(no subject)
MOAR Chrimbo-lateness! This request was made by...
~*nachtschade!*~
I'm all for a very silly wintery/christmassy C/Z fic... Maybe something with an elf costume, who-ever might be wearing it. Or not wearing it.
Title: It's All Interpretation
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own!
Synopsis: A small x-over (not telling!) where Casey's just gonna have to make the best of things.
It'd been the worst bet Casey had ever made, and he'd not even been the one to MAKE it. The only reason Casey wasn't bawling and whining about it was that Zeke was in this mess, though it'd been all his fault they were in this position. The idiot needed to know when to keep his mouth shut when it came to challenging Stan on sports-history.
“His name isn't Bill, it's Bob,” was what had gotten the ball rolling... or really, it'd been Bill Buckner who'd rolled the ball in the infamous fail of the Red Sox in the 1986 World Series, but far be it for Zeke to back down when Stan shook his head slowly, an incredulous look on his face.
“The fuck are you talking about? It was Bill, I should know! I've followed the Mets forever.”
“Bob played for the Sox, doofus.”
“They were PLAYING the Mets in that game! See?? You don't even know which team played who!”
Casey didn't know how the subject had been broached in the first place, never mind how he'd been roped into this debacle. Perhaps it'd been when Stokely joined in, saying, “Sorry, Zeke, his name's Bill.” That had been when Zeke jabbed Casey with his elbow and said, “Back me up.”
“I dunno anything about sports...”
“I'm your boyfriend. That means you take my side without question.”
“Can't we just look this shit up on the 'net? Fuck's sake, Stan's computer is right over there.” Casey had waved to the expensive set-up in the corner of Stan's living room, but the young jock had made other plans.
“Yea, let's check-but first, you're positive, Zeke?” Stan had said.
“Yup.”
“Wanna make a bet on it?”
All Casey had done was watch them come up with a half-cocked betting system having to do with Stan's Christmas party that upcoming Friday night. It wasn't officially a costume-party, but for Zeke and Casey, it would be-if they lost. And Zeke had been “one-fucking-hundred-fucking-percent fucking positive,” his words, that they wouldn't. Before Casey could say, “Waitafuckinsecond, how did I get involved?” Zeke had reached to the Stan's extended hand and shook on it.
Less than a minute later, it was official: both Zeke and Casey would be showing up at Stan's party wearing elf costumes.
“The fuck, you BASTARD!” Casey had screamed at a hastily-retreating Zeke, who was both groaning with defeat and chuckling. The slapfest that had begun needed Stokely's intervention, herself unable to stop laughing. Not long after, Casey's curfew was up and Zeke needed to take him home. The whole ride back, Casey had been told it'll be fun and it's Christmas, no big and c'mon, baby, don't be mad and are you mad at me? C'mon, say somethin'...
“Just drive me home, fuckwad.”
“Mmm... c'mon. C'mooon...” Zeke thought his sexy drawl got him out of everything, and he was right. At least up until now.
Casey stared at the bed where his rented elf-costume sat. Seeing as Christmas was less than a week away, he'd needed to take the bottom-of-the-barrel choices offered. This suit-a screaming red and green number with an itchy collar encased in glitter had been the best of them, which wasn't saying much. Bells were sew into the shirt's cuffs, jingling and jangling with every touch and step. The worst part was that the pants were short, reaching the tops of his calves, and though the idea of wearing tights was making Casey sick, the outfit looked horrific without them. It was either throw the nylons on or shave his legs.
“God... d-damn it, I hate you,” Casey said aloud as he stuffed himself into the stretchy fabric. How did girls do this? It felt awfully confining, and his waist was damned-near nonexistent. A big-hipped, full-figured female suffered greatly, he figured. After three or four minutes configuring the material until it felt right, the short slacks were put on and tied in the front. 'Not even a button and zip,' he thought.
The inside seams of the shirt were almost as bad as the sparkly collar. Cheaply-made and obviously worn a few hundred times, Casey cringed at the feel of fraying fabric... sharp, almost. It had three buttons in the front, at any rate. That finished, Casey looked back to the bed and wanted to cry. Shoes and a stupid fucking hat completed this madness; he'd look like a tool if he tried wearing his Chucks with this crap.
Sighing with dread, Casey slipped the shoes on, stuffed the hat on his head then walked out of his room and into the bathroom. The full mirror was needed; even IF he looked stupid, he'd make it all the way stupid. Going at this half-assed wasn't an option, as it'd only make things worse. Once getting a good, good look at himself, he crossed his arms and thought. 'It IS Christmas,' and no matter how self-conscious this was going to get for him, he DID look cheery... maybe even a little cute. He looked to the small wicker stand where his mother's makeup sat...
“Oh fine,” he muttered. He sifted through the basket full of random items until he came upon a set of deep pink and red blushes. A makeup brush was sticking out in the back, so he took that as well then set to work on his face. He almost smiled... this COULD be fun, if he let it be that way. Why be grumpy in this get-up, when he could have a laugh with everyone else? He hadn't planned on anything other than putting large deep-pink circles on his cheeks, but the effect of it paled his eyes. A little eyeliner never killed anyone.
By the time he was done, he was the most perfect elf an eighteen-year old young man could make of himself, blushed, lined and even a little lipsticked. Granted, he was no cosmetics expert, but he could only imagine how Zeke looked right now. The guy could barely brush his fucking hair never mind put an elaborate, ridiculous costume together. Casey bobbed up and down a little and chuckled at the sound of his bells going off-at both the shirt AND hat. 'Let 'em laugh, this is gonna be fun,' he thought.
The doorbell rang; right on time. Casey hopped-to, tearing out into the hall, down the stairs and to the door. He took a deep breath, tugged his uncomfortable shirt down straight and opened the door. He was met with Zeke's raging laughter; Casey, simply-put, started raging.
“No. NO! You have got to be fucking! KIDDING me!” he spluttered with fury.
“Good FUCK, you look ridiculous! Cute... but ridiculous!”
Casey scanned Zeke from head to toe, over and over again, growing hot in the face. Perhaps he was as red as the blush at this point with what he saw...
“C'mon, hurry up or we're gonna be la--”
“FUCK you! No! We made a deal!”
Zeke sighed and shook his head in slow jerks. “It's called 'personal interpretation'. Am I not an elf?”
“You're--” Casey seethed as Zeke made a dramatic twirl. The action made his long, forest-green cape swirl in rivulets, along with the long dark hair of his wig. His ears were pointed perfectly, as if he'd been born with them instead of being plastic. When he faced Casey again, the boy stared at his front. The elaborate, finely-tailored weskit and shirt were simply gorgeous, fitting Zeke's firm, slim frame very, very nicely. “--An asshole!”
“He said elf, not what KIND of elf,” Zeke said, shrugging. Casey now noticed the bow he carried, along with a quiver of arrows. “And seeing as 'Lord of the Rings' is all the rage in theaters, it's fitting enough.”
“You know what kind of elf Stan meant!!”
“He wasn't specific, was he? Anyway... why've you gone to see the damned thing ten or twenty times by now? 'Oh god, Legolas is SO hot!' I just don't look good with blond hair, so you get a brunette version,” Zeke said. As Casey stood there, wordless and fuming, Zeke sighed down to a deep breath and said, “Christ, you're adorable right now.”
“So I get dragged into that stupid motherfucking bet you make with Stan and you come out looking like a fantasy world hot guy... while I look like THIS??” Casey raised his arms for effect; a big mistake as the bells sounded off loudly, making Zeke burst into laughter again. “Shut up!”
“You're too short to be a Middle Earth elf. If anything, you're a hobbit,” Zeke said past his chortling. He stopped dead and looked to be in deep thought. “Aw fuck, why didn't I order you a hobbit costume?”
“Cos' we're supposed to be going as ELVES!!”
“Christ, am I not hot right now? C'mon,” Zeke said.
Casey sniffed, doing his best to hold onto the act... however hard it was. Christ, Zeke really was delicious like this, wasn't he? As if knowing the conflict going on in Casey's head, Zeke put on his best corn-fed Midwestern boy smile on... the one that got into Casey's pants way too many times. “I'll make it up to you, baby... 'promise,” he said.
“God, I hate you,” Casey said, needing to turn quick to hide his smile as he got his coat.
“This ain't all I got.”
“What else, herpes...” Casey went to retort, but when he turned to face Zeke again he almost dropped his coat. A chain was looped around Zeke's fingers; at the end swayed a glinting gold object. “...Is that?”
“It is, my precious,” Zeke said.
Casey hadn't made his 'Rings and WETA fetishes a secret, especially when it came to his wanting his own One Ring. He padded over, jingling all the way, until he reached up and placed his palm under the cool metal. “Sweet Jesus...”
“Ten-karat, solid. Mind forgiving me now?”
“Ten fucking KARAT??”
“It was gonna be your Christmas present, but I figured I'd give it early so I could make it out tonight with my balls intact. Or better.”
Casey could only splutter and gasp for a few moments before ripping the chain from Zeke, pulling him down by the neck and giving him the kiss of a lifetime. They'd end up late due to his needing to fix his makeup and clean the pink from Zeke's lips and face, but it was worth it.
~*nachtschade!*~
I'm all for a very silly wintery/christmassy C/Z fic... Maybe something with an elf costume, who-ever might be wearing it. Or not wearing it.
Title: It's All Interpretation
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own!
Synopsis: A small x-over (not telling!) where Casey's just gonna have to make the best of things.
It'd been the worst bet Casey had ever made, and he'd not even been the one to MAKE it. The only reason Casey wasn't bawling and whining about it was that Zeke was in this mess, though it'd been all his fault they were in this position. The idiot needed to know when to keep his mouth shut when it came to challenging Stan on sports-history.
“His name isn't Bill, it's Bob,” was what had gotten the ball rolling... or really, it'd been Bill Buckner who'd rolled the ball in the infamous fail of the Red Sox in the 1986 World Series, but far be it for Zeke to back down when Stan shook his head slowly, an incredulous look on his face.
“The fuck are you talking about? It was Bill, I should know! I've followed the Mets forever.”
“Bob played for the Sox, doofus.”
“They were PLAYING the Mets in that game! See?? You don't even know which team played who!”
Casey didn't know how the subject had been broached in the first place, never mind how he'd been roped into this debacle. Perhaps it'd been when Stokely joined in, saying, “Sorry, Zeke, his name's Bill.” That had been when Zeke jabbed Casey with his elbow and said, “Back me up.”
“I dunno anything about sports...”
“I'm your boyfriend. That means you take my side without question.”
“Can't we just look this shit up on the 'net? Fuck's sake, Stan's computer is right over there.” Casey had waved to the expensive set-up in the corner of Stan's living room, but the young jock had made other plans.
“Yea, let's check-but first, you're positive, Zeke?” Stan had said.
“Yup.”
“Wanna make a bet on it?”
All Casey had done was watch them come up with a half-cocked betting system having to do with Stan's Christmas party that upcoming Friday night. It wasn't officially a costume-party, but for Zeke and Casey, it would be-if they lost. And Zeke had been “one-fucking-hundred-fucking-percent fucking positive,” his words, that they wouldn't. Before Casey could say, “Waitafuckinsecond, how did I get involved?” Zeke had reached to the Stan's extended hand and shook on it.
Less than a minute later, it was official: both Zeke and Casey would be showing up at Stan's party wearing elf costumes.
“The fuck, you BASTARD!” Casey had screamed at a hastily-retreating Zeke, who was both groaning with defeat and chuckling. The slapfest that had begun needed Stokely's intervention, herself unable to stop laughing. Not long after, Casey's curfew was up and Zeke needed to take him home. The whole ride back, Casey had been told it'll be fun and it's Christmas, no big and c'mon, baby, don't be mad and are you mad at me? C'mon, say somethin'...
“Just drive me home, fuckwad.”
“Mmm... c'mon. C'mooon...” Zeke thought his sexy drawl got him out of everything, and he was right. At least up until now.
Casey stared at the bed where his rented elf-costume sat. Seeing as Christmas was less than a week away, he'd needed to take the bottom-of-the-barrel choices offered. This suit-a screaming red and green number with an itchy collar encased in glitter had been the best of them, which wasn't saying much. Bells were sew into the shirt's cuffs, jingling and jangling with every touch and step. The worst part was that the pants were short, reaching the tops of his calves, and though the idea of wearing tights was making Casey sick, the outfit looked horrific without them. It was either throw the nylons on or shave his legs.
“God... d-damn it, I hate you,” Casey said aloud as he stuffed himself into the stretchy fabric. How did girls do this? It felt awfully confining, and his waist was damned-near nonexistent. A big-hipped, full-figured female suffered greatly, he figured. After three or four minutes configuring the material until it felt right, the short slacks were put on and tied in the front. 'Not even a button and zip,' he thought.
The inside seams of the shirt were almost as bad as the sparkly collar. Cheaply-made and obviously worn a few hundred times, Casey cringed at the feel of fraying fabric... sharp, almost. It had three buttons in the front, at any rate. That finished, Casey looked back to the bed and wanted to cry. Shoes and a stupid fucking hat completed this madness; he'd look like a tool if he tried wearing his Chucks with this crap.
Sighing with dread, Casey slipped the shoes on, stuffed the hat on his head then walked out of his room and into the bathroom. The full mirror was needed; even IF he looked stupid, he'd make it all the way stupid. Going at this half-assed wasn't an option, as it'd only make things worse. Once getting a good, good look at himself, he crossed his arms and thought. 'It IS Christmas,' and no matter how self-conscious this was going to get for him, he DID look cheery... maybe even a little cute. He looked to the small wicker stand where his mother's makeup sat...
“Oh fine,” he muttered. He sifted through the basket full of random items until he came upon a set of deep pink and red blushes. A makeup brush was sticking out in the back, so he took that as well then set to work on his face. He almost smiled... this COULD be fun, if he let it be that way. Why be grumpy in this get-up, when he could have a laugh with everyone else? He hadn't planned on anything other than putting large deep-pink circles on his cheeks, but the effect of it paled his eyes. A little eyeliner never killed anyone.
By the time he was done, he was the most perfect elf an eighteen-year old young man could make of himself, blushed, lined and even a little lipsticked. Granted, he was no cosmetics expert, but he could only imagine how Zeke looked right now. The guy could barely brush his fucking hair never mind put an elaborate, ridiculous costume together. Casey bobbed up and down a little and chuckled at the sound of his bells going off-at both the shirt AND hat. 'Let 'em laugh, this is gonna be fun,' he thought.
The doorbell rang; right on time. Casey hopped-to, tearing out into the hall, down the stairs and to the door. He took a deep breath, tugged his uncomfortable shirt down straight and opened the door. He was met with Zeke's raging laughter; Casey, simply-put, started raging.
“No. NO! You have got to be fucking! KIDDING me!” he spluttered with fury.
“Good FUCK, you look ridiculous! Cute... but ridiculous!”
Casey scanned Zeke from head to toe, over and over again, growing hot in the face. Perhaps he was as red as the blush at this point with what he saw...
“C'mon, hurry up or we're gonna be la--”
“FUCK you! No! We made a deal!”
Zeke sighed and shook his head in slow jerks. “It's called 'personal interpretation'. Am I not an elf?”
“You're--” Casey seethed as Zeke made a dramatic twirl. The action made his long, forest-green cape swirl in rivulets, along with the long dark hair of his wig. His ears were pointed perfectly, as if he'd been born with them instead of being plastic. When he faced Casey again, the boy stared at his front. The elaborate, finely-tailored weskit and shirt were simply gorgeous, fitting Zeke's firm, slim frame very, very nicely. “--An asshole!”
“He said elf, not what KIND of elf,” Zeke said, shrugging. Casey now noticed the bow he carried, along with a quiver of arrows. “And seeing as 'Lord of the Rings' is all the rage in theaters, it's fitting enough.”
“You know what kind of elf Stan meant!!”
“He wasn't specific, was he? Anyway... why've you gone to see the damned thing ten or twenty times by now? 'Oh god, Legolas is SO hot!' I just don't look good with blond hair, so you get a brunette version,” Zeke said. As Casey stood there, wordless and fuming, Zeke sighed down to a deep breath and said, “Christ, you're adorable right now.”
“So I get dragged into that stupid motherfucking bet you make with Stan and you come out looking like a fantasy world hot guy... while I look like THIS??” Casey raised his arms for effect; a big mistake as the bells sounded off loudly, making Zeke burst into laughter again. “Shut up!”
“You're too short to be a Middle Earth elf. If anything, you're a hobbit,” Zeke said past his chortling. He stopped dead and looked to be in deep thought. “Aw fuck, why didn't I order you a hobbit costume?”
“Cos' we're supposed to be going as ELVES!!”
“Christ, am I not hot right now? C'mon,” Zeke said.
Casey sniffed, doing his best to hold onto the act... however hard it was. Christ, Zeke really was delicious like this, wasn't he? As if knowing the conflict going on in Casey's head, Zeke put on his best corn-fed Midwestern boy smile on... the one that got into Casey's pants way too many times. “I'll make it up to you, baby... 'promise,” he said.
“God, I hate you,” Casey said, needing to turn quick to hide his smile as he got his coat.
“This ain't all I got.”
“What else, herpes...” Casey went to retort, but when he turned to face Zeke again he almost dropped his coat. A chain was looped around Zeke's fingers; at the end swayed a glinting gold object. “...Is that?”
“It is, my precious,” Zeke said.
Casey hadn't made his 'Rings and WETA fetishes a secret, especially when it came to his wanting his own One Ring. He padded over, jingling all the way, until he reached up and placed his palm under the cool metal. “Sweet Jesus...”
“Ten-karat, solid. Mind forgiving me now?”
“Ten fucking KARAT??”
“It was gonna be your Christmas present, but I figured I'd give it early so I could make it out tonight with my balls intact. Or better.”
Casey could only splutter and gasp for a few moments before ripping the chain from Zeke, pulling him down by the neck and giving him the kiss of a lifetime. They'd end up late due to his needing to fix his makeup and clean the pink from Zeke's lips and face, but it was worth it.