Today’s the first day of rush. I’ve tidied my hair a bit and gotten into a nearly sheer white button down with a brown belt and nice black jeans. Teddy has done himself up in a light blue polo and white carpenter pants with a belt loosely holding his tuck. He trimmed his stubble slightly, and left the thick mustache above his supple lips. He glances over at me, giving me a quick nod.
“You clean up good, bro.”
I smile down at the floor, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt. “That mustache does half the work,” I respond.
We walk out of the dorm together and meander across campus with other similarly dressed hopefuls. Teddy nudges me as we cross the street to Frat Row.
“You got it. Remember. Eye contact. No gay shit. Just power and posture.”
I nod. “Power and posture.”
“You sure you don’t want to join me?” he proposes, a little late now though.
I shake my head, watching the line begin to form outside of D-Rho’s on campus house. “It’s got the guys I’ve already met.”
Teddy shrugs easy. “Let me know how it goes. We can talk about it after. Good?”
“Good.” I clap him on the back and we part. He goes to the right, and I continue straight back to where two brothers stand at the front steps. I pull my shoulders back and size up the other boys in line. Power and posture.
I don’t recognize the first ten brothers I see. The ones at the door weren’t as tall as the fucking towers I know, but they were clean and prestigiously bathed in money. “Name.”
“Cameron.”
“Last name?”
“Sutton.”
He gives me a once-over and then lets me in. The foyer smells like cologne and varnished wood. It’s bright, old, with chandeliers glinting over tall floral arrangements on round tables and a DRK crest mounted above the stairs. It’s a beautiful house like their one off campus. A few older men walk through the foyer introducing themselves, and I offer my hand and a quick nod before returning to scan for any of the boys I know. I want to see Carter, but it’s hard to make out the boys through a sea of PNMs tapping their feet around like aimless chickens. All different sizes, builds, gussied up and prepared for something I’ve been trying to make mine for nearly four months.
A light bass thumps through my feet while I push my way through a flood of boys by the door. I see Jaeger standing next to a large wooden chair in the main dining room, and I beeline for him. He’s posted with his hands behind his back and suit sleeves pressed. A pocket square with the frat’s lettering peeks from his pocket, and he’s got pins down his lapel.
“Sutton,” he says electronically before easing into a cheeky grin. “Didn’t think you’d show up looking like a GQ obituary.”
I force a half laugh. “Didn’t think they’d put you in the corner.”
Jaeger grins, teeth bright and breath fresh. “I’m glad to see you here. I’m in your corner.”
“My corner? Shit, man,” I smile, my nerves melting.
“So what’s on for tonight?”
Jaeger taps the polished wood of the chair. “Make a good impression. Meet more brothers. Other than that, I can’t really divulge.”
“Right. Power and posture,” I whisper to myself.
Jaeger laughs and I realize I’ve said that out loud. “Sure, buddy.” He takes a sip of beer out of a champagne glass. “Here, let me get you acquainted.”
Jaeger motions me to a group of well-dressed brothers gathered near the fireplace. Finally, a few I’m nearly eye level with. They’re also powerhouses.
“This is Cameron Sutton.”
“The Cameron we’ve heard plenty about so far?”
Jaeger turns to me. “All good things, all good things,” he reassures me.
“Big shot,” one of them says.
“Sutton,” Jaeger begins around the circle. “This is Carrington, Brooks.”
Brooks gives me a sharp nod, and I shake his hand. His build and shoes, it speaks for itself. He’s tall, leaner than I expected, kinda like a preppy school kid who found the gym and no longer fits right in his slacks. “Pleasure,” he says, hand firmly cupped in mine. “Let’s see if you live up to the press.” His light brown hair is slicked back against his skull and tapers into finer curls.
Jaeger keeps going. “Almeida, Tiago.”
Tiago grins and leans forward to clasp my hand. You play or do you just lift?” His accent’s smooth, tinged with just the slightest softening of his t’s and laziness in the end of his vowels. It’s warm. His hair falls loosely over the thin wrinkles in his forehead. He’s got a neat, thick beard trimmed with taut sophistication, and a loose silver chain around his neck.
“Both, religiously,” I say, and he laughs back.
“And, Caradog, Llywelyn.”
“Llywelyn, or if it's too hard, Wells will do,” he says, in a distinctly Welsh roll, offering a warm smile and his hand. His fair skin is almost flushed, and his eyes crinkle generously around the corners. He has a soft jaw softened by untrimmed brown fuzz and freckles that line his face up to his thick, reddish brown hair.
Jaeger glances to the last in the circle. “And this is Ames, Hunter.”
Hunter steps forward, and his sun-weathered skin gives him a rugged, almost unkempt look. His blond hair was, at least, a buzz cut now grown out for months. His eyes are a soft brown, and a few scars run across his face to the bridge of his nose. He’s dressed like the other boys, but he doesn’t seem as comfortable as them in the jazzy attire.
Hunter gives me a smile that seems genuine enough. “Don’t mind the fancy threads. I’m more at home in a tank and boots with mud on my elbows.”
I nod, taking them all in in their suits and seeing their various attempts at formality. The easy confidence shows they deserve to be here along with Jaeger, along with me. Jaeger whisks me off quickly to a darker room with more round tables protected with navy cotton cloths and candles struggling against the draft.
The dim light along the corner of the room casts long shadows, and the muffled buzz of voices blends with the faint clinking of glasses. Jaeger leans in and points his long finger toward Carter. “See him? You can say hi, but you’re not his shadow.”
I take the chance to walk over to him, but he’s already sweet talking another pair of wide eyed boys. He leans casually against the back wall, and he catches my eye while the boys laugh at something he said.
“Cameron,” he says with a smooth swagger.
“Hey,” I step in, finding my place in a quick side hug with him.
“I’m glad you’re here. Cameron. Dalton, and–” he trails.
“James,” the boy finishes.
“James. I knew that,” he chuckles.
Dalton and James exchange polite nods with me, their smiles tight but curious. Carter’s hand settles briefly on my shoulder, steady and familiar while his thumb circles my shoulder blade.
“Stick with me tonight,” he mumbles.
I can’t do that. “You have plenty of fine men to get to know, Carter,” I reply. “I just wanted to say hello.”
Carter’s eyes flicker with disappointment. “Fair enough.”
Dalton shifts, clearing his throat. “So, Cameron. What’s your major?”
“Looking into business, maybe a minor in psych or anthro. You?”
“Something like that, yeah. Entrepreneurship.”
James nods approvingly, “I’ve been looking at that, too, but I don’t wanna rush it.”
“Good shit, too,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual.
“I heard this place gets crazy fast,” James continues. “Like, ragers and girls and everything good.”
Carter’s gaze sharpens. “You gotta get through the first night to get a taste of that.”
“Yeah,” Dalton sighs. “Wait ‘til the real parties start. With the– everything.”
“I’m ready, bro,” Dalton seems too eager, even for me.
I smile at them and tilt my head back to the door, escaping from Carter’s fingertips and back into the foyer. I hope I don’t see either of those boys again, honestly. I wouldn’t fuck them, so they probably shouldn’t be in the house. I watch Reuben leaning against the upstairs bannister perched like an eagle. Brooks and the other boys have shifted now, and rounds of brothers make their ways through the foyer. I introduce myself to however many brothers I find, losing track of half their names but none of their chiseled faces and impressive bodies.
Not too long after, the music stops and Lachlan rises from the crowd and takes his spot a few steps up on the staircase. He lifts his glass in the air and Llywelyn hands him a microphone.
“Welcome, boys, to D-Rho.”
A series of shouts and whoops echo from the crowd until Lachlan breathes, impatient to continue. “This is where loyalty begins. Where you prove whether you belong here or not. What happens, and arguably, what has happened, sets the tone for the rest of your time here at this great American institution.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Lachlan, president, and the man who ultimately decides if your name gets written on a bid or rejection. So now’s your time to pay attention to me,” he points out two boys who are more invested in fishing for cheap liquor from the cooler, and they’re guided out of the house. “As I was saying. Show us who you really are, because we’ll find it regardless.
“This isn’t the place for you to show up, drink a little and call it a night. We have maintained our prestige for decades. We are the top frat on campus for the top men on campus. We don’t tolerate slackers, posers, or anyone who’s not sure about what they want. Go pick another frat if that’s your thing, no shame, but that’s not how we do it. This is a brotherhood forged by fire– and that’s the flame that will burn away anyone who is fake.
“You’ll be tested on loyalty. Will you stand by your fellow pledges and brothers when it’s inconvenient? You’ll be tested on discipline. Can you keep your head straight when everyone else is losing theirs? And you’ll be tested on character. Will you uphold who we are wherever you’re at?
“So don’t come here expecting handouts–” his eyes meet mine for a moment– “it’s not easy. It’s not supposed to be. This is where you become a man of character, trust. To those who want to rise and those ready to bleed for the badge, welcome to D-Rho. Your time starts now.”
A roar rises from the crowd as the brothers hoot together. I swallow a thick thing, the pressure now realizing itself in my gut. I glance toward Carter, whose gaze is already locked on me. Nearby, Hunter stands back with his arms crossed and scanning the crowd. Without warning, Jaeger steps forward and claps sharply. A few boys jump.
He divides us into groups with a brother. I get partitioned off with a brother I’ve never seen before. “You’re going to introduce yourself. Name, age, sports, accolades, and why you want to be here. 30 seconds per boy. Right to the brother in the group.” For the next fifteen minutes we rotate through different brothers and try to assert ourselves in each group. As we shift around the room, I see several brothers skirting around and making notes, sharing them with weird signals and combinations gestures.
I finally shuffle to Llywelyn, who leans forward with half-lidded eyes so he can hear us. I shoot off my stats, my beliefs. He nods at me, but presses. “Why now? Why not next semester? Why not somewhere else?” I feel like I should be able to pause the room to think, but I stumble over a few words before I blubber something that feels right enough.
The scrutiny lingers well after the round is over, and I play back what I could have said to correct myself. “Now, you learn the story of someone else. We need connection, here,” Jaeger commands. “You have two minutes to get to know two boys and tell their stories back as if they’re you and you’re them.”
I pair up with two lanky boys who look like they could be cousins, and they bombard me with information. I listen, real good now. Then, Llywelyn comes by us and I begin to chant off what they’d told me, fumbling over some of my words. He nods a few times, but by the end he’s shaking his head.
I feel scripted. Llywelyn gets thrown at me several times throughout these icebreakers– or whatever they are– and each time he seems slightly more disappointed and even a tad irritated by my responses, and I’m not gonna lie, it doesn’t feel great. By the fourth time I land in front of Llywelyn, I’m scrambling to reinvent myself. Change cadence. Try more eye contact. Cut the filter. He just kinda stares, and I swear I could hear him sigh each time.
A new instruction bellows out from the microphone, and we’re moving again. I begin to recognize some of the boys I’ve chatted with before, and we exchange different looks as we snake around each other in and out of various groups.
Jaeger fidgets with a tennis ball and his voice cuts back in. “Last one’s simple. You’re gonna get one word. You’ve got thirty seconds to make it mean something. The ball starts moving from Jaeger’s hands to a random pledge and back to him. He shoots off different words. One guy gets loyalty but ends up being booed. Another gets power. I stand, trying to listen and establish my relatively short frame above the sea of boys. Then the ball, like I knew it would, finds me.
Jaeger hardly looks up. “Worthy.”
My throat tightens for a moment as dozens of faces turn towards me. “Worthy,” I repeat. “Worthy isn’t a given. You can’t inherit it. You can’t create or fake it. It’s what’s left after you get stripped down and rebuild yourself every day.” Fucking corny. So fucking corny.
Jaeger catches the ball with a raised brow, but then dispenses it again. I don’t dare look at Llywelyn. I keep my eyes forward for the rest of the night, my hands become clammy and my mind swims as I try to scout the brothers I know, but I can’t even find Carter by the end of the night.
“Good shit tonight,” Lachlan finally takes back over the microphone at the end of the night. “We expect to see you all at the events this Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Show up and make yourself known. If we like you, you’ll get an invite to our late-week events. Go home, get some sleep, go to class. Good night, men.”
I file out with the rest of the men. Worthy. Someone claps me on the back, and the tenseness of the interior fades into the chilled summer night. Laughter lands across my ears, and other PNMs chat with each other. I walk, hoping someone will say something to me, but no one does. I keep my head down and chew on the silence in my bubble like gristle. Worthy.
Worthy.
I walk home alone albeit among a crowd of girls and guys all vying for their space. Teddy is sprawled out in his underwear on the plastic rolling office chair the university so generously gave us, headphones fastened and head bumping.
He smiles when I walk in, and I join him in my underwear. “How’d it go?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.”
“Same here, man. It’s not something you can understand if you don’t do it. How are your chances?”
“Good, I think. Some brother named fucking– Loo-ellen–”
“Loo-wee-lin?” He cuts me off. “That’s retarded.”
I smile. “Right? I couldn’t get anything right with him. Always shaking his head and berating me in his fake English.”
“Send him back!” Teddy jokes. I think.
“Seriously. Dude needs a chill pill.”
He grins, lifting his arms above his head and stretching back, his glorious muscles catching the light and making me salivate. “Don’t sweat it. You showed. That’s at least half of it.”
“How was yours?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Easy. Lots of posturing and sizing them up, but I left already with a path to the presidency. I swear it’s gotta be a bunch of faggots in there the way they were looking at me.”
The way the words roll off his tongue makes me cringe. “Shit man, you own the place.”
Teddy shrugs again. “Someone’s gotta get the queers in line.” There's no way he's joking anymore.
“Damn straight,” I follow along. I look him up and down and try not to lust for something I clearly can’t have, but his smooth muscles overtake his rough mouth any time.
“Excited for tomorrow? Still energized?” he pipes.
“Yeah, man. Maybe a better second impression is in store.”
“That’s the shit, Cameron. Good attitude t’ have.”
My classes the next day are more interesting than I thought. I have two math heavy ones with the same professor, and she’s hella nice. I was worried about what Stat and Business Calc would look like, but I’m pretty confident I’ll be fine if I don’t fuck around like the boys beside me. My only complaint is that she did give us homework in both classes before syllabus week is supposed to be over.
I dress up nice again, putting on a grey button down with chocolate brown pants. This shirt hugs me a lot more than the other one now. We’re pushed around back to a massive courtyard with cracked, uneven pavers and a faded basketball court. The music is more aggressive, punching my gut enough to push me to the back of the lawn where a few beer pong tables are set. I hang back, trying to not look too detached, but also not super eager to get roped into any sort of drinking rotation yet. The brothers are scattered around examining from beer cooler turrets, old school chairs, or leaning against the chain link fence around the perimeter.
I clock Dalton across the lawn, laughing at something next to Llywelyn. Dalton’s looser, more confident. Upright. It throws me, not gonna lie. Yesterday he wouldn’t have been back here.
Someone slaps a solo cup in my hand. I turn and see Jaeger with the same goofy smile plastered on his face. He’s gotta have veneers or something. “You’re standing like a cop, Cam. Loosen up.”
I take a sip of the piss shit warm beer, and hope that a little liquid courage will do the rest.
“You clean up better tonight.”
“Trying to not make the same mistake.”
“Huh? You didn’t do anything wrong last night.” He scratches the back of his head. “You were normal in my books. You talked, listened, showed up again. All you really need to do.”
“Llywelyn wouldn’t stop shaking his head at me.”
“Don’t take it personally. He’s not the only boy in this frat, and the ones with the most influence are the ones you’ve already met.” Jaeger takes a quiet sip while he tallies something in his mind. “Llywelyn just cares hella about the quality of men here. He gets testy. It’s a Welsh thing?” he leans in and smirks. “But, don’t tell him I said that.”
Carter and Reuben post on the other side of Jaeger. Carter’s eyes catch mine briefly, but he’s too busy whispering to Reuben to come over to me. I follow their eyes, trying to scan where Reuben points for any insider scoop, but I’m unsuccessful.
Jaeger ruffles my head, and once he’s gone, Carter steps in. “Hey, Cameron,” he says.
I straighten. “Hey.”
“How you feeling about this so far?”
“I don’t know. Uhhh, I just don’t feel super great.”
“If I coulda gotten you in early I woulda. Lachlan wouldn’t budge.”
“I don’t feel like a brother or a PNM.”
Carter nods, teeth tight. “Have you met any PNMs?”
“Yeah, but the only two I talked to were the ones with you.”
“Gotcha.” Carter scans the crowd. “Well. I’d say there’s about half the number as last night, so you’re in the better half.”
That doesn’t mean shit. “Yeah.”
He nudges me over to a jock standing alone at a pong table with two brothers opposite him. “There, Cam. Go for it.”
I dig into the grit of the soil. “I don’t know.”
Carter pushes me more firmly. “Go.”
“C’mon, Cam,” Reuben chimes in.
“You’re better at this than you think," Carter mutters.
The jock looks up and flashes a quick smile. He’s muscular, his arms and forearms pillowy and smooth, and his face is still quite young. He smiles a wide, kind thing, lighting up his deep set eyes and softening his jaw. His nose is thick, but round at the end, balanced by the fullness of his cheeks which carry faint freckles up to his thick eyelashes.
“I’m Gian.” He hits both vowels hard.
Jee-ahn. Jee–aaahnn. I repeat in my head. I extend my hand, and he takes it firmly. “Cameron.”
“You ready to play some pong?” he asks. This man is Australian. God that's a good man to have.
I nod and smile back at him. The two brothers across from us take their first shots, and sink nothing. Gian steps up and sinks his first shot, I miss mine.
“‘S all right, Cameron,” he says. “We got ‘em.”
I grin, shaking off the miss as the brothers miss both their shots again.
“Fucking washed,” Carter pipes from the fence.
Gian sinks another, and my ball rattles in after his. “Gimme that shit back,” Gian taunts, flicking his fingers out at the brothers across from us who groan in frustration.
“No shot he makes a third,” the boy across the table mumbles.
Gian smirks, flicking his wrist and beaming a cup with a clean pop. Carter’s behind his brothers now, trying to coach them as one finally rattles a ball in. Gian takes the first cup and downs it.
“You go,” he says.
I steady the ball and miss pretty badly. “I swear I’m better at this.”
Gian shakes his head while a chuckle escapes his lips. “First round jitters.” Gian misses his shot too. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
The boys finally sink two in a row, but can’t cash in on balls back. Gian picks the rest of the cups off with infuriating ease, much to the misfortune of Carter and his brothers playing. Carter’s arms are crossed now, examining the table a step back. The brothers still have five of their cups on the table by the time Gian plucks off our last one like it’s a formality. The brothers mumble something under their breath, but Gian just smiles wide, shrugging one shoulder and downing the beer in their remaining cups.
“Good game, blokes,” he says.
“Let’s go again. That was just luck,” one chirps.
“Yeahhhh, you’re not winning a second.”
Gian wipes his mouth and sets the cups back up. “You sure you want that smoke again?”
“Switch with me,” Carter says to the brother on his right.
“Oh, now you wanna play?” Gian teases.
“They clearly need help,” Carter scoffs.
“Right then. Let’s run it.”
The first shot’s Carter’s. He sinks it clean in the back corner cup. His brother claps behind him.
“Luck,” Gian dismisses.
“Get used to it.”
Gian and I sink both of ours. A few more brothers and pledges have gathered around now, filling the sides of the table. Gian’s precision is nearly impossible, but it’s so clean, so hot. He sinks another, and nods to me. I miss.
“Say, Carter,” he flicks his eyes to Carter’s brother. “You gonna carry him the whole way?”
“If I have to.”
“Figures.” Gian rolls his shoulders and makes a humping motion on the table, which throws Carter off just enough. His shot thuds off the rim and he exhales while another brother hisses through his teeth.
It’s electric now, laughter rippling from the side. Gian sinks another with a lazy flick, not even watching the follow through. “Clean that up for me?”
I miss again and he pats me on the back.
“Damn, Cameron. Someone slip something in your beer?”
I snort, shaking my head. Carter's ball rattles out. “Maybe it was the same person who spiked yours.”
Gian chuckles, bouncing on his heels now. He finishes the set pretty easily. I helped him out on one remaining, but he cleaned up each time. “That’s two,” he says, dragging a finger through a spill on the table. “Wanna go for three, or do you boys wanna go back to the kiddie pool?”
“Three it is,” Carter can’t step back. “Let’s see if you’re all talk.”
“You should know I’m not by now, boy,” Gian spits, and the crowd laughs behind him.
Gian makes easy work from the third round, his eyes lit up and clearly invested in Carter’s pong humiliation. “Three does it,” he says, stepping back with his eyes locked on Carter. “Any other boys want to try?” A few of the brothers mutter, nudging each other and casting curious looks. Gian winks at me. “Let’s get something to drink, yeah?”
We sit along a wall while he nurses a beer tight between his hands. “What brought you to North Carolina?” I ask.
“I got pulled here by the big dog. Back home, I played rugby and footy, Australian rules, all that. You gotta kick, like, every possession, and we kick hard. Turns out, you Yanks love outsourcing us, and we’re keen for it.”
“You any good?”
“Good enough to get a free ride across the Pacific.”
“You certainly look the part.” I scan over his muscular build, his pecs hanging low from the way he slouches over his beer.
“You’re not terrible yourself.” He pokes one of the buttons straining against my chest.
“Gotta catch up to you.”
“Nahhh,” he dismisses. “You’re bigger than me, I reckon.” He tilts his head and scans the yard before returning to me. “Reckon we both have a good shot of getting in.”
“You already have your foot in the door.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m stuck on staying. Don’t think anyone at the pong table wants me in,” he winks.
“Nah, just means you’re a top shot. Good optics. You gotta stay, man.”
“Maybe. Depends on the parties and the women.”
Damn it. He’s straight. “And not the boys?”
He doesn’t give me much thought. “Yeah. Good group of friends, too.” He nudges me, “but hey, I got my own jock now.”
I raise an eyebrow, caught off guard. “Yeah?”
He grins, not missing a beat. “Sure. You’re the only one keeping up with me right now, aren’t you?”
“Someone’s gotta make you sweat.”
“Dirty dog,” he grumbles playfully. “Doing a decent job.”
“I can do better.”
“You reckon?” he murmurs. “You trying to prove something, Mr. Wrestler?”
“Maybe I am.”
“What, then, bro. Gonna pin me down if I don’t believe you?”
“Only if you beg for it.”
He snorts, shaking his head and leaning into me a bit. “You dangerous dog.”
“You like dangerous.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause you’re gonna lose.”
A chill trickles down my back. “Is that a challenge?”
“Depends on how big you wanna talk.”
I square my shoulders a bit, heart thudding. “Don’t tempt me.”
I stick to Gian like glue for the rest of the night, his shoulder a solid place for my head as I get further down into shitty beer that makes me feel even more like a shitty drunk. By the time we’re heading back out the front door, Gian’s leaning on me more than I on him.
He’s got some size, heavier than I expect and all pretty solid. His arm is slung over my shoulder while his cologne clings to my nose.
“You good?”
“Yeah, yeah, easy. I’m great. Got my jock, got a ride. What more?”
We pass two guys lighting cigarettes in the bed of a truck, their gazes lingering past, but I don’t care, and Gian doesn’t seem too concerned.
“You’re real warm,” he mumbles.
“So are you.”
He hums at that, cheek grazing my temple. “You smell good.”
“You flirting with me now?”
“Nah, man. I like women.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re chill, though.”
The next morning Teddy and I finally get to lift together. Early. I made a deal with him that he could join me at our wrestling facility as long as he brought me whatever I wanted from the football banquets. I asked Lorenzo if he wanted to join, but he kinda shrugged me off, so now I guess I’m free to stare at Teddy’s ass in the shower.
Teddy pushes me hard throughout. I couldn’t feel my arms and my spine feels like it might buckle under the weight of my shoulders. It almost didn’t feel fair to him because he’s so much bigger than me, but I had worked out successfully with Carter, so I guess it’s fine. It was just us on the weights and now in the locker room. The locker room is quiet and stuffy. I strip naked and find my favorite shower head, and Teddy joins on the other wall, his massive silhouette cutting through the steam. I can’t resist twirling under the hot spray like a clumsy ballerina just to steal looks at his perfect body. Broad back, sculpted lats, the way the water traces the lines of his muscles down between his hairy ass.
The steam thickens around me, my pulse hammers in my ears. Teddy’s humming a country tune, lazily oblivious to me while I fantasize. I try to scrub away the thoughts creeping in. My heart thumps in my dick and it chubs up. Not here. Not with him. If he knew I’m gay, he would beat me to a pulp. Gotta keep those queers in line. The hot water soothes the ache in my shoulders, and I stretch my body out, leaning against the wall or raising my arms high into the air.
Teddy’s laughter cuts through his humming abruptly and he flicks water my way. “You’re moving like you’re auditioning, Cam,” he teases, drawl thick and all.
“Just stretching out,” I mutter, turning back to face the wall before he can see my chub.
I can’t just have fantasies over every man I see, but every man I’ve seen is on a caliber I’m not used to. Why are all the men here so hot? Teddy shuts off his water first. I listen to him shake out his hair like a dog, cool droplets slinging over to me. He hums as he towels off, and I force myself to finish up even though I’m still chubbed up.
Teddy’s halfway dressed in a pair of shorts that grab every part of his legs. He tosses his towel into the laundry bin and slings his duffel over his shoulder. “Ready?”
I gesture at my body, still dripping and loosely wrapped in my towel.
“Right, right. I’ll wait outside.”
I nod and sag against the bench as he walks out, putting on my socks and underwear before anything else. I leave my shirt in my bag and walk out the door shirtless. Teddy pats me on the ass and we walk together back to the dorm.
The morning rolls into the evening and we depart at different times for the different frats. I walk in the door with a pair of black corduroy pants and a pink button down with white flamingos. Gian takes my side almost immediately, his footsteps sweeping across the room to meet me while Carter locks his eyes on me from the stairwell.
“You clean up nice.” Gian whistles a low thing.
I roll my eyes, but he’s already slinging a hand around my shoulder, steering me to the bar like he owns this house. Carter’s eyes trace us and he grips the bannister to steady himself. I look him up and down and give him a short smile. He doesn’t smile back.
Gian pours wine for us both and gulps his eagerly as the brothers corral the rest of the PNMs into the foyer.
Carter speaks. “Good evening, boys. You’ve made it further than most.” There’s maybe a third of the boys left. It’s no doubt close to a hundred, but the crowd has dwindled. “We don’t take that lightly.” He scans us for a moment. “But first, we gotta address something. There’s rumors, and plenty of ‘em. But there’s one that’s got our President stressed the fuck out.” A ripple moves through the boys. “Apparently,” he says, dry and slow. “One of you’s been real active spinning with another frat to expose our ritual and our house. For that reason, none of you pussies who get invited back will be allowed on our house tour until you get your bid. Unless–” he smirks, “you show us YOU KNOW HOW TO FUCKING PARTY!
“You heard it, boys! We got a pool rented out and we’re shipping you off to get fucking lit!”
A series of buses rumble in front of the house as the boys lead us all out. “Don’t worry about bathing suits, we got ‘em. Towels, we got ‘em,” they direct us and pack us all into shitty school buses. We ride while the brothers hold speakers over their heads and ruffle the rows of PNMs. Some have lost their shirts, others still in suits and leather shoes.
“Smaller sizes to the right, larger to the left. If you use a changing room, you’re a fucking pussy and you need to leave!”
Laughter and jeers push through a narrow hallway as the boys flood onto the deck. Gian wraps his hand around my forearm so he doesn’t lose me. I grab my bathing suit and he grabs his, and we post up on a children’s swingset away from the water. There, he strips down. I drink in his figure. His evenly tanned skin and smooth muscles. The little bit of muffin top just above his hips and the way his muscles roll while he pulls his bathing suit up over his ass. God. It’s way too small for him, but I don’t care.
I change into mine as well, and tie the drawstring extra tight around my waist. The sun’s dying light catches on the ripples in the pool, scattering through the leaves of ancient oak trees of the thick forest behind us. Some brothers climb up into the guard stands. Reuben blows his whistle at Carter for running.
Carter shoots “kiss my ass!” back at him immediately. I laugh.
“You ready to prove you can party?”
“Fuck yeah,” I respond.
Gian pushes me into the deep end and follows me in. The water is warm compared to the evening air, and it envelops me fully as all the raucous above blurs to my ears. Gian pulls me up to the surface and I wipe my hair away from my face.
He grins, water dripping from his chin as I’m level with his eyes for the first time. “You reckon you can hang all night?”
“Try me.”
Around us, boys splash, cannonball, flip off the diving board, and make the small plastic slide groan under the weight of several hundred pounds of masculinity.
“That’s what I like to hear," Gian grins.
A couple of boys challenge us to a race across the pool, their voices echoing off the walls of the pool. I glance at Gian, who cracks his neck and smirks as we make our way to the shallower part. They get enough support to clear out five lanes, huddling around the side and cheering for whoever’s name they could remember.
I look at Reuben up on the stand. “Whistle for us to begin, ‘kay?”
He nods, rolling the plastic in his teeth.
“Down and back. 50 yards. Freestyle– whatever.”
My heart pounds with nerves as I back against the wall. The whistle blows and I push off hard. By the time I’m up for breath, Gian’s at least half a body length clear of me. The other boys are near my side, and I pull through like hell. I hit the wall and flip down back as the roar of men through the water reaches my ears.
I kick with everything in me, but I’m not a swimmer. I’m a wrestler. Gian’s out of the pool by the time I tap the wall. My head shoots up to see another boy rise just as I do, with two close behind. Gian’s all teeth, dapping up brothers as water pours from his body to the concrete. I drag myself with the sting of chlorine in my eyes and throat.
“Did I ever tell you Aussies are good swimmers?”
“I know that now,” I chuckle, exasperated.
The party fills back in and beer cans pollute the pool. Gian and I get comfortable at a picnic table with Bud Light on our hands. Carter and Reuben come over and sit next to us.
“Good shit, Cameron. Didn’t realize you were a fish, too,” Carter says.
Reuben leans back, a smirk cracking his lips. “Yeah. Didn’t think you’d make it without drowning.”
Carter slides two beers across to us. “For the fastest, and the… funniest attempt.” Gian smiles and tilts his can towards Carter as he cracks it open. I exhale pry at the can tab, but it slips through my fingers a few times.
Reuben leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “So, you’re Gian’s little shadow now?”
Gian’s face tightens. “He beat two of your boys. He’s not my shadow, he’s my equal, my dirty dog.”
Reuben clicks his tongue and shakes his head slightly. “What do you think, Carter? He proving himself to you?"
“He’s trying.” Carter winces through the beer and exaggerates a sharp breath of refreshment.
I look at my feet.
“Trying,” Reuben’s raspiness grates against my ears. “Is that enough, Carter?”
“Hey–” Gian interjects, but Reuben reclaims.
“I’m not convinced it is.”
Carter runs a finger under his jaw. “Depends.”
“On what?” I probe.
“On whether or not you know what you’re doing.”
“Gorgeous deflection, Carter. Truly. I think he knows exactly what he’s doing," Reuben chuckles
“Do you?” Carter nips.
“Do I? Hmmm. I know who he’s fucking to get in the frat.”
“Ey, cunt,” Gian stands. “Leave ‘im alone.”
Reuben doesn’t flinch. “Relaaax, Gian.”
“You’re stirring shit. He earned his spot," Gian defends.
“Neither of you have, actually. Isn’t that right, Carter? Fucking a PNM doesn’t make them any more likely to be a pledge.”
“Enough,” Carter huffs. “You got something to say? Say it to me and say it to Lachlan.”
“I’ve already said it to you. You just gotta hear.”
Carter stands as well, leaving Reuben to put his feet up on the bench. “You’re the last person who gets to question my choices.”
Gian tilts his head, eyes widening for a moment. “Well then. I heard they’re gonna play water polo? Wasn’t that a plan? Cameron, water polo?”
“Sure.”
Reuben stretches his arm behind his head, grinning at Carter. “Oh, perfect. Nothing says brotherhood like a little drowning.”
“You don’t have to,” Carter whispers to me.
“Sure I do.”
“Right, boys,” Lachlan announces. “Brothers against pussies. Should be even enough, but we’ll be kind and take the deeper end.”
“Guess that makes me a brother,” Reuben sighs dramatically.
Gian collects me in his arm and tugs me into the pool, setting himself near our makeshift goal. Once we’re all on our sides, Lachlan blows his whistle. “Alright, boys. Obviously it’s not deep enough for real water polo, but we’re not playing real water polo. No rules, but don’t drown each other. Not because I care about it, I just don’t want to have to deal with paperwork.”
“Also. Last year this happened too much, so if you’re near a wall, don’t fucking rough house. Again, paperwork. I don’t like it.”
A few of the guys chuckle, but it dies quickly. Lachlan tosses the ball to Gian, who’s jumped in as our goalie. “Everyone on their sides?” Lachlan scans the water, then blows the whistle.
I’m the first to spring forward, slicing through the pool. Gian hurls the ball toward me, and I rise high to catch it. I splash down, my head collapsing underwater before breaching again while the brothers bear down like sharks. I dart a pass to Dalton before they get too close. He drives forward, but can’t get enough space in front, so I end up with the ball again. I pass it off down the right flank and drop underwater, my chest slapping the surface before I start weaving through shuffling legs. I break the surface a few feet back from the goal. The ball skips across the water to me. Low, fast, and I slag it with my right hand and whip it behind my back into the corner of the net.
I slap the water with both hands, a primal sound that reverberates through the water as the other boys do the same. The air erupts with deep hollers which coat the leaves of the trees.
“Good shit, Sutton!” Dalton crows, clasping my hand and pulling me into a chest bump. “Hell of a shot.”
Reuben’s hand is on me immediately, his breath loud against my neck as he crowds my side. The brothers surge forward on the counter, pushing a wall of white water that crashes through us. Reuben claws for position and pushes me backward with ease, but the slipperiness of the pool makes it hard to hold ground regardless. I recover quickly, pushing my chest into his ribs as he works me. He capitalizes on my unsteady feet, faking, then firing off a zinger that passes just wide above the goal.
“Damn it,” he growls, slapping the surface so hard it echoes off the tile wall.
Gian doesn’t flinch. He spreads the ball with sniping precision across the pool, setting us up again. Reuben backs off as the chaos settles and each side begins to flow. Gian lets a few near-impossible shots slide past, but we return fire– clean and ruthless.
I hang back near mid-pool waiting for Gian to send me something. He flicks the ball low, a fast skip that punches my chest. I cradle it under my armpit and work forward. Reuben meets me just past halfway, body crashing into mine and sending me off balance for a second. I grunt and brace, the ball pinned tight against me.
“You think that cute little shot earlier was worth anything?” he mutters.
I don’t answer. I twist, trying to free an arm, but the mat of fur on his chest stays glued to my arm. I duck under the water, but Reuben anchors both of his arms around me and lifts my body out of the water. He falls backward like a whale and slams me underwater, his powerful arms pushing my back to the bottom of the pool while he tries to twist the ball from my vice.
I thrash against him and my lungs squeeze tight. Bubbles roar past my ears. His grip is brutal. I twist my hips just enough and wrench upward with everything I have. My head rises above the surface just as Reuben yanks the ball free and flings it over my head. I cough, blinking chlorine from my eyes and he hovers over me.
“You’re not built for this. You can’t handle me.”
I reset. Gian rifles another ball to me. I catch it clean and take off, my thick body serving to deter most of the boys, but not Reuben. I fake left, then cut right. He reads it still and crashes into me mid-stroke, dragging us both under. The ball pops free, but I lunge after it and curl my fingers around it. I drive my elbow into his ribs, but his hands have already fastened on the ball right when I grab it. He lifts me out of the water and tries to shake my grip, but I don’t give.
I rip the ball away from him and curl my body around it, falling under the water again. I twist, slipping around his side just enough before using the bottom of the pool to explode into the air. He recoils just enough. I break free. Turn. Send the ball up the pool while I swim down to meet the goal. I push off a brother’s shoulders and snag the ball with my free hand, rocketing it into the net before I fall back underwater.
The water churns around me while men float like chum. I gasp as I break the surface, the goalie retrieving the ball from the back of the net. The PNMs cheer, and some of the brothers clap the water in mock protest. Gian’s voice cuts through the thick air. “That’s it, my boy! Fuckin’ beast!”
Reuben shakes his head and shoves his fingers through his thick, dark hair, water streaming down the fur on his body. I duck underwater and swim to the other end of the pool as the brothers pull the ball back into play.
Gian swims beside me. “I convinced another guy to take my spot for a bit.” Gian’s grin is infectious, his eyes glinting with that mix of pride and mischief that makes him impossible to ignore. “I reckon I’ll take a shot guarding Reuben.”
I wipe the water from my eyes and push off the wall to get back in the action. Gian follows. Reuben’s assaulting whoever gets the ball, slinging them into the water and wresting them from their fingers. I intercept a ball whizzing over my head and move immediately. Reuben’s already turning gaze ripping through my head. Gian cruises ahead and I sling the ball to him.
“C’mon, big boy,” Gian taunts. His forearm slams into Reuben’s chest with a wet smack that echoes over the pool’s chaos. Reuben stumbles back, water surging around Reuben’s bulk.
“Get him, Reuben!” his brothers call out. “Fucking get him!” Reuben growls, his thick arms swinging to grab Gian. Gian ducks under Reuben’s reach, spinning underwater and pushing off the ground to breach high. Gian fakes a toss to another brother, drawing Reuben back just slightly. Then he flies from the water again, his hands slamming into Reuben’s shoulders with enough force to dunk him under. Gian’s body slides over Reuben’s back before diving beneath a line of two brothers.
I’m a few feet back, my heart pounding and hands shoving brothers aside as they try to swarm Gian. He slaps Reuben’s face back down underwater as the brothers get pissed. I can feel the heat in their glares, but I get just enough of their bodies to block them.
Reuben breaks free, gasping and coughing. Gian dodges again as Reuben claws at him while lunging. Gian hooks Reuben’s thick neck and yanks him forward into a savage hug. Reuben’s forced to bend under the pressure of Gian’s hand. But the boys finally collapse around Gian and he gives up the ball to a boy on his right. The dozen boys around Gian leave several of us open, and we convert in a blazing goal.
Lachlan’s whistle makes all of us jump, but we disarm. The game freezes. “Get something to drink, boys. Time to hydrate and we can reset.”
The second half doesn’t diffuse anything. Carter’s in the water now, hands on Gian’s chest as they vie for position.
“Ah, now the pretty boy wants to dance, too,” Gian taunts. The ball naturally comes Gian’s way. He knows how to maneuver. Carter tries to block Gian, but he slams his shoulder deep into Carter’s chest with a visceral thud. “Too fuckin’ slow, mate!” Gian grins, faking another pass.
Carter flails around Gian’s relentlessness, bucking Carter back further each time. When Carter’s finally up, Gian’s down near the goal and redistributes the ball. That’s a stud. That’s a damn near perfect man. The brothers shift their strategy. They know Gian is a threat and three of the biggest boys in the pool, including Reuben– big, mean bastards– converge on him like a pack of hyenas. One takes his arm, another slams his side, and the third sweeps his legs from the bottom of the pool and their combined weight pushes him down. I dive toward the fray and I slam my shoulder into one of the boys just enough for Gian to wrench free. They quash Gian’s rhythm and he only manages to punch through a single goal, but their attention on Gian leaves other boys wide open.
By the end of the night, Gian’s got scratches snaking down his back and across his shoulders. Gian’s grin is all sharp edges as he shakes water from his hair, the nail marks on his back glinting red under the floodlights on the pool deck. “It’s usually the ladies who do this much damage.”
I laugh, my chest still tight with adrenaline and my muscles pumped significantly. “Looks like everyone wants a piece of you.”
Gian drapes a towel loosely over his neck, his smile softening but posture still electric. “You got us started out there, Cameron.”
