Friday Night

Zeke points upward sketching out constellation porn. Casey presses against his side, the warmth of his giggles grazing Zeke's ear. At random intervals Casey drizzles a handful of newly-mown grass across Zeke's bare chest, then uses those giggles to make the soft blades dance.

It's an unusually warm evening for this time of year and they're reluctant to let it slip away. The air carries the undeniable scents of fall and bits of red-gold leaves are mingled with the grass.

Zeke's been thinking about a night like this for months - the time he would finally discover just how soft this particular patch of grass would be under his back. Or Casey's.

If he turns his head, he can make out where the azaleas bloomed. But Casey's resting against him now, calm, and clouds are drifting in. The azaleas fade from his memory.

He brushes a scattering of grass off Casey's silken shoulder and blows a kiss across the top of his head. Casey shivers a little in response and reaches his hand up to Zeke's face.

They agree to stay a little longer without speaking a word.

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