tw alcohol, underage drinking

So Friday rolls along, as it tends to do.

Caesar can’t say he’s particularly excited. He’s broken the law in terms of alcohol before, sure, obviously, but he’s never been ballsy enough to go to an actual bar. Even when he knows the actual owner is going to know of his presence there, he still has a horrible little sinking feeling in his gut about it.

Still, Caesar manages to make himself very presentable. Sure, he dresses like he usually does; ripped jeans, ratty converse, and a half-buttoned flannel over a shitty band tee, but today he’s managed to tie his mop of blonde hair back and roll his sleeves up so he looks like less of a mess. He actually manages to feel sort of good about his appearance for once.

At least, he does for the first ten minutes after he looks into the mirror. Then he’s back in front of it, fiddling with every little thing he can possibly think of-- when someone knocks on his door. Shit. Must be Benji-- or Floyd? Caesar actually isn’t quite sure who’s coming to get him.

Upon opening the door, Caesar decides that it is most definitely not Benji, but they are very… Cute. Pastel pink sweater, baby blue leggings-- god, are those floral Uggs? In Florida? Somehow, they manage to pull them off, though.

Caesar’s attention is drawn back to their lightly freckled face and intensely blue eyes when they clear their throat. “Hi,” they say in a thick southern accent, holding out a hand to shake. “I’m Floyd? I’m here to pick you up for Benji.”

“Ah, hi!” Caesar shakes the hand, not too firm but not so loose that Floyd might think he’s weak. “Yeah, he told me about you.”

They smile and go to brush some pink-tipped blonde hair out of their face. “Okay, cool. Are you ready? The others are in the car already. Um, Misha’s gonna meet us there, though.”

Caesar nods, turning back and patting down his pockets to make sure he’s not forgetting anything. Wallet, keys, phone, earbuds, narcan… Yep, he’s got everything. Perfect. He turns back and gives Floyd a nod and a little smile.

________

The car is cramped, to say the least. Caesar’s in the back with Kelly (a very handsome and heavily tattooed person with the prettiest monolidded brown eyes and messy black fauxhawk) and their fiance, Elliott (a surprisingly tall person with the most colorful hair and makeup Caesar’s ever seen, very nicely accenting their deep brown skin), with Benji and Floyd in the front. The drive isn’t terrible, despite Caesar’s horrible awkwardness around these three and a half strangers.

Kelly seems more interested in their phone than anything else, but Elliott does turn to Caesar and say, “You met Benj through Xana, right?” Their voice is a lot deeper than Caesar expected, but it’s nice to listen to nevertheless.

“Yeah,” he says with a little shrug. “Not much to say about it, uh…”

Eli gives a huff of laughter. “We all know you slept together, it’s fine. That stuff isn’t awkward here.”

Huh. Well, that was easier than Caesar had expected it to be. “Cool,” he manages, turning to look out the window. Traffic sucks ass in Miami.

“So you’re nineteen? First time going to an actual bar?”

Caesar goes red. “Uh, yeah. Not my first time drinking--”

“You’ll have fun, dude. Misha’s super chill.”

“Does Misha usually let underaged people drink at his bar?”

Eli laughs again. “Only if they’re personally vetted by and accompanied by one or all of us. And, good for you, you were vetted by Benji last week.”

Well, that’s better than the dude just letting random people in without knowing them, but still not morally ideal.

Caesar huffs to himself, earning an intrigued look from Elliott. Who’s he to talk about being moral when he very knowingly slept with a married man? Many, many times? Exactly no one, that’s who.

“You don’t have to drink, by the by. This is a peer-pressure-free zone,” they say with a little laugh and a nudge. “We’re just hanging out.” Their voice is calm and gentle, and Caesar can’t help but feel a little more at ease.

“Okay.” Caesar manages a smile, and the rest of the drive is quiet.

________

The bar is surprisingly uncrowded for a Saturday evening. Caesar’s not sure if that means the place is struggling or the owner’s just kicked a few people out for the ease of his friends, but he can’t be bothered thinking about it for too long, because he’s almost immediately being dragged to the bar and sat down on an old stool.

The first thing that catches Caesar’s eye is the bar back; in between shelves, there’s a mirror, and taped to that mirror are dozens of photos of who Caesar assumes to be the owner and his family. The second thing that catches Caesar’s eye is that owner.

He’s Black, and quite tall-- at least compared to Caesar-- and very nicely built. He’s in a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up, and god, those forearms. Long black dreads are tied back in a half-up bun-esque style with a deep red ribbon. His name tag is pinned to his vest-- Misha. Definitely the owner, and definitely the man in those photos.

Caesar must have been staring, because when Elliott taps his shoulder, they look like they’ve just been told a very funny joke. “You like?”

“I--” Caesar goes a deep shade of red, staring down at his lap.

Eli laughs. “Cute. Misha!” They wave down the guy, and he says goodbye to the person he was talking to and wanders over.

“What’s up, Ell?” he says with a smile. Then, looking at Caesar, he says, “Is this the famous Caesar I’ve heard so much about?”

Caesar goes even redder, and Eli laughs again. “Yep! In all his glory.” They pat Caesar’s back, and he manages a little laugh.

“It’s great to meet you,” Misha says with a grin, holding his hand out to shake. Oh, god, contact. “Benji’s told me a lot about you.”

Caesar takes the hand and Misha shakes it, firm and strong-- good lord, Caesar feels like he’s about to pass out from sheer homosexuality. “Yeah?”

Misha nods, letting go and going to fix his glasses that are… Remarkably similar to Caesar’s. “Yeah! He seems to be quite the fan,” he says with a wink. Oh fuck, Caesar’s heart does a little somersault at that.

Caesar gives a little laugh. “Weird. I could’ve sworn I scared him off.”

Misha shakes his head with a laugh. “Nothing can scare that dude off. He once dated a man who got in a car crash with him on their first date for two years.”

Caesar laughs again, this time more genuine. “Honestly? I can get with that.”

“Right?” God, Misha’s grin is so bright and his eyes are so beautiful and Caesar feels like he’s about to have some sort of heart attack. “Benji’s a fun dude--”

Oh, and speak of the devil, Benji slinks over and wraps an arm around Caesar. “How’re you all getting along?” he coos, flashing Misha a shark-toothed grin.

Elliott returns the grin, pulling Benji away from Caesar and into a hug. Wow, they are… Tall. Benji laughs, clapping their back in a very bro-esque manner. “Caesar’s a sweetie,” Elliott says as they pull away.

Caesar looks away, cheeks burning as Benji chuckles. “Misha? How’re you, man?”

“Great as ever. I get the hype behind the dude.” Misha reaches across the bar to give Benji a fist bump. “Cool guy. What can I get y’all?”

Benji and Elliott both order some weirdly complicated drinks Caesar’s never heard of, but Caesar is just sitting there wondering if it would be weird to just order a straight vodka and leave it at that.

He’s snapped out of his worry when Misha says his name. “You want anything, bud?”

“Uh… Vodka?”

Misha grins. “A man of taste, I see. Sure thing, dude.” He leans across the counter, saying just above a whisper, “It’s on the house for you, if the others didn’t tell you.”

Caesar swallows, hard, because he can smell Misha’s cologne from here and god is it nice. “They-- they did. Thank you.”

Misha smiles as he straightens up again. “No sweat.”

Caesar slouches over in his seat, looking to Benji and Eli-- who seem to be deep in conversation. After a moment of searching, he catches sigh of Kelly and Floyd in the back corner of the bar, Kelly whispering something into Floyd’s ear as a taller man approaches the two of them.

Caesar is this time slung out of his thoughts by Misha setting down a shot glass. “Here you are,” he says with a smile, before setting down another one presumeably for himself.

Caesar hums, giving Misha a thankful nod as he takes his drink.

“So,” Misha says, leaning against the counter, “what do you do?”

Caesar presses his lips together, looking down. “Uh, I work at a gas station near my school.”

Misha lights up, grinning wide. “Yeah? Where do you go?”

“That’s a long one,” Caesar says with a huff. “University of Miami Leonard M. Miller School of Medicine-- fuckin’ mouthful.” He knocks back the shot, setting it down and nudging it across the counter in the universal movie-language gesture of ‘get me another.’

Misha parts his lips in awe, standing up a little straighter. “Med school, huh? That’s impressive.” He shifts his weight and cocks his head a bit, a brow raised. “Are you from around here?”

Caesar shakes his head. “Came from Maine.”

Misha gives a barking of laughter. “Maine, huh? How’s the heat treating you?”

“Shit.”

Misha snorts. “I trust you’ve got a good AC. I’m from New York-- my first summer here knocked me the fuck back. I swear, I got heat stroke, like, three times.”

Caesar laughs a little. “I’m still not used to it, and it’s been, like, four months. Hell, the weather today is about as hot as it ever got in Windham.”

Misha nods, again leaning forward and bracing himself on the counter. “So, do you wanna keep just talking about the weather, or can I hit on you?”

Oh, fuck. That’s enough to bring Caesar’s heart to his throat and his eyes straight down to the floor. “Um--” He laughs. “You, uh, you can do what you want.”

Misha’s eyes light up. “Well-- I must say, then, I definitely see what Benji saw in you. You,” he says, leaning in a bit further, “are quite handsome.”

Caesar presses his lips together, a whine rising in his throat. “You are going to kill me, Misha. This is how I die.” He manages a laugh, glancing up at Misha (with his eyes, not daring to move his head). “Death by hot guy.”

“Hah! Flatterer.” Misha reaches across the counter and gives Caesar’s head a pat. “So,” he says as he again stands up straight. “What do you like to do? Give me your hobbies, bro.”

Oh, shit, that’s a hard one. Caesar hums, looking back down as Misha prepares him another drink. “I’m into music, I guess. Uh, my dad still hasn’t gotten my bass mailed back to me yet, though, so I’m stuck with just my guitar.”

Misha honest to god lights up like a small child coming downstairs on Christmas morning. “Shit, dude! I love that. I used to play guitar, but I picked up violin in high school and just stuck with that instead. I didn’t have the time to keep up with both, y’know?”

Caesar finally fully looks up at Misha. The thought of this big, beefy man playing something as delicate as that-- honestly, it just makes Caesar even more enamored. He can only imagine how Misha feels at the thought of puny 5’8 Caesar playing an instrument bigger than he is. “That’s really cool,” he finally says. “I did orchestra in high school, but… I dunno what I’m gonna do with it now.”

“Well, you don’t need to do anything with it if it’s something you enjoy. Not everything’s gotta be productive, yeah?” Misha smiles as he sets down Caesar’s second shot. “Some things can be just for you. Like, uh… I paint. I’m absolute shit at it, especially compared to my little brother, but I love it, man. Guaranteed to calm me down after a shit day, yeah?”

Oh shit! Encouragement! Caesar, for some reason, does not like this, so he just takes his drink and looks down again, sipping at it with a little grimace. The things he’ll do for a buzz. “You’re not wrong,” he manages.

Misha knocks back his own drink like a champ. “So, there’s a festival downtown next weekend. We should go together.”

Caesar nearly chokes on his vodka. “Like, all of the others too?”

“If you want. Only Benji really likes that stuff, and he’s got another group for it.”

Caesar stares for a moment, his lips parted. “Really?”

Misha chuckles. “Yeah, of course. I’ll pay for your ticket, too.”

Caesar hesitates, and then shrugs, knocking back the rest of his vodka. “Sure.”

It did, in fact, hurt a bit.

It’s Wednesday now, four days since Caesar’s seen or heard from Benji, and it’s still stinging when he cleans it. It looks… Really good, sure, but it’s a pain in the ass to wake up after getting incredibly stoned with something new and totally irreversible on your body. At least he didn’t blow any money on it.

Caesar’s getting ready for work when he gets the call. Benji. He stares at the caller ID for a moment, lips pressed together and brows furrowed. Was this a booty call? ...Better find out.

“Fowler speaking.”

“Caes! Wanna come out with me and the fellas this weekend?” Benji sounds almost out of breath, as if he’s been running.

This is… Certainly a surprising offer. Caesar had honestly just thought that Benji would be a one night stand sort of deal, but apparently not. He hesitates for a second before answering. “Uh, maybe? Who?”

“My man Misha, Kelly and their datemate Eli, and my bro Floyd. Misha owns the bar, so it’s free drinks for us and no card for you, minus Floyd. Floyd’s driving. And twenty.” Benji sounds a bit amused at this.

Caesar chuckles, and trails off into a hum. “Yeah, uh…” Caesar knows damn well that Xan and Samara are the only friends he’s made since he moved in five months ago, so this could very well save his social life. Still… Four strangers and one acquaintance?

“You still there, mate?”

Ah, shit. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m here. Uh, that sounds like fun.” Shit. Shit shit shit. “You said Floyd’s driving? Uh, does he--”

“They.”

“...Need my address?”

“Nah, I’ll text it to ’em. How’s eight PM Saturday work?”

Saturday. Caesar isn’t sure why, but the thought of actually going out on a Saturday makes his stomach churn. Regardless, though… “Yeah, alright. I’ll--”

“Bangin’! I’ll let the folks know. See ’ya then, Caes.”

And Benji hands up. Caesar curses under his breath as he pockets his phone again. Great. Commitment. That’s something he sure loves.

tw alcohol, sexual content, stupid young adults being stupid young adults, eating issues, maybe skip the first couple paragraphs if you're younger than 15 or 16

.

.

.

Benji falls back onto the sofa, skin dewy and flushed bright red. “Goddamn, I thought you said you were bad at that.” His voice is a bit on the hoarse side.

Caesar snorts. “I think you soaked my shirt,” he says with a light chuckle as he tugs it off. “Got a spare?”

“Mm, yeah, hold up. Want something to drink?” Benji stands, grabbing his boxers from the coffee table and slipping them back on. “I got whiskey and some hard lemonade.”

Caesar’s already sipping at the water bottle from a little while ago when Benji asks this. “Uh, up to you. I don’t mind either way.”

Benji nods and heads off to what Caesar assumes to be his room. That was… Not as bad as he thought it would be. Sure, Benji complained more than once, but he most definitely got off, so it couldn’t have been that bad, right?

Caesar’s stretched out on the sofa and clinging to a hideous bright blue decorative pillow when Benji flings an old T-shirt at him. “Keep it,” he says from the kitchen, “haven’t worn it since I had tits.”

...Understandable. It’s got a boob window smack in the middle of the chest. Caesar has to hold back laughter as he slips it on. “Thanks, man. I’ll cherish it.”

Benji laughs, returning with a case of hard lemonade. “You damn well better. I loved that thing,” he jokes as he plops down. “You a cuddler?”

“Yeah, what the hell.” Caesar takes a bottle-- thank god it’s a twist-to-open, else he would have very much embarrassed himself right there.

Benji grins, scooting closer and resting his head against Caesar’s shoulder. “You’re a fun guy.”

Caesar snorts. “I’m glad you think so.” He moves the bottle to his right hand and wraps his left arm around Benji, pulling him a little closer.

Benji rolls his eyes and goes to press a kiss to Caesar’s jaw. “I know so. Mm, hey-- not to kill the just-started-cuddling vibe, but did you have dinner? I can order us some Chinese if you want.”

Ah, and there’s the familiar stomach lurch that comes with the mention of food. Caesar presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. I already ate,” he lies.

“Mmmmmmalright. But I’m cookin’ you a fuckin’ feast for breakfast,” Benji coos. He takes a bottle for himself, managing even to open the thing in an extra dramatic manner by leaning over and smacking it against the coffee table. Great way to break a bottle, but Benji doesn’t seem to care, knocking back a good quarter of it before leaning back into Caesar.

Caesar rolls his eyes. “That’s fine, I’ll grab some McDonald’s on my way home.” Yeah, and then you’ll cry about it afterwards.

Benji gasps, scandalized. “Over my cooking? I’m offended!” he says in mock offence, bringing a hand to his chest.

“I’d feel bad if you cooked for me.”

Benji huffs. “You drive a hard bargain…” And then he seemingly lights up, shooting straight up and bringing his hands to the side of his head. “Caesar. Do you have tattoos.”

“Uh.” Caesar stares for a moment, lips parted. “No?”

Benji gasps again. “Okay. Fuck you. Free tattoo time now.” And he’s off the sofa, flying back towards his room. Oh no.

Caesar’s still processing what he’s said when Benji comes back with an actual fucking tattoo gun in one hand and a box full of miscellaneous supplies in the other. Oh, so that’s how he’s loaded enough to have such a big and… bright apartment with so goddamn many blankets and pillows.

Caesar stares wide-eyed as Benji plops back down and orders the weird AI in the corner to brighten the lights. “Whaddya want?” he says as he falls back onto the couch and gets into the box of goodies.

“Um.” There’s a long and somewhat awkward pause as Benji pulls on a fresh pair of latex gloves and wets a rag with some cleaning solution. “I’ve never really thought about that before, uh…” Another pause. “...Maybe a lighter? One of those boxy ones that’ll stay on? Uh, here.” Caesar whips out his phone and does a quick Google search before showing Benji a zippo lighter.

“Oh, hell yeah. Open? Lit?”

“Both.” Only a little bit hesitant. “Right here?” Caesar taps a spot on his inner forearm.

“I can do that.” With a grin, Benji finishes his setup. “If ’ya don’t like it after, like, a year, I’ll do a free coverup. Make me sign something with that in the morning.”

Caesar gives a huff of laughter and gives his left arm to Benji’s open hand. “Sure thing.”

“Hell yeah. Hope you’re ready, this might hurt a bit.”

tw: sex, weed, maybe dont read this one if youre younger than like 15 or 16

Friday.

Caesar got home from work and proceeded to stand in front of his mirror for the next forty-five minutes, panicking about what he should wear before finally settling on his ripped-jeans-and-flannel-over-shitty-band-tee look. Put in contacts? God, no, that’d take him an extra half an hour. Do something with his hair other than brush it and pull the longer bits back into a ponytail? Hell no, that also takes time he doesn’t have-- hell, he doesn’t even have time to find a hair tie to tie it back with as he scrambles to grab his keys and head off to Benji’s.

So here he is, blasting some shitty indie music, his hair a ratty mess and his flannel buttoned up crookedly, absolutely panicked about this ‘date.’

Truth be told, the only date Caesar’s ever been on he hesitates to even count as a date. He’d said no, repeatedly, and yet Miss Kendra of the grade above him kept insisting she take him to a movie. When he’d finally accepted, she tried to give him a hand job, and he almost threw up on her. Wonderful date, not even a date at all.

Fuck, he forgot deoderant.

Thank god he keeps a stick in his glove compartment-- that can wait until he’s parking.

And then he’s parking, and he’s still freaking the fuck out, even as he applies the deoderant, because what if Benji doesn’t like him? What if Benji’s allergic to his shampoo? What if one of Benji’s snakes tries to eat Caesar? What if--

There’s a knock on Caesar’s window, and he almost lets out a genuine yelp when he sees Benji.

“You alright, mate?”

Oh, he is very British and very handsome in person. Caesar, face red, undoes his seatbelt and gets out of the car. Almost the same height as Caesar, maybe 5’6 or 5’7? “Yeah! Yeah, uh, I’m good.”

Benji grins, holding out a black-nailed and tattooed hand. Oh boy. Caesar shakes it, grinning a bit nervously. “Well! Nice to meet you in person, Caesar. Just as cute as in the pictures, you are.”

Caesar’s face manages to get even redder. “Uh! Thank you!” Oh, god, his voice cracked.

Benji barely gives him enough time to lock his car before Caesar’s being dragged up to his apartment, and-- oh, god, colors. So many colors. The decor almost hurts Caesar’s eyes, but after a moment of taking it all in, he can’t exactly complain. Benji’s apartment looks about as hippie as its owner, so it does make sense.

“So,” Benji says, giving Caesar the same wolfish grin he’d seen in his photo, “wanna smoke? Or just chill?” He does a little thing with his hands, and Caesar laughs.

“Smoke, definitely. What do you have?” Already, Caesar feels a little more at ease around Benji. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s wearing basically the exact same thing Caesar is, but with a blue flannel instead of a greenish-gray one.

“Mm, wedding cake, sunset sherbet, and gorilla glue right now, but I can call a guy if you ain’t into any of those? I also have edibles with wedding cake.”

Caesar’s lips part a bit. Okay, that’s more options than he expected-- which is kind of sad, because it’s only four. “Uh… I’ve heard good things about gorilla glue?”

Benji’s grin widens a bit. “A man of taste, I see,” he says, voice almost a coo as he leads Caesar to what he assumes to be the reptile room, judging from the four reptile tanks against the walls. Benji crouches in front of one of them, opening the cupboard underneath the actual reptile enclosure and gesturing Caesar over. “Bubbler, bong, or pipe?”

“Uh.” Caesar stares at each option for a tad bit too long before shrugging. “Bubblers are fun.”

“Fuck yeah they are.” Benji claps a hand over Caesar’s back, enough to almost knock him over, before grabbing a bubbler and a baggie of we-- woah, that is a lot of weed.

Benji must see the look on Caesar’s face, because he erupts into giggles at the sight of it. “You are so cute. Can’t wait to get into it with you, bro,” he says, grin still wide as he heads out of the room.

Caesar, face bright red, follows, sneaking a glance at the tank closest to the door as he does. A rather large snake stares up at him. Cute, but Caesar sure doesn’t think so.

“So!” Benji says as he heads to the living room. “What’re your boundaries for tonight? What should I not do?”

Oh, woah. That’s a first. Caesar shrugs, sitting down on the bright red couch and watching Benji prepare the bubbler. “I dunno. I’ll let you know if anything comes up?”

“Hella.” Benji grabs a water bottle from the coffee table, sitting down next to Caesar as he fills the little glass contraption. “Same for me. I’m all yours, buddy,” he says with a wink.

God, Caesar’s poor little heart is going to explode. He gives a nervous little laugh, turning to examine the rest of the living room. There are a few red and cushy-looking [WORD FOR THOSE ROUND LITTLE FOOTSTOOL THINGS] scattered across the room, and nice Caesar-height plants by the bay window to their left, but the centerpiece has got to be the absolutely massive TV. What does this dude even do for a living to be able to afford all this?

Whatever it is, Caesar’s about to forget about it real quick, because he’s just been handed a lighter and some weed. Benji’s up again, rummaging in the cabinet below the TV for what’s probably a movie, but Caesar’s too busy taking a hit to really notice. Hell yeah for mary joe anna.

Benji fiddles with what looks like a Playstation for a moment before grabbing a controller-- yep, definitely a Playstation-- and plopping back down onto the sofa. A moment later, the TV is on and Benji’s navigating Netflix. “So,” he says, sparing Caesar a glance. “Do you wanna fuck tonight? Or nah? ’Cuz I’m cool with whatever.”

Oh! Oh, so that’s what Benji was referring to earlier with his whole ‘what shouldn’t I do’ thing. Caesar goes bright, bright red and gives an awkward little laugh. That sure is a question he’d like to know the answer to, isn’t it?

“I dunno,” he says, miraculously not stammering. “Uh, maybe we can just-- see how it goes?” Stellar confidence there, buddy! Only one ‘uh’!

Benji nods as he pops on The Office. “Sounds good to me, Ce.”

Caesar’s stomach lurches. “Please don’t call me that.” The way he says that is almost snappy, but more desperate and scared than anything.

Benji falters a bit as he reaches for the bubbler. “Shit, mate, I’m sorry. I won’t-- thanks for letting me know.”

Oh. That… went well. Caesar slumps back in the horribly bright sofa, looking-- and feeling-- as if he’s just dodged a bullet. “...Thanks.” Quiet.

Benji shrugs as he takes a hit. “No worries,” he says once he exhales, not coughing even once. “Nicknames can be weird. I should’a asked.”

The bubbler is passed back to a somewhat awestruck Caesar. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, so instead he just offers Benji a little smile. Even Xana and Sam probed a bit when he first asked them not to call him that-- but Benji just… Went with it. What a sweet guy.

________

The next hour and a half is spent by Caesar getting stoned off his ass and poking fun at fictional characters as Benji gets more and more touchy and giggly.

Eventually, Benji’s wandering hands land on Caesar’s inner thigh, and he scoots close enough so that their shoulders are pressed together. “Can I kiss you?”

Oh, boy. A pretty boy asking to kiss Caesar. This couldn’t go wrong in any way, shape, or form, could it?

Instead of answering, Caesar just leans over and presses his lips to Benji’s, ignoring the scritchy scratchy of Benji’s scruff (almost as if he doesn’t have a fair amount himself). Benji wastes no time bringing his hands to Caesar’s face, touch surprisingly gentle as he deepens the kiss. He smells almost alarmingly like weed, but that’s… Probably the weed, so Caesar doesn’t bother thinking anything past that.

Benji brings his left hand to Caesar’s chest and breaks the kiss for a moment to say, “Can I touch you?”

Caesar pauses, thinking… And nods. Benji flashes that wolfish grin before closing the distance between them again and slipping a hand up Caesar’s shirt, oh-so-gently dragging his nails up Caesar’s torso. Caesar shudders, and then gives a shocked little yip when Benji touches a particularly ticklish spot, jerking away with a spot of laughter.

Benji snorts, following Caesar back and carefully nudging him down onto the sofa. “Tell me if I need to stop,” he mutters as he brings his mouth to Caesar’s neck and his hands to Caesar’s waist. Caesar nods, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes and crooked glasses.

Benji’s hands go to undo his pants, and Caesar tenses. Is he going to..?

That question is answered pretty quickly when Benji tugs down Caesar’s pants and scoots back to put his mouth on him.

Caesar gasps, a hand going to tangle in Benji’s hair. This is new-- this is something Caesar’s never had done before, and this is something Caesar isn’t sure he likes.

Okay, no, too much-- Caesar makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat, going to take his glasses off and wipe his eyes with his free hand. Too much sensory-- not good, not good at all--

And Benji’s sitting up and wiping his mouth, brow furrowed. “What’s up, mate?”

Caesar heaves a shuddery sigh, not daring to look at Benji-- not like he’d be able to, since his glasses are off, but still. “I- I--”

“Hey,” Benji says, soft now, “we can stop. Do you want a snack? Some coffee?”

Caesar shakes his head, bringing his other hand up to cover his face. What even just happened? Everything was fine, this hot-as-hell boy was all over him, and Caesar’s body just lost it-- what the hell?

Benji sits back, pressing his lips together. “Are you okay?”

Caesar nods, still not daring to look up, even when Benji helps him back into his underwear (thank god for that).

“...I’m gonna go get you some water.”

Caesar again nods, finally peeking out at Benji through parted fingers. He looks… genuinely worried, and Caesar can’t help but feel bad; Benji didn’t even do anything wrong, at least not that Caesar can think of, so why does he look as guilty as Caesar feels?

By the time Benji returns from the little kitchen nook right behind them, Caesar’s pulled his underwear up and sat up. “I’m so sorry,” he manages, taking the water bottle that’s been offered to him as Benji sits again.

“For what?”

“Freaking out.” He takes a sip. Cold.

Benji shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, mate. Sometimes we just can’t, y’know?”

Caesar shrugs, looking away. “Still. I dunno what went wrong, anyway.” Another sip.

“That’s fine. You don’t need a reason to stop, blondie. Hell, you could’ve told me to stop so you could watch The Bachelorette and I would’ve been fine with it.” Benji sounds almost amused now, but there’s still a hint of solemn sincerity to his voice.

There’s another shrug from Caesar. “Still.”

“Still what?”

“I feel bad.”

Benji offers Caesar a hand. Caesar just stares for a moment… But he does take it, despite the hesitance. “You don’t have to feel bad. Sex shouldn’t be about feeling bad-- quite the opposite, y’know? It’s about feelin’ good with someone. Nothing more-- not for me, anyway. I get some people feel more emotional about it, but ehhh.” This is punctuated with a shrug. “I just like the physical aspect of it-- sorry, I’m rambling.”

Caesar huffs, managing a bit of a smile. “You’re fine.” He looks over at Benji, and then away again. “Yeah, I just…” A shrug.

Benji nods. “No need to talk about it. We can just sit here ’n watch TV.”

Caesar bites his lip. “Are you sure? You don’t want me to get you off or anything?”

“Do you want to get me off?”

Caesar looks down, shrugs, and then nods. “Yeah. I’d feel worse if I didn’t.”

Benji pouts. “Yeah, but will you feel good doing it.” Not a question.

“I guess?”

Benji rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to get me off if it’s only to not feel guilty, dude. If you’re gonna put your fingers inside me it better be because you damn well want to.”

Oh, that was descriptive. Caesar reddens a bit. Right. No dick. “Uh, yeah, about that, um.” There’s a long, awkward pause as he considers how to word this. “I’ve never, uh…”

“Been with a trans guy?”

Caesar nods a bit too vigorously, glasses sliding down his nose a bit. “Uh, I had a girlfriend in high school who made me go down on her once, but I was really, really bad at it--”

Benji laughs. “No worries, dude. I’ll be sure to tell you if I don’t like what you’re doing.” He arches his back a bit as he tugs off his shirt. “You sure you wanna?”

“Yes.”

There’s a wolfish grin. “Perfect.”

tw: weed, sexual innuendo, alcohol

Okay. Xana and Samara have left, and Caesar’s coming down on his couch with a book when his phone buzzes. He glares at it from across the coffee table where it’s resting for a moment until it buzzes again and he puts his book down with a resigned sigh.

xan gave me ur number

are u caesar

Oh, this must be that Benji character with the stretched ears. Caesar presses his lips together, contemplating whether or not he should reply-- oh, but then Benji sends a selfie. His hair is tied back in a sort of bun and he’s grinning a wolfish grin, a snake coiled around his neck. Okay. He’s hot, Caesar will admit that. Not exactly his type, but he can very much see the appeal. Maybe he’s worth a reply.

yeah im caesar. xan and sam told me about you

Caesar’s typing something else when Benji sends a flood of emojis. Ah, so he’s that kind of texter. Amazing.

thank goddd you texted back you are so cute dude i cannot stand it, she showed me a pic and i was just (heart eyes)

no homo

Caesar laughs. No homo, says the man hitting on him. Cute.

pffthsjfgdhs thanks man, you seem pretty cool yourself

we NEED 2 hang out dude

we gotta

if ur the drinking type ik a bar that doesnt card or if ur the smoking type i know a place with good weed (my house it is my house)

Caesar laughs. This dude holds nothing back, huh?

yeah that sounds fun! im free friday after 8 or all day saturday. sundays my designated rest day though ;~;

thats chill! friday will work great i have a thing saturday evening anyway

wanna meet somewhere or should i just pick you up

also where should we hang

Caesar presses his lips together. Alcohol… Seems like something he wants to avoid right now, so the bar is out of the question-- and so’s dinner.

i can drive. your place?

gucci

if u drive and get stoned tho u might just have to spend the night (pensive emoji) and that wld be tragic

Caesar snorts. He sincerely doubts Benji would have a problem with him spending the night.

im fine with that if you are

hella!!!! i most definitely am dude

come over around 9 im at 15521 SW 123rd ave

sounds good c:

its a date ;3

Oh, shit. Is it? ...It most definitely is. Shit, shit, shitshitshitshit. Wait-- why is Caesar so stressed about this? All Benji is supposed to be is a rebound, right? That’s what Xana said, anyway, so why is Caesar freaking out so much?

...Must be the weed.

tw: weed, sexual content, birthday, unintentional transphobia due to lack of education

It’s been a little under three weeks since the “Mindy Fiasco”, as Xana and Samara have been calling it, and Caesar is a little more than miserable without the distraction from his life that was Jordan. There goes his plug, his shoulder to cry on, and his dick to suck-- three things Caesar either can’t or doesn’t trust himself enough to get from Xana and Sam.

Caesar, well, he’s tried. He’s tried to fix his shit on his own, he’s even begged Jordan over text, but he can’t distract himself from his ‘inevitable’ failure at school and his friendships; it’s happened before, so why couldn’t it happen now? It’s not as if his family was sabotaging those things, not at all!

But, regardless, Caesar is… Here. November thirteenth, his nineteenth birthday. His nineteenth year on this earth, and not even halfway through his first year of independence. His first birthday away from his family, and yet he’s managing to feel more at home smoking with Xana and Samara than he ever did with father and cross-country siblings doting on him.

He sits on the bar stool at his kitchen island, hunched over Xana’s bright-pink bong as he listens to her and Samara talk. Apparently, Samara’s been being hit on by one of her professors, and neither her or Xana are particularly pleased about that. Caesar pulls away from the bong, coughing once, twice, before passing it along to Samara.

From the kitchen table just behind and a little bit to the left of the kitchen island, a little ways away, Xana says, “Caesar. I have the perfect rebound boy for you.”

Caesar turns to face Xana, only to have her shove her phone in his face. Oh, wow. Okay, he’s… Interesting.

On the screen is a boy, that’s for sure. His hair, shaved on the sides, is long and obviously bleached, toned silver on the tips. He has a heart tattoo under his left eye, apparently right over a cheek piercing. Odd, but not bad. His chin is scruffy, his smile is wolfish, the bridge of his nose is pierced, and his ears are-- wow, that is a lot of earrings and a big gauge. His septum seems to be stretched, too, which Caesar is honestly a bit impressed by.

After a moment of taking in the guy’s appearance, Caesar turns to Xana. “Um… Are you sure he’s my type? He’s--”

“Amazing. Benji gives the best rebound sex, Caesar-- back before he came out to me and we thought he was a girl, we slept together after I broke up with my first ex, and it was mindblowing. And that was three years ago! Imagine what he can do now!” Xana laughs, despite Caesar’s reddening face. He doesn’t quite process the ‘when we thought he was a girl’ part-- that’s just a normal thing, right?

“I know he looks a little funky,” Sam says, nudging the bong back to Caesar, “but he’s a real sweetheart. He has snakes. Like, twenty. And he’ll probably give you a free tattoo if you’re nice to him.”

Caesar takes the bong and passes it to Xana, worrying his lower lip. “I don’t know. I’m not really the, uh, rebound type? Or the one night stand type?”

“Buuut you’re the fuck-a-married-man type. It isn’t that different! Just pretend Benji’s Jordan. With a pussy.” Xana laughs as she says this, taking the bong from Caesar with a grin.

“Huh?”

Xana snorts, nearly choking. “He’s trans.”

“...What?” Oh, Caesar, you poor cis soul. “Like, uh. Caitlyn Jenner?”

This time Samara’s the one to laugh, since Xana’s too busy hitting the bong. “Oh, baby. I mean, I guess? Just, uh the other way around.”

Caesar pulls a bit of a face. “So he’s…”

“He is trans. Still a he. Everyone just thought he was a chick for a bit, you know?” Xana says, voice a bit hoarse as she passes Caesar the bong again. “He’s still a guy, and you wouldn’t be any less gay if you fucked him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Caesar ’huh’s. “Okay. I’ll, uh. Have to look into that, huh?”

Xana coos. “You are so cute, stringbean.”

Caesar’s face goes even redder than it already was. “Thanks, Xan. So, uh. Is he. Is he interested in me?” This ‘Benji’ is pretty cute, after all.

“Oh, very much so. I sent him a candid pic,” Sam says with a giggle. “He says you look like a sad blonde emo with glasses and he appreciates that very much.” She pauses. “Oh, and? Guess what?”

“What?” Caesar looks a tad cautious, but he’s smiling still despite it.

“He’s British.” Samara feigns shock, putting one hand on the kitchen island and the other on her heart. “Whenever he speaks, it’s like music to my little American ears!” she says, quite dramatic.

Caesar gives a little puff of laughter. “Okay. Uh, you can give him my number if you want.”

“Oh, already done,” Xana says. “Warning. He likes phone calls.”

Caesar, about to take a hit, grimaces. “Ew. Who does phone calls these days?”

“Millennial Brits,” Sam says.

“Oh, he’s not a millennial, Sam, he’s gen-Z just like us," Xana coos.

"Wait." Caesar holds up a finger, takes a hit and then continues. "How old is he?"

"Twenty-two," Xana and Sam say in unison.

Caesar presses his lips together as he slides the bong back to Samara. "Didn't you say age gaps were bad, Xana?"

Xana quirks a brow. "I said power imbalance was bad, stringbean. Benj doesn't have any of that, because he's a dirty hippy stoner just like us. Jordan, though, is a CFO with a child. See the difference?"

Caesar rolls his eyes, ignoring Samara's coughing from behind him. "Whatever. Thank you, Xan, Sam. I'll text him."

Sam squeals, going to give Caesar a hug. He yelps, but doesn't fight it-- what is it with people with purple hair and smelling like grapes? He just chuckles, a bit awkward as he pats her back. God, what has he just agreed to?

tw: eating issues, alcohol/weed, emetophobia

Caesar comes to with the most splitting headache he’s had since his senior prom roofie-hangover.

He groans, grabbing the nearest pillow and covering his face with it, absolutely desperate to block out the hot Floridian sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. Hell. He’s already in hell, and he hasn’t even remembered what happened last night--

Oh, good fucking lord, last night.

Caesar groans again. Wonderful. Fantastic.

Caesar wallows for a moment before sucking it up and tugging the pillow off of his face. he needs… something. Someone to complain to, preferably. Sighing, he sits up, digging through his pockets for a moment to find his phone-- 2% battery. Great. This day’s really out to get him, huh? Not like he wanted to eat breakfast, though, so he deals and plugs it in before shooting a text to dear old Xana.

i fucked up

can you come over

Caesar sits on the edge of his bed, bouncing his leg as he waits for a reply.

What’d you do babe

Omw

Oh, thank god. Caesar leaves her on read for now, standing and making the terrible mistake of catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror hung above his dresser. He looks about as shit as he feels. Paler than usual, blonde hair knotted and looking like he’s just gone on a week-long bender, bags under dull green eyes-- he needs a shower. Is there enough time to do that before Xana gets here? Absolutely not, so Caesar sighs and resigns himself to heading to the bathroom and running a brush through his hair. More staring into the mirror, but at least now he’s doing something about his wretched appearance.

He’s about to brush his teeth when his stomach lurches and he’s huddled over the toilet. Of course-- Caesar would’ve thought his body would be used to vomiting by now, but it’s something different when you’re not doing it to yourself, isn’t it?

Now Caesar definitely needs a shower, but there’s no way he can before Xana gets there. Brush your teeth, get some coffee, put on a clean shirt. Be presentable for the girl.

Caesar’s only half way through waiting for his coffee when Xana, in all her short-and-buff glory, comes bursting in through his front door, clearly a bit frazzled. “What’d you do, niño? Do I need to bail you out?”

Caesar starts and then gives a quiet laugh. “No, it’s nothing legal, uh. Jordan--” Xana rolls her eyes, “...Jordan’s wife saw us. Uh, she--”

Xana gasps. “Caesar, baby, we have talked about that! I thought you broke it off with him.” The disappointment in her voice is enough to make Caesar curl up in on himself.

“I know, Xana! I know. And you were right. She was not happy, Xana, she--” Caesar cuts himself off with a shocked little laught. “She threatened to kill me, Xan.”

Xana’s disappointment turns to shock. “Did she hurt you, niño? Do I have to throw hands?”

“No, Xan, I can’t really say she was wrong--”

Caesar’s cut off by Xana waltzing over to him and grabbing his face, tugging him down to her level. “You were an asshole. We both know this. But she threatened you.” She lets go of Caesar, bringing her hands to her hips. “Were you drunk last night?” Caesar blinks. “Don’t play dumb with me, niño, I know your hungover look.”

Caesar’s face goes red(der). “A bit--”

“We’re going out for breakfast. Denny's, I’m paying, and you will eat.” Xana’s tone is firm enough that Caesar doesn’t even bother arguing.

“Fine,” he says, straightening up his posture a bit. “Do I at least have time to get into clean clothes?”

Xana quirks a brow and looks Caesar over. “...You’d better,” she says with the smallest hint of disappointment-- in the outfit, Caesar knows, but it still hurts to hear from her. “Mm-- wear that red flannel! The one I like.” With that, Xana gives Caesar a little pat on the cheek and turns to dump his coffee. He was really looking forward to that, but he supposes Denny's coffee is better than shitty canned coffee, and breakfast Xana’s paying for is better than no breakfast at all. ...Debatably.

_____

As soon as Caesar gets in the passenger seat of Xana’s little beater sports car, he’s being handed a bottle of Aspirin. “Take three,” Xana mutters, “there’s water in the back.”

Caesar very reluctantly does this, almost gagging at the lovely Florida-warmed bottle of water he snatched from the back seat. Gross. Gross, gross, gross-- back in Maine, he’d never have to worry about plastic melting in his car, but here is quite a different story. He learned that the hard way about three months ago, when he had mistakenly left his favorite little plastic charm on his dash over the weekend. He still hasn’t gotten the smell of it out of the leather.

“Ever thought about getting a cooler?” he huffs, returning the cap to the bottle. “Tastes like lead when it’s warm.”

“Oh, poor baby’s too good for warm water,” Xana coos with a grin. “If you want cold water, you should’ve brought your own. Regardless, though, we’ll get you all the cold water you want in a minute. Patience is key, kiddo.”

“We’re the same age.”

“I’m still a month older and I will die on this hill.”

This gets a laugh out of Caesar. It’s nice to know that he can still joke with Xana, even when she’s upset with slash disappointed in him.

After a moment of driving in silence, fighting the early-morning Miami traffic, Caesar spares Xana a glance. “Thanks for coming over.”

Xana doesn’t return the glance, but she does offer a smile. “Of course. What’re friends for, you know? What kind of person would I be if I just left you?”

Caesar huffs and smiles a bit. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“No problem, Caesar.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. It would be awkward, if Caesar paid any mind to the silence, but instead, it’s filled with his overthinking. Would Mindy actually hurt me? Will Jordan text me? Will he forgive me? Will Mindy forgive me? Will I get to see Jax again?

Caesar’s snapped out of his thoughts… Quite literally, when Xana holds her hand in front of his face and snaps. “We’re here. C’mon, stringbean, mama’s gotta get her hashbrowns.”

Caesar gives a startled little laugh before getting out and following Xana in. “I’m not--”

“You’re not hungry, I know. You’re still eating, though, so help me god. You need some meat on your bones, niño! You’ll blow over in the wind otherwise!”

Caesar bites his lip. “Okay, but--”

“I won’t look at you. I know the drill, kiddo.”

For someone who’s only known Caesar for three months, Xana sure does… Know him. Either he got way too stoned one evening and told her everything or she’s just really good at picking up on his body language; either way, Caesar’s more than grateful to have her around.

He’s quiet as Xana leads him in and gets them seated, eyes cast straight ahead and hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He very much doesn’t want to be here, and he knows that Xana knows that-- but Caesar also knows that Xana knows he hasn’t eaten in two days.

They sit, and Caesar knows immediately he’s about to be grilled over every little thing that happened last night.

“Booze and weed?” Yes. “How much?” Way too much. “How late was it?” Way too late. “Halloween party?” Quite unfortunately. “Ready for school tomorrow?” Wait, fuck.

Caesar groans, resting his face in his hands. “I’d rather fucking die.”

Xana purses her lips. “Too bad, baby, you gotta get those credits.”

“Do I? Do I really?” Caesar peeks out at Xana through his fingers.

“Do you? Do you wanna be a neurosurgeon?” Her brows are raised in that ‘don’t bullshit me’ way Caesar’s grown to love and hate.

Caesar huffs. “Yeah, but is spending most of my twenties in the hellscape that is med school worth it?”

“I dunno, is six figures worth it?”

Caesar presses his lips together. It is, to him, and both he and Xana know that. “You’re right… Especially since Nielson loses his shit over attendance.”

Xana laughs. “Right? He’s fucking insane about that. You’re thirty seconds late and he, like, publicly executes you.”

“God, I know. I feel so bad for those kids-- if I’m gonna be late, I just stay home. Better than being shouted at in front of a hundred other kids,” Caesar says with an amused little huff.

Xana snorts. “Right. So, anyway--”

“Xan, I don’t wanna talk about Jordan anymore. Please.” He seems almost desperate with that little whine in his voice.

Xana gives him that same ‘don’t bullshit me’ look. “I was gonna say, you need a real boyfriend instead of some sad sack of shit who goes behind his girl’s back. Oh, also someone who isn’t ten years older than you.”

“Eight.”

“That’s still bad, Caesar!” Xana pulls her coily hair back away from her face, exasperated. “He has a kid, dude. He has a full time job! He has so much power over you!”

Caesar groans, again hiding his face in his hands. “I know. I know, I- I- I think that’s why I liked him so much in the first place.” Desolate.

Xana sighs, brow furrowing as she goes to put a hand on Caesar’s shoulder. “Well, good news. Mindy? Your get-out-of-Jordan free card. Now? Now you can fix your shit and find a real boyfriend and actually focus on your work, baby.”

Caesar sighs. “...Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. School is important, and Jordan was… Distracting.”

“Distracting is an understatement, stringbean, but you’re right-- are you ready to order?”

Oh. Right. Food. Restaurant. Fucking Denny’s of all places… “Uh. Right, yeah… A hashbrown?”

“And?”

“...French toast?”

“Throw in an egg and we have a deal.”

“Replace the toast with the egg and I’ll be happy.”

Xana narrows her eyes. “...You got a deal.” She offers Caesar a hand and he shakes it, offering a genuine grin.

Caesar likes this about Xana. She worries for him, obviously, and wants to help, but she doesn’t push as much as others would. She’s told him straight up that she’ll never force him to do anything, and Caesar has most definitely taken her up on that more than once, à la the whole therapy thing a few weeks back. She’s good for him, and Caesar would certainly like to think he’s at least a little bit good for her. At least a little.