Chapter 2: First Day Tensions
The campus sprawled before them, a buzzing ecosystem of testosterone and ambition under the late summer sun. Harrison hoisted a box of his belongings, the worn cardboard pressing against his bare belly where the singlet rode up. He drank in the scene: a vibrant tapestry of men of every shade and size, from slender, pretty bottoms in delicate lingerie to hulking, bald tops in tactical gear, their enormous tits straining against sheer nylon tops. He saw a group of bottoms, all soft bellies and thick thighs, laughing together in matching pink cages, and a tall, serious-looking top in a crisp polo helping an older bottom with his luggage. It was a beautiful, chaotic mosaic, and Harrison felt a thrilling jolt of belonging.
“Overflowing with options, huh, kiddo?” Barry said, winking as he adjusted the strap of his own duffel bag. The denim of his shorts was so short the frayed hem barely grazed the crease of his ass. “Like a candy store, and you’ve got the sweetest tooth.”
Walter strode beside them, his muscular legs slicing through the crowded pathways with a purposeful grace. His black sports bra was dark with sweat at the center, a faint, sweet scent of milk cutting through the air. He stayed silent, his eyes scanning the crowds with a protective intensity that felt heavier here than it ever had at home.
A whistle, sharp and appreciative, cut through the general noise from a shaded courtyard to their left. “Damn, check out the all-you-can-eat buffet, boys!” a voice boomed. Harrison’s heart skipped not from fear, but from a warm, validating pulse deep in his gut.
He turned to see a pack of five tops lounging on stone benches, all clearly from the same fraternity. They were pristine examples of their kind: broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, with jawlines sharp enough to cut glass and chests so massive they curved visibly under their tight, pastel-colored polos. Their collective gaze was a physical heat on Harrison’s exposed skin.
“That ass is a national treasure,” another one drawled, a guy with icy blue eyes and a smirk. “A fuckin’ renaissance painting. I’d commit crimes to get my hands on that.”
Harrison felt a proud flush rise up his neck. He deliberately shifted his weight, making the cheeks of his ass jiggle slightly within the confines of the singlet’s open back. He shot them a smile over his shoulder, a quick, inviting flash of teeth.
The attention pivoted seamlessly to Barry. “And he comes with a vintage model! Damn, daddy, you age like fine wine. That pussy still wet?”
Barry laughed, a rich, unfiltered sound, and gave a playful shimmy. “Sweetie, it's not just wet, it's marinated,” he called back, blowing them a kiss. The group roared with laughter and approval.
Walter’s hand, which had been resting on Harrison’s lower back, tightened suddenly. His knuckles were white. “Hey!” Walter barked, his voice a low thunderclap that silenced the nearby chatter. “Show some damn respect. He’s my son.”
The warmth in Harrison’s belly curdled into icy mortification. “Pop, don’t,” he hissed, his face burning.
The frat guys looked momentarily taken aback, not by the reprimand, but by its source. A top chastising other tops for appreciating a bottom was… unusual.
Barry immediately placed a calming hand on Walter’s rigid arm. “Walt, baby, breathe,” he murmured, his voice a steady, soft counterpoint. “Look at him. He’s glowing. This is what we raised him for, remember? To be seen. To be wanted.”
He turned his body, speaking low so only his family could hear. “You yelling at horny tops for looking is like yelling at the sun for shining. Remember what you yelled at me across the quad twenty years ago? ‘I’m gonna empty my balls so deep in that cunt you’ll taste it for a week!’”
A faint, reluctant smile touched Walter’s lips at the memory. “We were in a bathroom stall seven minutes later,” he grumbled, the anger leaching from his shoulders.
“Exactly,” Barry said, squeezing his arm. “He’s a big boy now. Let the nice Tops look. It’s a compliment.”
One of the frat brothers, the one with the blonde buzz cut and a surprisingly earnest expression, stood and approached. He moved with an athlete’s confidence, but his hands were open, non-threatening. A faint, dark spot of pre-cum marred the front of his khaki shorts.
“Sir, my apologies,” he said, meeting Walter’s eyes directly. “I’m Chase. That was crude of us.” He glanced at Harrison, his gaze softening with genuine admiration. “We got excited. Your son is… breathtaking. And your husband is gorgeous.”
Walter studied him, the protective glower slowly fading into a wary assessment. “Chase.”
“Yes, sir,” Chase continued, his voice sincere. “I want to assure you, I’m a Top who respects bottoms. I mean that. If I were ever lucky enough to get the chance with your son, I wouldn’t just fuck him.” He looked back at Harrison, his eyes darkening. “I’d worship that fat, sexy animal. I’d treat that precious pussy like a holy place. It’d be an honor.”
The words landed on Harrison like a physical touch, sinking straight to his core. His own pussy, already slick from the morning’s activities and the adrenaline, wept fresh wetness into his thong. He saw the effect on Walter too; his father’s posture softened, a flicker of paternal pride replacing the defensiveness. This kid wasn’t just barking; he was speaking the language of genuine appreciation.
“Thank you, Chase,” Walter said finally, giving a short, acknowledging nod. “That’s… good to hear.”
Behind them, the other frat guys had politely swarmed Barry, who was basking in the attention. One was gently kneading his shoulder, another whispered something that made Barry throw his head back with a loud laugh, and a third was running a respectful hand over the curve of Barry’s belly, just above the hem of his mesh top.
“You gotta give me your number,” Chase said, turning his full focus to Harrison. He pulled out his phone. “For when you’re settled. No pressure. Just… in case you want a tour. Or a meal. I know a great spot for bottom feasts.”
“Yeah,” Harrison breathed, his voice a little shaky. He took the phone, his thick fingers clumsily inputting his digits. “I’d like that.”
As he handed the phone back, Chase’s hand lingered. His gaze dropped to Harrison’s mouth. “May I?”
Harrison nodded, a silent yes. Chase closed the distance, his lips firm and tasting of mint and iced coffee. The kiss was deep, searching, his tongue sweeping into Harrison’s mouth with a confident ownership that made Harrison’s knees weak. When they parted, Harrison was breathless, the catcalls and his father’s presence fading into a distant hum.
“Call me,” Chase said, his thumb stroking Harrison’s cheek once before he stepped back, rejoining his friends who were now slapping Barry’s ass playfully as they said their goodbyes.
The walk to the dorm was silent for a minute, charged with a new energy. Walter carried the final box, his expression thoughtful. Barry was flushed and grinning, adjusting his shorts. Harrison’s mind was a riot of blue eyes and the taste of mint, the promise of the semester solidifying from a vague hope into a tangible, delicious hunger.
He was here. He was seen. And for the first time in his life, the desire he felt wasn’t just a general craving for any Top. It was a sharp, specific pull toward one. He touched his lips, still tingling, as they reached the door to his new dorm room, the number staring back at him like the first line of a story he couldn’t wait to read.