Author’s Note - Mid-way through completing “Warming Up” and about the same time I was working on “While Indie’s Away, I wrote “Mea Culpa”. I liked the sex scene, but I didn’t like the rest. Cory seems weirdly shy here and Efrain isn’t quite the Wolfie I wanted him to be. Then, in the development of the story things changed and it no longer fit. Until last night, I was going to revise the opening and ending sections to keep the sex scene (I may borrow bits here and there in the main story line), but I’m too fucking lazy to dredge up another fight between them just yet. And thus the chop-chop.
One of the saddest parts of being a writer is trashing things you’ve written. The main part of the story is 97 pages in Word. However, I know I’ve cut out an additional 20 pages or so because they didn’t work.
Oh, the closing PoV is Mitch Lithgow. At the beginning, I planned to Oprah the fuck out of the PoVs (YOU GET A POV! AND YOU GET A POV! EVERYONE GETS A POV!). Thankfully, I had the sense to limit myself to Efrain, Cory, Indie, and Preston (in reality, there was no interesting reason to go outside of those 4. I did so here because Mitch’s interpretation of the scene was more interesting than Cory or Efrain’s. I meant to play Mitch off JJ Teague more, so I’ll have to remedy that later.)
This would have taken place in middle to late October.
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Mea Culpa (Efrain and Cory Alternate #2)
I make my way across the locker room to Cory’s locker.
My boyfriend is pulling a pair of relaxed-fit jeans over his incredibly fuckable ass. He grabs his form-fitting t-shirt and begins dragging it over his head. I try not to stare openly at the way his muscles flex under his practically hairless skin as he eases the shirt down over his stomach and reaches up to finger-comb his soft sandy blonde hair to the side. My roommate, Indie, has been teasing me about how quickly I’ve been tamed, but I hardly feel I got the raw end of the deal in trading my slutty whoring ways for a bottom who looks like an Abercrombie & Fitch ad come to life and likes to be tied up.
Cory grimaces and starts massaging his shoulder, trying to ease some of the stiffness.
He had pulled it the last time we fucked. Or, I had pulled it. Something about grabbing him behind the elbows and pulling Cory’s body into my thrusts just felt right at the time, and we both enjoyed it. Scratch that – I enjoyed it; Cory fucking loved it. And, he seemed totally fine. However, he started bitching about his shoulder hurting the following morning and this week’s practices seemed to make it worse.
Apparently, I’m not the only one to notice. Lithgow and Teague look at him from their respective lockers.
“Man, you come to practice with more injuries than you get on the field,” Lithgow says off-handedly. “How the hell you accomplishing that?”
Cory’s dimpled cheeks turns red and he looks away. With all the crazy shit we’ve gotten into in the three months we’ve been together and he can still blush like a virgin. Of course, his reaction makes the reason pretty obvious.
“Oh shit,” Teague says. “It all makes sense. Cory, your girl is a freak.”
Oh, that would be me. Not a girl, but he’s on the nose about the freak part.
Lithgow appears to think it through. “Fuck, that would explain so much.”
“Like that one time you came in wearing sweat bands,” Lithgow starts.
“Bro, I remember that,” Teague finishes. “Homeboy had rope burns and shit on his wrists.”
I saunter up to join the fun and Cory blushes harder. He’s avoiding eye-contact with me by focusing on getting on his socks and shoes.
Well, ain’t that cute.
“That wasn’t what happened.” Nope, that’s exactly what had happened. Like I said, he likes to be tied up.
“Or the time you came in with that big ass bandage over your shoulder that started bleeding in the middle of drills.”
“Yeah, I overheard some trainers talking about how it looked like teeth marks,” Lithgow adds.
“I scratched myself.”
I had bitten him maybe a little too hard.
“Then you had a pulled hamstring.”
“Overdid it at the gym.”
I had stretched his legs maybe a little too far.
“Then you had huge bruise on your hip.”
“Yeah, would love to hear how that happened.” By this time, most of our teammates at the surrounding lockers are listening to the conversation and are probably just as curious.
“Okay, I really did walk into the table that time.”
“Yup, he was fucking loaded,” I say. “I saw the whole thing.”
Of course, I’d also been the one pouring drinks in him. Cory lost all sense of shame when drunk, and a shameless Cory made for a fun fuck (you just had to deal with him being giggly). Of course, he is sober now, and embarrassed and definitely not giggling.
“Damn. Then you had all those hickeys on your chest and back,” Lithgow says.
Teague comments on the ones on his inner thigh, too. I try really hard not to lose it then. They either didn’t notice, or pretended not to notice, the ones I put on his ass.
“Can’t forget the rug burn on his back he was trying to hide two weeks ago,” I add helpfully.
“Wait, I thought that was turf burn,” Teague muses and Lithgow nods.
“Nope, totally rug burn.”
Cory’s slate-blue eyes narrow and his lips tense, just a slight change, but perceptible enough for me to recognize. I know my contribution to the teasing will piss him off, but I keep at it all the same. Shameless and giggly Cory is fun to ride, but he is at his best embarrassed and indignant.
“But, it was only on one side,” Teague counters.
“Honest to God, man,” I argue.
“How would you even know that?” Lithgow asks.
I entertain admitting that I was the one pounding his ass into the floor when it happened. I chuckle instead as Cory drags the palm of his hand over his face.
Lithgow and Teague, along with everyone else in earshot, lose it. If I wasn’t enjoying it so much, I would probably warn him about much he gives away with reactions like that.
“Holy fuck man,” Lithgow says, almost in tears from laughter. “Your girl sounds like a piece of work.”
I am, huh.
“Shit, man,” Teague adds. “Next time she tries to pull that, turn the tables. You could be all like ‘Bitch, I’m callin’ the shots’ and slap dat ass before she slaps you.”
“That would be interesting,” I laugh, the thought of him roughing me up in bed, instead of just on the field, making my smile a little more evil.
Apparently, that comment is too much and he’s had enough. Cory slaps the last of his things into his gym back and shuts his locker. Then, with a quick punch to my stomach and a “have fun walking home” shot over his shoulder, Cory stalks out of the room.
A low whistle sounds after the door had closed. Lithgow and Teague look a little confused. I, rubbing where I had been jabbed, continue to laugh. While it hurt, he didn’t hit me as hard as he could have – I mean, he’s on the d-line, you can’t hang there if you can’t hit or take hits – so, I figure he isn’t that pissed and he’d cool off within the hour.
I didn’t answer Efrain’s calls or texts that night. At midnight, he sent a simple “fuck you” and stopped trying to contact me all together. I was slightly pissed off, but him getting pissed off in return just made me angrier. We avoided each other at practice the next day and both cellphones remained silent for the rest of week.
Efrain broke the silence Friday afternoon.
“We need to talk,” he texted. “Can you come over after class?”
I answered with “fine,” figuring that I might as well get it over with.
Efrain answers the door in his pajama bottoms and nothing else. Even without an erection, I can see an outline of his dick through the fabric. It has only been a couple days since I last saw him, but seeing him free-balling in the thin cotton pants is enough to remind my lower half of how much I miss Efrain’s body (even if my mind doesn’t want to admit to missing everything else).
Neither of us say anything – no “hello,” no “hey, I missed you,” no “fuck off asshole, it’s over,” nothing. He just walks back to his room.
Don’t ask me why, but I follow.
“You still mad?” he asks quietly over his shoulder as he opens the door. His chillstep playlist fills the awkward silences.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “You?”
I step inside. Hearing Efrain shut and lock the door before standing behind me, I wonder why I should give a fuck about his anger and not my own. I have every right to my anger, but I feel it slipping away from me as he runs his hands up and down my arms.
“No,” he whispers against my neck, lips teasing my sensitive spots. He had to have just gotten out of the shower; he smells amazing – that heady mix of soap, cologne, and his own scent that hits all the right switches in my brain. “Take off your clothes.”
Against my better judgement, I strip down while he watches.
“You sure? You seem pretty pissed now.”
“I was. And you?”
Efrain runs his fingers down my spine.
“On the bed, on all fours.”
I comply, positioning myself, my head resting on my forearms, without comment. Efrain sits behind me and draws his short nails up my legs to rest his hands on my hips. We haven’t done any heavy S&M stuff beyond a few slaps, but I had expected punishment for ignoring him, and not knowing the kind and severity makes me more sensitive to each glancing touch.
“You had every right to be angry,” Efrain admits, which surprises me. “I wasn’t careful, and you got hurt.” He kneads my ass and my cock jumps in anticipation. “Then I acted like a dick. To make it worse, I got mad when I didn’t have a right to.”
“So, what’s this for?” I ask, feeling the kneading hands pull my ass open. I look over at the full length mirror on the other wall, trying to see what he is up to.
“A mea culpa.”
Efrain leans forward. His tongue laps at my hole and my breath hitches. He swirls his tongue around then blows across where he’d gotten me wet. I arch my back with a moan. Efrain continues his assault, teasing my ass with his mouth. I’m used to his forceful and aggressive foreplay, so the tender ministrations throw me. I pant.
“Good boy,” he says in a pleased hum against my ass. My toes curl. God, I fucking love when he calls me that. He pulls my cheeks further apart, stretching my hole until it hurts. His tongue presses into that sensitive ache and I grind my ass against his face. His tongue probes, sucks, and swirls, roving the full length of my ass, even dipping to suck my nuts into his mouth before moving back up. My dick is probably leaking enough pre-cum to drip onto the bed.
He stops briefly, and I mewl disappointedly. He chuckles and I look at him through the mirror as he sticks one of his fingers into his mouth. He lightly slaps my ass with the other hand and I inhale sharply between my teeth.
“I know I’m supposed to be apologizing here, but you were asking for that one.”
“I’m asking for a lot, actually,” I reply, meeting his eyes through the mirror.
“Is that so?” he asks as he presses his wetted finger against my hole. Still watching each other in the mirror, he slaps my ass again as his finger slips inside. I moan loudly and he slaps me again. He turns to wet a finger on the other hand. Before the first finger is buried in me, he presses the second inside. My breathing is already ragged and hard when his tongue joins the fray. I stretch my arms out to fist my hands in the bed spread, my face pressing into the fabric and my back arching to allow him better access. He pulls his hands apart slightly and his tongue dives between. I whimper helplessly into the covers.
Efrain shifts his hands slightly, so his fingers press against my prostate, and begins fucking me slowly with his fingers. He sticks each thumb in his mouth and starts rubbing my blood-engorged perineum in small circles. My moans rise an octave or two, punctuated by intermittent curses, and I’m glad my voice is muffled by the bed. After one last lick, he sits back to watch. This makes me squirm more than having his tongue in my ass.
I feel the pressure in my balls build, I knew I’m getting close. He had to know it, too, so I expect him to increase the pressure to tip me over the edge or do something to pull me back. However, he maintains that slow fucking pace and doesn’t edge me back. My dick is so hard it jumps in time with my pulse. I need to cum so bad I ache. I swear he knows that, too, but he just keeps going. I moan in frustration.
“’Rain,” I call, hating the whining edge in my voice. “Can I touch my dick?”
He would usually smack my hands away if I did that without his permission, but I am too close to breaking to realize he can’t do that with both of them stuck in my ass.
“CC,” he murmurs. “How can I say ‘no’?”
As I reach back, I lift my head to look at my cock in the mirror. It has leaked more than enough pre-cum to drip. A long, sticky trail of it extends from my head to the covers. Other pearl of pre quivers at the tip, threatening to spill over. I gather as much of it as I could on my fingertips and use it slick my hand before wrapping my fingers around the head. I nearly cry out from the sensation. My ass clenches hard and Efrain laughs, knowing what had caused it.
I really do cry out as I rub my hand down the shaft and have to bury my face in the bedspread again. I try to match the rhythm of his hands, but my growing need drives me to speed up. He increases his pace to match me. I work my hand harder on my cock a few more times, that being all it needs to start shooting thick cum in a small puddle under me.
Efrain slips his fingers from me and quickly strips off his pjs. Then, his hands are back on my hips, pushing me down. Confused, I stretch out to lay down under him, my dick in the little pool of cum I had just made.
“What’s this about?” I pant, still out of breath from cumming.
“My turn.” I look in the mirror at him as he nudges my legs together and kneels astride me. “Even if you were justified, you still ignored me and that did piss me off.” Then he adds distractedly “I almost forgot that you punched me, too.”
He reaches over to the nightstand to grab a bottle of lube. He pulls my asscheeks apart with one hand and squirts a liberal amount over my hole. Lube drips down my crack and over my nuts as he scoots forward until his groin is right under my ass. He leans forward onto his forearms, his chest resting on my back, his cock rubbing against my ass. I lift my hips a little to adjust my dick, which is getting hard again.
Efrain kisses and sucks on my neck and shoulders. His hips grind mine into the bed, rubbing my dick in my own cum. It was still warm when he first pushed me down, now it’s fucking cold, which arouses me even more. I arch my neck back, turning my head to kiss him. My tongue rolls with his as he angles his hips, using a hand to position himself against me. He presses into me, then, his head easing into me. Between the rimming and finger fucking, my ass is open and eager, so he enters effortlessly.
He fucks me slowly, still laying on top of me, his hands reaching up to twine our fingers together. Even though my ass is relaxed enough to take him, with my legs pressed together he feels thicker. I’m sure my ass is gripping him tighter than usual, too. We pant and moan into each other’s mouths. Efrain nibbles on my neck and shoulders some more, then sits upright on me, his hands on my hips to steady himself.
Curious, I watch him in the mirror. He spreads me apart as he moves, watching his dick slide in and out of my ass. A delicious shudder runs from the top of my head down to my toes. Then Efrain picks up the pace.
I turn my face back into the bedspread as he fucks me hard and fast. The hands prying my cheeks apart dig into me painfully, stretch me open until I think I might tear. I rub my dick against the covers, humping the wet spot. He keeps at it, his breathing becoming as ragged and hard as mine. Efrain shifts his hands on my hips, lifting me slightly. The slight change angles his trajectory directly over a sensitive spot. The pressure behind my balls becomes painful, and I nearly cry with how badly I need to cum.
Efrain adds the pull of his arms to the thrust of his hips and I have to brace my hands against the headboard to keep from moving around so much. Between my push and his pull and thrust, my ass is getting hammered so hard I know I’ll have bruises, but God it’s driving me further and further to climax. I stuff my mouth full of the bedspread to muffle my screams as cum shoots out of my dick, soaking the covers in almost the exact same spot.
Above me, Efrain pitches forward and slides his hands under my arms to grab my shoulders. He slams into me even harder than before, painful shocks radiating out from my hips into my lower back. Over and over, he rams his cock into me. I scream louder until he stiffens and orgasms, dropping his head to rest between my shoulder blades while he wraps his arms around me.
After a few steadying breaths, he seems ready to talk. “Cory, I’m sorry for acting like a douche.”
Silently, I nod.
I spit out his bedspread. “Yeah.”
We lay there for a bit, until his cock softens and falls out of me on its own. He cleans us up with his discarded pjs and we curl up together under the blankets.
I don’t know which is more annoying – Card and Garza when they’re pissed off at each other, or Card and Garza now that they have kissed and made up. I’m still kinda lost on what that was about, but whatever.
However, if the way he’s trying to discreetly massage his lower back is any sign, Card wasn’t able to get his girl to lay off. He’s on the small side for a linebacker, but she seriously has to be pulling some freaky ass shit to throw out a 19 year old guy’s back in bed.
Also, I seriously need to help him understand what “discreetly” actually means. Card leans forward to tie his shoes and winces. He’s trying pretty hard to hide it, but it’s obvious even to Teague, and that asshole doesn’t have the sense God gave a dishrag.
“Yo, man. What’s up with your back?”
“Moving boxes,” he answers too hastily.
“Yeah, have to lift with your knees, man.” Figured I’d help him out before Teague makes the next logical leap…
“Damn, Lithgow. There’s a bad joke in there somewhere.” …or Garza walks into the conversation. Card rolls his eyes and pointedly ignores both of them.
Unfortunately for him, Teague seems to have brilliant idea. “A safeword.”
“Yeah, like, when you’re like into BDSM and shit,” Teague starts. He has to slow down on the letters to remember which ones go where.
“Yeah, yeah, safewords,” Garza says.
“Exactly. You can’t be doing that kinky sex shit without some kinda safeword,” he elaborates.
“You know, that makes a lot of sense,” Card says, zipping his duffle bag and throwing on his hoodie. “I’d be less likely to fall victim to inept tops.”
For some reason, Garza cocks his eyebrow and Card looks pretty smug. The rest of our teammates don’t exactly stop what they’re doing, but they’re paying attention in case Card decks him again. I admit, him punching Garza in the stomach was pretty fucking funny, even if we did have to deal with their lover’s spat afterwards.
Fuck, why didn’t I see that sooner? I start flipping through their Facebook feeds. I remember when Garza joined last season, I didn’t see any pics of him with girls and assumed he was one of those guys that avoided cameras so his girls never knew when he had others on the side.
Obviously picking up on the same vibe I’m getting, just without the resources to make sense of it, Teague jumps back in. “See, you get it. Just have to pick something you wouldn’t normally say in bed. Could use Garza’s name or something.”
Yeah, and Card had some pictures with chicks, but for about four months it’s been the two of them in everything. They even come to practice together most days.
“That wouldn’t work, man,” Garza says thoughtfully. “It has to be something he doesn’t say in bed.” He has his turn at looking smug.
Card stands up straight and folds his arms over his chest. His eyes narrow.
“You’re going to make me pay for that, aren’t you?” Garza says, but he still looks pretty smug about it.
“Yup.” The rest of the room is silent. I guess everyone’s waiting for it. I keep scrolling through their pictures. I know it’s not my imagination, but I’ve seen this picture before. “Guess you’re walking home again.”
“We took my car.”
“Oh.” Card pulls a set of keys from his pocket. “You’re right, these are your keys.”
I find what I’m looking for in time to look up and see Garza’s cocksure grin falter. “Cory…”
“See you at home, ‘Rain,” he says with a grin and slings his bag over his shoulder. He walks away, spinning Garza’s keys on his finger and whistling tunelessly. “Oh hey, your house key.”
Garza’s jaw hangs open as the door shuts, the entire football team witness to yet another time Card has gotten the upper hand in their relationship.
“You should probably chase him down before he locks you out,” I suggest. “Maybe this time, let him throw your back out.”
This seems to knock him out of his stupor. “Oh, so you finally picked up on that.”
“You weren’t exactly hiding it.”
“You all are just really dense.” And, he walks off, presumably to get back in his boyfriend’s good graces and/or his house.
“What the hell is he talking about?” poor Teague has taken one too many hits to the head. “What just happened?”
So, I show him the picture – the two of them at some party, arms around each other, Card sporting this huge grin, and Garza laying one on him. Teague stares at it until he’s cross-eyed.