Season 1, Episode 3
Three
The Sigma Nu house was not a party, it was a living organism of chaos! The bass from the speakers was so powerful it wasn't just heard, it was felt (a deep, visceral vibration that resonated in Paul’s bones and rattled his teeth). The air was a thick, humid fog of sweat, spilled beer, weed smoke and cheap perfume. Bodies pressed in from all sides, a writhing, dancing mass of collegiate hedonism. It was the perfect place to get lost. It was the perfect place to start a war.
Luke was in his element, or at least, he was playing the part flawlessly. He stood in the center of the kitchen, a beer in one hand, the other arm still clamped around Pamela’s waist. He was holding court, his voice booming over the music, a triumphant grin plastered on his face. He was the conquering hero, the MVP, the king of the castle! But Paul, watching from the doorway, could see the frantic energy behind his eyes, the slight tremor in his hand as he lifted his beer. He was a man running on pure adrenaline and denial.
Paul let the current of the crowd carry him to the makeshift bar, where he poured himself a generous cup of whatever passed for jungle juice in the giant cooler. It tasted like cheap vodka, pineapple juice and regret. He downed half of it in one go, the burn a welcome shock to his system. He needed to be on Luke’s level. He needed to be reckless.
For the next hour, he just watched them. Every time Luke’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching, until they inevitably found him. Each time their gazes locked, it was a jolt, a silent acknowledgment of the live wire connecting them across the crowded room. He saw every time Luke would then immediately turn his attention back to Pamela, kissing her, grabbing her ass, a desperate, public display of ownership.
Paul just smiled, a cold, knowing smirk, and took another drink.
Finally, Pamela broke away from the scrum, making her way toward him. Her face was flushed, her green eyes sparkling with a mischievous light.
“Having fun hiding in the corner?” she asked, her voice a playful shout over the music.
“Just enjoying the view.” Paul replied, his eyes flicking over her shoulder to where Luke was now locked in a loud, back-slapping conversation with a teammate.
Pamela followed his gaze, then looked back at him, her expression unreadable. “He’s wound pretty tight tonight, isn’t he?”
“He’s got a lot on his mind.” Paul said, the words dripping with double meaning.
Pamela’s smile turned conspiratorial. She leaned closer, her lips near his ear. “I have something that might help with that.” She opened her small clutch purse and showed him a small plastic baggie containing three small, white pills stamped with a little star. “A friend of mine called them ‘magic buttons.’ Said they make the music sound better and everything feel amazing.”
Molly. Of course. The ultimate party drug. The perfect catalyst for a night of blurred lines and bad decisions.
The old Paul would have said no. The smart, controlled chess player would have walked away. But the man standing here tonight, fueled by vodka, jealousy and a burning, reckless anger, didn’t hesitate.
“Why the hell not?” he said, plucking one of the pills from the bag.
He saw a flicker of surprise in Pamela’s eyes. She took one for herself, then looked back at Luke. “Think you can get the king to join us?”
“Watch me!” Paul said.
He moved through the crowd with a newfound purpose. He walked right up to Luke, cutting into his conversation. Luke turned, surprise flashing on his face.
“Hey!” Paul said, his voice low and even. He opened his palm, revealing the small white pill. “Pamela’s passing out party favors. Said it’ll take the edge off.”
Luke stared at the pill in Paul’s hand, then at Paul’s face. He saw the challenge in Paul’s eyes, the reckless abandon. He saw that Paul was done playing by the rules. For a long moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them, standing on the edge of a cliff.
Luke’s jaw tightened. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he took the pill from Paul’s palm, his calloused fingertips brushing against Paul’s skin. The brief touch was electric. He tossed the pill into his mouth and washed it down with the last of his beer, his eyes never leaving Paul’s.
Challenge accepted.
They stood there for a moment, locked in a silent battle of wills, before Pamela rejoined them, looping her arms through both of theirs. “To the three musketeers!” she cheered, pulling them toward the pulsating heart of the dance floor.
Twenty minutes later, the world began to change. The edges of everything softened. The pounding bass of the music wasn't just a sound anymore, it was a physical wave of pleasure washing over Paul’s skin. The colored lights seemed to trail in the air, painting beautiful, liquid patterns. He felt a surge of warmth spread through his chest, a profound sense of well-being and a deep, empathetic connection to the two people beside him.
He looked at Luke. The frantic energy in his friend’s eyes had been replaced by a wide-eyed wonder. The hard lines of his face had softened. He looked younger, more vulnerable. He caught Paul looking and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. The first one Paul had seen since the tackle.
Pamela was dancing between them, her body fluid and sensual. She reached out, taking one of Paul’s hands and one of Luke’s, linking them together.
Paul’s hand was holding Luke’s. Their palms were slick with sweat, their fingers intertwined. It was the most natural thing in the world. He could feel the rhythm of Luke’s pulse through his skin, a steady, powerful beat that seemed to sync with his own.
The noise and the crowd began to feel oppressive, the sensory input too much. Paul wanted (no, needed) to be somewhere else. Somewhere with just him.
As if reading his mind, Pamela leaned into Luke’s ear, whispering something. Luke nodded, his eyes still locked on Paul. Then Pamela turned to him.
“This is too much.” she yelled over the music. “Luke’s room is empty. We should go continue our own party there. Just us.”
It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. The final move in a game that had been playing out all night.
Paul looked at Luke. Luke looked back, his eyes dark and wide with a mixture of drug-fueled euphoria and raw, terrifying desire. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
It was time.
The three of them, hands still linked, moved as one. They pushed their way through the throng of bodies, leaving the cauldron of noise and heat behind. They stepped out into the cool, quiet night air, a silent, unified trio walking toward the inevitable, explosive resolution waiting for them in Room 3B.
The walk back was surreal. The cool night air felt like silk against Paul’s skin. The world seemed to have muted its unnecessary background noise, leaving only the sound of their three sets of footsteps on the pavement and the faint, thumping ghost of the party bass. No one spoke. Words felt clumsy, inadequate for the electric current flowing between them.
When they reached their dorm, Luke fumbled with the key, his fingers clumsy. The click of the lock unlocking sounded like a gunshot in the hallway's silence. He pushed the door open, and they stepped inside Room 3B.
It was exactly as Paul had left it: the single desk lamp casting a warm, intimate glow, creating an island of light in the darkness. Luke let go of Pamela’s hand and moved to the small Bluetooth speaker on his desk. A moment later, a slow, deep, thrumming beat filled the room. It was atmospheric, sensual music. The kind that seeped into your bones and vibrated in your groin.
Paul stood by the door, feeling like an intruder in his own home. He watched as Luke turned to Pamela. The frantic, performing energy was gone, replaced by a slow, deliberate sensuality. The Molly had stripped away his panic, leaving only a pure, distilled essence of want.
Luke’s big hands went to Pamela’s waist, pulling her flush against his massive frame. He lowered his head, and their mouths met in a kiss that was slow, deep and utterly mesmerizing. It wasn’t a performance for a crowd anymore: It was only for Paul.
Paul’s breath caught in his throat. Every sensation was amplified. He could see the way the lamplight carved shadows and highlights across Luke’s flexing back muscles, taste the lingering sweetness of the jungle juice on his tongue. He leaned back against the closed door, his body thrumming with a potent cocktail of MDMA-fueled empathy and raw, desperate lust.
Pamela’s hands roamed up Luke’s chest, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. Luke groaned into her mouth, a low, guttural sound of pure pleasure that shot straight to Paul’s cock. He felt himself growing thick and heavy in his jeans, a familiar, aching hardness.
With a shared, unspoken understanding, their dance became more deliberate. Pamela guided Luke, turning them slightly so that Paul had a perfect view. She was acutely aware of his gaze on her, on them. She was feeding on it, using it to fuel the fire. Her hips began to grind slowly against Luke’s crotch, a lazy, hypnotic rhythm that matched the beat of the music.
“God, Luke…” she whispered, her voice husky as she broke the kiss, her lips trailing down his thick neck. “I want to feel you. All of you.”
Luke’s hands went to the hem of her tight black dress, his movements slow, almost reverent. He pulled it up over her head, revealing her body. She was wearing the lingerie she’d promised: a sheer pink bra and a matching thong that was little more than a triangle of transparent lace, doing absolutely nothing to hide the blonde curls beneath. Her body was stunning, but Paul’s eyes were locked on Luke.
He watched Luke’s face, the raw, undisguised lust in his wide, dark eyes. He watched Luke’s hands as he reached behind her to unhook her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts, full and tipped with hard, pink nipples, were beautiful, but it was the sight of Luke’s big, calloused hands cupping them that made Paul’s own hands clench into fists at his sides.
Now it was Pamela’s turn. Her nimble fingers went to the buttons of Luke’s shirt, undoing them one by one, revealing the magnificent, sculpted expanse of his chest. She splayed her hands over his pecs, her red-painted nails a stark contrast against his tanned skin. Then her hands moved lower, to the waistband of his jeans. She unbuttoned them, unzipped them, and slowly pushed them down over his powerful hips and thighs, until they pooled around his ankles.
He stood before them in nothing but a pair of tight, vibrant white boxer briefs. The thin fabric was stretched to its absolute limit, struggling to contain the massive, thick bulge of his erection. It was a blatant, nine-inch testament to his arousal, the shape of the thick, heavy head clearly visible.
Paul’s own cock was now a painful, throbbing ache in his pants. Without thinking, he reached down, his hand covering the hard ridge in his jeans, squeezing himself through the rough denim. A soft, involuntary whimper escaped his lips.
The sound, though quiet, cut through the music.
Pamela’s head snapped up. Her green eyes, dark and dilated, found him in the shadows by the door. She saw him. She saw his hand on his crotch, saw the blatant evidence of his arousal, saw the hungry, desperate look on his face.
A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. She didn’t look away. She held his gaze as she knelt before Luke, her hands stroking the thick, muscular columns of his thighs. She pressed a kiss to the straining fabric of his underwear, right over the head of his cock. Luke threw his head back and groaned, his hands fisting in her blonde hair.
Paul’s own clothes felt like a cage. He shucked his jacket, then pulled his hoodie over his head. He unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them off, standing in the dim light in nothing but his own black jockstrap, the pouch doing little to conceal his fully hard, seven-inch cock. His hand went back to his shaft, his skin slick now, his fingers stroking his length.
Pamela saw the move and smiled widened. She looked from Paul’s hand on his own cock, to Luke’s massive bulge, then back to Paul’s eyes. The invitation was clear, undeniable.
Luke’s eyes were closed, lost in a haze of pleasure as Pamela’s mouth worked magic on him through the thin fabric. He was completely vulnerable.
Pamela looked directly at Paul, her voice a low, seductive purr that wrapped around him like a physical touch.
“Look how fucking hard he is, Paul.” she whispered. “Doesn't that make you want to touch it too?” She patted the empty space on the floor beside her.
Paul’s mind was a whirlwind of Molly-fueled euphoria and stark, terrifying clarity. The fear was still there, a faint tremor in the back of his mind, but it was drowned out by a tidal wave of want so powerful it was a physical force. It was pulling him forward, stripping away years of repression and longing in a single, inexorable tide. His body moved before his mind could raise another objection.
He pushed off the door and crossed the small room, his eyes locked with Pamela’s, a silent, primal understanding passing between them. He knelt on the cool floor beside her, the worn carpet rough against his knees.
He looked up at his best friend. Luke’s head was still thrown back, his eyes closed, his jaw slack with pleasure. He was lost in his own world of sensation, a god unaware of the new worshipper at his feet.
Paul reached out a trembling hand, his fingers hovering for a second over the thick, muscular expanse of Luke’s thigh before finally making contact. His friend’s skin was hot, the muscle beneath it hard as stone. The simple touch was a jolt of pure electricity shot up Paul’s arm, and he saw Luke’s hips twitch in response.
Pamela gave him a knowing smile. With a shared purpose, she reached for the waistband of Luke’s white boxer briefs. Paul’s hand joined hers, his fingers brushing against hers as they hooked their thumbs into the elastic. Together, they peeled the fabric down.
What was revealed, was a monument of flesh: A thick, nine-inch shaft of pure masculine power, heavy and brutally thick. A web of veins traced a path up the length to the heavy, purpled uncut head, which was weeping a thick, clear droplet of pre-cum. It was more beautiful and more intimidating than Paul had ever imagined. It was the physical manifestation of all his secret, desperate fantasies.
“Oh, fuck…” Paul breathed, the word a prayer.
Pamela took one side, her mouth closing over the thick head. A deep, animalistic groan rumbled in Luke’s chest. Then, she looked at Paul, her eyes daring him. Your turn.
Paul leaned forward, his heart hammering against his ribs. He closed his eyes and let his mouth find the base of Luke’s shaft. The skin was hot, silky, and tasted of salt. It was the most intoxicating taste he had ever known.
He and Pamela worked together, a perfect, unspoken rhythm. Her mouth would slide up as his slid down, their lips and tongues tag-teaming the massive cock between them. Luke was a ship lost in a storm of pleasure, his big hands fisted in the sheets of his bed behind him, his hips beginning to move in slow, searching thrusts.
“Oh fuck, yes!” Luke moaned, his voice a low, gravelly growl. He still hadn't opened his eyes. He didn’t know. “God, that feels so good… Don’t stop… Fuck, please, don’t ever stop…”
The sound of his friend’s voice, thick with unrestrained lust, sent a fresh wave of heat through Paul. This was real. This was happening. He grew bolder, taking more of the heavy shaft into his mouth, his throat muscles contracting around the incredible thickness.
Then Pamela pulled away, slid up Luke’s body, her wet mouth leaving a trail on his taut stomach as she moved to kiss him, her tongue plunging into his mouth, taking his groans of pleasure for herself.
And just like that, Paul was alone on his knees. He was left kneeling, Luke’s entire massive, throbbing cock now his sole responsibility. He looked down at the magnificent flesh filling his vision, slick with their combined spit. A wave of panic and awe washed over him. He opened his mouth and tried to take it all again. The thick head slid past his lips, his throat opening to accommodate the incredible girth. He took him deeper, the shaft pressing against the back of his throat, and he gagged, a small, choked sound. He pulled back, coughing, his eyes watering.
And that’s when Luke’s eyes snapped open.
His gaze, hazy and unfocused at first, cleared and dropped down his own body. He saw Paul. Kneeling between his legs. His best friend. His roommate. His soulmate. With his cock halfway down his throat, his blue eyes wide and tear-filled, his lips glistening.
The world stopped. The music, the air, time itself! It all ceased to exist. There was only the shocking, undeniable reality of the scene.
Paul froze, terror seizing him. He expected a shout. A shove. He expected disgust, violence, the end of everything.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, he saw a universe of emotions flash through Luke’s dark, dilated eyes. Shock. Disbelief. Confusion. And then… something else. Something hot and dark and powerful. Awe. And then, pure, unadulterated, bone-deep lust.
Paul watched, mesmerized, as Luke’s cock, already impossibly hard, seemed to swell even further in his mouth. It pulsed, a thick, living thing, and another drop of pre-cum leaked from the slit, a salty pearl on Paul’s tongue.
Luke’s hand, which had been tangled in Pamela’s hair, slid down to cup the back of Paul’s head.
“Fuck, Paulie…” Luke breathed, his voice a raw, ragged whisper filled with wonder. “Holy fuck…” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
Emboldened, Paul went back to work with a newfound fervor. He licked and sucked with a desperate hunger, his eyes locked on Luke’s, watching his friend’s face contort with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
“That’s it!” Luke grunted, his hips beginning to thrust again, fucking Paul’s mouth in slow strokes. “Take it all, Paul. Show me how much you want it.”
Paul wanted to give him more. He wanted to taste every inch of him, to worship every part of the body he had coveted for so long. His mouth slid from Luke’s cock, down over the heavy, taut weight of his balls. He licked a path lower, over the perineum, his tongue tracing the seam of skin. He heard Luke’s breath hitch in anticipation.
He reached his goal. He nudged Luke’s thick, muscular ass cheeks apart with his nose and flicked his tongue directly against the tight, puckered ring of his asshole.
The reaction was instantaneous and violent.
A raw, guttural roar ripped from Luke’s throat, a sound so primal it was barely human. His entire body arched off the bed, his back bowing. “HOLY SHIT! PAUL!”
Paul didn’t stop. He laved the sensitive skin with his tongue, circling the tight hole before plunging the tip of his tongue inside. Luke tasted musky and utterly male. He tasted like secret, forbidden pleasure.
“FUCK! YES! RIGHT THERE!” Luke screamed, his voice cracking. He was completely losing control. “Oh god, don’t stop, whatever you do, don’t fucking stop!”
Paul rimmed him with a devoted intensity, his own cock leaking freely into his jockstrap, the pleasure of pleasuring his friend so intensely it was almost an orgasm in itself.
Luke couldn’t take it anymore. He reached down, his hands finding Paul’s shoulders, and hauled him up. His eyes were wild, his face flushed a deep red. “My turn.” he growled.
He gently pushed a dazed Pamela onto her back on the bed, spreading her legs wide. Without a moment’s hesitation, he buried his face between her thighs, his mouth finding her clit with an expert’s precision. Pamela cried out, her fingers fisting in the sheets as Luke’s tongue worked its magic. He was as devoted and intense in his worship of her as Paul had been with him.
He was a hurricane of lust, and they were all caught in his beautiful, destructive path.
Pamela was writhing, her moans filling the room. “Oh god, Luke, yes! I’m so close!”
She writhed, her hips bucking, and then her eyes found Paul, who was watching, mesmerized, his own cock aching.
“Hey, Paul…” she panted, her voice strained. “Why don’t you taste him on me?”
It was the ultimate invitation. Paul crawled onto the bed and positioned himself at the other end. He looked at Luke, whose face was buried in Pamela’s cunt, and then he lowered his own head. Pamela guided him with her hands, pulling his face to her wet, swollen slit. He plunged his tongue in, and the taste was explosive. It was sweet, but it was also him (his friend). The faint, salty taste of his mouth still on her. It was the taste of the three of them, a unique, intoxicating flavor of shared sin.
He felt Luke’s head beside his, their cheeks brushing, their tongues working in tandem, driving Pamela to the brink.
“I’m gonna come!” she screamed, and her body seized, her inner muscles clenching around Paul’s tongue in a powerful, shuddering orgasm.
Luke pulled away, his face slick with her juices. He looked at Paul, a savage, predatory grin on his face. He was no longer a confused boy: he was a god of pure, carnal instinct.
“Now you.” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
He grabbed Paul’s hips and flipped him effortlessly onto his back. Paul landed with a soft thud, his legs falling open, his hard cock pointing at the ceiling, his ass completely exposed and vulnerable. He was spread eagle, completely at Luke’s mercy.
He spit into his own palm, the sound loud and vulgar in the quiet room. He rubbed his hands together and then reached down, slathering his slick saliva all over Paul’s waiting hole and the base of his own massive cock. The touch was both shockingly intimate and brutally efficient.
Paul gasped as Luke’s fingers probed him, stretching him open. “Easy, easy…” Luke soothed, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “Just relax for me.”
He positioned the thick, wet head of his cock at Paul’s entrance and pushed.
Paul cried out, a sharp sound of pain and overwhelming pleasure. He felt a searing, stretching pressure as the thick, blunt crown of Luke’s cock breached him. It was the most intense sensation of his life.
“Fuck, you’re so tight!” Luke groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. He pushed again, slowly, inch by agonizing, blissful inch. Paul’s body screamed in protest and begged for more. He was being filled, claimed, split open by the one person he had ever truly wanted.
Finally, with a last, powerful surge, Luke was all the way inside him. He was buried to the hilt, nine inches of thick, hot flesh filling Paul completely. They both froze, panting, letting Paul’s body adjust to the incredible size of him. Paul could feel Luke’s pulse, a deep, steady throb, deep inside him.
“You feel that?” Luke whispered, his lips brushing against Paul’s ear. “That’s how much I want you.”
And then he began to move. He started slowly, his strokes long and deep, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in, stretching and filling him over and over again. Paul wrapped his legs around Luke’s thick waist, pulling him deeper, taking every incredible inch. The pain had faded, replaced by a pleasure so profound, so all-consuming, it was spiritual.
“Oh god, Luke! FUCK!” Paul cried out, his voice raw.
Luke’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more primal. He was fucking Paul with a desperate, frantic energy, as if trying to make up for years of lost time. The sound of their bodies slapping together, the wet, slick sound of his cock plunging in and out of Paul’s tight ass, filled the room.
“Fuck, I’m so close!” Luke grunted, his rhythm becoming frantic, his powerful body slamming into Paul’s. “Gonna come inside you, Paul. Gonna fill you with my cum.”
The words, the thought of it, sent Paul over the edge. His own orgasm ripped through him, a white-hot flash of pure bliss. He shouted Luke’s name as his own hot seed sprayed across his stomach and chest.
Seeing him come, hearing his name cried out, was all Luke needed. With a final, guttural roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room, Luke drove himself deep inside Paul one last time and held himself there.
Paul felt it. A hot, powerful surge deep inside him. A thick, pulsing gush of hot cum flooding his insides, filling him, branding him. Luke shuddered on top of him, pumping every last drop of his release into him, collapsing onto his chest, his body heavy and slick with their shared sweat.
Paul didn't know how long this vivid dream would last, but the fact was, even if he woke up right now, he would be more than satisfied.
He was completely exhausted. But he was, in that small moment of his life, completely Luke's.
