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Webster’s phone rings at two-fifteen in the morning. He jerks awake with a shout and knocks his phone off his desk when he reaches for it. He squints at the name on the Caller ID and sighs heavily:
JOE LIEBGOTT
“You better be dead in a ditch,” Webster says when he finally manages to answer.
“You’re such a dick, Web,” Joe replies.
“You’re the one calling me at two-fifteen. What the fuck do you want?”
“I need to crash in your room.”
“What? No.”
“Yes,” Joe says. “I just got scarred for life opening my door and finding Luz and Toye in the middle of some serious—”
“So go to Bill’s,” Webster interrupts before Joe can scar him as well. “Or Marlark’s.”
“Bill’s out with a girl he met last week. Malark went home for the weekend.”
“Or—”
“Muck and Penkala snore like buzzsaws. Frank’s got his girlfriend in for the weekend. Bull and Johnny don’t let anyone crash in their room. Dick’s still at the bar with Nix, so they’re definitely gonna do it later. Roe’s freaking out about his Bio paper, and I want no part of that. Heffron’s babysitting him. Buck’s at the away game. Lipton and Speirs are on RA duty tonight. Harry’s staying over at Kitty’s.”
“Floyd,” Webster says. “Javonec. Christeson.”
“Still at the bar, too.”
“Grant.”
“Left early from the bar with a migraine. What’s the matter, Web? You don’t want to see me?”
What’s the matter is Webster went to sleep after jerking off to some very filthy thoughts of Joe, and he’d rather not deal with that in the middle of the night. But there’s really no other option because Joe’s his friend and Webster’s not a dick, so he sighs and says, “Fine. Come over.”
“I’m outside your building now,” Joe says with that smug satisfaction that makes Webster want to throttle him. He hangs up without replying for the sheer pettiness of it. He puts on his slippers and takes the stairs down just to make Joe wait a few seconds longer.
Joe’s a few feet away from the door, wearing his parka and half-gloves and a scarf but no hat. He’s finishing a cigarette when Webster opens the door, and Joe smashes the butt under his boot after taking one last drag. He cups his hands over his ears as he comes inside. “Took you long enough.”
“You know, if you wore a hat, you wouldn’t be so cold all the time.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll consider it.” Joe walks over to the elevator and pushes the up button. He waits two seconds, and then he pushes it again.
“It’s not going to get here any faster,” Webster says.
“Maybe I just like pushing the button, Web.”
“Yeah, you’re a natural.”
Joe looks at him, narrow-eyed and suspicious. Webster gets a little nervous. When Joe turns on that look, he’s up to something. It’s an early warning system, like a proximity alarm. If Joe looks suspicious, Joe is about to cause trouble.
“Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no,” Webster says.
Joe smirks. The elevator dings and the doors open. Joe steps inside, and Webster follows. They lean against opposite walls, and Webster presses the button for the sixth floor. Joe watches Webster the whole ride up, and Webster watches him back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away.
The elevator opens on the sixth floor, and Joe leads Webster to his own room, which makes Webster roll his eyes. “What? You got a key?” he asks.
“Course not. They fine the shit out of you for making key copies,” Joe says and then pulls a key from his pocket, puts it in the lock, and opens Webster’s door. “If you get caught,” he adds and gives Webster a wink that Webster shouldn’t find attractive. “Pretty boys first,” Joe says, leaning next to the open door, arms crossed and standing hip-cocked.
“Also, it’s my room,” Webster says. He walks inside and stops short when Joe comes in one step behind him and cups his ass. “Joe! What the hell?”
“You’ve been staring at my mouth since I got here,” Joe says. “I’m game if you are.”
“You have lettuce in your teeth,” Webster says, and he laughs when Joe glances in the mirror hanging on the closet door and checks.
“Ass,” Joe says. “But seriously, you wanna? I’m horny as shit.”
“No,” Webster says, and he’s proud that his voice doesn’t waver or go up an octave at the suggestion. “I don’t wanna.”
“Oh, did I hurt your delicate sensibilities?” Joe asks. He drops his coat and his scarf and his half-gloves. He pulls off his boot and his socks and starts pulling his t-shirt and thermal over his head.
“What are you—”
“I don’t sleep in my clothes,” Joe says, and then his shirts are off, and Webster is trying really, really hard not to stare. “Yeah,” Joe says, hands on the button of his jeans. “You don’t wanna.”
Webster bites his bottom lip. Joe grins at him and undoes the button, then drops his hands to his sides.
“Come on, Web,” Joe says. “You wanna.”
God, he does. He has since Joe grinned and introduced himself and immediately gave him shit for his cheekbones when they got introduced by the RAs at freshman orientation. He figured it was a first-sight crush that would fade out in a few weeks, but it’s maintained, and now Joe’s here. His shirt is off and his pants are unbuttoned, and he’s jutting out his chin like he’s spoiling for an argument.
He can’t give in. Not easily at least. If he gives in easily, he’ll never hear the fucking end of it. Joe will consider it a major victory in their continual battle to make each other crazy. Webster needs to one-up him, and he needs to do it fast.
He peels off his shirt and drops it to the floor and then climbs into bed. Once he’s under the covers, he takes off his pajama pants and tosses those on the floor, too. “I guess I wanna,” he says in the most disinterested voice he can muster. “But you can take off your own pants.”
Joe glares at him for a few seconds, and Webster meets it with a challenging look. “You snobby, pretty boy, piece of shit,” Joe says, and then he drops his pants and his underwear and dives for the bed. “You’re probably not even any good.”
“Hey, no one’s making you find out,” Webster replies, and he grabs onto the back of Joe’s head when Joe comes in for the kiss.
It’s fast and messy and a little bit awkward. Joe’s all knees and elbows, and Webster’s hands are apparently ice cold from nerves. At least, if Joe’s fucking yowl of surprise is anything to go by. “Thank fuck I’ve got a single,” Webster mutters.
Joe sucks on his collarbone and rubs their dicks against each other. Webster has to bite his lip to keep from yowling himself. “Fuck your single, the walls are still thin as hell.”
Webster wants to feel embarrassed at the idea of the guy next door hearing him getting laid, but then Joe’s wrapping his hand around their dicks, and he doesn’t care about anything except kissing Joe hard and digging his fingernails into Joe’s back just to the side of his spine.
“Legs,” Joe mutters, barely breaking the kiss to talk. “Get your fucking legs around me.”
Webster tries, but he only manages to kick Joe in the thigh. “Shit. Sorry, I—“
“Got it. Got it,” Joe says, and he grabs Webster’s ankle and drags Webster’s leg around his waist. Webster gets the other leg up himself, and then it’s a sprint to the finish, the two of them gasping into each other’s mouths and trying to hold it together long enough to come.
Webster hazes out when they’re finished, staring up at the ceiling as Joe pants against his neck and rubs against him a few more time for the aftershocks. “Fuck,” he manages to get out.
“Fuck,” Joe agrees. He leans in and kisses Webster much more softly than he’s done before. Webster groans into it and unclenches his hand from Joe’s back, smoothing his hand up and down Joe’s ribcage instead.
Webster manages to get Joe to move to one side and gets up to find something to clean them up with. He grabs a shirt from his dirty clothes and wipes them both down, then gets back into bed. Joe throws the comforter over both of them and manhandles Webster until Webster’s half-laying on him while Joe’s flat on his back. “I’m not the girl,” Webster says.
“Didn’t say you were,” Joe replies. “I just like you there.”
“How would you know? I’ve never been here.”
“Jesus, Web, you think I haven’t thought about this? Have you seen you?”
“You thought about this?”
Joe huffs a breath. “No. I just came to your room tonight magically called by your cock.”
“Shut up,” Webster says and flicks Joe’s sternum. “I thought about it, too.”
“Good,” Joe says.
They don’t say anything else before they fall asleep, and when they wake up, Joe rubs his eyes and scratches his stomach and says, “So, pancakes?”
“Yeah,” Webster agrees. They get dressed and go to the dining hall, eating pancakes drowning in syrup. They don’t see the other guys, but they’ve both got texts from Bill saying a bunch of them are going to catch a matinee.
“Let’s sit in the back and make out,” Joe says.
Webster grins. “People might think we’re together.”
“You wanna?” Joe’s smirking, but Webster can tell it’s a serious question.
“Yeah,” he says, “I wanna.”
And it’s as easy as that.