Being on tour was one of the few times Zac felt normal. Even though they weren’t officially on tour, playing a few shows here and there was good for his brain. He had been the one to push for the band to perform at any festival, club and radio station that would have them, just so he could get out of his house and mind for a while. That’s how he finds himself in the Netherlands, playing at some Dutch version of a hipster music festival.
His heart just wasn’t in the performance, though. Isaac didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong, but it was so obvious to Zac that Taylor was ignoring him. Taylor was like that. His affection never stayed for long. When they came together to bow at the end of the set, Taylor stood far away and barely held onto Zac’s hand at all.
As soon as the show was done and they had cleared off the stage, Zac puts even more distance between the two of them.
He wanders off into the crowd, hoping to find anything or anyone to catch his interest and distract him from the empty ache in his heart. He’s a million miles away from Kate, too, but Taylor feels even farther away. He’s off getting involved in some kind of debauchery, Zac is sure, and part of him longs to find his own debauchery to get involved in.
As the night wears on and Zac tires of listening to the other bands, he finds himself gravitating toward the backstage area that resembles nothing so much as a seedy, open air club. Some greasy looking guy with a laughable mustache hands him a joint, wandering away before Zac can pass it back. He shrugs and takes a long drag.
With his head sufficiently in a daze, Zac feels much more at home in the crowd. The night air is cool, but he doesn’t mind. He walks around aimlessly, taking in the crowd — mostly other musicians, with a few groupies and wannabes milling about. From some corner he hears a familiar laugh, and though he thinks better of it, he spins around to look anyway.
It is Taylor, of course, because Zac knows his voice anywhere. He stands out amongst a sea of nameless girls just like all those “friends” in Los Angeles. Zac doesn’t need to get any closer to see the glassy look in his brother’s eyes. He knows that look well enough.
“It’s a shame not to share that shit, man,” a voice says from unnervingly close to Zac’s side.
The voice has a southern twang to it, and Zac turns to find the source of it. A thin boy in tight pants with impossibly blue eyes stands there, giving him half a smile. Zac recognizes him as the bass player for Kings of Leon – he caught about half of their set earlier — and up close it surprises him how much he looks like Carrick.
“Sorry,” Zac gasps out, holding out the joint he’s nearly forgotten he has.
The other boy nods and takes the joint from him. Their hands just barely brush and it makes Zac shiver a little. He can’t help but stare as the boy touches the joint to his lips and takes a long, hard draw. His already hollow cheeks dip in further and his brow furrows in intense concentration. When he finally exhales and opens his eyes, they sparkled knowingly.
“Not bad,” he says, passing the joint back. “I’m Jared.”
“Zac,” he replies. “Some guy just gave it to me. I don’t even know.”
Jared chuckles. “Fuckin’ Europe, man. You want a beer? We’ve got some in our dressing room, if you can call it that.”
“Sure,” Zac says with a nod, following Jared as he weaves through the crowd toward the endless row of portable buildings set up for the bands. There is, in fact, plenty of beer in his own band’s dressing room, but he isn’t sure he could remember how to get there and he decides it would be less pathetic to drink with a new friend than alone.
They enter the building and Jared grabs two beers from a cooler. He hands one to Zac and they sit in silence on the room’s lone piece of furniture – an uncomfortably hot leather couch – for a while, still passing the joint back and forth.
Jared clears his throat. “So what’s your story?”
“What do you mean?” Zac turns away from Jared and busies himself with snuffing out the joint before it burns his fingers. Anything to distract from that question.
“Well, you looked like someone kicked your damn puppy when I found you,” he says. “So I figure you got some shit going on. Plus, I’m pretty sure I know you from somewhere but I can’t figure out where.”
“I’ve just got one of those faces.”
“Sure ya do,” Jared says with a crooked smile. He leans back and props his boots up on one of the crates serving as a makeshift coffee table. “So, what’s the story, mornin’ glory?”
Zac sighs, staring into his beer bottle. “Ah, just stupid shit with… a friend. We fight a lot.”
“A friend, huh?” Jared cocks an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else.
“Sometimes. Not even that right now,” Zac admits, letting Jared fill in the blanks.
“I think I get the picture. And you’re missing being… more than friends?”
Zac nods. “Yeah. I mean, we’re always bad to each other – hell, bad for each other – so it’s nothing new. Just kinda down about it, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” Jared says. “It’s just opening up the same old wound.”
“Exactly.”
Somehow, during this unwarranted exchange, their bodies have begun to creep closer and closer together. Jared’s leg brushes up against Zac’s and he knows it could have been totally innocent, but the intense look in Jared’s eyes say otherwise.
“Is being in here with me being bad to your… friend?” Jared asks, his eyes practically pleading with Zac. He isn’t sure what the plea is for, but he can guess.
“It could be.”
“A little weed and booze isn’t too bad. If it is, then you need new friends.”
Zac grins in spite of himself. “It isn’t that easy.”
“It never is.”
With that, Jared closes the distance between their bodies and presses his lips firmly against Zac’s. He can still feel just a bit of hesitation in the kiss, like Jared is waiting for a sign to be totally sure this is what Zac wants. Setting his beer down, he takes hold of Jared’s shirt and pulls them even closer, until their chests are pressed so tight it’s difficult to breathe.
Jared runs his lips down Zac’s neck, then leans up and whispers into his ear. “Is this what you want to do with your friend?”
Zac gasps, finding himself unable to speak. He nods fervently as Jared resumes kissing the side of his face and neck. With more strength than Zac expects of him, Jared places his hands firmly against Zac’s shoulders and shoves him backward on the couch. He can feel the buckle on Jared’s belt pressing into his skin, but he doesn’t mind. His hips buck of their own accord, crushing his hardness against the one he can feel growing in Jared’s pants.
Jared pulls back from their kiss and stares Zac in the eyes. His eyelids flutter and Zac had the irrational urge to kiss them. Jared’s hand slithers down Zac’s side, finding its way to the front of his pants.
“Do you do this with him too?” Jared asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I didn’t say it was a him.”
“You didn’t say it wasn’t.”
Zac scrunches his eyes up tight, half to avoid the smug look on Jared’s face and half because of the pleasuring flood his body. Jared works his hand expertly against Zac’s cock, making him feel like he might come even through the two layers of fabric.
“You need this, don’t you? Somebody else, somebody who isn’t him,” Jared murmurs as he snakes his way down Zac’s body, tugging on the zipper of his pants. It seems to Zac that he was really talking about himself and his own needs.
Jared’s body is half on, half off the couch as he pulls Zac’s pants down just enough and slips a hand inside his boxers. His eyes are fixed on Zac as he slides his mouth down onto his dick, and Zac almost doesn’t think of the other blue eyes that have stared up at him from that very position. Almost.
It isn’t long before Zac comes, but he’s too far gone to be embarrassed. He lies there panting, willing his limps to cooperate. Shaking, he hauls himself up and pulls Jared back onto the couch with him. He can feel every inch of Jared’s cock through his tight pants. Their hands tangle together as Jared fumbles to undo his belt buckle.
“So damn close…” Jared mumbles.
Zac wraps his hand tighter around Jared’s length, trying to match all the skill Jared just displayed. Jared’s head rolls over onto Zac’s shoulder, and Zac can’t help finding it a little bit sweet. He kisses Zac’s neck gently, his hair tickling Zac’s skin.
With little more than a whispered fuck, Jared bucks his hips off the couch and comes all over Zac’s hand and his own pants. He trembles as he comes back to rest against the couch, giving Zac a grin that’s at once terribly sweet and devious. He pulls Zac’s hand to his mouth and licks each finger clean.
There’s nothing left to say, so Zac just tucks himself back into his pants and picks up his forgotten beer. Jared stands up and fumbles around in a suitcase until he finds a change of pants. He strips down right there and Zac doesn’t look away; he figures there’s no need to be shy after what they’ve just done.
“I don’t mean to be cocky,” Jared says as he plops back down on the couch, “but you’re almost as good at that as I am, Hanson.”
Zac sputters and nearly spits out his sip of beer. “I thought I just had one of those faces?”
“Yeah, and I saw that face on stage earlier. Figured it out while I was going down on ya,” Jared replies with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Well, damn.”
Jared nods. “Tell me about it. So what now? Just go back to your friend like always?”
“It always seems to come back around to him one way or the other,” Zac admits.
“Yeah,” Jared replies, his eyes looking miles away. “It always does.”