Chasm - Z/C, NC-17
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Chasm
by Serai
Zeke leans his head against the tiles of the handicapped stall. He got rid of Erik and Ted as quickly as possible, and then slipped in here to try and deal with what he's just seen. The cold tiles feel good in a distant way, as his mind reels and heart pounds.
University of San Diego. California. Why so far away? And why hadn't he said anything? This wasn’t an overnight thing, the process takes weeks. Not a word. He's leaving. He's leaving Herrington, leaving Ohio. He's leaving -
He's leaving me.
Zeke feels the blow like a fist slamming into his abdomen, knocking the breath straight out of him. He gasps for air, his jaw clenched, fighting not to make a sound. He wants to roar, he wants to slam his fist into the wall, cripple himself to drive out the fucking pain. Suddenly everything is dark and no one is there - alone alone alone alone - and for a moment all he wants to do is reach out into the darkness. Beg. Not again. Please.
Not again.
------------
He waits for Casey at the bottom of the front steps that afternoon instead of at the car. Casey looks surprised to see him there, leaning against the bricks. He also has the grace to look a little chagrined. Zeke drops the cigarette he's been smoking and grinds it into the concrete with his heel. "Got your camera?" he asks nonchalantly.
Casey's eyebrows lift. "You want me to bring it?" Zeke nods, and Casey answers, "All right. I'll meet you at the car." He turns to head back inside, and Zeke walks to the GTO at a leisurely pace. No hurry. The world's only ending. No hurry at all.
---------------
It isn't until their second go-round that evening, when Casey is doubled under him and Zeke's thrusts have quickened, driving sharp moans from Casey's mouth, his sweat dripping onto the porcelain skin, that the tears break through. Zeke gives a keening groan and then turns his face away, speeding up to cover his lapse. Dimly he hears Casey's short yell as he jets, and feels him clamping down, squeezing in quick bursts. His dick takes over at the sensation, and he slams hard, his loud grunts matching the wet slap of his thrusts. He leans down over Casey, who takes Zeke's neck in his hands and watches his coming with heavy-lidded eyes. Zeke licks his lips, staring at that open, heated mouth, and gives Casey one last thrust, driving deep. Then he shudders, spurting hot into his lover's body, and for a moment, there's nothing but a dark blanket that wraps him tight and the world disappearing, disappearing. No pain. No pain.
Too soon, the world returns. Gasping, trembling, he lowers his mouth to those sleepy, inviting lips and whispers his name, "Casey." Warm fingertips caress his face, wipe his tears. As Zeke looks down at him, a flash of light from a passing car outside flickers through the window, sparkling in a bright track along Casey's lashes and down his face. Zeke moves his lips to Casey's cheek and tastes the wet skin.
-----------------------
After drowsing a long while, Zeke rouses and walks over to pick up Casey's camera bag. He hands it to him without a word, then sits with one foot on the floor and the other tucked against his thigh, and reaches for a cigarette. He watches Casey preparing to shoot. Enough light has gone that Casey gets up and moves to the bedside lamp, but Zeke stops him.
"No," he says. Casey looks at him in surprise - it's the first time Zeke has ever demanded anything about the photos. He waits. "Turn on the overhead light," Zeke says, flicking ashes onto the carpet. His eyes are remote.
"All right," Casey replies, "whatever you say." The light flares, bright but not piercing. It washes out the deep shadows around Zeke's body, makes him perfectly visible. His skin stands out against the dark headboard. Casey walks slowly around him, step by step, then stops, waiting. After a last long inhale, Zeke leans over to put out his smoke.
-------------------
He makes Casey work for it.
At first he leans back on his hands and stares at the camera for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. In the bright light it's impossible not to see the anger in his eyes, the hurt. Casey bites his lip as he takes a shot - this is them, too, this pain, this silence. His breath catches when he sees Zeke is getting seriously aroused, his dick growing as it hardens. The stare remains, intensifying as his breath quickens and his teeth bare. Then he moves his hand to take hold and closes his eyes.
Casey struggles to get the images. Zeke keeps his eyes closed, turns his head into the pillows or away from the camera. He rolls onto his stomach, giving Casey his back. When Casey approaches, he turns away again. He keeps doing it, keeps shutting him out. At first it seems petty, a mean lashing-out, and it stings even though Casey knows he deserves it. He's punishing me.
But as it goes on, Casey begins to think there's more to it, that Zeke is doing something more than just being spiteful. If this is what you want, then I'll give it to you. Casey wipes his eyes as he tries to stay with it, to find the meaning as Zeke lifts up onto his knees and leans his forehead against the headboard, and he's abandoned, shut out. You've hurt me. I can't look at you. You're not here. The beautiful muscles of Zeke's ass clench and relax as he thrusts into his own fist, sharp groans sounding as he turns away again when Casey tries to snatch a profile image. He leans his shoulder against the headboard, then slides down to the bed again, rolls onto his back. He opens his eyes then, but looks down at his own body, as if he really were alone.
Alone. Oh god, that fucking word. Casey's heart starts to hurt as he finally gets what Zeke is doing. The mirror of his own actions, reflected here in the turned shoulder, the painful furrow of his brows, the utter loneliness of his movements. The jerking of his fist, and how he turns onto his side and bites the pillow, a desperate whine sounding as he rises towards his climax. He opens his mouth and tips his head back, going silent, and Casey keeps shooting, trying to capture the complex tangle of emotion tightening around them. A sob escapes him as Zeke opens his eyes and turns his gaze to the camera at last, all of it burning there in his look as he comes, the light shining on the damp sheen along his shoulders and the drop of sweat trickling along his neck. Not a sound leaves his lips as he shudders through the aftershocks. Then he turns away again and lies still. Casey carefully sets the camera down, then lies down on the bed next to Zeke. Their bodies are an inch apart, a distance that seems infinite, until Casey tentatively touches his lover's arm. He turns then, and finally looks into Casey's eyes. Their hands touch, and Zeke's gaze is silent and heavy with sadness. The silence lengthens unbearably.
"When?" he asks at last. Casey rubs his cheek against Zeke's hand, and kisses his fingers.
"August," he answers. Zeke feels a tightening at the word - three months - but he's too exhausted to react much. Mostly he just aches. Done is done, and there's nothing more to say. Zeke closes his eyes as Casey kisses him, and tries not to think of how few kisses are left.
Chapter 30 of High Contrast
Chapter 31
.
Chasm
by Serai
Zeke leans his head against the tiles of the handicapped stall. He got rid of Erik and Ted as quickly as possible, and then slipped in here to try and deal with what he's just seen. The cold tiles feel good in a distant way, as his mind reels and heart pounds.
University of San Diego. California. Why so far away? And why hadn't he said anything? This wasn’t an overnight thing, the process takes weeks. Not a word. He's leaving. He's leaving Herrington, leaving Ohio. He's leaving -
He's leaving me.
Zeke feels the blow like a fist slamming into his abdomen, knocking the breath straight out of him. He gasps for air, his jaw clenched, fighting not to make a sound. He wants to roar, he wants to slam his fist into the wall, cripple himself to drive out the fucking pain. Suddenly everything is dark and no one is there - alone alone alone alone - and for a moment all he wants to do is reach out into the darkness. Beg. Not again. Please.
Not again.
------------
He waits for Casey at the bottom of the front steps that afternoon instead of at the car. Casey looks surprised to see him there, leaning against the bricks. He also has the grace to look a little chagrined. Zeke drops the cigarette he's been smoking and grinds it into the concrete with his heel. "Got your camera?" he asks nonchalantly.
Casey's eyebrows lift. "You want me to bring it?" Zeke nods, and Casey answers, "All right. I'll meet you at the car." He turns to head back inside, and Zeke walks to the GTO at a leisurely pace. No hurry. The world's only ending. No hurry at all.
---------------
It isn't until their second go-round that evening, when Casey is doubled under him and Zeke's thrusts have quickened, driving sharp moans from Casey's mouth, his sweat dripping onto the porcelain skin, that the tears break through. Zeke gives a keening groan and then turns his face away, speeding up to cover his lapse. Dimly he hears Casey's short yell as he jets, and feels him clamping down, squeezing in quick bursts. His dick takes over at the sensation, and he slams hard, his loud grunts matching the wet slap of his thrusts. He leans down over Casey, who takes Zeke's neck in his hands and watches his coming with heavy-lidded eyes. Zeke licks his lips, staring at that open, heated mouth, and gives Casey one last thrust, driving deep. Then he shudders, spurting hot into his lover's body, and for a moment, there's nothing but a dark blanket that wraps him tight and the world disappearing, disappearing. No pain. No pain.
Too soon, the world returns. Gasping, trembling, he lowers his mouth to those sleepy, inviting lips and whispers his name, "Casey." Warm fingertips caress his face, wipe his tears. As Zeke looks down at him, a flash of light from a passing car outside flickers through the window, sparkling in a bright track along Casey's lashes and down his face. Zeke moves his lips to Casey's cheek and tastes the wet skin.
-----------------------
After drowsing a long while, Zeke rouses and walks over to pick up Casey's camera bag. He hands it to him without a word, then sits with one foot on the floor and the other tucked against his thigh, and reaches for a cigarette. He watches Casey preparing to shoot. Enough light has gone that Casey gets up and moves to the bedside lamp, but Zeke stops him.
"No," he says. Casey looks at him in surprise - it's the first time Zeke has ever demanded anything about the photos. He waits. "Turn on the overhead light," Zeke says, flicking ashes onto the carpet. His eyes are remote.
"All right," Casey replies, "whatever you say." The light flares, bright but not piercing. It washes out the deep shadows around Zeke's body, makes him perfectly visible. His skin stands out against the dark headboard. Casey walks slowly around him, step by step, then stops, waiting. After a last long inhale, Zeke leans over to put out his smoke.
-------------------
He makes Casey work for it.
At first he leans back on his hands and stares at the camera for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. In the bright light it's impossible not to see the anger in his eyes, the hurt. Casey bites his lip as he takes a shot - this is them, too, this pain, this silence. His breath catches when he sees Zeke is getting seriously aroused, his dick growing as it hardens. The stare remains, intensifying as his breath quickens and his teeth bare. Then he moves his hand to take hold and closes his eyes.
Casey struggles to get the images. Zeke keeps his eyes closed, turns his head into the pillows or away from the camera. He rolls onto his stomach, giving Casey his back. When Casey approaches, he turns away again. He keeps doing it, keeps shutting him out. At first it seems petty, a mean lashing-out, and it stings even though Casey knows he deserves it. He's punishing me.
But as it goes on, Casey begins to think there's more to it, that Zeke is doing something more than just being spiteful. If this is what you want, then I'll give it to you. Casey wipes his eyes as he tries to stay with it, to find the meaning as Zeke lifts up onto his knees and leans his forehead against the headboard, and he's abandoned, shut out. You've hurt me. I can't look at you. You're not here. The beautiful muscles of Zeke's ass clench and relax as he thrusts into his own fist, sharp groans sounding as he turns away again when Casey tries to snatch a profile image. He leans his shoulder against the headboard, then slides down to the bed again, rolls onto his back. He opens his eyes then, but looks down at his own body, as if he really were alone.
Alone. Oh god, that fucking word. Casey's heart starts to hurt as he finally gets what Zeke is doing. The mirror of his own actions, reflected here in the turned shoulder, the painful furrow of his brows, the utter loneliness of his movements. The jerking of his fist, and how he turns onto his side and bites the pillow, a desperate whine sounding as he rises towards his climax. He opens his mouth and tips his head back, going silent, and Casey keeps shooting, trying to capture the complex tangle of emotion tightening around them. A sob escapes him as Zeke opens his eyes and turns his gaze to the camera at last, all of it burning there in his look as he comes, the light shining on the damp sheen along his shoulders and the drop of sweat trickling along his neck. Not a sound leaves his lips as he shudders through the aftershocks. Then he turns away again and lies still. Casey carefully sets the camera down, then lies down on the bed next to Zeke. Their bodies are an inch apart, a distance that seems infinite, until Casey tentatively touches his lover's arm. He turns then, and finally looks into Casey's eyes. Their hands touch, and Zeke's gaze is silent and heavy with sadness. The silence lengthens unbearably.
"When?" he asks at last. Casey rubs his cheek against Zeke's hand, and kisses his fingers.
"August," he answers. Zeke feels a tightening at the word - three months - but he's too exhausted to react much. Mostly he just aches. Done is done, and there's nothing more to say. Zeke closes his eyes as Casey kisses him, and tries not to think of how few kisses are left.
Chapter 30 of High Contrast
Chapter 31
.