(no subject)
Why I didn't post this, I'll never figure out. It was finished over a WEEK ago.
Just to repeat myself from the last TWO posts: sorry to be taking so long with this one. I didn't mean for it to blow up like this! And yea, summer's long gone... still!
Title: Sweet Valley (Pt. 6)
Pairing/Characters: C/Z(?), OCs, Mr. and Mrs. Connor
Rating: Light NC-17
Disclaimer: Don't own!
Author's Note: I'm basing a lot of this story on my OWN experiences, including the invites, camaraderie and lesson learned as a young middle-schooler. Trying to capture it best I can. :)
Synopsis: A late contribution to ASD's 'Summer of Us' Challenge, as promised. Prompt #19, "Fruitpicking"... The summer before senior year, Casey finds some worth in taking on a new, promising and enlightening journey into the real world.
Previous Parts
July 16th
“The only reason I bothered getting up was cos' we're getting paid.”
Zeke chuckled and drove away from the curb. He glanced to Casey, would couldn't seem to stop yawning. “I didn't get the chance to grab coffee yet... AND I need cigs. Do you mind skipping Dunks in favor of the Quick-Stop's joe?”
“No, that's cool. I might get a Red Bull, actually-I need the extra voltage,” Casey replied.
It wasn't long before they were out of Casey's neighborhood and on the main drag leading through Herrington, where the Quick-Stop sat just two lights down. They lucked, both staying green; Zeke hit the blinker, turned right and parked. “I'm gonna get stuck doin' blackberries today... I just know it,” he said as he and Casey got out.
“Right?” Casey chuckled and stepped into the shop, followed closely by Zeke. They both made a beeline for the drinks-coffee-counter for Zeke, soda coolers for Casey. It didn't take long for Casey to make his choice, that being the largest Red Bull available. He wandered back to Zeke, snapping the top open and taking a long sip. The box sitting by the sugar canister made him raise his eyebrows. “Ooh, they sell 'Jamie's,” he said as he pointed to the logo belonging to the best doughnut shop in Herrington... Ohio, really. Both of them grabbed two apiece and brought their things over to the register, where a pretty Indian woman wearing the brightest, most colorful dress stood.
“Hello,” she said in a cheery voice.
“Hey... Case, just dump it altogether, I gotta use my card,” Zeke told him.
“Oh. 'K, but I'm giving you the cash,” Casey said.
Zeke shrugged as the clerk rang them up. Before she could finalize the order, Zeke said, “And a pack of Marb-100's.”
“Do you have ID?”
“Yea.” Zeke reached into his wallet to present his license. The woman took it, looked then beamed brightly.
“Happy birthday!”
Casey frowned and looked to Zeke, who blinked furiously as he took it back. “Well, it's tomorrow...”
“Your birthday's tomorrow?” Casey asked.
“Yea,” Zeke said.
“Eight-fifty-two,” the clerk said. “The coffee is free for you, today.”
Zeke nodded quick, muttered a “Thanks,” and let her scan his credit card. When it was over, she wished them a 'happy day' and they left. Casey, still stuck on the idea of Zeke's not saying anything about what tomorrow happened to be, got in the car and smiled.
“Why didn't you say anything?” he asked.
“It's not a big deal, that's all,” Zeke replied. He didn't waste any time, unwrapping the pack and lighting-up immediately. “I don't do much on my birthdays; maybe hook myself up with a brew or two, rent a video...”
“That's not enough?”
Zeke looked to Casey as he turned the engine on. “Yea, it is?”
Casey wasn't buying it. He stayed on the subject as they got back on the road, asking, “How old are you gonna be?”
“Nineteen,” Zeke replied.
“Cool.”
“When's yours?”
“Huh?”
“When's your birthday?” Zeke asked, giving Casey a smirk that said, 'Duh?'
“Oh...” Casey smiled. “October second. I'll be eighteen.”
“Ah. You're not legal for nothin',” Zeke said, chuckling.
“Please, you just said you were gonna drink-up, you HAVE drank-up... last I knew, you had to be twenty-one for that,” Casey replied.
“But I can join the army, smoke and fuck.”
Casey rolled his eyes. “Oh yea, what a joy, that first one-boy, do I wish I could be drafted,” he said with a sarcastic grin.
“Hey man, rite of passage and all that shit,” Zeke said. A slow smile stretched his lips, which held his cigarette tight. “Little baby boy.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you. Baby, baby, baby...”
“Shut up,” Casey said, smacking Zeke's arm. It made the young man chuckle in titters and shake his head.
“Oh, that SO hurt. Baby,” he said.
“Good. So, what're we doin' for your birthday?” Casey asked.
“Huh?” Zeke scoffed. “Nothin'. Well, if you wanna come by, I ain't doin' anything.”
“I know, that's the point; we DO something. For your birthday.”
“Just leave the last bit off. We'll 'do something',” Zeke said.
“C'mon...” Casey sighed and gave Zeke an imploring stare. “A little party? Maybe? I'll make a cake.”
This made Zeke burst out a couple loud guffaws. “Go on and do that, boy; just set aside some cash from your check for a fire extinguisher.”
“Oh, you think? Like you said-I'll prove myself.”
Zeke sighed, shook his head and smiled; again, it was warm and sweet, directed right at his passenger. “You seriously wanna bake a cake for me, huh?” he asked.
“Why not?” Casey asked back.
“The more appropriate question is 'why?' really,” Zeke said.
“Cos'... it's fun, isn't it?”
“Cake?”
“Yea.”
“It's tasty-at least when I make it, sure, but fun?”
“I'll prove it.”
“Mmm.” Zeke took a deep, slow-and to Casey, horribly sexy drag and let it out in a stream. “Fine, you're on.”
It was silly, feeling a sort of honor in getting to make Zeke's birthday special, but Casey had always enjoyed a little 'silliness' in his life. He was going to make Zeke feel like someone cared about him-after all, he'd made Casey's life a whole lot brighter in the last few weeks. He almost replied, 'Thanks,' but figured that'd look odd.
~*~
Luck had smiled upon the boys this day, sending them to the less-grueling task of strawberry picking. Mills and Jasmine were with them, talking excitedly about what their money was going to do for them this weekend. Jasmine was almost too chipper when it came to going to a department store for makeup instead of the cheap drugstore variety, while Mills had his eyes on a pair of Doc Martins. “Dad'll kill me, but fuck that-my money,” he said of his name-brand purchase-plans.
“What about you guys?” Jasmine asked the boys. Casey shrugged.
“Eh, new clothes would be nice... at Penney's, like you,” he said. “Kinda sick of Blue-Light Specials.”
“Hah, darned right. Hey... we could always meet-up at the mall to shop!” Jasmine said.
“Riiight... like I wanna stand around with a bunch of girls in the mall,” Mills said. “I'm a guy, and guys run in, get what they want then leave.”
“Like hell! You said just yesterday, you practically camped-out at Media Play,” Jasmine retorted.
“That is TOTALLY different.”
Casey chuckled and finished the last pint in his tray. Looking to the plump, juicy fruits he'd collected, he asked, “Zeke-strawberries?”
“Uh... no thanks, kinda sick of lookin' at 'em,” Zeke replied, smirking.
“I meant for your cake.”
Both Jasmine and Mills looked up with interest. “What cake?” Jasmine asked.
“Zeke's birthday's tomorrow, and he dared me to make him a cake,” Casey said. Zeke shot his eyes up to Casey, wide and dark.
“Number one, did not, and two, shut. Up,” he said with warning.
“It's your birthday tomorrow? Cool!” Jasmine said.
“What're you doin' for it?” Mills asked.
“Nothing. Casey's dropping by, I dunno,” Zeke replied in a mumble. “I don't make it a BFD.”
“Why not? Dude, that's the biggest excuse for a party ever, am I right?” Mills said.
“We NEED another fuckin' party,” Jasmine added. Zeke scoffed.
“Not on my account, you don't.”
Casey bit his lip. He'd done it now... “It's not something he wants to make a big deal outta,” he said in an attempt to quell any party-crashers dropping in on them.
“Aw, why not? Seriously, dude, I make a MEAN cupcake!” Jasmine said.
“I'll spring for pizza?” Mills joined in the 'Let's Have a Party Zeke Wasn't Planning On Throwing' brigade. Of course, Ben and another girl-her name escaping Casey, though it may have started with a 'D' chose to pass by at that moment.
“Dude, is there a party?” Ben asked.
“Guys. SE-riously,” Zeke said with emphasis, but Mills nodded to the pair.
“We're trying to convince Zeke that his birthday needs us,” he said.
“Hey, a birthday, huh? Cool! When's it?” Ben asked.
Zeke, looking bereft and tired, said, “Tomorrow.”
“Me and Danielle were talking about taking a night-drive tomorrow but don't have actual 'plans'.” Ben nodded to the girl, whose green eyes twinkled at the party-prospecting. “Herrington's close, we can come by!”
This was ridiculous-and all Casey's fault, of course. He said nothing as they badgered away at Zeke, who finally held up his hands and stared at the ground. “Fine, fine, FINE, but... Jesus...”
“C'mon, it'll be a fuckin' blast and you know it,” Mills said.
“Anyway, I gave everyone a good time, right? Ya OWE me,” Ben said with a chortle and wink.
“Yea, I got five seconds worth before I had to drive Big-Mouthed Dipshit here home.” Zeke directed a nod and small glare to Casey, who gnawed at his lower lip nervously. “But fine, yea. Sure.”
“Awesome!” Jasmine said, the boys also making random noises of joy.
Casey, feeling like the biggest jackass ever, grabbed his tray and scurried down the row to turn them in. With the look Zeke gave him as he passed, he was ready to ask Bill if he could trade spots with someone eyebrow-deep in blackberry prickers.
~*~
“I said... I was sorry.”
Zeke shook his head and leaned on the car's hood. He'd chosen to take the last half-hour of their lunch-break in the lot, away from everyone chattering about the party Zeke didn't want-everyone but Casey, who'd followed to grovel in apology. Zeke was chainsmoking again, his half-eaten apple sitting on the dirt below. “I'd told you, Casey... 'no big deal'. Just having YOU over is gonna be enough for me to deal with,” he said in a gritty voice.
“I know,” Casey muttered. He leaned with Zeke, feeling bad; even if he wondered why Zeke HAD to be so reserved and enjoy loneliness, when Casey was so sure the boy wanted more out of life, it wasn't his life. “I hadn't thought it all out, when I said... what I said.”
“Evidently.” Zeke sniffed in a breath, shoved a hand in his pocket and looked down at the ground. He took the cigarette from his lips and chewed his lip a moment before saying, “So, the entire farm's comin' by. Hope your schedule today and tomorrow's clear.”
“Why?”
“Cos' you got yourself a fuckton of cake to bake, and like hell you ain't helping me set shit up.”
Casey blinked furiously. “Cake-for a hundred-thou or so? Zeke-”
“Nope, you'd said.”
“Zeke, mom'll never let me take over the kitchen like that!”
However nice it was to see a smile instead of a sullen frown on Zeke's face, the subject matter bringing it on made Casey feel nervous and stiff. “Then you're comin' by tonight, slapping an apron on and baking yourself to death. You can stay overnight, I don't care,” Zeke said. The grin on his face deepened; it belonged to a demon, not Zeke, though perhaps sometimes they were one in the same... “And like hell you're chintzing-out with boxed shit. Nope. We're gonna cash your check, head to the S-and-S and shop like girls. Thrice.”
“Zeke...”
“We'll go with a variety; a vanilla, chocolate, spice and Harvey Wallbanger.”
“A Harvey what?” Casey spluttered.
“Oh, you'll learn. You'll learn.” With that, Zeke flicked his cigarette into the dirt, stomped it out and walked off, whistling and looking like an eight-year old boy coming down the stairs on Christmas morning. Dread filled Casey at a rapid pace... vanilla, chocolate, spice and Harvey Wall-Whatever.
“I'm doomed,” he murmured to himself as he lie back on the GTO's hood, contemplating what he'd gotten himself into.
~*~
“Hey, Mom? Sorry to bug you...”
“It's okay, I'm on break. What's up, sweetie?”
“I'm uh...” Casey cast a look around Zeke's kitchen. Surrounded by plastic bags, each one looking ready-to-split with the weight piled into them, he turned to the kitchen sink and sighed. “Zeke's having me over tonight, if that's okay.”
“Oh. Well... sure, I guess,” Mrs. Connor replied. “Did you put half your check into the bank?”
Casey nodded and rubbed his eyes. “Yea,” he said, leaving out what he'd done with the other half. He still had a good chunk left, but after this shopping trip... “That's set.”
The woman hummed into the phone. “All right. Just-are you coming home to get a few things? Toothbrush, whatever?”
“Yea,” Casey said, chuckling. “Don't worry.”
“Good. I'll be able to give an early 'good night' to you, then,” Mrs. Connor replied.
“Yea. Thanks, Mom-love ya.”
The sentiment was returned and Casey hung up the phone, just as Zeke walked in with the last two bags from the car. “Ah. There we go,” he said. They were placed by the two other bags on the counter; with a bright, beautiful smile, Zeke rubbed his hands together and went over to the microwave. “Let's see... we'll just go with the standard.”
Casey watched on as Zeke pulled a fat volume from the stack of cookbooks; 'The Joy of Cooking' was held out to the boy, who took it. “'K,” Casey muttered.
“Seeing as we're breaking your baking-cherry to bits and pieces tonight, I'll supervise. But don't expect me to even breathe on a wooden spoon or beater tonight. You're on your fuckin' own,” Zeke told him. “You wanna know how to cream, sift, fold? It's allll right in there.”
Zeke's drawling revealed the great amount of mirth he felt, getting to witness the possible disaster Casey could make-become. Apparently, he was going to be happy with whatever happened, even if it meant that he'd need a team of experts to figure out how to rebuild the entire kitchen. “'K,” Casey said again.
“Get on it, baby-boy.” Zeke went to the fridge, got himself a soda and brought it to the kitchen table. The car magazine sitting upon it was plucked up, opened and read by the nonchalant young man; the cigarette he lit sent a vanilla scent into the air. This was another one of those 'special times', apparently.
~*~
Mrs. Connor glanced to the opening door and smiled as Casey walked in. “Hi, honey,” she said before doing a double-take. “Um... what happened to you??”
“Zeke's birthday happened to me,” Casey replied gruffly. He scratched the itch on his nose, his fingernail coming back with a swatch of white flour stuck underneath it. His whole front looked as if he'd painted cake batter all over himself despite the apron he'd been given to wear, faint orange traces from the four eggs he'd dropped decorated his sneakers, and the coup de grace, dried bits of melted marshmallow dotted his hair like snowflakes. “In short, I blabbed to everyone that his 'big day' was tomorrow, which brought on the sudden party-of-the-century Zeke's having, which means I'm baking until I pass out.”
The expression on Mrs. Connor switched slowly from confusion to amusement. “Oh dear. You're in a fix. Well... how's... it coming?”
“The first one's not TOO bad, but vanilla's easiest. Zeke switched from wanting a simple chocolate cake to a MOLTEN one the second the first was taken out, which... really, it's...” Casey paused to breathe. “The Harvey Wallbanger's gonna kill me. For real.”
“Ooh, Harvey Wallbanger? I may have to stop by!”
“May as well, everyone else is...”
Mrs. Connor chuckled. “Well, get your things. And I suppose I'm happy that the biggest deal at this shindig's cake, not booze,” she said.
“That's another thing.” Casey gave his mother a tired look. “D'ya mind if I crash at Zeke's tonight AND tomorrow night? This thing's gonna go 'til late.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Connor stopped her carrot-chopping to look at him a moment before replying, “I... suppose.”
“Thanks. I'm gonna need the whole weekend to recover,” Casey said then turned to the doorway leading to the front of the house. “Zeke's outside, so I gotta hurry.”
“Okay. Casey?”
“Yea?” He turned back and stayed very still; his mother's gaze was just as intense as the other day, only more so.
“I don't-want to hold you up, but I wanna say... say that, if...” Mrs. Connor stammered. “I want you to be careful, baby.”
Careful? Casey had to chuckle. “Mom, I'm not gonna get liquored-up, promise...”
“That's not what I'm talking about,” she said. “Honey, you-you can tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
Mrs. Connor bit her lip, hard, then said, “I haven't talked to your father about this. My... suspicions. Casey... Casey, is Zeke more than a friend?”
The question, spoken in a rushed blurt, froze Casey's body to the spot. “Wha... no! What, you--”
“It's just a question, I wanted to make sure--”
“No!” Casey yelled. “NO, he's not!”
Mrs. Connor's mouth hung open a moment. It was followed by a swallow and a soft-spoken, “Okay. I'm... sorry, I don't want to upset you. It's just... baby, you can talk to me. Do-do you need to?”
This was unbearable. She knew, knew everything. Casey all but spun on his heels and rushed to the stairs, which he climbed two-at-a-time. That and the rush of panic he felt caused his heart to pound so hard, he thought it'd burst out from his chest and explode like a grenade right in front of him. No care was put into his fast-paced packing, random shirts and other items getting thrown into his old school backpack. When he turned back to the door, intent on running into the bathroom for a few toiletries, he found his mother standing in the opened doorway. 'Fuck it, I'll get a toothbrush at the store...' he thought. “I gotta go, he's waiting--”
“I know. He's BEEN waiting, and coming by, dropping you off, having you over... Casey, I just want to know...”
“We're! Not! DATING!” Casey all but howled. It made Mrs. Connor hop a little, but she didn't back off.
“I just want to know that you're being safe, not getting hurt,” she finished. “Casey-Casey, I'm asking you, right now-do you want to be his boyfriend?”
She was technically asking, 'Are you gay?' and it made every cell in Casey's body shrink-up and suck the air out of him. “Mom, please, not NOW, I... I gotta go...” he said in a pleading voice. His eyes felt watery and he moved to pass by her, heading back to the stairs.
“When you get home Sunday?”
“Whatever.”
“I love you, sweetie,” Mrs. Connor said as Casey's hand fell on the doorknob. He stopped in turning it, every muscle in his chest tying into knots.
“Love you too,” he replied quickly before rushing out the door. He didn't bother pulling it closed, too rushed and panicky to care. No matter how he tried to compose himself, he earned odd looks from Zeke when he got in the car and sat down in a huff. “'K, I'm set.”
“Uh...” Zeke put the car into drive and made their way slowly down the road. He shot Casey a look. “You okay?”
“Yea. Just... tired.”
“'K.” Zeke said. For a small while, they stayed quiet; it allowed Casey to collect himself, a little. Now on the street leading into town, Zeke cleared his throat. “I tasted the sample-cupcake from the first batch you made.”
Casey looked down at the half-eaten cake, sitting in its foil wrapper. “Yea?”
“Is this a bad time to tell you that you used way too much baking soda and it tasted like salt-flavored Pop Rocks?”
That was all it took for Casey to slap his hands over his face and start bawling. “Fuck!”
“Whoa, Tonto--”
“After ALL THAT, the... t-the goddamned fucking... shit!”
“Ca-sey, calm down... Christ, you...” Zeke stopped at a light and turned to him with an incredulous expression. Casey was all sobs and moaning; Zeke made a strange-sounding chuckle. “Be serious, it's okay.”
“I t-tried, good flying fuck! I tried!”
“I know, I was there-” Zeke went to say, but he jumped at the next wail Casey made. In a jerk, he pulled the car into the lot of the Quick-Mart quick, earning a loud honk! from the car behind them and a Doppler-Effected cursing from its driver and they zoomed on down the street. Zeke got them to the empty side-lot, parked between two spaces and put the car into park. “Hey. HEY.”
His shouting the words made Casey halt and look to him. Instead of looking pissed-off as Casey expected, Zeke was calm in expression and voice as he said, “It's cake.”
Casey took a deep, shaky breath and let it out in a rush. “But I fucked it all up, and the party--”
“It. Is. Cake. You're being a baking fuck-up didn't flip Earth's axises or wipe out an entire village of starving children in Africa, I fuckin' promise,” Zeke said.
Even if this situation was much, much more than 'cake', even if Casey couldn't tell Zeke that, it switched Casey's perspective from this situation being the ultimate-disaster to his thinking, 'I look like a real fucking idiot, don't I?' He rubbed his eyes with one hand, squeezed his fingers in tight a moment then let out a gasping breath. “I look... like a real fucking idiot, don't I?” he voiced his thoughts.
“Yea, pretty much.” Zeke sighed, backed out of the spot and set off down the road again. “We're going back, cleaning up the kitchen then calling Stop & Shop to order three giant sheet cakes. Their frosting's to die for, anyway.”
“No, no... Zeke, I said, I'm making your cake--”
“And I'm saying that I don't want my house to be burnt down to the ground.”
Casey winced and turned to face Zeke with reluctance; he'd done it now. The boy he loved most was so, so pissed... so he was surprised to find an amused smile on Zeke's face. “What?” Casey asked.
“Whattya mean, 'what?' I don't think I've ever been so fucking amused in my life,” Zeke replied. Sure enough, he started quaking with what had to be raging laughter fighting to escape. “The only reason I'm not laughing is that I'd drive us off the road doing it.”
Blinking, Casey made a small frown and sat back. “Shut up, stop it.”
“Mmm, no. I can't.”
“Zeke...” Casey tried, but the boy continued shaking, even jerking a little at the joints as he drove along. “C'mon, cut it out.”
“Hope you grabbed your shampoo and shit, you're gonna need it. Fuck, no-no, we're stopping at the store right now. This requires fuckin' turpentine,” Zeke teased even more; though Casey still protested his being the butt of Zeke's joke, his lips had to fight to keep frowning. He smacked Zeke's arm, again.
“Shut UP, you're such a jerk,” he said.
“Did you bring your camera? If not, we're gonna need to get some film for my old one, too--”
Seeing as they'd now stopped at a red light, the slap-fest began; Casey, grunting and trying so hard not to laugh, began smacking at the older boy with everything he had... within reason, of course. He didn't want to hurt Zeke, just show his displeasure. Zeke ooh!'ed and lifted his arms to defend himself, giving a few slaps back in the most ineffectual way possible. Casey, his face feeling red-hot, gave in and laughed until his throat was sore. When the light turned green, Zeke reached to his forehead, spread his fingers around it and shoved him back slowly. “Cease fire, unless you wanna go through a guardrail,” he said, still chuckling.
~*~
It took a little more than an hour to mop, wipe and sweep, and that was just to save the floor. More time had been spent cleaning counter-tops, some scraping at stubborn, dried food items with a butter-knife required. By the time the job was wholly finished, the exhaustion was too much to keep standing. The specialty cigarettes, a bag of chips and six pack of beer was brought onto the porch, where the boys crashed together on the couch. It was better than being inside, especially with the surprise of cool, summer breezes passing through. They were left in just their shorts, no shirts, socks or shoes involved, to cool off. Even with the tension, how Casey enjoyed the sights more than he liked, his mother knowing and waiting for his return home, Casey somehow managed to close his eyes and relax.
“It'll be fun,” he said. “The party.”
“It'd be 'funner' if it was held at YOUR place, or Ben's,” Zeke replied.
Casey smiled around the cigarette he puffed from. “Like Ben said, though-he's owed.”
“The only reason I said, 'hey, stay over Saturday, too!' was so I'd have a fuckin' maid. That-I'm not phone-ordering,” Zeke said, grinning back. “So enjoy the party all you can.”
“Next you'll say I gotta do it in some skimpy, Halloween French-maid slut-costume,” Casey said.
“Hmm. There IS the Spencer's at the mall. I'll call Jas, see if she can pick something up.”
This earned another slap, of course; Zeke chuckled as Casey rolled his eyes and said, “Quiet.”
“Mmm...” Zeke hummed again, his eyes going into slits as he stared at the garage. “Maybe you're right.”
“About what?”
“How 'it'll be fun', the whole... party thing.”
“May as well give fun a shot, right?” Casey said.
“It's hard when you barely know how. But... first time for everything,” Zeke replied.
Casey let his head loll to face Zeke; he couldn't help the smile. God, he was gorgeous. It was a wonder he didn't walk around telling everyone around him, 'Aren't I a beautiful specimen of a man?' because he had all rights to do so. It wouldn't offend Casey in the slightest, along with anyone else that had functioning eyes and hormones. “Beautiful.”
“Hmm?”
“Huh?”
“What's beautiful?” Zeke asked.
Shit, shit, shit, he'd SAID that, not thought... “That butterfly...” Casey blurted and nodded behind Zeke; when Zeke turned to look, Casey made a chuckle he hoped didn't sound nervous as he felt. “Just missed it. A Monarch.”
Zeke shrugged and sat back again, smoking and tapping his foot in the air. Casey looked away before he made an even bigger ass of himself.
~*~
It was weird, the way the darkness felt in this house. At night, Casey's room felt small and comforting. Sometimes that was due to messes in the corner, or the fact that he had to stuff everything he owned into a small space. Here at Zeke's, he could spread out and have enough room for triple his current possessions. The ceilings were high and every noise from the scrape of branches on the windows or scurrying animals was amplified ten-thousand times. Casey didn't feel uneasy-perhaps a little out of his depth, or confused.
The living room was quiet, though Casey could hear the old, antique clock in the kitchen tick-tocking away. He turned onto his other side, hitched his blanket up higher and tried settling in. The couch-bed was incredibly comfortable, but no matter how surprisingly soft and thick the mattress was or how the blanket held the scent of fresh laundry, Casey couldn't shut his eyes and KEEP them closed. It took him a moment to realize that this was his first-ever sleepover. Going for a weekend at Grandma's didn't count.
There'd been another choice offered, but it would've been worse; even if Zeke's room was a little smaller, more insulated and calm, Casey wouldn't just stay awake, he'd have to battle a raging hard-on all night. Sleeping with Zeke's shirt had been enough torture, being on his couch was an anomaly altogether... being in his bed, climbing under the covers, resting on his pillows and mattress all of which had memorized every movement, scent and contour?
This wasn't helping. Casey moved onto his back this time and stared at the shadowy ceiling above. Doing so, another problem surfaced; namely, the two and a half beers, full glass of water and soda he'd taken into him in the last six or seven hours. Casey groaned inwardly and forced himself to a sit then stand. He was glad for the low-light coming from the kitchen, which cast itself just enough through the rest of the bottom floor. The task at hand was getting to the second without falling down the stairs.
Casey hopped up as carefully as he could, sliding his hand over the rail to guide him along. The wood was sturdy, no loud crackles sounding off. Once at the top, Casey made his steps slow, shuffling over the hard-wood flooring. He didn't need to wake Zeke up, not when the last thing he'd said was, “Fuckin' beat... don't wake me 'til after noon, 'k?” The door to his bedroom was cracked open, not a sound coming from inside. Casey went to pass by, but made the mistake of glancing in.
How could he not screech to a halt and stare at the bed where Zeke lay, the sheet over him barely covering his obviously-naked form? Though it was dark, his silhouette was clear enough to make out the strong legs, curve of his spine, the roll of his shoulders, all of which was illuminated by soft moonlight coming from outside. This was every poet's grandest cliché, every wish Casey made that he could draw or paint to capture this scene specifically. Drawing stick figures was a stretch for him, however-and no one could truly encapsulate what Casey was looking at in this moment. They hadn't invented the kind of paint or brush required to display the feelings Casey had toward the sleeping creature before him.
When Zeke made a thrumming, breathy sigh, Casey jumped out of sight then scurried into the bathroom. The door was shut behind him and he rushed over to the toilet; its lid was put up, pajama shorts tugged down and he went to aim. Erections brought the usual problems, however, and with what Casey had just seen...
'C'mon,' he told his cock in his mind, but it stayed at half-mast, hard enough to prevent a piss. Casey almost considered a quick jerking-off, but-no way. He had to resort to digging into his 'Icky Memory Bank' for cock-withering material. The image of his mom dancing in the bedroom in just her bra and slip, her thinking everyone was out, was the most visited. It didn't work this time; Casey sighed and went back to the day he saw Bucky Samson, Gabe Santora's best friend pick at a wedgie then smell his fingers. Though it made him cringe and scowl, it was a no-go. The prick, both figuratively AND literally, stood there without flinching.
This was hopeless. Casey's bladder was maxed and his cock may as well have been giggling at him, taunting him as it was oft to do since his voice started changing. No memory helped-he needed something more, perhaps beyond memory. Fantasy, the worst kind...
“Get the hell outta my house, you fuckin' fag!” Zeke yelled at Casey, who'd been caught moments before gazing at him with love and wonder.
The images and sounds hurt him straight to the core, but it worked.
~*~
Just to repeat myself from the last TWO posts: sorry to be taking so long with this one. I didn't mean for it to blow up like this! And yea, summer's long gone... still!
Title: Sweet Valley (Pt. 6)
Pairing/Characters: C/Z(?), OCs, Mr. and Mrs. Connor
Rating: Light NC-17
Disclaimer: Don't own!
Author's Note: I'm basing a lot of this story on my OWN experiences, including the invites, camaraderie and lesson learned as a young middle-schooler. Trying to capture it best I can. :)
Synopsis: A late contribution to ASD's 'Summer of Us' Challenge, as promised. Prompt #19, "Fruitpicking"... The summer before senior year, Casey finds some worth in taking on a new, promising and enlightening journey into the real world.
Previous Parts
July 16th
“The only reason I bothered getting up was cos' we're getting paid.”
Zeke chuckled and drove away from the curb. He glanced to Casey, would couldn't seem to stop yawning. “I didn't get the chance to grab coffee yet... AND I need cigs. Do you mind skipping Dunks in favor of the Quick-Stop's joe?”
“No, that's cool. I might get a Red Bull, actually-I need the extra voltage,” Casey replied.
It wasn't long before they were out of Casey's neighborhood and on the main drag leading through Herrington, where the Quick-Stop sat just two lights down. They lucked, both staying green; Zeke hit the blinker, turned right and parked. “I'm gonna get stuck doin' blackberries today... I just know it,” he said as he and Casey got out.
“Right?” Casey chuckled and stepped into the shop, followed closely by Zeke. They both made a beeline for the drinks-coffee-counter for Zeke, soda coolers for Casey. It didn't take long for Casey to make his choice, that being the largest Red Bull available. He wandered back to Zeke, snapping the top open and taking a long sip. The box sitting by the sugar canister made him raise his eyebrows. “Ooh, they sell 'Jamie's,” he said as he pointed to the logo belonging to the best doughnut shop in Herrington... Ohio, really. Both of them grabbed two apiece and brought their things over to the register, where a pretty Indian woman wearing the brightest, most colorful dress stood.
“Hello,” she said in a cheery voice.
“Hey... Case, just dump it altogether, I gotta use my card,” Zeke told him.
“Oh. 'K, but I'm giving you the cash,” Casey said.
Zeke shrugged as the clerk rang them up. Before she could finalize the order, Zeke said, “And a pack of Marb-100's.”
“Do you have ID?”
“Yea.” Zeke reached into his wallet to present his license. The woman took it, looked then beamed brightly.
“Happy birthday!”
Casey frowned and looked to Zeke, who blinked furiously as he took it back. “Well, it's tomorrow...”
“Your birthday's tomorrow?” Casey asked.
“Yea,” Zeke said.
“Eight-fifty-two,” the clerk said. “The coffee is free for you, today.”
Zeke nodded quick, muttered a “Thanks,” and let her scan his credit card. When it was over, she wished them a 'happy day' and they left. Casey, still stuck on the idea of Zeke's not saying anything about what tomorrow happened to be, got in the car and smiled.
“Why didn't you say anything?” he asked.
“It's not a big deal, that's all,” Zeke replied. He didn't waste any time, unwrapping the pack and lighting-up immediately. “I don't do much on my birthdays; maybe hook myself up with a brew or two, rent a video...”
“That's not enough?”
Zeke looked to Casey as he turned the engine on. “Yea, it is?”
Casey wasn't buying it. He stayed on the subject as they got back on the road, asking, “How old are you gonna be?”
“Nineteen,” Zeke replied.
“Cool.”
“When's yours?”
“Huh?”
“When's your birthday?” Zeke asked, giving Casey a smirk that said, 'Duh?'
“Oh...” Casey smiled. “October second. I'll be eighteen.”
“Ah. You're not legal for nothin',” Zeke said, chuckling.
“Please, you just said you were gonna drink-up, you HAVE drank-up... last I knew, you had to be twenty-one for that,” Casey replied.
“But I can join the army, smoke and fuck.”
Casey rolled his eyes. “Oh yea, what a joy, that first one-boy, do I wish I could be drafted,” he said with a sarcastic grin.
“Hey man, rite of passage and all that shit,” Zeke said. A slow smile stretched his lips, which held his cigarette tight. “Little baby boy.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you. Baby, baby, baby...”
“Shut up,” Casey said, smacking Zeke's arm. It made the young man chuckle in titters and shake his head.
“Oh, that SO hurt. Baby,” he said.
“Good. So, what're we doin' for your birthday?” Casey asked.
“Huh?” Zeke scoffed. “Nothin'. Well, if you wanna come by, I ain't doin' anything.”
“I know, that's the point; we DO something. For your birthday.”
“Just leave the last bit off. We'll 'do something',” Zeke said.
“C'mon...” Casey sighed and gave Zeke an imploring stare. “A little party? Maybe? I'll make a cake.”
This made Zeke burst out a couple loud guffaws. “Go on and do that, boy; just set aside some cash from your check for a fire extinguisher.”
“Oh, you think? Like you said-I'll prove myself.”
Zeke sighed, shook his head and smiled; again, it was warm and sweet, directed right at his passenger. “You seriously wanna bake a cake for me, huh?” he asked.
“Why not?” Casey asked back.
“The more appropriate question is 'why?' really,” Zeke said.
“Cos'... it's fun, isn't it?”
“Cake?”
“Yea.”
“It's tasty-at least when I make it, sure, but fun?”
“I'll prove it.”
“Mmm.” Zeke took a deep, slow-and to Casey, horribly sexy drag and let it out in a stream. “Fine, you're on.”
It was silly, feeling a sort of honor in getting to make Zeke's birthday special, but Casey had always enjoyed a little 'silliness' in his life. He was going to make Zeke feel like someone cared about him-after all, he'd made Casey's life a whole lot brighter in the last few weeks. He almost replied, 'Thanks,' but figured that'd look odd.
~*~
Luck had smiled upon the boys this day, sending them to the less-grueling task of strawberry picking. Mills and Jasmine were with them, talking excitedly about what their money was going to do for them this weekend. Jasmine was almost too chipper when it came to going to a department store for makeup instead of the cheap drugstore variety, while Mills had his eyes on a pair of Doc Martins. “Dad'll kill me, but fuck that-my money,” he said of his name-brand purchase-plans.
“What about you guys?” Jasmine asked the boys. Casey shrugged.
“Eh, new clothes would be nice... at Penney's, like you,” he said. “Kinda sick of Blue-Light Specials.”
“Hah, darned right. Hey... we could always meet-up at the mall to shop!” Jasmine said.
“Riiight... like I wanna stand around with a bunch of girls in the mall,” Mills said. “I'm a guy, and guys run in, get what they want then leave.”
“Like hell! You said just yesterday, you practically camped-out at Media Play,” Jasmine retorted.
“That is TOTALLY different.”
Casey chuckled and finished the last pint in his tray. Looking to the plump, juicy fruits he'd collected, he asked, “Zeke-strawberries?”
“Uh... no thanks, kinda sick of lookin' at 'em,” Zeke replied, smirking.
“I meant for your cake.”
Both Jasmine and Mills looked up with interest. “What cake?” Jasmine asked.
“Zeke's birthday's tomorrow, and he dared me to make him a cake,” Casey said. Zeke shot his eyes up to Casey, wide and dark.
“Number one, did not, and two, shut. Up,” he said with warning.
“It's your birthday tomorrow? Cool!” Jasmine said.
“What're you doin' for it?” Mills asked.
“Nothing. Casey's dropping by, I dunno,” Zeke replied in a mumble. “I don't make it a BFD.”
“Why not? Dude, that's the biggest excuse for a party ever, am I right?” Mills said.
“We NEED another fuckin' party,” Jasmine added. Zeke scoffed.
“Not on my account, you don't.”
Casey bit his lip. He'd done it now... “It's not something he wants to make a big deal outta,” he said in an attempt to quell any party-crashers dropping in on them.
“Aw, why not? Seriously, dude, I make a MEAN cupcake!” Jasmine said.
“I'll spring for pizza?” Mills joined in the 'Let's Have a Party Zeke Wasn't Planning On Throwing' brigade. Of course, Ben and another girl-her name escaping Casey, though it may have started with a 'D' chose to pass by at that moment.
“Dude, is there a party?” Ben asked.
“Guys. SE-riously,” Zeke said with emphasis, but Mills nodded to the pair.
“We're trying to convince Zeke that his birthday needs us,” he said.
“Hey, a birthday, huh? Cool! When's it?” Ben asked.
Zeke, looking bereft and tired, said, “Tomorrow.”
“Me and Danielle were talking about taking a night-drive tomorrow but don't have actual 'plans'.” Ben nodded to the girl, whose green eyes twinkled at the party-prospecting. “Herrington's close, we can come by!”
This was ridiculous-and all Casey's fault, of course. He said nothing as they badgered away at Zeke, who finally held up his hands and stared at the ground. “Fine, fine, FINE, but... Jesus...”
“C'mon, it'll be a fuckin' blast and you know it,” Mills said.
“Anyway, I gave everyone a good time, right? Ya OWE me,” Ben said with a chortle and wink.
“Yea, I got five seconds worth before I had to drive Big-Mouthed Dipshit here home.” Zeke directed a nod and small glare to Casey, who gnawed at his lower lip nervously. “But fine, yea. Sure.”
“Awesome!” Jasmine said, the boys also making random noises of joy.
Casey, feeling like the biggest jackass ever, grabbed his tray and scurried down the row to turn them in. With the look Zeke gave him as he passed, he was ready to ask Bill if he could trade spots with someone eyebrow-deep in blackberry prickers.
~*~
“I said... I was sorry.”
Zeke shook his head and leaned on the car's hood. He'd chosen to take the last half-hour of their lunch-break in the lot, away from everyone chattering about the party Zeke didn't want-everyone but Casey, who'd followed to grovel in apology. Zeke was chainsmoking again, his half-eaten apple sitting on the dirt below. “I'd told you, Casey... 'no big deal'. Just having YOU over is gonna be enough for me to deal with,” he said in a gritty voice.
“I know,” Casey muttered. He leaned with Zeke, feeling bad; even if he wondered why Zeke HAD to be so reserved and enjoy loneliness, when Casey was so sure the boy wanted more out of life, it wasn't his life. “I hadn't thought it all out, when I said... what I said.”
“Evidently.” Zeke sniffed in a breath, shoved a hand in his pocket and looked down at the ground. He took the cigarette from his lips and chewed his lip a moment before saying, “So, the entire farm's comin' by. Hope your schedule today and tomorrow's clear.”
“Why?”
“Cos' you got yourself a fuckton of cake to bake, and like hell you ain't helping me set shit up.”
Casey blinked furiously. “Cake-for a hundred-thou or so? Zeke-”
“Nope, you'd said.”
“Zeke, mom'll never let me take over the kitchen like that!”
However nice it was to see a smile instead of a sullen frown on Zeke's face, the subject matter bringing it on made Casey feel nervous and stiff. “Then you're comin' by tonight, slapping an apron on and baking yourself to death. You can stay overnight, I don't care,” Zeke said. The grin on his face deepened; it belonged to a demon, not Zeke, though perhaps sometimes they were one in the same... “And like hell you're chintzing-out with boxed shit. Nope. We're gonna cash your check, head to the S-and-S and shop like girls. Thrice.”
“Zeke...”
“We'll go with a variety; a vanilla, chocolate, spice and Harvey Wallbanger.”
“A Harvey what?” Casey spluttered.
“Oh, you'll learn. You'll learn.” With that, Zeke flicked his cigarette into the dirt, stomped it out and walked off, whistling and looking like an eight-year old boy coming down the stairs on Christmas morning. Dread filled Casey at a rapid pace... vanilla, chocolate, spice and Harvey Wall-Whatever.
“I'm doomed,” he murmured to himself as he lie back on the GTO's hood, contemplating what he'd gotten himself into.
~*~
“Hey, Mom? Sorry to bug you...”
“It's okay, I'm on break. What's up, sweetie?”
“I'm uh...” Casey cast a look around Zeke's kitchen. Surrounded by plastic bags, each one looking ready-to-split with the weight piled into them, he turned to the kitchen sink and sighed. “Zeke's having me over tonight, if that's okay.”
“Oh. Well... sure, I guess,” Mrs. Connor replied. “Did you put half your check into the bank?”
Casey nodded and rubbed his eyes. “Yea,” he said, leaving out what he'd done with the other half. He still had a good chunk left, but after this shopping trip... “That's set.”
The woman hummed into the phone. “All right. Just-are you coming home to get a few things? Toothbrush, whatever?”
“Yea,” Casey said, chuckling. “Don't worry.”
“Good. I'll be able to give an early 'good night' to you, then,” Mrs. Connor replied.
“Yea. Thanks, Mom-love ya.”
The sentiment was returned and Casey hung up the phone, just as Zeke walked in with the last two bags from the car. “Ah. There we go,” he said. They were placed by the two other bags on the counter; with a bright, beautiful smile, Zeke rubbed his hands together and went over to the microwave. “Let's see... we'll just go with the standard.”
Casey watched on as Zeke pulled a fat volume from the stack of cookbooks; 'The Joy of Cooking' was held out to the boy, who took it. “'K,” Casey muttered.
“Seeing as we're breaking your baking-cherry to bits and pieces tonight, I'll supervise. But don't expect me to even breathe on a wooden spoon or beater tonight. You're on your fuckin' own,” Zeke told him. “You wanna know how to cream, sift, fold? It's allll right in there.”
Zeke's drawling revealed the great amount of mirth he felt, getting to witness the possible disaster Casey could make-become. Apparently, he was going to be happy with whatever happened, even if it meant that he'd need a team of experts to figure out how to rebuild the entire kitchen. “'K,” Casey said again.
“Get on it, baby-boy.” Zeke went to the fridge, got himself a soda and brought it to the kitchen table. The car magazine sitting upon it was plucked up, opened and read by the nonchalant young man; the cigarette he lit sent a vanilla scent into the air. This was another one of those 'special times', apparently.
~*~
Mrs. Connor glanced to the opening door and smiled as Casey walked in. “Hi, honey,” she said before doing a double-take. “Um... what happened to you??”
“Zeke's birthday happened to me,” Casey replied gruffly. He scratched the itch on his nose, his fingernail coming back with a swatch of white flour stuck underneath it. His whole front looked as if he'd painted cake batter all over himself despite the apron he'd been given to wear, faint orange traces from the four eggs he'd dropped decorated his sneakers, and the coup de grace, dried bits of melted marshmallow dotted his hair like snowflakes. “In short, I blabbed to everyone that his 'big day' was tomorrow, which brought on the sudden party-of-the-century Zeke's having, which means I'm baking until I pass out.”
The expression on Mrs. Connor switched slowly from confusion to amusement. “Oh dear. You're in a fix. Well... how's... it coming?”
“The first one's not TOO bad, but vanilla's easiest. Zeke switched from wanting a simple chocolate cake to a MOLTEN one the second the first was taken out, which... really, it's...” Casey paused to breathe. “The Harvey Wallbanger's gonna kill me. For real.”
“Ooh, Harvey Wallbanger? I may have to stop by!”
“May as well, everyone else is...”
Mrs. Connor chuckled. “Well, get your things. And I suppose I'm happy that the biggest deal at this shindig's cake, not booze,” she said.
“That's another thing.” Casey gave his mother a tired look. “D'ya mind if I crash at Zeke's tonight AND tomorrow night? This thing's gonna go 'til late.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Connor stopped her carrot-chopping to look at him a moment before replying, “I... suppose.”
“Thanks. I'm gonna need the whole weekend to recover,” Casey said then turned to the doorway leading to the front of the house. “Zeke's outside, so I gotta hurry.”
“Okay. Casey?”
“Yea?” He turned back and stayed very still; his mother's gaze was just as intense as the other day, only more so.
“I don't-want to hold you up, but I wanna say... say that, if...” Mrs. Connor stammered. “I want you to be careful, baby.”
Careful? Casey had to chuckle. “Mom, I'm not gonna get liquored-up, promise...”
“That's not what I'm talking about,” she said. “Honey, you-you can tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
Mrs. Connor bit her lip, hard, then said, “I haven't talked to your father about this. My... suspicions. Casey... Casey, is Zeke more than a friend?”
The question, spoken in a rushed blurt, froze Casey's body to the spot. “Wha... no! What, you--”
“It's just a question, I wanted to make sure--”
“No!” Casey yelled. “NO, he's not!”
Mrs. Connor's mouth hung open a moment. It was followed by a swallow and a soft-spoken, “Okay. I'm... sorry, I don't want to upset you. It's just... baby, you can talk to me. Do-do you need to?”
This was unbearable. She knew, knew everything. Casey all but spun on his heels and rushed to the stairs, which he climbed two-at-a-time. That and the rush of panic he felt caused his heart to pound so hard, he thought it'd burst out from his chest and explode like a grenade right in front of him. No care was put into his fast-paced packing, random shirts and other items getting thrown into his old school backpack. When he turned back to the door, intent on running into the bathroom for a few toiletries, he found his mother standing in the opened doorway. 'Fuck it, I'll get a toothbrush at the store...' he thought. “I gotta go, he's waiting--”
“I know. He's BEEN waiting, and coming by, dropping you off, having you over... Casey, I just want to know...”
“We're! Not! DATING!” Casey all but howled. It made Mrs. Connor hop a little, but she didn't back off.
“I just want to know that you're being safe, not getting hurt,” she finished. “Casey-Casey, I'm asking you, right now-do you want to be his boyfriend?”
She was technically asking, 'Are you gay?' and it made every cell in Casey's body shrink-up and suck the air out of him. “Mom, please, not NOW, I... I gotta go...” he said in a pleading voice. His eyes felt watery and he moved to pass by her, heading back to the stairs.
“When you get home Sunday?”
“Whatever.”
“I love you, sweetie,” Mrs. Connor said as Casey's hand fell on the doorknob. He stopped in turning it, every muscle in his chest tying into knots.
“Love you too,” he replied quickly before rushing out the door. He didn't bother pulling it closed, too rushed and panicky to care. No matter how he tried to compose himself, he earned odd looks from Zeke when he got in the car and sat down in a huff. “'K, I'm set.”
“Uh...” Zeke put the car into drive and made their way slowly down the road. He shot Casey a look. “You okay?”
“Yea. Just... tired.”
“'K.” Zeke said. For a small while, they stayed quiet; it allowed Casey to collect himself, a little. Now on the street leading into town, Zeke cleared his throat. “I tasted the sample-cupcake from the first batch you made.”
Casey looked down at the half-eaten cake, sitting in its foil wrapper. “Yea?”
“Is this a bad time to tell you that you used way too much baking soda and it tasted like salt-flavored Pop Rocks?”
That was all it took for Casey to slap his hands over his face and start bawling. “Fuck!”
“Whoa, Tonto--”
“After ALL THAT, the... t-the goddamned fucking... shit!”
“Ca-sey, calm down... Christ, you...” Zeke stopped at a light and turned to him with an incredulous expression. Casey was all sobs and moaning; Zeke made a strange-sounding chuckle. “Be serious, it's okay.”
“I t-tried, good flying fuck! I tried!”
“I know, I was there-” Zeke went to say, but he jumped at the next wail Casey made. In a jerk, he pulled the car into the lot of the Quick-Mart quick, earning a loud honk! from the car behind them and a Doppler-Effected cursing from its driver and they zoomed on down the street. Zeke got them to the empty side-lot, parked between two spaces and put the car into park. “Hey. HEY.”
His shouting the words made Casey halt and look to him. Instead of looking pissed-off as Casey expected, Zeke was calm in expression and voice as he said, “It's cake.”
Casey took a deep, shaky breath and let it out in a rush. “But I fucked it all up, and the party--”
“It. Is. Cake. You're being a baking fuck-up didn't flip Earth's axises or wipe out an entire village of starving children in Africa, I fuckin' promise,” Zeke said.
Even if this situation was much, much more than 'cake', even if Casey couldn't tell Zeke that, it switched Casey's perspective from this situation being the ultimate-disaster to his thinking, 'I look like a real fucking idiot, don't I?' He rubbed his eyes with one hand, squeezed his fingers in tight a moment then let out a gasping breath. “I look... like a real fucking idiot, don't I?” he voiced his thoughts.
“Yea, pretty much.” Zeke sighed, backed out of the spot and set off down the road again. “We're going back, cleaning up the kitchen then calling Stop & Shop to order three giant sheet cakes. Their frosting's to die for, anyway.”
“No, no... Zeke, I said, I'm making your cake--”
“And I'm saying that I don't want my house to be burnt down to the ground.”
Casey winced and turned to face Zeke with reluctance; he'd done it now. The boy he loved most was so, so pissed... so he was surprised to find an amused smile on Zeke's face. “What?” Casey asked.
“Whattya mean, 'what?' I don't think I've ever been so fucking amused in my life,” Zeke replied. Sure enough, he started quaking with what had to be raging laughter fighting to escape. “The only reason I'm not laughing is that I'd drive us off the road doing it.”
Blinking, Casey made a small frown and sat back. “Shut up, stop it.”
“Mmm, no. I can't.”
“Zeke...” Casey tried, but the boy continued shaking, even jerking a little at the joints as he drove along. “C'mon, cut it out.”
“Hope you grabbed your shampoo and shit, you're gonna need it. Fuck, no-no, we're stopping at the store right now. This requires fuckin' turpentine,” Zeke teased even more; though Casey still protested his being the butt of Zeke's joke, his lips had to fight to keep frowning. He smacked Zeke's arm, again.
“Shut UP, you're such a jerk,” he said.
“Did you bring your camera? If not, we're gonna need to get some film for my old one, too--”
Seeing as they'd now stopped at a red light, the slap-fest began; Casey, grunting and trying so hard not to laugh, began smacking at the older boy with everything he had... within reason, of course. He didn't want to hurt Zeke, just show his displeasure. Zeke ooh!'ed and lifted his arms to defend himself, giving a few slaps back in the most ineffectual way possible. Casey, his face feeling red-hot, gave in and laughed until his throat was sore. When the light turned green, Zeke reached to his forehead, spread his fingers around it and shoved him back slowly. “Cease fire, unless you wanna go through a guardrail,” he said, still chuckling.
~*~
It took a little more than an hour to mop, wipe and sweep, and that was just to save the floor. More time had been spent cleaning counter-tops, some scraping at stubborn, dried food items with a butter-knife required. By the time the job was wholly finished, the exhaustion was too much to keep standing. The specialty cigarettes, a bag of chips and six pack of beer was brought onto the porch, where the boys crashed together on the couch. It was better than being inside, especially with the surprise of cool, summer breezes passing through. They were left in just their shorts, no shirts, socks or shoes involved, to cool off. Even with the tension, how Casey enjoyed the sights more than he liked, his mother knowing and waiting for his return home, Casey somehow managed to close his eyes and relax.
“It'll be fun,” he said. “The party.”
“It'd be 'funner' if it was held at YOUR place, or Ben's,” Zeke replied.
Casey smiled around the cigarette he puffed from. “Like Ben said, though-he's owed.”
“The only reason I said, 'hey, stay over Saturday, too!' was so I'd have a fuckin' maid. That-I'm not phone-ordering,” Zeke said, grinning back. “So enjoy the party all you can.”
“Next you'll say I gotta do it in some skimpy, Halloween French-maid slut-costume,” Casey said.
“Hmm. There IS the Spencer's at the mall. I'll call Jas, see if she can pick something up.”
This earned another slap, of course; Zeke chuckled as Casey rolled his eyes and said, “Quiet.”
“Mmm...” Zeke hummed again, his eyes going into slits as he stared at the garage. “Maybe you're right.”
“About what?”
“How 'it'll be fun', the whole... party thing.”
“May as well give fun a shot, right?” Casey said.
“It's hard when you barely know how. But... first time for everything,” Zeke replied.
Casey let his head loll to face Zeke; he couldn't help the smile. God, he was gorgeous. It was a wonder he didn't walk around telling everyone around him, 'Aren't I a beautiful specimen of a man?' because he had all rights to do so. It wouldn't offend Casey in the slightest, along with anyone else that had functioning eyes and hormones. “Beautiful.”
“Hmm?”
“Huh?”
“What's beautiful?” Zeke asked.
Shit, shit, shit, he'd SAID that, not thought... “That butterfly...” Casey blurted and nodded behind Zeke; when Zeke turned to look, Casey made a chuckle he hoped didn't sound nervous as he felt. “Just missed it. A Monarch.”
Zeke shrugged and sat back again, smoking and tapping his foot in the air. Casey looked away before he made an even bigger ass of himself.
~*~
It was weird, the way the darkness felt in this house. At night, Casey's room felt small and comforting. Sometimes that was due to messes in the corner, or the fact that he had to stuff everything he owned into a small space. Here at Zeke's, he could spread out and have enough room for triple his current possessions. The ceilings were high and every noise from the scrape of branches on the windows or scurrying animals was amplified ten-thousand times. Casey didn't feel uneasy-perhaps a little out of his depth, or confused.
The living room was quiet, though Casey could hear the old, antique clock in the kitchen tick-tocking away. He turned onto his other side, hitched his blanket up higher and tried settling in. The couch-bed was incredibly comfortable, but no matter how surprisingly soft and thick the mattress was or how the blanket held the scent of fresh laundry, Casey couldn't shut his eyes and KEEP them closed. It took him a moment to realize that this was his first-ever sleepover. Going for a weekend at Grandma's didn't count.
There'd been another choice offered, but it would've been worse; even if Zeke's room was a little smaller, more insulated and calm, Casey wouldn't just stay awake, he'd have to battle a raging hard-on all night. Sleeping with Zeke's shirt had been enough torture, being on his couch was an anomaly altogether... being in his bed, climbing under the covers, resting on his pillows and mattress all of which had memorized every movement, scent and contour?
This wasn't helping. Casey moved onto his back this time and stared at the shadowy ceiling above. Doing so, another problem surfaced; namely, the two and a half beers, full glass of water and soda he'd taken into him in the last six or seven hours. Casey groaned inwardly and forced himself to a sit then stand. He was glad for the low-light coming from the kitchen, which cast itself just enough through the rest of the bottom floor. The task at hand was getting to the second without falling down the stairs.
Casey hopped up as carefully as he could, sliding his hand over the rail to guide him along. The wood was sturdy, no loud crackles sounding off. Once at the top, Casey made his steps slow, shuffling over the hard-wood flooring. He didn't need to wake Zeke up, not when the last thing he'd said was, “Fuckin' beat... don't wake me 'til after noon, 'k?” The door to his bedroom was cracked open, not a sound coming from inside. Casey went to pass by, but made the mistake of glancing in.
How could he not screech to a halt and stare at the bed where Zeke lay, the sheet over him barely covering his obviously-naked form? Though it was dark, his silhouette was clear enough to make out the strong legs, curve of his spine, the roll of his shoulders, all of which was illuminated by soft moonlight coming from outside. This was every poet's grandest cliché, every wish Casey made that he could draw or paint to capture this scene specifically. Drawing stick figures was a stretch for him, however-and no one could truly encapsulate what Casey was looking at in this moment. They hadn't invented the kind of paint or brush required to display the feelings Casey had toward the sleeping creature before him.
When Zeke made a thrumming, breathy sigh, Casey jumped out of sight then scurried into the bathroom. The door was shut behind him and he rushed over to the toilet; its lid was put up, pajama shorts tugged down and he went to aim. Erections brought the usual problems, however, and with what Casey had just seen...
'C'mon,' he told his cock in his mind, but it stayed at half-mast, hard enough to prevent a piss. Casey almost considered a quick jerking-off, but-no way. He had to resort to digging into his 'Icky Memory Bank' for cock-withering material. The image of his mom dancing in the bedroom in just her bra and slip, her thinking everyone was out, was the most visited. It didn't work this time; Casey sighed and went back to the day he saw Bucky Samson, Gabe Santora's best friend pick at a wedgie then smell his fingers. Though it made him cringe and scowl, it was a no-go. The prick, both figuratively AND literally, stood there without flinching.
This was hopeless. Casey's bladder was maxed and his cock may as well have been giggling at him, taunting him as it was oft to do since his voice started changing. No memory helped-he needed something more, perhaps beyond memory. Fantasy, the worst kind...
“Get the hell outta my house, you fuckin' fag!” Zeke yelled at Casey, who'd been caught moments before gazing at him with love and wonder.
The images and sounds hurt him straight to the core, but it worked.
~*~