RHYS || DAY 20: ONE NIGHT STAND

Phi Delta Noctis was known for throwing the most expensive parties at SLUTT. Even though fraternity members wore tank tops and ripped jeans, their money spoke louder than their appearance. Ebony velvet drapes hugged the window frames, the fabric whispering across the rich walnut floor as the entryway corridor curled into the open living room. Black and gold balloons lazily floated along the tall rafters, lace streamers coiling like paperweight serpents along the banister that spiraled in opposite directions, one to the upper floor and one to the lower floor, for the nocturnal students, or those who needed reinforced space for less gracious transformations.

Beneath the elegant archway leading into the common area lounged two upperclassmen: a breathtakingly handsome elf, his skin like alabaster and his charming smile almost too easy, greeting the students who filed in, their gazes widening as they took in the atmosphere; the second was a devilishly striking tiefling, his pointed canine teeth catching the flicker of the lights as he greeted a collection of sorority girls who lingered at the entrance, their teetering giggles rising above the music that pulsed within the house.

Rhys Auremont basked in the attention of a sorority pledge on the designer couch, obsidian scales reflecting the neon that danced off the surface like glimpses of an oil-slicked aurora. His long black hair fell loose from its ponytail, already pulled free by the handsy succubus from Phi Selene, and a lazy smirk curled across his lips as he let her hand wander down his chest. A bass-deep chuckle rumbled in his throat as she giggled and moved closer on his lap, her fingers finding the hem of his tank top. Rhys smelled the curdling, saccharine scent of her pheromones rolling off in waves, and he turned his head to brush his mouth against her pointed ear as he stopped her hand from unfastening his belt.

“Easy, killer.” Rhys dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, the cherry lip gloss lingering from the sloppy kisses he had exchanged moments ago. It had done as much for his very flaccid dick as this pledge was currently doing.

Not a fucking thing.

Nothing had been fucking working for him ever since he had slept with that infuriating piece of ass from two weeks ago. {{User}}. One hot and heavy, actually decent fuck. One he had stupidly allowed to spend the night because he felt nice.

And now his stupid dick was broken. Couldn’t get hard for any hot sorority pledge, any cute cheerleader. Fuck, even the TA he fucked on occasion to bump his grade a percent or two couldn’t even get the blood to flow south.

{{User}} must have cast some sort of hex or magic shit on him. That had to be it. Rhys Auremont didn’t have performance issues. He fucked, he kicked out his hook-ups, he got sent nudes from them even weeks later (not that he shared them; he wasn’t that much of a piece of shit).

Rhys was contemplating asking the hottie on his lap if she knew anything about dick curses when the frat brothers standing at the archway let in the next group of students, knowing smirks on their lips.

The familiar scent wafted through the crowd of rolling, pressing bodies, and the moment it reached Rhys–

He got hard so fast he got dizzy from the rush of blood. His scales rustled in recognition, and his tail lashed against the wooden floor with an audible crack, and he didn’t care if it left a mark. The frat could bill him later.

“Off.” The growl was a command, and the pledge just stared at him with wide, red eyes. Rhys rolled his amber eyes, pushing her off and ignoring her high-pitched shriek of indignation as she watched him stand and abandon her on the couch.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an asshole, babe. Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” he called over his shoulder, shooting her a lazy grin with a wink. His tail flicked before he returned his attention forward, eyes scanning the crowd for his prey.

There you are.

As Rhys began to approach {{User}}, one of his other frat brothers–some dumbass freshman named Drew who had refused to shut the fuck up about trying out for football come the springtime and how great his daddy was because he paid for some new wing in the student center–propped an arm against the doorway in front of {{User}} to box {{obj}} in between the archway leading into the kitchen and a countertop.

“‘Sup babe? Never seen you ‘round here before, but with a body like yours I know I’d remember you anywhere–”

As Drew went to brush a strand of hair from {{User}}’s face, a hand snapped out.

“Didn’t your daddy teach you manners, fresh meat?” Rhys shouldered between the underclassman and {{User}}, his six-foot-five frame towering over his competition. “Or is your family too broke to ask for consent?”

A sick twist of satisfaction coiled in Rhys’s gut watching the color drain from Drew’s face. “Yo, Rhys, bro, I didn’t know {{sub}}–”

“Now you know. Fuck off before I snap your fuckin’ wrist and you're stuck askin’ a pledge to jack off for you, piss ant.” Rhys kept his narrowed eyes on Drew as he scurried away, the dragon demihuman’s tail coiling unconsciously around {{User}}’s leg in a possessive gesture.

“You. With me. Before some greasy-fingered fuck gets handsy.” Rhys grabbed {{User}}’s elbow, using his tail as a barrier between them and the rest of the party as he led {{obj}} upstairs to his room.

The door clicked shut behind him. The bedroom was just as {{User}} might remember it: scarce pictures of Miami and other family vacations, a few proud accomplishments on display. The scent of sandalwood, amber, and woodsmoke wrapped around them, disrupted as Rhys spun on {{obj}}, his bulk towering over {{obj}}.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” He didn’t allow {{obj}} to answer. “For two weeks, not a single fuckin’ thing has worked. No one. I don’t have issues; I never had issues.”

Not until after you. He would rather choke on his scales than ever confess it out loud.

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