Title: Reflection

Author: cherry vanilla

Fandom: The Faculty

Pairing: Zeke/Casey

Rating: R, mild m/m sex, language

Summary: "I'm beyond your peripheral vision, so you might want to turn your head"

Props to Rocky for beta.

* * * * * *

The first time you see him you're coming off the school bus and are knocked to the side by a flash of blue and white. You hear a low 'move' and then he's gone, jogging toward the steps with a notebook under his arm and a pen behind his ear. Your eyes fall on his jeans; baggy, hanging low on his hips, but still tight enough to accent the curve of his ass. You stare until he becomes a blur among the mass of students and then make your way toward the entrance.

You get as far as the flagpole.

* * * * * *

The next time you see him is that same day. You hobble toward the bathroom, check the bruises on your face, splash it with water, then stand for long minutes, staring at your reflection, wondering who the hell the boy staring back is.

You jump when the door squeaks open, eyes focusing blindly on the legs that have entered. You know instantly it's him. You look in the mirror, watch his profile as he breezes by, not even stopping as he holds out one hand and pushes your shoulder. Except it's not in anger, it's almost camaraderie. You think you hear a mumbled 'sorry' as he heads to take a piss, but you can't be sure.

* * * * * * *

Zeke Tyler is his name. Today, he was placed in your science class. You wonder why you've never encountered him before. He's not new, but he certainly hasn't been around three years, you would have noticed. He sits in the back, you sit in the front. You always generalized that people who sat in the back were just hiding, trying to blend in and not be called upon. Zeke ruined that theory.

He raised his hand about six times during the 45-minute class. When he responded, he sounded bored, casual. Yet his answers were always right and Mr. Furlong seemed genuinely impressed.

After class, you watch as Delilah's cheerleader friends eye Zeke, giggling and drooling as she rolls her eyes. You're sure if he were captain of the football team, she'd be all over him.

* * * * * * * *

It's the same old story; once you become aware of something, pops up everywhere. Like when you'd hear a word not normally used everyday and suddenly you're hearing it three times in that one day alone. That's what happened with Zeke. He went from nonexistent in your world to showing up everywhere.

You watch as Zeke strides into the parking lot, eyes still drawn to the back of him, yet you've since learned the front of him is just as fine. The bus driver shouts at you and your eyes begrudgingly tear away.

That afternoon, you jerk off to a flutter of images. Zeke's ass, Zeke's jean clad thighs; the way he moves, his dark hair and eyes; the thought of those lips wrapped around your dick and running your hands up his flat chest. You bite your hand as you cum, legs boneless, chest heaving, and eyes burning. A second later you hear your Mother's voice announcing she's home.

* * * * * * * *

You sit on the bleachers with your lunch and stare out at the football field. You think about the last game, how you could have run circles around some of those guys. It's a firm knowledge for you, and yet you have no desire to make it into a reality. You belong on the sidelines. You don't know why, but for some reason that's the way things are supposed to be; like the fact that you eat your lunch here rather than in the cafeteria, just to avoid the 'where to sit dilemma', and realizing you have no place.

You wonder how this all came about. Why Casey Connor was chosen to be Class Punching Bag. Do they select titles the first day of high school? Either way, it's your label now. Still, you wonder what you did to deserve it -- aside from being quiet, nice, and smart.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear someone climb onto the bottom bleacher. Your heart skips a beat when you realize its Zeke. You watch through veiled eyelids while sipping your drink as he takes a long drag of his cigarette. Your eyes follow the path of smoke and just then Zeke looks back, as if only now realizing he wasn't alone.

He gives you a crooked smirk and your stomach leaps. You force yourself not to stare as he walks over and sits a few inches away. Your hands finger the plastic sandwich bag absently.

"You're Casey, right?"

You stifle a gasp at the sound of Zeke's voice, so deep and close. "Y-yeah."

"Thought so. You have quite the reputation."

Your first instinct is to say 'huh?' but you catch yourself and come up with something a bit more clever. "I could say the same about you."

God, you hope that didn't sound too flirty. You were going for 'Tough Guy', not 'Faggy Wimp'.

"Yeah? And what would that be?"

You think of the only thing you can, the words you heard while passing the cheerleaders in the hall. "Bad boy. Rebel."

Zeke laughs. "I'll take that as a compliment. I'm sure you can guess what yours is."

You nod. "Geek, wuss, punching bag."

Zeke leans back on his elbows. "You know, some guys say it's a ritual. 'You must ram Casey Connor into the flagpole'."

You look at him intently. "So, how come you haven't?"

He holds your eyes. "I don't believe in rituals."

You smile uncomfortably, the intensity of his stare catching you off guard.

You sit in silence for long moments. Zeke offers you a drag and you turn it down. Your heart is pounding. You've fantasized about being alone with him; not that you are you haven't a clue what to do. Finally, he speaks again.

"I'm thinking of ditching 7th and 8th. Wanna come?"

Okay, so you weren't prepared for that. "Uh, where would we go?"

Zeke shrugs. "Anywhere," he pauses. "Why don't you show me where Casey Connor, Punching Bag Extraordinaire lives?"

Your mouth goes dry and you force your brain not to imagine all the things you want to happen. You look at your watch. Three hours. "Okay."

You walk off the field, Zeke behind you and you force yourself to relax. But it's nerve wracking and you want so badly to know if he's looking at you. Zeke steps in front as you reach the parking, leading the way to his car. He opens the door and you watch as he tosses the empty Taco Bell bags and Coke cans in the back. He does the same for the books, mostly texts, but you notice Contact by Sagan and Kerouac's On the Road. An unexpected jolt floods through you, inexplicitly aroused by the fact that he actually reads. You could probably count on one hand the number of guys that do anything other than fuck girls, watch TV and play video games.

When Zeke finishes clearing off the passenger side, he leans over to open your door and you exhale sharply, mentally willing your body to behave. The fluidity of his movements drives you up the wall; you want so badly for him to pin you against the inside leather and you're irrationally disappointed when he just starts up the car.

You direct him to your house while making small talk. You learn a little bit about him; how he moved here a year ago, is a senior, and will most likely be repeating this year. You're ashamed to be so pleased by that.

You mention tonight's science homework and Zeke says he already did it. "What? When?"

"After class."

"Jesus. I'm sure it'll take me at least an hour and I'm 'good' at science."

Zeke just shrugs. "It comes easy to me."

"You seem to enjoy it, though."

Now he looks uncomfortable. "It's okay," then puts on the radio, effectively dropping the topic. Tool. And so you shift to music, finding you like most of the same stuff. You stumble over your words a lot at first, but soon you've loosened up and he laughs a few things. You like that.

You talk about photography and he actually seems interested. While stopped at a light Zeke reaches over and touches the camera around your neck. You gulp audibly and hope to god it's concealed over the music. When the light turns green, his hand pulls back, but not before touching the black strap and letting his fingers brush lightly against your chest.

You don't speak after that, except to tell him where to turn and which house is yours. Your heart pounds as you open the door to your house, mind unable to keep from wondering what will happen next. Zeke looks around appreciatively. You offer him a Coke and get one for yourself as well. Your fingers brush as you hand it to him and a shiver runs down your spine.

Up in your room, Zeke seems fascinated. He examines your photos, computer setup, CD collection, and books. You notice him lingering on two specific ones. "I have these in my car."

You almost respond, 'I know', but settle on an innocent, "Oh yeah?"

He grins and continues his explorations. When he's done and you're both standing awkwardly you suggest watching TV, lest he decide to go home.

"Sure."

"You can sit here," you gesture to the bed and climb on, resting back against the pillows. The left side of the bed dips as he climbs on and your shoulders graze. You blindly reach for the remote and flip around the channels. Naturally, there's nothing on. Heaving a sigh, you settle on MTV and hope he doesn't mind. You watch with fake interest, sneaking side glances at Zeke. His white T-shirt clings to his stomach, his jeans ride low on his hips; and you can see the barest flash of red and white boxer shorts peaking out beneath the waistband.

Zeke shifts a little, shoulder rubbing against yours, arms now side by side, and you quickly turn back to the TV. But the feel of his skin is distracting. You close your eyes and bite your lip when you feel his warm hand rubbing your thigh.

Your heart is pounding as it moves higher, pushing your legs apart, reaching in between, stroking your half hard cock with strong, agile fingers. Part of you thinks you must be dreaming. Your mouth falls open as you spread your legs more, allowing him to cup your balls. His mouth is wet on your neck and you reach blindly for him until you're pulled on top of him, eyes still closed as you aim for his mouth. He finds yours first, though. You moan as his tongue pushes between your lips. You push your leg between Zeke's, rubbing against him, the heat of Zeke's dick consuming you. You kiss sloppily, loud smacking noises. His hands travel up your back, lifting your shirt up and off. You reach under his, feel the length of his smooth chest, just like you fantasized.

Your fingers pinch at the pointed tips of his nipples and receive a gasp of approval. You separate your mouths to take off Zeke's shirt, and then lick at his throat and neck. He's rocking against you, bodies tight and intertwined. You hear yourself whisper his name, loving the way it falls from your tongue.

His hands fumble at your fly and you lift up slightly so he can reach between. You take the opportunity to do the same and soon the two of you are pushing down jeans and boxers, laughing and kissing as you do, till they're all kicked off along with two pairs of shoes.

You can't believe how calm you feel. You expected to be scared shitless, but Zeke's hands are running down your back, cupping your ass, fitting your cocks together snugly up against your bellies, and fear isn't even entering into the picture. He rolls you over and sucks at your neck, bites at your nipples, pulls your leg up around him so you're even closer together. And you touch him everywhere you can reach, squeezing his ass, and running your fingers through his hair.

His mouth licks at your lips; short, hot puffs of air fill the broken seal between them. You start rocking together violently. Zeke reaches down and grabs your dick firmly, caressing the length of it, running his rough hands over every inch. You suck his tongue deep into your mouth to keep from crying out. Reaching for his dick you find it slick with warm fluid. He moans quietly against your lips as you match his rhythm, feeling him quiver as you stroke him. You're panting together, harshly, still kissing. He makes a sound you never would have expected; soft, vulnerable whimper as his body tenses and he spills all over your hand. You follow a second later with a whimper of your own.

You reach for the tissues strategically placed near your bed and smile as he cleans your chest. You return the gesture and discard the thin paper. Zeke flops down beside you, the sides of your bodies once again touching. He reaches over, idly strokes your chest.

"You like watching me."

It's not a question, and it startles you. You look over, surprise registering on your face and he laughs.

"I'm not stupid, Casey."

You can't think of anything to say and you don't have the chance anyway since you're being kissed again. You can't get enough of his mouth; you make out for a half and our at least and when you grow hard again, you jerk off side by side, watching one another; kissing and touching.

When you're lying side by side again, dozing and barely touching, you hear the door slam and your mother's voice. Cursing, you make Zeke get up. You fumble for clothes, embarrassment washing over your face. You don't want to know what Zeke is thinking, how pissed he must be, or, cruelly amused at 'Mommy' coming home.

You feel like Casey Connor, Herrington High loser, yet again. For a few brief hours today, you actually forgot about school and social status and the outside world. Your Mom calls out that your 'friend' can stay for dinner if he'd like. Zeke just shakes his head.

You walk him out to his car in silence. He doesn't look back at you.

* * * * * * * *

The next day in Science you keep your face buried in your textbook. When class is over Zeke walks past you, delivering a light shove. You try to convince yourself the shove in the bathroom was affectionate. You try to convince yourself this one was exactly the same; you try, but you have trouble believing it.

You walk up behind the bleachers, lunch bag in hand. As you approach the front, you see Zeke; book in hand, lounging lazily. You walk up toward him, a smile beginning to graze your lips as he pretends not to notice you. It isn't until you sit down that he looks up, eyes shining.

"So, you wanna go to my house this time?"

END