Keep Me Concealed Just Like I Was a Weapon

Zac liked his job. He really did. It was just that he also hated his job. He didn’t hate it all of the time, of course, but there were plenty of opportunities in New York City for a construction worker to really, really hate his own existence.

Working on renovations for a fancy, expensive apartment complex full of entitled rich brats was one such opportunity.

As he drove nails into fresh drywall on the tenth floor, he couldn’t help thinking that the people who lived in these apartments probably paid more a month for the privilege of having this address than he made in a month. Zac thought, for that much money, they ought to take better care of the place, but the number of minor repairs he’d had to work into his already packed schedule said otherwise.

“Would you keep it the fuck down?” Someone screeched, causing Zac to nearly drop his hammer. “Some of us are trying to sleep here.”

Zac glanced at his watch, then raised an eyebrow at the figure that had appeared in the hallway. Sure enough, even at noon, he sported bedhead and was wearing an honest-to-god silk robe. Around the drywall nail he held between his teeth, Zac replied, “And some of us are trying to work. Some people do actually have to do that for a living, you know.”

“I work,” the stranger huffed, crossing his arms. One hip jutted to the side, bringing him even closer to looking like a ridiculous stereotype.

“Oh yeah?” Zac remarked, looking him up and down. He was pretty enough to be a model, but Zac wasn’t sure that counted as real work. With that flair for the dramatic, he could certainly be—“Oh for fuck’s sake. You’re Taylor Hanson.”

“You don’t strike me as the type who would watch my movies,” Taylor replied.

Zac shrugged. “Don’t judge a book by a cover. But also, I wouldn’t be caught dead watching that shit.”

“So we’re in agreement… Zac,” Taylor said, stepping in close enough to read the name tag sewn onto Zac’s shirt. “I don’t like the way you’re doing your job, and you don’t like the way I do mine. The only difference is—yours is keeping me awake. So keep. It. The. Fuck. Down.”

Zac rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Princess.”

Taylor huffed again, then stormed back into his apartment. Just for the hell of it, Zac drove the next nail in even harder and louder.


A week passed before Zac saw him again, and even then the word saw was barely appropriate.

He heard him first, bitching and moaning about the fact that now the elevator was out of order. He huffed and puffed as he crossed the threshold of the stairs, and Zac diligently ignored every single complaint.

In his frustration about the stairs, Taylor evidently didn’t see or hear Zac at all. The next thing Zac knew, something scalding hot was pouring down the back of his shirt. He jumped, banging his head on the door frame he had been maneuvering into place and let out a stream of curse words in multiple languages—working with a variety of construction crews had expanded his vocabulary in interesting ways.

“Jesus Christ!” Taylor screeched. “You could have made a little more noise so I would have noticed you.

“Shut up, be louder–I just don’t know what you want from me,” Zac replied, peeling off his shirt before it could actually be burned into his flesh. He was probably exaggerating, but he also wasn’t surprised that Taylor the Diva would choose to drink the hottest coffee known to man.

Once the offending article had been removed and flung across the hallway, he couldn’t help but notice Taylor’s eyes glued to him. He thought he was imagining it. Surely he was imagining it. Someone who starred in as many romantic comedies as Taylor Fucking Hanson couldn’t be gay. Then again, his body language spoke volumes… and so did the look in his eyes.

“I—umm,” Taylor stuttered out. “I’ll get you a towel.”

“Thanks,” Zac managed to reply.

Taylor was off in a flash, gone so quickly that Zac could barely process what had just happened. Seconds later, a fluffy towel that probably cost as much as Zac’s entirely weekly grocery budget came flying out of the door. Zac caught it with one hand and gleefully wiped his back with it, not caring that the coffee was probably staining its perfectly white surface.


The nearly daily interruptions from Taylor continued for well over a week, so that when they abruptly stopped, it left Zac feeling a little off balance. The first day without an appearance from the only resident of that floor, Zac found himself constantly looking out the corners of his eyes for him, just waiting for his figure to appear out his door or from the stairs. It wasn’t until he clocked out and left that he accepted that Taylor really wasn’t there. Two whole weeks passed, and then a month, without another rude appearance by the dramatic actor.

Zac was a bit dismayed to realize he was disappointed. He actually missed him.

When he went back to his apartment at night, he drank more than usual. Inevitably, when he was drunk, he found himself on Netflix, looking up Taylor’s entire filmography and binge watching his way through it.

He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but he jerked off. Masturbating to cheesy romantic comedies had to be the lowest point of his life, ranking even below getting caught making out with the quarterback and having to explain to his parents why he had been kicked off the team.

Zac had never been happier to live alone.


Taylor was gone for just over two months, not that Zac was counting the days or anything. Zac supposed he was off making a new movie.

Maybe it would have a topless scene…

Zac shook his head. He was starting to lose it. Working alone, on a hallway with only one occupied penthouse, was starting to drive him nuts. When the elevator dinged—he had fixed it the week before—he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“You’re still not done?” Taylor asked, breezing down the hallway like he owned the place—for all Zac knew, he did. He probably had that much money.

“You’ll be happy to know that I’ll be done in just a few days,” Zac replied. “And I think you’ll really like the renovations I did on your place while you were gone.”

Taylor’s eyes widened to almost comical size. Zac tried not to laugh, but it was only a matter of seconds before he failed, letting out a high pitched giggle that he belatedly realized should have embarrassed him.

“You didn’t,” Taylor gasped out.

Zac shook his head, gasping for breath himself between laughs. “No, I didn’t. But the look on your face. Priceless.”

“Why are you such an asshole?” Taylor asked, his eyes narrowing.

Zac shrugged. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

“Yeah, well, I can think of far more productive uses of your time,” Taylor replied, and Zac wasn’t sure he wasn’t imagining the flirty overtone.

“Yeah?” Zac asked, taking a step closer to the other man. “Like what?”

Taylor shrugged, and his expression was so disgustingly coy that Zac was now sure he wasn’t imagining it.

Deciding he probably didn’t have anything to lose—aside from his pride and possibly his job—Zac put his hands on Taylor’s shoulders and shoved him up against the wall. Despite being a few inches taller, he was easy to move and didn’t seem inclined to fight back, even as Zac leaned in and crushed their lips together.

In fact, he moaned. He fucking moaned. Zac wasn’t sure if it made him hate Taylor or want him more. Or both. Probably both.

He sucked Taylor’s bottom lip into his mouth, sinking his teeth into it and not caring if he drew blood. He wanted to leave a mark, to mar Taylor’s infuriatingly perfect beauty. Judging by the way he whimpered, Taylor wanted that, too. Zac decided he could have a lot of fun with Taylor, and it didn’t seem Taylor would object to any of it.

“Take your shirt off,” Zac breathed out, pulling back from the kiss just far enough to get the words out.

Taylor obliged almost a little too willingly, yanking his too tight t-shirt over his head, and his eagerness alone made Zac fear he might come on himself before he could even get Taylor naked. Not wanting to risk that, Zac dropped to his knees on the lushly carpeted floor, yanking harshly at Taylor’s belt. Taylor’s hand slipped down to help him and between the two of them they were easily able to maneuver Taylor’s jeans—no underwear, Zac realized—down his hips.

He was already hard, and Zac couldn’t resist the urge to wrap his hand around Taylor’s generous length. He liked the way his calloused hand looking, sliding up and down it. Even Taylor’s cock was perfect, Zac realized. He was sure his own didn’t compare at all, but at least he could make Taylor moan. That was enough.

Zac wasn’t proud or cocky about many things, but he knew he was a damn good fuck. He knew he could give Taylor something he would never forget. With that thought in mind, he leaned in and ran his tongue along Taylor’s length, then carefully took as much of it into his mouth as he could. What was left, he wrapped his fist around and stroked in time with his mouth’s motions. In no time, Taylor’s hips were bucking against his mouth, and he was letting out a string of curse words that even Zac found impressive.

“I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me—” Taylor whined, and Zac found he didn’t mind Taylor’s voice so much when it was saying things like that.

“If I don’t,” Zac said, pulling away from his dick with an audible pop, “then what? What kind of threat is that?”

Taylor shrugged and gave Zac a sheepish smirk.

Zac just rolled his eyes. “Well, turn around, then.”

Taylor didn’t hesitate in following that instruction, and Zac thought he could really get used to that sort of willingness. He also thought it could give him a real ego problem, but he was willing to risk that for the chance to see Taylor like that all the time—legs spread, palms pressed against the wall, perfectly round ass sticking out just for him.

Yeah, he could definitely get used to that view.

Unable to resist himself, Zac reached out and gave Taylor’s ass a smack. The way it jiggled was even better than he had expected, and he couldn’t stop himself from groaning.
“Well?” Taylor asked, turning his head to give Zac another smirk, this one much cockier. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

“Or what,” Zac replied, grasping Taylor’s hip with one hand and letting the other one creep between Taylor’s cheeks.

One finger slipped inside with little resistance, and that made Zac groan again. Knowing Taylor was so ready and willing made him even harder—and, though he wouldn’t have ever admitted it, a little bit jealous.

Not wanting to spend any more time thinking about that, Zac pulled his finger back and made quick work of pulling his own pants and underwear down. He stepped back in and positioned his dick where his finger had been. With both hands on Taylor’s hips, he pulled Taylor back onto him, relishing the way it made Taylor gasp and claw at the wall. A small voice at the back of Zac’s mind wanted to punish him for messing up the fresh paint, but an even louder voice wanted to pound him right through the whole wall.

That voice won.

Zac held onto Taylor’s hips and began to thrust into him, setting a ruthless pace. No matter how fast and hard he went, Taylor only begged for more, and Zac was more than willing to oblige. He wasn’t sure which one of them was the most pathetic in that equation, and he found that he really didn’t care at all. All he cared about was how good it felt to be inside Taylor, to feel him all around, and to listen to his moans as he grew closer and closer to his orgasm.

Knowing that he was close, too, Zac reached around to wrap a hand around Taylor’s dick. He jerked him off to the same relentless pace he had set with his hips, and soon the two of them were moaning in unison.

“Oh, shit—fuck!” Taylor cried out, leaning his head back against Zac’s shoulder. His entire body shuddered, and Zac struggled to hold him up as he shot a long stream of warm come into Zac’s hand and onto the wall.

Zac grabbed a handful of Taylor’s hair with his clean hand and let out a low growl, right in his ear, as he reached his own orgasm. For a moment, nothing existed but the way Taylor felt around him. Even when he came back down from that high, he found that he didn’t even care that they had created a mess he would have to clean up before he left work.

Although he wanted to stay right there forever, Zac knew that he couldn’t. As soon as he pulled away, the spell seemed to be broken. Zac turned away and wiped his hand on the towel he had never bothered to return to Taylor. With his back turned, he pulled his pants back up. When he spun back around to face Taylor, he saw—with some disappointment—that all of his clothes were in their rightful place again, too.

“Well,” Zac breathed out, falling back against the wall. “I’ll be damned.”

Taylor chuckled softly, that damnable sheepish look returning to his face for just a moment. “You said all of this will be finished in a few days?”

It took Zac a moment to process what Taylor meant by all of this. “I—yeah. Just a few finishing touches and then I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

Taylor stepped in closer and for a moment Zac thought he was going to kiss him. He didn’t. He just gave a half smile and said, “That’s a shame.”