Authors: so_jayded & heart_iswild
Notes: I was going through Google Docs and I found this. Forgot all about it. :(
Zac Hanson was not gay. People might accuse him of it - his own brother did, some nights in that space between awareness and unconsciousness that always happened right before sleep - but he wasn't. He knew he wasn't. It didn't matter how many times Taylor would kiss him roughly, pressing him against the back of the bus or a wall or a bathroom stall in a dark night club. It didn't matter how many times Taylor bent him over his piano, took him, whispered in his ear that it had never been better because he was not gay. He knew that like he knew the sky was blue, the grass was green, and Sunday mornings were reserved for God and God alone.
Zac figured if he were Catholic, he'd have to go to confession every night but Sunday and every night he'd confess the same secrets, probably with the taste of Taylor still on his tongue. He never brushed his teeth right after and he told himself it was punishment, to taste his sin for hours and hours afterward.
Taylor always told him it was kinky, his voice hoarse after sex. His eyes wide and wild. Sometimes it made Zac hard and he wondered if he had to confess that, too. And at the same time, he knew that God had to be a part of this. He knew that Taylor was a depressed, pathetic human being and he knew that this was the best way to comfort him. God was telling him to do this, because it was saving Taylor from himself.
Zac had tried to stop it a few times, sure, because having sex with his brother was not something he was proud of, even if he did enjoy it, (which he did). And every time, Taylor would act like it was no big deal. He would tell Zac that everything was fine and that he needn't worry, but not five hours later, Zac would receive a call with his brother's sobbing voice blaring through the airwaves, screaming that if he didn't come back to him he'd kill himself. So, naturally, Zac always went back.
He didn't have a choice. He couldn't let Taylor kill himself, he couldn't let him sit there and cry and even though he knew, in the back of his head he knew it like it was fact, that he could resolve it another way, he never could. It would be easy, just a phone call to their psychiatrist and he was sure that he could have Taylor put far away from anything he could use to hurt himself but the idea of Taylor, beautiful, passionate Taylor, locked up in a sterile room, wilting away so slowly killed him more than the guilt ever could.
He loved his brother, but not in more ways than one. He would do anything for him, forfeit his life, he was sure of it. So he'd go to Taylor and kiss him and let him be bent over whatever was convient.
Taylor had tried more than once to get Zac to look at him while they fucked, tried to finagle Zac into a position where he could see his face or whisper things into his ears but Zac didn't want that, couldn't have it, because it was hard enough to hear Taylor say 'I love you' before he came. It would be that much harder to be looking him in the eye, too.
Not because he loved Taylor too, though. No matter how many times, how many ways they had sex, they were never making love. Not through Zac's eyes, at least. He really did love Taylor, as a brother and as a best friend, but nothing more. He was in love with his wife, Kate, who had just given birth to their first son. He was amazingly proud of the life he'd created with her, the life the world saw. It was the only life he wished he had. The one where everything was normal and what everyone saw was what they got. But that could never happen. They were in too deep.
Taylor liked to be held after they had sex. Zac had no problem stroking his back and brushing the hair out of his eyes as Taylor laid his head on his naked chest, crying silently, wishing that they could be together forever. Sometimes he'd just lay there, a pathetic mess of a human, and other times he'd just talk about things that still made Zac uncomfortable, even though they'd be having sex for years. He didn't like to talk about it. That just made it more real.
It was better than the other things Taylor talked about, though. He'd take the sex talk over the drugs and the alcohol, the stories of Taylor's last fix and how he'd stop, he'd promise to stop if they could have each other forever. Zac couldn't even bear to look at him then, when he was still half stoned and his eyes were flicking too quickly from place to place and his heart was beating too fast and Zac just knew that he'd gotten there just in time.
He hated knowing that if he were late one day, Taylor might not be breathing. So he went, even though it meant leaving Kate at home with the baby and meeting Taylor in some unfortunate hotel room in Glenpool.
Zac never went in the bathroom when they were there. He knew what he'd find. Razorblades and a baggie and traces of white powder everywhere. He'd made the mistake once. He'd never do it again. As long as he could save him just for that moment, as long as he could be his quick fix, just to get him through the day, then he'd take his pride and squish it underneath his shoes.
Zac wasn't quite sure why he was the only one who was so concerned with Taylor's welfare. He knew he wasn't in love with him, because he was in love with Kate and he knew the difference in how it felt, so it didn't make sense. He reasoned that it was because he was the only one who could make things better when Taylor was having an issue.
When Taylor would call him over to have sex, he always wanted to prolong everything. He wanted there to be kissing, petting, sucking, sometimes even biting. Zac wasn't much into foreplay - it had always made him uncomfortable. And he never really minded sex with Taylor, but it was never how it was with Kate. He figured he enjoyed sex with Taylor because Taylor enjoyed sex with him.
He never knew why Taylor had fixated on him. It wasn't like Zac was the only man Taylor knew. It wasn't like Zac was the only friend Taylor had. He'd thought once, late at night when they were still living at home and their rendezvous happened in Taylor's bedroom, that maybe it was because Taylor thought Zac could understand him better than anyone else. They had gone through the same things, had the same life, basically. He figured that was what it was, but he never questioned it. He never dared to ask.
Every time he brought it up, mentioned that maybe this wasn't the best way for Taylor to be dealing with things, Taylor would cry. Zac knew it wasn't to make him feel bad because Taylor tried to hide it so much. He'd gathered, over the years, that it was Taylor realizing that Zac didn't feel the same way that Taylor did, he didn't love Taylor the same way Taylor loved him and it killed Zac to think it, but he knew those tears were broken-heart tears.
And still, sometimes those tears made Zac angry. Because Taylor knew that this was all selfish and that it made everything so, so hard for Zac. And he knew that Zac didn't return his sick, perverse love but still he asked Zac to visit him every night, in the same crappy motel that was too far from their homes. And Zac didn't like that he gave in so easily every time, but he knew it wasn't worth it to put up a fight. Because eventually, he'd always end up taking the two hour drive to the run-down, pink building that held so many disgusting memories.
The worst part was waiting. Zac always got there before Taylor did, and he hated sitting on those stupid, floral sheets for hours sometimes, waiting for his brother to stumble in. He hated when there were tears in his eyes, but he'd always rather see tears than see nothing. When Taylor's eyes were empty, he knew that they were going to have rough sex, and he didn't like that. When Taylor was feeling emotional, the sex was calm and sweet. Zac liked that much better because he could pretend in the back of his head that it wasn't Taylor.
He could never pretend that it was Kate, and he wondered if Taylor had had that planned since the beginning, since they started doing this. If he made Zac take it because he knew that if their roles were reversed, Zac would just do his best to pretend that Taylor wasn't Taylor.
But when it was rough, when Taylor would hit him hard on the ass and pound into him so hard Zac thought he wouldn't be able to sit for days, he felt so disgusting, so used. When it was sweet he could almost understand, he could listen to Taylor whimper out 'I love you' and understand why he wanted to do it, why he needed to feel Zac's pulse and his breathing. When he was harsh he just didn't get it. There was no love, nothing, just fucking, and Taylor could have gotten that from a whore on the street.
What Zac hated most was when Taylor asked him to be on top. Because then Zac would have to hover over his beautiful, sweaty face and do his best not to look him in the eye as he fucked him. It was hard not to come when something so tight and hot was squeezing around his cock, so really, he always did come, and it always disgusted him because Taylor would get this smug, victorious look on his face like Zac coming somehow justified everything he did to him. And it didn't. But Zac couldn't tell him that. Because he loved him, and that's why he did this in the first place.
So it went on. And Zac didn't do a thing to stop it. He wondered how long it would last because Kate questioned him when he was gone for so long, coming home in clothes that were rumpled or sometimes different - Taylor had a habit of wiping his mess up with Zac's shirts, probably just so Zac had to go home with a different shirt on. Taylor always brought them back the next day, freshly laundered and folded.
Zac wondered when Kate would accuse him of cheating on him, ask him who the other woman was and he wondered if he would laugh and say "Taylor" or if he'd clam up and scream and cry like Taylor did sometimes because he knew, he knew that she would leave him. And, shit, if she left him, that would be the end. He wouldn't be able to let himself do this anymore. But really, if Kate left him, it would be too late. If he was alone and had no allegiance to Kate anymore, then what was stopping him from having sex with Taylor?
It wasn't himself, obviously. Because nothing he did was for himself.
And the night that Kate did leave him, he wanted to kill himself. He wanted nothing better than to take Taylor's stupid razors and cut out twenty lines of cocaine and snort them all himself. But instead, he called Taylor to come meet him at his house.
They'd never fucked on Zac's bed before. They'd fucked on Taylor's the night he got home from his very short-lived honeymoon. Natalie had been out somewhere, God knows where, but Zac was in bed with Taylor, in their brand new bed that even they hadn't slept in, yet, and Zac thought it was oddly ironic that he got to break it in first. Taylor had been almost all of his firsts, after all.
So when Taylor knocked on the door and Zac answered it, he was surprised at Taylor's apprehension. He asked if Zac was okay, if he was handling everything, and Zac realized that between screaming matches Natalie must have mentioned what Kate was planning on doing. Zac sure as hell hadn't told Taylor, yet. There was no one else that would have known.
Zac told him that no, he wasn't okay and no, he wasn't handling things at all well. And he also told him that he wanted to fuck him, hard, that night. And when Taylor told him that maybe they shouldn't- that maybe, maybe Zac should take the night to cool down or maybe they could just talk, Zac wanted to punch him.
This was all Taylor's Goddamned fault, anyway. He'd started it, he wouldn't let Zac end it, he'd destroyed the one chance of a normal life he had and he wanted to just talk? After months and months of him begging Taylor to stop the sex?
He dragged Taylor upstairs by the collar, not feeling the least bit bad when the fabric ripped under his fingers. When it was over, when Zac was crying against Taylor and screaming and clawing at his bare chest, Taylor just sat there and took it, looking more miserable than he ever had before in his life.
Before he left, after he gathered up his clothes and slipped his shoes back on, he leaned down and gave Zac a kiss.
"Goodbye," he whispered. "I love you."
For some reason, Zac felt like Taylor wasn't going to be back. Something like panic raced through his veins, and before he knew it, his hands were shaking.
"No-don't," he begged, looking up at Taylor with the same desperate, wild eyes that Taylor had given him countless times. His eyes moved to his brother's neck, where he'd left scratches and bruises and bite marks, and then back up to his eyes where he saw only sadness. He wasn't sure if it was his own sadness that was looking back at him or if it was just Taylor's.
"You hate me," Taylor said, looking away from Zac's eyes. "I'm not stupid. I. Destroyed everything." His eyes were tearing up again and Zac wanted to reach out and brush them away. "I don't deserve to. I'm sorry, Zac." He turned away completely, rubbing roughly at his face like he was ashamed of the tears. "I should have just. Done it years ago. Then I couldn't have ruined you, too."
"I-" Zac started, reaching forward and grabbing onto the front of his older brother's shirt. He held the fabric tight in his fist, like a child willing his parent not to leave them home alone. "I need you right now." And it wasn't a lie - it was true. He did need him. But he didn't need him in the same way that Taylor needed Zac.
Zac felt relieved when Taylor unknotted his fist from his shirt and sat down next to him. "I can't believe I'm responsible for this."
Zac didn't say anything, just rested his head on Taylor's knees and let Taylor thread his fingers through his hair. It felt good, comforting, in the same way an old blanket felt good wrapped around you and even though he felt so wrong, like he was going against everything God had planned for him, he felt so comfortable that he never ever wanted to move.
Taylor was warm and soft in all the right places. Even though so much about him was different from what it used to be, some things were always exactly the same. The way he smelled, the way he smiled, the way he could still be overprotective of his little brother when he felt it was necessary. And Zac did appreciate all of this. It was just that usually, the bad outweighed the good. The ratios weren't in his favor anymore, and it was hard for Zac to see past that.
They stayed like that for hours, and Zac appreciated it, loved that his brother loved him enough to stay with him when he was like this. Maybe it was about reciprocation. Zac had been there every night for Taylor, trying to stop him from falling apart and into more, worse addictions than the ones he already had. Maybe Taylor was trying to pay him back in some way, and that scared Zac, because Taylor's selfishness was one of those truths that never changed, no matter what, and if it did, he didn't know what he could think of the world anymore.
And when the silence became uncomfortable for Taylor, he had to break it. "Am I right?" He asked, his eyes on the paisley wallpaper in front of him. "Do you hate me?"
"For some things." Zac felt like honesty was sacred now, in this moment. "But I love you more than I hate you."
"I wish I never did this to you."
"But if you had the chance to do it over, you'd do it exactly the same." Zac was not asking. He was telling. Because he knew that Taylor did feel badly for what he'd done, but not enough to stop everything.
"I guess." Taylor let out a little sigh and moved Zac's head off his knees. "Take care, Zac." He leaned down and kissed his hair. "If you want me to. I don't know. Try to fix it?" He shrugged. "I might be able to talk some sense into Kate."
Zac shook his head and clutched his pillow tighter to his chest. "No," he whispered. "Why won't you just stay with me?" He looked up at Taylor and he knew there were tears in his eyes, but for once he needed the comfort. "I stay with you, when you need it."
"Because all I can offer you is sex."
"You know that's not true," Zac coaxed.
"It is true." Taylor's tone was angry, but not because he was angry with Zac. He was angry with himself for being so useless. "I know what I am, Zac. And I'm sick of talking about it for once." Zac's eyes were confused when Taylor got onto his knees in front of the bed and took Zac's chin into his fingers delicately. "I am not what's best for you."
"That's not fair," Zac whimpered pathetically, reaching out and touching Taylor's face. "You're all I have now. I lost everything because of you. For you. And now you're running?"
He wondered, in the back of his head, if Taylor had done all this just so he could make someone as miserable as himself. He'd succeeded, if that was his aim.