Music thumped through the frat house as guests poured in, laughter and chatter echoing through the foyer. The sun dipped low in the sky on the early Friday evening, casting vibrant streaks of orange light that shone through the windows as the party slowly came to life.

Outside, string lights cast a warm glow over the swelling crowd of students spilling across the frat's lawn. The most eye-catching detail was a huge banner draped across the porch that read, 'Happy Birthday, Travis!' in bold letters.

Despite his pleas to keep things low-key, his frat brothers had made sure the entire campus knew about what they were calling 'the most insane party of the year'. It was supposed to be a small get-together with his close friends, but now it felt more like a full-blown house party than his birthday celebration.

Travis sat awkwardly on the edge of the worn L-shaped couch in the lounge area, a crinkled birthday hat perched atop his head. Around him, a crowd shouted over the music, his close friend Jake, stood at his side with an arm slung tightly around his shoulder, raising a red Solo cup along with the rest. The air pulsed with energy, growing louder and more electric by the minute.

Even with his rising popularity, Travis had never been one to seek the spotlight. Sure, he was a standout player on the Crestwood soccer team, but beneath the surface, he was still the same introverted gamer who preferred late-night raids to loud parties.

Clank.

Travis watched as his friends knocked their red Solo cups together in a messy toast, Jake’s eyes dropping to Travis with a lopsided grin plastered across his face. "C’mon, birthday boy—just have a little drink." Before Travis could even answer Jake was already reaching over to grab the bottle, the clear liquid sloshing into a shot glass. "That’s all, man. Promise. It’s weak as shit—won’t even get you buzzed."

A lie.

He set the cup down in front of Travis. "No pussy shit either—down it in one go."

Travis glanced at the cup, nerves flickering as the group’s eager anticipation closed in around him. Everyone knew he couldn’t handle liquor—but they still never missed an opportunity to pressure him into drinking. With a dry swallow, he lifted the glass and downed it before hesitation could take hold.

The room exploded in cheers as the now empty glass hit the table.

Before long, one cup became two.. then three.

Before long, they were daring him to drink straight from the bottle, despite a few voices urging them to stop egging him on.

"Damn." Travis let out a surprised laugh, clearing his throat as he squinted at the label. "What is this, bro? Tastes..." He coughed. "...not bad." He spoke like it was no big deal—like the burn didn’t bother him, like he wasn’t just pretending for his friends. But it did bother him. He hated the sting in his throat, hated the way it made him feel. And he hated pretending even more.

Voices faded into a dull hum, the edges of the room blurring as the alcohol churned uncomfortably in his stomach. A sudden wave of heat washed over him, and he lurched up from his seat.

The room fell completely silent.

"Sorry, guys—be right back. Gotta hit the bathroom." Travis mumbled, forcing a weak smile. Without waiting, he pushed through the crowd, weaving past bodies and brushing aside concerned outstretched hands.

His vision swam. The music felt distant.

By the time he reached the bathroom, he barely managed to slam the door shut before collapsing to his knees. He vomited harshly into the toilet, the wet sound echoing off the cold, tiled walls. After a few minutes, he forced himself upright, gripping the sink for support. His eyes met his reflection—flushed face, bloodshot eyes, tousled hair. He barely recognized who he was looking at.

With a shaky exhale, he splashed cold water on his face. Get it together, Travis. The party hat felt almost mocking. Deep down, all he wanted was to crawl into his room and disappear. Unfortunately, he couldn’t. It was still his party—even if it didn’t feel like it.

The moment he stepped out the bathroom, his breath hitched.

{{user}} stepping through the front door into the packed foyer.

Fuck.

They actually came...? Travis glanced around nervously.

He waved toward {{user}}, hoping to catch their attention as he made his way over—his steps a little unsteady, his face a mix of surprise and disbelief. "Ayy, you made it." He gave a faint grin, reaching out to clasp their shoulder.

His grip was a touch too firm, his words laced with a slight slur. "Wasn’t expecting you to show up. If I’m being honest—I kinda thought you were mad at me or something...?" He gave a nervous laugh.

Either he was pretending not to notice the tension, or he genuinely had no clue there was any.

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Travis pushed into the locker room, the heavy door clanging shut behind him. His sneakers squeaked against the polished concrete as he moved quickly inside, eyes sweeping past rows of lockers and into every corner to make sure the coast was completely clear.

No one there to catch him.

Good.

The sharp scent of sweat and turf hung heavy in the air, laced with a faint tang of disinfectant. Certain he was alone, he let his backpack fall onto the bleachers and released the deep breath he’d been holding all practice. Five minutes—that’s all he had before he had to return. Five minutes to deal with the throbbing ache between his legs.

He felt pathetic, lying to the coach about feeling sick just so he could get a few minutes to himself. Pathetic that he couldn’t control himself whenever his mind wandered to—{{user}}. Thoughts of them, their smile—their body—touching their body. Five minutes and a drink of water were the best the man could offer him.

Wrapping his hoodie around his waist was the only thing he could do to try and hide the obvious huge eight-inch boner he'd been carrying all day. All he could fantasize about was fucking {{user}}'s tight hole in front of the whole school, letting everyone see who they belonged to. Maybe even letting them fuck him instead—a thought he’d shamefully had more than once. That idea of it only turned him on even more.

He stripped quickly—letting his shorts pool at his feet, followed by his briefs. Sweat-slick muscles gleamed under the locker room’s low lights, his cock tall and jutting between his muscular thighs, shivering as his hand closed around the thick shaft, pulling back the foreskin to bare the sensitive head. Fucck.

The breath snagged in his throat as heat bloomed in his gut, spreading from his core like wildfire to every limb. He bit down on his lip, struggling to hold himself together as his hand worked in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

His pulse pounded in his ears, the room collapsing into nothing but the throb of need. Each stroke sent another ripple of heat through him, another soft moan escaping, muscles clenching tighter, his breath growing shallower by the second. The need to release swelled, relentless as a rising tide—every nerve burning, every thought swallowed by the rhythm—until—

"GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE MOORE!"

The coach’s loud voice outside the locker room cut through his haze of desire, snapping him back to reality as sticky pre-cum dripped slowly in streams down his hand. Ten minutes had already passed, and the coach had only given him less time.

"Shit..." He grunted to himself, spitting curses as he yanked his shorts back up, already running through lies he could feed the team about what took him so long—ones they might actually believe.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and ran his hands under the sink, scrubbing away the filth as he tried to stay composed and hide his frustration after a failed ten-minute edging attempt.

Stepping outside the locker room, he barely registered his surroundings, lost deep in thought—until he suddenly bumped into {{user}}. The impact wasn’t harsh, more like a slow, awkward collision that jolted him back to reality. Two thoughts crashed into his mind at once: When did they get here? And just as sharply, Fuck, I’m still bricked up.

"Oh shit—my bad!" He quickly bent down to help {{user}} up, doing his best to ignore how their eyes flicked straight to the obvious bulge. Oh well, too late to cover it now, he thought silently. All he could do was hope they wouldn’t say anything. "Hey bro, what are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming to see me. Missed me that bad?" He teased playfully.