Finally Fucking My Roommate 02: Revelry (Patreon)

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Chapter 2: Revelry

We showed up to practice the next day and guys started giving us high fives for no reason we could figure out. Not normal high fives either. Big two-handed congratulatory smacks, with nods attached, and one sophomore gripped my shoulder on his way past the mats and muttered "legend" at me. I figured I had missed some team bit, so I smacked hands back at everybody and moved on.

In the locker room afterward, Patty and I were at our lockers, hip to hip and naked, snapping towels at each other and generally fucking around like always, maybe a little more giggly than normal, when one of the juniors leaned around the end of the row. He was a stocky one-seventy-four with cauliflower ears and a patchy attempt at chest hair, and he was grinning at us.

"Serious question," he said, making us both turn our heads toward him. "Wasn't that kind of gay the other night?"

My stomach sank. They know?

Patty's towel stopped moving. We looked at each other, one flat half second, and looked back at him. I wasn't ready to discuss what we had done. I just wanted to keep doing homoerotic things with the team in the locker room, and then do whatever happens in my dorm with my roommate. Did Patty tell him? Did he tell everyone? 

"Was what kind of gay?" Patty asked.

"Bro." He spread his arms. "The dorm walls are thin. Half the hall heard you two. Headboard banging, both of you moaning." He shook his head. "So who was she? And how'd you decide who got which end?"

I started breathing again. They had heard two dudes moaning and their brains had inserted a girl into the story to explain it. Of course they had. Through all the constant homoerotic moments, these dudes' brains still thought everyone around them was completely straight. Nobody in that room was capable of imagining the real version.

More guys drifted over once the topic opened up, half dressed, towels on their shoulders, dicks flopping around, crowding in with questions. Was she from the volleyball team. Was it "that girl from the party". Did we flip a coin or play rock paper scissors for position. Patty pulled his shirt down over his curly hair and gave them nothing, and I gave them less than nothing, and the less we said the more convinced they got. One kid flat out begged for details and I just shrugged at him while I stepped into my boxers.

"I will kiss your cock!" one of the freshmen guys yelled.

I just chuckled, gently shaking my head.

"We don't kiss and tell," Patty said.

"You have to give us something."

Patty took his time with it, tying the drawstring on his shorts.

"Let's just say I walked funny the next day."

That line set off the whole row of dudes. Guys screamed, somebody slapped a locker door, and not one of them stopped to ask why the guy who supposedly did the fucking would be the one limping. I had to turn my face into my locker so they wouldn't see me cracking up at the actual joke.

One of the tall middleweight dudes looked down before my boxers cleared my knees and just reached out and took my whole soft dick in his palm, the entire heavy, hanging weight of it.

"She really took this beast, and then a whole 'nother dick?"

I chuckled and pulled myself out of his grasp, and it swung back against my thigh, one beat firmer from the attention.

We let the group sex rumor ride for a while. Neither of us corrected a single detail, and the story grew on its own, the mystery girl getting hotter with every retelling. Patty would just shrug whenever guys pressed him about it in the hall. 

"Playas gotta play," was the most he said on the topic, and they ate it up every time.

People noticed something else at practice and in the lockers that day too, which was that Patty and I had gotten closer. We had always messed around, but now we were poking each other between drills and giggling like idiots. Even in the showers, soap and all, a couple of the older guys would catch us at it and shake their heads. 

The renewed attention on Patty and me shifted toward group attention to my dick again. Somebody started calling it the team mascot, and it stuck immediately. 

By the end of practice that day guys were saluting it in the locker room. That morphed into them holding the formal ROTC salute pose until I gave my hips a swing in acknowledgment, like the meat log was saluting them back. 

"At ease, faggots," I said, wiggling my hips hard to slap my dick audibly back and forth on my thighs. 

The seniors liked that one, and I just shook my head, realizing that it only meant I was going to be doing it even more to satisfy their humor moving forward. 

One of the sophomores, a wiry kid with black hair, skinny for a wrestler, asked if the mascot was traveling with us to away meets, and he asked it with a completely straight face, like the logistics genuinely needed confirming. I didn't even know how to play along with that specific joke, but I tried anyway. 

"Well, yeah. I'm not leaving him at home."

“Of course it is,” one of the seniors said. “We can’t be expected to compete on the road without it.”

And the same tall blonde heavyweight who had invented the kissing bylaw suggested we put it on the warmup shirts, which turned half of our stretching session into a design meeting, guys pitching logo ideas, arguing over whether the athletic department would let the silhouette through. Patty audibly voted yes on every single design. And that did nothing but pump my ego up to the stratosphere. 

I started pulling it out even more than normal, dropping my towel before I had to, taking forever to get dressed, letting it hang out while I talked in the locker rooms. And when coach's back was turned, I pulled it out of the bottom of my practice shorts, right in front of everyone. The laughter drew suspicion from the coach, and some narrow eyes, but I got away with it.

And freshmen kept finding reasons to kiss my dick, even though formal hazing had been over for weeks. The bylaw expired with hazing week, technically. One freshman kept botching the same takedown at practice, and the seniors ruled that he owed the mascot a formal apology, so he knelt in front of my locker afterward with the whole row watching and planted one on it while the guys cheered. 

Another kid kissed it for luck before his first varsity match, completely unprompted. He walked up while I was changing, said "for luck," and pecked the head like it was a rabbit's foot. He won his match by pin after a very competitive face-off, which was the worst possible outcome for me personally, because it confirmed the entire team's superstition on the spot. 

After that there was a line to kiss my cock on meet days. "Meat or no meet," someone said once, and it caught on quickly. People even started scribbling it on walls around school. I would stand at my locker with my hands clasped behind my back while I tried not to get hard, essentially getting worshiped by my entire team, one by one, lips to shaft, college boy after college boy stooping down in front of my junk, and coach kept wondering out loud why warmups started late.

And one time, when the kid who had screamed that he would kiss my cock for details about the mystery girl got his turn, he went in with tongue, unprompted, and the guys noticed.

He had a surprisingly good result in his match, and the whispers and murmurs only confirmed that my cock was going to be licked as often as it was already being kissed.

····[]····

And nights in our room stayed pretty much the same. Laptop on the chair, shorts off, both of us talking about girls we had no shot with. The only real difference was that I would use his ass to get off sometimes, but only if he really wanted it, or "needed" it, as he begged sometimes. 

And even when we didn't do penetration, we faced each other now instead of the screen, dicks in our fists, calling out when we got close, and half the time neither of us even opened the porn. Patty still did the broadcaster voice some nights, "and the big man is working the shaft," except quieter now, color commentary that wasn't exactly a joke anymore.

A week or so after the night I put my dick in Patty's ass, I was at my desk grinding through a lab report, t-shirt and sweats, legs stretched out under the desk. Patty came back from the showers. He toweled his curly hair into a wet mess and wandered around our room naked, putting clothes away with his dick swinging at the edge of my vision while I typed. He still had water drying on his shoulders, that wrestler's build, thick thighs, the round muscled butt I now knew more about than any straight roommate normally would.

He crossed the room behind me, hooked a hand on the arm of my chair, and swung me away from the desk. His knees hit the floor between my feet.

I looked down at him. He looked up at me, wet curls stuck to his forehead, and he set both palms flat on my thighs, on top of my sweats. He smelled like the salon shampoo, which I could no longer smell without thinking about where the bottle had been. His hands kneaded upward toward my hips and back down again, thumbs digging firmly along the inseams, his lats spreading as he leaned his weight into me, and my dick started fattening down the leg of my sweats while he watched it happen.

I kept one hand on my keyboard mid-sentence of a lab report. My heart was racing and my dick kept thickening under the fabric, stretching it, and his thumbs traced right up alongside it without touching it once.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

"I have no idea," he said.

He hooked his fingers into my waistband. I lifted my hips off the chair for him, and he peeled the sweats down to the middle of my thighs. My dick swung out heavily and finished hardening right in front of his face, eight thick inches of team mascot pointing at my roommate's face.

He wrapped his fist around the base like every nervous freshman before him, except his hand wasn't nervous, and I normally wasn't hard for a dick appreciation moment. He weighed it in his grip, lifting it away from my body and letting the thickness settle on his palm. And he was hard too, his own dick standing straight up between his thighs where he knelt, bobbing every time he shifted his weight on the floor.

And he kissed my dick, pressing his lips to the head and holding them there, almost tenderly. His lips were parted, and warm, and his breath was rolling out of his nose, down my shaft. Somewhere in my head a locker room full of guys was jeering for a real kiss, with tongue, and Patty gave it one without  being pushed toward it. 

His tongue pressed flat against the underside of the head, dragged across the slit, and pulled back behind his lips again like it had never happened. My thighs tensed hard under his palms. I couldn't help myself, and I don't even know what came over me, but my free hand went to the back of his head, fingers pushing into his wet curls and holding on.

"You love it," I whispered.

"I respect it."

"You actually love it."

"I do."

He kissed it again, lower, his lips dragging down the side of the shaft with his fist still tight at the base, and my dick jumped against his mouth and leaked onto his knuckles. He grinned at it and planted one more on it, slower this time, his mouth opening wider around the head than any freshman had ever dared. He wasn't just kissing my cock like the rest of the guys. He was making love to it. 

"You're good, buddy," I said, the same send-off the seniors gave the freshmen when they survived their ritual.

"I don't think I am," he said, and he shoved the head of it past his lips into his mouth.