Title: One Hundred Drabble Challenge
Author: honeyandvinegar
Pairing: Casey/Zeke
Rating: PG to NC17
Synopsis: One hundred drabbles with one-word cues.
Warnings: Some drabbles with rough situations, heavy angst and bullying.
Disclaimer: I own nothing--all fantasy on my end.
Author's Notes: Written for the stories_100 challenge community on livejournal.
The lovely banner for completing the challenge can be viewed here!


Casey's never been so fucking bold before; he's the scared boy that blended into walls and stalls. Zeke remembers every punch he'd gotten, every tissue covered in blood that he'd see on the bathroom floor where Casey had missed the trash, the small voice cursing quietly in the stall. He doesn't do that nowadays; he'd rather share lunch with Zeke on the hood of his car, like now. They're good friends, and Casey's not getting hurt anymore.

The white dot of milkshake on his lip looks enticing when he says, “Fucking kiss me, Zeke”, and Zeke licks his lips eagerly.



Zeke likes to pretend that he's impenetrable. He's a force of 'cool', and not one thing can touch him. You should feel lucky if you get a smile out of him. His strides are long, his attention easily swayed. He rarely has a purpose to where he's going, but he's gonna get there and probably get bored soon after.

After Casey discovered that Zeke crumples into a ball of giggles when his bellybutton's touched in ANY way, shape or form, he took every advantage to hug him at the middle, always sneaking a hand to it to hear Zeke laugh.



Zeke grins from ear to ear as Casey prunes Zeke's hair; where the kid learned how to 'hairdress' is beyond him (his mom?), but he'll never go to the barbershop again. The barber isn't as sweet as Casey is; or at least the one he saw for years, anyways. He's not looking for some 'Vidal' type of cut, anyways. Vidal wouldn't be bare-chested when he'd give Zeke a 'do either, and that's just something Zeke likes about when Casey does his hair.

“Christ Zeke, you have a MILLION split ends,” Casey complains. Zeke stares at a nipple and sighs.



Perhaps they wouldn't have been so mad if Casey had called, or even if he'd been a little late. Zeke isn't used to parents, so when Casey had said he had a curfew he'd laughed. “So I guess it's just a quickie tonight, huh?” Zeke had said. “Not my fault.”

“I know, babe,”... and the passenger-seat went back.

Zeke winces when the front door at Casey's slams open, his dad standing there with the look of death on his face as Casey walks up. Who knew that they'd need three hours worth of sleep after fifteen minutes of frantic sex...?



Fucking family vacations; stupid fucking parents with their 'you're not old enough to be home on your own, Casey' mentality. Right now, Casey imagines that he and Zeke would be watching a late night movie, hands roaming slowly, gently, moving under clothing... Instead he's lying on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar motel in New York State. He waits until his parents are snoring in their bed five feet away before shoving his hand into his pajama pants, pretending his hand is Zeke's. He comes a small while later, knowing he has a whole fucking weekend left of this crap.



“When the hell does Casey Connor show up at my house?”

“Since he's been told for the last three weeks that you keep leaving his book at home.”

Zeke smiled wryly; he rarely talked to this kid unless he needed a pencil. He lets him in however, looks under the couch and finds the textbook that Casey let him borrow for 'just one night'. Zeke had lost his and was denied a replacement, seeing as that WAS a replacement. When Casey turns to the door to leave, Zeke's back is to it. “Just ordered pizza,” he says. Casey blinks.




Zeke never cared for 'Spring Break' before; it was all some mad machine made up to create lots of dollars for places like Miami and Mexico. All kids with rich mommies and daddies who allowed their sons and daughters to go get plastered on the beach, throw up on the sidewalk, and flash boobs at camera crews.

But it's been a long time since Christmas, and the first thing on Zeke's mind is that Casey's plane is about to land and he needs to pick him up. He sent Casey the ticket home; his parents don't even know he's coming.



The longest any relationship Zeke had was about a week, and that was only because the girl woke up before he did- on what he'd PLANNED as one of the usual one-nighters. He'd scowl passing through card aisles with all their fucking “Happy Anniversaries” plastered on paper. He'd never gotten a card like that, and didn't crave one.

So it's quite a surprise when he's handed one in a cream-colored envelope, Casey standing there with a big goofy grin. “Happy Second,” he said. Zeke had to smile, realizing some things are worth sticking around for.

The card made him cry.



At age eleven, Casey and his family went to Maine to visit family. They lived on a beach and Casey had been so, so excited to swim in the actual ocean. That excitement died an early death after a jellyfish stung him; he didn't go back in for the rest of the week they'd stayed.

He swore he'd NEVER go back, but with Zeke's arms around him, easing him into the saltwater, he gains some confidence. Zeke didn't drive to Rhode Island to let him sit on a towel, after all. Salted kisses are worth the risk Casey thinks afterwards.



“C'mon, you KNOW I can't swim well!!”

“They're your shorts, Casey, not mine; it was YOUR turn on the rope swing. Not... mine.”

Casey huffs indignantly; Zeke loves it when he huffs indignantly.

“PLEASE, you swim really good, can you just GET them for me??” Casey pleads.

Zeke smiles, looking towards the blue swimming shorts in the middle of the lake; he can cover the distance easily. He groans and sits on the sand, a good ten yards away from the edge of the water and holds out the towel again. “Only if you come ashore, Casey.”

Casey huffs indignantly.



Zeke swallowed and turned his bleary eyes Casey's way; he had to smile at the post-coital bliss of Casey's face, the light sheen of sweat over his chest and stomach. Sexiest little motherfucker there ever was, lying right next to him- freshly-fucked boy in all his glory.

“Hey Case?”


“You REALLY like breaking the third commandment.”


Zeke smiled, thinking back to only two minutes before.

”FUCK... fuck me God, JESUS... holy motherfucking Christ... oh... GOD! Zeke, fucking FUCK me- GOD!!! YES... CHRIST!!”

“You're so fucking hot when you come...” Zeke said with a drowsy grin before passing out.



No one has ever seen Casey nude; he changes in the bathroom stalls of the locker room, escaping the jocks' constant torment while at his most vulnerable. His mother knocks before entering his room, a good thing. Girlfriends? If he'd ever HAD one, he'd insist the lights stay off.

But when Zeke told him to take off his clothes, there was only a moment's hesitation before undoing his shirt buttons; Casey could have flipped him off and left Zeke's bedroom, but he didn't. Zeke only undid his button and zipper, and it made Casey feel so beautiful when they fucked.



All it took was one punch, and no one was going to bother him anymore. From the first time Zeke had set eyes on the boy, he hoped it would happen; Casey had been a freshman, jumping futilely to the basketball hoop to get his underwear down from where it'd been tossed. Instead of fighting back, he'd run into the locker room crying. It sealed the deal.

When Gabe pushed Casey into the lockers on this day, Casey snapped, drew a fist and Gabe's ass met the floor. Zeke beamed with pride as Casey was taken to the principal's office.



“Here's yours, Ezekiel,”

Casey watches as Zeke blinks, staring at the wrapped package being presented to him.

“Huh?” he says. Casey's mother smiles.

“It's your present...?” she says, amused. Zeke looks utterly confused. He almost didn't come to the Connor's holiday dinner, but Casey insisted. From the looks of things, he hadn't expected a gift, but Casey's parents were too happy that Casey had a friend TO give a present to. Casey almost gasps when Zeke looks up with a wide smile, eyes glistening. He hasn't even opened it yet, but it doesn't even matter what it is it seems.


Author's Note: I wrote this out just as it's shown here then checked the word count- EXACTLY 100 words without editing. W00T! ;)

“He used to buy me candy every Saturday- any candy I wanted, told me to hide it from my parents,”

Zeke smiles, rubbing Casey's shoulder blades gently. He doesn't have very close memories of his parents, never mind grandparents. “Sounds like he was a cool guy,” Zeke replies, putting his lips to the top of Casey's head and just... staying there. “Yea,” Casey croaks out, hands squeezing Zeke's sides even tighter. Zeke sighs sadly, finally moving his lips into a kiss at Casey's hair. He'd never been to a funeral before; even though he didn't know Casey's grandfather, he'd cried too.


Continuation of 'Sorrow'

Casey didn't expect anything after his grandfather died, but was handed a small velvet box by his grandmother when he visited after the funeral. Casey opens it; the “Purple Heart” from Grandpa's time in WWII lies there. Casey remembers the cane he used, needing it since having a gunshot wound to his knee. Perhaps Casey had never been shot, but he gets the feeling that out of everyone, his grandfather knew more than anyone on what he'd been put through all these years.

“He WAS cool,” Zeke says when Casey shows it to him, kissing him lightly with a smile.



Mouth cuts are always the worst. Zeke is surprised that Casey didn't bite through his tongue; by the looks of it, he may as well have.

“You're gonna need stitches,” he says, gently replacing the cloth Casey had stuffed in his mouth to try and stop the bleeding.

“I'm sick of this,” Casey's muffled voice laments, eyes filling. Zeke puts his arms around his shoulders and leads him out. He waits with Casey in the office until his mother picks him up then heads out to tend to the business of slamming Craig Falley's head into a locker eight times.



Casey knows about the small book Zeke carries in his back pocket; he'd seen him take it out and write Cheryl Courson's number in it a few weeks back. He highly doubts Zeke even CALLS those numbers, judging by the glares Cheryl was giving him less than a week later. Zeke was too into one night stands to care; Cheryl should have known better. Casey doesn't care if he's called once, fucked then ignored, however. He doesn't even care if Zeke writes it in as a joke. Casey just wants his number in that little black book so fucking desperately.



Zeke stares at Casey from across the lunch area, knowing how rare it is to see Casey eating without bleachers under his ass. He's talking with Delilah about pictures for the school newspaper, so she'd probably demanded he be here. He looks uncomfortable as he eats, like he's out of his element and ready to be smacked down for daring to show his face ''round these parts'. He's too used to being alone, safe in his seclusion.

The marshmallow fluff of his sandwich traces his lips, and he won't fucking wipe it away. Zeke's getting mad at his dirty thoughts.


Author's Note: Again, writ as it is then counted, 100 words! Rock on! ;);)

The movie ended a while ago, the last thirty minutes of it gone ignored. It didn't matter that both Casey and Zeke had been dying to see it; it was a shit movie anyways. Casey lifts his body up, straddling Zeke's hips as he lets his jeans be unbuttoned. The screen shines bright blue over Zeke's chest and arms, gone into indigo shadows in the curves of his underarms and neck. It makes him look odd but so beautiful; a hand finds its way to Casey's rigid cock and he lowers down again, wanting to taste the sky below him.



They should have been careful; hell, they shouldn't have even DONE this. Zeke couldn't help it however. The small kiss Casey tried serving up to 'stave themselves off' while hanging out with Stan and Stokely made Zeke crazy enough and had him grab Casey up off the linoleum floor of the bathroom, perch him onto the sink to push hard, passionate kisses on his lips and neck. Now Stokely was standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and mouth gaping open. They didn't know what to do; a smile soon replaced the shock, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“That's so hot,” she said.



“Casey, the only alien in this school- is you.”

Casey retorts with his trademarked “fuck you”, because that's all he ever does- all he CAN do. Zeke saunters over, mocking sympathy with hidden malice behind his eyes. He's never touched Casey before, but he shrinks in his presence anyways- Zeke has intimidation down pat. He laughs when Casey comes into bathrooms bleeding; for that Casey hates him, almost more than those who made him bleed in the first place.

Furlong walks in then; Casey breathes a sigh of relief. But when Furlong draws the shade, he's suddenly glad Zeke's there.




The box of chocolates is shoved to Casey's chest, making him look down in surprise. When Zeke asked him to meet him in the bathroom during lunch, he thought Zeke just wanted a blowjob. That's what he's USUALLY doing about this time, kneeling onto the cold tiles in a stall on demand. Sometimes if he's lucky, he goes home with Zeke and gets the favor returned.

“Thought you didn't believe in Valentine's Day,” Casey says with an air of cockiness.

Zeke smiles and pushes his back to the stall's wall, kissing him voraciously. This was no fling, Casey realized.



It's hard for Zeke to smile when Casey's mother brings out a birthday cake, topped with seventeen candles. Just as it's probably always been, a candle for each year marking their son's presence in their lives.

He's always teased Casey and the whole 'parental unit' thing; curfews, permission slips, grounding... Casey gets mad and glares, especially when the issue of “Who dresses you in the morning?” comes up. Zeke will chuckle away, maybe taking it back later but not without laughing still.

Right now however, he's thinking on how he's never had a birthday cake, and how lucky Casey is.



Zeke KNOWS it's just another tourist that just blinded Casey with their flash. The picture was taken with one of those one-time-use cameras, interrupting their lunch. These people have been infesting Herrington lately, everyone wanting to see first-hand the town that had gotten taken over. There's no excuse however to make Casey jump in surprise and shock, no matter his notoriety in papers and magazines.

The woman smiles and scampers off without a word, Zeke watching her with narrowed eyes. When he turns back to Casey, the kid is shaking. “Let's go to my place,” Zeke says, grabbing his jacket.



“You did AWESOME out there! Coach is probably gonna put you on first string,” Zeke nods slowly as he removes his shoulder pads, looking over at Gabe with an amused expression. “Yea, there's just one problem.”

“What's that?”

Zeke stands up from the bench and walks over to the much shorter young man. He gets close, making Gabe visibly worry. Arms crossed and lips smiling, Zeke leans in.

“Hurt him again... and I kill you,” he says. Gabe doesn't need to ask “who are you talking about?” he knows and KNOWS Zeke means it and nods, frozen to the spot.



Casey honestly cannot believe this.

“Well Casey... I know you haven't brought home any girls, but- well, I think it's time we talked about...”

Shit no; the 'sex-talk' at age seventeen?? “Um, Dad...”

“Let me just talk to you here, son. I've been putting it off, and I really shouldn't have.” Casey nods slowly, trying to block out the horror of his father stammering on the words 'intercourse' and even 'girls'. He wonders what this talk would be like if Casey came right out and said, “Dad, I've been fucking Zeke for about two months now. You're a bit late,”



“Hey Connor, come here.”

Casey shudders, his hands fumbling to get the newspaper into the Tyler's mailbox on the curb. Sometimes he can get it in while still riding his bike, but it was closed today. Zeke was on his porch smoking a cigarette.

Were his parents EVER home?

”You afraid, Casey??”

Zeke is a big fifth grader, and isn't at Casey's school. His teachers have hinted about him skipping a grade, and he doesn't want to. Zeke terrifies him. Without looking back, he jumps on his bike and takes off, Zeke's laughter ringing out over the houses and trees.



“I'm sorry- you SAID you wanted ice cream, I forgot you liked chocolate sauce on it-“


Casey's head whirls around. “Zeke? You okay?” he asks, panicked. The wet pool underneath Zeke makes him gasp. “Shit, already??”

“I don't fucking know OWW!” Zeke howls. One hand falls to his swollen belly as Casey rushes around the bedroom, grabbing a suitcase and filling it. The writhing in his bowels makes him cringe, his eyes staying on Casey's back. Casey turns with a wide grin.

“We're gonna be parents, my God-” he starts; Zeke interrupts, glaring.

“I let you top... ONE time...”



Zeke wants a cigarette but can't move. He can't move, and he can't smoke in a waiting room. He can't listen to Casey's mother wailing, or his dad crying as they sit in the corner, huddled together in a shaking mass. Stokely and Stan pace, so Zeke shut his eyes. Blocks it all out. He tries to not remember Casey's body falling down the stairs after lunch. He wished he hadn't seen it.

He's just making a deal with death as Delilah rushes in next, panicked; Gabe would die, Zeke using his own bare fucking hands if Casey could live.



They're all curled up together on the floor of the locker room when Casey wakes up; Stokely's head is resting on Casey's lap, and the side of Casey's face feels fuzzy from having slept on Zeke's shoulder all night. They're a huge fucking mess, and the smell is overpowering; blood, sweat, chlorine, and wet clothing. They're startled awake, shaken by loud footsteps and shouts come from the outer halls. Stokely freezes and Casey's hands clutch Zeke's sweatshirt tight. Zeke clutches back.

“I think the sun's coming up,” Stokely says in a trembling voice, motioning to the window over the lockers.



Zeke doesn't tell his secrets to just anyone, yet he was spilling a few to Casey right now. They'd just finished watching Bela Lugosi's “Dracula” on the American Classics Channel when he let it be known that Zeke Tyler, the guy who represented cool at Herrington High, used to make sure he was home by sunset before the vampires got him. He feels like an idiot for admitting this, since Casey isn't the best at keeping secrets. “Really?” Casey says, sounding awed. Zeke expected laughter- STILL expected it. Casey smiles. “Same here, only I was afraid of the Wolf Man,”


Too Much

Zeke comes back from the rest room and finds Casey staring at his burger. Zeke laughs at the red mess lying there, ketchup smothering the entire sandwich. “What the fuck happened?”

“I just... it wasn't coming out. I shook the fucking thing to death and it just- poured like a river.”

Zeke laughs harder, sitting down to his own lunch. Casey looks downright depressed as Zeke grabs the salt for his fries. “I ain't sharing,” he says, just as the cap to the shaker falls off and every grain of salt dumps all over his fries, chicken sandwich and pickle.


Not Enough

Casey was trying hard to not cry out- Zeke's mouth was too fucking good. His father was in his parent's bedroom just down the hall, his mom downstairs washing the dishes. Casey was already in his pajamas, skin sensitive to Zeke's touch through the thin flannel.

“Casey? Is Zeke gone yet?”

Casey's eyes bugged out, feeling Zeke's smile run over his collarbone. “Yea, he's... getting ready to... go.”

“All right. Almost nine o'clock.”

Casey frowned, pulling Zeke away. Zeke's eyes were slits, resting his forehead against Casey's. Casey swallowed hard. “They go to bed at eleven. Come back?”

“Window. Eleven.”


Sixth Sense

Being the school punching bag has done something for Casey over the years. If his back is turned, he feels the presence of something to fear if someone like Gabe shows up for class. He's attuned to nearly every person in Herrington High, especially the bullies; like the moment their fists met his face, instant connection and aura was created.

Today he's standing in the front of the school taking pictures of the flag for Memorial Day when an odd prickle of excitement shivers over his neck. He turns quick and finds Zeke standing on the steps lighting a cigarette.



For the first few moments after a shower, Zeke enjoys the clean feel of his skin and hair before ruining it all with his morning cigarette. He sometimes wishes he didn't have the dirty, stinky habit when he's around Casey; Casey smells as sweet, crisp and clean as fresh laundry and light soap. Zeke ruins that the moment he gets close to Casey, marking him with his bad habit or even the small odor of engine oil from working on his car. The self-consciousness fades later when the BOTH of them smell like come and lube, and all is well.



It's something Casey relishes, right after their first kiss of the day and before Zeke takes him over. It used to be the look in Zeke's eyes, fiery and narrowed- but sometimes they do that when he's concentrating on a crossword. Nowadays, it's something so simple that makes Casey go weak at the knees.

The ever so small hiss of breath- it shakes and stutters out slowly, almost turning into a growl, perking Casey's ears and making his lips itch for more. The sound of it soon disappears and Zeke is confident again, predator to prey, Casey letting him take.



Zeke was always into hard, unforgiving sex. Girls would squeal underneath him as he drove every inch of skin together, groping, kneading and biting abound. He'd always be the one in control, not bothering to let anyone think before he attacked.

He is afraid of anything gentle. Nothing is gentle. It all loses control in the end, leaving you screaming.

He wants to force Casey's hands to stop feather-dusting his chest, pads of fingers barely touching his chest as Casey moves, exploring.. Zeke holds back, because the way he's being touched scares him to pieces, and he wants the fear.



“It's like kissing an ashtray,” it's been said, one of the reasons Casey never started smoking. His chances of getting a girlfriend were pretty damned slim to begin with, and he didn't need the percentage to lower further. He remained un-kissed no matter his efforts, the fate of being the geek he was.

At age sixteen he gets it; Casey gets into Zeke's car, only to have his wrist grabbed and face pulled to Zeke's. A cigarette is still lit between Zeke's nicotine-stained fingers, his lips and tongue making Casey think that ashtrays must be pretty fucking nice to kiss.



Zeke's contacts are lost. He wears glasses to school for the first time because of it, and plans on murdering anyone who laughs at him.

Funny thing is Casey's wearing them as well today. He tells Zeke he liked this pair, finding the frames when he went to his eye doctor for a check-up. Zeke doesn't mind it so much now. They have a small association with each other today, and it's sweet; and it's the silliest, sexiest thing when their glasses clack together later while stealing kisses in the boy's room. Zeke doesn't bother with contacts anymore after that.



Casey is too terrified to shower in school, but today he has no choice. Rain the night before made huge mud puddles, and Dan Hewley was all too eager to muddy him up. Everyone in the locker room was gone; Zeke was about to leave also when Casey beckoned him over.

“Can you just stay here while I shower? In case they come back?”

Zeke is trying to focus on anything but the satisfied moans of Casey getting under the hot stream of water. His back is to the wall just next to the door, cock so hard and aching.



It had come out as a whisper, but Delilah had VERY good ears. She was in the middle of shoving her thigh highs back on, looking hassled and shocked. Casey watches her, biting his lip, heartbeat racing fast.

“I'm sorry...” he offers; she's obviously not listening. She shoves her shoes on and leaves Casey's bedroom in a rush.

He knows they're exes now; after all, the names 'Delilah' and 'Zeke' don't match at all, so he couldn't come up with a good lie. Whispering the name of another woman might've been a whole lot better, but it's too late now.



Zeke pounds on the bathroom stall, taunting the boy just past the locked door. “C'mon out, Casey,” Zeke says in a voice he doesn't recognize. He's really thirsty, and he dumped the rest of the scat in the toilet.

The door opens; Zeke's just about to make Casey 'one of them' when he sees the gun in Casey's hands, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. “Shoot me in the head, Casey,” Zeke says, smiling. Casey's arms fold back, his expression stunned and horrified. Zeke bends down and takes his face in his hand; he infects Casey with an open-mouthed kiss.



Zeke beckons Casey away from the “Bon Voyage” party Stokes is throwing for everyone before they all leave for college; Stan and Zeke are going to the same tech school, but Stokes leaves for Seattle in three days, Casey's in Connecticut in two. “Yea?” Casey says once in the hall. Zeke hands him an envelope.

“Buy cooler clothes for school, 'k?” he says, trying to smile. Casey looks in the envelope and gasps.

“Zeke-” he tries to talk but is cut off by a kiss, becoming saltwater in taste.

“You'll come home for Christmas, right?” Zeke pleads, heart aching terribly.



He was just HOLDING this shit for someone else, and he'd never done it before. He even agreed to hide it in pens, using red caps to distinguish them. Casey didn't know that, and when he went to the garage to get Zeke's fan, he must have ALSO needed a 'pick-me-up' of caffeine; Zeke feels like shit.

“Wow, I feel fucking GOOD,” Casey says with a wide grin. He's licking his lips and 'making eyes' at Zeke. Zeke wonders how he's going to tell Casey later that he'd snorted a good sized dose of cocaine, and how he'll take it.



“You ever wonder where she came from?”

Zeke glances to Casey as they lay on the hood of his car, staring up at the night sky. “MaryBeth?” he asks. Casey nods. Zeke stretches his arms above his head. “I'd say the 'Cancer' constellation.”

Casey grins feebly. “M-44.”


“Yea; goes by the name 'Praesepe', as well. It means 'a hive'. It's a big cluster in Cancer, and judging by the description, you're kinda spot on. Halley's comet was discovered there too, in 1531.”

Zeke laughs wryly. “You're such a geek,” he says, earning him a small slap to the stomach.



“Zeke, NO!!”

“C'mon! It'd be hilarious! What're they gonna do, give you detention??”

“My parents... would KILL me.” Casey replies, giving Zeke a stern look. Zeke smiles impishly.

“I still say you should do it; it'd shock the SHIT out of the jock-holes if you did. Nevermind a fucking speech about 'how great high school was'- it sucked and you know it.”

“Zeke...” Casey starts, sounding exasperated. “I did not earn 'Third Honors' to drop my pants and MOON the entire class of '99.”

“You've got a cute ass, though,” Zeke says, smacking it playfully when Casey's stands. Casey yelps.



Casey's a panicky looking blur as he shoots past Zeke's locker, not stopping to say 'hi'. Zeke finds out why a second later as Gabe and his band of cronies comes flying around the corner.

“Get BACK here Connor, we ain't done with you!!” Jim McCall yells, Gabe laughing along. Zeke's eyes narrow as they approach; without thinking twice he sticks his foot out, catching Gabe's calf. He's sent flat on his chest and stomach, the others tumbling with him helplessly. Casey stops in his tracks to turn and look; he gives Zeke a smile and runs away to safety.



Ever since the alien-debacle, Casey's parents aren't keen in letting Casey hang out with Zeke. It didn't matter that his “drug” helped save the world. His “drug” was a ”drug”, and the Connors weren't going to be swayed with tales of heroic deeds. Casey's not allowed over his place and vice-versa.

He tells his parents that he needs to work overtime at the school's darkroom nowadays, and he isn't really lying. He IS there, only Zeke is too. Once Casey finishes his projects for the paper his bare back is pressed up against the wall, rough kisses holding him upright.



It's Zeke who suggests that he, Casey, Stokes and Stan play 'Sardines'. “It's a reverse hide-and-seek. One person hides, the others try to find them. When they do they hide WITH them, and so on.”

It's such a childish thing, but Zeke's house is huge, perfect for this sort of thing. Since it was Zeke's idea he claims 'first person to hide'. The three of them are sent outside on the porch; before Casey's foot is out the door, Zeke grabs his arm and leans in quick to hiss, “Trapdoor in the attic,” winking and licking his lips. Casey shivers.



He'd been crouched behind Zeke's garage, water gun at the ready when Zeke jumped out from the bush behind him. Casey turned, meeting an enormous blast of cold water. He spluttered, dropping his 'weapon' and flailing his arms. “The FUCK!” he manages to yell just as Zeke turns the dial to cease his attack. Zeke giggled as Casey looked down on his soaked self, t-shirt clinging to his chest and jeans already uncomfortable. “A hose?? That's against the rules!!”

“When you wear a white t-shirt, you're asking for it,” Zeke growled out before grabbing his lips, kissing hard and wild.



Zeke smirks, watching Casey trying to light his own cigarette. His small fingers fumble on the lighter, unable to send sparks to the gas. Zeke's always been one for corrupting others, so when Casey stammered out, “Can... can I try one?” he was more than willing to hand one over.

Sighing, he reaches over and takes it. The small flame emerges; Casey puts the end of his cigarette to it, eyes on Zeke as he puffs. In those few seconds, his face is illuminated in an orange glow, making him beautiful... until he coughs and chokes, and Zeke laughs harder.



“I fell in a mud puddle.”

It's such a 'kid thing' to say, and it melts Zeke's heart before he can laugh. “I offered you a ride... you didn't have to walk here in the rain,” he says, letting the dripping with mud Casey inside. Casey pouts.

“I HAD an umbrella, but it fell in a sewer.”

“You're fucking kidding me,” Zeke says. Casey shakes his head. Zeke puts his hand to Casey's cheek, rubbing lightly at the dirt drying there. “Y'now what?”


“You make dirt sexy,” Zeke says, winking. Casey groans.

“I'm earthy-crunchy,” he says. NOW, Zeke laughs.



Casey is near hyperventilating, eyes blinking wildly as Zeke's mouth leaves his. He hovers over Casey's mouth with hot breath, almost panting. His tongue then emerges and licks Casey's lips, moving down over his chin, to his neck, down further to his chest... Casey gasps as it laps along a nipple, then to the other. It's nothing compared to Zeke's bending back, lips pursed and blowing cool air along his salivated trail, concentrating more on his nipples a few moments before coming back up, up... and Casey is entranced by Zeke's breath, ending at his lips to kiss him again.



Casey fakes sick so he doesn't have to go to the “School Spirit” rally in the gym. He could care fucking less how the football fuckers do at the Thanksgiving game being held Thursday, and doesn't feel like having his eardrums blown out as everyone screams their praises. He's had three years of high school spirit getting beaten out of him, and he's got another year and a half to go.

He's beyond amused later when he finds out Zeke lit stink bombs underneath the bleachers, everyone in school getting doused with odor. 'School spirit-ers' weren't very 'spiritual' after that.



Casey yawns himself into Zeke's kitchen in the morning, expecting a bowl of cold cereal for breakfast. Instead, he's surprised to find Zeke standing over a frying pan making omelets. Looking closer he sees bits of sausage, onions, peppers and herbs mixed in.

“You... can cook?” he asks, astounded. Zeke cocks an eyebrow his way then returns to the pan, spilling the eggs onto a platter.

“You don't think I've been living on mac&cheese all this time, do you? Get a fucking plate.”

Casey rushes to the cupboard and pulls one out, drooling as the delicious smells fill his nose.



“Here. My mom always makes me two.”

Zeke looks up at the freshman he doesn't know holding out a sandwich to him. He hates pity.

“She trying to fatten you up?” he asks dryly, snarling. “Don't have any friends yet, huh?” he adds. The kid better get used to it. Zeke groans as he stands and walks off, not wanting to be 'chummy'.

Later in the week Zeke walks into the bathroom, finding the kid getting a swirly, water splashing everywhere. He found out his name then as the bullies laughed it out. 'Casey'... a fucking girl's name. No wonder.



“I thought you said you could DO this!!”

Zeke doesn't want to hear it right now; he's too busy trying to fend off the enormous flames in the grill, batting at them with a wet towel. It isn't working very well. “How did this fucking HAPPEN??”

“SHUT UP!” Zeke yells, frantic. His arm feels a lick of flame and he jumps back. “FUCK!” he bellows. Casey groans loudly and stomps over, picking up the lid and slamming it down over the fire. It goes out, leaving them both panting and wheezing.

“I'll call for fucking pizza,” Casey groans out, annoyed.



One would think Casey would be a giant young man with the way he eats. Zeke stares, wonder filling him as Casey returns from the buffet with his third helping. Mashed potatoes, steak fries, three-bean salad, chicken and sweet rolls are all piled onto the plate. Zeke's JUST starting his second plate, and it's only a salad.

“The fuck, why aren't you obese?” he asks. Casey looks up at him as he shovels potato in his maw.

“I burn off lots of energy, in lots of ways,” he says, winking.

“Slut,” Zeke mutters and gets a kick under the table.



Casey is drunk as fuck and it doesn't help Zeke much, especially when he flops onto the couch and puts his head on Zeke's thigh, looking up at him.

“Shiiiiit...” he drawls, laughing stupidly. Zeke swallows and stares at the boy's face beaming up at him.

You have no fucking idea, Casey...

He wishes Stan and Stokely were here, because if this carries on Zeke's gonna tear off Casey's clothing and fuck him through the wall. He doesn't know if Casey would WANT to be taken advantage of, and Zeke doesn't know if he'd care if he did or not.



Casey's missed the bus again, having had to deal with the usual band of assholes at the end of school. After finally digging his camera out of the large trash barrel in the lunchroom, cleaning the milk-drenched bread and salad bits off of it (and his hands) transportation had disappeared, and he was left walking the long way home in the bitter cold. His sneakers weren't made for slush, and his feet are starting to feel numb. Once off school property, a car pulls up alongside him.

“Get in,” Zeke says; normally Casey would be apprehensive, but leaps in today.



“I already bought the tickets; she knew that. Guess she doesn't want a wimp for a boyfriend,”

Zeke sighs, looking to Casey through slitted eyes. He's leaning on the sink in the bathroom, scuffing his shoes and holding a tissue to his bloody nose. It IS suspicious that the day after Casey's “inaugural beating”, back into the world of bullies no matter his heroic actions, Delilah should dump him. He got beat again just minutes ago.

“Eh... come over to my place instead,” Zeke offers. “Dances suck anyways,”

Casey smiles a little. Zeke ponders on having their OWN 'Spring Fling'.



Zeke's long body doesn't quite fit in the kiddy pool he's filled in his backyard. His head rests on one side, and his legs stick out up to his knees. He told Casey to 'come over for a swim', but there's no way the two of them will fit. In the few moments before Zeke's noticed Casey's arrival, Casey's imagining him lying on a beach instead; dried sand at his calves, lifted slightly off the ground on his forearms. It's hot out, and it's only getting worse.

Zeke finally notices him. “C'mon in,” he says, but Casey doesn't know how.



“You're sure there aren't any big sticks??”

Zeke nods, leaning on the rake. “Yea, Case.” He answers. Casey grins.

“Okay,” he says. Taking a deep breath he goes into a run; he jumps up high and lands in the huge leaf pile Zeke's collected on the front lawn. He whoops like a child, making Zeke smile. Casey looks up, hair dotted with leaves and twigs. The red-orange-brown is perfect contrast to his chestnut hair and deep, blue eyes. Zeke goes to finish the rest of the job as Casey lays back, hands behind his head.

It's fall, and Zeke's falling.



Casey's trying to get up the nerve; it's just him and Zeke sitting here, watching the New Year's celebrations happening in New York City. Zeke hadn't felt like partying, and Casey wasn't invited to any anyways.

Casey swallows as the countdown from ten begins; he's not in New York, not in the East, and has an hour to wait. But it just FEELS right, and he knows that an hour from now he'll lose the courage. At the cry of 'Happy New Year!' he grabs Zeke's face and kisses him, hard, wet, open. Zeke barely flinches, like it was expected.


Continuation of “Earth”

Casey's just finished his shower, feeling much better. His clothes were in the dryer, but he preferred wearing Zeke's huge t-shirt and boxers. They were very loose, but Casey saw that as an advantage rather than a problem.

He gets downstairs and finds Zeke standing in the kitchen, soaked. He frowns. “What the heck happened?”

“Went out to the garage for my radio... I fell in a puddle,” he grumbles. Casey laughs and coos then walks over. The shirt feels heavy as he lifts it up, fingers dusting Zeke's belly. Zeke smiles a little and lifts his arms to help.



“I just GOT the windshield!!”

The snow's coming down HARD; Zeke's brushing fast at the back of the car, grumbling as Casey brushes the front again. Even with two people, this job is relentless. It's starting to get a little easier as the heat builds up within the car, making the snow melt. They were hungry before leaving to go out for food; now he's starving. He figures he's gotten enough. “Whatever, let's motor,” he says. Casey looks over and groans; snowflakes are resting on his eyelashes, making him blink profusely. Zeke thinks it's the cutest thing in the world.



When lightning storms hit Herrington, Zeke takes time out to drive up to the parking lot of the middle school. It's open and wide, no trees or buildings obstructing the sky. He's watching as bolts stream in quick rivulets across the clouds and is suddenly reminded of camera flashes. He's suddenly reminded of the boy behind the camera, the constant photographer. He's alone and unbuttoning his jeans, sticking his hand inside to rub himself slowly, gently. Casey's perfect blue eyes capture everything so wonderfully; Zeke wishes he was here now to capture this pose, all boy lust and hissing breaths.



”You ain't a beauty, but hey, you're all right...”

That's the only lie in this song Zeke would erase as he drives with Casey from school. The song plays out, Zeke glancing over to catch glimpses of Casey sipping his soda, lips wet and feet up on the dash. They graduate next week, and Zeke fears Casey leaving town. For now however, life is perfect. Springsteen keeps singing, Zeke's sighing.

“It's a town full of losers, and we're pulling out ahead to win.”

Zeke's ready to leave and would do so next week, taking Casey with him for the summer.



Casey's completely terrified when Zeke's TV declares a tornado watch. There aren't many that happen in Ohio, but enough to worry him. Zeke takes them out on the porch despite Casey's shaking fear.

“We'll watch for 'em. It'll be less scary than sitting in a basement, waiting.”

Casey's apprehensive but sits outside anyways, staring at the darkening sky. For awhile, nothing happens. Zeke's about to claim that it must be bullshit when the very start of a funnel is clearly seen forming far off. He stands up, groaning. “C'mon, downstairs,” he says. Once there, Casey clings, and Zeke lets him.



There are usually only scowls and a few angry tears after a beating or teasing session, but it's different today for some reason. It's not so much that it was different this time around; just the usual bitch-out from Gabe, getting in Casey's face and snarling out insults. He'd gotten smacked around a few times, but that isn't it; something was said that is really, really bothering Casey, and he won't tell Zeke what it is. Zeke can do nothing but let Casey break and curl in a ball, crying into his shoulder, Zeke's hand running over Casey's hair slowly.



Casey's washing dinner dishes when a loud rumbling comes from outside. He ignores it until his parents call out, “I think Zeke is here, Casey.”

Casey's eyes go wide as he throws down the dishrag and runs to the front. Looking out the window he sees Zeke standing next to his GTO... his newly fixed, running and rumbling GTO. He immediately runs out of the house, laughing.

“Wanna go for a drive?” Zeke asks slyly, the charismatic smile on his face beaming. Casey's so fucking eager to feel leather on his bared back for weeks now, and it's been promised.



Because of Casey's photography, he doesn't have many pictures at all of himself. Zeke wishes to change this when Casey gets up from the couch to get a drink, leaving his camera on the table.

The flash goes off, alerting Casey.

“Can't promise they'll come out good,” Zeke tells him. He lowers the camera and stares at the boy, eyes going serious. His look must say something to Casey as he stops smiling and his hands tremble. He's shy as he starts undressing, right there in the kitchen. Zeke grows blind with every flash on alabaster skin, and doesn't care.



Zeke's had many fantasies in his lifetime; they're usually pretty normal and even bland, but one always grabs his mind and won't let go. It usually happens after he sees Casey get smacked or punched and he ends up on the floor or ground.

He's the one doing that in his mind, only it's in his bedroom instead of school. Casey begs for it, lip cut and bleeding as he stares up at Zeke, kneeling before him, only Zeke doesn't want Casey expecting it. He shuts off the light and continues his assault, enjoying the disembodied cries in the dark.



Zeke's twisted his ankle; not bad enough to warrant concern, but Coach tells him to sit out the rest of practice. He limps over to the bleachers, escaping the heat of the searing sun in the shade. He throws off his jersey, shoulder pads and undershirt, now downing a bottle of water as Casey ignores the practicing team, not caring about the 'Hornets vs. Tigers' spread he's working on for the paper. Zeke's dumping the rest of his water over his head and shoulders, making Casey feel like he's going to come in his jeans as he keeps snapping away.



“I actually... miss her.”

Casey wants to burst, listening to Zeke's lamenting, expressing his grief. Its a few days after the attacks, and Zeke's invited Casey over for a few beers. Perhaps he should be more understanding, but he wants to scream at Zeke right now. He holds back.

“She was just... fuck, so fucking pretty... I've always been a sucker for blondes.”

Casey swallows and seethes at Zeke's heterosexuality, listening to yet MORE reasons to hate MaryBeth. At this point, he doesn't know what to hate more; her botched takeover over the world, or the successful takeover of Zeke.



Zeke SWORE the kid was gay as gay could get, and for years teased him about it. Not as bad as the rest of the school, but still; Casey would glare at him, but never deny it. Zeke didn't know when he stopped teasing and started taking long looks Casey's way, but it scared him into silence for years.

When he sees Casey and Delilah making out in the hall, he swears she's a beard. It doesn't make him feel better though, and he spends that night pounding the shit out of his punching bag in the basement, crying mercilessly.



When Zeke joined the football team, he may as well have had MaryBeth sticking shit in his ear.

Zeke's derisive laughter follows Gabe's insults, confirming his enemy status. “Y'now he asked me out last week?” Zeke says out of the blue. Casey's eyes go wide as everyone laughs, Gabe shoving him harder.

“Zeke wouldn't touch your dick with a ten foot pole.”

“Maybe the flagpole.”

Everyone leaves after this, shaking their heads at Casey in disgust. They don't know about Zeke grabbing Casey last week and jerking him off in the boy's room. He wipes the tears away and leaves.



“Let's just say he's insecure,” Zeke's handwriting reads. Casey's staring at both the note and a roll of film. When Zeke had asked to borrow Casey's camera, he didn't know why. Zeke wanted to know how to take pictures without a flash, and Casey told him. He knew WHY now as the pictures developed.

Gabe and Jason Stratton in the shower, hands roaming and lips locked, water streaming over them in rivers. Casey is impressed with Zeke's pictures, coming out QUITE well. The next time he called Casey a faggot, copies of these pictures would be put in his locker.




“It's okay.”

Zeke sighs with dread, trying hard to read the map spread onto the hood. The flashlight drags over the highway he swears they'd just gotten off of to get to the club. He was intensely pissed; the tickets for the band Casey liked, gotten for his birthday were wasted. Looking at his watch, Zeke groaned; the show started about a half hour ago.

“No, I'm fucking sorry,” Zeke says angrily, shutting off the light and standing straight. Casey smiles warmly.

“It's fun getting lost sometimes,” he says as his fingers push past the back of Zeke's jeans.



“Y'now why they beat the shit outta you, Connor?”

Casey could hardly care what Zeke's take is on why his chin is bleeding from where Craig Wells' class ring cut him. He dabs at it with a tissue, wincing as the warm water seeps into it, mixing blood and water. At least it wasn't his face this time.

“Y'now why, Case?”

“Fuck, WHY, Tyler??” Casey spits out angrily. Zeke smiles and leans in on Casey's reflection in the mirror, his lips by Casey's ear.

“Because you're a cock tease,” he says. Casey shivers as Zeke stubs out his cigarette and leaves.



They can beat on Casey all they want to; he can take it. Perhaps Zeke could have too, but not against an entire team of guys, out for blood. It was odd how the teasing stopped at Casey's end when Gabe caught them kissing, until it was ZEKE getting pushed around.

'They wanna fuck with me?' Casey thinks. He's not hiding behind the door to the bathroom stall with a baseball bat for the years of teasing he'd received. Having to visit Zeke in the hospital was enough for this, adrenaline flowing as he hears Gabe go into the showers.



It doesn't matter how many times they've done this. Zeke knew what he'd been getting into when he got involved with Casey, being that he'd blush when someone said 'intercourse'. Every time Zeke looks down on Casey with that smile, hands going to Casey's shirt buttons, Casey turns his head away, cheeks pink and wearing a bashful smile. Zeke LOVES it, because it's a corruption over and over again. Corrupting Casey is addicting, all in the form of replacing the pink with bright red... the shy, sheepish grin turning into an 'O' to gasp heated breaths and Zeke's name shamelessly.



The small box is perched on top of Casey's books; he eyes it curiously. He doesn't know how it got in his locker- it wasn't here second period when he'd dropped in to get his trig book. He ignores his grumbling stomach in favor of picking up the item instead of his lunch. It's hard to contain his utter shock when he finds the silver band inside; Zeke had acted mysteriously when Casey had spotted him wearing a ring, something he'd never done before. He'd asked Zeke what is was for, getting a shrug in reply. This one matched it.



He'd given in even though Zeke Tyler was not fucking gay. It didn't matter however WHAT his sexuality was when he'd gotten drunk off of cheap wine then led to bed. Casey's mouth was trained for cock it seemed, and had Zeke blowing his load within minutes.

Now he walks the halls with Delilah under his arm, emoting nothing but happiness, until he catches Zeke in the halls. Casey glares at him when he sees him, like it was ZEKE who did wrong. Zeke's knuckles crack, tempted to follow in Gabe's footsteps. It'd be so fucking easy, Zeke thinks, growling.



Zeke is upstairs when Casey's looking for a book on Zeke's shelves. He comes across a suspicious looking one- an album. Curious, he takes it out.

He'd never seen Zeke as a very young child; Zeke and his parents moved to Herrington when Casey was in fifth grade, already an imposing young man that scared Casey senseless. These pictures don't emote that.

Zeke, covered in oatmeal, swimming in a little kiddy pool, eating an ice cream cone. The next page has Zeke smiling so broadly as he sits with an older man on a motorcycle, Casey's face hurts smiling back.



All the magazines have Casey plastered all over them; Zeke can't walk into a bookstore, convenience store, supermarket without seeing those blue eyes staring back at him. Most of them are just regular news stories, a smiling Casey on the cover. The 'Life' magazine grabs Zeke's eyes however; it's one of the circulars he'll buy regularly anyways, loving the images and stories in them. Having the picture of Casey inside, standing with his own camera and looking into it with a pensive expression makes him breathe deeply when he finds it. You can see Casey's individuality here, making Zeke hot.



It didn't register until later that Casey had had a gun to his head, Stan pointing it with malice and ready to kill. He'd been too engrossed in drugged-up laughter. But he remembers it.

He's sitting with Zeke in his lab just talking idly when his eyes fall on the metal. He's not laughing this time. He's thinking about Stan's panic, recalling Zeke's desperate yell, “He's tweaking, let him fucking tweak!” Zeke looks up from the batch of scat he's making and notices. He licks his lips and sighs.

“You're safe, Casey,” he says. Of course he is; he's with Zeke.



“It's called a grinder, Zeke.”

Zeke rolls his eyes as he unwraps his sandwich. “No, it isn't.”

“What the fuck does it matter WHAT it's called??”

“YOU'RE the one getting bitchy over it, not me. You're getting your panties in a knot over my fucking lunch.” Zeke says, amused. He starts to eat as Casey sighs.

“Just... stupid slang for a SAND-wich; it's stupid.”

“You're stupid,” Zeke returns.

“No YOU'RE stupid.”

“It's a hero.”



“I'M a hero. YOU'RE a hero. That- is a goddamned grinder.”

Zeke flicks a dab of mayo at Casey, laughing when Casey jumps back.



“The FUCK, that was on purpose!”

Zeke yelling doesn't ease the pain in Casey's side as he walks back to home plate. He HATES gym. Zeke was fucking right; the pitcher of Herrington High's baseball team, pitching a ball into Casey's hip?? Fucking unlikely.

“Try again, Craig- be a bit more careful.” Willis says. The smug look on Craig's face... if he had a mustache, he'd be twirling it at the ends.

Pure rage fills Casey; it lets him hit the next pitch, HARD, sending the ball straight to Craig's face, and he isn't sorry. Zeke laughs his ass off.



“Nothing left, huh?”

Casey groans. He DOES have three aces with a seven and a five, but nothing left to bet. Seeing as Zeke's cleaned him out, Casey can't even draw with nothing to bet the next hand. He puts his hand down and groans. “Fine, whatever, you win-”

“Bet yourself next hand.”


“Yea. If I win, you're my slave for the weekend. Anything I want. If YOU win, you get the pot.”

Casey grins. “Yea okay,” he says. Zeke puts two cards down.

“How many?”

Casey eyes his hand. “Three,” he says, putting the aces on the table.



Casey's out walking the field after graduation, loosening his tie. He feels odd- GOOD, but odd. It's almost as if all the students here are strangers now, except a few. He doesn't know how to feel when he sees Gabe and a few other jocks standing nearby...

He's twirled around suddenly; without warning, Zeke is planting a hard, passionate kiss on his lips, making Casey squeal in surprise and excitement. When they break away Casey almost panics in seeing Gabe staring at them in shock. Zeke puts his forehead to his.

“High school is over forever, Casey,” he breathes out.



Casey's getting really mad. “Just... TELL me!”

“Casey, you're a fucking genius. I've given you enough clues.”

“My fucking God,” Casey says angrily. Zeke chuckles as he lies back on the bed, picking at a nail. Casey shuffles around the room, feeling flustered.

“I've looked everywhere! Why do you insist on being so damned mean??” Casey says, furrowing his brow.

“Mean? I'm not being mean; I'm just indulging myself.”

Casey's outright whining now as he crawls up on the bed. His curfew only twenty minutes away, he leans in close. “Please, Zeke, please... tell me where you put my pants...”



There's a blindfold over Casey's eyes, a dart in his hand. “Okay, toss it,” Zeke says.

Casey does so, hearing a small 'thunk' into the wall in front of him. “Let's see now...” Casey takes the blindfold off and watches Zeke go to the map on the other side of the room. He sees the red feathered dart sticking out near the bottom. “What did I just... do that for, anyways?” he asks. Zeke doesn't answer for a moment as he inspects the map; he then looks up with a smile.

“We're going to Fort Sumner, New Mexico. Go pack,”



Casey never once imagined himself screaming like a loon at a Herrington High football game. There were never any reasons to; he hated everyone on the team, their bravado was linked to a boorish sport and they knew how to bruise Casey's skin better than anyone. Yet there he is, hooting and hollering with everyone else. He's standing now, watching with bated breath; over football. It's amusing. This isn't 'geeky Casey'; this is 'hollering school chants' Casey.

But it's a whole other 'ball game' when Zeke's the one winning the game for the team, making Herrington proud. Making Casey proud.


Writer's Choice: Cool

The movie Casey watched the night before is making problems now; Zeke's JUST walked into school, his swagger setting alarms off in the girls around him. Almost every one of them watches him, some outright staring. Casey swallows as he realizes he's lumped in with those girls, unable to take his eyes off of Zeke as he passes by. Zeke has that smile he gives someone every now and again, and you count yourself lucky for it. He passes it to Casey as his smooth strides take him around the corner, disappearing... 'He's fucking Trip Fontaine,' Casey thinks, palms sweating.


Writer's Choice: Books

Zeke is almost finished with his fifth-period-cigarette when Casey walks into the boy's lav. Casey pauses in seeing him, clutching his books closer to his stomach with both hands; Zeke cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

Casey doesn't answer; he scurries into a stall. Zeke takes a drag before almost choking with laughter. He sits down to pee. Chortling under his breath, he waits for Casey to come out again. When he does Zeke situates himself at the sinks, blocking them. Casey stops again, staring. When Casey tries to get past him, Zeke slaps the books from his hands. Casey's rock hard.


Writer's Choice: Knife

“Do you trust me?”

Casey cannot speak; he cannot move. Zeke's body is slithering downwards, the hand holding his pocket knife going with him and dragging to Casey's stomach. He swallows hard and closes his eyes, the knife swirling around a nipple. Fuck.

“You always trust me. Don't you?”

Still motionless, loss of vocabulary. The cool metal slides downwards, tracing around his navel, the scritch-scratch of skin being dragged with the gentlest of pressure. The tip dares to move lower, sliding up his shaft so dangerously sharp; he trusts Zeke, more than anything.

Casey comes so hard his eyes cross.


Writer's Choice: Dessert


“Casey, what the HELL are you doing!?”

“NOTHING! Don't come in yet!!”

Zeke stares at the kitchen entranceway, confused beyond reason. Whatever Casey's been doing in there has needed lots of yelping and screaming the last minute or so. Zeke waits and waits until finally, after some heavy breaths, Casey calls, “Okay, come in.”

Zeke stands from the couch and goes to the door, looks in; Casey's on the kitchen table... “Oh my God.” Zeke mutters, astounded.

“Just EAT IT FAST!!”

It has to be the most interesting, creative and delicious ice cream sundae Zeke has ever eaten.


Writer's Choice: Letters

Zeke never got mail before; well, not mail he cared about anyways. He got money from his parents, each one with a small letter giving polite comments like 'miss you' and 'hope you're doing well' when they didn't, and they didn't care.

Now he's getting letters from Boston every week; no money comes with them. The pictures and words sent along are much more valuable than any check or trust fund. There's 'miss you's and 'wish you were here's and 'I love you's all over, and Zeke reads and re-reads them all the time, knowing it's meant.

He misses Casey.

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