As I felt my source of body-heat suddenly disappear, I woke up, seeing the white curtains of a hotel room, a television that was on at a low volume, and streaks of translucent, pale morning light streaming in through the window. I focused on how pretty and postcard-like it was, and how quiet it was in the room.

"Oh . . . we weren't going to wake you up," said an apologetic voice, belonging to a boy with long, dark brown hair and beautiful brown puppy eyes.

Bob.

"It's . . . mm . . . okay," I muttered, not really remembering anything at the moment except for someone had been sleeping in the bed with me and was now absent. I suddenly yawned and sleepily lifted up my wrist to gaze at my watch. Holy shit, it was eight a.m. - and I was up to witness it. I groaned, the lack of sleep I'd gotten suddenly kicking me in the stomach and demanding that I slip back into the Land of Nod. My eyes shut and I forced them back open again. I saw Bob grinning crookedly.

"You really didn't get much sleep last night, did you?" he mused. "Scott looks like crap."

"Thanks," said a voice, coming from within the depths of the kitchen adjoined to the living area.

My first instinct upon hearing his voice was to stretch out my arms and accept him into them . . . but I just sat up quickly and threw my legs over the side of the be. As a result, I fought a bout of dizziness.

"Um - you wanna borrow some clothes?" Bob snickered, and I nodded, dazedly.

Scott entered the room, holding a bottle of orange juice in his right hand. I shivered, not being able to hold back the tiny smile that came over my face. He was wearing blue jeans that had about eighty rips and holes in them, black boots, and a black t-shirt gently tucked into his waist, which also sported a black belt. Our eyes met momentarily, and memories came crashing back.

You taste good.

I hope I wasn't too loud.

No.

I'm not gay or anything, but sometimes - I admit - I get a hard-on from thinking about a guy.

There are lots of times when I think I'm bi, too.

Thank you for being there.

Touch it . . .

I will.

Memories assaulted me from every direction as I stared at Scott, and he stared back at me, the same memories playing back in his eyes. Slowly, a grin spread over his lips, and I just blushed and slowly maneuvered the blanket so it was covering any evidence of a morning hard-on, especially one spurred by a memory that seemed like an erotic, wishful dream.

"Uh . . . okay," Bob's voice said out of nowhere, and he stood there with an expression that obviously stated, Um, I've missed something, here.

"Were we too loud?" Scott asked me softly, and I could've passed out. The huskiness in his voice stroked me every right way, and it was almost like we were laying in each other's hot arms again. For a moment, I felt like I was, and my heart swooned.

"No," I murmured.

Bob just gave up on trying to understand whatever we both obviously could, and went into the kitchen, murmuring something about getting a banana.

"I'll get you some clothes," Scott offered, the twist on his lips almost too overwhelming for me to just stare at, but of course, I kept my ground. No need to leap up and rape him where he stood.

"Okay," I dismissed, leaning back on my hands and enjoying the warm sunshine tickling my back, while the warm feelings of being around Scott washed over my front side. My mind toyed with the thought of wearing clothes that belonged to Scott - every inch of my body touching things that every inch of his body had touched and would touch again. Before I knew it, he'd returned, bearing an offering of some long gray cargo shorts and a maroon-red button-up shirt.

"Um - I . . . I know you like red, so . . ." he flustered, handing the clothes to me. I was smiling, but it dropped off my face in astonishment of his knowledge of my favorite color.

Scott

Taylor's jaw lagged as he accepted the clothing I handed to him. I felt our fingertips just barely brush as he took them from me, but he didn't. He looked too bewildered. I abruptly began to feel stupid at telling him that I knew he liked red - he seemed to shboggled by it.

"Um . . . how did you know," he asked me, his tone not implying it as a question, but rather an interested little quip.

"I didn't, baby, you just told me," Clint piped, coming out of the bathroom and sliding in his own little out-of-context quote.

"I just - I don't know, I just knew," I said, trying to wriggle out from underneath that one. Taylor must have realized that I looked rather uncomfortable, so he said,

"Thanks . . . for the clothes."

"Oh, yeah," I said quickly.

He quickly slid on the shorts, and I tried not to watch him. Instead, I fakely busied myself with twisting on and off my orange juice cap.

"You don't even have bed-head," I breathed, just letting it slip out. Damn, I was on a roll of telling Tay things he didn't particularly need to know.

He grinned up at me angelically - again, so completely transformed from the mattress pimp he'd become last night. I ran my hand through my hair, embarrassed, and grateful when Bob came up to Tay and said,

"We're leaving in a half hour, but you're more than welcome to stay and partake in our fancy breakfast."

Tay and I smiled at the box of Pop Tarts and the glass bottles of orange juice on the table.

"Well, I really should get to my room and get some of my own clothes on," Taylor said, standing up and using the ponytail holder on his wrist to tie his hair back.

No, don't leave . . . don't put your own clothes on, I thought, suddenly offering Taylor a drink of my orange juice in a small, strange effort to make him stay with me, as if maybe if he took a drink he'd decide he had to stay and get his own, or something.

He took me up on the offer, taking it and purposefully gently caressing the rest of my fingers with a brush of his thumb as he did so. I sighed happily, watching him drink from my drink - a symbolic "your germs don't bug me" gesture.

"Ew, you shouldn't have done that, Tay, you've got Scott backwash in your mouth now," Bob grimaced. As if on cue, a *thwack* coming from the kitchen alerted my younger brother of his freshly-popped Pop Tart, and he turned to go get it.

"It isn't the first time," I remarked evilly as Taylor gave me the bottle back. We laughed in the open remark of our relationship.

"Hey boys!" my dad's loud voice exclaimed, causing us both to jump. He was at the door of the bedroom, wearing some old jeans from what I swear were the 1950s, and a white polo shirt. He looked all too energized. "Get enough sleep? Ready for the performance?"

"Yeah," we both said in unison of our separate questions.

"I ought to get back to my room. Thanks for letting me stay over," Taylor said, slipping his sandals on.

"No problem, son! Send Dave on over here real soon, we're leaving in a good thirty minutes."

"Okay, I will," Taylor replied. He stood and stuffed his wallet into the back pocket of his - my - shorts.

"Oh - uh - I'll - I wanna come with you," I stuttered.

"Okay, guys, don't take longer than about fifteen minutes, okay?"

"Sure," we said in unison again.

Clint came into the room, shaking his head. "They've been around each other too long. They're starting to talk alike --"

"They laugh alike, they walk alike, at times they even talk alike, you can lose your mind!" Bob suddenly broke into song in the kitchen.

Taylor and I stared at each other in horror and then amusement. I practically shoved Tay out the hotel room, and we didn't shut out the strains of a Moffatts rendition of The Patty Duke Show theme song until the door was closed behind us.

"Your family reminds me so much of mine!" Tay commented as we began to walk towards the elevators. Personally, I was just a little embarrassed, but said,

"Cool. That's cool. We're a lot alike. It's true."

"Yeah," Taylor agreed, and my heart leapt when he took my hand, even though it was dangerous to in public. The consequences of last night were trying to make themselves apparent to me now, and though maintaining a stiff friendship in public was probably best, we completely ignored it at the moment. My spirit was singing happily a song in the familiar tune of The Patty Duke Show theme song.

"I hope I have my key-card with me," Taylor said, using his free hand to search his - MY - pockets. "It's probably in my wallet."

We stopped at the elevator and pressed the down button. Since there was no one around, I let go of his hand and transferred it to his back pocket, sliding his wallet back out for him.

"Thanks," Taylor whispered, and after doing his fair share of peeking around, pecked my cheek.

"Mm-hmm." I sighed again with surplus happiness as we stepped into the elevator. The lobby was remarkably busy for it being eight - well, eight-ten - in the morning.

"Wonder if Bob thought we were being freaks," commented Taylor.

"No, you were no more of a freak than usual," I teased.

Taylor rolled his great blue eyes at me adoringly, choosing not to fire anything back at me. We came upon the third floor, which had people milling about on it, and strode down the hallway to the "Hanson Suite."

Taylor pulled out his key-card, humming a little tune. "Damn, I have it stuck in my head now," he laughed, stroking the card gently through the electronic lock. I laughed, too. He pushed the door open, and I followed him inside.

"Hey . . . nobody's home," Taylor said slowly, as we both stood inside the foyer and gazed into the empty room.

"Maybe they went down to get breakfast," I suggested. Tay nodded and looked at me.

"You realize we're alone now."

My mind dropped into the gutter, a fierce plunge from where it had been flying high in the clouds. Slowly, an evil grin crossed both our faces.

Dave Moffatt

"Hope they don't accidentally burn down the hotel," Isaac Hanson murmured, slipping on a brown button-up shirt over his wife-beater. "Actually, knowing Zac, it wouldn't exactly be on accident."

Walker Hanson tittered quietly, opening the door.

"I doubt they'll even wake up."

With that, he and Isaac left the hotel room. Zac and I watched them from behind our eyelashes, faking sleep all the way.

"Hehe," Zac giggled proudly, laying across from me in our bed, his eyes shining with energy already, even though it was seven-thirty in the morning. Isaac and Walker had just left the suite to go out and get some doughnuts and to see about renting a car for the week. We were both staying in LA for another six days, and while Capitol was willing to pay for all our taxi fares, the Hansons didn't seem willing to shell out their own hundreds of dollars to ride around in a smelly little vehicle with some guy who didn't speak English except for the words "meter's running."

"Control!" I announced, sitting up in bed.

Zac and I hopped out of bed, giggling with the graces of stupid jokes still on our brain from last night. My sweat pants had almost worked themselves in the entire opposite direction they were supposed to be worn in, so I pulled the tag back around to the back and adjusted them back to their normal state.

Zac picked up the note Walker had left laying on the desk.

"'Guys,'" he read aloud, "'We're gonna pick up some breakfast and take care of some business matters. Dave, the alarm was set for 8:30. Zac, we should be back by ten at the latest . . .' Blah blah blah, et cetera, et cetera, fine print, and so on into the night. 'Be good, bye. Dad and Ike.'"

"Cool," I snickered.

"We could open the door and have a rave party with housekeeping!" Zac was brainstorming, searching through a suitcase for a pair of pants to replace his pajama bottoms.

"Invite all the bellboys. Turn up some Beatles," I agreed.

"Yeah, exactly," he was saying. "Wouldn't that scare people."

"We'd definitely disturb someone's peace."

"Police might come and bust up our crackhouse operation," Zac grinned, waving around a little purple bag of Kool-Aid that apparently he'd found in his suitcase.

"You carry that stuff around with you?" I giggled, sitting back on his bed. "Can I borrow a comb or something?"

"Hell yeah, I do. Oh, sure," he replied. "Actually I only have a brush. That's what happens when everybody in your house has long, thick hair." He tossed me a black brush with a few strands of blond hair still stuck in the bristles. "Anyway," he continued, "I like to dip bananas in it. It is really good. You should try it."

"Right," I grinned, brushing my hair quickly. Zac held the bag of Kool-Aid and gazed at it thoughtfully. I knew him well enough by now to read his expression and see the click-whirr of gears behind his eyes to know that he was getting an idea.

"What you got in mind?" I asked Zac.

He smiled slyly and waved around the little packet of grape Kool-Aid.

"What . . . are we going to make Kool-Aid in the sink or something?" I asked, confused.

He shook his head, grabbing me by the elbow and steering me into the bathroom. "We are going to give me a new hair color."

Half an hour later, Zac was the proud owner of two large streaks of purple hair, which looked quite strange nestled into the white-wheat colored hair that was left unmolested by the popular drink mix. He had dyed two large streaks, both in the front portions of his hair, like Scott's are bleached.

"I've always wanted purple hair."

"What's your dad going to say about it?" I asked, sitting on the ledge of the bathtub and watching him wash the pearly white sink out.

Zac shrugged, his broad arms flexing as he swished around the water. "Probably something like, 'That had better wash out!'" He paused and reflected. "I like it. I think it's cool. It makes me look like a punk or something." He tilted his head and investigated himself in the mirror.

"Yeah, Zac, you really live dangerously," I teased.

"Dave, unlike your square self, I like to actually live life!" he kidded back. We were giggling, but that was halted abruptly as we heard the noise that told us that someone was opening the door to the hotel room.

Housekeeping? I mouthed, not knowing whether I should speak up or not. We'd both kinda frozen when we heard the clicking noise of the door, even behind the closed bathroom door.

Zac shrugged, ears perked and listening. I held a finger up to my lips and we both leaned near the door, resting our ears on it. Listening.

There were some muffled noises.

Zac

"Hey - nobody's home," said a voice, sounding surprised.

"Maybe they went down to get breakfast," suggested another.

Dave and I eyed each other. Dave cocked his head at me and arched a dark eyebrow quizzically. There was something really familiar about those voices.

"You realize we're alone now."

"The thought crossed my mind."

"So what should we do?"

"The possibilities are suddenly endless."

"I think this is a good place to start."

"Oh rea--"

The last voice got cut off quickly, as if someone had suddenly clamped their hand over his mouth. The next moment, a delighted "hm!" came from the stifled voice.

Is that . . . ? I mouthed to Zac. Zac squinted in thought.

Then, he nodded. Sounds like them, he mouthed back.

"Mmm, hmm, Tay . . ." the lower voice chuckled. "Nobody said you had to stop."

Stop what? Dave and I demanded telepathically.

"Stopping? Me? I can't keep my hands off you," breathed the other voice. Dave's jaw dropped a little.

What the fuck?! I murmured, confused.

"Speaking of hands . . . we didn't get a chance to - I mean - I didn't get to touch you last night," Scott replied, his voice becoming muffled again by whatever was assaulting his lips. I had a pretty good idea of what was happening, but I don't think Dave did. And that wasn't just because of the sick look on his face.

"I know," Taylor's soft voice murmured. Then, I rolled my eyes as he began to sing, "I think we're alone now. There doesn't seem to be anyone around."

And then, to both mine and Dave's horror, Scott joined in and began to sing with Tay: "I think we're alone now. The beating of our hearts is the only sound."

A grin suddenly played at Dave's lips, and I couldn't help but reflect the grin. It was absolutely too funny that they were singing that particular song and we were eavesdropping on them from the bathroom.

Then, their singing stopped, and several shuffles indicated they'd moved away from the door.

Dave thought it safe to whisper, "Were they doing what it sounded like they were doing?"

I just tried to keep my grin on.

"Should we stop them?" he added quietly, licking his lips and avoiding my eyes.

That thought hadn't occurred to me. I almost didn't want to believe that Scott and Taylor, our two older brothers, were out there in the hotel room, kissing and talking about touching each other. Shivers crawled over my skin.

Taylor's gay. My thoughts swarmed. Oh my God. Scott's gay, too.

They must be . . . like . . . boyfriends now?

"I always knew it!" I found myself saying under my breath, not trusting my legs and finding myself sitting gingerly on the cold white edge of the bathtub. Dave eyed me.

I knew what he was asking me with his simple stare. Those brown eyes weren't incredibly secretive with his thoughts. Knew what?

"Um, Dave, uh, Tay's . . . Tay likes guys."

"Oh, ya think?"

I hadn't expected the mean glare I suddenly got from him, and found myself leaning back a little to lessen the sharpness of his eyes.

"Well . . . I don't really know," I said slowly. "I mean, I always kind of thought he was sort of . . . feminine . . . I mean, not in a bad way . . ."

Dave lowered himself to a sitting position on the floor. "Yeah, I know - what you mean, I mean. If Tay was a girl, he'd be a really hot chick."

"Yeah," I agreed. Then, we both giggled quietly, trying to keep our voices down.

"I just - I think - I saw the way Taylor kept getting these dreamy eyes when he thought nobody was looking at him. I noticed how nervous and how relaxed he was around Scotty, you know, both at the same time."

Dave agreed. "I saw that, too. The weird connection those two have - it isn't hard to notice."

Suddenly, a light moan came wafting in from the little strip beneath the bathroom door. Dave and I both glanced at the doorknob at the same time. Then, I realized how curious I was feeling. What exactly are they doing?

"I wonder what they're doing," Dave whispered, as if mirroring my thoughts. I reached my hand out and gently twisted the doorknob, opening the door a tiny crack, giving not the slightest click. More noises slipped in through the gap between the door and the wall.

The sound of a zipper. A gasp, from probably Tay. I knew his voice.

"Wow, they sound like they're having fun," Dave whispered, his voice taking on a whole new shade.

I nodded in agreement, slipping down by his side onto the floor. I could smell the smell of the shampoo he used, from just being so near him.

"I wonder what it would be like," I remarked under my breath, and we both paused to listen to the strained and hurried breathing emanating from both our brothers' hidden bodies.

Dave blushed a little, sliding his hand beneath his belt-line and adjusting himself. Noting the small tent in my pants, I did the same, and when we realized we'd been staring at each other, we both gave off a little giggle.

Dave

Zac and I breathed hard, huddled in a little clump on the floor of the bathroom.

"Not that I necessarily blame Scott," I whispered to Zac, who gazed at me softly, his lips bowed up a little. "I'd screw around with Tay if I was Scott, too. He is pretty."

Instead of laughing, like I'd expected him to, Zac remained quiet. His eyes seemed to change a little, and then he asked,

"So you'd screw with Tay, but not me."

Zac might has well have hit me over the head with a shovel.

"No, that's not what I meant," I corrected myself quickly, despaired that I'd somehow hurt Zac's feelings, in some really strange way. The circumstances of our friendship had deftly changed since last night - now, we knew about Scott and Tay, and were suddenly thinking and talking about more important things than Pikachu and The Legend of Zelda.

"What did you mean, then?" Zac asked, for the first time, looking away from me shyly, sounding hesitant and unsure of himself.

"No, no, I meant, I don't want to do anything with Tay. I'd much rather screw around with you than with Tay."

I found myself gingerly touching his leg, in comfort, in affection, in the sudden need to tell Zac he wasn't alone.

Zac stared at my hand. Then, he picked up his own hand. It, too, hesitated, hovering for a minute just over his lap, and then, he placed it gently down upon mine.

Taylor

"I wish I could - that I - could do more. But I have to go," Scott said, pulling his hands from around my bare back, where they'd been running up and down it as we'd kissed in a sudden burst of physical arousal.

"I know. I know. I wish I could come to your show."

I hung my head and stared at the carpeted floor of the room, feeling my bottom lip quiver a little.

What the hell? I haven't cried since I was six or something, I thought, willing back the stinging of sharp tears as they lapped at the rims of my eyes.

"I'll be back at noon or something," Scott said, desperation to stay with me tingeing his voice and making it break a little. The sudden break in his oh-so-silky smooth voice was strange to hear, but still, it was a tell-tale sign of his emotion, which I was incredibly grateful for.

"Let's have lunch together," he added in an attempt to give me something to look forward to.

It worked. I nodded.

"I sound really gay," he remarked, almost to himself. He cocked his hip suddenly, standing like a girl, and snapped his wrist loosely in the air, making his hand wave. He repeated in a lispy little chipmunk voice, "Let's do lunch."

I snickered.

"Oh, you!" I added in a voice much like his, and we laughed loudly.

"Tay," he then murmured, catching me in his arms again and crushing me close. "I don't want to leave."

I managed to check my watch. "Scott, you are going to be so late. Leave. Go."

"Okay, but . . . but . . . um . . ."

He bit his lip. I searched his clear hazel eyes and ran my fingers along his strong, square jaw. "What?"

"I think . . ."

Scott stopped again, suddenly at a loss for words, or too afraid to tell me what he had in mind.

So I sang (of course sang . . .) the first thing that came to mine.

"I think I love you! Then what am I so afraid of! I'm afraid what I'm not sure of, a love there is no cure for!"

Scott doubled over laughing and began to sing it with me.

"I think I love you! Isn't that what life is made of--"

Then, we both froze in fear as we heard a voice announce,

"You two sing entirely too much."