The Specimen's Side Quest

The Specimen's Side Quest

By Trevor Carradine

Fed up with the exhausting social transactions and emotional taxes of his relationship with Tess, Turk turns his calculated focus inward toward Room 208. A quiet observation becomes a calculated leverage. Borders are drawn, conditions are set, and a private understanding is reached—one that changes the atmosphere of their shared space forever. 

---

Chapter 8 - Domestic Utility 

Character Dossiers

Hunter Hayes

• Role: Turk’s roommate; sophomore pledge-brother.

• Background: Raised in a well-to-do suburban family from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Grew up playing high school baseball before arriving at LSU.

• Physical Profile: 5'11", lean, athletic build (170 lbs) with smooth, naturally hairless skin and warm, expressive brown eyes. Boy-next-door handsome, silky light-brown hair.

• Cock Profile: 6.5 inches, circumcised, straight shaft with a prominent ridge.

• Prior Success / Sexual History:

• With Women: Minimal to non-existent. Despite his good looks, he never had the drive to chase girls, using high school sports and pledge duties as excuses. He went to swaps and parties to fit in, but never brought girls back to his room.

• With Men: Strictly solitary prior to Turk. Before Turk became the absolute focal point of his mind, Hunter’s private shower fantasies revolved around broad-shouldered, varsity athletes and senior frat bros—guys who carried an effortless, casual authority.

• Personality & Trait: Easygoing, fiercely loyal, and secretly harbors a deep, unspoken crush on Turk. He misinterprets Turk's intense physical attention as genuine romantic devotion, becoming completely smitten.

• Dynamic: Turk's eager, uncritical, and private fuck toy. Unlike Tess, who constantly holds back or demands social currency, Hunter is responsive, overwhelmed, and intensely enthusiastic.

Silas "Sly" Mercer

• Role: OPE Junior; house insider and pragmatist.

• Background: Hails from Dallas, Texas; son of a corporate defense attorney. Grew up in private schools with a cynical view of social posturing.

• Physical Profile: 6'1", lanky build (175 lbs), sharp features, pale skin, almost always holding a vape or drink.

• Cock Profile: 7.0 inches, thick shaft, uncut with a dark, heavy foreskin.

• Prior Success / Sexual History:

• With Women: Sporadic and low-effort. Whenever he could actually be bothered to put in the social labor—usually when a girl at a party was exceptionally direct or made all the first moves—Sly had no trouble closing the deal. However, he quickly found the post-coital small talk, text management, and emotional expectations exhausting, which almost always led to him letting the connection fade immediately.

• With Men: Rare, strictly pragmatic hookups. On a few isolated occasions in private school and early college when the opportunity presented itself with discreet, low-maintenance guys, Sly engaged purely for the physical convenience. He views men, especially the bi and straight ones, as vastly less complicated than women because there’s usually zero romantic pretense, though he still finds most gays too needy, dramatic, or emotionally complex for his taste—hence his strong preference for handling his own business on his own terms.

• Personality & Trait: Addicted to frequent, solitary masturbation—a habit he considers much more practical, efficient, and hassle-free than chasing anyone.  He feels vindicated in that he always cums a lot even if he jerks off five times the same day.

• Dynamic: Observant, inquisitive, low-maintenance, and grounded; he takes in house gossip without getting swept up in it.

The air in Room 208 smelled like damp laundry, cheap citrus body spray, and the faint, ozone tang of an overheating console. Outside, the second-floor hallway of the Omicron Pi Epsilon house was nursing a collective post-party hangover, the floorboards occasionally creaking as someone dragged themselves toward the communal bathroom.

Turk sat on the edge of his mattress, staring down at his phone. The screen flickered with a single, unread text from Tess: Gnight. Need some space to think after tonight. Talk tomorrow.

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, tossing the phone onto the tangled heap of sheets behind him. "Space to think," he muttered under his breath. Translation: I’m going to withhold sex for three days while you apologize for something I haven't even accused you of yet. Tess was a master of the social transaction. Every kiss had an exchange rate; every night together came with a tax on his patience. His jaw clenched, raw physical frustration sitting like a lead weight in his gut.

Across the room, Hunter Hayes was on his small bed, staring intently at his cell phone. Dressed in a worn pair of grey LSU gym shorts and a faded t-shirt, Hunter’s lean, athletic 5’11” frame was still tense from the evening’s commotion at Room 302—which was definitely not commotion of the usual frat house kind. Being a sophomore sharing a room with a pledge-class brother like Turk meant maintaining an effortless, unbothered posture at all times.  In Baton Rouge, letting your eyes wander—or giving a guy a lingering look—got you a reputation fast. Hunter was far too smart for that. Whenever Turk changed or pulled his shirt off in front of their single full-length mirror, Hunter studiously kept his nose buried in his screen, pretending the rest of the room didn't exist.

"Tess being a pain again?" Hunter asked quietly, not looking up from his phone, his low Louisiana cadence completely devoid of the posturing edge the older guys in the house put on.

Turk didn't answer right away. He stood up from his mattress and walked over to the old sash window at the end of the small room. The glass was dark against the humid Southern night, turning the windowpane into a dark, mirror-like reflection.

Unbuttoning his shirt, Turk slid it off his shoulders, letting his chest and broad frame fill the dark glass. Through the reflection, Turk watched Hunter’s screen go still. In the darkened pane, Turk caught it: Hunter’s bright eyes darting up from his phone, taking in the line of Turk’s body before quickly snatching his gaze back down to his lap.

A slow, cold precision clicked in Turk’s mind. Got you.   Turk, who wanted an on-demand fuck toy to ease his sex drive, had been wondering about Hunter.

Turk turned around casually, tossing his shirt onto the back of a chair.   "Yeah.  Anyway, how are you doing with the women?" Turk asked, leaning back against the wooden frame of the sash window, crossing his arms. "You never bring anyone home. I wouldn't mind if you wanted the room to yourself sometime, man. No homo bro, but you should have a load of chicks throwing themselves at you."

A deep, dark blush crept up Hunter’s neck, instantly flooding his cheeks. He cleared his throat, suddenly finding his phone screen intensely interesting again. "Ah, you know how it is, Turk..."

Turk noted the deep, dark blush with quiet satisfaction.  Hunter got up off his bed and moved to the chair by his desk.

Pushing off the window frame, Turk took two slow, deliberate steps toward Hunter’s desk. "C'mon, don't be bashful," Turk chuckled, keeping his voice light, friendly, and thoroughly rooted in the easy, locker-room banter they used every day. "How d’you cope, secret masturbation? Because it must be secret given that I haven’t seen or heard you do it!"

Hunter was dumbfounded, embarrassed and ashamed because in the dorm showers he had been jerking off to mental images of Turk; as if Turk knew all about it, fuck.

Turk stopped right beside Hunter’s chair. He didn't rush. He kept it totally natural, like he was just leaning in to check a notification, but he let his bare, warm forearm rest casually against the top of Hunter's chair, his weight shifting close.

"Seriously though, Hunt," Turk said, his voice dropping an octave, losing the crowd-facing energy and settling into a quiet, direct tone. "You're built well, you got your head on straight, and you're not a loudmouth like half the guys in the class. Also you seem to have bulked up a bit since we started sharing, looks good, man. I'm just saying—don't let these girls make you think you gotta wait around for permission." Turk reached down and affectionately ruffled Hunter’s silky brown hair.

Hunter went completely rigid. His chest hitched—just a tiny, sharp intake of air—and he slowly lifted his eyes to meet Turk's bare, unhurried chest, right at eye level, as if to study the light dusting of stubble between Turk’s pecs.

"I... yeah, I guess," Hunter swallowed hard, his throat dry. The blush on his face was burning now, his knuckles tightening around the sides of his phone.

"I mean look at Tess," Turk continued, taking a half-step closer, his thigh almost brushing Hunter’s knee. He reached down with a firm, heavy grip that caught Hunter’s shoulder, his fingers squeezing the firm muscle right at the base of his neck. "She acts like doing me a favor is a full-time job. Meanwhile, you're sitting over here being a solid roomie, not giving me any grief."

Hunter didn't pull away from the grip. If anything, he relaxed slightly into the heat of Turk's palm, his brown eyes wide, completely unequipped for the sudden, concentrated beam of Turk’s attention.

Turk smirked, feeling the rapid, fluttery pulse beating right under his thumb. He slid his free hand down, letting his knuckles casually drag across the Hunter’s t-shirt to the bare, tanned top of Hunter's thigh, stopping just above the hem of his grey shorts. "Yeah, you sure have bulked up, dude. I guess you did that for me rather than for some girl, ha."

Hunter’s breath caught in his throat. Underneath the thin jersey material, a distinct, heavy ridge began to swell instantly, hardening against his leg.

"Look at that," Turk murmured, a low, throaty sound, keeping his tone light and playful even as his fingers moved up and hooked slightly into the elastic waistband of Hunter's shorts. "You get this worked up just from a little straight talk, bro?"

"Turk... man, I— I was just... you're crowding me, bro..." Hunter stammered, his cheeks on fire, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird even as he remained completely still under Turk's hands.

"Hey, relax, dude. I ain't complaining," Turk said quietly, leaning down just enough so Hunter could feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. "Glad to have you as my roomie, Hunt. Always thought so. And right now, I'm sick of dealing with girls who pretend they don't want it."

Turk gave the waistband a slight, downward tug, letting the grey fabric slide down one side just enough to show some soft brown pubes and the beginning of the thick shaft trying to spring up against Hunter's flat stomach.

Hunter let out a shaky, trembling breath, his eyes locked onto Turk's face in absolute, stunned silence.

"That's it," Turk muttered softly, his tone shifting into that effortless, encouraging authority, his palm resting on Hunter's shoulder. "Show your roomie what you got, bro."

“But Turk,” said Hunt, his cock straining to leap up out of his shorts.  

“I think it’s time we went to bed, roomie,” Turk muttered, his cock chubbing up slightly in his pants.

Hunter sat frozen in his desk chair, his chest heaving, his mouth slightly open as he prepared for Turk to pull him up and push him onto his bed. Every nerve ending in Hunter’s body was humming; he was braced for the collision, ready to give up every secret he’d kept since moving in with Turk.

Instead, Turk simply stepped back. He let his hand slide smoothly off Hunter’s shoulder, giving the elastic waistband of Hunter’s shorts a light, dismissive flick as he withdrew. The sudden loss of Turk’s heat hit Hunter like a cold shock.

Turk turned his back casually, stretching his bare arms over his head with a lazy grunt before walking over to his own twin bed on the opposite side of the small room. He pulled down his top sheet and, facing away from Hunter, undressed. Behind him, Hunter watched as Turk kicked off his shoes, pulled his sweatpants off in one fluid movement revealing his muscular glutes, discarded his socks, and tossed himself back onto his mattress. Hunter glimpsed Turk’s large flaccid cock before Turk pulled the sheet over his legs and up to the base of his pubes. Turk sighed, his expression one of easy, detached indifference.

"Get some sleep, Hunt," Turk said, his voice completely level, like they’d just finished discussing a workout routine. "We got workout groups at seven tomorrow."

Hunter blinked, completely derailed. He sat alone in his desk chair for several long, agonizing seconds, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The thick bulge in his grey shorts pressed painfully against his thigh—hard, wet, and completely unaddressed. A wave of raw embarrassment—hot and prickly—rushed right up his neck to the roots of his hair. He felt foolish. He’d been seconds away from pouring his soul out, completely ready for Turk to take him right then and there, and Turk had casually walked away to hit the pillow.

"Yeah," Hunter swallowed hard, his throat dry as bone. "Yeah. Seven."

Slowly, carefully, as if his limbs belonged to someone else, Hunter stood up from his chair. He didn't dare look down at himself. He shuffled to his bed, kicked off his sneakers, and slid under his own thin blanket, lying flat on his back and staring up at the water-stained acoustic tiles of the ceiling before leaning over and turning their bedside light off. His eyes accustomed to the dark quickly, the bedroom air taking in some of the orange glow from the wall-packs bolted to the frat house which were still on outside.

Across the narrow gap separating their beds—no more than five feet of worn hardwood—he could hear Turk’s steady, even breathing.

The silence in the room felt heavy, suffocating. Hunter turned his head sideways on his pillow, looking across the dark space at Turk’s bare silhouette. His body was aching, a deep, restless throb between his legs that made it impossible to settle.

"Turk?" Hunter whispered softly, the sound barely carrying over the quiet hum of the mini-fridge.

Turk didn't move, but after a long pause, he let out a low, amused breath. "You're still awake, roomie."

"I... I can't sleep," Hunter confessed, his voice tight with lingering tension. He shifted slightly, the rustle of his sheets loud in the dark room. "My mind's racing, man."

Turk turned slowly onto his side, propping his head up on his hand to look across the gap at Hunter. In the amber light from the outdoor wall-packs, Turk’s dark eyes were sharp, evaluating every inch of Hunter’s restless frame.

"I know it is," Turk said softly, his tone shifting back into that low, velvet purr that made Hunter’s stomach flip over. "You're all wound up."

"It's not funny," Hunter muttered, a desperate, vulnerable edge bleeding into his cadence. He pulled the blanket down just enough to expose his chest, his brown eyes pleading in the dim light. "You can't just... do that, Turk. Say those things, grab me like that, and then just go to sleep."

Turk chuckled softly, a quiet, rumbling sound. He didn't apologize. Instead, he pulled his sheet away, swung his legs off his mattress and stood up, walking slowly across the narrow gap between their beds, his long, heavy flaccid cock swaying slightly above his full balls.

Hunter’s breath caught in his throat. His entire body went rigid with renewed expectation.

Turk didn't climb into the bed. He sat casually on the very edge of Hunter’s mattress, his heavy thigh pressing against Hunter’s leg through the thin blanket. He reached down, placing a warm, heavy palm flat over Hunter’s bare chest, right over his racing heart.

"I'm teaching you patience, Hunt," Turk murmured, leaning down until his shadow fell over Hunter’s face. "You want everything right now. But a good thing is worth waiting for."

"Turk, please..." Hunter whispered, reaching up to cover Turk's hand with his own, his fingers trembling. "I don't want to wait."

"You have to," Turk said smoothly, his thumb rubbing small, hypnotic circles into the center of Hunter’s chest, keeping him pinned to the bed with just that light pressure. "Because if we do this, it happens on my terms. We do it right."

Hunter swallowed hard, entirely hypnotized by Turk’s dark, commanding gaze. "What terms?"

Turk leaned closer, his breath warm against Hunter’s cheek. "Rules, roomie. Ground rules."

"Tell me," Hunter breathed, completely hooked.

"Rule number one: Four walls," Turk instructed, his voice dropping into a stern, intimate whisper. "Whatever happens between us stays in Room 208 behind a locked deadbolt. The second we step out into that hallway, we are just roomies and pledge-brothers. No staring, no soft touches, no acting weird around the guys."

"Okay," Hunter agreed instantly, his fingers tightening around Turk's hand. "Okay, I can do that."

"Rule number two: Social cover," Turk continued. He reached down and carelessly yanked the thin blanket off Hunter, tossing it toward the foot of the bed and leaving Hunter completely exposed in the cool air. Turk slid his warm palm down Hunter’s bare chest to rest heavily over the burning, hard ridge beneath his shorts, squeezing gently through the jersey fabric until Hunter let out a sharp, gasping sigh. "You still go to the swaps. You still drink with Kent and Sly. You act like a normal guy trying to pull girls, because if you act distant, people start asking questions. And we don't want questions."

"No questions," Hunter gasped, his hips making a small, involuntary arch up into Turk’s palm.

"And rule number three," Turk said, his thumb flicking teasingly over the sensitive tip through the fabric, making Hunter’s vision blur. "Strictly not to anyone. Not Sly, not our pledge-brothers, and definitely not any girls. You keep your mouth shut, and you belong to me in here. Deal?"

"Deal," Hunter choked out, misinterpreting Turk’s cold, calculated boundaries as an exclusive, dark romantic pact meant strictly for the two of them. "Yes, Turk. Just you."

Turk smirked, satisfied, “And in here, no clothes.” He gave Hunter’s hard cock one last, firm squeeze through his shorts before pulling Hunter’s shorts down to his knees, letting his thick, hard 6.5-inch cock spring up flat against the hem of his tee. Turk stood up, his cock half erect, and leaned over Hunter’s head, “Open up, dude.”

He put the tip of his cock against Hunter’s soft lips, “Let’s seal the deal.”

Hunter opened his mouth and licked the underside of Turk’s cock, tasting another man’s precum for the first time; then he let the cockhead slip into his mouth and rest on his tongue.

Turk pushed in a bit further, his length rapidly hardening in the warmth of his roommate’s mouth. Hunter gagged slightly, but Turk was thoroughly aroused. He pushed his full 7.5-inch erection slowly down Hunter’s throat and held it there, completely still, his heavy balls resting against Hunter’s cheek.

With his hand resting on Turk’s broad thigh, Hunter felt a flash of panic and moaned softly, attempting to push Turk back, but Turk was an immovable wall of muscle. Turk held the position down Hunter’s throat for ten agonizing seconds before slowly withdrawing until a glistening string of spit and pre-cum anchored his tip to Hunter’s lips.

Hunter started to speak—"Turk—"—but Turk shushed him gently.

Hunter opened his mouth again, and Turk slowly re-entered his mouth and throat, coaxing him into a deep, steady rhythm.

Turk was in heaven—not just because of the filthy scene playing out in their quiet room, but because of the prospect of what this meant. Here was a completely willing partner with virtually no gag reflex. With Tess, head was a high-dollar contract negotiation—a rare, conditional reward loaded with emotional strings and constant bargaining. Turk was utterly sick of the hassle and unenthusiastic effort. Here, Hunter was eager, responsive, and completely his.

That sudden realization, combined with the expert vacuum Hunter was providing, brought Turk to his limit. He erupted—pumping his first heavy jet straight down Hunter’s esophagus, the second wave filling the back of his mouth, and the final splash landing right on the tip of Hunter’s tongue for taste. Turk let his cock linger on Hunter’s tongue, allowing him to fully savor the offering.

Hunter was speechless. Turk pulled out of his mouth and Hunter swallowed a few times before thinking that he might have wanted to spit Turk’s seed out. But Turk’s seed was sweet tasting with a slight after-tang which Hunter found good, not that he had anything to compare with apart from his own (which he had tasted from time to time after cumming in the frat house showers jerking off thinking about broad-shouldered, varsity athletes, senior frat bros and, lately, his beautiful roommate Turk).

"Lick my cock clean, bro. Don't swallow," Turk ordered softly.

Hunter held the base of Turk’s rigid shaft and licked its entire length right up to the glans.

"Open up." Turk inserted his wet index finger into Hunter’s mouth, bathing it in the mixture of spit and residual cum. "Take your shorts all the way off and spread your legs."

Hunter hurriedly wriggled his shorts down to his ankles and spread his knees wide into a frog-like diamond shape, his shaft rock hard against the hem of his t-shirt, his balls pulled tight.

Turk withdrew his wet finger and touched Hunter’s entrance, massaging the sensitive rim gently before slickly inserting his index finger into Hunter’s tight hole. The sudden intrusion made Hunter gasp sharply, a heavy bead of pre-cum springing to his tip and glistening in the amber light.

Turk smiled with deep satisfaction. "Dude, that’s wicked," he murmured, stepping back from the bed.

"If you really can't handle it, you jerk off tonight, Hunt," Turk added casually, a faint, teasing smirk playing on his lips as he crossed back to his mattress. "But... I’d prefer it if you saved every drop of that for me another night."

Hunter’s breath hitched in his chest. Turk slid back into his own bed, pulling the sheets up to his chest and turning his back to the room, leaving the prospect of more to come hanging heavy in the dim amber light.

Hunter lay completely paralyzed in the dark, his heart hammering against his ribs. His hand twitched next to his leaking cock, his shorts around his ankles, his hole twitching slightly as if by reflex following the insertion of Turk’s index finger covered in cum and spit. Every instinct in his body screamed for relief, but the thought of disappointing Turk—of wasting what Turk said he wanted for himself—was enough to freeze him in place.

He pulled his hand back, gripping the bedsheets tightly instead, leaving his shorts bunched around his ankles as he forced himself to endure the throbbing, leaking ache—despite the taste of Turk in his mouth, trying to banish from his mind thoughts of what might come next.

The next morning Turk was all business. Hunter didn’t quite understand what had happened, if Turk was just buzzed after the party or if their interaction before bed had meant something more, as he hoped.

Turk came back from the showers and ripped the towel away from around his waist, revealing his heavy cock and balls. Hunter stared at Turk, naked, as he moved around the room. Turk was in no hurry to cover up, either; not that he was an exhibitionist exactly, but he had decided that their shared room was a no-clothes area.

"Hey roomie, like what you see?" Turk asked, looking directly at Hunter.

Hunter blushed and raised his eyes from Turk’s treasure trail and manscaped pubes, looking at Turk guiltily. "Well, man, after last night, I thought you wouldn’t mind... but I’m sorry."

"Don’t apologize, dude, it’s all good" Turk chuckled. "You’re right—no secrets in here, so why don't we relax."

With that, Turk flopped down on his bed, on his back with his slightly chubbed cock laying on his thigh in full view.

Hunter busied himself with his shower kit, and when he came back he found Turk, still on his bed, staring at his cellphone. His cock was rock hard, the tip facing Turk’s chin. Turk wasn’t touching himself, nor was he trying to hide.

He didn’t look up as Hunter closed the door, but said, "Better lock the door, Hunt. There are some things we need to discuss. Come have a look at this."

Hunter locked the door and went over toward Turk’s bed, his eyes glued to the amazing body prone before him.

"Hunt, my man, like we discussed last night, you’re not bringing ladies home," Turk lectured with a smirk, "and it may be that your tastes are just unformed. So I think we need to figure out what your type is. That’ll help us craft your cover with the guys so they see you as an earnest pussy hound, even if your efforts go unrewarded. Come sit over here."

Turk patted the space beside him. Hunter sat nervously on the edge in his damp towel.

"Dude, ditch the towel, get your pillow, and lie down next to me. Get settled and check this out." Turk flashed his phone screen. He was watching a video of a busty blonde giving head to a broad-shouldered guy, the low audio playing the guy's appreciative grunts.

Despite the new mandate, Hunter was shy—mostly because he was already chubbing up and didn't want to expose it. But Turk simply reached out and yanked Hunter’s towel down to the floor.

"Looks like you’re getting in the mood anyway, man, so get in here." Turk shifted over to make room on the narrow mattress.

Hunter retrieved his pillow and reclined on his back next to Turk.

"So what is it—brunettes, blondes, redheads? You like head, big tits, ass, what? I have the notion that you are not very practiced, but give me a steer," Turk leered at the small screen.

Hunter was now fully erect and Turk looked down under the phone, "Well, I can see there’s something you find pleasing here, just develop that thought."

Hunter was lost for words in his arousal and flustered.

"Ok, to start, tell me who you jerk off to, assuming you jerk off (you are very discreet)?"

That’s when Hunter stammered, "I don’t know, Turk. I guess no type in particular. Just the friction gets me off."

Turk paused slightly as if pondering, "A little friction is good, let’s have a little friction! Did you jerk off since last night? Don’t lie."

Hunter made a sound in his throat which sounded like, "No."

"I didn’t think so, so go ahead now. Be my guest, but we need something on this small screen as well 'cause the friction alone isn’t enough for me. Go ahead: manual override, just don’t cum on the sheets."

Hunter was blushing with embarrassment, and Turk relented. He put down the phone and put his arm around Hunter, "You like how I smell, dude?"

Hunter did like how Turk smelled. Turk ruffled Hunter’s silky brown hair, "Go ahead and jerk off, I’ll be offended if you don’t."

Slowly, Turk reached over and got hold of Hunter’s hand and placed it over his own large cock. "Better still, jerk me off at the same time or instead."

Hunter gripped Turk’s majestic equipment and stroked it, producing a large bead of precum at its tip.

"That’s it, that’s good, don’t be shy, it’s just us," Turk said encouragingly as he caressed Hunter’s hair and earlobe.

Turk didn’t take long to ejaculate; he never did, not because he was a weakling premature kind of guy but because he was a young blood and full of cum. The first goo hit Turk on the chin, the next rope on his pecs and abs, then there were several large globs on his manicured pubes and on Hunter’s fingers which did not let go until Turk pushed his hand away—not for any displeasure, but because he was always sensitive after cumming, which he understood was not unusual with men who were cut.

Hunter was flustered and didn’t know what to do with the cum on his fingers, so he wiped it on his own leg; Turk was pleased about that as the sheets were still relatively clean. In the afterglow of his orgasm, Turk made the effort to keep his hold around Hunter who remained very still: Turk wanted Hunter to enjoy himself even if Turk didn’t feel able to reciprocate. Turk thought Hunter would be pleased with the little cuddle; Turk did not know just how pleased Hunter was at being held close by his idol naked on the bed. Hunter lay there, still erect and unspent, his head on Turk’s chest and felt loved for the first time in his life by a person outside his family.

Their quiet moment was abruptly shattered by a sharp knock at the locked door, followed by the metallic rattling of the doorknob.

"Hey guys, you in there?" Sly’s voice called through the heavy wood. "Gabe texted—wants us all to meet up at 2. Says he’s got news, sounds important. You in there?"

Sly twisted the knob once more. Hearing no immediate answer, his footsteps echoed down the hallway as he walked off.

Turk and Hunter looked at each other and shared a quiet snicker. Turk leaned down and pressed a quick, firm kiss to the top of Hunter’s silky hair.

"We’d better go show ourselves," Turk whispered. "Separately down the back stairs, then walk in together through the front. We'll tell them we went to the diner for breakfast after workout groups."

Downstairs, Sly headed toward the common area. He pondered why a frat house bedroom door was locked on a quiet morning, making a mental note to keep his eyes open if more clues surfaced. Gabe's text was real enough, sent to the bros’ group, but Sly had used it as an easy excuse to check on Room 208.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Your feedback would be very welcome! If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving a rating or comment.

Copyright © 2026 Trevor Carradine. All Rights Reserved. This story may not be reproduced or redistributed in any form without the express written permission of the author who may be reached via [email protected]

Disclaimer: All characters in this work are fictitious and 18+. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Please do not read this material if it is illegal for you to do so in your community or country.

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

---