Title: INK

Jul. 25th, 2012 10:26 pm
teamzaylor: (The Bodyguard)

Chapter 3: Why don't you talk?

Rating: NC-17
Genre: Slash / Hanson / Hancest / Zaylor / Drama
Warnings: Language, Drug use, Slash, Sex
Pairing: Zac & Taylor
Credits & many Thanks: to heart_iswild
http://heart-iswild.livejournal.com

Notes: Hanson ain't famous in this Story, but Taylor plays in a band called Aphrodite. Don't wonder about Taylor's tattoo ;-)

tumblr_lzobp2dEDt1r3ttg1o8_500-2

Things will start getting interesting in the chapter after this :-D


I excused myself from the table and headed up to my brother’s room, knocking softly on the door.
“Tay?”
No answer.
The door wasn’t locked, so I let myself in. Taylor was lying on top of the comforter in his bed, hands behind his head, eyes focused out the window next to him. I closed the door behind me before sitting next to him on the bed, my weight not sinking the mattress down because it was one of the tempurpedic things. He pretended not to notice me and kept his attention on the clouds.
“Tay…” I cleared my throat and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. “Taylor, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“It’s okay,” he replied. What annoyed me was that his tone wasn’t sarcastic or venomous…but genuine. Why the fuck wasn’t he angry?
“No, it’s not okay…” I was pissed that he was brushing this off so easily. I reached over, combing the blonde streaks out of his eyes with my fingers. He looked up at me, his eyes asking what I’d rather hear him say. I just sighed and took my hands back.
“Damn it Taylor, maybe if you weren’t such a fucking doormat people wouldn’t walk all over you. I mean you practically beg for abuse!” I was wrong and I knew it. He never did anything to provoke our teasing, he was just Taylor, and that was enough to laugh at. I could feel mounting anger in my stomach but I wasn’t quite sure why I was so flustered. He looked so calm…calm, but troubled.
“I don’t know what it is you want me to say,” he reasoned. His blue eyes were focused on me and it made my stomach uneasy. I didn’t like it.
“Just…just punch me or something next time! Don’t let me do that! God, you’re so…so…” He was so what? Why did I care all of the sudden? From the look on his face, he was thinking the same thing. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
“Do you remember when we were little? There was that one time you knocked me down by accident when we were playing tag, and I wasn’t even hurt but you were so scared that you’d killed me that you were crying…” My eyes ran across the delicate features of his face…they were so chiselled that they were almost feminine. I’d never noticed it before. I’d always known he was good looking, everyone knew, but he looked different to me then…maybe even beautiful. “I think that was the last time I saw you cry”, I recounted, “but I can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh.”
Taylor didn’t say anything, but I guess I wasn’t really expecting him to. He hardly spoke in a normal situation, let alone one of confrontation. I motioned for him to scoot over so I could lie down, and to my surprise, he obliged.
I positioned by body next to his, making sure that we weren’t touching in any way. I mean that would be weird if we were touching…right? I was almost positive that I hadn’t shown any affection towards my older brother in years, and even though I was just now feeling that neglect, I didn’t want to freak him out by getting all mushy.
We lay next to each other for a long time. I focused on his breathing, the way his chest rose and fell as he stared up at the ceiling. It was so interesting to watch someone live, to really focus on his vitals…the beating of his heart, the expanding and contracting of his ribcage, the faint blue color of his veins beneath the pale skin of his wrists…Watching someone you love just…exist…well, it’s a beautiful thing.
“Zac,” he interrupted the x-ray vision staring match that I had goin’ on with his lungs, “I kind of wanted to be alone when I came up here.”
Seriously? Did he just say that?
“What?” I propped myself up on my elbows and looked down at him. “I was trying to apologize!”
“Please…” his eyes were begging, pleading with me to leave him alone, “can you please just…go?”
“Fuck you, Taylor!” I got out of his bed and stomped theatrically to the door. “I think…I think you’ll always just be a fucking weirdo. I don’t even get why I came in here! It’s not like I care about you anyway.” And with that final, mature statement, I left the room.
-------------------------------
Later that evening, after I’d cooled off a bit, I decided that a good joint was in order. I checked my pockets and Holy Drugless Batman; I was out of Mary Jane! Isaac wouldn’t take me to get more, I knew that much…and the parents were definitely not an option…my grandpa was sleeping, but taking his car would be too risky…and the only option left was dear Taylor. But would he really feel like driving me 2 hours away to the nearest dealer after I’d just finished telling him that I didn’t care about him? Probably not, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.
“Tay?” I asked against his door, sugaring up my voice so it dripped down the walls like syrup. There was no answer, go figure.
I opened the door, peeked my head in, and was greeted by the sight of Taylor’s long body sprawled out across his floor, oversized antique headphones on full blast. He looked positively blissful, all caught up in his music like that. The room seemed to close in as I watched him from the door, his body tightening and softening as he sang. His eyes were completely covered by his hair, he looked so peaceful and relaxed the way his mouth and cheeks moved. His voice was clear and alluring and I felt like the negative side of a magnet being pulled towards positivity. Slowly I crept in and stood over him, wondering if he’d feel the beat of my feet beneath the pulsing of his music.
I bent down and moved the hair from his eyes. They flew open, as I predicted they would, and he immediately took of his headphones and stared up at me.
“Sorry,” I smiled down at him, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I wanted to know if you could do me a favor.” I grinned wider, batting my eyelashes as best as I could. He looked confusedly at me and propped himself up on his elbows. I stared at him and waited for some kind of verbal acknowledgment that he was conscious. None came. Fucking…Taylor.
“Why don’t you talk?” I sat down where I’d been squatting.
“I talk.”
“Not a lot.”
“I don’t have a lot to say.”
“Whatever, can you please take me to…” Hesitation. Think fast, Zac. “Can you please take me to my friend’s house? He lives like 2 hours away and I’m not allowed to take the car…”
He narrowed his eyes at me and seemed to be contemplating.
“No offense Zac, but driving you to a friend’s house isn’t really something I feel like doing right now.”
“Why, do you have something better to do?”
“Yes.” He started to get up.
“Like what?” I pressed.
“Like not do things for you.”
“That doesn’t sound better than doing things for me.”
“Believe me, it is.”
-----------------------
We sat in Taylor’s busted up 1969 Volkswagen in silence. A victory smile sat on my face clear as the day in front of us. Of course he gave in, I’m not someone who’s easily turned down. I’ve sort of got…the magic stick, if you will, in that department.
We drove for about an hour when the car started making noises.
“Tay?” I asked, turning to face him. His face wore a look of desperation; all of his features pointed outward towards the road like arrows, like they were begging with his car to just haul ass and make it. “Tay, I think you’re car is…” Sputter. Clink clank. Dead.
“Fuck,” he whispered, pulling the car over to the side of the road and smacking his head of the steering wheel. “Great, this is just…great.”
I frowned at him. “Want me to call dad?”
He kept his face planted against the wheel and sighed exasperatedly. “So you can tell him, ‘Oh yeah dad, sorry, Taylor just killed your car when he was driving me 2 hours away to pick up some weed’?”
“Well I wouldn’t have to say that…”
“If you think he wouldn’t know that that’s what we were doing, you’re thick.”
I smirked and wiggled my eyebrows. “That's what she says.”
“Shut up, Zac I am not a girl.”
I sighed, tapping my fingers on the dashboard. “Then what the hell shall we do?”
He lifted his head from the steering wheel but kept his attention out in front of us.
“Call a tow truck, it’ll be at least an hour before it could get here anyway.”
“But it’s cold!” I whined. He turned to me and narrowed his eyes.
“Do you want me to kill you?”
“Who? You?”
“Zac just shut up.”
“Hey, Taylor?” I grinned.
“What.”
“I think this is the most we’ve spoken in a long time.”

Title: INK

Jul. 24th, 2012 07:07 pm
teamzaylor: (The Bodyguard)

CHAPTER 2: LOCK YOUR FUCKIN' DOOR


Rating: NC-17 (cause everything else isn’t worth the Time)
Genre: Slash / Hanson / Hancest / Zaylor / Drama
Warnings: Language, Drug use, Slash, Sex
Pairing: Zac & Taylor
Credits & many Thanks: to heart_iswild
http://heart-iswild.livejournal.com

Notes: Hanson ain't famous in this Story, but Taylor plays in a band called Aphrodite. Don't wonder about Taylor's tattoo ;-)

tumblr_lzobp2dEDt1r3ttg1o8_500-2

Woot, another chapter! Some sex, nothing too hardcore ;-).

Do you remember when I said that because my house is so wild, things often go unnoticed? Well, that is precisely the reason it is so easy for the Hanson men to bring home women to sleep with. You grab a girl by the hand and lead her up to your bedroom, and your family either thinks it’s your sister or they ignore the situation all together. It works out rather well for my oldest brother and myself, and hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if my father’s done it on occasion. Taylor seems to be the only male virgin under the Hanson roof besides my little brother Mackenzie, but he’s 8, so he’s got an excuse.
“Zachary!” My mother’s shrill is audible from anywhere within a 6000 mile radius. This kind of shrill is necessary when you live in a house with so many people, so I don’t hold it against her. “Zachary! Dinner will be ready in an hour!”
Candy and I sat on my bed upstairs. She was already unclipping her bra and lifting her shirt over her head.
“Alright, ma!” I screamed at the closed door and turned my attention back to Candy. An hour was enough to get ‘er done. Shit, with my expertise, it’d probably only take a few minutes.
We each got naked, skipped the foreplay, and headed straight for home base. I lay down on the bed and let her slip on a condom before she straddled my thighs and slowly eased herself onto me.
“Mmmm, Zac,” she moaned throatily, grabbing at her own breasts. I smirked and held her hips, making sure I angled myself just right before thrusting into her as hard as I could. Girls liked that, as I’d learned through experience. Movies always lead you to believe that women want a sentimental man who’ll “make love” and not “fuck”, but movies are liars. All the girls I’m with want it hard and fast, and because I’m such a generous and selfless man, I comply.
After a couple a minutes we really started getting into it. She rode me fast…breathe…so fast…breathe…and my eyes were focused on her pretty lips as I pulled her down by her hair to kiss me. And I kept fucking her, and her body was so hot and wet. And I was so hot and wet. Breathe, remember to breathe. Fuck, shit, almost there, so..close…so….
“FUCK!” Candy screamed, but not for the reason I thought she’d be screaming. She threw her hands over her breasts and stared in horror at the open door, where Taylor was standing with huge eyes and an open mouth. He looked like he was ready to cry…seriously.
Candy rolled off me and onto the floor, taking the sheets with her and leaving me totally exposed. Taylor, who was clearly in shock from the sight of someone get lucky, dramatically slammed the door that connected our rooms. I could hear him lean his back against his side of the door and slide to the floor. Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure why he was so upset. Candy gathered her clothes and screamed “ASSHOLE” before walking out of my room and slamming the door behind her. My boner was pretty much dead by then, and the only thing left to do was go scream at my retarded brother for ruining my good time. I mean really, the nerve of some people…
“Taylor!” a boxer-brief’d and tube socked clad me screamed as I walked into my brother’s room (using the regular door, of course). “What the hell was that?” Taylor was still sitting against his door, clearly shaken up over the whole ordeal. His slumped shoulders and shaking hands almost made me forget that he’d just blue-balled me, indirectly, of course. But alas, my memory is too sharp for such nonsense.
“Why didn’t you knock?” I pressed, though gentler, as I slid down next to him. He just shrugged.
“Sorry,” was the only word that escaped his lips. He really did look close to tears.
“Hey…I’m sorry, I forgot to lock this door.” I raised my fist and knocked back on the wood, smiling a little at him. It was odd, I actually felt sort of…bad for making him feel guilty. Obviously it wasn’t his fault, but that never stopped anyone from blaming him before. “Blame Taylor” was sort of the Hanson motto, and while we all thought it was pretty clever…well, he didn’t. At least I didn’t think. I mean I didn’t really know, I never asked him, but if I were him I wouldn’t find it too amusing.
He shrugged again, his knees bent and his ink’d up arm clutching his thigh. My eyes wandered over his arm, noting that the complexity of the tattoo would be hazardous to any epileptic. The black was thick around his forearm and ran thinner over the top of his hand and between his fingers. Carefully, I traced my index finger over one of the lines. His eyes watched my finger as it traveled down his arm and in between his lank fingers.
“What’s this mean?” I inquired. He looked at me as if I had 10 heads and pulled his hand away from mine quickly.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he said shakily as he got up and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Jesus Christ, moody.

Dinner that night was loud, as usual. Flying peas and screaming over each other and tales of that day’s activities- you know- a typical 13 person meal. At some point after serving my 11 year old sister Avery, my mother interrupted the noise.
“Isaac, who was that girl that was here earlier?” She looked at him with a raised eyebrow and daintily cut her steak.
“Shewaddn’mine,” Ike answered, mouth full o’ potatoes. All eyes immediately fell on me, as I expected…and was somewhat proud of.
“Her name’s Candy,” I answered, nonchalantly waving my fork in the air, “she was just hanging out.”
“I bet she was,” my grandpa sniggered into his cranberry juice. My mother shot him the look.
“Well why didn’t you invite her to stay for dinner?” My father asked, wiping his mouth with his napkin. And I couldn’t help but…
“Because Taylor chased her outta here before I could get that far.” All eyes on Taylor. Ike laughed.
“So, so you’re sayin’…oh no, seriously Zac? Lock your fuckin’ door!” My grandmother choked on her peas and my sister Jessica giggled. “I bet…” Ike continued, food spilling out of his mouth, “I bet she took one look at him and thought why can't your stupid sister knock at the door before entering?” The whole table was laughing by then except for Taylor, my mother, and me. The joke wasn’t even funny, they were just laughing because it was made at Taylor’s expense. He sat there with his fork in his hand, staring at his dinner plate, his blonde bangs in his eyes. Slowly and quietly, he moved his chair back from the table, placed his fork on his plate, and left the room.
It was sad that no one noticed except for me.

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