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Convince Me

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The first time Jonny meets Patrick, it's the first day of Intro to Persuasive Writing with Professor Quenneville, and they're doing a dumb ice breaker. A douchey-looking blond guy rocks his chair back on two legs like an asshole and says, "I'm Patrick Kane, I'm from Buffalo, I'm a second-year psych major, and something nobody knows about me is that I'm secretly a superhero."

Jonny snorts. Of course. A couple more people go, and then it's his turn. "I'm Jonathan Toews, I'm from Winnipeg, I'm a third-year pre-law major, and something nobody knows about me is that I used to steal my little brother's Halloween candy."

"Oooh," Patrick says, "Jonny the badass," and some people laugh. Professor Q's mustache twitches.

After that, Jonny doesn't really think about Patrick -- he notices him, sure, but just in the way where he takes stock of the room and tries to remember names, not anything special.

And then they get their first papers back. Professor Q storms around the room, red-faced, and tells everyone off as he hands them their papers. "Susie, you spelled 'belief' five different ways, and none of them were correct. Tom, can you count to five? Then why is your paper three and a half pages long?"

Jonny braces himself before Q turns to his side of the room. "And you!" he shouts. "Patrick, you had fourteen good ideas, but you typed it with all the style and formatting of a caveman, and Jonathan, your grammar and citations were flawless, but your topic bored me to tears, and I do not cry easily. Maybe if the two of you got together, you could write a decent paper."

Q moves on to the next victim, and Jonny scowls at his paper. Maybe the provenance of school lunch food wasn't the most imaginative idea he's ever had, but it could have been worse. He glances over at Patrick, and he's surprised to notice that Patrick is looking back at him contemplatively. Huh.

In a rare moment of mercy, Q lets them go early, once he gives out the next assignment. Jonny is stuffing his notebook into his backpack when someone sits down on his desk, right in his space.

"So," Patrick says, swinging his legs past Jonny's. "What if we actually did work together on our next paper?"

"Who says I want to work with you?" Jonny says, just because he can.

"Who could resist?" Patrick grins at him. "Anyway, I'm free all day for brainstorming, if you want."

Jonny considers this. Either it'll go okay, or it'll be a waste of his time. He might get a decent topic out of it, though. "Sure," he says. "I have stats until noon, but I'm good after that."

"How about we meet at Starbucks at 12:30?" Patrick suggests. "I'll grab a table."

"Sounds good," Jonny says.


Jonny is usually good at statistics, even though the professor is dull as dishwater, but today he had one hell of a time concentrating. This Patrick guy is just some asshole, so why can't Jonny stop thinking about meeting with him to talk about their stupid persuasive writing papers? He sips his latte and scowls at the door. Patrick is probably going to be late, too.

At 12:29, though, Patrick walks in the door. He catches sight of Jonny right away, and waves, then does some kind of elaborate pantomime that Jonny interprets as "I'm getting a drink, but I'll be right over." Well. At least he's a punctual asshole.

A few minutes later, Frappuccino in hand, Patrick sits down across from Jonny. "Hi," he says. "So, persuasive writing, eh?"

"Persuasive writing," Jonny agrees. "How's your grade?"

"Better than average," Patrick says. "You?"

"Also better than average." Huh. This might be a less terrible plan than he thought. "So, want to work together for the next paper?"

"Sure, why not?" Patrick shrugs. "I figure the worst that can happen is I get the same grade instead of a better one -- like, you can't make me worse, you know?"

"We can only go up from here," Jonny says. "Theoretically."

"Exactly!" Patrick has whipped cream on his lip. Jonny decides not to mention it. They brainstorm for a while, which turns out to be something like 45 minutes, and whne they're done, they have a list of 5 potential topics to write their next papers on.

"So let's meet in my room tomorrow," Jonny suggests, "and each bring three possible sources for our topics."

"Sounds good," Patrick says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.


"Quit staring at me."

"I'm not staring at you." Patrick looks back down at his notes, but he's smiling like an asshole.

"You were too," Jonny says, and immediately wishes he hadn't, because Christ, is he seven years old? "We need to focus."

"Nah," Patrick says. "We've done enough focusing. Now we need to let the ideas percolate by distracting our conscious minds."

"You would say that." The idea is tempting, though. "What's your plan for distraction, then?"

Patrick looks at him, and a smile slowly takes over his face. "I think we should make out."

Jonny feels his cheeks go red. "Funny," he says.

"No, really." Patrick kneels up from his sprawl against Jonny's desk, bringing him closer to Jonny. "You seem like you could use it."

"What makes you think I want to make out with you?" Jonny retorts, resisting the urge to tuck his knees up to his chin for protection.

Patrick grins. "Who wouldn't?" he asks, spreading his hands to show off the goods: zitty face with an annoyingly contagious smile, stocky chest in a Hollister shirt, and Jonny flatly refuses to look any further down. "Besides, even if you're, like, straight or something, a mouth's a mouth, right? Making out is still awesome."

"I'm not straight."

"Cool, me neither," Patrick says. A knot Jonny hadn't even noticed loosens in his stomach. "Come on, what are you, chicken?"

"You're really weird," Jonny says.

"That's not a no." And all of a sudden, he's in Jonny's lap. Automatically, Jonny puts a hand on his back to steady him. God, the guy is built. And probably deranged.

"You're deranged," Jonny says. It comes out less certain than he meant it to, almost soft.

"Kiss me, you fool," Patrick demands.

"Fine," Jonny says. He has to tilt his head up a little, which he's not used to, but once his mouth connects with Patrick's, it stops seeming so weird. Patrick's lips are soft, and he isn't too pushy, letting Jonny be the one to open his mouth and start mixing in some tongue. It's... not bad.

"Mmm," says Patrick happily, and he resettles himself in Jonny's lap. It makes their dicks brush through their jeans, and Jonny tightens his grip on Patrick's back. Patrick reaches around and moves Jonny's hand down to his ass instead.

Well, Jonny's not going to complain; it's a really nice ass. He squeezes it, and Patrick hums again and presses closer. Christ, if this goes on much longer, he's going to have to do laundry early this week --

-- and Patrick pulls away and climbs off his lap. "Back to work," he says cheerfully, like he doesn't have a boner and kiss-red lips.

Jonny tries to pull himself together, straightening his shirt and wiping his mouth. Then he blinks. "Hey," he says. "You know how you said that thing about drinking laws and the federal government?"

"Yeah," Patrick says slowly.

"What about how unproductive those laws are?"

"You mean like how countries with laxer laws have way less binge drinking?" He looks excited. "And if you brought in that one article you were showing me..."

"Then I could write about changing the U.S.'s laws to be more like Canada's!" Jonny feels like a fucking genius.

"Oh man, and if you're doing that, then I can do European laws!" Patrick says. "See? We do great work together!"

Jonny holds out his fist, and Patrick bumps it. "Now we just have to write them," he says.


The next time they decide to study together, they work in Patrick's room. It's way cleaner than Jonny expected; it even looks like he's vacuumed recently.

"Nice place you've got here," he says.

Patrick shrugs. "It's easier to concentrate when it's clean," he says, and settles himself on the floor by his desk.

Jonny picks a spot where he can lean against the bed and pulls out his persuasive writing notebook. He spreads out his notes around him so he can see everything at once, then starts arranging them in the order he's going to use them to construct his argument.

"What are you doing?" Patrick asks, peering over at him.

"Organizing," Jonny says. "This way I know how my argument is going to flow."

"Huh," Patrick says.

"What are you doing?" Jonny doesn't see anything but Patrick's legal pad.

"Freewriting," Patrick says. "You know, just getting all my thoughts down on paper before I forget them."

"Huh," Jonny says.

They work for a good 45 minutes before Patrick puts down his pad and pencil, stretches until his back cracks, and says, "I think we need a break."

"Sounds good," Jonny says, shaking the tension out of his hands. He could use a soda or something.

"A makeout break," Patrick continues.

"Hey, whatever floats your boat," Jonny says.

Patrick comes over and grabs his hands to pull him to his feet; Jonny lets him. "I meant both of us," he says, and puts both of his hands in Jonny's back pockets.

"I could get behind that." Jonny's thought about making out with Patrick a time or two since it happened, and he's not averse to it happening again.

Patrick gropes his ass and grins. "Awesome," he says, and leans in to kiss Jonny's neck.

It feels great, but Jonny has a feeling it would feel even better if they were horizontal. He also really wants to touch more of Patrick, so he shoves both hands up under Patrick's shirt, spreading his palms flat over where his waist turns into his back.

Patrick makes a startled "ulp!" sound, but from the way he leans in closer to Jonny, he doesn't really seem to mind.

"Take your shirt off," Jonny says, and Patrick says, "Only if you do, too," so that's exactly what he does, tossing his shirt onto Patrick's bed.

"Nice," Patrick says. He's doing what Jonny can only fairly call "leering."

"Thanks," Jonny says. "Uh, you too." Patrick may be short, but he's solid muscle. Jonny only has a moment to get used to this new situation before Patrick tackles him onto the bed and almost knocks the wind out of him.

Then he just hovers above Jonny, braced on his arms, and looks down at him like he's surprised. Jonny pulls him down for a kiss by his curly hair. He was right -- it's much better when he has Patrick's weight pressing him into the bed.

Patrick kisses his mouth, his jaw, and his neck, then asks, "How do you feel about biting?"

Jonny's hips jerk up at that. "Good," he says. "That's -- good."

"Sweet," Patrick says, and bites the thin skin over Jonny's collarbone, just hard enough that Jonny's hands clutch reflexively in his hair. "Like that?"

"Yeah," Jonny says. He rubs up against Patrick's thigh, and Patrick bites him again and grinds down. Jonny makes an embarrassing noise, and buries his face in Patrick's hair like that will make up for it.

"Wait," Patrick says. He gets up on his knees, taking the pressure off Jonny. "I don't -- maybe we should --"

"Yeah, okay," Jonny says, disappointed.

"But sometime, when you have spare pants," Patrick continues. "I want to."

That improves Jonny's mood. "Totally," he says. He wasn't really looking forward to coming in his pants and then having to walk-of-shame it to the laundry room, anyway.

"Hey, once we wash up, want to show me how your organizing works?"

"Sure," Jonny says. "And you can explain your freewriting to me."

"Okay, I'm getting cleaned up." Patrick clambers over Jonny, shirt in hand, and heads for the little bathroom.

Jonny would feel weird crowding in there with him, so he waits until Patrick comes back in. "My turn," he says.

He scrubs Patrick's spit off in front of the sink, using the washcloth that's still damp, and looks at himself in the mirror. The bite mark is bright pink, but it should be safely hidden by his shirt collar.

This is the weirdest study group ever, he thinks, and puts his shirt back on.

Back in Patrick's room, Patrick is in the same position as before, only he's left his shirt off. Jonny vaguely remembers his mother saying to dress to the level of formality of one's host, so he leaves his off, too.

"So fresh, so clean," Patrick sing-songs. "Now, tell me about those index cards."

"Each one has an important point or quote," Jonny says, showing him, "and on the back, I wrote the citations, so when I have my outline, I can build my works cited page just by flipping them over."

"Okay," Patrick says. "And how do you get from a pile of cards to an outline?"

"Shuffle them around and see what works, mostly." He spreads the cards out again. "Like, these two are both about the age of reason, so they go together, and this one connects to that idea..."

"Like playing dominoes," Patrick says. "You know, how you match the ends?" He mimes putting things together.

"That's a good way to put it," Jonny says. "So how do you do it?"

Patrick shows him his legal pad, which is covered in dense, scribbly handwriting. "I just write everything that comes to mind about the topic and how I want to write about it," he says. "Then, once I have my ideas done, I go back into the readings and find stuff that backs up what I said."

"So, you do it backwards," Jonny says.

"No, you do it backwards."

Before Jonny can think of something wittier than "No, you do," the door opens, and a guy built like a brick wall comes in.

"Whoops, am I interrupting something?" the guy says. "Kaner, you've gotta put a sock on the door when you don't want company."

"We're just working on our papers," Patrick says innocently.

"With your shirts off," the guy says.

"Shirts are a tool of the oppressor!"

"Whatever you say, buddy." He turns to Jonny and says, "Hi, I'm Brent, Kaner's roommate, but you can call me Seabs."

"Nice to meet you." Jonny gets up and shakes his hand. "I'm Jonathan Toews."

"What can I call you?" Seabs demands. "Jonny? Tazer?"

"I like 'Tazer,'" Patrick -- Kaner? -- chimes in. "We should call him that. Don't Toews me, bro!"

Jonny rolls his eyes. "Go for it if you want," he says. "I don't mind."

"Cool," Seabs says. He grabs a hockey stick leaning against the wall and taps Jonny on each shoulder. "I dub thee Tazer!"

"Thanks," Jonny says dubiously. "You play?"

"Nah, not in years." Seabs puts the stick back. "This is in case of zombies."

"I keep telling him we need a machete instead," Patrick says nonchalantly.

"Don't people in those movies usually have guns?" Jonny asks.

"Too hard to get in the city," Seabs says. "If we make a break for Indiana, though, we should be able to get some way more easily."

"Good point." This guy is good, Jonny admits to himself. Anybody with that detailed a zombie apocalypse plan is worth spending time with.

"Anyway," Patrick says, "before you showed up, Seabiscuit, we were arguing over who writes their papers backwards, him or me. Obviously, it's him."

"You make a compelling argument," Seabs says. He flops down on the far bed and folds his hands on his stomach. "Explain yourselves, and I"ll decide."

So they each explain their process, and Seabs nods thoughtfully and scratches his stubbly chin. Finally, he says, "You're both wrong. What do I win?"

"A punch in the junk," Patrick says. "The fuck do you mean, both wrong?"

"What if you free-wrote the bare bones, then fit cards like Tazer's in, and then made it a paper?" Seabs suggests. "Sensei has spoken."

Jonny and Patrick look at each other. "That could work," Jonny says.

"It could," Patrick agrees. "Thanks, Seabs."

"Thank me by letting me kick your ass at Mario Kart in a little while," Seabs suggests. "We're having a tournament starting at 4. It'll be epic."

"Sure!" Patrick turns to Jonny. "You in?"

"Definitely," Jonny says. He can show them a thing or two, he bets. "We should do some more work first, though."

"Nose to the grindstone," Patrick agrees.

Jonny tries Patrick's freewriting thing, just sort of riffing on the topic of drinking laws, and it actually doesn't suck. He gets a pretty good idea of where he's going with the paper, and finds some places his quotes will fit in well.

Patrick seems pretty productive, too -- he has a stack of index cards in front of him. Seabs, on the other hand, is asleep, and his arms are wrapped around his pillow like it's a teddy bear.

Jonny smirks. "Cute," he says, pointing with his pen.

"I'm way cuter," Patrick says without looking up.

"Sure thing." Jonny goes back to his freewriting. Patrick is definitely not -- well, okay, maybe he is, in a way. He does have a really nice smile. On the other hand, he also has a sleazy one that reminds Jonny of a used-car salesman.

"You totally think I'm cute." Patrick is grinning at him. "See, you're blushing!"

"I am not," Jonny says, manfully resisting the urge to touch his cheeks to see if they're warm.

"Are too!" Patrick scoots closer to him and pokes him in the cheek. "Want to make out again? I bet Seabs will sleep through it."

"Definitely not." Jonny folds his arms over his chest. There are some lines he will not cross.

"Party pooper."

"Work on your paper," Jonny says sternly.

"You work on your paper,' Patrick retorts, then pauses. "Wait, that was a shitty comeback."

"Yeah, it was," Jonny agrees. "Also, I am working on my paper."

"Let's take a break and see how much stuff we can pile on Seabs without waking him up," Patrick suggests.

Jonny sets aside his notebook. "Okay, fine."

They manage to kill a good 20 minutes that way. Seabs sleeps through them building a tower out of seven books, a box of tissues, both of their cell phones, three stolen dining hall cups, an origami crane made out of Patrick's graded calc homework, and a pack of gum. It's obviously Patrick's fault that it falls when it does -- he jostles Jonny's arm as he's adding a pen for an antenna, and the whole thing comes down.

Seabs jolts awake, the paper crane stuck beak-first in his hair. "The fuck?"

"Jenga," Patrick says, then cracks up laughing. Jonny can't help but laugh too.

"God save me from overgrown toddlers like you," Seabs grumbles. "That's it, this is war. You're getting beat into next Thursday at Mario Kart.."

"Like hell we are," Jonny says immediately. "I can take you."

"It's on!" Patrick fist-pumps.

Their dorm lounge is already set up for Mario Kart, with two couches angled in towards the huge old TV and four controllers resting on top of it. They pile onto the couches, Jonny and Patrick on one, Seabs on the other, just as another guy comes in. Jonny instantly pegs him as a metalhead, with a slightly squirrelly look in his eyes.

Seabs greets him with a high-five. "Duncs, this is Kaner's new study partner. We're gonna call him Tazer. Tazer, this is Duncs."

"Hey," Jonny says.

"Hey," Duncs says back, and he jumps over the back of Seabs' couch to join him.

They start the game, and from the beginning, it's bloodthirsty. Seabs knocks into Patrick, and Patrick flings practically his whole body at Seabs to retaliate. They race around the track, and just before the finish line, Seabs knocks Jonny's car off a cliff and wins.

Seabs leaps up. "Suck it!" he cheers, waving his fists in the air.

Jonny's not proud of what happens next. He gets up in Seabs' face and yells, "You want to go, fatty?", grabbing him by the shoulders.

Seabs blinks, then starts to laugh. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Patrick tugs Jonny backwards by the belt loops. "Down, killer," he says mildly.

"Sorry," Jonny mumbles, and sits down, blushing. "I'm sort of competitive."

"Sort of," Duncs echoes, and snickers. "That's one way to put it."

"So, rematch?" Seabs suggests.

"I'm, uh, gonna go," Jonny says. He starts to get up, but Patrick pulls him back down again.

"Stick around," Patrick says. "Like it's the first time Seabs has been called a fatty?"

"I'm looking forward to what you'll call me the next time I beat you," Seabs says.

"Okay, I guess," Jonny says, and stays.


Jonny gets a whole draft of his paper done in the next couple of days, and he's pretty sure it doesn't suck. Patrick agrees to come over after dinner so they can look each other's over.

"I'm having someone over," he tells his roommate Nick on their way back from the dining hall. "You might want to study in the library for a while."

"Sure," Nick says. Jonny feels a little bad for kicking him out, but not enough not to do it. He's hoping to get his dick touched tonight, and he doesn't need to get cock-blocked by his freshman roommate.

Once Nick's cleared out with his laptop, Jonny sits down on the floor and puts his head between his knees. Probably tonight will be one of their weirdly productive nights, and Patrick won't even want to make out. Maybe he doesn't even want to get into Jonny's pants.

"You okay there?" He looks up, and Patrick is poking his head into the room.

"I'm great," Jonny says. "Come on in."

He does, and drops himself down practically on top of Jonny. "I brought my laptop, so we can just trade and look at each other's that way, or we can email them to each other, or whatever."

"Email's probably better," Jonny says.

Patrick laughs. "I knew you'd be overprotective of your computer," he says. "You seem like that kind of controlling dude."

"Whatever, I'm not controlling." Jonny grabs his laptop and opens his email. If he keeps the screen angled so Patrick can't see it, that's just habit, not being weird or anything.

"What are you hiding?" Patrick peeks around the screen. "Is your background porn?"

"It is not!" Jonny twists around to hide it -- he didn't say there wasn't porn on the desktop -- and Patrick leans even further over him. All of a sudden, he overbalances and lands in Jonny's lap, giving him barely enough time to put the computer down on the floor.

"Hi," Patrick says, looking up at him.

Jonny shifts his position a little. "Hi," he says back.

"Want to take our break now instead of later?"

His eyelashes are incredibly long, Jonny notices. "Yes," he says. "Get up."

Patrick scrambles to his feet, and Jonny pushes himself up so he's sitting on the bed instead of in front of it. He lets Patrick straddle him and push him down, kissing him sloppily as he goes. This time, though, he shoves his hands into Patrick's khakis and grabs his ass, grinding up against him.

"Jonny, jeez," Patrick says, half into his mouth. "Is this turning into a pantsless study break, or what?"

"Yes," Jonny says. "I mean, if you want."

"I really, really want," Patrick says. He pushes up off of Jonny and undoes his fly, then Jonny's. "Come on, help me out here."

Jonny shoves his jeans down off his hips, then, when Patrick says "Those too," his boxer briefs. Above him, Kaner wiggles out of his pants and boxers, and wow, that's his dick right there.

Patrick catches him looking and says, "You're not, like, a virgin, are you?"

"Of course not," Jonny says. Technically. He's pretty sure blowjobs count if you're Canadian.

"Good." Patrick leans back down to kiss Jonny again, and this time, their dicks rub together. Jonny groans, and Patrick says, "Yeah," and wraps one hand around both of their dicks, jerking them off fast and rough and awesome.

"Oh, shit," Jonny says, and comes with his eyes squeezed shut and a mouthful of Patrick's hair.

"Oh, yeah," Patrick says, and then he comes too.

"We should really work on our papers," Jonny says after a while, even though he'd kind of rather lie here with his fingers in Patrick's hair for a while longer.

"Probably," Patrick agrees, but he doesn't move.

"Come on." He shoves at Patrick's side, but the guy is made out of concrete or something -- he barely moves. "Move your ass."

"You like my ass." Patrick yawns. "Okay, fine." He gets up and puts his pants back on, then sits down with his laptop.

Swapping papers works out pretty well. Jonny fixes some places where Patrick gets rambly and corrects his citations -- seriously, MLA is not that hard -- and Patrick finds a couple of places where Jonny could probably stand to punch up his language a little bit and bring in some more interesting evidence. It's also easier to concentrate when his boner has been taken care of, he has to admit.

"Actually, it's not bad now," Patrick says, stretching his legs out. "Pretty adequate, I think."

"Gee, thanks," Jonny says drily. "Yours doesn't suck either."

"Flatterer." Patrick grins at him. "And we're ahead of schedule, too."

"We can probably think of something to fill our spare time with," Jonny says.

"Most likely," Patrick agrees. "We're resourceful young men." He sets aside his laptop and leans in to kiss Jonny.


Jonny and Patrick decide to meet the night before their papers are due, even though they're done, all but printing out the final copies.

"Nick is going back to Minnesota to take his girlfriend to formal, so I have the room to myself," Jonny says.

Patrick wiggles his eyebrows. "I like the sound of that," he says. "Should I hit up student health for safer sex supplies?"

"I don't know," Jonny says, wrinkling his nose. "Isn't their stuff pretty crappy?"

"Okay, I'll shell out for the expensive shit from Walgreens," Patrick says, rolling his eyes. "My point is, do I get to stick it in you?"

"Yeah, you do," Jonny says.

That gets him one of Patrick's real grins. "Awesome."


They print their papers out on Jonny’s printer. "We should break champagne over it or something," Kaner says dreamily.

"Isn’t that boats you do that for?"

"You have no romance in your soul." Kaner shakes his head.

"Oh yeah?" Jonny grabs him and kisses him, dipping him backwards like they’re dancing. When he lets him back up, they’re both laughing.

"Maybe a little," Kaner says, and tugs Jonny’s face down for another kiss. "Take off your pants."

"Now who’s not romantic?" But Jonny’s not exactly going to argue. He strips off his clothes and tosses them into a heap near his desk chair. Kaner, because he’s a weirdo, is folding his clothes neatly and placing them on the floor.

"Seriously?" Jonny says, raising one eyebrow.

Kaner shrugs. "I like things to be where they belong," he says. Then he grins and adds, "Which is why, if I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put U and I together."

Jonny groans. "That was awful. I’m never having sex with you again."

"Your boner seems to have a different opinion." Kaner points, like Jonny might need help finding it, to where his boner is leaking precome against his abs.

"That’s why they call it the little brain, because it’s dumb." Jonny crosses his arms and scowls, pretending to be mad, but Kaner sees right through it.

"Come on, you know both of your brains are into me." Kaner sprawls out on his back on Jonny’s bed. "Unclench, and let’s make out for a while."

"Make out," Jonny repeats, climbing onto the bed -- well, it’s a twin, so mostly onto Kaner.

"What, you thought I’d be like, 'Hi, nice to see you, here’s my dick in your ass?'" Kaner strokes his back, all the way from the back of his neck to his tailbone.

It feels good, so Jonny pushes back against his hand a little, like a cat. "Maybe," he admits. "That’s probably what I’d do."

"You like that, huh?" Kaner does it again, this time petting the curve of his ass, too. "Yeah, well, maybe I want to take it slow."

Jonny’s dick is pressed up against Kaner’s thigh. He rocks his hips, rubbing against Kaner, and pushes up on one elbow to kiss him. It starts out slow, but it’s not long before Kaner is shamelessly humping his leg and panting into his mouth. "Slow, eh?"

"Shut up," Kaner says, and nuzzles his neck. "Can I jerk you off?"

"Go for i-it," Jonny says. He tries to keep his voice level, but it cracks a little when Kaner gets one hand around his dick, just the way he likes it.

"You feel so good," Kaner tells him, grabbing his ass with his other hand. "You’re so hard, and your ass is so great. I’m gonna stick my dick in it and make you come." He mumbles all of this into the place under Jonny’s jaw, stubble scraping a little, breath hot and wet, and Jonny is unbelievably into it.

"You suck at dirty talk," he says anyway, clutching at Kaner’s broad chest with his fingers.

"I rule at dirty talk," says Kaner, with a particularly awesome stroke on his dick, and all Jonny can really do is make a sort of groaning noise.

When they finally get around to the assfucking portion of their evening, with half the bottle of lube drying to a crust on Jonny’s sheets and, he’s pretty sure, the rest in his ass, it’s… kind of great. They do it with Jonny’s legs over Kaner’s shoulders -- "Bendy," Kaner says appreciatively, and gives Jonny an incredibly sleazy wink -- and an embarrassingly large part of him is into it just for the way it gets Kaner looking down at him, like he’s something wonderful.

"You like it?" Kaner asks, a crease between his eyebrows. He’s almost holding still, just rocking his hips back and forth in these tiny little waves.

"Yeah, I fucking like it," Jonny says, and the crease disappears.

"Damn right you do," Kaner says. "I am a god."

"A god would stop acting like I’m made of glass and fuck me," Jonny points out, moving so he can prop his head on his hands like he’s at the beach or something.

"Oh yeah?" Kaner snaps his hips forward. "Better, your highness?"

Jonny fakes a yawn. "Getting there," he allows.

Kaner keeps going, giving it to him harder and faster, and Jonny keeps ribbing him, like, "If that’s the best you can do, I guess," until -- "Oh, God!"

"Say that again," Kaner demands, grinning.

"Fuck you -- oh, God!"

"Say I’m the best at sex," he continues.

Jonny laughs, and that just makes everything happening inside him feel even better. "You’re the best at sex!"

"Say I’m -- fuck -- the best study buddy!"

"You’re the best study buddy, fuck buddy, fuck --"

Kaner leans down and kisses him, and it’s awkward and mostly teeth, and Jonny comes anyway. It’s like he’s compressing into a ball that’s nothing but how good he feels, toes curling, fists clenching. Just as he relaxes, Kaner comes too, and flops in a boneless heap on top of him.

"Love you," he mumbles into Jonny’s collarbone.

Love you?! Jonny’s not ready for -- and then Kaner snores like a jackhammer, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about responding right away.


In the morning, they shower and get dressed for class in comfortable silence. Just before they go into Professor Q’s classroom, Jonny reaches out and punches Kaner in the arm.

"You too," he says.

Kaner’s head whips around, but Jonny just smirks and walks by him. Best study buddy, indeed.