Casey/Zeke, rated R
For my lovely conniemarie, whom I love madly, with special thanks to sophinisba for the encouragement to post here.
Title: Food For… Thought
Pairing: Casey/Zeke
Summary: A somewhat domestic, post-aliens moment
Rating: R
~
FOOD FOR… THOUGHT
~
Zeke watched the Cocoa Puffs move from cart to shelf, scowled.
"Hey, I like those!"
"They're not food," Casey replied and reached past Zeke, grabbed up what looked suspiciously like a box of sticks and twigs.
"And that is?"
Casey frowned at the box in his hand. "What? It's granola."
Zeke rolled his eyes. "Uh, huh. Like I said…"
"It's food!" Casey retorted with a bit of a glare. He turned the box on its side. "Look, one-hundred percent natural. Read the ingredients."
"I don't need to read the ingredients," was the confident reply. "Sticks, berries, rocks--"
"Whole grain rolled oats," Casey countered. "Whole grain rolled wheat, brown sug--"
"No chocolate," said Zeke. "I rest my case."
Casey rolled his eyes. "All right," he said, snatched the Cocoa Puffs back from the shelf, turned the box. "If you can tell me what trisodium phosphate is, we'll get this one."
"Oh, we, huh? You're buying, are you?"
"Fuck you, Zeke," Casey shot back. "I'm a destitute student, struggling to work my way through college and you've been chosen to fill the role of Sugar Daddy." He smiled a little, purposely batted his eyelashes, which of course, made Zeke's jeans tighten somewhat, which of course, Casey knew it would. Bastard. "Besides," Casey went on, "you begged me to come, you feed me. It's only fair."
Zeke's eyebrows snapped down. "I didn't beg!"
A snort from Casey and a confident nod. "You begged."
"I don't beg," Zeke maintained.
"No?" Casey smirked. "'Oh, c'mon, Case,' you said. 'Need to see you,' you said. 'I'll buy the plane tick--'"
"That's not begging," Zeke snorted. "That's being persistent."
"Yeah, whatever." Said with that same smirk and a roll of the eyes. "You 'persisted' for a week and a half and dragged me up here in the middle of mid-terms with the promise of making it worth my while and then when I get here, you have no food in the house."
Zeke grinned. "Food has nothing to do with worthwhile."
"Maybe not," Casey agreed. "But it's got everything to do with having the energy for worthwhile and if you think I'm going to let you starve me and have your way with me, you're a lot dumber than you look." He moved a little closer, tipped his face so that warm breath skimmed Zeke's throat. "I may be cheap," he murmured and Zeke was positive the little fucker was breathing more than absolutely necessary just so that Zeke would find walking difficult in about thirty seconds. "But if you want to be the Sugar Daddy, you'll have to spread some sugar."
Good thing for Zeke his mouth tended to work for the most part without the help of his brain. "And Cocoa Puffs," he replied, reached again for the box, "have plenty of sugar."
Casey's teeth clenched and he drew back. "Fine," he said, "you go right ahead." He slid the box of granola back on the shelf. "But they use trisodium phosphate to make soap. Just so you know." He narrowed his eyes, leaned in with an evil little smile. "And you begged."
Casey turned, made his way down the aisle and took a turn toward the dairy case. Zeke watched him go -- all right, so he watched his ass -- then looked at the box in his hand, frowned. "Soap," he muttered then rolled his eyes, sighed… put the Cocoa Puffs back and tossed the granola into the cart. "Fucker," he mumbled.
~
"Jesus… fuck, Zeke, c'mon!"
Zeke pressed his palms into Casey's hips, pinned them more firmly to the cupboard and swirled his tongue about solid heat. A slow build of pressure, a strategic caress and a careful shift of fingers--
"Fuck!"
Ah, there we go. Too bad smirking wasn't a possibility at the moment.
Zeke shifted himself on the linoleum, adjusted his knees against the hard surface. This seemed like an excellent idea when he'd had it, dragging Casey -- groceries and all -- through the door by the scruff of his neck, shoving him up against the first sturdy surface they happened upon and divesting him of groceries, jeans and control, in that order.
Not that making Casey lose control was that hard; anything that took a minute longer than a quick fuck in the shower was always a good way to get him shaking and twitching in ways that quickly tested Zeke's own control. There was nothing more sexy in the entire world to Zeke than the way Casey moved: that arch that made the small of his back dip and curve and fitted Zeke's hands perfectly when Casey moved just right; the way Casey's hands would by turns grip and flutter over Zeke's skin, in his hair, snatching greedily one second then stroking soft the next; the way those hips rocked constantly and never stopped moving, rolling and pitching to the rhythm of whatever tempo Zeke set; and those eyes -- those fucking eyes! -- sometimes staring at Zeke, all glassed-over and so fucking intense Casey could probably make him come just by blinking at just the right second, and sometimes rolling closed just when Zeke wanted him to leave them open, wanted them looking at him with want and now and--
"Jesusfuck, you're fucking killing me, Zeke…"
Ah, yes, and that mouth. Not only was it amazingly talented when one happened to be occupied at that end of Casey in one way or another, but it was also delightfully dirty.
"Do it, Zeke, you fucker, c'mon, I fucking swear, you'll pay for this…"
Case in point.
Anyway, this had all seemed like an excellent idea when he'd thought of it and it still was, actually, because damn, he had Casey writhing and trying to buck out of Zeke's grip and Casey really was too much like sex-on-a-stick sometimes. Now, however, Zeke's knees were starting to complain (he really had been down here a while) and there was a lot more going on in his own jeans right now than there really should be if he planned to take this into the bedroom eventually… which he did because that's where the K-Y was, though cooking-oil or butter or whatever else he might lay hands on wasn't entirely out of the question at this point.
A quick jerk of his head and a skilful press of the tongue and Casey was winding his fingers into Zeke's hair, yanking at it and it hurt like a motherfucker but it shot a bolt of pure molten sensation down his spine, too, and heat straight through his groin and it was a good thing both hands were occupied at the moment or he would've been tempted to use one on himself and he really did want to move this to the bedroom soon. Because Casey was wavering and rippling in Zeke's hands and snapping out Zeke's name in-between language that was both amazingly foul and blindingly arousing all at once and it was all Zeke could do to keep himself from dragging Casey to the floor and fucking him hard and dirty right here on the linoleum.
Which suddenly made Zeke realise in an absent sort of way that, no matter how much bigger he was than Casey and how much more he had it together in some ways and how much he teased and drew it out and made Casey shout and curse and ripple beneath Zeke's own tongue, Zeke had never really been the one in control here and probably never would be. He was completely at Casey's mercy and somehow, that wasn't a bad way to be.
And then Casey was bucking against Zeke's hands, arching so hard his head slammed into the cupboard and rattled the dishes. A strangled, "Fuck!" and a curl of the spine and Casey was wailing his release while Zeke held him up with one hand to his hip, dipped the other to stroke and sooth down his thigh. Zeke could feel it all winding around Casey, pulling him tight then flinging him loose, and Casey's hands tightened in Zeke's hair, gripped hard and if Zeke ever went bald, he had every intention of blaming Casey for it because he'd probably had more hair ripped out by the roots over the past two years that if he'd saved it, he could have become a revered donor to The Hair Club For Men. Casey whimpered, shuddered then one last jerking spasm moved through him and he stilled.
Zeke released him with a teasing last swirl of the tongue, grinned a little when Casey moaned a protest then guided him to slide down the cupboard. He blinked slowly at Zeke, still breathing heavy and goddamn, Zeke loved this look, all rumpled and soft and dark hair sticking up all over the place and those eyes half-lidded and heavy, staring at him with expectation and invitation both.
Oh, yes, bedroom and K-Y and right now, by damn, but first, there was something very important that needed to be said and it just couldn't wait. Zeke grinned, leaned in and laid a light kiss to Casey's mouth.
"You begged," he whispered.
Casey's face pulled into a lazy smirk. "Fuck you, Zeke."
~
END
~
Title: Food For… Thought
Pairing: Casey/Zeke
Summary: A somewhat domestic, post-aliens moment
Rating: R
~
FOOD FOR… THOUGHT
~
Zeke watched the Cocoa Puffs move from cart to shelf, scowled.
"Hey, I like those!"
"They're not food," Casey replied and reached past Zeke, grabbed up what looked suspiciously like a box of sticks and twigs.
"And that is?"
Casey frowned at the box in his hand. "What? It's granola."
Zeke rolled his eyes. "Uh, huh. Like I said…"
"It's food!" Casey retorted with a bit of a glare. He turned the box on its side. "Look, one-hundred percent natural. Read the ingredients."
"I don't need to read the ingredients," was the confident reply. "Sticks, berries, rocks--"
"Whole grain rolled oats," Casey countered. "Whole grain rolled wheat, brown sug--"
"No chocolate," said Zeke. "I rest my case."
Casey rolled his eyes. "All right," he said, snatched the Cocoa Puffs back from the shelf, turned the box. "If you can tell me what trisodium phosphate is, we'll get this one."
"Oh, we, huh? You're buying, are you?"
"Fuck you, Zeke," Casey shot back. "I'm a destitute student, struggling to work my way through college and you've been chosen to fill the role of Sugar Daddy." He smiled a little, purposely batted his eyelashes, which of course, made Zeke's jeans tighten somewhat, which of course, Casey knew it would. Bastard. "Besides," Casey went on, "you begged me to come, you feed me. It's only fair."
Zeke's eyebrows snapped down. "I didn't beg!"
A snort from Casey and a confident nod. "You begged."
"I don't beg," Zeke maintained.
"No?" Casey smirked. "'Oh, c'mon, Case,' you said. 'Need to see you,' you said. 'I'll buy the plane tick--'"
"That's not begging," Zeke snorted. "That's being persistent."
"Yeah, whatever." Said with that same smirk and a roll of the eyes. "You 'persisted' for a week and a half and dragged me up here in the middle of mid-terms with the promise of making it worth my while and then when I get here, you have no food in the house."
Zeke grinned. "Food has nothing to do with worthwhile."
"Maybe not," Casey agreed. "But it's got everything to do with having the energy for worthwhile and if you think I'm going to let you starve me and have your way with me, you're a lot dumber than you look." He moved a little closer, tipped his face so that warm breath skimmed Zeke's throat. "I may be cheap," he murmured and Zeke was positive the little fucker was breathing more than absolutely necessary just so that Zeke would find walking difficult in about thirty seconds. "But if you want to be the Sugar Daddy, you'll have to spread some sugar."
Good thing for Zeke his mouth tended to work for the most part without the help of his brain. "And Cocoa Puffs," he replied, reached again for the box, "have plenty of sugar."
Casey's teeth clenched and he drew back. "Fine," he said, "you go right ahead." He slid the box of granola back on the shelf. "But they use trisodium phosphate to make soap. Just so you know." He narrowed his eyes, leaned in with an evil little smile. "And you begged."
Casey turned, made his way down the aisle and took a turn toward the dairy case. Zeke watched him go -- all right, so he watched his ass -- then looked at the box in his hand, frowned. "Soap," he muttered then rolled his eyes, sighed… put the Cocoa Puffs back and tossed the granola into the cart. "Fucker," he mumbled.
~
"Jesus… fuck, Zeke, c'mon!"
Zeke pressed his palms into Casey's hips, pinned them more firmly to the cupboard and swirled his tongue about solid heat. A slow build of pressure, a strategic caress and a careful shift of fingers--
"Fuck!"
Ah, there we go. Too bad smirking wasn't a possibility at the moment.
Zeke shifted himself on the linoleum, adjusted his knees against the hard surface. This seemed like an excellent idea when he'd had it, dragging Casey -- groceries and all -- through the door by the scruff of his neck, shoving him up against the first sturdy surface they happened upon and divesting him of groceries, jeans and control, in that order.
Not that making Casey lose control was that hard; anything that took a minute longer than a quick fuck in the shower was always a good way to get him shaking and twitching in ways that quickly tested Zeke's own control. There was nothing more sexy in the entire world to Zeke than the way Casey moved: that arch that made the small of his back dip and curve and fitted Zeke's hands perfectly when Casey moved just right; the way Casey's hands would by turns grip and flutter over Zeke's skin, in his hair, snatching greedily one second then stroking soft the next; the way those hips rocked constantly and never stopped moving, rolling and pitching to the rhythm of whatever tempo Zeke set; and those eyes -- those fucking eyes! -- sometimes staring at Zeke, all glassed-over and so fucking intense Casey could probably make him come just by blinking at just the right second, and sometimes rolling closed just when Zeke wanted him to leave them open, wanted them looking at him with want and now and--
"Jesusfuck, you're fucking killing me, Zeke…"
Ah, yes, and that mouth. Not only was it amazingly talented when one happened to be occupied at that end of Casey in one way or another, but it was also delightfully dirty.
"Do it, Zeke, you fucker, c'mon, I fucking swear, you'll pay for this…"
Case in point.
Anyway, this had all seemed like an excellent idea when he'd thought of it and it still was, actually, because damn, he had Casey writhing and trying to buck out of Zeke's grip and Casey really was too much like sex-on-a-stick sometimes. Now, however, Zeke's knees were starting to complain (he really had been down here a while) and there was a lot more going on in his own jeans right now than there really should be if he planned to take this into the bedroom eventually… which he did because that's where the K-Y was, though cooking-oil or butter or whatever else he might lay hands on wasn't entirely out of the question at this point.
A quick jerk of his head and a skilful press of the tongue and Casey was winding his fingers into Zeke's hair, yanking at it and it hurt like a motherfucker but it shot a bolt of pure molten sensation down his spine, too, and heat straight through his groin and it was a good thing both hands were occupied at the moment or he would've been tempted to use one on himself and he really did want to move this to the bedroom soon. Because Casey was wavering and rippling in Zeke's hands and snapping out Zeke's name in-between language that was both amazingly foul and blindingly arousing all at once and it was all Zeke could do to keep himself from dragging Casey to the floor and fucking him hard and dirty right here on the linoleum.
Which suddenly made Zeke realise in an absent sort of way that, no matter how much bigger he was than Casey and how much more he had it together in some ways and how much he teased and drew it out and made Casey shout and curse and ripple beneath Zeke's own tongue, Zeke had never really been the one in control here and probably never would be. He was completely at Casey's mercy and somehow, that wasn't a bad way to be.
And then Casey was bucking against Zeke's hands, arching so hard his head slammed into the cupboard and rattled the dishes. A strangled, "Fuck!" and a curl of the spine and Casey was wailing his release while Zeke held him up with one hand to his hip, dipped the other to stroke and sooth down his thigh. Zeke could feel it all winding around Casey, pulling him tight then flinging him loose, and Casey's hands tightened in Zeke's hair, gripped hard and if Zeke ever went bald, he had every intention of blaming Casey for it because he'd probably had more hair ripped out by the roots over the past two years that if he'd saved it, he could have become a revered donor to The Hair Club For Men. Casey whimpered, shuddered then one last jerking spasm moved through him and he stilled.
Zeke released him with a teasing last swirl of the tongue, grinned a little when Casey moaned a protest then guided him to slide down the cupboard. He blinked slowly at Zeke, still breathing heavy and goddamn, Zeke loved this look, all rumpled and soft and dark hair sticking up all over the place and those eyes half-lidded and heavy, staring at him with expectation and invitation both.
Oh, yes, bedroom and K-Y and right now, by damn, but first, there was something very important that needed to be said and it just couldn't wait. Zeke grinned, leaned in and laid a light kiss to Casey's mouth.
"You begged," he whispered.
Casey's face pulled into a lazy smirk. "Fuck you, Zeke."
~
END
~