Carrick

All in all, this was shaping up to be a pretty good year so far. My band’s first official album was finally ready to go, I found a great bassist, and I’d been invited to a songwriting retreat. With Hanson. A few years after meeting Taylor, I got a call from him asking me if I wanted to join their little party, and I figured it’d be a great way to make some connections… and maybe connect a little more with Taylor.

I remembered hearing their song on the radio, back when I was in college; I’d done my homework before showing up in Tulsa, though, and they definitely weren’t kids anymore. Especially the youngest Hanson, Zac. Of all the three, he’d grown the most, in more ways than one. He had an impressive voice, once it had finished changing. As for the rest of him… well, after getting paired up with him for the first day, my mind wasn’t on Taylor anymore.

I followed him and Andrew W.K., our other teammate, out to the pool house; Andrew had overdone it at the welcoming party the night before, so I had a feeling he wouldn’t be much use.

“So… I guess we’re camping out here for the night,” Zac said, leading the way to what looked more like a guest house than a pool house. “I mean, you can crash wherever. But you’re stuck with me until we get a song ready to demo.”

“Cool with me,” I said, smirking. “So, got any ideas?”

“Um… not really.” Zac gave a nervous laugh as we stepped into the building; it was set up like a small apartment, with the kitchen taking up half the room and the living taking up the other. “I was kinda hoping you had something good.”

“Something good, huh?” I couldn’t help laughing; I’d been told more often than I could count to get my mind out of the gutter, but it’d taken up permanent residence years ago.

“Yeah, you know,” Zac said, clearing his throat and eyeing me. “musically, or… otherwise.”

I raised an eyebrow as I sat down; I’d known Taylor smoked, but hadn’t pegged Zac as a stoner. Not that I was complaining one bit.

“Otherwise, hmm? I just might…” I grinned and pulled a joint from behind my ear. Zac immediately grinned, collapsing onto the couch next to me.

“Good, then Taylor did pass along the memo to bring your own.”

“He mentioned something about it, yeah…” I believed Tay’s words were something like ‘we provide the beer, you provide other influences.’ “First hit?” I asked, offering the jay to Zac.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He pulled a lighter from his pocket and took a long hit, eyeing me nervously. I stared back, smirking; it was kind of adorable. He took his second hit and passed the joint, smiling a little easier.

“Looks like it’s just the two of us for this,” I said in between hits, nodding over at Andrew; he’d fallen into one of the chairs and passed out as soon as we got in the door.

“Guess he clearly brought his own, too,” Zac snorted. “But he forgot that sharing is caring,” he added, louder, but got no response.

“Ah well. I’m sure you and me can work somethin’ up, right?” I smirked at him again, thinking of just what I wanted to work up with him.

“So did you… uh… have any ideas?” he asked, squirming in his seat a little.

“A few,” I chuckled. I wasn’t trying to make him uncomfortable, but he was just setting up one innuendo after another. I looked him over, thinking things definitely not song related, but shook my head; I needed to at least pretend to focus.

“It’s funny,” I started, trying to remember the musical idea I’d had that morning. “When I heard I was gonna hang with Hanson, it got me thinking bout when I was in college. Kinda went through an R&B phase, ya know?”

“Hanson made you think of R&B?” he said with a doubtful snort.

“Sorta…” I stretched out a bit, thinking; I caught Zac eyeing me, but decided not to mention it yet. “But I was thinking maybe for our song, do something like that.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly in school then… but I remember that sound. That and grunge were basically the 90s, and I’m definitely no grunge fan.”

“So yeah,” I went on, resting my arms on the back of the couch. “Somethin’ a little funky, little dirty…” Oh the things I wanted to say, the jokes I wanted to make… but Zac seemed a little wary still, and I figured pouncing Taylor’s little brother wasn’t the best way to make a first impression. Not on the first day, at least.

“Something with a little Usher vibe… or R. Kelly…” Zac smiled, getting into the idea. I nudged his knee with mine, smirking.

“Exactly. Something about dancing, or hooking up…”

 

Zac

“I don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind,” I said, doing my best–which was still horrible, to be honest–imitation of R. Kelly.

I could only blame the weed for my silliness, but Carrick seemed to find it amusing, a huge smirk spreading across his face.

Sheepishly, I asked, “I just volunteered to sing this one, didn’t I?”

“Sounded that way to me…” Carrick agreed. “No complaints here, though. I can’t pull off that rough sound.”

“Taylor played us the LP you sent, though. I really like your voice… your sound.” And I did. His sound was a little more pop punk than I was usually into, but the lyrics were unique and his voice… his voice was like smooth, dark chocolate. The fact that he was putting himself down and complimenting my singing was, frankly, insane.

“Yeah?” He asked, almost sounding shy. “I was going for that stoner, skater vibe, but I don’t know.”

Smirking, I remarked, “You? Stoner vibe?”

“Well,” he chuckled, “also tryin’ to get the west coast sound. I’ve only been in Cali for… four, five years?”

I looked him up and down–Vans, tight jeans and a way too thin t-shirt for this time of year in Oklahoma. He was west coast, through and through. “You seem… so California, though.”

“Awesome,” Carrick replied. “But nah, I’m actually from Connecticut. Moved out there after I finished college; figured LA’s the place for a guy with a guitar.”

“So, uh…” I nodded, still a bit dazed by his appearance, his personality… he was larger than life, really, and not just because he was even taller than my beanpole of an older brother. “So… we’re thinking something, kinda sexual?”

Carrick smirked. “Yeah. Maybe like… like a hook-up, just to kill time.”

“Like… using each other, that kind of thing?” I offered, even though we were already way out of my comfort zone. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d sung something I hadn’t experienced personally, but somehow this was different. Really different.

“Yeah.” Carrick nodded. After a beat, he added, “Like… we both used each other… underneath the covers…”

“Y-yeah… yeah, I like that,” I replied, eyes widening at how amazing he sounded even when he wasn’t trying, just singing something completely off the cuff. It made me want to up my game. “But what if there’s a twist, like… but only one of us is using you?”

Carrick grinned, and I knew we were onto something. “Yeah, that’s good. So like, maybe the guy’s saying ‘hey, I dunno what it was to you, but to me it was just a quick fuck.’”

“I… I don’t think I can sing that.”

“Why not?” Carrick asked, patting my shoulder. It made me jump a little in surprise. I hadn’t even noticed his long arm was stretched out behind me, resting on the back of the couch, but apparently it was.

With a nervous laugh, I asked, “Have you ever listened to one of our albums?”

“Yeah,” he answered quickly and sincerely. “Didn’t know this was going on an album, though. Though this was just for fun?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not, uhh… exactly in my wheelhouse to sing about fuckin’.”

Carrick smirked. “Ah, I got it. You’re the good boy?”

“Something like that,” I replied, holding up the nearly cached roach and snorting. In spite of that particular vice, I really was. Why I cared so much about my image, I wasn’t really sure. Taylor and Isaac certainly weren’t perfect little Christian boys, even though they did manage to stay out of the tabloids, but I had never felt a need to even rebel as much as they did.

Carrick chuckled, but there wasn’t any judgment in it. “Well, you don’t have to say fucking to sing about fucking, if that’s what you’re scared of.”

“Still sounds a bit more… direct… than my usual song,” I replied. It was an interesting concept, though, and it wasn’t like we hadn’t pushed a few boundaries before with our songs, even if the real meaning was left obscured. And he was right; it was just for fun. What did I have to lose? A slow smile spreading across my face, I said, “But I guess… we can give it a try.”

“Atta boy,” Carrick replied, giving my shoulder another pat.

He grabbed his guitar, I grabbed a few beers and a notepad and we set down to work. I didn’t usually write stoned–my brothers tended to frown upon that–but it seemed to help the ideas flow… ideas I never would have had on my own, without Carrick urging me on.

 

Carrick

Over the next few hours, Zac and I banged out a seriously hot song… especially the way he sang it. It was kind of adorable, and definitely sexy, the way he blushed every now and then; I liked to think I had a hand in that. But beyond the sex appeal, I was finding just how much alike Zac and I were. His sense of humor was practically identical to mine, if a bit toned down, but he was opening up the more we talked. What had started out as a simple, if strong, attraction was quickly developing into a serious crush.

“Like the scratches on my back, that you left behind,” I sang from where I lay on the floor, eyeing Zac.

“That’s, uh… I like that line. Yeah.” Zac grinned, and I realized he was looking at my stomach, where my shirt had ridden up. I smirked, brushing my fingers over the bared skin.

“I like that one that you came up with… You tried to play me, but my game will carry on…”

“Yeah?” he asked, looking up. “You don’t think it’s, like… lame or whatever? I mean, I love the song, but I feel kinda silly singing it.”

I grinned, sitting up, my body close to his. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, man. You totally got this. Specially when you kinda growled that one line?” I eyed him, remembering the shivers his voice had caused. “That was hot.”

“Yeah, you think so?” He was blushing again, biting his lip. I wanted so bad, so very bad to just kiss him right then and there. I even caught myself licking my lips in anticipation; I had to look down to stop myself, but smirked up at him anyway.

“So much for the good boy…” I said quietly, and he snorted.

“Yeah, let’s just not let my wife hear this one.”

Wait. What? I blinked, thinking maybe I hadn’t heard right. “Your… wife?”

“Yeah?” Zac stared at me blankly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And there it was. Shoulda known…

“Just… didn’t think you’d be…” Straight. “married.”

“Since last June,” he said, nodding but still looking a little confused.

“Settling down kinda young, aren’t you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I chuckled as a thought hit me. “Shotgun wedding?”

“Nope, that would be my brothers. We just… figured it was time.”

“At the ripe old age of 20?” I wracked my brain, trying to remember if I’d gotten his signals wrong, or what, because he’d definitely been giving me the right vibes a minute ago.

“I’ve had a career since I was eleven, so why not?”

“I dunno…” I sighed, laying down on my stomach and resting my head on my hands. I was fighting off a serious case of the buzzkill, but tried not to let it show. “Just seems kinda rushed. I mean shit, when I was 20…” I looked at Zac again. “It just seems kinda early to know what you want.”

“No reason to sit around waiting if you do know, though,” Zac replied with a shrug. I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, and sighed.

“Yeah, I guess.” Usually my gaydar was spot on, but maybe I was bound to be wrong eventually. Beside me, I heard Zac let out a heavy sigh.

“You got any more of that good California weed?”

“Starting to think you only want me for my weed,” I teased, eyeing him. But I sat up and dug my bag and papers out of my back pocket anyway; lord knew I could use another smoke.

“And your badass songwriting skills, of course.”

So okay, maybe I’d never get in his pants. But he was still a cool guy, and we definitely clicked. So… friends was better than nothing.

 

Zac

After finishing up our song and bidding goodnight to Andrew, who had apparently laid claim to the master bedroom for the night, Carrick and I were ready to crash. At least, I thought I was ready to crash. My libido seemed to have a different opinion. As soon as my body hit the mattress, I felt that familiar tingle in the base of my spine.

I decided I had no other choice but to give in to what my body wanted and shoved my hand into my boxers. I was surprised to discover that I was already half-hard. It only took a few strokes to get me all the way there. Even if I felt like I was a million years old, it seemed I still had the stamina of a teenager.

I felt about as pathetic and dirty as a horny teenager, too, jerking myself off in the pool house bed while someone I barely knew slept on the couch. I tried to call up some fantasy to mind, something that would get me there faster and just get it all over with.

But nothing came to mind. Nada. Zip.

My mind was a complete blank slate, which was unusual for me under any circumstances. Right then, with my hand wrapped tightly around my dick, it was especially frustrating that I could think of nothing at all to help me get off. All I knew was that I needed it. I needed to get off, and fast.

As if it had a mind of its own, my left hand tightened around my cock, which was already pulsing with need. Even without a fantasy in mind, it seemed I was getting near the edge. My body knew what it wanted, even if my mind didn’t, and I was just along for the ride. The song I had written with Carrick was on replay in my mind, the slow, sensual beat of it helping to set my pace.

If I closed my eyes tightly, I could almost imagine it was someone else’s hand on me. Not my wife’s–she was, oddly, the last thing on my mind right then. I didn’t really want to acknowledge who was on my mind, though, but the image was getting clearer and clearer–dark hair hanging in his eyes, a long thin hand wrapped around my dick and big blue eyes staring straight through me. Definitely not my wife. Not even a woman at all.

It wasn’t the first time I’d called up a twisted fantasy in desperation to get off, but it was the first time my not-so-vanilla (or straight) fantasies had involved someone I actually knew. It didn’t mean anything, I was sure. My body and mind did strange things when lust was involved. Whatever that meant about my needs and wants wasn’t important or even worth thinking about, at least not right then and maybe not ever. What mattered was getting off, as though that one orgasm was somehow going to solve every problem in my life.

It wasn’t, I knew, but that didn’t stop me from speeding up, stroking myself until I was panting heavily and seeing stars. I tried to picture something, anything else to push me over the edge. Anything would do; I was that damn close. I paused for just a second, just long enough to spit in my palm, now imagining not someone else’s hand, but someone else’s mouth, hot and wet…

A few more strokes and I was coming, coating my hand and the sheets with it. It was the most intense orgasm I could remember having in, well, ever. That was surprising enough, but what really left me shaking was the last image in my mind before I came.

Carrick.