Frat Boy and Toppy (3 page)

Brad was no competition for ol’ Eddie, that was for sure. Unless Eduardo was chasing the same brand of tail, and Brad was pretty damn sure he wasn’t. ’Course, most guys would say the same about him, he figured.

He snorted softly to himself and caught Kyle’s swift look out of the corner of his eye. Brad’s whole image was lame. He had to be nearly falling-down drunk to touch a girl now. Why women chased him was a mystery. He was a complete asshole to them. Shit, he wasn’t even that good-looking. He had a mirror; he could see it was true.

He was suddenly seeing a lot of things that were true about himself.

Among all the other revelations last week, Brad figured out he was attracted to dark-haired guys with tight, compact bodies. Like Sebastian’s. He wanted guys on the short side, with hairy chests and thighs and even hair on their ass. Maybe because he had so little body hair.

His palms tingled just thinking about body hair.

He needed some shoulder, a nice meaty ass, but yeah, compact. It got his motor running. He’d faked being sick all weekend so he could skip the frat’s morning workouts and do some internet “research” on the subject. He’d spent a lot of time looking at clips of guys who looked kind of like Sebastian. The best ones were when the guys who looked like Sebastian paired up with guys who looked kind of like himself. Most of the dreams he’d been having since he broke up with Ashley had featured a guy who looked a lot like Sebastian.

That was when he first started thinking maybe being gay wouldn’t be so bad. His reaction to straight porn was pretty much a yawn, but show him two (or more) guys getting it on? He’d never jerked off so many times in a row in his life. Not even when he was fifteen.

He’d been kind of surprised to find out he wanted a guy who wore glasses.

Sebastian had glasses, but he only wore them when he was reading something.

Sebastian looked really smart in those glasses.

Brad wanted to see Sebastian wearing those glasses and looking down on him. Unzipping his jeans and reaching in, letting him—

Kyle jostled Brad’s arm. Brad looked at him. Kyle was looking back with concern. “Wha’?”

“You all right, dude?” Kyle whispered. “You made a weird noise.”

“What kinda noise?” Brad whispered back.

“You sounded kinda sick. I dunno. Like a dying mouse.”

Brad narrowed his eyes and stared until Kyle sighed and went back to his note-taking. Prof Whitehall was still yammering away up there.

Right on time, Sebastian walked in to pick up the weekly essays. Brad’s whole body tightened up, but he fought to hold his nonchalant, head-on-desk pose. He tracked Sebastian with his eyes, though. Like a bird dog or something.

Fuck. Okay, he needed to take some action here. Needed to get Sebastian’s attention. He had plenty of experience with girls; how different could it be? He knew Sebastian was gay, everyone did. The thought of being with Sebastian . . .

Shit. He’d made that noise again.

Brad was such a dumbass sometimes. He almost hit himself in the forehead. But if he’d done that, he would’ve missed what Ty and Sloan were saying. He forced away the “gay jocks!” moment and concentrated.

“What, that little Sebastian dude?” Sloan was asking.

“Ain’t nothing little about him,” Ty said in a smug voice. Brad scowled into his locker, where he was pretending to look for something.

“That boy gets around. You’re like the fourth guy this month who told me they got with him.”

Brad stilled. Four guys? In a
month
? That was like . . . like him with girls. At least according to the carefully nurtured rumors.

Okay, so the good news was that Sebastian was easy. Well fuck, he was a guy. Wasn’t “easy” in the definition?

Brad missed the next couple of things Ty and Sloan said as they slammed their lockers shut and moved toward the showers. Then he heard Sloan’s voice again, drifting away. “I can’t believe you bottomed for that little dude.”

“Telling you, ain’t nothing little.”

Brad’s gut tightened so suddenly he lost his breath. He flushed hot and cold and broke into a sweat. Sebastian was a top? Brad’s ass clenched up tight. Not in a this-is-the-US-Mint-and-you-aren’t-getting-in kinda way, either. His blood started pounding in various extremities, and he had to lean his forehead against the cool metal inside his locker door.

“Hey,” Kyle said, coming up behind him. Brad jumped, just a little. Hopefully Kyle didn’t notice. “What the hell’s taking you so long, man? We’re all in the weight room but you.”

Brad turned to look at Kyle, and the compulsion to tell him just
exactly
what was taking him so long was so overwhelming he opened his mouth. But even though he was pretty sure Kyle wouldn’t freak out (much), and Brad knew he’d have to tell him—
knew
he was going to tell the whole frat eventually—what came out was, “Do you know Ty Broca and Sloan Tines?”

Kyle looked at him weird for a second, trying to judge what was up. He’d been looking at Brad that way a lot since that Thursday afternoon a couple weeks ago. “No.” He shrugged. When Brad just looked at him, he went on. “They’re in track.” He leaned forward and added in a whisper, “And they’re fags.” Because Ty and Sloan might be fags, but they were tall, built fags with big muscles and a supportive frat behind them.

Would Brad’s frat be supportive? Could he join Ty and Sloan’s as a senior? Did he fucking care? “I think you’re supposed to say ‘gay,’ dude.” Brad slammed his locker shut. He needed to get some exercise and stop thinking so Goddamned much. “C’mon, stop talking and let’s go.”

Kyle made a face at him and followed Brad out of the locker room.

Sebastian was a top. He stuck his dick up other guys’ stretched, lubed asses and . . .
oh God
.

When Brad had started checking out gay porn, he was a little surprised to always find himself identifying with the guy getting fucked. It made his asshole twitch and the muscles in his butt contract the first time he watched some guy push his dick into another guy’s tiny little hole, stretching him wide and smoothing out all those little puckers.

Brad wanted to know what it felt like, so he’d done a little experimenting after he’d started the gay porn fest. He wasn’t about to go buy a dildo, but finding a penis-shaped object lying around was, like, no work at all. He got off, of course, thanks to ol’ Lefty (or was it Hairy?) but it was uncomfortable having something inside him. It made all his hairs stand up, all over his body. Made him feel like he had to take a dump.

He wasn’t so into it. Except doing it once had created this kind of
itch
inside of him. And even though he knew it wasn’t that great, he’d been sorta obsessed with it. Like, to the point where he was lying awake at 2 a.m. almost squirming after having heard Ty and Sloan in the locker room. The muscles in his ass were throbbing at him. From his sphincter to somewhere just south of his belly button, they
wanted
. It nearly drove him nuts.

Brad got up and locked himself in the bathroom, surreptitiously carrying the hairbrush with the perfect handle. How was he going to explain the need to brush his hair at 2:38? It was less than an inch long; he could barely explain the need to brush it at all. He didn’t even own a hairbrush.

Hopefully, Kyle would never notice it missing.

It had ridges ringing the handle. This time, Brad took more time working it into himself. His brain must have had some idea he was going to try this again, because he’d picked up KY. It seemed to work better than the lotion he’d stolen from Kyle last time.

And fuck, even though he knew it was going to be uncomfortable, that first touch of his lube-smeared finger sliding across his hole, feeling the little puckers . . . Brad shuddered and shivered and nearly moaned with it.

No moaning
. He bit his lip, hard.

The tapered end of the brush slid in, stretching him—okay, that felt fucking good. He’d had no idea he was so sensitive there. He took his time, pushing in, pulling out in tiny increments. He felt each one of those rings slip past his sphincter, and every time one stretched him wider and then slipped in, releasing some of that pressure but still
there
, he felt it zing up his spine.

When it was in up to the bristles, he lay there panting and feeling shaky, skin prickling with the feel of something foreign in there, breaking out in a sweat. He still just didn’t know if he
liked
it. Somehow, though, it lit him up inside. Especially when he closed his eyes and pictured Sebastian’s face hanging over his.

Tentatively, he touched the hairbrush, moving it slightly.
Oh fuck
.

He was starting to see how this could feel good.

His skin still crawled a little, and he still felt like he was being sort of invaded, but he wanted it. Craved it. In a very physical way—needing more of that feeling of being filled and the sliding touch into his asshole and against the muscle inside.
Smooth muscle
, his brain told him. Like he fucking cared. Oh, God, and that was his prostate one of those ridges had just slid slowly across.

A small noise escaped him, and the last of the uncertainty about how much he wanted this dissolved into sensation. Brad felt like something was blooming inside him. It felt so good he didn’t even make fun of himself when he was hit with the image of his ass opening up like a flower.

So he fucked himself with the handle of a hair brush while he jerked off, lying on the bathroom floor. He bit his lip so hard trying to be quiet that he could taste blood on his tongue as he arched into his hands and shuddered out one of the best orgasms of his life. The muscles in his asshole clamped down on the thing inside of him, and he bit down harder to keep from crying out.

He sprawled out spread-eagled on the bathroom floor, panting, spooge all over his belly, hairbrush up his ass. Little shocks pinging around every few seconds, then tapering off. He opened his eyes and looked at the light above him. A wave of affection for the little bathroom with the stupid goldenrod wallpaper and the too-bright fluorescent light almost brought tears to his eyes. He lifted a shaky hand and swiped his mouth with his forearm. It came away with a streak of blood, and even that was enough to cause a little shudder.

Brad sighed and closed his eyes again.
I’m so gay
.

“C’mon, dude. Just tell me. Is it an STD?”

That got Brad’s attention. “What?” Kyle had been yammering at him for a few minutes, but Brad was working on his history essay. It had to be really good. He was positive the person who actually read these was Sebastian, and if he wanted Sebastian’s attention, one way to get it was to write a memorable essay. One that was memorable because it was so good.

Kyle was fucking with his concentration. The history of Sparta took some effort to write about. It was boring as hell. Nothing about guys-on-guys in the books he was looking in.

“Do you have some kinda STD? Is that why you aren’t the Alpha Dawg anymore?”

God, were these guys ever gonna get past this? “No. And I fucking hate that nickname. Go away, I’m trying to write.”