Efrain and Cory Ch. 29

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Aaaaaaaaaaand now the penultimate chapter! Epilogue to follow soon…erm…eventually. One would think quitting your job would allow for more writing.

Chapter 29 – In Which We Have Breeders for Dinner

The curving lines of Preston’s back emerged as he propped himself up on his elbows and the sheets slid down to his hips.

“So, you only get a few days after Christmas before you have to be back,” I said.

“Uh huh, they want us back on the 28th.” His arms folded down and he rested his chin on them. “Can’t trust a bunch of college kids to not miss a flight.”

He still wore the afterglow from earlier and that silly green bow tie with nerdy glasses on them. He’d said it was unusual to buy a bow for your own Christmas present when he tied it on. I hadn’t meant for him to actually wear it, which probably made it no different than the bracelet he’d given me.

“And then, you’ll fly back on New Year’s.”

“Oh my, you’ve memorized my itinerary,” he purred. “Admit it—you’re going to miss me.”

I traced my fingertips up his arms and over his shoulders.

“Somewhat,” I said.

His full mouth drew into an artful pout. I ignored it, and instead followed the valley his muscled back formed at his spine to where it terminated at the two dimples above his butt. His hips arched up as my fingers traced lower, skimming over his back and peeling the sheets off his ass.

“You won’t last a week before you’re desperate to hear the sound of my voice,” he said, aforementioned voice low and breathy.

“I’ll manage,” I shrugged, listening to him starting to pant as I traced circles over the twin mounds. “What about you?”

“I’ll be absolutely inconsolable,” he sighed dramatically.

“Guess we’ll have to make do without,” I said. My fingertips slipped between his cheeks to tease his tight little hole with each pass. Preston lifted his hips against my hand.

“Or make excuses,” he gasped.

I grunted in agreement and closed the distance between us, taking his mouth as I slid a fingertip past in outer-ring, and found him still wet from our last session. He arched his back, inviting further intrusion, and sucked my tongue into his warm mouth. I invaded him—fingers and mouth prepping my little present for another taking. Whimpers and sighs filled the room, growing in volume against my lips.

I broke away from him to roll on a condom and watched him quiver with need while I slicked lube over my cock. He’d still not moved from his position, only stretching out his arms to lie fully on his stomach, and I decided I wanted to take him just like that. I slid the towel and a pillow under his hips before I stretched my body out on top of his, settling most of my weight on my elbows and knees, while leaving enough to press him into the mattress. My cock nudged between his pert cheeks, and I rained kisses along his neck and shoulders as I ground my hips into his.

Jameson had always told me that I was too weird for most guys to find attractive, that the only thing going for me was my cock. I could definitely get a guy on my dick if he knew what I was packing, but good luck if I wanted more. I’d resigned myself to monkhood after he left since I knew that no one would be interested in me.

Then along came Preston.

Technically, Cory came first, but he was drunk, so that didn’t count.

Preston was beautiful—masculine, but still beautiful. I had no idea what he was even doing with me. Perhaps my ex was right, and it was my dick, or my ability to use it. Or maybe I was convenient. All I knew was that I couldn’t get enough of his back. I shifted my weight to my left and freed my right hand to wander over his skin—skimming over from flank to hip.

“Goddamn, Indie,” he panted. “Just fuck me.”

I suppose I could question my luck, or I could enjoy it while it lasted.

I reached between us and nudged my head down. He hissed as it popped into him, whether in pain or pleasure, I wasn’t sure, but he didn’t ask me to stop. If anything, his writhing hips urged me to press deeper. I worked my hips in slow, shallow thrusts, listening to him moan and babble beneath me.

More. Please. God. Oh. Fuck.

These words, over and over, whined out, as if every one of my thrusts forced another string of syllables from him. His back arched higher, almost painfully, until my hips smacked into those perfect globes when I bore down into him. I slammed into him faster, sweat creating a frictionless glide between our bodies, bringing his voice up to a wail that he quickly moved to bury in a pillow. Pillow-muffled cries mingled with my harsh breaths. In all this, my left hand found his and, fingers interlacing, made another point of contact between us.

My climax neared, spurred on by his eager movements under me, and I shifted so that I could reach under him with my free hand. I wrapped my fingers around his cock and used the force of my hips to fuck him into my hand. I varied angles until I fell upon one escort bayan that produced an endless stream of oh fuck.

Arrhythmic pulses along his inner walls, swelling twitches against my fingers, his fingers gripping mine, the wild abandon with which he flexed his hips pointed the way to his orgasm. I gave myself over, mindlessly fucking the wailing man as I brought him off.

A few more thrusts, and I followed, breathless and sweaty.

We tangled up together after we’d cleaned up. Strange that I’d always found it hard to sleep comfortably with a man I’d been in love with for years, but had no issues sharing a bed with a casual partner I’d known for a couple months, at best. But, it felt right, as if Preston had been made specifically for touch and warmth. He only stayed over a few nights a week, but for some reason, those were the best nights of sleep ever.

I pulled Preston close, tucking his body against my chest and wrapping my arm over his stomach. He grabbed my hand, snuggled it to his chest, and, with a contented sigh, fell asleep.

For someone who’d gone without physical intimacy for nearly two years, you’d think I would be better prepared to handle less than two weeks without a certain pretty boy warming my bed.


Efrain and Cory’s teammates, three men of substantial size, stood in the doorway.

I’d invited my new friend JJ myself, but the other two, who reintroduced themselves as “Whit-uh-Denholm” and “Bak-erm-Paul”, were recent additions who were actually quite welcome in my home because, unlike Laurel and Mike’s friends, they actually brought decent beer. I could even forgive the fact that they were nearly half an hour early. Efrain had several things going on in ovens and pans, but dinner wouldn’t be ready for a while, and the rest of us were still setting up.

“Indie, my man.” JJ, bigass blond teddy bear, held up his fist to pound. I pounded the offered fist and stepped aside to allow them entry. I was even nice enough to relieve them of their six-packs so they could get out of their coats and shoes. “Long time, no—”


The guests froze in various stages of entry and removal of outerwear as Efrain bellowed from the kitchen.


Preston’s puppy yips and Cory’s kitty meows flowed in the wake of his roaring, and the guys exchanged puzzled looks. JJ just shrugged and continued kicking off his shoes.

“But you aren’t on any special teams,” Cory said.

“I FUCKIN’ MEAN IT, INDIE! RIGHT OVER THE—God, your nose is fucking cold.”

“Oh, you’re right, he does smell good,” I heard Preston snickering.

I caught Laurel, Mike, and Gio silently laughing their asses off in the living room, where Laurel had been directing us to put the various pieces of furniture we’d collected from the rest of the house.

“RIGHT OVER THE GODDAMN COUCHES! Would you fucking stop that?”

This was met with more laughing yips and meows. Another song from Cory’s chimera of a playlist started up—fuckin’ Closet Freak by CeeLo Green. Fitting, almost as if he’d planned it.

“ALREADY GOT MY OWN TRYIN’ TO DRILL A HOLE IN MY LEG—” A sharp slap, followed by Cory’s incensed squawk. “Quit trying to put your hand in my pants.”

“Yeah, Cory. No handjobs in the food prep area.”

“I wasn’t…”

“You were!”

Denholm shot his teammates a puzzled look. “They wouldn’t really…”

I shook my head at the formidable brunette, but didn’t clarify that, as far as I knew, I’d been the only one fucking around in the kitchen.

“I DON’T NEED YOUR—why the fuck are you licking me?”

“Never complained about it before.”

“Does he taste as good as he smells?”

“No! Do not li—”

“Quick! Grab his hands!” Preston’s maniacal giggles filtered out over the sounds of a minor scuffle. Sounded like Wolfie was being subdued by two very determined bottoms, both of whom had been trained to take down guys bigger than him.


I pinched the bridge of my nose and started forward, aiming to rescue Efrain if only to shut him the fuck up, but half a dozen hands shot out to yank me back. The trio in the living room also made similar gestures that I was to stay right where I was.

“Are they always like this?” Paul whispered.

“Loud and obnoxious?” I whispered back. They nodded in understanding.

“Seriously, why do you have to lick me, too? I’M SERIOUS, INDIE! OUT THE BACK FUCKIN’ DOOR—”

“He said back door,” Cory tittered.


“Oh,” Preston cooed. “In the good ol’ outdoors.”

“RIGHT OVER THE FENCE! What the fuck! Now you’re biting me?”

Preston said something indecipherably muffled by what I assumed to be a mouthful of Efrain.


Paul’s lip quivered in poorly suppress laughter.


“Chill, vato.”

“Yeah, chill, vato.” Or, at least, that’s what I thought Preston had said. From the muffled speech, he still hadn’t stopped biting Efrain.

“God, Ima kill Laurel for teaching you about mojitos.” I noticed Laurel giggling in mad glee.

“But, you like me when I’m drunk.”

Denholm’s eyebrow lifted.

“I’m still cutting you off—fuck, just how long are you going to bite me?” He sighed heavily. “INDIE!” Preston’s muffled giggles filtered out of the kitchen. “I’M ABOUT TWO SECONDS FROM CALLING THE DOG CATCHER!” Cory’s chuckles followed. “Give me that fucking glass.”

“But, vato…” Cory mewled over the thunk of a glass slamming on the counter.

“Dry humping me ain’t gonna get you—would you get off my fucking arm? Swear to fucking God—INDIE!”

I sighed and moved toward the kitchen, hoping to shut my roommate up, and the new arrivals followed.

The tableau that awaited us was all the overheard conversation had promised and then some.

“Well, ain’t that cute,” JJ snickered and I heard a click from my other side, as if someone had snatched a photo.

Three sets of eyes tracked to our location, frozen in differing expressions of “caught in the act”, all while CeeLo’s backup singers called out “Freak!” in the background. Cory had himself wrapped around Efrain, subtly restraining him, with his lips stuck in the middle of pressing little kisses to Efrain’s neck. My pretty little bedmate stood on Efrain’s other side, both arms holding Efrain’s arm captive while he gnawed on the bicep. For his part, Efrain played the “unwilling victim” part well, but was having a hard time hiding that he enjoyed Cory’s affections.

His displeasure at Preston’s attentions probably helped.

I’d spent so much time the last couple days trolling Efrain with videos and pics of yorkies and cats play-fighting that it overlapped with my mental image of our respective toys. Preston’s body language had excited puppy written all over it, complete with a wildly wagging tail, but his eyes and the grinning edges of his bite looked downright vulpine. Cory, on the other hand, appeared to be doing the human equivalent of rubbing himself against Efrain’s legs. My imagination supplied a contently curled phantom tail and a trill of pleased kitten purrs.

Both men appeared to be impeding progress on the spread of ingredients Efrain had been prepping, and he looked severely displeased by this. Cory lifted his head and greeted their friends because Wolfie still seemed too outraged for words at the moment.

“Sup,” Cory said, seemingly unaffected by being caught.

Efrain used the distraction to extricate himself from their clutches. He stabbed a finger at Preston and tersely mouthed, “Get him.” Paul snorted.

“Oh em gee, guys, the breeders now out-number us,” Preston said. “Guess we gotta butch up.” He then pulled his face into an exaggerated tight-lipped scowl, made all the more hilarious by how closely it resembled Efrain’s expression.

JJ and his friends chuckled, which made Efrain scowl harder.

“Oh, relax,” Preston said, and lightly slapped his arm. “Have a drink.” He then turned to the football players who’d followed me in. “We made mojitos. What some?” I used that as my cue to stick their beers in the fridge, and offer them some we’d already chilled.

“They’re really tasty,” Cory said, pulling back to face us. “I’ve already had two.”

“And now I’m cutting you off,” Efrain said, frankly.

“Like hell you are.” The phantom tail twitched in annoyance behind him.

“Watch me.”

“Gar-uhm-Rain’s bitchfits aside,” Denholm said.

“For one, I ain’t no goddamn precipitation, so quit putting my name in your mouth like it’s a fucking weather report—”

“It’s pronounced kinda like Ryan, but, you know, with, like, an e sound,” Cory offered. Somehow, I was sure his boyfriend would be dealing with Whit-uh-Denholm and Bak-erm-Paul calling him Gar-uhm-Ryan in the near future.

“—And two, I am not having a fuckin’ bitchfit.”

“Whatever you say,” Denholm laughed, and pulled up a barstool at the island. “I was just going to say it smells awesome in here.”

“Yeah, you’ve been holding out on us, Wolfie,” JJ added.

“And you never told us what we were eating,” Paul said. He and JJ joined their teammates at the counter with their beers. I figured I might as well grab a seat and look like I was doing something before Laurel put me back on furniture duty.

“I didn’t tell you because you weren’t invited,” Efrain shot back.

“I needed a wingman,” JJ said. “Berta’s bringing her friend, Luz. Apparently, Kitten invited her.”

Cory gave an innocent shrug.

“Still doesn’t explain him,” Efrain said, pointing at Denholm.

“I wanted to come,” Denholm said, as if that was supposed to settle the argument. “So what’s cooking?”

“We’re having Cuban,” I told them.

Efrain heaved a dramatic and beleaguered sigh. “Mojo roast pork, saffron rice with pigeon peas and chorizo, roast yucca…” he listed.

As he spoke, Cory’s hand crept closer to his confiscated mojito.

“…Fried plantains, chimichurri sauce to go on whatever.”

Efrain’s hand shot out and delivered a sharp smack to Cory’s creeping hand.

“There’s salad, too, although I doubt anyone will eat it.”

Cory’s eyes widened in shock, before narrowing. I decided to add some phantom cat ears, folded back, ’cause why the fuck not.

“Wow,” JJ said, which I think had more to do with the smack than the menu. Paul and Denholm seemed too shocked to comment themselves. Instead, we watched as Cory’s arm slowly extended behind an oblivious Efrain.

“Oh, and Laurel made mojito cupcakes,” Efrain added.

“She just finished frosting them a little while ago,” I said.

“We helped,” Preston said. I was pretty sure, however, that “ourselves to the alcohol” should have followed as I distinctly recall the three of them spooning as much of the rum-laden mojito syrup into each other’s mouths as they did over the cupcakes. And that was in addition to doing shots of the rum as Laurel baked.

“You got in the way,” Efrain growled before turning to me. “Now, if you want din—” He jumped, his eyes widening slightly, with a small squeakish hiccup. Cory had struck, pinching the ass cheek on his opposite side.

Preston threw up his hands as Efrain rounded on him. “I did nothing!”

Cory capitalized on the distraction to grab his mojito and move to the bar stools on the other side of the island before he took a sip. “Mission Accomplished.” Denholm nearly choked, and Paul cocked his head, as if confused. “Thanks, Preston.”

“My pleasure.”

Efrain glared at Cory. “Yo no te golpeo lo suficiente.”

“No, you don’t,” Cory told him with a grin. “But, we could fix that later.”

Efrain’s eyes narrowed, but he eventually sighed and went back to his tasks, moving between the prep top, stove, and ovens, while casually sipping a beer, as if planning and preparing a meal for eighteen during finals week was a normal occurrence. This, of course, seemed pretty likely, if even half of the stories he’d told me about working for his mother were true. “At least eat something other than those nasty ass bloodworms.”

“Bloodworms?” Paul asked. I pointed to the strange concoction inhabiting a plastic container on the island.

“Fuck, Ri-uh-Adrian was eating these the other day,” JJ said. He pulled the container to him and Cory handed him a short bamboo skewer. “No idea what he puts in it, aside from gummy worms, but it tastes so goddamn good.”

“Just lucas and chamoy,” Cory shrugged.

“Chili-lime salt and a sauce made from pickled plum brine,” I clarified. While I wasn’t exactly a fan of the bloodworms, I’d been discovering other uses for my new favorite condiments. Cory and I had demolished a bottle of each on fresh fruit cups alone.

“Good to know,” JJ said and speared a worm. Denholm and Paul grabbed their own skewers to try out Cory’s Mexican candy monstrosity. However, when Cory went to get some for himself, Efrain paused in the middle of tossing yucca with olive oil and spices to bark at him.

“Real food, acho. I’m not dealing with your drunk ass all night.”

“But, it’ll be awhile before dinner’s ready,” Cory complained.

“Oh, I know!” Preston said and went to the freezer. He pulled out the plastic freezer bag of the apple cinnamon pancakes left over from last Sunday and tossed one into each of the four toaster slots.

“Are those what I think they are?” Paul asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Preston said. The toaster popped up, and he pulled out one to hand over to Cory, and another for himself. Both men bit into their respective snack, and Cory made a contented noise around his mouthful of pancake. Preston came to stand between my knees and lean back against my chest. He held up his pancake so I could take a bite.

“Hm, not bad.”

“I told you they’d freeze well,” he told me.

I put my head over Preston’s shoulder for another bite as a series of inarticulate and insulted words fell out of Paul in rapid succession before he finally settled on, “That’s not fair!”

“Hey,” Denholm shrugged, “they put out.”

“Yup. Blow ‘Rain, get pancakes,” JJ added.

“Paul’s not getting anywhere near my junk!” Efrain glared at Preston and Cory, who didn’t have the decency to look ashamed of their baiting.

“What?” Preston said, nibbling on his treat. “It’s not my fault he can’t do simple subtraction.”

“Four-slot toaster, bro,” Cory said and pointed to where two other pancakes sat for the taking.

“Shit yeah!” Paul scrambled off his stool and sped to the toaster, nabbing both remaining pancakes. He was nice enough to pass one to JJ, who split it with Denholm. While the other two munched on their halves, Paul held his pancake in his mouth, pulled a thuggish face, and snapped a selfie. I’d later find out that #pancaketimemuthafucka had been tweeted along with the pic. “Should send Mart-uh-Greg this. Fucker messin’ with me about getting pancakes.”

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