(no subject)
Title: The Cream In Your Coffee
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: NC-17
Synopsis: Casey learns about coffee. And smex.
Disclaimer: Do. Not. Own.
Author's Note: My Indonesian friends might know a bit of what goes on in here... ;)
“Zeke?”
“Mmrruh?”
Casey sighed and tapped Zeke‘s forehead. “It’s like… ten-thirty in the morning.”
“S’Saturday,” Zeke grumbled back. He shoved his face harder into the pillow, bringing the other one that Casey had vacated over his head. He said something else, but it was too muffled for Casey to understand.
“What?”
The next reply was louder, but again, totally muffled and incoherent. Casey resigned to eating breakfast himself… if he’d find anything worth eating, anyway. He shuffled himself out of the bed, threw his boxers on and left the room.
This truly was a later morning than Casey usually partook of. Even on weekends, Casey was usually up by eight, maybe nine. He had good reasons as to why he’d slept in so long today, however. One didn’t get buzzed off of cheap wine with their best friend, admit attraction--having it go mutual--and have a wild night in bed without SOME sort of exhaustion. Even with Casey’s behind and back tickling with annoying aches and pains, he felt like he was floating on a cloud. Scratching his balls helped, of course, along with a long, wide-mouthed yawn.
Still feeling dreamy and out-of-it, all Casey could think of… coffee. Zeke HAD to have some. He wouldn’t BE Zeke Tyler without five cups of coffee per morning--that was how he’d put it, at any rate. Casey padded into the kitchen and went to the cabinets.
“Christ,” he said aloud. He was going to have to take Zeke on a real grocery trip. One box of ‘Kix’ cereal (gone stale, Casey realized, after taking a ‘test-bite’), two cans of corn, an unopened jar of applesauce… well, that was something, at least. He took it out and looked at the lid. “Sweet God, no…” he mumbled, seeing the expiration date gone well over two years. His first way of helping came in the form of tossing the jar into the trash.
In opening another cabinet, he raised his eyebrows. Apparently, Zeke had a thing for ‘Pop Tarts’, as four opened boxes sat inside. Perhaps they weren’t the healthiest things in the world, but Casey had to admit that the usual breakfast of shredded wheat, an orange and a glass of milk in the Connor household had gotten old years ago. ‘Probably about the time he picked up that applesauce…’ Casey mused with a grin. He took out the apple-cinnamon tarts and smiled wider.
‘There we go,’ he thought; a good-sized bag of coffee sat just past where he’d gotten the tarts. Casey reached up, needing to get on tiptoe to grab it. He dragged it out and looked at the label.
Kopi Luwak, the label read. Other than that, there were no other markings. He undid the vacuum-sealed top, opened it and…
“Oh wow…” he murmured. The scent was overpowering and gorgeous, rich and fruity. It seemed odd that Zeke, king of stale cereal and expired, deadly food would have such a thing. Then again, Zeke really, really liked coffee. Looking to the coffee machine, Casey smiled again.
Yes, he WAS a coffee nut. While Casey’s parents used a cheap, supermarket-bought coffee machine, Zeke’s looked like it was crafted by a master machinist. Bright, shiny silver--sterling, perhaps, glistened in the corner of the counter, with buttons and dials all over the place. After a small search, Casey found everything he needed; fine paper filters, spoons, sugar, and even the instructions on how to work the coffee maker itself. He needed them… “Fucking complicated shit,” he murmured while getting the thing set up.
Just before spooning the grounds into the filter, Casey took a long, greedy sniff from the bag. Hells yes, this was going to be nice. And what better way to wake up the ‘new boyfriend’ than with a cup of joe? He then carefully measured things out, hoping he did it all to Zeke’s expectations. They’d probably have a few cups between them--if not MANY cups, so Casey set everything to the highest amount of twelve servings. He poured the water in, set the filter and tentatively pressed the brew button.
He felt like an expert barista, standing there and watching the aromatic beans brewing, wisps of misty-heat clouding around the machine. He leaned back on the kitchen table, humming lightly to himself while waiting, and scanned the room. Perhaps Zeke wasn’t used to breakfast-in-bed, and Casey would have to use the dilapidated, old cutting board that was stuck behind the toaster instead of a fancy tray, but he’d do it.
Zeke was his three-year-crush. He’d do anything…
“Case?”
‘Aw, crap, he’s up,’ Casey thought, hearing Zeke call out from upstairs. “Yea?”
“What’re you doing?” Zeke asked.
“Breakfast.”
“Oh… there’re…” he went to call, but a loud yawn interrupted. “’Pop Tarts’ and… yea.”
“Yea, I found ‘em… brewing some coffee, too.”
“’K,” Zeke yawned out.
“Want me to bring some up?”
“Naw, gonna shower.”
“Um… wanna wait for me?” Casey yelled, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. He heard Zeke chuckling.
“Ugh, fine. Gonna brush my teeth,” Zeke called back.
Casey smiled, feeling almost--cocky. That was it… cocky, something he’d never quite felt before. Then again, while dating Delilah, he’d felt cock-less, and before her, he’d never had any clout with anyone. But Zeke had said many, many things the night before that he was not ever going to let him take back, him having been a bit drunk or no.
The smell from the filling pot was drug-like, now. He went over and leaned forward, taking it all in as if he were swallowing the air around him. Finally, the pot was filled all the way and Casey brought over the mugs and accoutrements. He’d leave Zeke’s black, but it was cream and sugar all the way for himself. Well--milk and sugar, seeing as how that was all Zeke had in the fridge, and not much of it. Weighing his parents boring old ‘Folgers’ with half-and-half to this delicacy, Casey counted his blessings.
The milk barely touched the deep, almost-black color of the drink, but he didn’t care--not when after putting in four large spoonfuls of sugar, he took a sip and was instantly transported to some level of nirvana he’d never visited.
Zeke then entered the room, wearing just boxers as well and a drowsy smile on his face. “Hey,” he croaked in greeting.
“Hey yourself,” Casey said over the rim of his mug.
“Did you make extra pop farts for me?”
Casey snorted. “That what you call ‘em?”
“Eh…” Zeke mumbled, looking over to the toaster. “Um…”
“I actually didn’t get to that, I was too busy with the coffee.”
“Uh…”
“It’s awesome, by the way--where’d you get it?” Casey asked. Zeke didn’t answer--he didn’t move. Casey crinkled his brow, looking to the boy. “What’s up?”
Zeke finally took a step forward and grabbed up the bag of coffee Casey had left on the counter. “My… coffee…”
“Yea?”
“Oh, fuck… fuck no…” Zeke moaned out, or rather, lamented.
“Zeke? What’s wrong?”
Zeke panted, wearing a pained look as he opened another cabinet. He took out another bag of coffee--Casey recognized the bag it came in, being from the coffee grinding station ‘Stop & Shop’ in town. “Um…?”
“It’s… not your fault,” Zeke said in a strained voice. “I’m just gonna tell myself that. You didn’t know. Not… your fault.”
Casey froze, suddenly feeling like he’d done something very, very wrong. “Zeke… what’d I do?”
“Not your fault…”
“You said that--WHAT isn’t ‘my fault’?”
Zeke cringed further and put his elbows on the counter. He rested his head in his hands as he stared into the pot. “How… many cups did you make?” he asked in a low, drawling voice.
“Twelve…? I figured we’d both drink that much, and--”
“Oh… oh God…” Zeke moaned again, louder this time. “Casey… if this was served in some New York restaurant… this is about four-hundred and eighty dollars worth of coffee.”
Casey regretted taking the sip he had as Zeke had spoke. He needed to turn to the sink and spit it out in shock--panicking as he watched it slide to the drain. How much, money-wise, had he just sent down there…? “What?!” he blurted, his extremities going numb to the point where he had to put the mug down.
Zeke rubbed his eyebrows down to his cheeks, over and over again, looking as if he’d just cracked up the GTO. “This… it ain’t anything you’re gonna find in Herrington. I… have it imported, from Indonesia.”
“Huh?”
“Mom sent me a bag back when I was a junior in high school, for Christmas… I’ve been addicted ever since. But…” Zeke explained, his voice too calm and even to be real. “I don’t… buy it… all the time.”
“Zeke… I didn’t know…”
“I know. I know that,” Zeke replied.
Casey could tell the small lilt in Zeke‘s voice, meant to be one of reassurance, was strained and forced. He stared into his mug with wide eyes, feeling as if it’d turned into melted gold. “What the hell kinda coffee COSTS that much?” he asked.
“Kopi Luwak.”
“Okay, but… what makes ‘Kopi Luwak’ so freakin’ special?”
“It’s a special coffee. These animals--‘luwaks’, they eat the beans, right? They’re like cats, but not--mongooses, really…”
“Uh huh, go on…?”
Zeke tensed his jaw before continuing. “So they eat the beans, then after… people harvest them and sell them as ‘Kopi Luwak’ coffee beans.”
Confused, Casey tried piecing together what Zeke had said. “They eat the beans… ‘then after’?”
“Yea.”
“What’s after?” Casey asked suspiciously.
“After… as in… after.” Zeke replied, now looking to Casey, who still wore a confused frown. With a groan, Zeke put his head up and shook it. “After they shit ‘em out.”
“Huh?”
“The luwak shits the beans out, and people harvest ‘em.”
“Huh?”
“The luwak! The thing that eats the fuckin’ beans, it shits ‘em out, and people take them and SELL them! What’s so hard to grasp about this concept, Casey?” Zeke almost yelled.
Casey darted his eyes from Zeke to the coffeepot to his mug, then back to Zeke… two or three times before he parted his lips to speak. “It’s not every day I drink something that came out of… a mongooses’ ass, Zeke!”
“Well, now you have,” Zeke dryly replied. He looked back to the pot and rubbed the back of his neck. “Four hundred and eighty dollars…”
It sunk in then, that Casey had in fact--if he were to believe Zeke in the first place--drank a cup of coffee that involved an animal’s… “Okay… this is gross…”
“What? You LIKED it, didn’t you? Best finish it too, along with four or five more cups,” Zeke said in a threatening manner.
“WHAT?”
“You brewed twelve fucking cups--you were obviously expecting to have more than--” Zeke went to say, but stopped when he looked at Casey’s mug. Peering closer, he swallowed hard. “You put milk in it?”
“Yea…?”
“And sugar?” Zeke asked, nodding to the bag sitting on the counter.
“Is that wrong?” Casey spat.
“Hells yea.”
With a derisive snort, Casey rolled his eyes. “Okay, I come down here, wanting something to eat--you have a jar of applesauce older than me, box of cereal that’s as old as my dad, whatever else… you eat nothing but ’Pop Tarts’, and you expect me to look at a bag of coffee and think you’re Donald fucking Trump?”
“Nooo…” Zeke drawled, raising his eyebrows. “I already said that I know you didn’t know, Casey.”
“But you’re mad,” Casey retorted. “Right?”
With a great sigh, Zeke shrugged. “A little. Not at you though, okay? So don’t get all drama on me. You didn’t know.”
Casey bit his lip and stared at Zeke, feeling cold. He rubbed his arms and began nodding. “Maybe I should go,” he said, then turned to the door.
“Wait, what?” Zeke said, standing straight now. “Casey, stop it. Honestly. It’s no big deal.”
“Look, I don’t have a summer job lined up, and my allowance is a pittance compared to…” Casey went to say; he waved his hand flippantly towards the offending bag of coffee and sighed. “I can’t pay you back for this… stuff.”
“I don’t care… my mom’ll probably send some for my birthday next month, anyway--”
“But I just used up almost five-hundred fucking DOLLARS of your cat-shit coffee!” Casey almost screeched out. Zeke dropped his jaw as if to say something, but stopped.
“Okay… yea, you got me there…”
“Yea! Whether it came out of an animal’s butt or not, I should’ve just…” Casey said. He paused and stared at the floor a moment. His perspective switched from feeling bad to incredulous. “Zeke, you drink coffee that comes out of an ass. You drink that.”
“Yea. You did too.”
“But I didn’t know, you DO!”
The small grin forming on Zeke’s lips was surprising to Casey. He watched as Zeke ran his tongue over his teeth. “So… what did I do last night?”
“Huh?”
“Tell me, Case. What’d I do?”
“You… well, we, um…”
“What did I lick last night?” Zeke interrupted.
Casey felt flustered now, recalling… “But that’s different!”
“How is it different?” Zeke asked, growing more and more amused. He went closer to Casey, cocking his head to the side and eyeing the boy with a curious, sly look. Once their chests met and Casey’s back pressed against the edge of the table, Zeke put his lips to Casey’s ear. “You even begged for it,” he murmured, making Casey’s breath hitch
“Different…” he managed to mumble. No, this wasn’t the time… the coffee, he’d…
“I don’t think that I’ve ever… ever… seen something as sexy as your ass in the air. Ever,” Zeke whispered. Casey shook visibly; he could feel Zeke’s evil grin grow wider against his ear. “You really liked it, right…?”
“Of COURSE I… Zeke, c’mon…” Casey said while fighting off the urge to rub his groin on Zeke’s thigh, which now cradled his scantily-clad cock.
“So I have a thing for asses,” Zeke said. He couldn’t seem to help the chuckles that followed the words; Casey went to regain his resolve to turn and bring things back into focus, but his eyes crossed hard when Zeke let his thigh move closer, moving up and down… “Coffee and you, it works out.”
“Z-Zeke…” Casey murmured, the name trembling on his tongue.
“Fuck coffee,” Zeke said. He began pulling at the waist of Casey’s boxers--
“Zeke!”
“What?”
“We’re in your fuckin’ kitchen!” Casey hissed.
“And?” Zeke said. Casey froze at the sight of Zeke’s darkened eyes, his seductive smile, and barely noticed the cloth being shoved gently to his knees, feet, and off. “My parents are in Europe, and yours are at home, three miles away. And none of them will ever find out that you came two times in five minutes from just my tongue in your ass.”
Casey’s eyes crossed and his body went limp. He held onto Zeke’s shoulders tight and swallowed. “In… sh-sh-shower…?”
“After.”
“A…fter?”
“Mmhmm,” Zeke hummed. Without warning, he turned Casey around by the hips, pressed the boy’s chest to the table and ran his mouth down Casey’s neck to his spine, lower… “I like things as dirty as they can get, Casey.”
“Oh fuck…” Casey whimpered at the feel of teeth bared and sliding down one side of his ass. Zeke paused then--his breath running along Casey’s cleft was making him crazy. “Zeke… come on…”
“‘Come on’ what?” Zeke murmured, and oh, a flick of tongue, just there…
“Please…”
“What?”
Putting all his reservations away, Casey doubted he’d ever go looking for them again, as he grabbed the back of Zeke’s head and gave him his answer in one, solid push.
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: NC-17
Synopsis: Casey learns about coffee. And smex.
Disclaimer: Do. Not. Own.
Author's Note: My Indonesian friends might know a bit of what goes on in here... ;)
“Zeke?”
“Mmrruh?”
Casey sighed and tapped Zeke‘s forehead. “It’s like… ten-thirty in the morning.”
“S’Saturday,” Zeke grumbled back. He shoved his face harder into the pillow, bringing the other one that Casey had vacated over his head. He said something else, but it was too muffled for Casey to understand.
“What?”
The next reply was louder, but again, totally muffled and incoherent. Casey resigned to eating breakfast himself… if he’d find anything worth eating, anyway. He shuffled himself out of the bed, threw his boxers on and left the room.
This truly was a later morning than Casey usually partook of. Even on weekends, Casey was usually up by eight, maybe nine. He had good reasons as to why he’d slept in so long today, however. One didn’t get buzzed off of cheap wine with their best friend, admit attraction--having it go mutual--and have a wild night in bed without SOME sort of exhaustion. Even with Casey’s behind and back tickling with annoying aches and pains, he felt like he was floating on a cloud. Scratching his balls helped, of course, along with a long, wide-mouthed yawn.
Still feeling dreamy and out-of-it, all Casey could think of… coffee. Zeke HAD to have some. He wouldn’t BE Zeke Tyler without five cups of coffee per morning--that was how he’d put it, at any rate. Casey padded into the kitchen and went to the cabinets.
“Christ,” he said aloud. He was going to have to take Zeke on a real grocery trip. One box of ‘Kix’ cereal (gone stale, Casey realized, after taking a ‘test-bite’), two cans of corn, an unopened jar of applesauce… well, that was something, at least. He took it out and looked at the lid. “Sweet God, no…” he mumbled, seeing the expiration date gone well over two years. His first way of helping came in the form of tossing the jar into the trash.
In opening another cabinet, he raised his eyebrows. Apparently, Zeke had a thing for ‘Pop Tarts’, as four opened boxes sat inside. Perhaps they weren’t the healthiest things in the world, but Casey had to admit that the usual breakfast of shredded wheat, an orange and a glass of milk in the Connor household had gotten old years ago. ‘Probably about the time he picked up that applesauce…’ Casey mused with a grin. He took out the apple-cinnamon tarts and smiled wider.
‘There we go,’ he thought; a good-sized bag of coffee sat just past where he’d gotten the tarts. Casey reached up, needing to get on tiptoe to grab it. He dragged it out and looked at the label.
Kopi Luwak, the label read. Other than that, there were no other markings. He undid the vacuum-sealed top, opened it and…
“Oh wow…” he murmured. The scent was overpowering and gorgeous, rich and fruity. It seemed odd that Zeke, king of stale cereal and expired, deadly food would have such a thing. Then again, Zeke really, really liked coffee. Looking to the coffee machine, Casey smiled again.
Yes, he WAS a coffee nut. While Casey’s parents used a cheap, supermarket-bought coffee machine, Zeke’s looked like it was crafted by a master machinist. Bright, shiny silver--sterling, perhaps, glistened in the corner of the counter, with buttons and dials all over the place. After a small search, Casey found everything he needed; fine paper filters, spoons, sugar, and even the instructions on how to work the coffee maker itself. He needed them… “Fucking complicated shit,” he murmured while getting the thing set up.
Just before spooning the grounds into the filter, Casey took a long, greedy sniff from the bag. Hells yes, this was going to be nice. And what better way to wake up the ‘new boyfriend’ than with a cup of joe? He then carefully measured things out, hoping he did it all to Zeke’s expectations. They’d probably have a few cups between them--if not MANY cups, so Casey set everything to the highest amount of twelve servings. He poured the water in, set the filter and tentatively pressed the brew button.
He felt like an expert barista, standing there and watching the aromatic beans brewing, wisps of misty-heat clouding around the machine. He leaned back on the kitchen table, humming lightly to himself while waiting, and scanned the room. Perhaps Zeke wasn’t used to breakfast-in-bed, and Casey would have to use the dilapidated, old cutting board that was stuck behind the toaster instead of a fancy tray, but he’d do it.
Zeke was his three-year-crush. He’d do anything…
“Case?”
‘Aw, crap, he’s up,’ Casey thought, hearing Zeke call out from upstairs. “Yea?”
“What’re you doing?” Zeke asked.
“Breakfast.”
“Oh… there’re…” he went to call, but a loud yawn interrupted. “’Pop Tarts’ and… yea.”
“Yea, I found ‘em… brewing some coffee, too.”
“’K,” Zeke yawned out.
“Want me to bring some up?”
“Naw, gonna shower.”
“Um… wanna wait for me?” Casey yelled, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. He heard Zeke chuckling.
“Ugh, fine. Gonna brush my teeth,” Zeke called back.
Casey smiled, feeling almost--cocky. That was it… cocky, something he’d never quite felt before. Then again, while dating Delilah, he’d felt cock-less, and before her, he’d never had any clout with anyone. But Zeke had said many, many things the night before that he was not ever going to let him take back, him having been a bit drunk or no.
The smell from the filling pot was drug-like, now. He went over and leaned forward, taking it all in as if he were swallowing the air around him. Finally, the pot was filled all the way and Casey brought over the mugs and accoutrements. He’d leave Zeke’s black, but it was cream and sugar all the way for himself. Well--milk and sugar, seeing as how that was all Zeke had in the fridge, and not much of it. Weighing his parents boring old ‘Folgers’ with half-and-half to this delicacy, Casey counted his blessings.
The milk barely touched the deep, almost-black color of the drink, but he didn’t care--not when after putting in four large spoonfuls of sugar, he took a sip and was instantly transported to some level of nirvana he’d never visited.
Zeke then entered the room, wearing just boxers as well and a drowsy smile on his face. “Hey,” he croaked in greeting.
“Hey yourself,” Casey said over the rim of his mug.
“Did you make extra pop farts for me?”
Casey snorted. “That what you call ‘em?”
“Eh…” Zeke mumbled, looking over to the toaster. “Um…”
“I actually didn’t get to that, I was too busy with the coffee.”
“Uh…”
“It’s awesome, by the way--where’d you get it?” Casey asked. Zeke didn’t answer--he didn’t move. Casey crinkled his brow, looking to the boy. “What’s up?”
Zeke finally took a step forward and grabbed up the bag of coffee Casey had left on the counter. “My… coffee…”
“Yea?”
“Oh, fuck… fuck no…” Zeke moaned out, or rather, lamented.
“Zeke? What’s wrong?”
Zeke panted, wearing a pained look as he opened another cabinet. He took out another bag of coffee--Casey recognized the bag it came in, being from the coffee grinding station ‘Stop & Shop’ in town. “Um…?”
“It’s… not your fault,” Zeke said in a strained voice. “I’m just gonna tell myself that. You didn’t know. Not… your fault.”
Casey froze, suddenly feeling like he’d done something very, very wrong. “Zeke… what’d I do?”
“Not your fault…”
“You said that--WHAT isn’t ‘my fault’?”
Zeke cringed further and put his elbows on the counter. He rested his head in his hands as he stared into the pot. “How… many cups did you make?” he asked in a low, drawling voice.
“Twelve…? I figured we’d both drink that much, and--”
“Oh… oh God…” Zeke moaned again, louder this time. “Casey… if this was served in some New York restaurant… this is about four-hundred and eighty dollars worth of coffee.”
Casey regretted taking the sip he had as Zeke had spoke. He needed to turn to the sink and spit it out in shock--panicking as he watched it slide to the drain. How much, money-wise, had he just sent down there…? “What?!” he blurted, his extremities going numb to the point where he had to put the mug down.
Zeke rubbed his eyebrows down to his cheeks, over and over again, looking as if he’d just cracked up the GTO. “This… it ain’t anything you’re gonna find in Herrington. I… have it imported, from Indonesia.”
“Huh?”
“Mom sent me a bag back when I was a junior in high school, for Christmas… I’ve been addicted ever since. But…” Zeke explained, his voice too calm and even to be real. “I don’t… buy it… all the time.”
“Zeke… I didn’t know…”
“I know. I know that,” Zeke replied.
Casey could tell the small lilt in Zeke‘s voice, meant to be one of reassurance, was strained and forced. He stared into his mug with wide eyes, feeling as if it’d turned into melted gold. “What the hell kinda coffee COSTS that much?” he asked.
“Kopi Luwak.”
“Okay, but… what makes ‘Kopi Luwak’ so freakin’ special?”
“It’s a special coffee. These animals--‘luwaks’, they eat the beans, right? They’re like cats, but not--mongooses, really…”
“Uh huh, go on…?”
Zeke tensed his jaw before continuing. “So they eat the beans, then after… people harvest them and sell them as ‘Kopi Luwak’ coffee beans.”
Confused, Casey tried piecing together what Zeke had said. “They eat the beans… ‘then after’?”
“Yea.”
“What’s after?” Casey asked suspiciously.
“After… as in… after.” Zeke replied, now looking to Casey, who still wore a confused frown. With a groan, Zeke put his head up and shook it. “After they shit ‘em out.”
“Huh?”
“The luwak shits the beans out, and people harvest ‘em.”
“Huh?”
“The luwak! The thing that eats the fuckin’ beans, it shits ‘em out, and people take them and SELL them! What’s so hard to grasp about this concept, Casey?” Zeke almost yelled.
Casey darted his eyes from Zeke to the coffeepot to his mug, then back to Zeke… two or three times before he parted his lips to speak. “It’s not every day I drink something that came out of… a mongooses’ ass, Zeke!”
“Well, now you have,” Zeke dryly replied. He looked back to the pot and rubbed the back of his neck. “Four hundred and eighty dollars…”
It sunk in then, that Casey had in fact--if he were to believe Zeke in the first place--drank a cup of coffee that involved an animal’s… “Okay… this is gross…”
“What? You LIKED it, didn’t you? Best finish it too, along with four or five more cups,” Zeke said in a threatening manner.
“WHAT?”
“You brewed twelve fucking cups--you were obviously expecting to have more than--” Zeke went to say, but stopped when he looked at Casey’s mug. Peering closer, he swallowed hard. “You put milk in it?”
“Yea…?”
“And sugar?” Zeke asked, nodding to the bag sitting on the counter.
“Is that wrong?” Casey spat.
“Hells yea.”
With a derisive snort, Casey rolled his eyes. “Okay, I come down here, wanting something to eat--you have a jar of applesauce older than me, box of cereal that’s as old as my dad, whatever else… you eat nothing but ’Pop Tarts’, and you expect me to look at a bag of coffee and think you’re Donald fucking Trump?”
“Nooo…” Zeke drawled, raising his eyebrows. “I already said that I know you didn’t know, Casey.”
“But you’re mad,” Casey retorted. “Right?”
With a great sigh, Zeke shrugged. “A little. Not at you though, okay? So don’t get all drama on me. You didn’t know.”
Casey bit his lip and stared at Zeke, feeling cold. He rubbed his arms and began nodding. “Maybe I should go,” he said, then turned to the door.
“Wait, what?” Zeke said, standing straight now. “Casey, stop it. Honestly. It’s no big deal.”
“Look, I don’t have a summer job lined up, and my allowance is a pittance compared to…” Casey went to say; he waved his hand flippantly towards the offending bag of coffee and sighed. “I can’t pay you back for this… stuff.”
“I don’t care… my mom’ll probably send some for my birthday next month, anyway--”
“But I just used up almost five-hundred fucking DOLLARS of your cat-shit coffee!” Casey almost screeched out. Zeke dropped his jaw as if to say something, but stopped.
“Okay… yea, you got me there…”
“Yea! Whether it came out of an animal’s butt or not, I should’ve just…” Casey said. He paused and stared at the floor a moment. His perspective switched from feeling bad to incredulous. “Zeke, you drink coffee that comes out of an ass. You drink that.”
“Yea. You did too.”
“But I didn’t know, you DO!”
The small grin forming on Zeke’s lips was surprising to Casey. He watched as Zeke ran his tongue over his teeth. “So… what did I do last night?”
“Huh?”
“Tell me, Case. What’d I do?”
“You… well, we, um…”
“What did I lick last night?” Zeke interrupted.
Casey felt flustered now, recalling… “But that’s different!”
“How is it different?” Zeke asked, growing more and more amused. He went closer to Casey, cocking his head to the side and eyeing the boy with a curious, sly look. Once their chests met and Casey’s back pressed against the edge of the table, Zeke put his lips to Casey’s ear. “You even begged for it,” he murmured, making Casey’s breath hitch
“Different…” he managed to mumble. No, this wasn’t the time… the coffee, he’d…
“I don’t think that I’ve ever… ever… seen something as sexy as your ass in the air. Ever,” Zeke whispered. Casey shook visibly; he could feel Zeke’s evil grin grow wider against his ear. “You really liked it, right…?”
“Of COURSE I… Zeke, c’mon…” Casey said while fighting off the urge to rub his groin on Zeke’s thigh, which now cradled his scantily-clad cock.
“So I have a thing for asses,” Zeke said. He couldn’t seem to help the chuckles that followed the words; Casey went to regain his resolve to turn and bring things back into focus, but his eyes crossed hard when Zeke let his thigh move closer, moving up and down… “Coffee and you, it works out.”
“Z-Zeke…” Casey murmured, the name trembling on his tongue.
“Fuck coffee,” Zeke said. He began pulling at the waist of Casey’s boxers--
“Zeke!”
“What?”
“We’re in your fuckin’ kitchen!” Casey hissed.
“And?” Zeke said. Casey froze at the sight of Zeke’s darkened eyes, his seductive smile, and barely noticed the cloth being shoved gently to his knees, feet, and off. “My parents are in Europe, and yours are at home, three miles away. And none of them will ever find out that you came two times in five minutes from just my tongue in your ass.”
Casey’s eyes crossed and his body went limp. He held onto Zeke’s shoulders tight and swallowed. “In… sh-sh-shower…?”
“After.”
“A…fter?”
“Mmhmm,” Zeke hummed. Without warning, he turned Casey around by the hips, pressed the boy’s chest to the table and ran his mouth down Casey’s neck to his spine, lower… “I like things as dirty as they can get, Casey.”
“Oh fuck…” Casey whimpered at the feel of teeth bared and sliding down one side of his ass. Zeke paused then--his breath running along Casey’s cleft was making him crazy. “Zeke… come on…”
“‘Come on’ what?” Zeke murmured, and oh, a flick of tongue, just there…
“Please…”
“What?”
Putting all his reservations away, Casey doubted he’d ever go looking for them again, as he grabbed the back of Zeke’s head and gave him his answer in one, solid push.