Well now.
Title: Metallic (End!)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: C/Z (yea), C/pole.
Synopsis: Gets a bit squitchy at one point, but nothing graphic at all really. And who's to blame? Why yes, absolutefiction!
The bell rang for lunch.
Fuck lunch. Now Casey thought of his ham sandwich- it had mayonnaise.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, looking around himself as he filed past people clambering around in the halls. Even with no one knowing about his current state, he was so embarrassed just to be thinking these things. This was getting ridiculous, but hopefully… just maybe- he wasn’t fucking hungry anyways.
People were heading to the outside eating area, bags or trays in their hands. Casey practically threw himself into the bathroom he’d been in that morning, rushing to the same stall. An actual smile crossed his lips; this HAD to be it. He’d go mad if it continued.
He’d left his bag in his locker, unencumbered and feeling free for the first time that day. Figuring that this might have been stress related he sat on the toilet this time, leaning back on the flush and undoing his jeans. He couldn’t rush right now as every movement sent his brain spiraling; he pulled back the waist of his boxers gently, feeling his erection nearly climb out of its own will. “God damn,” he said, glancing to it as he spit in his hand. He’d never BEEN this large before, why the fuck now… never mind. Just…
Good. Good, this was a nice start. His fist rested at the base a moment as he let his thumb crawl up to the head; yes, good, good. Good. All right. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, legs opening wider to let him rub further. Yes. Nice. Naomi’s cleavage picking up the piece of chalk fourth period. That newscaster on at eight o’clock. The goal post. Anything at this point, fucking anything…
His heavy breathing stopped in hearing the door to the bathroom open. Jesus Christ, couldn’t he just… no. Whatever. Keep going.
“Dammit… God damn it…” a male voice said, quick steps running to the stall next to Casey’s. Casey worked hard on ignoring the new presence- nope. He didn’t care. All he cared about was his throbbing, aching cock that was FINALLY starting to feel better… just a little more saliva and…
Oh no. No, no… no. The sounds… the unnatural, disgusting sounds coming from the other stall were deafening. Casey clenched his eyes shut and shoved his head to one shoulder, putting his hand over the other ear. That chick in his new video game. The produce aisle at Fred’s Grocery. Angela Lansbury. Hydrogen bombs. As he began working frantically at the only thing he’d wanted ALL morning, it was no longer sound that concerned him.
“Ohh man…”
Casey’s eyes widened as the atmosphere in the bathroom went from just the slight, damp smell of sink, water and stale cigarette smoke to… this. What the fuck WAS this?? This was not someone with ‘bathroom difficulties’, this was in it’s own category of disgusting. Nothing was right. Nothing was good.
His hands shook like leaves as he stood up, this act alienated completely by whatever fucking asshole decided to go to school instead of the emergency room. He didn’t even realize that he was crying as he buttoned himself up. He choked on a sob as he pulled his zipper up carefully; he didn’t bother making a silent exit, shoving the door open and letting it crack against the other, hoping it scared the living hell out of the guy behind it.
This was horrible; the only other bathroom on this floor was closed for repairs, and stairs were NOT an option right now. Casey’s breathing quickened, feeling mad in his next decision. Yes. Yes… the only place he knew where most people avoided, preferring the company of friends underneath trees and using the cement tables. Yes.
Imaginary blinders were on as Casey walked quickly past the crowds, keeping himself as obscure as possible as dining students chatted, laughed and threw footballs to each other. His hand ran over his face, trying to erase the tracks of tears he desperately hoped no one would notice. The fact that he was invisible nowadays must have worked in his favor now as he slipped away, heading for the football field.
NO one ever came out here. It was his safe haven from the bullies for years, and should have been his first choice the moment he’d stepped out of English class. He didn’t even care that his crotch was aching with his fast pace, he just needed to get there and get there NOW. He looked from side to side as he stepped off the track and headed for the bleachers; sure that he’d gotten here unnoticed he got to the side of them and crawled underneath.
YES. Finally. Casey’s chest unhitched, tension slipping as he got to the middle, hidden as best he could have gotten. One blessing down…
Taking another quick look towards where he’d entered he now undid his jeans, throwing them down to his ankles, spit, and reached into his boxers once again. “Ungh…” he grunted out, putting his back on the cold pole of metal behind him. His skin crawled, shivering with the chilled steel at the thin fabric on his ass. Who cared, honestly. It actually… yea, it felt good. Anything to heighten this, anything at all…
Perhaps he should have cared more about his hastiness at this, however; he needed to find a way to slow this down, even if there were less than ten minutes before the next bell rang. Casey had never skipped a class in his life, but God DAMN he would today. This was the only priority in his life right now. He bent at the knees, rubbing his backside into the metal as his hand pounded away. “Y…ea…” he stammered out, biting his lip so hard he tasted a hint of blood.
Getting a condom unwrapped without teeth. Jodie Foster riding him expertly. Daydreaming in math class. The uneven bars in gym. This metal fucking beam, Goddamn… his cock wasn’t the only thing aching. Fearing carpal tunnel, Casey blinked. Cold. Cold worked, nicely. Using every ounce of gumption he had he turned his body around, shoving his boxers to the crumpled denim and leaning forward. “Ohhhh fuck…” he said in a low, shaky voice as he pressed his groin to the smooth, chilled metal. He never knew how much saliva one person could make until today; he shoved another handful of it to the pole, not spreading it too wide to lessen effect. Both hands clasped the pole as he bucked his hips, finding the slippery mark instantly. “Mmm… God, please,” he stammered out, finding a rhythm. He pulled one foot from his clothing and wrapped it around, making every bit of contact he possible could to this lovely, gorgeously formed contraption. Fuck school, he was quitting and becoming a pole dancer. He could do it everyday now that he knew how wonderful poles could be. Doughnuts. Metal. Long phallic poles. Metallic poles, ceramic poles, rubber poles, glass poles, clay poles, mud poles, taped together soda can poles, icicles… oh, fucking icicles… up, down, buck, Polish poles, salami poles, “What the fuck are you doing?” poles, Barber Shop poles, “Casey?” poles with soap, Jodie Foster, Zeke Tyler, Cool-Whip…
He halted all movement and thought. Zeke Tyler was not a pole, nor was he independently slippery without provocation. Instead, he was standing just under the bleachers and staring at Casey. He was staring at Casey, jeans and boxers tangled around one ankle while the other had an iron grip of the pole. Cock out and heating the cool metal. Casey’s jaw dropped, staring back at Zeke. The next thing he knew his eyes overflowed, nose gone sniffling instead of flaring in mad lust. “Jesus… CHRIST.” Casey nearly screamed, putting his hands to his face.
“What’s wrong?”
Did Zeke really just ask that question, did he fucking really just ASK that question?? “What the holy FUCK do you think is wrong?!” Casey bellowed, taking his leg from it’s raised position and dropping the foot of it to the earth. “I’m… I’m standing here, you’re standing… there… WHAT THE HELL are you DOING HERE?”
“Can’t smoke by the school,” Zeke said with a shrug, holding up his lit cigarette.
“You can’t smoke on school GROUNDS, you fucking idiot!”
“Can’t mock-fuck school property either, ‘far as I know,”
Oh for God’s sake. Casey finally untied the knot in his chest somehow and began sobbing, hands grabbing up the waist of his jeans. “Well go tell the principal then, I don’t CARE, I’ve had the WORST fucking day and just wanted… it’s not my FAULT…” he rambled, not paying attention to whatever he was saying.
“I’ve had pretty bad days too, but…” Zeke said, trailing off as he walked further inside.
“Get OUT of here, why are you looking… stop it!”
“I’m not ‘looking’, Casey, I’m just coming in… oh God…”
“Well I’m NOT! I’m NOT coming! I am completely incapable of it! I’m sick, hear that?? I’ve fucking lost my MIND!! I see some kid get his balls slammed back before the age of puberty and what, I get turned on?? Do I WANT to get the shit kicked outta me?? Is that it?? I MISS getting beat on??” Casey yelled out, trying to do up zippers and buttons; he really, really should have been more careful but was too frantic to mind that. “OOOWWW!!” he screamed, his voice bloodied with pain as the zipper caught on a tiny swatch of skin.
“You all right?” Zeke asked; oh good God…
“I am NOOOOT!” Casey cried out, clutching his groin.
“Zipper caught?”
“YES!”
“Casey, c’mere.”
“WHAT?”
“Come- here.”
Casey began breathing rapidly, his face screwed up in an intense frown. “WHY?!”
It turned out that whatever Zeke wanted he wasn’t willing to wait for; he stood up and took three long strides, catching Casey’s shoulder with his hand and pushing him back. Casey fought to stay on his feet, shocked to mind numbing confusion as the pole met his back once again. “You’re under stimulated,” Zeke explained in a plain, calm voice as one hand went to Casey’s hair.
“OW!” Casey yelled as Zeke pulled his head back forcefully, exposing his neck completely. The next thing he knew, Zeke’s mouth was on it and biting down, hard, where neck met shoulder.
“It’s not so much the bullied up beatings Case, it’s simple. You want the violence,” Zeke went on as he lapped at Casey’s collarbone. Zeke’s fingernails scratched deep into Casey’s scalp, the ends of his hair choking between his fingers. “You’ve never fucked before, and you want it just like that. You don’t even want to fuck, you want to BE fucked.”
This didn’t make any sense at all, none whatsoever- Zeke Tyler’s hand should not be pulling his hair, and the other hand should NOT be pushing down past his loosened jeans and boxers. Casey’s head slammed back, feeling the large, long fingered hand grab him up, taking the swollen-hard and stubborn-as-hell cock within it. “You want me to take you back to my place and fuck you- literally fuck you through the wall. That’s how I do things, maybe you’d like it,”
Casey mumbled something, but didn’t quite know what at this point. “You want that?” Zeke asked, rubbing his palm roughly at the underside of Casey’s shaft, fingers curling around his sac.
“Motherfuck…”
“I’d love to watch you pole dance, Casey Connor. I’d watch you for hours. You do it nicely,” Zeke told him; he was getting a shake to the normal cool and collected voice he always carried.
“Y-Y-Yea…”
“And if I don’t like what I see… I’ll take you over my knee and slap that sweet little ass of yours and make you beg for more.”
Well that did it. Each moment of frustration, to the ball-sore underclassman to now piled up and let loose. Casey’s eyes crossed and closed as he yelped out frantically, feeling the warm wet spurting uncontrollably over Zeke’s hand and wrist. Cover him, oh God, Casey was covering everything at this point. He wailed and purposefully pulled from Zeke’s hand at his head, loving the feel of his hair nearly being ripped from his scalp as he bucked countless times towards Zeke’s glorious, God-like hold. Yes. Yes fucking finally…
Zeke let go once Casey was through, sliding his hand slowly from the denim and out. “Was that okay?” he asked, his voice returning to Zeke Tyler. Casey’s eyes blinked open, closed, blink blink…
“Uhh…” he murmured, forgetting what English was. He felt wobbly and knew enough to just… stand still. Zeke smiled and took out a few tissues from his pocket. He handed some to Casey and he cleaned his hand off.
“Masochistic lil’ Casey. Who knew?”
“Are we done?” Casey asked quickly. Zeke’s lips twitched.
“You look it.”
“You don’t.”
Zeke’s head cocked to the side slowly, his arms crossing. “Casey Connor, are you telling me that you want to suck cock instead of go to class?”
Casey’s eyes darted from side to side. “What time is it?” he asked. Zeke took out his arm and looked at his watch.
“Well into sixth period,” he sighed out. Casey simply shook his head. “What?”
“Make me.”
“Make you do what?” Zeke asked. Casey suddenly couldn’t help a small grin from forming as he looked to Zeke with a solid expression.
“Make me suck cock.” He replied. Zeke’s mouth upturned.
“Who knew?”
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: C/Z (yea), C/pole.
Synopsis: Gets a bit squitchy at one point, but nothing graphic at all really. And who's to blame? Why yes, absolutefiction!
The bell rang for lunch.
Fuck lunch. Now Casey thought of his ham sandwich- it had mayonnaise.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, looking around himself as he filed past people clambering around in the halls. Even with no one knowing about his current state, he was so embarrassed just to be thinking these things. This was getting ridiculous, but hopefully… just maybe- he wasn’t fucking hungry anyways.
People were heading to the outside eating area, bags or trays in their hands. Casey practically threw himself into the bathroom he’d been in that morning, rushing to the same stall. An actual smile crossed his lips; this HAD to be it. He’d go mad if it continued.
He’d left his bag in his locker, unencumbered and feeling free for the first time that day. Figuring that this might have been stress related he sat on the toilet this time, leaning back on the flush and undoing his jeans. He couldn’t rush right now as every movement sent his brain spiraling; he pulled back the waist of his boxers gently, feeling his erection nearly climb out of its own will. “God damn,” he said, glancing to it as he spit in his hand. He’d never BEEN this large before, why the fuck now… never mind. Just…
Good. Good, this was a nice start. His fist rested at the base a moment as he let his thumb crawl up to the head; yes, good, good. Good. All right. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, legs opening wider to let him rub further. Yes. Nice. Naomi’s cleavage picking up the piece of chalk fourth period. That newscaster on at eight o’clock. The goal post. Anything at this point, fucking anything…
His heavy breathing stopped in hearing the door to the bathroom open. Jesus Christ, couldn’t he just… no. Whatever. Keep going.
“Dammit… God damn it…” a male voice said, quick steps running to the stall next to Casey’s. Casey worked hard on ignoring the new presence- nope. He didn’t care. All he cared about was his throbbing, aching cock that was FINALLY starting to feel better… just a little more saliva and…
Oh no. No, no… no. The sounds… the unnatural, disgusting sounds coming from the other stall were deafening. Casey clenched his eyes shut and shoved his head to one shoulder, putting his hand over the other ear. That chick in his new video game. The produce aisle at Fred’s Grocery. Angela Lansbury. Hydrogen bombs. As he began working frantically at the only thing he’d wanted ALL morning, it was no longer sound that concerned him.
“Ohh man…”
Casey’s eyes widened as the atmosphere in the bathroom went from just the slight, damp smell of sink, water and stale cigarette smoke to… this. What the fuck WAS this?? This was not someone with ‘bathroom difficulties’, this was in it’s own category of disgusting. Nothing was right. Nothing was good.
His hands shook like leaves as he stood up, this act alienated completely by whatever fucking asshole decided to go to school instead of the emergency room. He didn’t even realize that he was crying as he buttoned himself up. He choked on a sob as he pulled his zipper up carefully; he didn’t bother making a silent exit, shoving the door open and letting it crack against the other, hoping it scared the living hell out of the guy behind it.
This was horrible; the only other bathroom on this floor was closed for repairs, and stairs were NOT an option right now. Casey’s breathing quickened, feeling mad in his next decision. Yes. Yes… the only place he knew where most people avoided, preferring the company of friends underneath trees and using the cement tables. Yes.
Imaginary blinders were on as Casey walked quickly past the crowds, keeping himself as obscure as possible as dining students chatted, laughed and threw footballs to each other. His hand ran over his face, trying to erase the tracks of tears he desperately hoped no one would notice. The fact that he was invisible nowadays must have worked in his favor now as he slipped away, heading for the football field.
NO one ever came out here. It was his safe haven from the bullies for years, and should have been his first choice the moment he’d stepped out of English class. He didn’t even care that his crotch was aching with his fast pace, he just needed to get there and get there NOW. He looked from side to side as he stepped off the track and headed for the bleachers; sure that he’d gotten here unnoticed he got to the side of them and crawled underneath.
YES. Finally. Casey’s chest unhitched, tension slipping as he got to the middle, hidden as best he could have gotten. One blessing down…
Taking another quick look towards where he’d entered he now undid his jeans, throwing them down to his ankles, spit, and reached into his boxers once again. “Ungh…” he grunted out, putting his back on the cold pole of metal behind him. His skin crawled, shivering with the chilled steel at the thin fabric on his ass. Who cared, honestly. It actually… yea, it felt good. Anything to heighten this, anything at all…
Perhaps he should have cared more about his hastiness at this, however; he needed to find a way to slow this down, even if there were less than ten minutes before the next bell rang. Casey had never skipped a class in his life, but God DAMN he would today. This was the only priority in his life right now. He bent at the knees, rubbing his backside into the metal as his hand pounded away. “Y…ea…” he stammered out, biting his lip so hard he tasted a hint of blood.
Getting a condom unwrapped without teeth. Jodie Foster riding him expertly. Daydreaming in math class. The uneven bars in gym. This metal fucking beam, Goddamn… his cock wasn’t the only thing aching. Fearing carpal tunnel, Casey blinked. Cold. Cold worked, nicely. Using every ounce of gumption he had he turned his body around, shoving his boxers to the crumpled denim and leaning forward. “Ohhhh fuck…” he said in a low, shaky voice as he pressed his groin to the smooth, chilled metal. He never knew how much saliva one person could make until today; he shoved another handful of it to the pole, not spreading it too wide to lessen effect. Both hands clasped the pole as he bucked his hips, finding the slippery mark instantly. “Mmm… God, please,” he stammered out, finding a rhythm. He pulled one foot from his clothing and wrapped it around, making every bit of contact he possible could to this lovely, gorgeously formed contraption. Fuck school, he was quitting and becoming a pole dancer. He could do it everyday now that he knew how wonderful poles could be. Doughnuts. Metal. Long phallic poles. Metallic poles, ceramic poles, rubber poles, glass poles, clay poles, mud poles, taped together soda can poles, icicles… oh, fucking icicles… up, down, buck, Polish poles, salami poles, “What the fuck are you doing?” poles, Barber Shop poles, “Casey?” poles with soap, Jodie Foster, Zeke Tyler, Cool-Whip…
He halted all movement and thought. Zeke Tyler was not a pole, nor was he independently slippery without provocation. Instead, he was standing just under the bleachers and staring at Casey. He was staring at Casey, jeans and boxers tangled around one ankle while the other had an iron grip of the pole. Cock out and heating the cool metal. Casey’s jaw dropped, staring back at Zeke. The next thing he knew his eyes overflowed, nose gone sniffling instead of flaring in mad lust. “Jesus… CHRIST.” Casey nearly screamed, putting his hands to his face.
“What’s wrong?”
Did Zeke really just ask that question, did he fucking really just ASK that question?? “What the holy FUCK do you think is wrong?!” Casey bellowed, taking his leg from it’s raised position and dropping the foot of it to the earth. “I’m… I’m standing here, you’re standing… there… WHAT THE HELL are you DOING HERE?”
“Can’t smoke by the school,” Zeke said with a shrug, holding up his lit cigarette.
“You can’t smoke on school GROUNDS, you fucking idiot!”
“Can’t mock-fuck school property either, ‘far as I know,”
Oh for God’s sake. Casey finally untied the knot in his chest somehow and began sobbing, hands grabbing up the waist of his jeans. “Well go tell the principal then, I don’t CARE, I’ve had the WORST fucking day and just wanted… it’s not my FAULT…” he rambled, not paying attention to whatever he was saying.
“I’ve had pretty bad days too, but…” Zeke said, trailing off as he walked further inside.
“Get OUT of here, why are you looking… stop it!”
“I’m not ‘looking’, Casey, I’m just coming in… oh God…”
“Well I’m NOT! I’m NOT coming! I am completely incapable of it! I’m sick, hear that?? I’ve fucking lost my MIND!! I see some kid get his balls slammed back before the age of puberty and what, I get turned on?? Do I WANT to get the shit kicked outta me?? Is that it?? I MISS getting beat on??” Casey yelled out, trying to do up zippers and buttons; he really, really should have been more careful but was too frantic to mind that. “OOOWWW!!” he screamed, his voice bloodied with pain as the zipper caught on a tiny swatch of skin.
“You all right?” Zeke asked; oh good God…
“I am NOOOOT!” Casey cried out, clutching his groin.
“Zipper caught?”
“YES!”
“Casey, c’mere.”
“WHAT?”
“Come- here.”
Casey began breathing rapidly, his face screwed up in an intense frown. “WHY?!”
It turned out that whatever Zeke wanted he wasn’t willing to wait for; he stood up and took three long strides, catching Casey’s shoulder with his hand and pushing him back. Casey fought to stay on his feet, shocked to mind numbing confusion as the pole met his back once again. “You’re under stimulated,” Zeke explained in a plain, calm voice as one hand went to Casey’s hair.
“OW!” Casey yelled as Zeke pulled his head back forcefully, exposing his neck completely. The next thing he knew, Zeke’s mouth was on it and biting down, hard, where neck met shoulder.
“It’s not so much the bullied up beatings Case, it’s simple. You want the violence,” Zeke went on as he lapped at Casey’s collarbone. Zeke’s fingernails scratched deep into Casey’s scalp, the ends of his hair choking between his fingers. “You’ve never fucked before, and you want it just like that. You don’t even want to fuck, you want to BE fucked.”
This didn’t make any sense at all, none whatsoever- Zeke Tyler’s hand should not be pulling his hair, and the other hand should NOT be pushing down past his loosened jeans and boxers. Casey’s head slammed back, feeling the large, long fingered hand grab him up, taking the swollen-hard and stubborn-as-hell cock within it. “You want me to take you back to my place and fuck you- literally fuck you through the wall. That’s how I do things, maybe you’d like it,”
Casey mumbled something, but didn’t quite know what at this point. “You want that?” Zeke asked, rubbing his palm roughly at the underside of Casey’s shaft, fingers curling around his sac.
“Motherfuck…”
“I’d love to watch you pole dance, Casey Connor. I’d watch you for hours. You do it nicely,” Zeke told him; he was getting a shake to the normal cool and collected voice he always carried.
“Y-Y-Yea…”
“And if I don’t like what I see… I’ll take you over my knee and slap that sweet little ass of yours and make you beg for more.”
Well that did it. Each moment of frustration, to the ball-sore underclassman to now piled up and let loose. Casey’s eyes crossed and closed as he yelped out frantically, feeling the warm wet spurting uncontrollably over Zeke’s hand and wrist. Cover him, oh God, Casey was covering everything at this point. He wailed and purposefully pulled from Zeke’s hand at his head, loving the feel of his hair nearly being ripped from his scalp as he bucked countless times towards Zeke’s glorious, God-like hold. Yes. Yes fucking finally…
Zeke let go once Casey was through, sliding his hand slowly from the denim and out. “Was that okay?” he asked, his voice returning to Zeke Tyler. Casey’s eyes blinked open, closed, blink blink…
“Uhh…” he murmured, forgetting what English was. He felt wobbly and knew enough to just… stand still. Zeke smiled and took out a few tissues from his pocket. He handed some to Casey and he cleaned his hand off.
“Masochistic lil’ Casey. Who knew?”
“Are we done?” Casey asked quickly. Zeke’s lips twitched.
“You look it.”
“You don’t.”
Zeke’s head cocked to the side slowly, his arms crossing. “Casey Connor, are you telling me that you want to suck cock instead of go to class?”
Casey’s eyes darted from side to side. “What time is it?” he asked. Zeke took out his arm and looked at his watch.
“Well into sixth period,” he sighed out. Casey simply shook his head. “What?”
“Make me.”
“Make you do what?” Zeke asked. Casey suddenly couldn’t help a small grin from forming as he looked to Zeke with a solid expression.
“Make me suck cock.” He replied. Zeke’s mouth upturned.
“Who knew?”