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. Taylor barely even seems to notice me as he stares down intently at his phone. At some point he’s put on a pair of boxers, rolled over onto his stomach and found his phone, it seems. I try not to be offended by his lack of attention as I fumble through my suitcase for a clean pair of boxers of my own, slipping them on in place of the towel.
Taylor finally glances up as I climb onto the bed and tosses his phone onto the bedside table. He holds out an arm and I curl into it easily, loving the way it feels to be by his side. Our bodies are just a perfect fit, if you ask me. We used to huddle together like this and watch movies late at night in the hotel rooms when we were younger. I’m sure there was nothing sexual about it to Taylor then, and it wasn’t always that way for me either, but I always hated that we grew out of that sort of innocent cuddling.
I start to drift off right there, lulled to sleep by the warmth and comfort of Tay’s body so close to mine, but I’m jarred awake by his phone’s text message alert. He pulls away from me and lunges for the phone. I can’t help wondering who might be texting him so late, but he’s not close enough for me to just look over his shoulder.
“Who’s texting?” I ask, because I’m not above admitting how nosy I am.
“Nat,” he replies, then finishes whatever he was typing back to her and sets his phone aside again. “Just letting me know the kids were alright.”
“Oh,” I reply, reluctantly curling up next to Taylor again.
Now I just feel like an asshole for not calling or texting to check in on my own kids. Neither of our marriages are exactly in good shape right now, though. I’m pretty sure Kate wouldn’t exactly jump for joy if I called her, and the conversation would inevitably be strained and painful for both of us. It’s not that I don’t care about my kids—of course I do—but there’s so much other shit making things complicated.
Like all of the men in my life. Which isn’t a phrase I would have ever imagined myself saying, but there it is.
I know this little vacation is making life seem deceptively simple, but I don’t care. Getting away for a few days isn’t going to magically fix my problems or Taylor’s. I know that. But I also know that it feels really, really good to fall asleep with his arm around me. So right now, that’s what I’m going to do. I can worry about everything else tomorrow.