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DAY ONE
Casey had invited him over a number of times, but Zeke never felt the least bit like being in a place where parents watched over him. He couldn't swear, couldn't smoke, and couldn't drink, which made one, two, three reasons of fuck you, Case. Thanks, but no, fuck.
“But it's Christmas,” the boy now insisted. His blue eyes were wide with plea.
“Christmas my ass,” Zeke muttered, but upon realizing how much it apparently meant to his boyfriend, he finally complied best he could: “Got nothing to wear.”
“Shopping!” Casey smiled.
Who could resist him?
~ ~ ~
DAY TWO
No shopping for Zeke.
He'd play possum if he had to.
Luckily for him, Casey couldn't make it, since his mom needed him to do her a million favors.
Zeke wouldn't spend Christmas with the Connors, either. When he woke up, he had realized it was a farce. He'd love to spend Christmas Eve—well, any evening, who was he kidding?—with Casey, no doubt about that. He would commit a crime to be alone with him, cozy, cuddly, caressing—but no. No way. No.
When Casey called him later this day to talk about details, Zeke couldn’t find the courage to tell him.
Damn the love. Damn, damn, goddammit.
There would be something in his closet that'd be fit enough, or so he hoped.
No shopping for Zeke, not even with all that love.
~ ~ ~
DAY THREE
Shopping day: Casey tugging him by the sleeve, to the car, to the mall . . .
Fuck love.
Zeke behaved as ill as he dared; he didn't mean to rain on Casey's parade, after all. He just wasn't very fond of Christmas. Even worse than all the bling-bling stupid lights every-fucking-where, the silly jingle-bells-blaring radio stations and the snow, tons of fucking wet and nasty snow, worse than all the Christmas stuff was exactly one thing: shopping.
They ended up with an overly satisfied Casey and three full bags of lookit, ain't that just great?
Zeke knew he'd had to go back and do even more shopping. Alone. He had seen something great indeed, and it was going to be Casey's.
~ ~ ~
DAY FOUR
“So, tomorrow at six?” Casey asked with a hint of hope and a lot of knowing better than to expect an honest answer in his voice. He tiptoed and kissed him sweetly, cheeks rosy, lips soft. Damned beauty of fucking love, Zeke thought and murmured something unintelligible.
Anything to get the boy out of his place now.
He still had a million and three presents to wrap up, two thousand and twenty-nine cookies to bake and worst of all a cock that needed serious attention.
But oh, he said he'd wait and make it perfect. And he would.
He would make everything just so perfect.