“…Yeah,” she says. “But I lost a lot of weight over those few months.”
“But I’m cool,” Schmidt says. “You’re skinny now, whatever, but you know how cool I am, right?”
“…Yeah,” she says unconvincingly, and that’s the end of it.
“What the fuck,” Schmidt says. “Jenko!”
“Yeah,” Jenko says, resurfacing from the ex-cheerleader’s pussy.
“College is about brains,” Schmidt says , ignoring Jenko’s sceptical face. “Why else would they have even fucking sent me in here?”
“Because you did so well last time?” Jenko says hopefully, ignoring the blonde moaning underneath him, smiling at Schmidt with more faith than is perhaps justified.
“Yeah,” Schmidt says, ducking down to lap at Jenko’s blonde’s wet pussy. “They know what girls want.”
Jenko smiles at him trustingly.
And keeps licking.
“What the fuck!” the ex-cheerleader says a couple of days later. “Stop looking and fucking do something!”
They’re both between her legs, looking at her pussy.
Schmidt doesn’t feel he has the right to do anything to it while Jenko is looking at it too.
“Okay,” Jenko says, looking at Schmidt. “I’m just going to—“
And he’s sliding on a condom and rocking into her pussy.
She’s groaning in pleasure when Schmidt decides he should touch up her tits, just to participate.
“Mandy,” she moans.
“Oh, no,” Schmidt says. “That’s no good.”
“What?” she asks, body arching, and Jenko grunts, fucks harder.
Schmidt doesn’t notice.
“It’s too close to my ex-girlfriend,” he explains. “Her name was Molly.”
“Was it?” the cheerleader asks. “That is so uninteresting to me.”
She pulls his hand away from her tit, sucks on his fingers, and shoves it down to her clit, to her bare pussy where Jenko is still fucking her.
“That isn’t boring,” she gasps. “Do that and I might—“
Schmidt never learns what she might do.
“Do you want to fuck my mouth?” Mandy asks. “While he’s fucking me?”
“Yeah,” Jenko says.
It doesn’t seem like that should be enough, but Jenko has the knack for it, because Mandy is smiling up into his face and opening her mouth while he positions her.
Then Schmidt is watching as Mandy leaves pink smears on Jenko’s dick.
It isn’t his best, but Mandy is distracted, too busy to complain anyway.
She spits, and Schmidt wants Jenko to wipe it up, but Jenko shoves a finger in beside Schmidt’s instead.
She seems to like that.
“—always on my bed?” Schmidt asks.
“Because it’s always made,” Jenko says.
“Um,” Mandy says, but this is important.
“You’re such a bad roommate, you are such an assdouche.”
“Assdouche!” Jenko says.
“Ah—“ Mandy says, “fucking finally—“ but Schmidt isn’t moving per se, just removing his finger so he can stick it into Jenko’s stupid fucking face.
“Yes! You are!”
“But am I your mom’s assdouche, because I know she uses the nice stuff, so that would be okay.”
“My mom does not use an assdouche!” Schmidt yells, then rethinks.
“My mom does not use any kind of douche!” Schmidt yells.
“I used her shower every day for three weeks!” Jenko yells back.
“And that was really weird, dude—“ Schmidt says, genuinely concerned.
“I am intimately familiar with your mother’s grooming and personal hygiene products!”
“That’s just disturbing—“
“It smells of lavender.”
Schmidt’s mother does like lavender, so that is a remark too far.
“Guys—“ Mandy says. “I think this is getting a little bit—“
“Your mom’s assdouche smells of cinnamon potpourri!” Schmidt yells. “It smells like Christmas!”
Jenko’s face is what winning looks like. Winning!
“And the next time we have to pretend to suck each other’s cocks you’re doing me!” Schmidt continues, throwing it all out there now that he’s Sheening this thing.
“That is fair—“ Jenko says.
“You could use the practice, to be frank—“
“I do not need—“
“—and the next time you come on my pillow I’m sleeping in your bed!”
“Guys!” Mandy barks.
They both blink at her. Jenko smiles and reaches out, but she slaps his hand away.
“Would you just—“ she groans.
Schmidt has no idea what she means. Jenko was just about to.
“So I told my mom we would housesit for her on the twenty-second,” Jenko says.
“Your mom lets you housesit?”
Schmidt looks Jenko up and down. He doesn’t believe it.
“The United States of America lets me carry a gun,” Jenko rebuts.
“Fair point,” Schmidt admits.
“She always leaves money for pizza.”
“Beer,” they chorus.
That isn’t a giggle. Schmidt admits nothing.
“Wait,” Schmidt says. “Does your mom think we’re a we?”
“No,” Jenko says. “She’s just glad I have a friend who won’t accidentally try to burn the place down this time.”
“Huh,” Schmidt says. “My mom doesn’t hate you, I guess.”
“She says only one of us can bring our gun, though. She knows how I get.”
“Hey, how do you accidentally try to burn a house down?” Schmidt asks.
“Well once you accidentally start a little fire you have to cover your tracks,” Jenko explains.
“Huh,” Schmidt says. “That makes sense.”
Schmidt had thought Jenko and his irritatingly awesome, crime-fighting uber-babe were getting on pretty well, but apparently ‘undercover’ doesn’t negate the ‘around’ part of ‘fucking around’.
“Sucks,” Schmidt says.
“Yeah,” Jenko says.
And, after a minute, “Should we call Mandy?”
“The feminists think you’re a fuckface,” Jenko tells Schmidt.
“The chicks from my feminist theory class?”
“Oh, you’re taking that?” Schmidt asks. “I thought that was a joke.”
“This is why the feminists think you’re a douchenozzle,” Jenko says.
“Do they know you call them The Feminists?” Schmidt asks, squinting at him dubiously.
“Why would they have to know?” Jenko asks. “They are feminists. It’s not an insult.”
“…No,” Schmidt says.
He keeps squinting.
“So, hey, is Ryan Gosling the only one who says ‘hey, girl,’ all the time?” Jenko asks. “Or is that one of those weird new things now?”
“Yeah,” Mandy says, wriggling around under Schmidt to keep Jenko in her eyeline. “I just have a lot going on right now. I’m not sure this is the best use of my time, you know?”
Schmidt grunts. She probably isn’t wrong.
“Plus, it’s kind of getting boring, you know?” Schmidt is lazily circling his hips, but he stops at that, outraged. “No offense,” she quickly adds, like she thinks he doesn’t know what that means!
Jenko puts his chin on Schmidt’s bare shoulder so he can smile down at her. Schmidt jolts into sudden movement, and her nails dig into his hips. The low buzz of arousal grows.
Jenko settles down beside Schmidt, arms resting beside Schmidt’s on the mattress, half his chest against Schmidt’s back, and they’re cheek to cheek as he peers into her eyes.
“Hey, girl,” he says. “Who you calling boring? My man here?”
“No,” she wavers.
She’s staring up at Jenko. Her face is getting flushed.
“I know that’s right,” Jenko says. “Because Schmidt is going to fuck the shit out of you.”
He claps a companionable hand on Schmidt’s shoulder, and Schmidt starts going for it, can’t stop.
Mandy is still staring at Jenko, but she’s writhing beneath Schmidt again, and Schmidt feels like it has more to do with him this time, listens to her broken moans, tries to figure out what’s causing them, if it’s deep and hard, or slow and deep, or maybe just that he’s bothering to go slow at all. Maybe it’s just Jenko.
“Yeah,” Jenko says, voice low in his ear. “That’s good.”
She makes one of those noises.
“Keep doing that, she likes it.”
Jenko’s arm slides against Schmidt’s waist as he reaches around Schmidt’s body to get at Mandy’s.
“What?” Schmidt grits out.
“I don’t know,” Jenko says. “Ask her.”
“Fuck both you guys,” Mandy bitches.
“Maybe we could work something out, if that’s what you want, darlin’,” Jenko says, and Schmidt can feel breath on his face when Jenko turns to look at him, ask, “Yeah?”
“Uh—“ Schmidt says, and that was a sex noise, just a sex noise, and then he makes another—
Jenko is still propped on his shoulder watching him, waiting while Mandy shrieks her agreement, while Schmidt says, “Fuck,” low, low and close as Jenko, and comes.
“So do you guys actually want me to fuck you?” Mandy asks the next day. “Because my sister has something for that, but I’m not sure I want to? It seems like a lot of work.”
She sounds interested, though.
“Uh—“ Schmidt says, and it isn’t any better a response the second time round.
Jenko is smiling again, and Schmidt can see Mandy get distracted as he watches, body loosening on Schmidt’s messy bed.
“Not really,” he says, and the breath Schmidt releases isn’t relief, because Schmidt was never nervous; Schmidt could totally get fucked, especially if it was by a little girl like Mandy; Schmidt could get fucked and like it.
He doesn’t say any of that out loud, though.
Except then Jenko is saying, “Doesn’t sound like you would, though,” and Mandy is saying, “Can we not and say we did?” and Mandy makes Schmidt watch Jenko fuck her again just to get them back on an even keel, and that’s how Schmidt ends up drunk-dialling Molly at two-fifteen in the afternoon.
Schmidt’s pretty sure Molly flipped her shit before she hung up on him, but whatever, he’s just glad he can barely remember any of it.
He doesn’t remember much after his gaze caught on Jenko’s dick shoving in, the rhythm of it.
He seems to remember watching that for a long time, but he wouldn’t have.
This is maybe getting kind of weird and freaky, but Schmidt doesn’t know what to do about that, besides stop, and that isn’t going to happen.
“Look,” the Captain says, because he feels the need to explain this assignment every time Schmidt and Jenko can’t stop the giggles, and that still happens every time he mentions it. “I wouldn’t even be interested in no sorority call-girl ring if the madam hadn’t laxatived one of them girls to death.”
“I’m sorry,” Jenko says through his helium-laugh when he almost falls off his chair, knocks the picture on the Captain’s desk over.
The Captain picks it up and points to it portentously. It’s a photo of his daughter screaming in terror at the Hamburglar.
“What McDonald’s do you go to?” Jenko asks. “You need to take me.”
“I care about this case for extremely personal reasons,” he says, finger affixed to his daughter’s teary face. “No dumb, skinny bitch gonna make my Amy take no shit-splode pills! She’s fifteen now, her mother tells me I need to start caring about this crap.”
“Fifteen?” Jenko asks. “Schmidt would like to offer to babysit.”
“No I wouldn’t,” Schmidt says. “Jenko, don’t—Captain, I’m not—“ He breaks off to quail, then rallies with, “Captain, I can tell you now that I one-hundred-percent do not want to fuck your teenage daughter.”
“Eh,” Jenko says. “Ninety.”
Schmidt isn’t sure why the Captain doesn’t believe his protests—though it might have something to do with Jenko laughing straight into his face every time he opens his mouth and then going stonefaced and ersatzly having his back—but it ends with the Captain pulling his gun and Schmidt actually beating Jenko in their sprint out of the office, even if only because Jenko is still laughing so hard he can't even stand straight.
“You look like oreopithecus and you run like him too,” Schmidt says.
“Hey, can we stop at the store?” Jenko asks.
“Why—oh, you want oreos now?”
“No, I wanted oreos already,” Jenko says. “I always want oreos, man.”
“Yeah,” Schmidt says, “we can stop, but—shit, Fugazy!”
Schmidt tenses, ready to duck and roll behind a pew, but Jenko says, “Hey, Emma,” and she walks right up to him without even punching him in the dick this time and then they both walk away from Schmidt and stand looking up at Korean Jesus so they can better exclude him, because they’re both assholes who might actually deserve each other.
He still likes Jenko better.
He sits on a pew at the back to wait, but it doesn’t take long, and Jenko cocks his head as he walks straight past Schmidt—asshole, and also impolite—out the door, but Schmidt does actually get up and jog after him, not that there’s anything wrong with that.
“So,” Schmidt says awkwardly, as Jenko keeps walking, and Schmidt’s legs aren’t shorter than Jenko’s or anything dumb like that, but if Jenko wasn’t such a comesucker, he would slow the fuck down, that’s all Schmidt is saying. “Why were you praying to Korean Jesus? You know he doesn’t love you.”
“Korean Jesus loves me,” Jenko says. “All deities love me.”
“The Captain said he hates your face and he should know.”
“He is more Korean than we are,” Jenko agrees.
“Uh,” Schmidt says.
“No,” Schmidt says. “Burns is, though. I think. We should ask her.”
“We should ask her about her ethnic background?”
“Hmm,” Schmidt says, thoughtfully. “We should probably ask her that before we ask her to get us in with Korean Jesus.”
“Is she still talking to me?” Jenko asks.
“Um,” Schmidt says. “Hey, why’d you tell the Captain I wanted to fuck a fifteen-year-old? And not even just any fifteen-year-old, his daughter! There has to be a reason he doesn’t have any recent pictures up too, right, she has to be really hot. Why—Stop laughing! That isn’t funny, ruining my life isn’t funny.”
“It is,” Jenko says. “It really is, man.”
“You’re so mean to me, why are you so mean? I’m telling your mom when I see her.”
And that sets Jenko off again, which is better than having to answer the question, but still, Schmidt is telling Jenko’s mom.