theirgoldenboy: (Chase: pressed)
[personal profile] theirgoldenboy
ooc: ... nobody but CoI!Chase. Trust me.

It wasn't like Caleb could forget the date. Everything connected with those few days when Chase had first showed up in Ipswich seemed deeply etched in his mind; the date from the newspaper clipping ... yeah. Among them.

July fourteenth.

He even got him a present.

It was extremely weird; everything about them was. Hell, Chase wasn't even in Ipswich, he'd reopened part of his adoptive parents' house; they certainly saw less of each other like this than at school. Made it even more weird. But probably was easier on everybody else.

Like Pogue... God, Pogue. He still winced every time Caleb mentioned Chase. Never mind his expression when he talked any more...

But it was his birthday, right? He couldn't get any more normal if he wasn't treated at least somewhat so.

Besides, he kind of missed him, and that was fucked up enough to freak him out.

He showed up at his place anyway. Didn't take cake or anything like that; whatever had happened, it was a day of death as well as birth, and Caleb knew enough of his... whatever Chase was now to know that, grieve or not, he would be aware of that. Just brought himself, and his present. Not that it was something much, just an old notebook of his. Which Chase might find interesting. Or not; he really didn't know what to give him. Stuff that money could buy didn't count, he had that. What he still wanted...

Yeah, that couldn't work out.

He didn't mean anything to happen, really.

But Chase was in a mood; Caleb didn't even get to greet him for the occasion he had come because of, and they were already fighting, words that stung, flung back and forth. A part of his mind realized that Chase was likely pissed off at him like that because he'd missed him, but he couldn't help himself, he responded. And lost, the onslaught of words having him backing up as the shorter man stepped closer. Retreating, unable to answer with the adequate menace. Until he felt the edge of some desk behind his thighs and Chase stepped up, pressing his chest against him, and blood was thundering in Caleb's ears, mixed tides of hurt and desire tearing through him, and Chase knew, Chase always knew.

He was still growling those words in his ear as he turned him around, pressed and bent him over the desk. Still making him sting and wince as he stripped his jeans down, making him feel small and miserable and vile; as he lubed himself up and thrust into him, hard and barely on this side of really painful. The words trailed into noises while his hips pressed forward, hands pressing Caleb down against the surface as he clutched the edge, so hard that his knuckles went white, gritting his teeth not to cry out or snarl back or anything.

The tears didn't start until Chase reached forward and found out just how hard he was, and then he bent over him and bit his ear and said, "yeah, you like that, don't you, you little whore." And he couldn't say he didn't when his body was betraying him, and the tears stung, hot and bitter and humiliated, even as he swung back and forth between the other man's cock and his hand, faster in the tempo that Chase dictated till they were both shuddering, unable to tell whose climax started first, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter.

He curled up in a corner of the couch, after they cleaned up, unblinking eyes fixed somewhere in space, dry now even if his breathing still sounded, to him, like angry sobs.

It was what he knew would come now that finally broke him, shattered his defenses and made his shoulders slump in some sort of defeat. The gentle touches, Chase crawling on the floor to lay his head on his knees, curls catching on the pre-worn denim. The repentant, vulnerable look in those too-vivid eyes, huge upon his face.

Caleb squeezed his lids against the wrenching in his gut. Then, almost despite himself, reached to touch one hollow cheek; his hand was trmbling a little.

"You've... not been eating enough again, have you?" His voice croaked, and the words sounded stupid. But he tried to look chastising or something.

Chase shook his head slightly, then nuzzled into his palm. "Not much of an appetite." Even his voice was soft now. Almost completely devoid of the edge that had pressed him into retreating, into obeying.

"You should... take care of yourself. Please." He hadn't pleaded, earlier. He did now. "Much as it might feel so, pot cannot fuel you properly."

They shared a half-felt smile. Caleb reached to tug him up on the couch; it felt just wrong to watch him on the floor.

Chase kind of slipped into his lap, instead. Not the way Reid would, like an overgrown child. But right now, spent and still repentant, not like a pressing lover, either.

"Come visit me more often." And both of them knew that he said, I miss you.

Caleb swallowed, then nodded. "Okay." And he didn't know who started the kiss, but the tears prickled his eyes again. Less humiliated. More... something. "You alright, other than that?"

Chase's face twisted, but he didn't move away from him. "Yeah. I've been good. No Using."

"I wasn't--"

"Yes, you were."



Pause. "Why are we doing this?"

"I don't know. Do you want to stop?"

Another pause, and his voice was rough. "No." Only then did Chase relax a little against him; only then did his arms wrap the slight, hunched body against him.

"Did... I hurt you?"

"I've had worse." From Chase, too. His voice was only a little raspy with the poignancy of that.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Neither of them drifted, either.

Eventually, Caleb sighed. "Let's go eat somewhere."

"I don't--"

"No, you don't need me to mother you, I know. Let's go eat somewhere."


They disentangled; as he took his jacket again, Caleb felt the stiffness of the package in his pocket. "Oh, Chase?"


He took out the booklet and tossed it lightly on the desk that had been used for another purposes a short while ago. "Happy birthday."


theirgoldenboy: (Default)
Caleb Danvers

July 2011

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