March Madness, Day 4, Faculty, Zeke/Casey
Fandom: The Faculty
Pairing: Zeke/Casey
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 869
Notes: Schmoop! And I had to rewrite part of it because it got a bit way too OOC. But then I got sleepy so I settled for moderately OOC with an ending I'm not happy with. And I just wrote 'not tired with' so I'm going to call Dr. Freud and say good night.
In the blue-grey glow from the TV set, the paleness of Casey’s skin stands out even more than in daylight, the flicker washing Casey’s entire body in the same soft shade as the veins that lie beneath that Zeke likes to trace with long fingers once Casey is asleep.
Casey bends over to find his jeans, his bare back curving, the spine pressing outwards, and Casey doesn’t look so short naked, his frame no longer chopped into odd lengths by too-long t-shirts and slightly baggy jeans. And he certainly doesn’t feel small when their bodies are curved around one another in Zeke’s bed, or maybe Casey’s just trying not to disappear anymore, no longer feels the need to take up as little space as possible in hopes of being overlooked.
Zeke climbs out of bed and slides up behind Casey, feels him lean back against him even as he’s shaking out the legs of his jeans and saying, “I really need to go.”
Up close, Casey’s skin looks the same as it always does with the same sprays of freckles, and Zeke sets to the task of chasing the shadows that dance across Casey’s shoulders with his lips.
“Zeke. Come on.”
In the mostly dark, they are both hidden enough to say and do as they please, and Zeke plans to get his fill of all the things they don’t let daylight see.
“I’ve got to get back,” Casey protests, but Zeke can hear how his throat is dry, and Zeke can feel Casey’s fingers reaching up behind to the back of Zeke’s head to hold him in place.
“What, is Marcus going to miss you?” Zeke asks the skin behind Casey’s ear. They both know that Casey’s roommate probably hasn’t even noticed that he’s gone.
“Someone has to be there to roll him out of the puddle of puke.”
Zeke turns Casey around, and Casey meets his eyes without hesitation, something that is a recent development in the past six months and is one of the many reasons why Zeke believes that college agrees with Casey.
“If you’re trying to put me off, it’s not working,” Zeke tells him, and Casey grins.
“If you’re trying to convince me that you’re not head over fucking feet in love with me, it isn’t working.”
But Zeke ignores the comment, and Casey doesn’t pursue it, and that’s something else that’s changed in the past few months. Because Zeke won’t say the words, but he got an apartment fifteen minutes away from campus within two weeks of Casey getting his acceptance letter. Zeke won’t hold his hand as they walk down the street, but Zeke can’t sleep the nights that Casey isn’t there beside him. And Zeke still won’t tell anyone about them, but he no longer gets pissed when Casey comments that most everyone has figured it out already.
Casey no longer seeks the validation. He has it.
Zeke has his hands on Casey’s hips and holds him in place as he tries to retrieve his jeans once more.
Casey smiles. “I have a paper due at eight tomorrow. You can write it for me if you like, but either way one of us is going to be pretty bored tonight.”
Zeke sighs and lets go. “You want a ride?”
“The bus should be by in about five minutes. I should be able to catch if you stop hindering my attempts to wear pants.”
Zeke flops back onto the bed and watches as Casey pulls on his clothes and steps into his sneakers. He gathers his bag from where he dropped it by the door before, and with all that skin put away, he looks just like he always used to except with slightly longer hair and the stubble that Zeke never knew he was capable of.
“I hate clothes,” Zeke mumbles, not thinking.
Casey laughs, that same high pitched giggle that Zeke first heard in his garage three years ago, and says, “I can see that.” He steps between Zeke’s bare thighs, leans down, and gives him a kiss.
“Pick me up on your way home from work tomorrow. You can cook me dinner.”
“Such an honor. Why don’t you get your parents to send you that money instead of wasting it on a meal plan you don’t use?”
“Because they’d ask me where I was eating instead, and I would have to tell them ‘With that boyfriend I don’t have.’” He grins, kisses Zeke once more, and heads for the door.
“See you tomorrow, Case,” Zeke calls as Casey slips out the door. He’s smiling and he doesn’t even know why, and that happens more and more with Casey around. He gets up to lock the door, then shuts the television off. In the dark, with no Casey, he silently admits to himself the things he won’t say: they are not who they used to be, and there is no reason to pretend out here on their own. Zeke can’t decide if he hates himself more for believing them or not saying them, and Zeke does not sleep when he lays down in a bed that smells like the one person who refuses to hate him for either reason.
Pairing: Zeke/Casey
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 869
Notes: Schmoop! And I had to rewrite part of it because it got a bit way too OOC. But then I got sleepy so I settled for moderately OOC with an ending I'm not happy with. And I just wrote 'not tired with' so I'm going to call Dr. Freud and say good night.
In the blue-grey glow from the TV set, the paleness of Casey’s skin stands out even more than in daylight, the flicker washing Casey’s entire body in the same soft shade as the veins that lie beneath that Zeke likes to trace with long fingers once Casey is asleep.
Casey bends over to find his jeans, his bare back curving, the spine pressing outwards, and Casey doesn’t look so short naked, his frame no longer chopped into odd lengths by too-long t-shirts and slightly baggy jeans. And he certainly doesn’t feel small when their bodies are curved around one another in Zeke’s bed, or maybe Casey’s just trying not to disappear anymore, no longer feels the need to take up as little space as possible in hopes of being overlooked.
Zeke climbs out of bed and slides up behind Casey, feels him lean back against him even as he’s shaking out the legs of his jeans and saying, “I really need to go.”
Up close, Casey’s skin looks the same as it always does with the same sprays of freckles, and Zeke sets to the task of chasing the shadows that dance across Casey’s shoulders with his lips.
“Zeke. Come on.”
In the mostly dark, they are both hidden enough to say and do as they please, and Zeke plans to get his fill of all the things they don’t let daylight see.
“I’ve got to get back,” Casey protests, but Zeke can hear how his throat is dry, and Zeke can feel Casey’s fingers reaching up behind to the back of Zeke’s head to hold him in place.
“What, is Marcus going to miss you?” Zeke asks the skin behind Casey’s ear. They both know that Casey’s roommate probably hasn’t even noticed that he’s gone.
“Someone has to be there to roll him out of the puddle of puke.”
Zeke turns Casey around, and Casey meets his eyes without hesitation, something that is a recent development in the past six months and is one of the many reasons why Zeke believes that college agrees with Casey.
“If you’re trying to put me off, it’s not working,” Zeke tells him, and Casey grins.
“If you’re trying to convince me that you’re not head over fucking feet in love with me, it isn’t working.”
But Zeke ignores the comment, and Casey doesn’t pursue it, and that’s something else that’s changed in the past few months. Because Zeke won’t say the words, but he got an apartment fifteen minutes away from campus within two weeks of Casey getting his acceptance letter. Zeke won’t hold his hand as they walk down the street, but Zeke can’t sleep the nights that Casey isn’t there beside him. And Zeke still won’t tell anyone about them, but he no longer gets pissed when Casey comments that most everyone has figured it out already.
Casey no longer seeks the validation. He has it.
Zeke has his hands on Casey’s hips and holds him in place as he tries to retrieve his jeans once more.
Casey smiles. “I have a paper due at eight tomorrow. You can write it for me if you like, but either way one of us is going to be pretty bored tonight.”
Zeke sighs and lets go. “You want a ride?”
“The bus should be by in about five minutes. I should be able to catch if you stop hindering my attempts to wear pants.”
Zeke flops back onto the bed and watches as Casey pulls on his clothes and steps into his sneakers. He gathers his bag from where he dropped it by the door before, and with all that skin put away, he looks just like he always used to except with slightly longer hair and the stubble that Zeke never knew he was capable of.
“I hate clothes,” Zeke mumbles, not thinking.
Casey laughs, that same high pitched giggle that Zeke first heard in his garage three years ago, and says, “I can see that.” He steps between Zeke’s bare thighs, leans down, and gives him a kiss.
“Pick me up on your way home from work tomorrow. You can cook me dinner.”
“Such an honor. Why don’t you get your parents to send you that money instead of wasting it on a meal plan you don’t use?”
“Because they’d ask me where I was eating instead, and I would have to tell them ‘With that boyfriend I don’t have.’” He grins, kisses Zeke once more, and heads for the door.
“See you tomorrow, Case,” Zeke calls as Casey slips out the door. He’s smiling and he doesn’t even know why, and that happens more and more with Casey around. He gets up to lock the door, then shuts the television off. In the dark, with no Casey, he silently admits to himself the things he won’t say: they are not who they used to be, and there is no reason to pretend out here on their own. Zeke can’t decide if he hates himself more for believing them or not saying them, and Zeke does not sleep when he lays down in a bed that smells like the one person who refuses to hate him for either reason.