Chapter 1: Riding the Quarterback
The knock came at 1:47 AM.
Two sharp raps against my door, hard enough that the cheap wood vibrated in its frame. My laptop screen glowed blue in the dark room, casting shadows across stacks of textbooks and scattered notes. Midterms were in three days. I’d been grinding since noon.
I almost ignored it.
Then a voice, low and rough through the wood: “Hey. Hey. Open up.”
Derek fucking Gallagher.
Quarterback. Campus god. Ass that had its own Instagram fan account - I knew because I’d definitely visited it more than once, usually around 2 AM when my hand wandered south. The guy who threw game-winning spirals on Saturdays and spent Sundays surrounded by girls who smelled like coconut oil and vodka-cran.
We’d spoken exactly twice. Once when he asked to borrow a pen in Econ 101. Once when he called me “Bible Boy” after I corrected the professor on a Keynesian multiplier.
But here he was. Outside my dorm. At night.
My hand trembled as I turned the deadbolt.
The door swung open.
Derek filled the frame. Six-three, two-twenty, shoulders that seemed to block out the hallway fluorescents. He wore grey sweats and a faded jersey, no shoes. His hair was mussed, like he’d been running his fingers through it.
His eyes found mine. Dark. Hungry.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
Neither of us moved. The silence stretched, thick and humming.
Derek shifted his weight, and my gaze dropped automatically to the curve of his ass straining against the thin cotton of his sweats. A reflex. A prayer. I looked away too late.
He caught me.
A slow smile spread across his face - not cruel, not mocking, but something else. Something that made my stomach flip.
“You been staring at me all semester,” he said.
My throat closed.
“It’s fine.” He stepped forward, into my space. The scent of him hit me - salt, sweat, some expensive deodorant. “I been looking at you too.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re the guy who always sits in the back. Second row from the wall. You take notes like your life depends on it, and you wear those little round glasses that make you look like a smartass.” He took another step. I backed up. My heels hit the edge of my bed frame. “And when you think no one’s watching, you stare at my ass like you’re trying to memorize it.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“I don’t…”
“Don’t lie.” His voice dropped, rougher now. “I like it.”
My brain short-circuited.
Derek reached behind him and pushed my door shut. The click of the lock echoed in the dark room. He took the last step between us, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his irises, the slight chapping of his lower lip.
“I want you to fuck me,” he said.
The words hung in the air, impossible and real.
“I… we…” I swallowed. “You’re the quarterback.”
“And you’re the guy with the monster dick everyone talks about.”
Heat flooded my face. “People don’t talk about that.”
“They do in the locker room.” He glanced down at my sweatpants, then back up. “Jason from your floor mentioned it during a poker game. Said you hooked up with his roommate and the guy couldn’t walk for two days.”
Fucking Jason.
“Is it true?” Derek’s hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw. His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone who threw sixty-yard bombs. “You packing?”
Words failed me. I nodded.
“Show me.”
My hands moved before my brain caught up, fumbling with the drawstring of my sweats. They dropped to my knees. I stood there in my boxers, the outline of my cock already straining against the fabric, half-hard from adrenaline and the sheer impossibility of this moment.
Derek’s breath caught.
He dropped to his knees.
The sight of him there - the campus god, the jock, the guy who had his pick of anyone - kneeling on my threadbare dorm room carpet, looking up at me with dark, worshipful eyes - made my head spin.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my boxers, pulling them down slowly. The fabric caught on my erection, dragging across sensitive skin. I hissed.
Then I was free.
Derek stared.
My cock stood thick against my stomach, longer than his hand, heavy and flushed. Veins traced along the shaft, and the head was already slick with precum, dark red in the dim light.
He didn’t speak.
He just looked.
His hand rose, trembling slightly, and wrapped around the base. His fingers didn’t meet. The heat of his palm was electric, a jolt that traveled straight up my spine.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “It’s even bigger than I imagined.”
I had no response. My mind was static.
Derek leaned forward. His lips brushed the head - soft, barely there, a question. My hips jerked involuntarily.
He smiled against my skin.
Then he opened his mouth and took me in.
The world narrowed to the wet heat of his throat, the way his tongue pressed flat against the underside of my shaft, the vibration of the low moan he let out. His hand worked the base, slow and deliberate, while his head bobbed, taking more of me each time.
I grabbed his hair without thinking. It was softer than I expected.
He moaned again, louder, and the sound traveled through my cock, straight to my balls. My knees went weak.
“Derek - I’m gonna -”
He pulled off. A strand of saliva connected us, glistening. “Not yet.”
He stood. The sweats came off.
And I forgot how to breathe.
His ass was a masterpiece. Round, full, sculpted from years of squats and lunges and god knows what else. Two perfect globes of muscle, pale in the moonlight, with a dusting of dark hair at the small of his back. He turned slightly, and I saw the crack of him, the shadow between those cheeks.
He climbed onto my bed. It groaned under his weight. He settled on his stomach, propped himself up on his elbows, and looked back at me over his shoulder.
“Come here.”
I moved on autopilot. Knees hitting the mattress. Hands finding his hips. The warmth of him radiating against my thighs.
Derek reached back, grabbed my cock, and guided it between his cheeks. The head pressed against his entrance.
“Slow,” he said. “Please.”
I nodded. I was shaking.
The tip pushed through. The heat was blinding - tight and slick and alive. Derek’s breath hitched. His fingers twisted in my sheets.
I held still, letting him adjust. Every muscle in my body screamed for more, but I stayed frozen, watching the way his back arched, the way his shoulders tensed and released.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Move.”
I pulled back an inch. Pushed forward. Another inch.
His moan was muffled by the pillow, but I felt it - the vibration traveled through his body into mine, a feedback loop of pleasure. My hands gripped his hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin above his ass, and I rocked into him.
Slow. Deep. Each thrust a question, answered by the clench of his body around mine.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah. Like that.”
The room filled with sound - my breath ragged, his gasps, the wet slide of skin on skin. I watched myself disappear into him, over and over, hypnotized by the sight. His ass stretched around my girth, pink and swollen, taking everything I gave.
I leaned over him. My chest pressed against his back. My lips found his shoulder, tasting salt.
“You feel incredible,” I murmured.
He turned his head. Our mouths met, clumsy and hungry. His tongue found mine, and I thrust deeper, and he moaned into my mouth.
The angle shifted. His body opened. A new heat swallowed me, and Derek broke the kiss with a sharp cry.
“There,” he gasped. “Fucking - right there. ”
I drove into that spot again. His whole body shuddered. His hand shot back, grabbing my thigh, nails digging in.
“Don’t stop.”
I didn’t.
I fucked him slow and deep, each stroke pushing against that hidden place inside him, and he took it. He worshipped it - every inch, every pulse, every moment of my cock buried in the heat of him.
His moans turned to words. Broken. Desperate.
“So big. So fucking - god - I thought about this. In practice. In the shower. Lying in bed at night, thinking about your cock in my -”
He cut off, shuddering.
I kept moving.
Time dissolved. Minutes or hours, I couldn’t tell. There was only the rhythm of our bodies, the smell of sweat and sex, the soft cries he made each time I hit that spot.
His hand reached between his legs. I heard the slick sound of him stroking himself.
“I’m close,” he said. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I want to come with your cock inside me.”
I buried myself to the hilt.
His body seized. A sound escaped him - high and broken and beautiful. His muscles clenched around me in waves, milking, pulling, demanding. The sensation tipped me over the edge. I drove into him one last time, hips pressed tight against his ass, and came.
Hot. Deep. Endless.
My vision blurred. My hands trembled on his hips. I poured into him, pulse after pulse, while he shuddered through his own release, his body gripping mine like it never wanted to let go.
We lay there, breathing hard, tangled in sweat and sheets.
Minutes passed.
Derek shifted beneath me. I slipped out, and he winced. I whispered an apology.
He laughed - a low, husky sound. “Don’t apologize for that.”
I collapsed beside him. The bed was too small for both of us, but he pulled me closer, wrapping an arm around my chest. His lips found my forehead.
“That was…” I started.
“Perfect,” he finished.
Silence. His heart hammered against my shoulder.
Then his hand slid lower. Across my stomach. Down my thigh. And then between my legs, where I was already stirring again.
“Derek…”
He kissed my neck. “We’re not done.”
His hand wrapped around my half-hard cock, and I felt him smile against my skin.
His other hand reached behind him, fingers probing his own slick, stretched hole. He gasped softly.
“I want to feel you again,” he said. “But this time, I want to ride you.”
He pushed himself up, straddling my hips. The moonlight traced the lines of his chest, the curve of his waist, the heavy swell of his ass hovering above me.
I watched him reach back. Watched him guide me to his entrance. Watched him close his eyes as he lowered himself, inch by agonizing inch, until I was buried inside him again.
His hands pressed flat against my chest. He began to move.
Slow. Deep.
His head fell back.
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