Balance. "We'll be late," Karl said, settling back in his desk chair with his cup of coffee to wait. He knew the routine by now. The hand made a vague waving motion. "Skippin..." "It's Tuesday." Karl started mentally counting down from ten. Right on schedule, Orlando's head peeked from the comforter. Bloodshot eyes the color of rich, warm brown met his. Orlando's face was lined with creases and dark stubble. His hair was half-matted to his head, half-sticking up in crazy spikes. "Tuesday?" "Tuesday," Karl confirmed, and gently shoved Orlando's tea mug across the desk towards him. "You've got 20 minutes." "But..." Orlando went from sleepy resignation to fully aware panic in about five seconds. "Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck..." He threw himself out of bed, trying futilely to disentangle himself from the blanket, and cursed roundly when he banged his toe on the edge of the desk. "Motherfucking cocksucking..." Karl hid his grin by sipping on his coffee. Orlando continued hopping around, pausing only long enough to snatch the mug off the desk, taking noisy, long slurps in between cursing some more about the time, Karl letting him sleep in, the time, the school for scheduling classes at such an ungodly hour, the time, etcetera, etcetera. Abruptly, Orlando stopped and glared down at Karl. "Do I have time for a shower?" Karl didn't need to check his watch. "Yeah, but not enough for you to shave." "Stupid cocksucking..." "Stubble's sexy," Karl told him, then pointed at the bathroom. "You've got five minutes to get in and out." Four minutes and thirty-three seconds later (Karl started timing Orlando's solo showers about a year ago, just for shits and giggles), Orlando emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet, awake, and utterly gorgeously naked. Karl dug his nails into his thighs to keep from standing and dragging Orlando back to the bed. He knew that, normally, Orlando wouldn't have any objections to spending the day skipping classes to have lots of noisy sex (something Karl rarely did; he did have a GPA to maintain), but this wasn't any day. It was Tuesday. He tossed a towel at Orlando, and did his best not to look down past his shoulders. "Dude, you need to put some clothes on before I start molesting you." "We can't be late, you know he doesn't allow anyone into his class after it's started and where the fuck are my black jeans?" Orlando towel-dried his hair while tossing aside two t-shirts and one suspect pair of boxers. "By your skateboard." It took Orlando two minutes and twelve seconds to get dressed. He didn't bother with any underwear (which was as much practical as sexy as hell, given that Orlando still had yet to do laundry, but it still meant that Karl could easily take advantage of him later) and shoved his feet hastily into a pair of flops, despite the fact that it was a crisp morning. Karl was pretty sure Orlando's toes would survive, but he made a mental note not to let Orlando's feet anywhere near his crotch for the foreseeable future. (Which was, after all, how Orlando amused himself when they were in the library during their study breaks.) Karl set his mug down, and stood. Orlando looked frantically around, and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Karl tossed Orlando's backpack at his chest. "Ready?" Orlando nodded and smiled, wide and brilliant, before leaning in to place a quick kiss to Karl's lips. "You know, most guys wouldn't be so keen on their boyfriends having a crush on another man." "Most guys've never met Professor Sinclair and I prefer the term lover," Karl said, and shoved Orlando out the door. "Seriously? That sounds so...pretentious. French," Orlando added, like that was the worst insult he could think of. They made their way across the leaf-strewn courtyard at a brisk pace (some Tuesdays, it was more a flat-out run, but Karl wanted a few extra minutes this morning to take his time). "I think it sounds romantic. Boyfriend sounds so high school." "Whatever," Orlando replied, but Karl could tell he was pleased by the way his ears turned slightly pink. That was the fist place he always blushed. It was also the first thing about Orlando that Karl had fallen in love with. (He never told Orlando this, of course. Orlando was slightly touchy on the subject of how easily he blushed.) Karl bumped Orlando's shoulder. "Y'think he'll do a lot of chalkboard writing today?" "God I hope so." Orlando's sigh was this short of pornographic. "I mean, you have got a superb ass, don't get me wrong, but Professor Sinclair's got it going on for an older guy." "You think he and Professor Bean have ever taped themselves having sex?" "Man. Oh man, seriously, I do not need to be walking into his class with a raging hard-on." Karl grinned. He loved that stunned, slack-jawed look on Orlando's face more than anything else. "I bet they do." "I bet Professor Bean talks dirty to Professor Sinclair all the time, too." "Now that I would totally pay to hear," Karl replied, with his own lusty sigh. Orlando may have a thing (and rightfully so) about Professor Sinclair, but he had his own crush on Professor Bean. And Professor Bean's voice. "You should ask him." "Forget it." Orlando's sidelong grin was sly. "Seriously, he'd tell you. You're, like, his favorite student." "No." "Spoilsport." "But you love me," Karl said, and jerked his head in the direction of their building. "Race you the rest of the way?" "Done," Orlando said, and took off before waiting for a reply. Karl gave him an extra three steps before giving chase. Professor Sinclair may have a great ass, true enough, but Karl still preferred to stare at Orlando's.
Onto Varsity
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