When the last of the coherent drunks wandered home and the basement became a den of stumbling, shambling wrecks, Indie, sweat matting his short blond hair and soaking through the back of his black t-shirt, led Paul up the unfinished wooden stairway back to the first floor of his frat house. Summer heat had chased the party underground, but in the living room they found the August air had thinned and cool breezes ghosted in through the screen windows. They carried the scent of trees and cut grass that diluted the reek of weed clinging to the dusty furniture.
As Indie stepped into the middle of the room, plucking at his shirt to fan himself, Paul pulled him to a stop with a hand on each hip. He put his chin on Indie's shoulder and breathed in the fresh air. They listened. Crickets sang to a world that had emptied into sleep while laughter boomed up through the floor from the basement.
Indie tilted his face back against Paul's. Their hair, Indie's light, Paul's dark, stuck to the sweat on their foreheads.
"We've got plenty of time," Indie said, and dug a hand behind him to reach down past Paul's belt and into his dark jeans. His fingers touched wiry hair. "No one would know."
"Upstairs," Paul said. "I'm not doing it here."
"Why not? Could be fun."
"Anyone could come in."
"Danger is an aphrodisiac," Indie said, digging his fingers down past hair.
"Upstairs."
Indie grunted, gave Paul's hardness a squeeze, then wove his way around the bottles littering the living room floor. Paul followed. The stairs leading to the second floor creaked and as they climbed they emerged into thicker, warmer air. Feeling new sweat gathering on his forehead, Paul watched as Indie pulled his dark t-shirt off. He caught it when Indie turned and tossed it to him, then brought it to his nose. As he inhaled the scent of Indie's body he watched Indie's nostrils flare.
Paul followed Indie through the warm, still air of the second floor hallway, past bedrooms and muffled snores, and, once, the rhythmic squeaking of an old bed that had known generations of pledged bodies. Through the quiet he heard a brother's exertions coax a high, feminine moan from a hidden mouth. His jeans tightened as his imagination moved sideways through the door and into that panting darkness.
As they passed an open window, moonlight on bare skin snapped Paul's attention back to Indie. He was close enough to see Indie's skin prickle under a breeze that rushed in through the window and he watched as a wave of tiny bumps rolled over those muscled shoulders. Indie seemed not to notice the chill, but as he watched, Paul felt the sudden thrill of vicarious nudity. He wondered how the breeze had felt moving over that bare chest, circling the narrow waist, licking up the hair that climbed in a widening line from jeans to collar bone.
Paul was more accustomed to layers. Business students wore suits to class and departmental events in preparation for a life of conservative, professional dress codes. The sooner they acclimated to the burden, the professors explained, the less burdensome a suit would seem. But to Paul learning to wear a suit hadn't felt like a burden. Not once he learned that a suit turned his body into an asset that could be managed.
A fitted shirt showcased a narrow waist. A sharp jacket accentuated broad shoulders. Pants tailored in a contemporary style could both conceal a strong, straight leg and reveal its hardness. Bold colors marked a bold man. Tasteful accessories demonstrated an eye for detail. And a man who pulled it all together, who wore it without getting lost in the noise, projected power that inhered not in the suit, but the body beneath. And Paul kept his body tight, corded with lean muscle. It was a body that won him opportunities in student government, job offers a year before graduation, and the attention of more men than he would have thought possible when he showed up to his first class as a skinny freshman swimming in a second hand suit.
Indie, a music major, was different. He slipped out of his clothes whenever he could. He'd spent most of the summer shirtless, sunbathed on the frat house roof in only his boxers, and was bronzed all over. When he wasn't in shorts that slipped almost low enough to reveal the trimmed hair between his legs, he wore jeans that hugged the globes of his ass.
While Paul appreciated Indie's exhibitionism, he couldn't help but feel that Indie gave too much away for free. Indie, he thought, could benefit from the understanding that there was power to be had in manufactured scarcity.
But Indie didn't give quite everything away. Only Paul knew that beneath the jeans hugging Indie's thighs, the faint golden triangle of hair that started at the small of his back fanned out to cover his ass. Only he knew that Indie curved up slightly when he got hard. And only he knew the smell of the sweat that gathered between Indie's legs and the salty taste of those few inches of pale skin that never saw the sun.
Adjusting the front of his own jeans with a fist, Paul followed Indie through the last door at the end of the hallway. When the door closed with a groan and left them in the dark, Indie's lips found Paul's. Paul considered backing Indie to the bed without bothering with the lights. They'd left them off before, knew each other's bodies well enough to find what they wanted, but as Indie's arms wrapped around him, crushing him into an embrace redolent with cologne, beer, and fading deodorant, Paul decided he wanted to see the things only he was allowed to see. Straining, he reached back and fumbled the light switch up. Then, in the act of sliding his lips down Indie's neck, he froze.
"Well, that's not going to work," he said.
Indie turned, following Paul's gaze to the end of the room. There he saw Parker, his roommate's cousin, sleeping half naked in the wrong bed.
"What the fuck!" Indie grabbed his shirt from Paul's hand and threw it at the sleeping form. It slapped against Parker's raised knee and fell to the floor.
Parker didn't move.
"You've gotta be kidding me." Indie walked to the bed and nudged Parker's knee with his shoe. "Get up!" He nudged harder, lifting Parker's knee up off the bed. It fell back limply.
Indie turned back to Paul. He sighed. "Living room?"
"What? No. Just wake him up."
"He sleeps like a rock," Indie said, turning back to the sleeping form and running a hand through his dark hair. "He's been snoring all week and I can never get him to roll over. Hit him with my shoe the other night. Didn't budge."
"Why's he in your bed?"
"Great question. He's supposed to be on he floor."
They stared at the body in the bed. Parker was naked except for a pair of threadbare boxers that had wedged themselves up around his hips, twisting just enough to reveal one of his balls.
"What about your car," Indie asked.
"It's a mile away."
"Worth it."
Paul made a face. "Not unless you'll carry me back."
They looked at Parker again.
"Living room?"
"No." Paul's tone didn't invite argument.
Indie sighed again. Taking one of his roommate's hats from the bureau by the door, he whipped it at Parker like a frisbee. It hit him in the ribs and bounced to the floor. He watched the even rise and fall of Parker's chest for a moment longer, then smiled.
"Well," he said, "he does sleep like a log."
Paul glanced at him, then his face set when he saw Indie's smile. "No."
"C'mon! He'd never know."
"Where would we even do it?"
Indie shrugged. "Floor."
"No. I'm not getting off on the floor while some dude sleeps in your bed."
Indie raised an eyebrow hopefully and tilted his head toward his roommate's empty mess of rumpled sheets. "Bed?"
Paul wrinkled his nose. "Gross." He waved a hand at the sleeping Parker. "I'm not doing it with him in here."
Indie stepped around behind Paul and circled one arm around his chest, the other across his stomach.
"You've been teasing me all day," he said. He sucked gently on Paul's neck just below his ear. "You said if I didn't do it in the shower you'd do it for me." His hand slid down Paul's stomach, past his belt. "You made me save it for you." He used his other arm to pull Paul back against his chest. "Don't you want it?"
Paul's breathing deepened. He said nothing.
With his chin hooked against Paul's neck, Indie unzipped, then caught Paul's earlobe between his teeth, sucking, biting, as he pulled Paul backward against his hardness.
"We can do whatever you want," Indie said.
Paul arched his back slightly and his breath caught in his throat as the possibilities tumbled through his mind.
But he pulled away. "I'm not getting off with him in here," he said, turning to face Indie.
Indie stared at him, his dick standing between them, throbbing.
"Why not? He's passed out. He's not even really here."
"He's. Right. There."
Indie held Paul's gaze for a few hopeful heart beats, then flapped his arms.
"Fine," he said. "You don't have to, but I am." He pushed his jeans down to his ankles, then stepped out of them along with his shoes. "You can watch if you want."
Walking around Paul, he sat on the floor in his boxers and his socks and rested his back against the bed. He glanced to his right, saw that Parker still hadn't moved, then wrapped his fist around his dick. He looked up at Paul.
"Won't take long," he said. "I've been half hard all day. You and that filthy fucking mouth of yours."
"This is ridiculous," Paul hissed. "What if he wakes up?"
"What's ridiculous is you've got that mouth and I have to do this," Indie said, his voice lowered to match Paul's. He began to stroke.
"What if he wakes up?" Paul whispered again.
"He won't," Indie said, squeezing the head of his dick and shifting to a more comfortable position.
"You sure?"
"Yup."
"How sure?"
Indie shrugged. "Pretty sure."
Paul turned back to the door. "I'm not doing this." He pulled on the door knob and a groan shuddered out of the hinges. They both froze.
Dick in hand, Indie looked over at Parker. He hadn't moved. Indie grinned and looked up at Paul who still stood wide eyed with his hand on the door knob.
"Pretty sure," Indie said, his voice rising just above a whisper. "But just in case, you should probably leave the door alone."
Paul turned to consider him. "Fine," he said finally, his voice slightly louder than it needed to be. "Why not."
He picked up the wooden desk chair by the door and brought it to the middle of the room. He paused, then let it drop with a clattering thud.
Indie froze again. When Parker didn't move, his grin returned. "You're such an asshole," he said. He spread his legs to give Paul a better view, then began to stroke again.
"Don't rush for me," Paul said, moving around the chair to sit down. "Take your time. You've got all night."
"Alright," Indie said. "Maybe I will."
Indie laid a hand on his stomach and pumped his fist up and down a few times, then settled into a slower rhythm. With each downward stroke he squeezed the base. Soon a shining bead appeared on the head. He looked up at Paul, who sat in his chair with his eyes on Indie's hand, then swiped the jewel up with his thumb and brought it to his mouth.
"That could have been yours," he said, and he smiled as Paul's eyes flickered for a moment to Parker's sleeping form. "Why don't you come help?"
Paul crossed his arms and settled back into a slouch.
"Your loss," Indie said.
They didn't speak for a while. As Paul watched, Indie found a rhythm he liked. Two quick pumps, then a couple long, slow glides that let each spike of pleasure coast into the next. He grunted softly, then looked up at Paul.
Paul shook his head. "I can't believe you're doing this."
"Yes you can." Indie licked his lips. "You live to watch."
Paul chewed his lip, then nodded toward Parker. "What do you think he'll do when he wakes up and finds you naked and jerking off with your head in his lap?"
"I'm two feet away from his lap. And I'm not naked."
"Why not?" Paul nodded toward Indie's lap. "Get comfortable. Take your boxers off."
Indie's mouth hung open around a response, then he smiled. "You perv. You're loving this."
Paul's expression didn't charge. "What's it matter? You said 'he's not even here.'"
Back pressed against the bed and hips thrust toward the ceiling, Indie pushed his boxers down. He settled back to the floor and used a toe to kick the shorts up into Paul's face.
Paul pulled them from the air, considered them, then brought them to his nose.
"God," Indie moaned. "You've been pushing my buttons all day. Come get on this."
"Maybe."
Indie's smile showed all of his teeth. "Maybe?"
"Not if he's gonna wake up."
"He won't."
"Prove it."
"What, you want me up sit on his lap?"
Paul shrugged.
Heaving out a sigh, Indie climbed to his feet then lowered his pale, naked ass gingerly onto the bed next to Parker's folded knee. Parker snored. Indie bounced once, shaking the bed. Parker continued to snore. Indie bounced twice. The bed rocked and squeaked and Parker stopped snoring for a moment, then a snort rumbled out of his nose.
Indie spread his arms and looked to Paul. "See? Nothing. Now let me see your dick."
Paul watched Parker's breathing while Indie began to stroke again, still perched on the edge of the bed. Then, keeping his eyes on Parker's face, he slowly eased his zipper down, unbuttoned his jeans, and pushed them just low enough to maneuver a hand into his red bikini briefs. After a brief struggle his dick sprang out to slap against his stomach.
"Look at you," Indie said. "You love this. You're about to lose it."
"I'll last longer than you."
"Maybe if we go a second time."
Despite himself, Paul smiled. He pressed a thumb to the base of his dick and bounced it a couple times in Indie's direction. "What do I get if I last longer?"
"Blue balls."
Paul squeezed his shaft and the head mushroomed big and purple. "If you last longer, I'll suck you off on the roof next Saturday."
Indie's eyes grew round, then he stopped stroking and his eyes narrowed. "And if you win?"
"Make me an offer."
Indie frowned. "I win, we go up to the roof before everyone passes out. If you win I'll wear that stupid bathing suit to next time we go to Hampton."
Paul gave his shaft a long, slow pump. "I lose it first, I'll take you up to the roof before ten. You lose, you wear whatever I buy you."
"Goddamn," Paul said. "Deal." He gripped his shaft and waggled it at Paul. "Shake on it."
Paul rolled his eyes. He shook.
They pumped together for a while, watching each other and looking to Parker occasionally as he snored. When Paul's dick grew slick and red despite his slow pace, Indie smiled.
"It's a mixer next weekend," Indie said. "Glow party. Know many people are gonna be here?"
Paul gritted his teeth, slowing as much as he dared.
"We'll glow like a couple of stars up there. I'll jerk off twice before it starts, make sure I can last for you. I know how much you like taking your time."
Avoiding Indie's stare, Paul looked around the room, searching for a distraction. He saw Indie's boxers on the ground next to his chair and leaned over to pick them up. He brought them to his nose and was rewarded with a grunt from Indie. He smiled, inhaled deeply once more, then tossed them toward the bed. They landed landed on Parker's chest, just inches from his nose.
"Dude." Indie leaned over and slowly, gently lifted them away.
"He's a good looking guy," Paul said, still looking at Parker. "I like his arms."
Indie shrugged.
"Is he big?"
Indie frowned. "Dunno. Changes in the bathroom."
"What's he smell like?"
"Beer," Indie said.
"You know what I mean. He's been here a week. Cologne? Deodorant?"
Indie's eyes flickered over Paul's shoulder. "Deodorant. He wears your stuff."
"Yeah?" Paul turned to follow Indie's glance. A duffel bag stood in the corner by his roommate's dresser. "You like that?"
Paul stood, still stroking, one hand keeping his pants up, and walked over to the bag. He looked at Indie, then nudged the flap open with his shoe.
"You snoop yet?"
Indie glanced at Parker, still and quiet beside him, then looked back to Paul. His pace was slow but steady.
Bending at the knees, Paul crouched down to look into the bag, then reached in to pull out a stick of deodorant. He worked the cap off with his thumb. Catching Indie's eyes, he brought the white stick to his nose. He inhaled, long and slow, and watched Indie's chest inflate involuntarily.
"You've been in here before," Paul said, "haven't you?"
Indie licked his lips.
"What else did you find?"
Paul settled to the floor, his knees under him, and continued stroking. He leaned over and looked into the bag. Inside he saw socks, shirts, a crumpled pair of jeans and two pairs of plaid boxers. One pair of boxers was still folded, the other was balled up. He inserted one finger into the open fly of the wrinkled pair and lifted them up.
"See these yet?"
Indie bit his lip and glared. "No cheating."
Paul stood and started across the room toward the bed. With both hands occupied, his jeans slipped further down his thighs. "Who's cheating?" he said. He stopped just in front of the bed, his fist pumping a few inches from Indie's face. "You getting close?"
"No," Indie said, looking up from Paul's stroking fist. He smiled. "Could do this all night."
"I bet," Paul said. He brought the boxers he'd found in Parker's bag, let them linger on Indie's nose for a moment, then threaded his own dick through the fly. As he began stroking again, the cloth draped between his legs began to fan air toward Indie's face.
"How about now?" Paul said. When Indie said nothing, staring straight ahead, Paul lifted his hand and rested it on the back of Indie's head. With his hand still gliding up and down his shaft, he guided Indie's head forward until it hung an inch from the thatch of hair between his legs.
As he considered his next move, he felt a wave begin to build inside. Gritting his teeth, he slowed his pace and looked up, searching for another distraction. What he found was Parker, his face turned toward them, his eyes open.
Paul froze.
"No cheating," Indie said, his words a hot breath against his leg. "You stop and I win."
Paul's heart thudded painfully and he stood rigid, his legs weak. Parker stared up at him, his face calm, his eyes clear.
"You really want to get up on that roof, don't you?" Indie said. Paul could hear recovered confidence in his voice and the taunt brought him back to himself.
Paul opened his mouth to speak, was just about to turn and head for the door, when Parker, still holding his gaze, smiled slightly.
Paul licked his lips and looked down at Indie. He was about to speak when loud voices boomed from the stairs down the hallway.
"Parker! Where the fuck are you?"
Wide eyed, the boys stared at each other.
"Get dressed," Paul said, taking a step back.
"Fuck," Indie said through clenched teeth. "Too fucking late."
As Paul watched, his heart pounding, a thick flood of white bubbled and leapt up out of Indie's dick and covered his hand. Paul looked to Parker again, but his eyes had closed and he had turned his face toward the wall.
Paul wanted nothing more than to tuck his dick back into his jeans before Indie's roommate stumbled through the door looking for his cousin, but the sight of Indie coming set off a chain reaction deep inside his balls. As he struggled to hold back the wave, he stepped forward, put his hand behind Indie's head, and thrust his dick into Indie's mouth. He panted and his abs contracted involuntarily as he pumped his load out onto Indie's tongue.
The voices in the hall moved closer.
"Fuck," Indie whispered, still out of breath after he swallowed. He took the boxers still hanging around Paul dick, the boxers that belonged to Parker, and used them to wipe up. He stood and scrambled for his jeans.
Indie and Paul had just managed to push their half-hard dicks back into their jeans when Indie's roommate pushed the door open and stumbled into the room. Two of their frat brothers trailed in behind him.
"Aw, sorry," he said, his wide face red and his eyes half closed. "We were gonna open the Jameson. You two looking for a place to fuck?"
Paul smiled. "Naw. Just heading out. Staying at my place." He slapped Indie's bare stomach with the back of his hand. "Get your shirt." He nodded slightly to the foot of the bed where Indie had let Parker's come soaked boxers land on his discarded shirt.
"Right," Indie said, and he stooped quickly to folder the shirt and the boxers into a ball. "See you guys tomorrow."
They'd made it just a few steps down the hall before they heard a shout from the open door behind them.
"Dude! Parker's got a fucking hard on!" They heard laughs and groans. "Dude, roll over, no one wants to fucking see that shit."
In the living room downstairs Indie untangled his shirt from the boxers. He held them out to Paul. "What should I do with these?"
Paul reached out and tweaked one of Indie's sun bronzed nipples, watched him flinch. "We both know you're gonna to keep them."
Indie shrugged, then smiled. "My consolation prize."
As Paul leaned in for a kiss he could just smell a hint of himself lingering on Indie's breath. Their tongues met and danced lazily until Indie pull away just slightly.
"If we do it after ten," Indie said, his lips moving against Paul's, "can we still go up on the roof next weekend?"
Paul drew a breath to answer, then Parker's eyes, clear, calm, watchful, flashed through his imagination. His smile matched Indie's, and when he nodded their teeth clicked.
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