(no subject)
Happy Birthday, mother2012!!
We're relatively new to each other's friend's lists, but it ain't like I've never seen you before. ;) I hope you have a great day, and here's some boy-fun for ya. ;)
Title: Electratic
Pairing/Characters: C/Z, Mr. and Mrs. Connor
Rating: PG-13 to Light R
Warning(s): Um. I don't wanna say. It'll give it away...you'll find out about it within the first two paras, anyway. Nothing explicit...! Just... some 'sensitive family issues'. *waggles eyebrows*
Synopsis: Someone's gotta crush...
Meredith always feels a little guilty when Casey smiles then hops off to tell Zeke that he can stay for dinner, or that yes, he’s allowed to sleep over. She feels even more awkward when her husband comes in, smiles wryly and asks things like, “how many times are we gonna feed this kid?” or “should we charge him rent?” At first, she'd tried telling herself that she just wanted to have Zeke feel like family, that he could come by anytime for dinner and company. Lord knew that the young man didn’t have anyone at home to take care of him.
But she’d known from the very start that being a mother-figure to him was just a ruse; an unintended sort of cover-up, and it wasn’t as if she would ever act on anything. As annoying as her husband could get, Frank was a sweet and caring man, who’d never been without a job, had always gone to Casey’s school functions and woke her up with breakfast-in-bed on her birthday, every year since they’d been married. She always takes time to remember how they’d met--how handsome he’d been in college, the captain of the basketball team that had led their school to the state finals two years in a row.
Nowadays, however, he’s more fond of watching basketball, and his inactivity shows with a small beer gut and droopy expressions. She couldn’t blame him, of course, seeing as he was the hardest working man in Herrington, and the building projects he oversaw were countless. ‘You’re not on the drill team anymore, yourself,’ she’ll think when she gets at her most ornery over Frank’s laziness. But even with all the assurances--the many smiles she gave her husband, how she loved him to pieces, a woman’s eyes could rove just as much as a man’s.
And rove they did--at least every time Casey would barge in from school, almost always followed by the tall, dark-haired young man. The boy, she tries to remind herself, even though he IS technically legal. Zeke’s a boy to her, and it needs to stay that way. But oh.
She’d arrived home from the supermarket one afternoon and found the boys out on the porch, where Zeke could smoke. If she ever caught her son smoking with him, she’d tan his hide. But with Zeke, it was okay. He was fine, with his narrow-eyed smiles and fingers bringing the smoke to his lips, just…
“Need any help?” he’d asked when she opened the trunk to get the bags out. There were only three of them, and she normally wouldn’t even make Casey help with that. But she’d smiled and told him what a ‘good boy’ he was, helping her. When Zeke had told Casey to help as well, then yelled at him for whining about it, she’d all but swooned right there in the driveway.
It grew worse and worse with every passing day. Just that past Friday, Frank had come home from work moaning and groaning about how dirty the car was. He’d then turned to the two boys, who were playing video games. “Wanna make a few bucks, guys?” he’d asked.
Casey had all but leapt at the chance, and even though Zeke had money, he’d gone along. She tried ever so, ever so hard to keep making dinner--to not look up from the Rice-Krispy chicken dish to the window, where the boys had ended up with buckets and hoses. ‘Please don’t have a water fight… please have a water fight… please don’t have a water fight…’ she’d chanted in her mind, as if she were plucking petals from a daisy. The ‘please have‘ end of things had won out, and the chicken went ignored completely, all to watch Casey douse Zeke with the hose. She’d never seen a white t-shirt cling so close and so transparent before.
“What’s for dinner tonight, Honey?” Frank had near-bellowed when he came into the kitchen for a beer. If she’d had an ounce less of sense, she would have decked him for tromping in right as Zeke had reached for the hem of his shirt.
But all of that paled in comparison to that past Sunday, when she’d realized that she’d forgotten to get milk and the chicken for that night’s supper, and her husband and son ran out to the grocery store for her. At a few minutes before six, their usual dinner guest had arrived--carrying a small bouquet of Black-eyed Susans and daisies.
“Here,” Zeke had said, wearing a sweet smile as he handed the flowers to her. “That’s for making me dinner all the time.”
For God’s sake, daisies were her favorite, and he’d KNOWN that. For a moment, she’d pretended that she was eighteen again, and a limo was outside waiting to take them to the prom. She’d simply thanked him, daring a small, chaste kiss to his cheek before letting him inside.
There’d been no reason to ask him for help in the kitchen--no reason at all. She never had trouble reaching the highest shelf to get things down, but when Zeke did it, she’d been able to catch a glimpse of his stomach in his shirt hitching up slightly. She’d known that she was going to need the packed-away deep-fat fryer tucked in the lower cabinets, but she went to make the flour mix and other messy items, all to ask him to grab it for her. All the better to stare at his backside, as if it were being presented to her.
What she hadn’t remembered, however, was that her hair always got in her face when she’d cook, and with her hands covered in food-stuff, she could only make sad attempts at blowing it away. Zeke had chuckled when she huffed in frustration and made three successive blows at her bangs.
“Here,” Zeke had said. Before she could take her last, even breath of the night, he’d snatched the rubber band he wore on his wrist and pulled her hair up. His fingers brushed against her neck lightly as he worked, his nails scraping gently on her scalp as he gathered the hair up into a messy ponytail. She usually hated rubber bands in her hair--ponytails altogether, really--but at that moment, she wanted no other person to do this. She’d turn down Vidal or whoever-the-hell else came around to bother her. As he finished up, she began picturing how things could go if Frank’s tire blew out, leaving he and Casey stuck for hours and hours waiting for Triple-A to come out for them. Her fantasies ran wild--candles, wine--oh she’d LET him have some, goddamn it, flowers, getting a bit too tipsy to care…
“We’re home!”
“Zeke’s here already?”
She wanted to cry. It was stupid, and she knew it, so she forced a smile on quickly and turned. She blinked profusely when she saw that Zeke had jumped back a few steps, making a very noticeable attempt at keeping his eyes off of her. Frank had walked in then, carrying two bags.
“I splurged and got one of those Boston Cream cakes from the store’s bakery. MAN, I’ve been hankering for a slice of it. The chicken was on sale, too. Hey Zeke,” he said in his usual erratic, unfocused manner.
“Hey, Mr. C.,” Zeke had replied.
“Zeke, I gotta pee--meet me in my room!” Casey had called from the stairs. A babbling husband talking about cake, Casey stomping up the stairs just above her and Zeke coughing into his hand--all chaos and disorder, for just a small while.
Dinner had gone as smoothly as ever, however, as did the next, and the next. Zeke hadn’t come on Tuesday, making Frank smile and comment, “It feels so damned empty in here.” She’d only smiled and passed the rolls.
Now that it was Friday, Casey had once again begged for a sleepover. And once again, she’d allowed it. With Frank snoring beside her, Meredith sighed, tossed and turned, her eyes set on the window overlooking the darkened backyard. Too annoyed with Frank’s nose, she gave up on sleep and got out of bed. The mystery novel she’d been reading would go well with a cup of warm, peppermint tea, the best remedy for insomnia she’d ever come up with.
Once in the hallway, she heard a small round of giggles coming from Casey's room. She shook her head and smiled; normally, she didn’t mind him being up late on a Friday, but it was two in the morning. She padded soundlessly to his door and curled her fingers up to knock. She stopped when she heard a distinct-sounding hiss of breath.
“Yea…” Zeke murmured, but it was loud enough for her to hear. “Oh… G-God…”
She let out a slow, nervous breath. She’d suspected--suspected her son, at least, but…?
The breathing in the room only became heavier and louder; she now heard Casey panting along with Zeke, muttering words too muffled to make out. She began figuring that they were probably already incoherent anyway, and she bit her lip, hard.
“More… Zeke… harder…”
Panic set in then, making Meredith spin away from the door and almost run to the stairs. ‘Make some tea. Find out where ‘Detective Darren’ found the murder weapon. It’s okay,’ she thought… but it wasn’t. As she steeped her tea, her ears were more sensitive than ever, catching the small noises coming from upstairs. Even when they died down as she flipped pages she wasn’t really reading, she could only ponder on what had just happened.
She didn’t know what was worse; having gotten warm and bothered at the sounds of her son and his apparent boyfriend… ‘doing things’, or how she was desperately wanting to have BEEN her son, up there in the bedroom, perhaps watching Zeke enjoying a smoke with his arm around her shoulders. She’d let him. She’d goddamned let him.
We're relatively new to each other's friend's lists, but it ain't like I've never seen you before. ;) I hope you have a great day, and here's some boy-fun for ya. ;)
Title: Electratic
Pairing/Characters: C/Z, Mr. and Mrs. Connor
Rating: PG-13 to Light R
Warning(s): Um. I don't wanna say. It'll give it away...you'll find out about it within the first two paras, anyway. Nothing explicit...! Just... some 'sensitive family issues'. *waggles eyebrows*
Synopsis: Someone's gotta crush...
Meredith always feels a little guilty when Casey smiles then hops off to tell Zeke that he can stay for dinner, or that yes, he’s allowed to sleep over. She feels even more awkward when her husband comes in, smiles wryly and asks things like, “how many times are we gonna feed this kid?” or “should we charge him rent?” At first, she'd tried telling herself that she just wanted to have Zeke feel like family, that he could come by anytime for dinner and company. Lord knew that the young man didn’t have anyone at home to take care of him.
But she’d known from the very start that being a mother-figure to him was just a ruse; an unintended sort of cover-up, and it wasn’t as if she would ever act on anything. As annoying as her husband could get, Frank was a sweet and caring man, who’d never been without a job, had always gone to Casey’s school functions and woke her up with breakfast-in-bed on her birthday, every year since they’d been married. She always takes time to remember how they’d met--how handsome he’d been in college, the captain of the basketball team that had led their school to the state finals two years in a row.
Nowadays, however, he’s more fond of watching basketball, and his inactivity shows with a small beer gut and droopy expressions. She couldn’t blame him, of course, seeing as he was the hardest working man in Herrington, and the building projects he oversaw were countless. ‘You’re not on the drill team anymore, yourself,’ she’ll think when she gets at her most ornery over Frank’s laziness. But even with all the assurances--the many smiles she gave her husband, how she loved him to pieces, a woman’s eyes could rove just as much as a man’s.
And rove they did--at least every time Casey would barge in from school, almost always followed by the tall, dark-haired young man. The boy, she tries to remind herself, even though he IS technically legal. Zeke’s a boy to her, and it needs to stay that way. But oh.
She’d arrived home from the supermarket one afternoon and found the boys out on the porch, where Zeke could smoke. If she ever caught her son smoking with him, she’d tan his hide. But with Zeke, it was okay. He was fine, with his narrow-eyed smiles and fingers bringing the smoke to his lips, just…
“Need any help?” he’d asked when she opened the trunk to get the bags out. There were only three of them, and she normally wouldn’t even make Casey help with that. But she’d smiled and told him what a ‘good boy’ he was, helping her. When Zeke had told Casey to help as well, then yelled at him for whining about it, she’d all but swooned right there in the driveway.
It grew worse and worse with every passing day. Just that past Friday, Frank had come home from work moaning and groaning about how dirty the car was. He’d then turned to the two boys, who were playing video games. “Wanna make a few bucks, guys?” he’d asked.
Casey had all but leapt at the chance, and even though Zeke had money, he’d gone along. She tried ever so, ever so hard to keep making dinner--to not look up from the Rice-Krispy chicken dish to the window, where the boys had ended up with buckets and hoses. ‘Please don’t have a water fight… please have a water fight… please don’t have a water fight…’ she’d chanted in her mind, as if she were plucking petals from a daisy. The ‘please have‘ end of things had won out, and the chicken went ignored completely, all to watch Casey douse Zeke with the hose. She’d never seen a white t-shirt cling so close and so transparent before.
“What’s for dinner tonight, Honey?” Frank had near-bellowed when he came into the kitchen for a beer. If she’d had an ounce less of sense, she would have decked him for tromping in right as Zeke had reached for the hem of his shirt.
But all of that paled in comparison to that past Sunday, when she’d realized that she’d forgotten to get milk and the chicken for that night’s supper, and her husband and son ran out to the grocery store for her. At a few minutes before six, their usual dinner guest had arrived--carrying a small bouquet of Black-eyed Susans and daisies.
“Here,” Zeke had said, wearing a sweet smile as he handed the flowers to her. “That’s for making me dinner all the time.”
For God’s sake, daisies were her favorite, and he’d KNOWN that. For a moment, she’d pretended that she was eighteen again, and a limo was outside waiting to take them to the prom. She’d simply thanked him, daring a small, chaste kiss to his cheek before letting him inside.
There’d been no reason to ask him for help in the kitchen--no reason at all. She never had trouble reaching the highest shelf to get things down, but when Zeke did it, she’d been able to catch a glimpse of his stomach in his shirt hitching up slightly. She’d known that she was going to need the packed-away deep-fat fryer tucked in the lower cabinets, but she went to make the flour mix and other messy items, all to ask him to grab it for her. All the better to stare at his backside, as if it were being presented to her.
What she hadn’t remembered, however, was that her hair always got in her face when she’d cook, and with her hands covered in food-stuff, she could only make sad attempts at blowing it away. Zeke had chuckled when she huffed in frustration and made three successive blows at her bangs.
“Here,” Zeke had said. Before she could take her last, even breath of the night, he’d snatched the rubber band he wore on his wrist and pulled her hair up. His fingers brushed against her neck lightly as he worked, his nails scraping gently on her scalp as he gathered the hair up into a messy ponytail. She usually hated rubber bands in her hair--ponytails altogether, really--but at that moment, she wanted no other person to do this. She’d turn down Vidal or whoever-the-hell else came around to bother her. As he finished up, she began picturing how things could go if Frank’s tire blew out, leaving he and Casey stuck for hours and hours waiting for Triple-A to come out for them. Her fantasies ran wild--candles, wine--oh she’d LET him have some, goddamn it, flowers, getting a bit too tipsy to care…
“We’re home!”
“Zeke’s here already?”
She wanted to cry. It was stupid, and she knew it, so she forced a smile on quickly and turned. She blinked profusely when she saw that Zeke had jumped back a few steps, making a very noticeable attempt at keeping his eyes off of her. Frank had walked in then, carrying two bags.
“I splurged and got one of those Boston Cream cakes from the store’s bakery. MAN, I’ve been hankering for a slice of it. The chicken was on sale, too. Hey Zeke,” he said in his usual erratic, unfocused manner.
“Hey, Mr. C.,” Zeke had replied.
“Zeke, I gotta pee--meet me in my room!” Casey had called from the stairs. A babbling husband talking about cake, Casey stomping up the stairs just above her and Zeke coughing into his hand--all chaos and disorder, for just a small while.
Dinner had gone as smoothly as ever, however, as did the next, and the next. Zeke hadn’t come on Tuesday, making Frank smile and comment, “It feels so damned empty in here.” She’d only smiled and passed the rolls.
Now that it was Friday, Casey had once again begged for a sleepover. And once again, she’d allowed it. With Frank snoring beside her, Meredith sighed, tossed and turned, her eyes set on the window overlooking the darkened backyard. Too annoyed with Frank’s nose, she gave up on sleep and got out of bed. The mystery novel she’d been reading would go well with a cup of warm, peppermint tea, the best remedy for insomnia she’d ever come up with.
Once in the hallway, she heard a small round of giggles coming from Casey's room. She shook her head and smiled; normally, she didn’t mind him being up late on a Friday, but it was two in the morning. She padded soundlessly to his door and curled her fingers up to knock. She stopped when she heard a distinct-sounding hiss of breath.
“Yea…” Zeke murmured, but it was loud enough for her to hear. “Oh… G-God…”
She let out a slow, nervous breath. She’d suspected--suspected her son, at least, but…?
The breathing in the room only became heavier and louder; she now heard Casey panting along with Zeke, muttering words too muffled to make out. She began figuring that they were probably already incoherent anyway, and she bit her lip, hard.
“More… Zeke… harder…”
Panic set in then, making Meredith spin away from the door and almost run to the stairs. ‘Make some tea. Find out where ‘Detective Darren’ found the murder weapon. It’s okay,’ she thought… but it wasn’t. As she steeped her tea, her ears were more sensitive than ever, catching the small noises coming from upstairs. Even when they died down as she flipped pages she wasn’t really reading, she could only ponder on what had just happened.
She didn’t know what was worse; having gotten warm and bothered at the sounds of her son and his apparent boyfriend… ‘doing things’, or how she was desperately wanting to have BEEN her son, up there in the bedroom, perhaps watching Zeke enjoying a smoke with his arm around her shoulders. She’d let him. She’d goddamned let him.