Author's note : yes i was supposed to upload this chapter, take a two week break to write other things, and come back with chapter 6; yes, i forgot; yes, i'm uploading 5 and 6 at once; yes i am sorry. my shame knows no bounds. also this is a Jake chapter so you know i'm using way more nwords than i'm allowed under God's law
Malik was out on his grind, sneakers pounding the cracked pavement as he cut through campus, hoodie up, baggies tucked tight in the hidden pocket of his joggers. He’d been at it since noon, dropping bags to twitchy freshmen, sliding quarters to a prof who always met him behind the library like it was some spy shit, dodging campus security’s lazy patrols. His fade was damp with sweat under the hood, his lean frame wired from the hustle, eyes scanning for the next client when he rounded a corner near the athletic fields and damn near slammed into Jake.
The quarterback loomed there, tall as fuck, broad shoulders flexing under a cutoff tee, dark hair sweaty and curling under a backwards cap, gym bag slung loose over one arm. His shorts rode high on thick thighs, quads still pumped from whatever drill he’d been running, and that cocky smile split wide when he clocked Malik.
“Yo, dealer boy, watch where you’re fucking running, huh?” Jake’s voice boomed, all frat-bro swagger, masking Malik’s faint memory of a very different word from dealer.
“Shit, my bad, fam,” Malik said, tugging his hood back just enough to let the breeze hit. His eyes flicked over Jake’s sweaty body, remembering him naked, kneeling and begging. He shifted his weight, hands jammed in his pockets.
Jake stepped closer. “Out here slinging to my team, huh? You a good guy, dealer.” He laughed, clapping Malik’s shoulder hard enough to jostle him. Jake’s voice dropped lower, a wink flashing quick as he leaned in. “How’s our little fag holding up? Keeping you fed?”
“Yeah, he’s good, same old, fam. He’s been seeing his boys, we’ve been chilling.”
Jake nodded like he was filing the information away, then fished his phone from his shorts, thumb swiping across the screen. “Gimme your Snap, dealer, it’s easier than texting like some old-ass grandpa,” he said.
Malik hesitated. Jake didn’t need his Snap for Carl, didn’t need it for deals, so what the fuck was this? But that word, Jake’s words, how he’d knelt… the memory he kept jacking off to pushed him forward. He rattled off his handle, watching Jake type it in, a quick “Sent” flashing before he shoved the phone back in his pocket.
“Catch you later, dealer, gotta shower this stink off,” Jake said, clapping Malik’s shoulder again, even harder this time. He swaggered off, shorts riding up his ass as he headed for the locker rooms.
Malik stood there, sneakers rooted to the pavement. He pulled a joint from his stash, sparked it, and looked at his phone. Whatever Jake wanted, it wasn’t just a chat, and Malik knew he’d follow along, just because he couldn’t keep that jock out of his mind. Just because he wanted to hear him say it.
Malik slumped back onto the couch when he got home, the apartment quiet, Carl still out at some late class. His sneakers kicked up on the coffee table, laces loose, soles scuffed from the day’s grind, he let himself drift into a nap.
The phone buzzed an hour later. He swiped it open and found a blurry Snap from Jake, a beer bottle glinting under bar lights, caption sloppy: “Dive off 5th, my treat dealer.”
Malik’s brow ticked up and he allowed himself to hesitate a single second before he pushed off the couch. He tugged on fresh kicks, black Nikes Carl had nabbed him last week, and grabbed his stash, rolling a fat blunt for the road. He’d need it.
The dive bar was a squat brick shithole with a neon “Bud” sign buzzing in the window, the kind of place frat bros trashed and stumbled out of. Inside, it was sticky and loud, floors tacky with spilled beer, air thick with stale smoke and fryer grease. Jake waved him over from a corner booth, already halfway through a pitcher. “Yo, dealer! I thought you’d pussy out,” he said, sliding a full glass across the table.
“Nah, fam, free beer’s free beer,” as he clocked Jake’s vibe: cutoff swapped for a tight tee, shorts still showing off those thick legs, skin glowing with that post-practice buzz. Relaxed, cool.
They chopped it up loose. Jake bragged about football, his hands slicing the air like he was reliving every pass. Malik nodded, chain-smoking when they stepped outside for air, holding on to the high to calm him down.
Jake took a drag, coughing hard, “Shit’s strong, dealer,” passing it back, his breath fogging in the chill. The vibe was easy but jagged, Jake’s smile too sharp, and when he leaned in, voice dropping low, Malik could tell something was gonna happen. “Come to the frat with me later, there’s a party on but we don’t have to bother with these fuckers, we can just go up to my room and chill.”
Malik’s belly was a knot. “Bet,” not daring to say another word yet unwilling to back out now as he followed Jake back inside.
Night rolled in fast by the time Jake’s truck rumbled up to his frat house, a sprawling, sagging beast of a place, porch littered with crushed cans. Jake led the way, swagger on full, slapping backs and barking “Yo!” at guys.
Malik trailed, hoodie up, eyes scanning the chaos shirtless guys shotgunning beers. Jake cut through it, weaving past a pong table where some skinny kid missed a shot, curses flying, and pulled Malik to a quieter corner near the stairs, the noise dulling just enough to hear him.
“Hold up, dealer meet my boy first,” Jake said, voice low and grinning, flagging down a dude leaning on the wall.
He was a Black guy, built like a fucking tank, buzz cut tight, a Solo cup in one hand, quiet smirk curling his lips at the sight of Malik trailing behind Jake. He stepped up, broad shoulders flexing under a team hoodie, nodding at Malik, “Sup, man, I’m Marlon,” his voice deep and chill.
Jake clapped Marlon’s back, hard enough to move the giant a bit, “Yeah, Marlon is our linebacker, a real one. You up to come chill with us, man?”
Marlon shrugged, “Yeah, man, your friend seems cool.”
Jake smiles like a kid. “Upstairs, my room, let’s roll.”
Malik followed Jake up the creaky stairs, feeling like he wasn’t thinking anymore, just acting along Jake’s wishes. Marlon trailed behind, closing the march with nonchalance as if they were really going up to chill.
Jake kicked the bedroom door open with his heel and let them into the mess of the unmade bed with sheets twisted into a knot, gym socks kicked into a corner, a trophy shelf haphazardly organized, and a desk lamp flickering on its last legs. The air smelled of stale sweat, spilled beer, even a faint musk of cum lingering from who-knows-when.
“Lock it, bro,” Jake told Marlon, dropping his gym bag. He went to his desk and pulled out weed, a grinder, coke, a mirror, all from a single drawer, then went to his closet, opened a shoe box and pulled out some Jack Daniels.
For a little while, they simply drank and talked, Malik getting to know Marlon a bit, while Jake did bump after bump on the mirror, looking at the two men sitting on his bed as he sat at his desk. The tension coiled throughout the room, locking Malik in place, keeping him talking and waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“So, you live with Jake’s friend,” then asked Marlon, still casual as fuck, “the gay guy he sees?”
Malik turned surprised eyes to Jake, who shrugged as nonchalantly as a man tripping balls on coke could and said, “Marlon’s different, it’s fine if he knows. Fuck, he can have the faggot, if he wants, I’d watch the fuck out of that.”
Marlon laughed. “Yeah, there’s me and two guys on the team that know.”
“It’s not like I’m taking his dick,” said Jake, before he did another bump.
Marlon winked at Malik before saying, “Wouldn’t take white dick anyway.”
“You get it, nigger.” Jake then yanked his tight tee over his head, tossing it randomly onto the floor, bare chest flexing.
Marlon smiled as Malik realized this was normal, to them. “Good boy, you ready for your protein? That why Malik’s here?”
“Fuck yeah,” whined Jake, kicking off his Jordans one by one, peeled his shorts down, cock swinging as he took down his gray boxers next, already half-hard, thick and veiny knowing what was coming. “I’ve been missing Malik’s protein, man,” he said to Marlon.
“I know, man,” Marlon nodded, turning then to Malik as Jake was going for yet another bump. “Homeboy’s been talking about you. Been requesting my loads daily since he met you. What did you do to him, fam?”
“Noth- Same thing. Fuck.” He couldn’t believe it. He knew exactly where this had been going since Jake invited him out, but he still couldn’t believe it. “Every day.”
Marlon rose and opened his zipper. “Jake needs his protein. Soon as he gets it, he’s a beast. In life, on the field, whatever. Plus,” lower, for Malik’s benefit, “ain’t it fun to come on the cracker?”
Malik’s anxiety and arousal shot through the roof, the high no longer helping, jeans tightening fast as he rose and unzipped himself slowly, pulling himself out, bringing himself to full hardness as Jake, face him, not Marlon but him, and kneeled, naked and erect, on the floor of his frat bedroom.
“Fuck, bro, you still ain’t given that nigger cock to the little faggot?”
“No, Jake.” A whisper was all he could muster.
“Fucking faggot must not deserve it…” Jake’s eyes would not leave Malik’s cock, the movement of Malik’s hand. “Nigger cock’s special, yeah? He earned Tyson’s but not yours yet.”
“Not yet,” he said, deciding to play into the fantasy. As if that was all a role playing game when Malik was just trying to figure shit out.
Marlon stepped up, casual as fuck, hoodie still on but pants shoved low, thick hand wrapping his own dick, shorter than Malik’s but fat, heavy, and started stroking as he aimed at Jake’s chest. “Malik’s gonna have to take over for me, bro, you’ve been draining me dry these days and I need to keep some for girls, yeah?”
“Whatever you say, nigger,” Jake responded, turning now his eyes to Marlon’s cock, tone dreamy even when saying a slur.
“You want it, bitch?”
“Come on, nigger, let’s see it,” Jake chanted, hands behind his back, his nine inches twitching hard now, precum glistening at the tip.
Malik’s hand moved, made slick as he spat on his cock, the rhythm building as he watched Marlon grunt, and come. His cum streaked Jake’s chest in fat white ropes and started dripping slowly toward his abs and cock and Jake laughed, “Fuck yeah, nigger, power boost,” his smile wild, eyes flicking to Malik for his turn.
He just kneeled there, all muscles and glory, covered in cum, smiling.
“Give me that cum, nigger, make me strong.”
Malik’s breath hitched.
His cum hit Jake’s chest in thick spurts, mixing with Marlon’s, and he couldn’t help but aim the last of it higher, up to Jake’s neck, shivering at the sight of Jake’s unmoving head, as if he was waiting for Malik to bring it up to a facial.
“Fucking… thank you, nigger,” Jake moaned, smearing the cum into his skin with one hand, his other hand jacking himself hard and fast. In less than thirty seconds, eyes planted in Malik’s, Jake came over his stomach and crotch, a low groan ripping out as his every muscle tensed.
Marlon waved at Jake, chill as ever, “Later, bro,” turned to Malik, “good to meet you, man,” like they had played minigolf or some shit, and he grabbed his cup before slipping out.
Jake wiped his chest with a dirty tee from the floor, still smiling, “Fuck, dealer, I knew you had it in you,” his voice now casual but letting out how exhausted he was despite the coke. He tugged his boxers back up, flopped onto the bed and started rambling about a trick play from practice, the words slurring more with every second.
Malik sat at the head of the bed, next to him, and guided Jake’s head to a pillow. He let the big guy talk and petted his hair, softly.
“You good, dealer?” Jake mumbled, half asleep already.
“I’m good, man.”
“Thanks for coming, tonight.” Both of Jake’s eyes were closed.
Malik said nothing. He left after a kiss on Jake’s forehead.
Next : Tyson brings a friend!
