Author’s Note: Life is really busy and weird lately, but somehow I found the time to write a little something. You guys enjoyed my last Zarrick fic a lot, and I’ve just been really inspired by that pairing lately, so… here’s something else a little different. Hope you like it, too!
Carrick was a flirt. Zac had known that since before they had gotten involved; hell, it was half the reason he had realized his feelings for him. When the two of them greeted fans by the bus and Carrick lingered a little too long with the prettier ones, a hard lump would form in the cavern of Zac’s chest. It took him perhaps a bit longer than it should have to identify that feeling.
Jealousy.
He didn’t try to hide it. He joked about it, instead. Joked about how he wouldn’t know what to do without Carrick in his life, how he would be a wreck without him. His brothers, even his ex-wife, had joked about how codependent he was, but it was never truer than it was when he was with Carrick.
But was that such a bad thing, Zac wondered? Was it so bad to have found the person who was you literally other half, without whom you were only half a functional human being? Zac didn’t think so. Zac liked it. Zac didn’t want it any other way.
But Carrick… Carrick was a little bit of an enigma. He never stopped flirting, and Zac told himself it didn’t mean anything. It was just who he was, like Zac was always a joker.
Zac could have sworn it only got worse after they began—well, whatever it was they had begun. Neither of them had called it a relationship, but it must have been. Yet Zac was scared to voice it, scared to be so serious about things. Being serious never worked for him; jokes kept him a safe distance from pain.
When they slept together, when he felt Carrick inside of him—or the other way around—he knew the truth. He could feel it. He didn’t need to say it. Yet, when they were in public and Carrick didn’t discourage whichever girl was trying to give him her number that night, Zac wondered.
One night, there was an after party at a bar. Those were always dangerous. Zac always limited his own intake, knowing he wasn’t a fun drunk like his brothers. Alcohol only intensified the anger and jealousy that was always an undercurrent of Zac’s personality. He sat back, nursing one beer all night long, while the girls practically lined up for a chance at Carrick.
The ones who were obviously fans were an annoyance, but Zac had grown accustomed to that. He’d watched them—sometimes the same faces over and over—throw themselves at every opening act, every crew member, always hoping for an in. Hoping to get that tiny bit closer to the band. Zac didn’t like it, but he understood it; it was just a hazard of being in a band with so many female fans.
What he didn’t like was the guy, some little twink from the venue, who kept hovering close by. He was less obvious than the girls, but Zac saw it. He knew the look in his eyes. It wasn’t the same way he looked at Carrick, not quite, but the lust in his eyes was clear enough. The guy was more subtle than the female fans, too, but Zac saw it the moment it happened. Carrick didn’t even glance Zac’s way as he slipped the tiny piece of paper into his pocket.
Zac waited. He was jealous, but he was patient.
Finally, Carrick headed toward the bar’s restroom, which was tucked far back in a dark corner. Zac followed, close but not so closely that anyone would realize what he was doing. Carrick glanced back, because of course he realized. He could always read Zac like a book, even when Zac felt like he was staring back at a brick wall.
“You’re stalking me again,” Carrick said, amusement clear in his voice, as he pushed open the restroom door.
Zac followed behind him, glad that no one else was in the room. “You know why.”
“Do I?” Carrick responded as he walked into the corner stall.
Zac stood outside the stall, which Carrick didn’t even bother to lock. He watched intently as Carrick studiously ignored him, not even glancing at Zac in the mirror as he walked back out and washed his hands.
“Are you just going to be creepy, then? Is that your new thing?” Carrick finally asked, spinning around and leaning against the sink.
“Get back in there.” Zac nodded toward the stall. They were lucky no one had walked in yet, and while he could barely see through the anger and jealousy coursing through his body, he wasn’t stupid.
Carrick wasn’t, either. He followed Zac into the stall and locked the door behind them. Zac wasted no time shoving Carrick down onto his knees; he was taller and nearly as strong as Zac, but he was always obedient when Zac wanted his way with him.
His knees hit the dingy tile with a dull thud that Zac wouldn’t have admitted turned him on. When they were together, Carrick was usually in charge, but when Zac got in these moods, he had to be, and he enjoyed it in a way that he knew a psychiatrist would have a field day with. But it was just between him and Carrick, and he knew Carrick understood.
He did. He stared up at Zac and licked his lips as Zac unbuttoned and unzipped his own pants. The dark feelings, the jealousy and all… it all made Zac incredibly horny. He was already half-hard, and it took just a few strokes, staring down at Carrick’s eager face, to bring his dick to its full length.
“Your turn,” Zac said darkly, taking a step closer to Carrick and bracing himself with a palm pressed up against the stall door.
Carrick wasted no time wrapping his lips around Zac’s length, his long, thin fingers grasping what little didn’t fit in his mouth. He took it too slowly, though, which was no doubt on purpose. Zac placed a hand on the back of his head, something between a warning and a threat. He liked the way Carrick’s dark hair looked twined between his fingers. He pushed it back, giving himself a better view of Carrick’s face as he finally picked up the pace, head bobbing in earnest concentration now.
Zac dug his fingernails into the peeling paint of the stall door, his vision blurring. Carrick knew exactly how he liked it, every flick of his tongue designed to get Zac off with frightening accuracy and speed. Zac wondered what it must be like to know someone inside and out like that. But he knew, without question, that Carrick loved this game as much as he did, loved the way Zac lost all reason and judgment when he thought he might lose Carrick to someone else.
It was fucked up, but it was theirs, and Zac wouldn’t have traded their dynamic for anything else.
There was someone in the next stall, but Zac didn’t care. He let out a low moan, which Carrick echoed with one of his own. It echoed through the room and reverberated through Zac’s body, from head to toes. And that was it. That was all it took to push him over the edge, fireworks exploding on the inside of his eyelids as he came. He held Carrick’s head, tugging on his hair to hold him into place so that he swallowed every drop.
He would. He always did.
Zac leaned heavily against the stall wall as he came down. When he finally opened his eyes, Carrick was standing in front of him, nonchalantly swiping a finger across his bottom lip. Zac grabbed his hand and lapped at his finger like a man lost in the desert, suddenly offered a drink of water. He didn’t even care that it was his own taste on his tongue. He dropped Carrick’s hand and tugged harshly on his hair, pulling him in for a kiss that would probably leave both of their lips bruised.
They were both breathless when they finally pulled back. Carrick was the first to break, the first to walk out of the stall. Zac scurried to tuck himself back into his pants, not wanting to let Carrick get away from him and go back into the crowd alone.
When Zac emerged, Carrick was standing at the sink, washing his hands. His splashed a little water on his face, then his reflection glanced back at Zac and gave the faintest hint of a smile. Zac walked behind up and stretched to put his head on Carrick’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his thin waist and sighed.
“We’re sharing a room tonight,” Carrick said softly. “Taylor offered to trade with me.”
“I knew there was a reason he was my favorite brother,” Zac replied.
Carrick chuckled. Zac let his hands slide down Carrick’s sides and into his pockets. He was glad they were sharing; he wanted more, but he knew this wasn’t the place for that. It wasn’t the place for what they had done, but it was too late to change that. He dug his hands deep into Carrick’s pockets, hoping Carrick could read his thoughts. The look on his face said he could, but it said something else, too.
When Carrick pulled away, Zac realized. There was nothing in his pockets. No slips of paper, no bar napkins. Nothing. He didn’t know when he had thrown them away without being seen, but he had. Of course he had.
He was a flirt, but he was Zac’s and Zac’s alone. If he knew nothing else about the man he loved, he knew that much.
Carrick
I used to love touring. Seeing the country, playing shows every night, meeting people who loved my music even more than I did. Hanging with my favorite people. But that was before.
For the first time in my life, I wanted nothing more than to just go home. I wanted to sit on the beach and watch the tide come in. To lay on my porch hammock and listen to the birds. To go to the skate park and watch the kids pull off their first tricks. To paint in my garage, or listen to the same worn and warped records I’d owned since I was sixteen.
I hated feeling like this. I hated that my favorite place to be, on the road, had been soured. I wondered if I’d ever enjoy it again.
I didn’t have the heart to fake it. Taylor knew exactly what was wrong, of course, but even the rest of the guys could tell something was up. I felt like they were walking on eggshells around me, the cloud hanging over my head making them nervous. They smiled and laughed when I joined them at the bar after shows, or watched a movie with them, but I knew they could tell I wasn’t really there.
Most of the time, it was easier to just keep to myself. I bought cheap paperback novels at truck stops and read them in my bunk. I sat at the front of the bus and stared out the window. I stayed away from the back, barely glancing at the door that seemed permanently shut.
At least he wasn’t making it harder than it needed to be.
Days blurred into each other. Every show was like the last. Different faces, but they might as well have been the same, for all the attention I payed. Part of me knew I was letting the fans down, giving them far less than they deserved. I tried to make it good for them, saving what energy I had for the stage, but it felt so forced. I still plastered on a smile as I signed autographs and took pictures and gave hugs, but I felt like a fraud.
Taylor tried, bless his heart. A few days after Tulsa, he nudged my side while we were greeting the fans.
“I was thinking of hitting the bar. Feel like joining me?”
My first impulse was to say no thanks, but the way he smiled at me, his eyes wide and hopeful, I just couldn’t.
“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile I knew he would see through. He grinned and nodded, then turned back to the girls begging for his attention.
An hour later I found myself sitting at a bar, my fingers wrapped around a half-empty glass. I looked over at Tay, who was sitting the opposite way, people-watching. He caught my eye and gave me a smile.
“This place isn’t too bad, huh?” He sipped his rum-and-coke and looked around again.
“I guess.” It was barely a response, but he smiled at me anyway.
“You sounded great tonight, especially on Wild Child. I ever tell you that’s one of my favorites?”
“Don’t think so. Thanks, though.”
I wondered if he regretted asking me out. I was being a total Debbie Downer, but I was trying. I took a drink, emptying my glass and flagging the bartender down for a refill.
“Thanks for coming out,” he said, touching my arm. There was something in the way he looked at me; I thought it was pity at first, but as his fingers brushed my skin, almost too faintly to feel, I wasn’t so sure. He bit his lip and looked away, and I felt myself almost smiling in response.
“Thanks for asking,” I replied, covering his hand with mine. “Sorry I’m not much fun.”
“It’s okay. I told you, I’m here for whatever.” There was that shy smile again.
“Tay,” I sighed. I felt like an asshole, like I was leading him on. I didn’t even have a good reason for not taking him up on the unspoken offer. I was single, he had his own sort of freedom; if I needed release, I knew he would gladly supply. But I just couldn’t. The thought of being with anyone made me sick to my stomach, and I hated that most of all. Was I that permanently damaged?
“Whatever means whatever,” he said, shaking his head. He slipped his hand out from under mine. We sat in silence for a while, just sharing the same space. I was glad he’d asked me out, even if I didn’t seem like it. It made me feel like less of a loser, like I could still have a normal existence. Maybe he and I would get together after the tour, like the old friends we almost were.
We left before either of us were too far gone, stumbling back onto the bus. I froze like a deer in headlights when I saw Zac sitting at the table, staring at his phone. He looked up, and his expression started to crumble. I turned away, on the pretense of getting something out of the fridge. When I looked back he was gone, like he’d never been there at all.
That was the way things went for a while. I sulked like a hermit until Tay forced me to join the land of the living, at least a little. There was a tension between us, but an easy one. He would never pressure me, and for that I was grateful. Still, sometimes it made me feel like I was using him. He deserved better, too.
That didn’t mean I was dead. I was still a relatively healthy guy, with all the physical needs that come with. So late at night, I’d open the browser on my phone and go looking. And because I’m apparently a hopeless masochist, I would always find myself reading stories about Zac and myself.
I tried to mentally distance myself at first. It wasn’t really me and Zac, it was just two guys. But it was pointless, and it wasn’t long before I gave in. For the short time it took me to read and get off, I let myself slip into a world where we could be happy together, without all the bullshit.
Inevitably I’d come back down, back to the real world where he was him, and I was me, and things were complicated and fucked up and nothing was ever going to be the same. Part of me wished the whole thing had never happened, but realistically I knew I’d never give it up if given the choice.
Despite everything, I still loved him. And I hated him for it.