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Efrain and Cory Ch. 21

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Author’s Note — Rather than continue with the old name (which I kinda grew to hate), future chapters will be published under the “Efrain and Cory” title (as it is called on other sites).

Sorry for the confusion (and for the delays)! ~Dayne

Chapter 21 — In Soviet Russia, Iceman Thaws You

I folded my arms over my chest and looked down at the mound of blankets and cushions at my feet — two heads, one dark brunette and the other fair blond, just barely poking out were the only sign that said mound also contained my roommate and his boyfriend.

Two of everything had been scattered about — two pairs of jeans, two t-shirts, two pairs of socks, and, unfortunately, two pairs of underwear.

Those fuckers were sleeping completely fucking naked under there!

I had come home to find my living room in shambles — seemed that Cory and Efrain had wrecked the damn place in the process of wrecking each other.

Those fuckers had fucked in my fucking living room!

Every couch had been stripped of its cushions and piled in front of the fireplace, along with what seemed like every blanket and comforter I owned. Efrain’s laptop sat nearby, probably to play his little fuck-fest soundtrack. A bottle of lube laid on its side just within arm’s reach.

God, there was a good chance I would have walked in on those fuckers fucking in my fucking living room!

Had I not stopped the mental inventory, I would have stepped right in 400 pounds of well-fucked football player.

Which I should still do just because.

Fucking hell!

“Good morning, sunshine.” I looked back down to find Efrain grinning up at me with a sleepy and satisfied leer. “Just getting home?”

He extended his arms over his head, reaching out on either side of my legs, and had himself a long post-wake-up stretch. The mound of covers shifted as he stretched his long legs. Cory mumbled against his chest in protest, then burrowed down into the blankets, until only the very top of his sandy blond hair was visible.

“So, you got lucky, huh?” he said. He tucked his arms back under the blankets, wrapping one across Cory’s shoulders.

“More like unlucky, at least from where I’m standing.”

“Dude, you were gone. How could I not?” Efrain shrugged his bare shoulders while he casually ran his fingers through Cory’s baby-fine hair. “Now, back to your nocturnal activities.”

“Man, you’re nosy.”

“Might as well tell him, Indie.” Cory’s slate-blue eyes had peeked out of the blankets long enough to deliver. “You know Preston’s going to give me all the details.”

“That’s his business.”

“And then Cory’s going to tell me everything,” Efrain added. “Including piercings 24 and 25.”

“Good for you,” I said, and clapped my hands sarcastically.

“It’s the magic of pillow talk.”

“Whatever,” I muttered. I was tired and I needed to get back in bed if I was going to function. I carefully stepped over them. “You know you’re cleaning all this up before you leave.”

“Of course,” he said. I turned my back on them, fully intending to book it before I had to listen to them meowing and growling at each other. Efrain barely wasted time as I heard him quietly murmur something that made Cory giggle in protest.

“Vato, I don’t care how much time we have before we have to be at the locker complex. I still want to be able to walk into the locker complex!”


If I were to be honest with myself, I’d have to say that I looked delicious.

My favorite sweater, a silk and cashmere blend v-neck in a blue so dark it might as well be black, and a silvery dress shirt. A pair of skinny jeans that made my ass look damn good. Soft leather loafers. Of course, I couldn’t exactly see these in the dark window I happened to be looking in, just my second-best coat (as I was still cleaning all traces of eau de hipster from the other), and a scarf. I wore a coordinating beanie, slouched just so over my hair, with my bangs swept across my forehead. The cold had made my cheeks a little pink, but I thought it added to my appeal.

All too many students saw nothing wrong with slouching off to class in pajama pants and messy buns, but such sartorial crimes wouldn’t work for me. The only concession today was to leave my tie at home.

I adjusted my scarf and smoothed my hair. And then, I realized what I was doing.


I picked up the second coffee cup off the low wall I’d set in on earlier and stalked off down the hall. It wasn’t that I had an issue with primping — I had very few problems with worshiping at the altar of my own vanity — it was more a problem with who I just happened to be primping for.

The door to Indie’s office was wide open when I walked up. The man himself sat at his desk talking to a befuddled undergrad. I didn’t know why, but I kinda liked the a black long-sleeve Dickies work shirt he wore. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows with the top three gaziantep escort buttons undone, revealing a red t-shirt underneath. It looked good with the faded jeans he had on.

“Your essay isn’t a total waste. I mean, the theory isn’t one that I’ve considered, but it’s not without merit. Thanks, Preston. Some more research to substantiate your claims would eliminate the need to pad your word count with drivel. Have you considered…”

Had the corner of his lip not curled up and his eyes cut briefly to me, I would have missed his acknowledgement of the large Americano I had set down in front of him. As it was, Indie kept up his stream of talk, while the hapless undergrad bobbed his head in the appropriate places. The poor kid looked out of his element.

I set my own cup down before divesting myself of hat, scarf, and coat. I pulled out my phone and pretended to play around with it. Indie’s deep voice was distracting. I wasn’t really paying attention the content of the conversation, or even the other person participating. I just let it wash over me, sending my mind back, as it had for the past few days, to Friday night.

My intentions that night had been innocent (well, mostly innocent), but that hadn’t stopped him from fucking me into the mattress. My cheeks heated up as I recalled the sound of his labored breathing, the weight and heat of his body on and within me, the way his throaty moans sometimes sounded like half-laughs, as if he couldn’t believe what we were up to.

In less than an hour, he had completely turned my head inside out — which was pretty par for the course as far as my interactions with Indie went — then proceeded to thoroughly scramble my brains throughout the night and into the morning. I had had only a few measly hours of sleep before I had to report to the locker rooms before Saturday’s game. Meggy had told me that she didn’t need to see me walk out of the bar with Indie in tow to know what I had been doing. The bags under my eyes and the satisfied grin slapped across my face spoke volumes. According to her, my entire body — from head to toe — screamed that I had been taken for a ride.

I had assumed that he wouldn’t be all that good, yet he had an impressive set of skills and an impressive set. Better still, he had even seemed okay with the casual cuddling habit that had sent quite a few one-night stands running. Indie and I had exchanged numbers when I dropped him back home Saturday morning, and we had texted back and forth since then. We hadn’t set up a repeat performance just yet, but I was more than game.

I was even willing to beg for it.

It was odd that I could be so engrossed in my thoughts, yet still hyper-aware of Indie’s presence in the room at the same time. I pretended otherwise, but I was alert for any sign that he was done helping the guy sitting in front of his desk. This was the second day in a row that I had used the “I’m getting coffee; do you want some?” excuse to come see him during his advisement hours, so I could wait out Mr. Lousy-essay.

“Look into some of the suggested texts. That should help you locate other resources. And for fuck’s sake, stop citing Wikipedia and Google — those are tools, not research sources.” When Indie stood, the undergrad followed suit and allowed himself to be led out. “Think you could have your revision in to me before Thanksgiving break?”

The guy nodded his assent and seemed all of two seconds from fainting with gratitude despite getting fuckall for turn-around time. Indie ushered him out, then shut and locked the door behind him. I took a sudden and keen interest in my still blank cellphone screen. He came to my chair and pulled me up. My phone was quickly plucked from my hand and tossed into my now vacant seat. Indie’s finger crooked under my chin and I submitted to his mouth. Our tongues traded flavors, his espresso for my latte. I needed cream and sugar in my coffee, but he had a way of making black coffee dangerously tempting. His eyes had already ruined me for anything but dark chocolate, and I was pretty sure his lips could break me of my fancy coffee addiction.

It didn’t take long for his tongue and roving hands to make my legs forget that they had bones in them. May have also been that any sort of stiffness I possessed had taken up temporary residence in my groin. Too soon, however, he pulled back. Indie grabbed my hand and I tottered behind him on wobbly legs as he pulled me back behind his desk. He sat back in his chair, and I figured he wanted me in his lap again. Instead, he patted the desk blotter. I hopped up and about passed out when he pulled my knees apart and scooted up between them.

“What…what are you…”

“What am I doing?” He had wrapped his arms around my hips and nuzzled into my lap by the time I managed to stammer out those few words. Now, he was untucking the back of my shirt and slipping his hands underneath to tickle over my lower back. I sat up ramrod straight as my nipples pebbled under my clothes. “I’m taking a nap. What did you think I was doing?”

Trying to kill me.

He nuzzled my lap again and I quivered.

“So,” he said when I hadn’t answered. “Tell me more about the white elephant party.”

“White elephant party?” With his head relaxing in my lap and his fingertips stroking my skin, my thought processes weren’t quite up for anything more complicated than begging to get bent over his desk and fucked.

He pointed to the stuff I’d been leaving in his office. For some reason, it seemed like some of the things he had on the shelf, like Marshmallow, had made its way back to the desk.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “It was fun, but some things were just confusing.”

“I knew you were simple, so I went for simple messages,” I explained. At least this conversation was distracting me from the tantalizing circles he was drawing along my spine. “‘You’re a cold bastard.’ Done.”

“Yup, nothing says ‘you’re a cold bastard’ better than Pokémon.”

“Oh, no. That was ‘you’re a fucking loser.’ Those were the lamest ones I had.”

“You still have your Pokémon cards? You do realize that’s the pot calling the kettle black?”

“It was that or let my little brother destroy my fire deck,” I said, a little more defensively than I meant to.

“God, you would play with a fire deck.”

“God, you would understand what that meant,” I shot back. Of course, this only prompted him to nip at my erection through my jeans, and then laugh when I yelped.

“So, the cards came from your collection,” he said. “So where’d you get everything else?”

“Grandma and Grandpa Finnegan.”

“Your grandparents helped you hate stalk me?”

“No, Grandpa likes giving gag gifts.”

“And Grandma?”

“Clueless,” I said. “I told her I thought Kit Harrington was hot once — ONCE! — and next thing I knew, I had Jon Snow shit all over the place.”

“Oh man, that’s awful.”

“I know, right?” I said. “She’s bought me like every collector’s edition DVD since then.”

“Gods forbid,” he said. I got the distinct impression that he was mocking me now. “If you left those on my desk, I would feel so insulted, I’d die on the spot.”

“Oh, whatever.”

“Okay, now the Frozen crap.”

“What about it?”

“Am I supposed to be Olaf or Marshmallow?”

“Neither.” For some reason, he started making contented noises. It wasn’t until I looked down that I realized I was running my fingers through his purple and black hair. It was thick, and surprisingly soft considering how often he had to color treat it. “You’re Elsa.”

“The ice queen chick?”

“Yep. Figured you’d like to have your minions.”

He seemed to be satisfied enough with this explanation, or with my fingers in the hair, that he lapsed into silence. Moments later, he started giggling. It was pretty fucking odd hearing Indie giggle.

“Indie didn’t want to build a snowman with me.” He looked up at me and the confused expression I was most likely wearing, before breaking down into a fit of laughter.

I didn’t think I really wanted to know what that was all about.

Indie, however, spared me from all forms of thinking when he untucked the rest of my shirt and lifted it enough to expose my lower belly. His teeth grazed over my side, followed by his lips and tongue. My stomach fluttered under his ministrations, and I was glad I was unable to think straight as I would have been embarrassed by the sounds coming out of my mouth. He sat up and scooted me off the desk and I started kissing him before he had me settled on his lap.

“Why haven’t you called me over?” I asked in the spaces between kisses. We ended up making out yesterday, too, but I couldn’t figure out why we hadn’t met up again.

“You know, you could have called me over,” he said. “You do have my number.”

For lack of a better response, I shoved my tongue back down his throat. How exactly do you tell a guy you can’t call him to hook up again because every other time you’ve called to hook up with a guy again, you got turned down because you happened to be a little clingy, without sounding like you could potentially get clingy? I spent the better part of a year sitting on my hands waiting for guys to call because I learned the hard way about calling them myself.

Indie worked his mouth down to my neck and lightly nipped me. He had his hands up the back of my shirt. I started wondering why the hell he was so obsessed with putting his hands up the back of my shirt, but his nails raking over my ribs rudely shoved the thought aside and I was back to whimpering.

“So, I take it you want a repeat of Friday night?” he murmured in my ear. His voice made me throb so hard that it felt like I was throbbing all over. I was struggling to put together the sounds necessary to make words, and Indie nibbling at my earlobe wasn’t helping.

But, before I could so much as stammer out a “yes,” the door opened.


Preston picked up his chopsticks long enough to put a dab of wasabi on a piece of sushi. Then he set them back down and used his fingers to pick up the piece and dip it in soy sauce before bringing it to his mouth.

Preston apparently ate sushi the correct way.

Because he watched a video on YouTube.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his efforts were wasted on the “sushi” served in the student union. But, as he picked up his chopsticks again to take a bite of pickled ginger to “cleanse his palate,” I knew his meticulous way of eating sushi allowed him to avoid talking about Indie.

Not like I was going to give up.

“Yeah, and then my roommates were all on my ass about being okay with you and Indie,” I said.


“Why were they on my case?”

“No, why is it any of their business?”

“That’s what I said. But, then they started going on about ‘bro code’ and how you can’t sleep with your bestie’s former fling or whatever.”

“Does it bother you that I slept with Indie?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“Fuck no,” I said. “Besides, I don’t think bro code has anything on cases where you’ve also slept with the bestie going after your former fling.”

“Yeah, don’t suppose there is.”

“So, I couldn’t help but notice that Indie came home extra late and wearing the same clothes he left in,” I said. “How was it?”

“You can stop grinning at me, sugar, ’cause I ain’t telling you shit.”

“But, you’re my best friend. You’re supposed to tell me everything.”

“So you can turn right around and tell your boyfriend?” he said. “Indie told me all about that particular conversation.”

“Oh. You’ve talked to him since then,” I said, a wicked smile slowly stretching across my cheeks.

“This isn’t any of your business.”

“Dude, you owe me. If it wasn’t for you, my roommates would have no idea about Indie and me,” I argued. “Plus, considering the methods you used to drag details about Efrain out of me, I think I’m asking rather nicely.”

He sighed. I resisted bouncing up and down and repeating “tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“Fine,” he said. “I slept with Indie. It was fucking amazing. I was almost too sore to make it through half-time. The End.”

“But, you’ve talked with him since then,” I said.

“Yeah.” He looked down at this lunch and blushed. “I went to his office a couple times.”

“Anything fun happen?”

“We made out a little,” he said. “Mike walked in on us this morning.”


“The guy’s a saint. I mean, his girlfriend squealed and jumped all over me yesterday in the coffee shop, then he walks in on me sitting in Indie’s lap today, all without a word of complaint.”

“Huh? Why was Laurel all over you?”

Preston pulled a sweetly innocent face, but the laugh was anything but.

“Oh, something about someone’s ex coming up to her on Friday and demanding to know who the skanky little pretty boy thought he was to run off with his man!”

“The chunky guy with the curly hair…”

“Jameson,” he said simply.

“That guy is Indie’s ex?”

“Fucking douchebag is what he is,” Preston said angrily.

“The ex?”

“Yeah.” He ran his hand through his hair, the added quietly, “You didn’t see how Indie was with him. Almost like he was scared or something. I couldn’t leave him alone with the piece of shit.”

“If it makes you feel better, Teague and I helped a bouncer throw him out when he harassed Laurel,” I told him. “If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have been so gentle about it.”

He nodded and I moved on to my original target.

“So, Mike caught you in his lap. Are you and Indie just making out or…”

“We kinda have plans to meet up tonight to watch a movie.” I couldn’t help chuckling at how cute he was acting. Yeah, I’d had a thing for Indie, but I was only really interested in fucking him. Somehow, no matter how much Preston protested it, I got the impression that Indie was more than just a quick fuck. I meant to tease Preston some more, but he suddenly seemed intent on changing the subject. “So, what are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Well, we have that game on Friday, so I can’t exactly go home,” I said. “Thought I’d kick it around here with some of the other guys who can’t go home.”

“You haven’t made any plans with anyone?” he asked, almost looking shocked. “Not even–“

Preston cut off as some guy I didn’t recognize abruptly plopped down in the seat next to him and hugged him.

“Oh my God, man,” he said excitedly. “You’re like my most favorite person ever.”

“Do I know you?”

“Norman gave me a fucking extension on my paper,” he said.

“Wait, what?” I said.

“Norman never gives extensions,” the guy added, the words coming out rapidly. “You’re pretty much screwed if you get that guy for a TA. I don’t know what you did to him, but he’s been slightly less of an asshole lately. I fucking love you, man.”

And then the guy hugged Preston again. So, Laurel wasn’t the only one excited about a certain grad student finally getting some.

“You saved my ass, man.”

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