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Staircase - Z/C, NC-17 (First time, continued)
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Staircase
by Serai
Zeke's laugh is low and hungry as he catches Casey by the waist when he slumps against the door. "Whoa there," he murmurs, smiling into the damp of Casey's hair. He runs his lips over along overheated skin. Casey's gasping, and Zeke sees him wince with a strangled little noise. "You okay?" he whispers.
Casey nods. "Just gimme a sec." Zeke nuzzles him and waits until he's got his breath back. Casey opens his eyes and turns to him, and Zeke feels his blood throbbing. Because now that he's come, Casey's apprehensive again. Zeke can see it in his transparent eyes, that little bit of fear. Zeke doesn't want a victim, he doesn't want Casey terrified of him, but still there's something sweet in that little bit of fear. In the way it keeps him balanced on a knife edge, wobbling between pulling back and falling in. Zeke lets it spin out a little longer, slowly grinding his hips against Casey's body, then pushes the heel of his hand down over Casey's hip and thigh and back up, avoiding his groin. He figures Casey'll let him know when he's ready.
The hairs on his arms rise in a rush as Casey's hand slides over the back of his neck. He pulls, and they're kissing, and now Casey's warming up again, hungrily sucking at his tongue. His other hand fumbles at Zeke's waist, pulling up his shirt, sliding over his skin to his back and then plunging down under his jeans. Zeke feels strong fingers sliding over the curve of his ass and squeeze, and he thrusts hard, making Casey groan into his mouth. Zeke breaks the contact.
"C'mon," he says, tugging at Casey's hand, and turns to the stairs. He's a few steps up into the shadow of the stairwell when he feels Casey hang back, and turns to look at him. Casey's eyes glitter for a moment, and he licks his lips nervously. "Zeke," he says, his voice tight.
Zeke hears the hesitation, and slowly sits on a step, his elbows on his knees. He keeps his thighs spread, because his dick doesn't give a shit about anything, least of all being unthreatening. His brain is buzzing with it, but he manages a slow smile, and leans back. "I'm not gonna drag you up the stairs, Case," he says.
---------------
Zeke's face is shadowed, his eyes unreadable. Casey isn't sure what to do, isn't sure what's safe. He keeps bumping into his own fear, too many sense memories of being battered and slammed against lockers and flagpoles and cement floors. What if he does something wrong? What if Zeke turns mean? He's never hurt Casey before, but that doesn't mean he won't. But Casey wants him, wants this, and he can feel that this is it. Either he does this or he doesn't, because Zeke won't wait around for him to change his mind.
He looks at Zeke, spread out on the stairs so casually. He's close – Casey's only standing two steps down, which puts him at just the right level if he wants to kneel on the next step and… Casey turns his eyes away, feeling like he's going to start shaking any second, and looks at the wall.
There are photos hung there, family pictures in plain metal frames. Trees, grass, picnics, a beach. Casey's gaze catches on one: a mall Santa photo. But this one is unique: Santa minus his red coat and hat, slumped fast asleep in his chair, a picture book open across one thigh. Cradled in the crook of Santa's elbow is a toddler, also fast asleep. Damn, Casey thinks. That's a really good Santa. The baby's head is thatched with dark hair, thick for such a little kid. He's frowning a tiny frown, and the shape of his cheek and the cant of his eyebrows makes it clear who he is.
"This you?" he asks. He looks back to Zeke, whose grin widens a bit.
"Yep," he answers.
Casey looks back at the wall. There's another photo right next to the Santa picture, a man holding a little boy in his arms. Zeke again, and that must be his father. Dark hair, small, shadowed eyes, cragged face, a wide grin matching that of the boy he's got up at shoulder level, the two of them looking in each other's eyes. Another photo of a tall, slender woman in jeans and a paint-splattered shirt, a bandana around her head, lifting a cigarette to her mouth. Zeke's mom, no doubt about it. Casey begins to relax, lulled by the happiness in the photos, and turns back.
Zeke is watching him, his grin faded away. His eyes are wide, though, and he looks over Casey's body and back up to his eyes, and his tongue flicks out to lick his lower lip. Casey realizes suddenly that Zeke is scared, just like him. He can see it in the tension of his body, and the way one hand is clenching lightly over and over. Maybe it's a game, but maybe it's not. Only one way to find out.
Casey takes the plunge.
----------------
Zeke draws in a sharp breath as Casey drops to his knees on the riser he's standing on. He arches his back as Casey grabs his belt, pulls at it, undoing the buckle. He presses his lips together but a sound escapes anyway, and when Casey opens his fly, button by button, he thrusts his hips helplessly and tips his head back. The pressure loosens and his dick strains into the air, and Zeke grins to himself at Casey's gasp. It's no surprise – Casey's not the type to go commando. Zeke squeezes his eyes tight at the feel of Casey's fingers stroking him tentatively. He shivers, pushing into that hand, warm and a bit damp from nervousness. Then he leans down and pulls Casey's face up and kisses him. He kisses him hard and long, playing with his mouth, working him up. Sitting up, he runs his other hand down Casey's back and around to the front of his jeans, and finds him hard again. Oh yeah, Zeke thinks, yeah.
"Suck me, Casey," he gasps, "suck my dick," and he doesn't want to demand but fuck, he's demanding. He's on his last thread of control, and he tightens his hand on Casey's neck, guiding him. But he kisses him first, and then pushes gently, trying hard not to just shove his head down. He wants this hot, he wants it good – he wants Casey to want him. He closes his eyes and feels Casey's tongue moving in a lick, soft and wet, along the head of his dick. He gasps, and then Casey closes his mouth around him. Zeke throws his head back and cries out at the tight wet feel of it, and pushes up, thrusting. Casey wraps a hand around him, stroking hard as he sucks.
-------------
Casey works his mouth, trying to open his jaws wide enough. It's strange, an uncomfortable movement, but he keeps at it, and finds it better when he stops straining and just relaxes. The skin of Zeke's dick is silky and hot, and Casey's surprised by his smell, something like bread fresh from the oven. It pulls a moan from Casey's throat, and Zeke thrusts a little, his body tense. He wants to go hard, Casey realizes, and sucks stronger, moving his mouth up and down. After a minute, he has to stop, and pulls back a bit to gasp, catching his breath. "Sorry," he says, and runs his lips up and down the shaft. He pulls at Zeke's jeans, and Zeke arches up to let Casey pull them down over his hips, freeing his balls and exposing the top of his thighs.
As he works himself up to go back to sucking, Casey cups Zeke's balls in his hand, stroking with his fingers around and down, feeling the wiry hair and the way they tighten up as he caresses. He licks at the skin where Zeke's thigh meets his hip, and then back to his dick. He thinks he can keep going this time, and looks up at Zeke, at his wide, desperate eyes and his tongue licking over and over at his lip, before he closes his mouth around him and pushes down as far as he can go.
--------------------
Casey's eyes are bright, bright blue even in the darkness of the stairwell. Zeke bucks into his mouth, feeling the hot wet pressure. Casey turns his head a little and makes a sound as he adjusts his mouth, a sharp little glg and Zeke feels it along his dick, Casey's tongue rolling up against him as the swallow convulses it and makes him close his eyes, brows knitting. And oh fuck, that sound is it, and Zeke's hips go into overdrive, he thrusts fast, pushing at Casey's head. Casey takes it, braces his hands on the stairs at either side of Zeke's thighs, and works to keep sucking steadily. Zeke stares at the curve of Casey's jaw and the movement of his throat, and then the dark comes down and Casey bucks back to keep from being choked as Zeke slams up into his mouth, his coming fast as lightning. One hard yell and he falls back, his spine knocked against the stairs but he doesn't care, falling, shuddering a little as he feels Casey's mouth working. He swallowed, Zeke thinks, though he doesn't think about what it means.
--------------------
Casey pulls his mouth away and gasps for breath. Jesus, that was weird, he thinks, but it's not an unpleasant thought. He shivers a little, and realizes he's still hard, and did he like what he just did? There's a weird taste like bitter salt in his mouth, and his jaw aches, and an echo of Zeke's meaty thrusting makes his own dick twitch hard, and he realizes Yeah, yeah, I liked it. I like it. He wanted to do it. He wants to do it again. Oh God, he thinks desperately, this is real. This is happening. For a minute he forgets where he is, the confusion is so intense, his hard-on so insistent that he grips the edge of the stairs and whimpers, moving his hips.
Then Zeke's fingers touch his forehead. Casey opens his eyes and looks up. Zeke is sitting up, smiling a little as he moves his fingers over Casey's face, runs his thumb over his lips as if to wipe them though there's nothing left to wipe away. Casey can't read that smile, and he wonders if this was all, and what he should do now. His chest tightens as Zeke lifts his hips and slides his jeans up and buttons them again. Then Zeke pulls him close, kisses him and doesn't stop for a while.
"Come on," Zeke murmurs, and he cups Casey's crotch with his hand again, rubbing. Casey bites his own lip and pushes into it. "We're not done yet." Zeke's tongue flicks at Casey's mouth, slides in, slides out, over his teeth, his lips.
Casey stands up when Zeke does, follows him until they're nearly at the top of the stairs and then stops. Zeke turns and looks back down. He slides his hands into his pockets and leans a shoulder against the wall, and Casey's can't stand how lean and arrogant and beautiful he is. His blood is knocking against every inch of his skin, and he thinks no, please, no at the same time as he wants to photograph him, here in the half-light with that sleepy-sharp look. But he only whispers, "What do you want from me?"
Zeke raises an eyebrow. His look turns serious, and he takes Casey's head in his hands. "What do I want?" he asks, looking thoughtfully at him. His lips lower and caress his, and he turns Casey and pushes him against the wall. His left hand moves down and squeezes him, and he runs the tip of his tongue lightly up and licks behind Casey's ear.
"I want to see you come."
Chapter 41 of High Contrast
Staircase
by Serai
Zeke's laugh is low and hungry as he catches Casey by the waist when he slumps against the door. "Whoa there," he murmurs, smiling into the damp of Casey's hair. He runs his lips over along overheated skin. Casey's gasping, and Zeke sees him wince with a strangled little noise. "You okay?" he whispers.
Casey nods. "Just gimme a sec." Zeke nuzzles him and waits until he's got his breath back. Casey opens his eyes and turns to him, and Zeke feels his blood throbbing. Because now that he's come, Casey's apprehensive again. Zeke can see it in his transparent eyes, that little bit of fear. Zeke doesn't want a victim, he doesn't want Casey terrified of him, but still there's something sweet in that little bit of fear. In the way it keeps him balanced on a knife edge, wobbling between pulling back and falling in. Zeke lets it spin out a little longer, slowly grinding his hips against Casey's body, then pushes the heel of his hand down over Casey's hip and thigh and back up, avoiding his groin. He figures Casey'll let him know when he's ready.
The hairs on his arms rise in a rush as Casey's hand slides over the back of his neck. He pulls, and they're kissing, and now Casey's warming up again, hungrily sucking at his tongue. His other hand fumbles at Zeke's waist, pulling up his shirt, sliding over his skin to his back and then plunging down under his jeans. Zeke feels strong fingers sliding over the curve of his ass and squeeze, and he thrusts hard, making Casey groan into his mouth. Zeke breaks the contact.
"C'mon," he says, tugging at Casey's hand, and turns to the stairs. He's a few steps up into the shadow of the stairwell when he feels Casey hang back, and turns to look at him. Casey's eyes glitter for a moment, and he licks his lips nervously. "Zeke," he says, his voice tight.
Zeke hears the hesitation, and slowly sits on a step, his elbows on his knees. He keeps his thighs spread, because his dick doesn't give a shit about anything, least of all being unthreatening. His brain is buzzing with it, but he manages a slow smile, and leans back. "I'm not gonna drag you up the stairs, Case," he says.
---------------
Zeke's face is shadowed, his eyes unreadable. Casey isn't sure what to do, isn't sure what's safe. He keeps bumping into his own fear, too many sense memories of being battered and slammed against lockers and flagpoles and cement floors. What if he does something wrong? What if Zeke turns mean? He's never hurt Casey before, but that doesn't mean he won't. But Casey wants him, wants this, and he can feel that this is it. Either he does this or he doesn't, because Zeke won't wait around for him to change his mind.
He looks at Zeke, spread out on the stairs so casually. He's close – Casey's only standing two steps down, which puts him at just the right level if he wants to kneel on the next step and… Casey turns his eyes away, feeling like he's going to start shaking any second, and looks at the wall.
There are photos hung there, family pictures in plain metal frames. Trees, grass, picnics, a beach. Casey's gaze catches on one: a mall Santa photo. But this one is unique: Santa minus his red coat and hat, slumped fast asleep in his chair, a picture book open across one thigh. Cradled in the crook of Santa's elbow is a toddler, also fast asleep. Damn, Casey thinks. That's a really good Santa. The baby's head is thatched with dark hair, thick for such a little kid. He's frowning a tiny frown, and the shape of his cheek and the cant of his eyebrows makes it clear who he is.
"This you?" he asks. He looks back to Zeke, whose grin widens a bit.
"Yep," he answers.
Casey looks back at the wall. There's another photo right next to the Santa picture, a man holding a little boy in his arms. Zeke again, and that must be his father. Dark hair, small, shadowed eyes, cragged face, a wide grin matching that of the boy he's got up at shoulder level, the two of them looking in each other's eyes. Another photo of a tall, slender woman in jeans and a paint-splattered shirt, a bandana around her head, lifting a cigarette to her mouth. Zeke's mom, no doubt about it. Casey begins to relax, lulled by the happiness in the photos, and turns back.
Zeke is watching him, his grin faded away. His eyes are wide, though, and he looks over Casey's body and back up to his eyes, and his tongue flicks out to lick his lower lip. Casey realizes suddenly that Zeke is scared, just like him. He can see it in the tension of his body, and the way one hand is clenching lightly over and over. Maybe it's a game, but maybe it's not. Only one way to find out.
Casey takes the plunge.
----------------
Zeke draws in a sharp breath as Casey drops to his knees on the riser he's standing on. He arches his back as Casey grabs his belt, pulls at it, undoing the buckle. He presses his lips together but a sound escapes anyway, and when Casey opens his fly, button by button, he thrusts his hips helplessly and tips his head back. The pressure loosens and his dick strains into the air, and Zeke grins to himself at Casey's gasp. It's no surprise – Casey's not the type to go commando. Zeke squeezes his eyes tight at the feel of Casey's fingers stroking him tentatively. He shivers, pushing into that hand, warm and a bit damp from nervousness. Then he leans down and pulls Casey's face up and kisses him. He kisses him hard and long, playing with his mouth, working him up. Sitting up, he runs his other hand down Casey's back and around to the front of his jeans, and finds him hard again. Oh yeah, Zeke thinks, yeah.
"Suck me, Casey," he gasps, "suck my dick," and he doesn't want to demand but fuck, he's demanding. He's on his last thread of control, and he tightens his hand on Casey's neck, guiding him. But he kisses him first, and then pushes gently, trying hard not to just shove his head down. He wants this hot, he wants it good – he wants Casey to want him. He closes his eyes and feels Casey's tongue moving in a lick, soft and wet, along the head of his dick. He gasps, and then Casey closes his mouth around him. Zeke throws his head back and cries out at the tight wet feel of it, and pushes up, thrusting. Casey wraps a hand around him, stroking hard as he sucks.
-------------
Casey works his mouth, trying to open his jaws wide enough. It's strange, an uncomfortable movement, but he keeps at it, and finds it better when he stops straining and just relaxes. The skin of Zeke's dick is silky and hot, and Casey's surprised by his smell, something like bread fresh from the oven. It pulls a moan from Casey's throat, and Zeke thrusts a little, his body tense. He wants to go hard, Casey realizes, and sucks stronger, moving his mouth up and down. After a minute, he has to stop, and pulls back a bit to gasp, catching his breath. "Sorry," he says, and runs his lips up and down the shaft. He pulls at Zeke's jeans, and Zeke arches up to let Casey pull them down over his hips, freeing his balls and exposing the top of his thighs.
As he works himself up to go back to sucking, Casey cups Zeke's balls in his hand, stroking with his fingers around and down, feeling the wiry hair and the way they tighten up as he caresses. He licks at the skin where Zeke's thigh meets his hip, and then back to his dick. He thinks he can keep going this time, and looks up at Zeke, at his wide, desperate eyes and his tongue licking over and over at his lip, before he closes his mouth around him and pushes down as far as he can go.
--------------------
Casey's eyes are bright, bright blue even in the darkness of the stairwell. Zeke bucks into his mouth, feeling the hot wet pressure. Casey turns his head a little and makes a sound as he adjusts his mouth, a sharp little glg and Zeke feels it along his dick, Casey's tongue rolling up against him as the swallow convulses it and makes him close his eyes, brows knitting. And oh fuck, that sound is it, and Zeke's hips go into overdrive, he thrusts fast, pushing at Casey's head. Casey takes it, braces his hands on the stairs at either side of Zeke's thighs, and works to keep sucking steadily. Zeke stares at the curve of Casey's jaw and the movement of his throat, and then the dark comes down and Casey bucks back to keep from being choked as Zeke slams up into his mouth, his coming fast as lightning. One hard yell and he falls back, his spine knocked against the stairs but he doesn't care, falling, shuddering a little as he feels Casey's mouth working. He swallowed, Zeke thinks, though he doesn't think about what it means.
--------------------
Casey pulls his mouth away and gasps for breath. Jesus, that was weird, he thinks, but it's not an unpleasant thought. He shivers a little, and realizes he's still hard, and did he like what he just did? There's a weird taste like bitter salt in his mouth, and his jaw aches, and an echo of Zeke's meaty thrusting makes his own dick twitch hard, and he realizes Yeah, yeah, I liked it. I like it. He wanted to do it. He wants to do it again. Oh God, he thinks desperately, this is real. This is happening. For a minute he forgets where he is, the confusion is so intense, his hard-on so insistent that he grips the edge of the stairs and whimpers, moving his hips.
Then Zeke's fingers touch his forehead. Casey opens his eyes and looks up. Zeke is sitting up, smiling a little as he moves his fingers over Casey's face, runs his thumb over his lips as if to wipe them though there's nothing left to wipe away. Casey can't read that smile, and he wonders if this was all, and what he should do now. His chest tightens as Zeke lifts his hips and slides his jeans up and buttons them again. Then Zeke pulls him close, kisses him and doesn't stop for a while.
"Come on," Zeke murmurs, and he cups Casey's crotch with his hand again, rubbing. Casey bites his own lip and pushes into it. "We're not done yet." Zeke's tongue flicks at Casey's mouth, slides in, slides out, over his teeth, his lips.
Casey stands up when Zeke does, follows him until they're nearly at the top of the stairs and then stops. Zeke turns and looks back down. He slides his hands into his pockets and leans a shoulder against the wall, and Casey's can't stand how lean and arrogant and beautiful he is. His blood is knocking against every inch of his skin, and he thinks no, please, no at the same time as he wants to photograph him, here in the half-light with that sleepy-sharp look. But he only whispers, "What do you want from me?"
Zeke raises an eyebrow. His look turns serious, and he takes Casey's head in his hands. "What do I want?" he asks, looking thoughtfully at him. His lips lower and caress his, and he turns Casey and pushes him against the wall. His left hand moves down and squeezes him, and he runs the tip of his tongue lightly up and licks behind Casey's ear.
"I want to see you come."
Chapter 41 of High Contrast
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This harks back to the days when slash mean GOOD and HOT and HARD and all those raw honest things that let's face it dragged us panting to the river. It also meant ambiguity and angst hovering between heartbreak and heaven, the romance of recklessness, wild-eyed teenage surrender and a rip-roaring ride over the falls of No Return. Reading this, I have no reason to wish to be anywhere else or anywhen else and I love you for it. Thanks x trillion. You broke the world, it needed breaking. This is the world we need. Five minutes before the boys know what they're going to do. That sweet and terrifying place. Dangle me forever xxxxxxxxxxx
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