(no subject)
No idea why THIS one needed to be written, but it did. Maybe I needed a break from Torrin!fluff, lol...
Title: Wasn't What it Was
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: Hard R
Warning(s): heavy angst, hurt!/comfort?, non-con (heavily implied, non-graphic)
Synopsis: It's not what he thinks--what either ONE of them thinks.
“No... waitasec...”
“Mmm, what?”
“I-stop. Stop, stop...”
“Baby, you're hard. You can't say you don't want this.”
Zeke knew that Casey's parents had just gotten caller-ID, which was why his phone calls were going unanswered. Hello, you've reached the Connors; we can't come to the phone right now... this had played in Zeke's ear way too many times today, but he waited through Mr. Connor's long-winded recording anyway.
“I'm... hic!...seeing someone, I can't...”
Chuckling. “'Course you are. That's why you're naked in bed with me, right?”
Beep.
“Casey. Pick up,” Zeke snapped out of his blurry memories to say. “I know you're there. Please, pick up the damned phone.”
Zeke waited, not saying a word for ten seconds. “I'm drunk, you can't do this, ain't right.” “Pick up,” Zeke demanded through clenched teeth, but in the next second, he hung up the phone and stood up fast to go into the kitchen. However unwise it was, he grabbed a beer, opened it and slugged back half in one go. 'This isn't fucking fair,' he thought, tears welling in his eyes. It wasn't his fault, he had no idea what he'd been doing... drunk, stupid and upset was a dangerous mix. He knew that now, too well. But he was alone now, instead of being surrounded by a giant party he wished he'd cancelled. Every door was locked, he was safe; and too desperate to keep himself from striding back into the living room, picking up the phone and dialing Casey's number again.
“Hello, you've reached...” God damn it, damn HIM. Zeke's breathing became erratic now, and the moment the machine's 'beep' came, he was ready to explode.
“Casey, pick. Up. The fucking phone!” he yelled. “Pick it up NOW! I'm f-fucking serious, I ain't gonna stop calling until--”
A loud screech of a phone's feedback burst into Zeke's ear. He jumped a little before Casey's voice came through, “Stop fucking calling me.”
“Casey, no, you-“ Zeke went to reply, but a loud clack! and dead silence followed. Taking hot, heavy breaths through his nose, Zeke threw the phone to the other side of the couch, grabbed his keys from the coffee table and left. Once out on the road, Zeke began cursing himself for not picking up a new radio. The silent surroundings made his brain buzz with more disjointed but clearer-every-day memories yet again.
“Please s-stop, I don't WANT you to--”
“Oh... oh, you feel so good...”
Tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. “Get OFF of me, n-now!”
“Mmm-hmm, too late for that, baby.”
The pit in Zeke's stomach grew and grew, until he was pulling up to the curb in front of Casey's house. The tires screeched; Zeke got out and darted his eyes up to the second floor. Without a doubt, Casey had just been at his bedroom window looking out, going by the movement of the curtains. Terrified but determined, Zeke marched down the walkway leading to the porch, but he hadn't gotten to the top step when the door opened and Mrs. Connor was standing behind the closed screen door. Zeke saw her hand go to the latch and heard the light snap of its lock. He stopped and stared at her, not knowing what to say.
“He's not home, Zeke. Go home,” she stated, her voice angry and firm.
“He's right upstairs-saw him peek out. Get him down here,” Zeke replied defiantly. The woman stood straighter, eyes widening.
“Don't make me call my husband... or worse, the police,” she said.
“Go ahead. But I ain't leaving until that boy comes down here to lemmee talk to him.”
“Why won't you take 'no' for an answer? Are you THAT immature? He's told you to leave him alone, so DO that, unless you want a restraining order and a harassment charge on your record!”
Zeke didn't care. Maybe it was awful, going up the steps and stopping a few inches away from the screen to lean in and say, “Get him. Now.”
“Leave!” she yelled, but jumped a mile when Zeke began pounding on the metal frame; it created an ear-splitting cacophony.
“CASEY! I know you're here!!” he bellowed, still pounding away.
“Get OUT of here, now! I'll call, I s-swear!”
Just as Zeke was about to holler more demands, Mrs. Connor was stepping back quickly, looking shocked as Casey got in front of her, unlocked the door then pushed it open in a hard swoop. Zeke almost took a hit to the face, but he thankfully hopped a few steps back; not enough to escape the shove Casey gave him. He had to grab the banister before falling backwards onto the walk.
“Don't you fucking dare scream at my mom like that.” Casey's expression was cold, dark and dangerous as he stared at Zeke. Never before had he looked so imposing.
“C-Casey--”
Without turning around, Casey said, “Go in the house, lock the door; I'll take care of this.”
Mrs. Connor looked nervous and reluctant. “I'm calling the cops.”
“NO, Mom. I'll take care of this.”
Zeke's chest shuddered with how hard he was breathing. Watching Mrs. Connor step back and shut the door, he felt sick at the tears she had in her eyes.
Lifting his arms to try to push away; getting them held down.
“Just give in, babe.”
“I said NO! Get off and--stop!”
Getting cut-off by a rough kiss...
Once the lock was set, Casey lifted a hand to point at Zeke. “I have told you, over and over again in school, on the phone-I DON'T want to fucking talk to you anymore. Get it through your thick fucking head.”
“You haven't let me explain, explain fucking anything...”
“I don't need your fucking lame-assed explanations, I was there. Remember?”
“Case... listen to me, I w-was drunk, I had no fucking idea what was happening, you gotta fucking believe me.”
“With your record?” Casey flared his nostrils and seethed a moment; Zeke was feeling some fury rise-up, himself.
“That's not fucking fair,” he replied in a gritty voice.
“The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior. Don't think I'm an idiot; I knew what shit you got up to before we hooked-up.”
“I hadn't... wanted... to do what I DID.”
“Hah, right...”
The door creaking open. “Wha...”
“Ca... Casey...”
“I was too drunk, Casey, too drunk to stop anything, and she...” Zeke paused to breathe; Casey's expression stayed firm, making Zeke feel desperate enough to feel his eyes go wet. “She got me upstairs and started shit, I... I didn't want it.”
“Oh. Oh, this is new.”
“It's true, why won't you believe me??”
“Because you want me to believe-to actually fucking BELIEVE that that chick raped you? Give me a goddamned break, you can tell some tall-tales sometimes... but this takes the fucking cake,” Casey ranted.
Zeke went deathly still and his face went cold. Raped... he hadn't thought on that, rape? That didn't happen to guys. That didn't happen to Zeke Fucking Tyler, of ALL guys. He'd gotten hard, hadn't he? Just like Jess said, using it against him, ruining everything for him, making him feel awful, used, sick, dirty, “Yea,” he uttered.
“'Yea' what?”
“I was.”
For a moment, Casey simply stared with wild wonder at Zeke, until a few chuckles puffed out. “Yea, right,” he replied, voice chilly as he turned back to the door. All Zeke could do was stare after him, feeling helpless and lost. Casey opened the screen door and put his hand on the other knob, but turned back; his mouth was open as if he was going to give Zeke some kind of 'parting shot', but he went still and silent instead. Zeke looked away and down, everything in him a muddled-up mess. That's when he noticed tiny drops of something falling on the wooden stair below. It took him a moment to realize that they were his own tears.
“Zeke?”
“You liked it... get over it.”
“Zeke...?” Casey returned, all to take Zeke's chin and lift his head to make him face him. Instead of looking angry, Casey emoted nothing but wary concern. “Zeke, don't lie to me. Don't.”
Zeke snarled. “Why the fuck would I l-lie about this?”
He must've sounded honest enough; Casey took a shaky breath then glanced to the house. “Come... come in,” he said, now moving his hand down to Zeke's. For a fleeting moment, Zeke thought to pull away, RUN away, but he felt too weak. He let Casey lead him into the house. The loud pulse pounding in his ears made it hard to hear whatever Casey was telling his panicked mother, but instead of the woman shoving Zeke back outside and running to call 911, she simply stared at him with shock and, again, concern.
“Go sit down, I'll get you something to drink,” Casey said on the way to the living room's couch. Zeke sat and stared blankly at the TV ahead, decorated with picture frames and the crystal animals Mrs. Connor loved collecting.
He'd hated every minute. Every goddamned, fucking, disgusting minute. At least now he knew that, along with the reason he'd taken so many showers over the weekend.
Title: Wasn't What it Was
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: Hard R
Warning(s): heavy angst, hurt!/comfort?, non-con (heavily implied, non-graphic)
Synopsis: It's not what he thinks--what either ONE of them thinks.
“No... waitasec...”
“Mmm, what?”
“I-stop. Stop, stop...”
“Baby, you're hard. You can't say you don't want this.”
Zeke knew that Casey's parents had just gotten caller-ID, which was why his phone calls were going unanswered. Hello, you've reached the Connors; we can't come to the phone right now... this had played in Zeke's ear way too many times today, but he waited through Mr. Connor's long-winded recording anyway.
“I'm... hic!...seeing someone, I can't...”
Chuckling. “'Course you are. That's why you're naked in bed with me, right?”
Beep.
“Casey. Pick up,” Zeke snapped out of his blurry memories to say. “I know you're there. Please, pick up the damned phone.”
Zeke waited, not saying a word for ten seconds. “I'm drunk, you can't do this, ain't right.” “Pick up,” Zeke demanded through clenched teeth, but in the next second, he hung up the phone and stood up fast to go into the kitchen. However unwise it was, he grabbed a beer, opened it and slugged back half in one go. 'This isn't fucking fair,' he thought, tears welling in his eyes. It wasn't his fault, he had no idea what he'd been doing... drunk, stupid and upset was a dangerous mix. He knew that now, too well. But he was alone now, instead of being surrounded by a giant party he wished he'd cancelled. Every door was locked, he was safe; and too desperate to keep himself from striding back into the living room, picking up the phone and dialing Casey's number again.
“Hello, you've reached...” God damn it, damn HIM. Zeke's breathing became erratic now, and the moment the machine's 'beep' came, he was ready to explode.
“Casey, pick. Up. The fucking phone!” he yelled. “Pick it up NOW! I'm f-fucking serious, I ain't gonna stop calling until--”
A loud screech of a phone's feedback burst into Zeke's ear. He jumped a little before Casey's voice came through, “Stop fucking calling me.”
“Casey, no, you-“ Zeke went to reply, but a loud clack! and dead silence followed. Taking hot, heavy breaths through his nose, Zeke threw the phone to the other side of the couch, grabbed his keys from the coffee table and left. Once out on the road, Zeke began cursing himself for not picking up a new radio. The silent surroundings made his brain buzz with more disjointed but clearer-every-day memories yet again.
“Please s-stop, I don't WANT you to--”
“Oh... oh, you feel so good...”
Tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. “Get OFF of me, n-now!”
“Mmm-hmm, too late for that, baby.”
The pit in Zeke's stomach grew and grew, until he was pulling up to the curb in front of Casey's house. The tires screeched; Zeke got out and darted his eyes up to the second floor. Without a doubt, Casey had just been at his bedroom window looking out, going by the movement of the curtains. Terrified but determined, Zeke marched down the walkway leading to the porch, but he hadn't gotten to the top step when the door opened and Mrs. Connor was standing behind the closed screen door. Zeke saw her hand go to the latch and heard the light snap of its lock. He stopped and stared at her, not knowing what to say.
“He's not home, Zeke. Go home,” she stated, her voice angry and firm.
“He's right upstairs-saw him peek out. Get him down here,” Zeke replied defiantly. The woman stood straighter, eyes widening.
“Don't make me call my husband... or worse, the police,” she said.
“Go ahead. But I ain't leaving until that boy comes down here to lemmee talk to him.”
“Why won't you take 'no' for an answer? Are you THAT immature? He's told you to leave him alone, so DO that, unless you want a restraining order and a harassment charge on your record!”
Zeke didn't care. Maybe it was awful, going up the steps and stopping a few inches away from the screen to lean in and say, “Get him. Now.”
“Leave!” she yelled, but jumped a mile when Zeke began pounding on the metal frame; it created an ear-splitting cacophony.
“CASEY! I know you're here!!” he bellowed, still pounding away.
“Get OUT of here, now! I'll call, I s-swear!”
Just as Zeke was about to holler more demands, Mrs. Connor was stepping back quickly, looking shocked as Casey got in front of her, unlocked the door then pushed it open in a hard swoop. Zeke almost took a hit to the face, but he thankfully hopped a few steps back; not enough to escape the shove Casey gave him. He had to grab the banister before falling backwards onto the walk.
“Don't you fucking dare scream at my mom like that.” Casey's expression was cold, dark and dangerous as he stared at Zeke. Never before had he looked so imposing.
“C-Casey--”
Without turning around, Casey said, “Go in the house, lock the door; I'll take care of this.”
Mrs. Connor looked nervous and reluctant. “I'm calling the cops.”
“NO, Mom. I'll take care of this.”
Zeke's chest shuddered with how hard he was breathing. Watching Mrs. Connor step back and shut the door, he felt sick at the tears she had in her eyes.
Lifting his arms to try to push away; getting them held down.
“Just give in, babe.”
“I said NO! Get off and--stop!”
Getting cut-off by a rough kiss...
Once the lock was set, Casey lifted a hand to point at Zeke. “I have told you, over and over again in school, on the phone-I DON'T want to fucking talk to you anymore. Get it through your thick fucking head.”
“You haven't let me explain, explain fucking anything...”
“I don't need your fucking lame-assed explanations, I was there. Remember?”
“Case... listen to me, I w-was drunk, I had no fucking idea what was happening, you gotta fucking believe me.”
“With your record?” Casey flared his nostrils and seethed a moment; Zeke was feeling some fury rise-up, himself.
“That's not fucking fair,” he replied in a gritty voice.
“The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior. Don't think I'm an idiot; I knew what shit you got up to before we hooked-up.”
“I hadn't... wanted... to do what I DID.”
“Hah, right...”
The door creaking open. “Wha...”
“Ca... Casey...”
“I was too drunk, Casey, too drunk to stop anything, and she...” Zeke paused to breathe; Casey's expression stayed firm, making Zeke feel desperate enough to feel his eyes go wet. “She got me upstairs and started shit, I... I didn't want it.”
“Oh. Oh, this is new.”
“It's true, why won't you believe me??”
“Because you want me to believe-to actually fucking BELIEVE that that chick raped you? Give me a goddamned break, you can tell some tall-tales sometimes... but this takes the fucking cake,” Casey ranted.
Zeke went deathly still and his face went cold. Raped... he hadn't thought on that, rape? That didn't happen to guys. That didn't happen to Zeke Fucking Tyler, of ALL guys. He'd gotten hard, hadn't he? Just like Jess said, using it against him, ruining everything for him, making him feel awful, used, sick, dirty, “Yea,” he uttered.
“'Yea' what?”
“I was.”
For a moment, Casey simply stared with wild wonder at Zeke, until a few chuckles puffed out. “Yea, right,” he replied, voice chilly as he turned back to the door. All Zeke could do was stare after him, feeling helpless and lost. Casey opened the screen door and put his hand on the other knob, but turned back; his mouth was open as if he was going to give Zeke some kind of 'parting shot', but he went still and silent instead. Zeke looked away and down, everything in him a muddled-up mess. That's when he noticed tiny drops of something falling on the wooden stair below. It took him a moment to realize that they were his own tears.
“Zeke?”
“You liked it... get over it.”
“Zeke...?” Casey returned, all to take Zeke's chin and lift his head to make him face him. Instead of looking angry, Casey emoted nothing but wary concern. “Zeke, don't lie to me. Don't.”
Zeke snarled. “Why the fuck would I l-lie about this?”
He must've sounded honest enough; Casey took a shaky breath then glanced to the house. “Come... come in,” he said, now moving his hand down to Zeke's. For a fleeting moment, Zeke thought to pull away, RUN away, but he felt too weak. He let Casey lead him into the house. The loud pulse pounding in his ears made it hard to hear whatever Casey was telling his panicked mother, but instead of the woman shoving Zeke back outside and running to call 911, she simply stared at him with shock and, again, concern.
“Go sit down, I'll get you something to drink,” Casey said on the way to the living room's couch. Zeke sat and stared blankly at the TV ahead, decorated with picture frames and the crystal animals Mrs. Connor loved collecting.
He'd hated every minute. Every goddamned, fucking, disgusting minute. At least now he knew that, along with the reason he'd taken so many showers over the weekend.