Mouse - Z/C, PG-13
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Mouse
by Serai
Casey jumped as Zeke's hand slapped the door of his open locker. "Casey," he said, his voice lowering into that tone, the one that made anyone around him tense up a notch. The one that said the claws were out, and Zeke was going to scratch somebody. Casey shrank back at the sound, ducking his head.
"What?" he asked, glimpsing Delilah out of the corner of his eye, rolling her eyes and smirking at him as she passed. He looked up at Zeke and felt angry at the intrusion. "What do you want?" he almost snapped.
Zeke's eyebrows went up, and then he smiled slowly. Taking advantage of a lull in the foot traffic around them, he leaned in and murmured quickly, "I'm going to fuck you tonight." He straightened up, and the tone of his voice a moment ago was capped off by the grin on his face now, the familiar grin that said he'd landed his blow, and knew it.
Casey gasped at the words and turned his face towards the dark space of his locker, feeling the same old flush rising in his face, the threat of tears he had to fight down, he was tired, so tired of this. Would he ever live a life where he wasn't pummeled every day? It didn't matter what Zeke was to him outside of this place. Within these walls, Casey would never be allowed to be anyone else, and the necessity of hiding what they were meant that Zeke would always be what he was. Too intelligent and detached to use his fists, Zeke was nonetheless a bully. His cruelty had a cheerful quality, exactly that of a cat playing with some small trapped thing, and his bright gaze could look feral. He wasn't kind, he wasn't warm, he tasted of blood not honey, and once he found a weakness, he always returned to it, eschewing open attacks for little wincing jabs. He had no sweetness in him.
Not here, at least.
But Casey knew how Zeke would have said that if no one had been here, if there were no eyes to see. He would have pressed Casey face-first against the cold metal of the lockers, licked his neck and had him manic hard with one squeeze. The words - I'm going to fuck you tonight - would have been soft sandpaper on a puff of damp breath, not a threat but a promise, and Zeke hard against his back. Not kind, not cruel, but strong, hot, safe. The image came on so sharp and intense, so sudden, that Casey's hand gripped steel, knuckles going white.
Then he heard his name on a soft whisper, and he opened his eyes to see Zeke's fingers sliding against the little door's edge. They slipped gently along the cold metal, back and forth, and he caught his breath. Zeke drew the moment out just a little more, long enough so Casey saw the warmth under the meanness, the sparkle of something he still didn't know how to define.
"Later, Case," Zeke said, and walked off.
Chapter 32 of High Contrast
Chapter 33'.
Mouse
by Serai
Casey jumped as Zeke's hand slapped the door of his open locker. "Casey," he said, his voice lowering into that tone, the one that made anyone around him tense up a notch. The one that said the claws were out, and Zeke was going to scratch somebody. Casey shrank back at the sound, ducking his head.
"What?" he asked, glimpsing Delilah out of the corner of his eye, rolling her eyes and smirking at him as she passed. He looked up at Zeke and felt angry at the intrusion. "What do you want?" he almost snapped.
Zeke's eyebrows went up, and then he smiled slowly. Taking advantage of a lull in the foot traffic around them, he leaned in and murmured quickly, "I'm going to fuck you tonight." He straightened up, and the tone of his voice a moment ago was capped off by the grin on his face now, the familiar grin that said he'd landed his blow, and knew it.
Casey gasped at the words and turned his face towards the dark space of his locker, feeling the same old flush rising in his face, the threat of tears he had to fight down, he was tired, so tired of this. Would he ever live a life where he wasn't pummeled every day? It didn't matter what Zeke was to him outside of this place. Within these walls, Casey would never be allowed to be anyone else, and the necessity of hiding what they were meant that Zeke would always be what he was. Too intelligent and detached to use his fists, Zeke was nonetheless a bully. His cruelty had a cheerful quality, exactly that of a cat playing with some small trapped thing, and his bright gaze could look feral. He wasn't kind, he wasn't warm, he tasted of blood not honey, and once he found a weakness, he always returned to it, eschewing open attacks for little wincing jabs. He had no sweetness in him.
Not here, at least.
But Casey knew how Zeke would have said that if no one had been here, if there were no eyes to see. He would have pressed Casey face-first against the cold metal of the lockers, licked his neck and had him manic hard with one squeeze. The words - I'm going to fuck you tonight - would have been soft sandpaper on a puff of damp breath, not a threat but a promise, and Zeke hard against his back. Not kind, not cruel, but strong, hot, safe. The image came on so sharp and intense, so sudden, that Casey's hand gripped steel, knuckles going white.
Then he heard his name on a soft whisper, and he opened his eyes to see Zeke's fingers sliding against the little door's edge. They slipped gently along the cold metal, back and forth, and he caught his breath. Zeke drew the moment out just a little more, long enough so Casey saw the warmth under the meanness, the sparkle of something he still didn't know how to define.
"Later, Case," Zeke said, and walked off.
Chapter 32 of High Contrast
Chapter 33'.