Disclaimer: This is a sequel of sorts to my first Casey/Zeke fic, "Boys'
Room Confrontations". Seeing as how nothing in that story was actually
real, I'll just come right out with it: this one's fictional too! Sorry,
folks, that's just how it works. I don't anything "Faculty"-related,
either. The only thing I own about this story is the plot. Please do not
borrow, steal or copy it without asking me first.
Zeke waited. The GTO was comfortably warm, even on this blustery Ohio day, but his patience was wearing thin. He looked at his watch in irritation, then scanned the campus restlessly. Finally, his eyes picked up on the familiar shuffle of the boy who was making his way across the parking lot. Zeke leaned over and unlocked the doors. He turned the key in the ignition and looked straight ahead as the passenger door opened and Casey slid in next to him.
"'Bout fucking time, Case," he grumbled. "Where are we going?"
"My house," came the almost inaudible reply. "No one's home." Zeke raised an eyebrow as he sped out of the parking lot, honking the horn at lingering pedestrians.
"No one's home?" he echoed, mildly intrigued.
"Nah. Mom's in Virginia with Aunt Katie, and Dad's off at some conference in Chicago." Zeke nodded slightly--his own parents were cavorting around Brazil this month. He hadn't heard from them in about a week. He smirked slightly, certain that Casey's parents had called him every day--maybe every hour. On the hour.
"When the olds are away, Casey will play, hmmm?" This impersonal jab was me with no reply at all. Zeke glanced to his right.
The area surrounding the younger boy's left eye was reddened, and it was obvious that it had begun to swell. There was a small cut on his lower lip, and Casey held a wad of toilet paper pressed to his right nostril.
'Fucking Christ, again?!' thought Zeke, exasperated. Out loud, he said dryly, "Well, well. The setting is different, but the scene is the same." Once again, Casey said nothing. Instead, he turned his head and stared out the window. Apparently, trees whizzing past the window were more fascinating then human interaction. Zeke rolled his eyes and drove on.
Once in Casey's driveway, Zeke shut off the car, closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then, he counted to ten in Spanish, and backward from ten in French. Sufficiently calmed, Zeke mentally squared his shoulders.
"Okay," he announced. "Let's get you cleaned up."
The Connors' kitchen was cheerful and airy; much too bright for Zeke's taste. He squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the warm yellow shade on the walls. Casey peeled off his coat, scarf, hat and gloves (Zeke was personally amazed that his mother didn't still buy him mittens) and piled them all onto the kitchen table before sinking into one of the wooden chairs surrounding it.
Moving to get a dishtowel from the drawer and an ice pack from the freezer, Zeke noted the unfazed, almost.deadened look in those unnaturally large blue eyes. He wrapped up the ice pack and handed it to Casey, who wordlessly pressed it against his right side, along his ribcage. Zeke went back to the sink and dampened a paper towel with lukewarm water.
"Were there many of them?" he asked, voice casual. He squirted some Dove liquid soap onto the paper, rubbing it in with the pad of his thumb. Casey made a noncommittal noise.
"Three or four guys from the team." Zeke walked back over and knelt next to the chair.
"And Gabe was there, of course." His tone was light, conversational. Casey nodded and closed his eyes as Zeke began to dab at the cuts on his face. "Did they go for any spot in particular?" Zeke asked when he had finished. Casey shrugged, then winced. Using his free hand, Zeke lifted up the hem of Casey's t-shirt to inspect his side.
Clashing horribly with the pale, babysoft skin were dozens of bruises-some old, some just barely starting to form. Zeke sighed.
"You know," he began, using his best careless voice, "if you stood up for yourself a little." he pressed gently on one of the blueish-purple marks; no emotion on his face when Casey hissed in pain, "you wouldn't have to deal with this shit." He let the cotton fall back into place. He looked up and met Casey's eyes for the first time that afternoon. The blankness in them had not gone away.
"Zeke," he said quietly, "I'm really not in the mood for one of your 'grow- a-backbone' lectures, okay?" He tilted his head back and studied the ceiling. Zeke felt something snap inside of him.
"I'm so fucking fed up," he said, letting the paper towel splat to the floor, "with your little 'I-don't-give-a-shit' attitude." He got to his feet and glared down at Casey, who looked back at him with mild disinterest. "Maybe you should start caring, Casey. Maybe you should start listening. If you don't fight back, guys like these will be beating you up for the rest of your life. They'll still be kicking the shit out of you when you're a broker on Wall Street, or whatever the fuck it is you want to be!" Casey was still just staring at him, almost as if the little fucker were just waiting him out. Zeke wanted to bash that pretty little head into a wall, though knocking sense into this kid had yet to work.
"You defeated the leader of an alien race, for fuck's sake! You saved the fucking world, Casey! Are you really so afraid of a couple of football bitches with letters on their jackets?!"
The expression on Casey's face hadn't changed.
"If you're not even going to fucking defend yourself against me, then I'm fucking out of here." Zeke took a deep breath and leapt past the point of no return. "I won't be coming back, Casey. A boyfriend-and I use that term loosely, 'cause I don't know what the fuck we're supposed to be-a boyfriend isn't supposed to base his life on fucking cleaning up his boyfriend every day." He grabbed his gloves from the table (a gift from Casey, he remembered) and strode toward the door. "You can come find me when you're done being a little shit boy, Case. I'm nobody's fucking babysitter." He turned away, but stopped when he heard Casey protest feebly,
"You can't leave." Zeke snorted and didn't even turn around.
"You always managed to clean yourself up before me. You know where the aspirin is kept, don't you? Do yourself a fucking favor: take two and pass out until Mommy and Daddy get home, okay?" He'd made it to the door when he heard the chair legs scrape against the tile floor. He'd turned the handle when he heard Casey's angry voice yell,
"I said, you can't leave!!" Then, a hand with fingernails bitten down to the quick was digging into his shoulder. Zeke felt himself being turned around, and suddenly a fist connected with the bridge of his nose and white light filled his field of vision. Zeke staggered backward and blinked several times. He felt blood drip warm and wet onto his lower lip as a raging Casey met his eyes.
"I'm not a fucking kid, Zeke!" Casey shouted, hands still clenched into fists at his sides. "I choose my battles, alright?!" Zeke blinked again, and slowly wiped the blood from his lip. "You want me to stand up for myself, fight back?" Casey continued, clearly on a roll now. "Fine, Zeke, I'll fight back. I'll fight back for you!! You don't want to patch me up when Gabe and his friends kick my ass? That's fucking fine, too! But if you think I'll just sit there while you breeze out of here, full of righteous indignation, then what you're really full of is shit, Zeke." He seemed to have to take a moment to catch his breath. Zeke stared.
"You matter to me, Zeke. And I don't care if I sound like a sentimental fuck for saying so. You do, and if what it takes to keep you here is a fight, then fucking so be it." Casey looked down at the floor and was quiet.
"Are you done?" Zeke ventured.
"Yeah," Casey muttered. "That's pretty much all I had to say." Zeke moved toward him, and Casey looked up. Now Zeke could read fear, anger and hope in those unnaturally large blue eyes, instead of the deadness from before.
"'Bout fucking time, Case," he murmured. He pulled the younger boy to him, and kissed him. The kiss was violently sweet, and Casey's shoulders slumped from the pressure of it. Then Zeke's hand was on his cheek, coaxing, and his arm was around his back, supporting. Casey threaded his fingers into Zeke's hair and pulled himself back into the kiss. He pressed closer and heard a muffled 'fuck'. Casey pulled away, and Zeke put a hand to his nose, rubbing it ruefully.
"I think I would have gotten the point without you breaking my nose, asshole," Zeke grumbled. Casey giggled.
"Okay. Let's get you cleaned up."
-END-
Zeke waited. The GTO was comfortably warm, even on this blustery Ohio day, but his patience was wearing thin. He looked at his watch in irritation, then scanned the campus restlessly. Finally, his eyes picked up on the familiar shuffle of the boy who was making his way across the parking lot. Zeke leaned over and unlocked the doors. He turned the key in the ignition and looked straight ahead as the passenger door opened and Casey slid in next to him.
"'Bout fucking time, Case," he grumbled. "Where are we going?"
"My house," came the almost inaudible reply. "No one's home." Zeke raised an eyebrow as he sped out of the parking lot, honking the horn at lingering pedestrians.
"No one's home?" he echoed, mildly intrigued.
"Nah. Mom's in Virginia with Aunt Katie, and Dad's off at some conference in Chicago." Zeke nodded slightly--his own parents were cavorting around Brazil this month. He hadn't heard from them in about a week. He smirked slightly, certain that Casey's parents had called him every day--maybe every hour. On the hour.
"When the olds are away, Casey will play, hmmm?" This impersonal jab was me with no reply at all. Zeke glanced to his right.
The area surrounding the younger boy's left eye was reddened, and it was obvious that it had begun to swell. There was a small cut on his lower lip, and Casey held a wad of toilet paper pressed to his right nostril.
'Fucking Christ, again?!' thought Zeke, exasperated. Out loud, he said dryly, "Well, well. The setting is different, but the scene is the same." Once again, Casey said nothing. Instead, he turned his head and stared out the window. Apparently, trees whizzing past the window were more fascinating then human interaction. Zeke rolled his eyes and drove on.
Once in Casey's driveway, Zeke shut off the car, closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then, he counted to ten in Spanish, and backward from ten in French. Sufficiently calmed, Zeke mentally squared his shoulders.
"Okay," he announced. "Let's get you cleaned up."
The Connors' kitchen was cheerful and airy; much too bright for Zeke's taste. He squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the warm yellow shade on the walls. Casey peeled off his coat, scarf, hat and gloves (Zeke was personally amazed that his mother didn't still buy him mittens) and piled them all onto the kitchen table before sinking into one of the wooden chairs surrounding it.
Moving to get a dishtowel from the drawer and an ice pack from the freezer, Zeke noted the unfazed, almost.deadened look in those unnaturally large blue eyes. He wrapped up the ice pack and handed it to Casey, who wordlessly pressed it against his right side, along his ribcage. Zeke went back to the sink and dampened a paper towel with lukewarm water.
"Were there many of them?" he asked, voice casual. He squirted some Dove liquid soap onto the paper, rubbing it in with the pad of his thumb. Casey made a noncommittal noise.
"Three or four guys from the team." Zeke walked back over and knelt next to the chair.
"And Gabe was there, of course." His tone was light, conversational. Casey nodded and closed his eyes as Zeke began to dab at the cuts on his face. "Did they go for any spot in particular?" Zeke asked when he had finished. Casey shrugged, then winced. Using his free hand, Zeke lifted up the hem of Casey's t-shirt to inspect his side.
Clashing horribly with the pale, babysoft skin were dozens of bruises-some old, some just barely starting to form. Zeke sighed.
"You know," he began, using his best careless voice, "if you stood up for yourself a little." he pressed gently on one of the blueish-purple marks; no emotion on his face when Casey hissed in pain, "you wouldn't have to deal with this shit." He let the cotton fall back into place. He looked up and met Casey's eyes for the first time that afternoon. The blankness in them had not gone away.
"Zeke," he said quietly, "I'm really not in the mood for one of your 'grow- a-backbone' lectures, okay?" He tilted his head back and studied the ceiling. Zeke felt something snap inside of him.
"I'm so fucking fed up," he said, letting the paper towel splat to the floor, "with your little 'I-don't-give-a-shit' attitude." He got to his feet and glared down at Casey, who looked back at him with mild disinterest. "Maybe you should start caring, Casey. Maybe you should start listening. If you don't fight back, guys like these will be beating you up for the rest of your life. They'll still be kicking the shit out of you when you're a broker on Wall Street, or whatever the fuck it is you want to be!" Casey was still just staring at him, almost as if the little fucker were just waiting him out. Zeke wanted to bash that pretty little head into a wall, though knocking sense into this kid had yet to work.
"You defeated the leader of an alien race, for fuck's sake! You saved the fucking world, Casey! Are you really so afraid of a couple of football bitches with letters on their jackets?!"
The expression on Casey's face hadn't changed.
"If you're not even going to fucking defend yourself against me, then I'm fucking out of here." Zeke took a deep breath and leapt past the point of no return. "I won't be coming back, Casey. A boyfriend-and I use that term loosely, 'cause I don't know what the fuck we're supposed to be-a boyfriend isn't supposed to base his life on fucking cleaning up his boyfriend every day." He grabbed his gloves from the table (a gift from Casey, he remembered) and strode toward the door. "You can come find me when you're done being a little shit boy, Case. I'm nobody's fucking babysitter." He turned away, but stopped when he heard Casey protest feebly,
"You can't leave." Zeke snorted and didn't even turn around.
"You always managed to clean yourself up before me. You know where the aspirin is kept, don't you? Do yourself a fucking favor: take two and pass out until Mommy and Daddy get home, okay?" He'd made it to the door when he heard the chair legs scrape against the tile floor. He'd turned the handle when he heard Casey's angry voice yell,
"I said, you can't leave!!" Then, a hand with fingernails bitten down to the quick was digging into his shoulder. Zeke felt himself being turned around, and suddenly a fist connected with the bridge of his nose and white light filled his field of vision. Zeke staggered backward and blinked several times. He felt blood drip warm and wet onto his lower lip as a raging Casey met his eyes.
"I'm not a fucking kid, Zeke!" Casey shouted, hands still clenched into fists at his sides. "I choose my battles, alright?!" Zeke blinked again, and slowly wiped the blood from his lip. "You want me to stand up for myself, fight back?" Casey continued, clearly on a roll now. "Fine, Zeke, I'll fight back. I'll fight back for you!! You don't want to patch me up when Gabe and his friends kick my ass? That's fucking fine, too! But if you think I'll just sit there while you breeze out of here, full of righteous indignation, then what you're really full of is shit, Zeke." He seemed to have to take a moment to catch his breath. Zeke stared.
"You matter to me, Zeke. And I don't care if I sound like a sentimental fuck for saying so. You do, and if what it takes to keep you here is a fight, then fucking so be it." Casey looked down at the floor and was quiet.
"Are you done?" Zeke ventured.
"Yeah," Casey muttered. "That's pretty much all I had to say." Zeke moved toward him, and Casey looked up. Now Zeke could read fear, anger and hope in those unnaturally large blue eyes, instead of the deadness from before.
"'Bout fucking time, Case," he murmured. He pulled the younger boy to him, and kissed him. The kiss was violently sweet, and Casey's shoulders slumped from the pressure of it. Then Zeke's hand was on his cheek, coaxing, and his arm was around his back, supporting. Casey threaded his fingers into Zeke's hair and pulled himself back into the kiss. He pressed closer and heard a muffled 'fuck'. Casey pulled away, and Zeke put a hand to his nose, rubbing it ruefully.
"I think I would have gotten the point without you breaking my nose, asshole," Zeke grumbled. Casey giggled.
"Okay. Let's get you cleaned up."
-END-