"So the song is generally pretty raunchy, ya know, since I'm a teenager who pulls edgy lyrics out of my ass," Casey started, talking about the song he had been preparing for quite a while.
The two sat together in Casey's basement, the two plopped onto an old, scratched up sofa, holding weirdly textured cushions between the materials pleather and rugged velvet. It was comfortable, or at least comfortable for 2 boys who have never sat on anything better. An old, free couch sitting outside someone's house was better than any couch requiring money, so Casey didn't complain.
That same logic could be applied to everything else in the room, besides his drums, his laptop, and his TV, a third of these items stolen and the rest handed down to him.
Based on the condition of each item, it wasn't hard to tell which one was stolen.
Gregg held onto a smile, sunken into the couch as he listened in on Casey's passionate take on the music he has been working on. The band would be shifting due to Mae's distance, the two having to seek help from others, people who would possibly have the time to come together some time to perform. Whether they'd be official members of the band was up to Casey, Gregg normally letting Casey shout the demands with this kind of thing.
If it weren't for Casey's insistent behavior, the fox was unsure if he would've even continued on with this. A conversation a few months ago where Gregg suggested taking a break from the band resulted in a 3 week long silent treatment, a box of cigarettes bribe, and complete assured commitment, Casey having a rather weird connection with the band's existence.
Funny, even though practices happened once a week, and finding gigs wasn't as much of a priority anymore. Reminding himself of this any time growing frustrated with Casey, Gregg found himself thinking about it more.
"I haven't had a chance to show it to anybody, but that's because I haven't made a good bridge. But dude, trust me." Casey assured, leaning over as he kept his eyes on the fox. "Its gonna be killer, and I want it to kill you first."
Gregg rolled his eyes, leaning back on the sofa as he kicked his booted shoes on top of the worn down table, careful not to knock over a collection of notebooks and scraps of paper slobbered with sheet notes.
"Too bad it won't actually kill me."
"Too bad it can't afford to kill you."
"If this song could afford to kill me, I hope it could afford my funeral."
"It would assure you'd have a burial. But no party."
The two would share a mutual laugh, Casey sighing afterwards as he moved one of his hands into his pocket, rummaging for a lighter. He promised his mom he'd stop smoking pot in the basement, but he never said anything about cigarettes, the cat letting his hands trail between the cushions looking for an old box.
"You think people have parties for a funeral?"
"We celebrate when people are born. Why can't we celebrate when people die?"
Gregg nodded, letting his fingers play with his jacket zipper.
"I wonder if there's a funeral aisle at a party store?"
"There is. It's next to the Holiday aisle."
"We should say you died and throw a party!"
The cat scoffed, smirking as he pulled out a cigarette from under the couch cushion he had been sitting on, giving it a quick light before bringing the stick to his mouth.
"We aren't going to say anything. Now, if you actually kill me? Let's go ahead and get a funeral cake, too."
"Can I perform? I could write a song and every thing."
"Here, write this."
Finishing the sentence, Casey blew his smoke into the fox's face, Gregg waving the cloud away then punching the cat on his shoulder playfully. Casey laughed in response, taking another drag before looking up.
"You gonna show me this song you keep talking about or are you gonna keep being an asshole?"
"God could strike me down and I would still be an asshole. It's not done yet, dude, but trust me. You'll be be very first to get a taste of its greatness."
"I'll let my taste buds be in charge of how your song tastes."
"Heh. Looks like I'm gonna have to bribe them, then."
"With what money?"
"Money? What, your taste buds are capitalists?"
"Money talks in this capitalistic world, like it or not. They'll charge ya a pretty penny."
"No friend discount?"
"Lemme ask the manager."
Gregg remained silent for a moment, the two staring at each other with dumb smiles on their faces.
"I'm the manager. The manager says screw off."
Blowing smoke into Gregg's face again, Casey was about to take another drag until the fox made a quick lunge, the two playfighting on the old couch. As punches were being thrown, and kicks were being made, the two had no trouble playing dirty. The fox tended to go for generally anywhere exposed, doing what he could to get the cat to knock over. Casey, on the other hand, depended on his agility, lashing at weak spots when obvious but spending the majority of the time avoiding recieiving critical hits.
While one punch followed a kick and onward, Gregg and Casey found themselves tumbling onto the ground, their wrestling continuing on the floor.
Casey could hold his own with fighting, knowing where to place his fist on a body. But when Gregg would fight, there was no such thing as thinking, as he would only move, his entire body becoming a weapon. As minutes went by between the two of them laughing and growling, the match ended with Gregg on top, holding the cat down by his arms. He was position where he sat on Casey's lower abdomen, making moving forward or around difficult as the fox had dropped his weight, keeping the cat in position while hunching over to keep down his arms.
Although Casey continued to struggle, rather lightly, the boys breathed heavily in position. Gregg's hands held the cat down firmly, the two panting in each others direction as they faced one another, their eyes locked for only a moment.
Being a weirdly intimate moment, the two would stay silent for a few seconds until Casey grew a little red, speaking up.
"You gonna eff me now, or what."
"It came to mind. Can't resist weird orange cats under my grip."
"At least take me out to dinner, first."
Gregg smirked.
"With what money?"
Still huffing, Casey leaned in with a smirk on his lips.
"The money I'll get from insurance after you drill me."
At that point, the laughs had haulted, as well as the panting, the two staying in that position in silence once more. Picking up the suggestive language brought Gregg's cheeks to grow red themselves, understanding the many different ways in which that very sentence could be interpreted. The space between them had grown rather hot, or at least that's how it had started to feel with Gregg, the fox seeing that their rough yet playful behavior was starting to become a little different than how he was directing it.
Or, at least, reminded him of an earlier time in their lives where their mischief had lead to... specific actions.
Gregg felt his mind go over their strange periods of male on male intimacy, Gregg recalling a specific night Casey had sworn him to secrecy to never say anything about. When that thought came to mind was when Gregg let his grip lighten on Casey's upper limbs, the fox still staring yet his gaze growing from entertained to a little more surprised.
"Oh, uh-"
Casey, feeling the small release of his arms, would then use this moment to his advantage, nearly breaking Gregg's rib cage as he used one of his hands to punch into his lower torso, his other hand making an effort to push the hurt fox on his back, thus taking position on top again.
The two would lock eyes again, Gregg's surprised expression going face to face to Casey's now sly and pleased face.
"Now what were we saying? Me getting drilled?"
Gregg blinked, letting a proper answer to his question come to mind. The side of his abdomen had become sore, the fox unable to move up or really do much of anything. For what Casey lacked in strength was definitely made up in his tactics, the cat knowing exactly
where to strike a blow.
As Casey remained on top of him, Gregg would hope the cat would come to his senses, mumbling a slow response.
"I think we were probably saying how, uh, Angus would feel about that. You know... my boyfriend Angus. The one who I leave the, uh, drilling up to."
Casey's assured expression faded into something serious quickly, hearing the words of Gregg and seeing where his body had been taking him. It had become clear to the cat of the subconcious intentions of the two as Casey actually opened his eyes to what was goong on. Gregg was able to maintain a playful position in this situation, maintaining a remotely casual and non-serious behavior while they had been interacting.
Casey, on the other hand, had gone a little further, especially with his physical expression. Seeing where this could've possibly gone in a more awkward note, Casey backed up, going from borderline flirty to playful in an instant (or at least presenting himself in such a way), as he rolled onto the ground next to Gregg.
"Is there never a moment in time where you'll take something as a joke."
"It was funny until... you know..."
"Until what?"
With no response from Gregg, the fox having trouble with words, Casey immediately turned to his side, positioning his torso away from Gregg.
"You know what, forget it. Take a joke, dude."
He would remain silent for that time, Gregg unsure of what to say. With such a quick turn of events, Gregg rolled his eyes slightly, the fox
It wasn't that he found the intimacy in any way awkward, however, he was just worried about mentioning it with how this conversation was going. Casey may have been a thoughtful fighter, but when it came to speaking about anything on his mind, Gregg never anticipated a good ending. Instead, he would let it go and stop, moving onto something else.
"So... the song, uh-"
"I told you I'm not showing you yet, how many times do I have to-"
"No, no dude, I'm asking... I'm asking if you had a name."
"A name?"
"A name for the song, country trash."
Although taking a few seconds to come out, a laugh would leave Casey's mouth, his body turning back to face Gregg. Casey's blush had went down, his once rosey cheeks going back to their orange, natural color. It had been strange to come back from something that felt so intimate, the cat previously rushing with strong emotions. It had felt so long since he had felt those things, and to feel them once more was rather relieving.
"Greggory Lee, the only man dumb enough to come back from something so gay."
"You get used to it after wrestling so many times."
"What, the head injuries, or the flamer talk."
"Sometimes both, Casey. Sometimes both."
Laying there once more, the two looked at each other peacefully, those rush of emotions on Casey's end reminding him of a friendship so god damn weird. Any time they'd lie together, any time Casey got a chance to be so close to this stupid Fox's face was another snapshot for the book, the book he had stored in his mind which captured every enjoyable moment he would have with the guy.
He wondered where all this longing had gone after being so close to Mae for so long. After Nightmare Eyes stepped into the picture, the three would move as a trio, resulting in a weird break between his and Gregg's connection. Perhaps it had more to do with his heavy interest in Mae. Or perhaps it had to do with Casey finding solace in someone who, as much as he could never tell Gregg, had more going for them.
Casey didn't feel guilty of the trashed connection, however, it was a difficult reminder that there was a time when the two were close and stilll discovering themselves. And with what had just happened, it reminded him that there was a connection full of cooperative discovery. Discovery that maybe Gregg grew up from, but something Casey would bury for a period of time, just to unravel when given the right moment of time.
And unfortunately, out of all the times to unravel his feelings, this was a time that included rather set roles, especially in a relationship where one of them is already committed to someone.
Not wanting to think of this further, Casey went onto the second thing on his mind.
"You would've made a better wrestler than a track fag in high school."
"It was too expensive. The wrestling coach wanted me to pay more than a hundred for some gross, cold one piece. I spent less than half of that for the track set, didn't need anything else but the shorts and shirt."
"Didn't you end up throwing away more than a hundred anyways for the sports jacket?"
"No, I stole that thing when the Coach wasn't watching."
"Explains why it's so big, you probably just took the first one you saw."
"The priority was having it, not the size of it."
"You tell yourself that when you're with Angus?"
Gregg scoffed, punching Casey's arm with no hesitation.
"I don't know whether to blame you or praise you for all the wrestling experience. I wasn't on the team but damn did I know how to pin a guy-"
Gregg held his breath as Casey was clearly ready with a remark, the fox rolling his eyes as he then laid on his back, facing the ceiling.
"So, the name?"
"It's Casey Hartley."
"You're an effing pile of sewer trash and I-"
"Relax, relax. I know what you meant."
Hearing the question again, Casey sighed, beginning to lay on his back as well as he then found his eyes on his ceiling too. On his cracked, decaying ceiling was the weirdly shaped painting of the United States, specific places being noted with a collection of dots.
Regardless of being such a big map, Casey's attention would always focus on the location of their shitty home, a dot in place of what he felt to be the location of America's Hell. He would utter the name of the song without letting his eyes disconnect from the ceiling, Gregg being given the title of a song Casey put a part of himself into.
"Die Anywhere Else."