What am I going to do? What am I going to do? What am I going to do?
Drop the class! screams the part of me that is full-on panicking. Drop the whole major!
I can’t do that, it’s week four of the semester, the more rational side of me responds, and I’m nearly halfway through junior year—I can’t change my major.
Fuck! Is all any part of me can come up with in response. I am so screwed, in more ways then one. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Why did I do that?
I could have put up much more of a fight. I could have screamed and run and thrown something--my shoe?--through a window to draw the attention of anyone who might be passing by. I could have--I could have said no, just like Julian said… But I didn't.
Why didn’t you? My brain demands.
Because I was turned on? Because they're both beautiful--loathsome, in the case of Tristan, but beautiful? Because their hands felt good enough to make me want to know what the rest of them felt like?
Am I really just a base primal creature? I've always seen myself as an intellectual, as someone who makes decisions based on logic and reason… But it turns out, I'm not. I'm just like a chimpanzee during mating season--all incoherent noises and rutting.
I'm glad Julian at least thought to use a condom; I didn't. I might have had my whole life ruined by one stupid decision if he weren't able to remember sex-ed basics. So much for middle-school health classes and all my father's fear mongering--turns out that just goes out the door as soon as beautiful boys touch me in the right places. I really am just a chimp.
— Tristan —
After Mia leaves, Julian and I go our separate ways without saying much. We both have places to be and now we’re late. That was supposed to be a quick jack-off fuck, but thanks to Mia Winters and her weird closet-dwelling ways, it turned into something much more—much more time-consuming, that is.
I’ve fucked women before, lots of them. Hell, I’ve even fucked women with Julian before. Mia Winters is nothing special. I mean, she’s a surprisingly good kisser, and her naked ass is nice to look at, but, really nothing special.
Still, I spend the entirety of Normative Ethics thinking about the video in one pocket and the bunched-up panties she left behind in the other. I fiddle with the panties. I want to watch the video. I want to see what that smartass little bitch looked like when I made her come with my tongue. It’s like this nagging at the back of my brain that keeps triggering a pull in my cock.
When lecture finally ends I walk out the front door intending to get back to my dorm as soon as possible, but right outside stands Theo Redwood.
“Masters!” Theo greets, jovial, smarmy, and confident.
“Redwood,” I reply, just as jovially, effortlessly slipping on the correct mask—laid back, but in control, superior and exclusionary to all but a select few, and Theo Redwood certainly is one of those few. Casually, I assume the familiar stance of non-aggressive dominance and ask, “Here for Dr. Bogner?”
“Not at all. Was hoping you could join Chase Locke and I for a little study session.”
“When?” I ask, knowing that the answer won’t matter, I’ve got no choice but to say yes—after all, Tap Night is fast approaching.
He looks at his left wrist, making a show of pulling his sleeve back to flash his Philippe Patek watch. Mine is nicer, I internally sneer. I look forward to the end of selection and induction. As soon as I’m officially a member of the Brotherhood there will be no need to suck up to Theo.
“Let’s see…” He whistles. “Right about now.”
“Now is perfect,” I reply with a delighted grin, even though it isn’t and even though I’m not.
—
Several hours later—during which absolutely no studying has been done—I have gone from bored to desperately sick of this particular informal, unacknowledged interview session. These shenanigans are necessary, but three hours is more than enough for one day. I manage to bite my tongue until Chase finishes his long drawn-out yarn about banging a B-list celebrity, but the second the obligatory round of fake laughter ends, I lie and say my mother has been in town shopping and wants me to meet her for dinner.
After walking a few blocks in the direction of the shopping district, I double back to Julian’s apartment. I really hope he’s home because all this time thoughts of banging Mia Winters, or at least watching the video of Julian banging her, have continued to invade my mind and my dick. I absolutely need to drop a load, preferably into his mouth, or I’m going to go crazy.
He’s not home. Shit. I quickly shoot him a text saying, “I’m at your apartment,” then I strip out of my clothes and get into the shower. I can handle waiting fifteen minutes or so for him to get home—but God I hope he doesn’t dawdle.
– Julian –
If I’d put as much effort into listening as I do into nodding with the utmost fascination and enthusiasm, then I might actually have something to say when Dr. Monroe says, “You’ve been rather quiet this afternoon Mr. Roth, any thoughts you’d like to share?”
“To be honest, Professor,” I answer, smiling sheepishly, “I don’t feel that I’ve digested the material well enough to comment. Eagleton’s succinctness so starkly paints the picture of what moralists have danced around for so long that it has knocked the wind out of me.”
Dr. Monroe nods thoughtfully. “Yes, very wise, very wise. It is the fool who believes he ever digests the words of another well enough to be worthy of comment. Yet, I’ve made a good career being such a fool.” With this he turns his bulbous eyes to my classmates, as if scolding them for not being equally speechless. This is not really favoritism, I just have a knack for being inoffensive to almost everyone.
I feel a vibration in my pocket and glance at the clock. Seventeen more minutes. I have a feeling it’s Tristan. Undoubtedly saying something discreet and vague that will really mean, I need to talk to you now. He always does when new situations present themselves, and this morning’s escapades certainly were new and unexpected.
Tristan and I have taken women to bed with us before, for fun, for sport, just to see if we can…But Tristan has known Mia since their freshman year, and she’s been under his skin from the moment they met. I can see why—she is honest, blunt, not caught in the realm of superficiality, where so many people remain, lost and lifeless and desperate. She is like a rare mineral that has no idea of her own value. How fortunate that we got to excavate her today.
I already know I want to again, and Tristan probably will too, although I’m sure the way he will show it is by denying it and feigning indifference. We’ve known each other for five years, I know his patterns. He hates to show he wants or cares about anything. He knows that other people can use his desires against him.
Having met his family, I understand what an outsider looking in might call paranoia. It makes me want to protect him all that much more, but I don’t think he needs protecting from Mia Winters. I think she is an anomaly that needs to be explored, by both of us.
I’m a fairly monogamous creature myself. I had a girlfriend when I met Tristan, but that was already fizzling. Since then, I’ve never felt that lurch of captivation for anyone but him—except Mia.
I met her during her sophomore year, my first year working as a teacher’s assistant. She was so matter-of-fact in her arguments, so unaware of her own natural brilliance, so vibrant because she was coming only from a place of honesty, not pretension, like so many students at Yale do. Every time her eyes left mine, mine wanted to stay on her; I had to consciously keep myself from staring.
Tristan noticed, and he gave me hell for it, and I told him that feeling an attraction to her did not change the way I felt for him. He simmered and simmered on. Eventually I realized it wasn’t out of jealousy; it was because he felt the same way.
So when the stars aligned today—when she happened to be there, so obviously turned on by what she’d seen—how could I spit in the face of fate? Tristan’s paranoia even worked in our favor, although I was certain
at first that it couldn’t possibly, but it did.
What did that say about Mia that she consented to his need for mutual blackmail? That she was practical? That she was compassionate? That she would have done anything to escape that room? I don’t know, but I want to find out.
I want to find out so much more about her. I want to find out where she grew up, and what books she read, and when she had her first kiss, and what her ass tastes like, because I didn’t get to find that out today. Now I’ve just got to find a way to do it. I’ll have to feel it out.
Dr. Monroe finally calls an end to today’s discussion. I wait until I am out of the room to look at my phone. Sure enough it’s a text from Tristan, telling me he’s at my apartment. I know what that means, and my lower anatomy is already stirring to life.
– Tristan –
I get out of the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and go sit on the couch to wait. My phone tells me it’s 6:43—a whole twenty-two minutes after I texted Julian. I am going to fuck him so hard for making me wait. Literally.
At 6:52 the door opens and I’ve already caved. I’m three minutes into the video—right at the part where Julian’s got Mia’s shirt off—and I’ve got my nose in her panties. My dick is hard, but I’ve managed to avoid going for the lotion. I hastily press pause and give Julian the best surly stare I can muster, which probably would be more effective if I wasn’t wearing cotton briefs on my face. “What took—actually, I don’t care. Come here.”
Julian’s eyes flick from mine to my hard-on, to the panties and the phone, then back. He smirks at me, in that way that I hate, that way that says he knows me far too well. He puts his messenger bag down and takes his time pulling his scarf off. “Maybe I don’t have time,” he teases, “I’ve got papers to grade, you know.”
“Get over here now or I will fuck you so hard that you bleed,” I growl.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he chortles back, but he slinks over nonetheless, his eyes glittering like those of a hungry cat. I fucking love that Julian is as constantly horny as I am.
“You know,” he says, as he sinks to his knees, “about earlier. You don’t actually have any blackmail on Mia Winters. That video will incriminate you along with her, so it’s useless as a bargaining chip.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I reply, affecting the most nonchalant air I possess. “It will incriminate her which will be enough to keep her from blabbing.”
“Still, that’s pretty sloppy of you, given what’s at stake.” His hands slide up my thighs, under my towel. “And sloppy is unlike you.”
“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” I groan, letting my head roll back.
“You just couldn’t resist her, could you?” Julian continues. I don’t have to look at him—I can hear him smirking at me.
“I could have,” I snark, “I just didn’t want to.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I told you before we even went into the lounge,” I respond, getting sick of this, “I was fucking horny as hell.”
Julian quirks an eyebrow. “Was horny?”
My eyes meet Julian’s. They promise that devious mischief we do so well together, if only I hit the ball back.
My eyes dart to his lips, and I swear they are still swollen from that hot little priss’s kisses. My groin pulses as the memory of watching the two of them fuck manifests in my mind’s eye. Fuck. Fuck. Fine. I’ll hit the ball back.
“Past tense may not be appropriate,” I admit.
I glance back at my phone, at the play-video icon staring back at me, tempting my thumb, only an inch away. My other hand wanders under my towel and pulls Julian’s fingers up, off my thighs and onto my balls. “You know, you never finished blowing me.”
“You’re going to imagine fucking her the whole time I’m sucking you off, aren’t you?” he asks, as he slowly pulls the towel off me, grinning like a smartass cat that caught the canary.
I respond by weaving my fingers through his hair and yanking his head down onto my cock. His mouth opens automatically and I thrust into it hard, hitting the back of his throat, not caring if his cocky ass gags.
He responds quickly though, his tongue lapping up and down my length, while his lips reach closer to my base. I feel his fingers move up my thighs and slide around my balls, squeezing them exactly to the right tightness. God damn, I think as I groan, feeling my cock grow harder and harder under his expert ministrations.
I have not forgotten the phone in my other hand though. With my thumb I slide the universal sound switch into the off position. I glance back at Julian—his eyes are closed and he’s got my cock buried so deep in his throat that even if they were open all he’d be able to see is my pubes. I bring my thumb back to the play button, then slide along the time-line until I’m about halfway through.
On the tiny screen I watch myself eat out Mia’s ass while Julian fingers her. Julian’s mouth slides up and down, up and down over my cock. His rhythmic sucking grows longer and harder, and with it, so does the tightness in my balls.
I watch Mia refuse me anal. I watch Julian swing her around and put her up on the conference table. I watch him climb on top of her and stick his dick into her delicious pussy—I can still taste the ghost of it in my mouth. I see myself climb onto the table behind Julian and grab his hips.
I thrust upward, interrupting Julian’s rhythm, unable to hold back as I watch myself slip my dick into his ass. Julian takes me even deeper into his throat, sliding me in and out faster and harder. He and I fall into a new rhythm on the couch, while I watch the three of us fall into a rhythm on screen.
As I watch myself fuck him, and him fuck her, and her losing control as she grinds into him, I imagine our positions reversed—I imagine that it is me in the middle, fucking her undoubtedly tight pussy, while Julian pumps his cock into my ass, hitting my prostate exactly the way he knows I like. I thrust up into Julian’s throat, so close to release, and imagine that it is her hot little pussy I’m about to pour my seed into.
“Aaaagghhh, fuuuuccckkk!” I moan as I suddenly explode into Julian’s mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, my toes curling, as he sucks up and swallows my load of come.
I drop the phone and close my eyes, but it doesn’t stop me from seeing Mia Winters’s face as she came on my tongue. I really can still taste her in my mouth, and I want to taste more. Fuck.
Julian leans back and wipes the corners of his mouth. We stare at each other, both taking several deep breaths. Lust swirls in his eyes, and I know that these moments for breathing are merely a hiatus.
“You know,” I say, trying to sound like I’m just musing out loud, “you’re right that I don’t have proper blackmail. And, now that I’ve had a little bit of time to think it through, that really is a problem.”
“Well, maybe we should fix that,” Julian replies, his eyes glimmering knowingly, both amused and aroused.
“Yes,” I agree, already fantasizing about all the ways we might fix it, “maybe we should.”
Part Two
— Mia —
In Dr. Bogner’s lecture the next morning I make sure that I am sitting on the left so that Leanne will block the area where the TAs always sit from my line of sight. Luckily Tristan is seated in the back as usual, so it will be easy to avoid looking at him. I have no idea whether or not he’s looking at me because I stubbornly refuse to turn my head more than fifteen degrees in any direction—I absolutely do not want that twat thinking that I have been thinking about him.
I keep my resolve throughout the entire lecture, but by the end, when everyone is stuffing their laptops back into cases and the shuffle to the exit has begun, I sneak a glance at each of them.
To my simultaneous relief and disappointment neither of them is looking my direction. Tristan is talking to a senior named Theo. Julian is patiently fielding the never-ending questions of Heather Pemberly in the front of the room. I slip out the door without either of them even noticing.
“Who are y
ou looking for?” Leanne asks.
“I—no one. I just thought maybe I left my coffee.”
“You didn’t have coffee.” She laughs.
“Really?” I laugh back, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Obviously evidence that I need coffee!” Then, for good measure, I fake a yawn, which conveniently turns into a real one halfway through.
—
We head over to Atticus Coffee Shop and get in line with everyone else unlucky enough to be awake at nine a.m. We talk and laugh and go about the day pretty much as normal, except that I have to constantly fight the urge to look around.
I want to look around Atticus, look around the walkways as we go from class to class, look around the Thai restaurant we go to for dinner, even though I’ve never seen either Julian or Tristan in it. I keep having the urge to look around, just in case. By the end of the day I feel neurotic and I hate myself a little.
—
The weekend comes and goes. Even though Tristan’s dorm is only three doors down from mine I don’t see him Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. On Monday I pass Julian on the way to class and he smiles politely, the same way he has all semester. On Tuesday in lecture there is no sign that either of them is even aware I am in the same room.
I know I told myself the best thing to do would be to pretend it never happened, and hope they would too, and I don’t necessarily disagree with myself…but I also feel like I’m going insane. So, when eleven a.m. rolls around and Leanne leaves for her Political Theory class, I decide that I have to do anything other than sit in Atticus and pretend not to look at the door every time it opens. I opt for doing what I’ve always done in the past when I need to rediscover sanity—I go to Stoeckel Hall to play a piano.
Blackmail (Skeleton Key Book 1) Page 4