Page 25 of Shiver
RAKESH
I teach two classes,though one I primarily sit there as a pretty scribe, studying my own shit. I have a very useful talent that allows me to absorb what I’m reading without being distracted by everything around me and still pay vague attention to what’s going on. It’s an invaluable skill that I’ve worked on honing over the years.
Physics I is filled with primarily freshmen and the odd senior who waited for their last year to take the courses they avoided when they should have gotten it out of the way. We’re at the point where we’re looking at quantum mechanics. As I look around the class, I see many glassy eyes, helplessly lost looks, and even a few praying for understanding. Then there are the two or three that are studiously taking notes.
When class is over, I head to my office with the stack of reports the instructor gave me to grade. On my way out, I pluck my phone from my pocket and check my messages.
Egon and I have been bantering suggestively over what kind of celebration he’ll get tonight for winning last night. While I didn’t actually go to the game, I streamed it and kept watching in the background while I knocked out some of my masters’ classes work.
He didn’t score, but he did his job at protecting his goalie. He was always there, always ready. I think his counterpart is the weaker link, which Cornell must have figured out or known as they tried to keep the plays on the opposite side of the net.
Not that Egon remained still. He’d get right in when he could or when his teammates needed him. I can see why my uncle continues to hint at professional hockey. He has a lot of raw talent. If some of his skills were a bit more refined, I could totally see him playing professionally.
But he’s right that one man’s dream is not necessarily the same as the next man’s. He loves hockey, but he doesn’t want it to be his entire life. As a professional player, it really is. For eight months of the year, their lives are dedicated to hockey, leaving time for little else. That’s not the kind of life that facilitates family, friends, or other personal relationships. Not to mention the wear and tear on your body.
I admire Egon not being swayed by the interest in him. He’s 100% dedicated to performing at his peak, but he maintains that he simply isn’t interested in pursuing a future in playing hockey.
It’s… admirable.
The big contracts, the hot people surrounding rich people, the flashy lights. It’s a short career and you can make bank in it if you’re good. It’s difficult not to be seduced by the promise of a dip into how the other half lives.
A snort leaves me as I step into my office, scanning over the text conversation Egon and I had been having. Puck shots, slap shots (to which I meant a spanking, and he responded as if he knew that), trick plays… Hockey was made for innuendos. Especially with them being so fast, flexible, expert stick handlers, and good with little things on slippery surfaces.
I suppose this conversation could be akin to locker room talk. Dirty guy banter. But he’s getting into it more and more as we tease and talk.
In reality, my idea for celebration is a night off from studying. Pizza. Beer if he wants it. Movies. Or we can watch sports and eat wings after the pizza. He’s in a good place academically, so a night off isn’t going to put us behind. Hell, we can actually cut back on studying because, as my uncle promised, he’s not stupid. He’s getting it. He just needs a little encouragement. And the way he responds to praise is dick-hardening.
But he hasn’t asked to step back and neither have I. I’m actually moving ahead in his studies so he can know what’s going on in class instead of sitting there feeling like an idiot while the instructor drones on and he doesn’t know what they’re saying.
Me
What time will you be by tonight?
I set my phone down and take my seat, pulling the reports out of my bag and staring at them forlornly. Maybe we can work up to Egon rewarding me for not simply failing everyone. Most of these papers are going to be shit. Because that’s all I’ve gotten this semester.
Egon Wolf
When do you want me, professor?
Images of role playing student/professor punishments flash before my eyes. I shift in my seat, narrowing my eyes at the phone. It’s the ‘when do you want me’ that he’s actually playing with in his question. I bet the title was just happenstance add-on.
A number of responses pass through my head. Right now. Be at my room in ten minutes. I’ll leave a key out; I want to find you on my bed naked and hard, waiting for me with your ass prepped so I can fuck you so hard you won’t be able to skate.
Okay, all a little too… fast.
Me
Whenever you’re done for the day, is fine. I’m leaving campus in an hour. I’ll just be studying. Preparing for you.
It’s only after I hit send that I realize that it sounds like I’m the one prepping for him. Begging him to come to me. Another snort leaves me. I do not beg. Ever. For anything.
Ever!
Egon Wolf
Tempting me with a good time. ;)
I lick my lips and decide not to respond, since my dick is getting a little too excited. We’re not getting sucked tonight. He needs to calm the fuck down. Though, maybe I’ll leave a little early so my fleshjack and I can get a quick jerking out of the way before Egon shows up on my door, looking like a delicious present I can’t unwrap yet.
