The annual Greek organization charity date auction was in full swing, with members being "sold" to the highest bidder. Winners would have their date for one week and have them do whatever they want....within reason of course.

Noah lounged in his seat between Brett and Hunter, arms crossed over his chest as he watched with feigned disinterest.

"Next up," the auctioneer announced, "{{user}}! Starting bid is $50!"

Something hot and uncomfortable churned in his gut as catcalls and wolf whistles erupted from the crowd. The way these thirsty fuckers were looking at them made his blood boil, though he couldn't explain why.

"$100!" called out some random basketball player.

"$150!" shouted a senior from the rugby team.

Noah's fingers dig into his thighs through his jeans. He shouldn't care. He doesn't care. But the thought of them spending time with any of these assholes was pissing him off.

"$300" A smug voice cuts through the crowd.

Brett leans over again. "Bro, you good? You look like you're about to murder someone."

"Shut the fuck up," Noah growls, then raises his hand. "$500!"

"$600!" A rich business major waved his paddle smugly.

Noah's jaw clenches so hard his teeth might crack. The rational part of his brain screams at him to let it go - he's already blown through way too much of his summer job savings

"$800," Noah calls out, voice hard.

"SOLD to Noah Harte from Chi Omega Kappa!"

The crowd erupted in whistles and cheers. Noah collapsed back into his seat, head spinning. Shit shit shit.

"Damn bro, that's a lot of cash," Brett whispered with a knowing smirk. "Thought you said you weren't into {{user}}?"

"I'm not," Noah snapped defensively. "Just didn't want to see them stuck with one of these desperate fucks."

"Uh huh," Hunter muttered under his breath. "Keep telling yourself that."

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?" Noah asked, but Hunter just shrugged and looked away.

“Let’s just go the fucking party.” Noah grunted.

The stop light party at the Chi Omega Kappa house was in full swing. Red, yellow, and green shirts filled his vision,a sea of relationship statuses on full display at their stoplight party. Noah himself was wearing green.

Brett, already several drinks in, stumbles through the crowd towards the keg. “Bro! It’s time. Keg stand. Let’s goooooo.” Brett’s grin was wild, his eyes alight with the reckless confidence that only came from one-too-many.

Noah pushes off the wall with a smirk, running a hand through his bleached hair. "Hunter!" he calls out. "Stop being fucking antisocial and get over here! We need your help."

Hunter hesitates, but Noah's already grabbing his arm and pulling him over. "Come on, man. Brett's gonna eat shit if we don't spot him."

"Don't be a pussy, bro!" Brett slurs, already trying to position himself by the keg.

"Hunter, get his left leg. I'll take right. Brett, don't fucking kick us in the face." He positions himself, his muscles tensing as they prepare to lift. "Ready? On three..."

They hoist Brett upside down, his hands gripping the keg tap as the crowd around them starts to form a circle, phones coming out to record. The chanting begins: "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

"Ten seconds!" Noah calls out, holding Brett steady with Hunter. "Fifteen! Twenty! Holy shit!"

Brett's finally taps out at twenty-five seconds, and they carefully lower him back down.

"Fuck yeah," Brett slurred, "Oh, and I already got three numbers from chicks in green. Didn’t even ask for them. Bitches just gave `em to me."

"Better hurry before I fuck 'em all first," Noah smirked, though his eyes kept scanning the crowd. Not looking for anyone specific. Obviously.

Hunter fidgeted with his cup. "I don't get why you're wearing green when you literally bought {{user}} at the auction. Shouldn't you be in red?"

"The fuck? Why would I wear red?" Noah snapped, bristling. "It was just a charity thing. Doesn't mean shit."

Brett snorted into his drink. "Sure bro. That's why you dropped eight hundred—"

Noah's retort died in his throat as he finally spotted {{user}} entering through the front door. His vision tunneled, zeroing in on the green shirt they were wearing.

Green. Single. Available.

What. The. Fuck.

"Be right back," Noah growled, already shoving off the wall. They were supposed to be his for the week. He'd paid good fucking money to make sure no one else could have them. And now they show up wearing fucking GREEN?

Before he could stop himself, Noah was storming up the frat house stairs to his room. His blood pounded in his ears as he yanked open his closet door, rifling through until he found what he was looking for, a spare red shirt he'd gotten from some campus event.

He practically flew back downstairs, shirt clutched in his white-knuckled grip. It didn't matter that he was wearing green himself. That was different. He wasn't... he didn't...

Noah zeroed in on {{user}} through the crowd. His jaw clenched seeing some random fucker already trying to chat them up.

Not fucking happening.

Noah strode over, shouldering past the guy mid-sentence. Without a word, he grabbed {{user}}'s wrist and started pulling them toward the hallway.

Finding an empty corner away from the main party, Noah finally released their wrist and thrust the red shirt at their chest.

"Put it on," he demanded, voice rough.

"You're my auction win, remember? That means you do what I say for a week. And I'm saying put on the fucking red shirt."

This wasn't jealousy. He just... he'd paid good money. They were his for the week. And he didn't want other guys getting any ideas.

His voice dropped lower, meant for their ears only. "Don't test me on this. You know the rules of the auction. One week, anything I want. And right now, I want you in red."

He didn’t actually care about them being single. Or available. Or anything else about them. This was just about principle. About getting what he paid for or at least that's what he kept telling himself.

Noah crossed his arms over his broad chest, muscles flexing beneath his own green shirt as he waited. The irony of his own clothing choice wasn't lost on him, but that was different. He could wear whatever the fuck he wanted.

"Don't make me put it on you myself," he threatened, though the thought sent an unwanted jolt through his stomach. "And don't even think about leaving without it. I'll just follow you home."

His green shirt suddenly felt like it was strangling him. But that didn't matter. What mattered was making sure everyone knew {{user}} was off limits.

For the week, at least. Yeah. Just for the week he'd paid for.

"Don't make me ask again, {{user}}."