Chapter 3: Forbidden First Glimpse
The dorm room door was slightly ajar, the scent of industrial cleaner and stale beer drifting out into the hall. Harrison shouldered it open, his heart still thumping from the kiss with Chase. The room was a standard-issue rectangle: two beds, two desks, two closets. One side was pristine, empty. The other was occupied by a mountain of fabric folded on a bare mattress.
And in front of that mountain stood the mountain himself.
Harrison stopped dead, the last box held tight against his belly. The boy had his back to the door, bent over a duffel bag. He was enormous in a way that made Harrison’s own generous frame feel almost delicate. He wore a vast, grey t-shirt that hung like a sail from his broad shoulders, and baggy black sweatpants that completely obscured any shape of his legs or ass. But the fabric couldn’t hide the sheer mass of him—the powerful slope of his shoulders, the thick, sturdy legs, the suggestion of a monumental belly straining against the shirt’s cheap cotton. His hair was a messy, sun-bleached blonde, curling at the nape of his neck, and a thick, golden beard covered his jaw.
He straightened up and turned.
Harrison’s breath caught. Gus’s face was astonishingly handsome—rugged and soft all at once. Sharp cheekbones, a strong nose, and eyes the color of a summer lake, currently wide with a startled, deer-like anxiety. He had the classic beauty of a bottom, but dialed to a mythic scale: a lumberjack from a fairy tale, massive and powerful.
“Oh!” Gus said, his voice a deep, gentle rumble that didn’t match his nervous expression. He wiped his palms on his sweatpants. “Hi. You must be Harrison.”
“Yeah,” Harrison managed, setting the box down with a thud. He felt suddenly, acutely aware of his own exposed body—the singlet clinging to every curve, his thong ass fully exposed visible through the open back. He usually relished that awareness. Now, it felt oddly performative. “You’re Gus.”
“Yeah.” Gus offered a small, tentative smile. His eyes flickered over Harrison, not with the predatory hunger of the frat tops, but with something like hesitant appreciation, quickly masked. “Sorry, I’m still… getting sorted. My dad insisted on folding everything before he puts it away.”
“No worries,” Harrison said, the awkwardness melting under the warmth of that smile. He gestured to his own pile of boxes. “My dads are bringing up the last of it. I’m just… gonna claim this side, if that’s cool?” He pointed to the empty bed.
“Please,” Gus said, moving a stack of neatly folded towels out of the way. “I’m glad you’re… I mean, it’s good to meet you. I was worried I’d get stuck with some asshole Top who’d expect me to do his laundry.”
Harrison laughed, the sound loosening the strange tension in his chest. “Fat chance. I’m a disaster. My Pop says my laundry could stand up and walk to the machine on its own.”
The shared joke seemed to ease Gus. His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Mine’s not much better. My… my other dad does most of it. At home, I mean.”
“Bottom dad?” Harrison asked, leaning against the desk. The move made his belly push against the singlet’s fabric.
Gus nodded, his eyes lingering for a half-second on Harrison’s stomach before darting away. “Eli. Yeah. He’s… he’s great. Really takes care of the home stuff.”
There was a weight to the words, a carefulness. Harrison just grinned. “Same. Barry’s a fucking treasure. Cooks like a god. Keeps the place… you know.” He gestured vaguely at his own crotch. “Well-lubricated.”
A faint blush crept up Gus’s neck, visible above his beard. He let out a soft, surprised chuckle. “Yeah. That’s… important.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged, but with a curious, gentle energy. Harrison found himself cataloging details: the way Gus’s big hands fidgeted with a drawstring, the surprising delicacy of his fingers, the faint, clean scent of pine soap that clung to him, cutting through the dorm’s staleness.
“You look like you’re ready for the gym,” Gus said suddenly, gesturing at Harrison’s singlet.
Harrison glanced down, plucking at the thin blue material.“This? Nah, this is just my move-in day whore fit. Gotta make an impression, you know?”
Gus’s blush deepened. “Right.Of course. It looks… good on you. You fill it out really well.”
Before Harrison could process the warm, strange thrill that simple compliment gave him, the door swung open.
Walter entered first, his pecs straining against the sports bra, a final box in his arms. Barry followed, his mesh top damp with sweat, his smile wide and ready. “Honey, we’re home!” Barry sang.
“And we brought the rest of your porn collection!” Walter added, deadpan, setting the box down.
Barry swatted his arm playfully before his eyes landed on Gus. His expression softened into immediate, radiant warmth. “Well, hello! You must be the roommate! Oh, look at you!” He surged forward, arms open.
Gus stiffened for a microsecond, then submitted to the hug, his own arms coming up in a loose, awkward circle around Barry’s shoulders. Barry squeezed him tight, one hand patting the broad, shapeless back of Gus’s t-shirt. “I’m Barry, this grump is Walter, and you must be Gus! We’ve heard so little, which means we get to learn everything!”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Gus mumbled into Barry’s shoulder.
As Barry released him, Walter gave a firm, approving nod. “Good to meet you, Gus. This one giving you any trouble yet?” He jerked a thumb at Harrison, a fond smile playing on his lips.
Before anyone could answer, the atmosphere in the room changed. It was subtle, like a barometric drop before a storm. Three new figures filled the doorway.
The first was a Top—Gus’s father, Marcus. He was tall and rigidly muscular, his body a series of sharp angles under a stiff, button-down polo shirt tucked into crisp khakis. His breasts were large, but they looked solid, unyielding, encased in a plain white undershirt visible beneath the polo. His face was clean-shaven, his hair cut with military precision. He held a suitcase with an air of ownership, not assistance.
Behind him came a man who could only be Eli, Gus’s bottom father. The contrast was shocking. Eli was dressed in a sheer black thong bodysuit, the mesh fabric clinging to every soft curve of his pregnant belly, which swelled proudly and heavily from his frame. His body was thick with hair, his soft cocklet clearly visible through the fabric, slick and gleaming in it's delicate silver cage. He looked every inch the perfect, kept bottom, a blush on his cheeks and a submissive tilt to his head.
“There you are, August,” Marcus said, his voice a smooth, cool baritone. He set the suitcase down with a definitive click. His eyes swept the room, cataloging Walter’s exposed musculature, Barry’ sheer top, and finally, Harrison in his singlet. A thin, not-quite-warm smile touched his lips. “I see you’ve met your new… friend.”
“This is Harrison, dad,” Gus said, his voice suddenly smaller. “And his parents, Barry and Walter.”
Marcus’s gaze settled on Harrison. It was an appraisal, clinical and thorough. “Harrison. A pleasure.” He stepped forward, his hand extended not for a shake, but to lightly pinch the fabric of Harrison’s singlet at the shoulder. “My, my. Now this is how a bottom presents himself. Confident. Available. A real bottom.” He released the fabric and turned his smile, now tinged with something sharper, toward Gus. “See, August? Your roommate understands his purpose. He’s not hiding his gifts under a bushel. You could learn a thing or two about pride from him.”
The words hung in the air, polite poison. Barry’s smile had frozen. Walter’s posture had shifted almost imperceptibly, a subtle movement that placed him slightly between Harrison and Marcus.
Gus stared at the floor, his ears crimson.
Eli waddled in, placing a hand on his lower back. “The campus is very lively,” he said softly, his voice sweet but devoid of any real emotion. “So many… colorful outfits.”
Marcus chuckled, a dry sound. “Colorful is one word for it. I was just teasing August about his… practical choice of attire.” He reached out and ruffled Gus’s hair, a gesture that felt more like a dismissal than affection. “Still dressing like you’re ashamed of the body God gave you, son? All that good, healthy flesh hidden away? A bottom’s beauty is a testament to his Top’s provision. You should show it off.”
“I like being comfortable, sir,” Gus muttered, not looking up.
“Comfort is a luxury for the lazy,” Marcus replied, the smile still fixed. He turned back to Walter and Barry. “You’ve done a fine job with your boy. He looks… well-fed. Responsive. A credit to you.”
Walter’s jaw was tight. “Harrison makes his own choices about how he looks. We just love him.”
“As it should be,” Marcus said, though his tone suggested the opposite. “Well. I believe that’s the last of it, August. We should be going. Let you boys get acquainted.” He placed a firm hand on Gus’s shoulder. “Come. Walk us to the car. Your grandfather wants to say a proper goodbye.”
Gus nodded, avoiding everyone’s eyes. He gave Harrison one last, fleeting glance—a look of such profound apology and something else, something like longing, that it hit Harrison square in the chest. Then he was herded from the room by his family, the pregnant Eli giving a small, helpless shrug as he was led away.
The door clicked shut.
For a moment, the three of them stood in silence. The cheerful chaos of the hallway outside felt miles away.
“Well,” Barry said, exhaling forcefully. “That was… a whole lot.”
Walter walked to the window, watching the family retreat across the quad below. “Control freak,” he muttered darkly. “Treating his own kid like a show pony. Did you see the way Eli wouldn’t even look him in the eye?”
“The poor thing,” Barry sighed, sinking onto Harrison’s bare mattress. “Gus, I mean. He’s stunning. Absolutely fucking gorgeous. A face like that, a body like that… I wouldn't want to show it off either if I had a father like that."
Harrison was still staring at the closed door, the imprint of Gus’s apologetic look burning behind his eyes. The strange, pulling feeling he’d had was now mixed with a hot rush of protective anger. “His dad’s a dick,” he said, the words simple and true.
“Yeah,” Walter agreed, turning from the window. He came over and pulled Harrison into a brief, hard hug. “But Gus is out from under his roof now. This is his chance to figure out who he is. Without that… that pressure.”
Barry got up, wrapping his arms around both of them. “Be his friend, honey. He looks like he needs one. A real one.”
Harrison nodded into his Pop’s shoulder, the scent of milk and sweat a familiar comfort. He thought of Chase’s promise, the thrilling, straightforward hunger of it. Then he thought of Gus’s lake-blue eyes, the sheer, hidden magnitude of him, the quiet tremor in his deep voice. Two entirely different magnets, pulling in different directions.
“He’s just… really nice,” Harrison said finally, pulling back. He didn’t have better words for the tangled knot in his stomach.
Walter studied his son’s face for a moment, his dark eyes seeing too much. He cupped Harrison’s cheek. “Just remember what we talked about. Your education comes first. The rest of it…” He smiled, a real one this time. “The rest of it is just dessert. Enjoy it. All of it.”
They finished unpacking in a more subdued mood. When the last poster was tacked to the wall and the last box flattened, Barry kissed Harrison soundly on the mouth, his tongue a familiar, comforting swipe. Walter held him tight, nuzzling into his neck. “Call us. Every day. And eat something that isn’t pizza once in a while.”
“Love you, pops. Love you, dad.”
And then they were gone, leaving Harrison alone in the half-familiar room. The silence was vast. He could still smell the faint trace of pine soap.
He pulled out his phone. A new text from an unknown number lit up the screen. Hey sexy. It’s Chase. Remember me? Can’t stop thinking about that ass.
Harrison smiled, a flicker of his old, confident self returning. He typed back, How could I forget?
He hit send, then let the phone drop to the bed. He walked over to Gus’s side of the room. On the desk, next to a stack of engineering textbooks, was a single, framed photograph. It showed a younger Gus, maybe fifteen, standing between Marcus and Eli in front of a large church. Gus was thinner, but still big, forced into a tight, formal suit. He wasn’t smiling.
Harrison reached out, his fingers hovering just above the glass. He didn’t touch it. He just looked at the trapped, handsome boy in the picture, and wondered what he was thinking, right now, walking back up the stairs.