Sticks, Tricks, and Dicks – Part 2

Everyone in this story is 18+.

-------------Grayson’s POV------------

The Delta Chi house smelled like stale beer and ambition, a sprawling brick beast on Greek Row with a banner screaming Rush Week flapping in the late August breeze. Jake and I stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the packed living room, surrounded by a sea of freshmen and upperclassmen, all sizing each other up like we were on the ice before a face-off. The air buzzed with testosterone—guys shouting over trap music, red Solo cups sloshing, a few sorority girls weaving through with flirty smirks. I was in my element, my navy tee tight across my chest, dark hair still damp from a quick shower after practice. Jake, though, looked like he was about to bolt, his blue eyes darting, sandy blonde hair sticking up from nervous fidgeting. Dude was 6’3” of pure hockey muscle, but right now, he was all cute jitters.

“Relax, man,” I said, nudging his arm, feeling the hard curve of his bicep under his polo. “It’s just a party. Smile, and you’re halfway in.”

He forced a grin, but it was shaky, his broad shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a hit. “Yeah, easy for you. You’re like… born for this shit.”

I laughed, clapping his back, my hand lingering a beat too long. Fuck, he was solid. “Born for it? Nah, I just fake it better. Stick with me, Midwest. We got this.”

Pledging Delta Chi was a no-brainer—hockey-heavy, full of guys who lived for the rink and the afterparty. Jake and I had signed up at the quad meet-and-greet a week ago, his reluctance melting under my pushy charm. I could still feel the camp shower between us—his hand on my hip, my fingers brushing his abs, both of us hard as fuck before I’d stopped it, thinking of Chris. My cock twitched at the memory, but I shoved it down. Chris was back home, his latest Snapchat—a shirtless gym selfie, captioned Counting down to your first game—burning in my pocket. Our open relationship meant I could explore, but Jake… he was a complication I hadn’t planned on.

A senior, some jacked dude named Tyler with a man-bun and a Delta Chi tank, clapped to get our attention. “Alright, pledges! Line up! Time to earn your spot!” The room quieted, freshmen shuffling into a ragged line, Jake next to me, his thigh brushing mine. Tyler smirked, pacing like a coach before a big game. “Delta Chi’s about brotherhood, grit, and not being a fucking lightweight. First challenge—shotgun relay. Pair up, grab a beer, and don’t puke.”

The crowd whooped, and I grinned, turning to Jake. “You’re with me, Midwest. Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”

His eyes widened, but he nodded, that nervous grin creeping back. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, aren’t you?”

“Only the fun kind,” I teased, tossing him a can from the cooler. His fingers brushed mine, and I felt that spark again, same as at camp. Focus, Grayson. I popped my can, waiting for Tyler’s whistle. Jake mirrored me, his hands steady despite the nerves in his eyes. The whistle blew, and we tilted back, beer spraying as we chugged, foam dripping down my chin, Jake’s throat working fast. The crowd cheered, and I finished first, slamming my can down, Jake a split second behind.

“Fuck yeah!” I shouted, high-fiving him, his palm warm and firm. His cheeks were flushed, blue eyes bright, and for a second, I wanted to pull him closer, taste the beer on his lips. Chris. Chill.

Tyler clapped me on the shoulder. “Not bad, newbies. Next up—trust falls. Pair stays the same. Don’t let your boy hit the floor.”

Jake’s face went pale. “Trust falls? Seriously?”

I laughed, steering him to the cleared-out center of the room. “It’s just falling, man. I got you.” We lined up, me behind him, hands hovering near his hips. His polo stretched tight across his back, muscles shifting as he braced himself. “Ready?” I asked, voice low.

He glanced back, eyes locking on mine, something raw flickering there. “Don’t drop me, Grayson.”

“Never,” I said, and I meant it more than I should’ve.

He leaned back, slow at first, then fully, his weight sinking into my arms. I caught him easy, his body warm against my chest, his ass grazing my crotch for a split second before he stood. My dick stirred, and I stepped back, clearing my throat. “Your turn.”

We switched, and I fell into his arms, his grip strong, hands steady on my waist. His breath hitched, and I felt his fingers tighten, lingering as he helped me up. The room was loud—guys cheering, some dude wiping out across the room—but it was just us for a moment, his blue eyes searching mine. “You good?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yeah,” I said, grinning to cover the heat in my chest. “Told you we got this.”

The night rolled on—more challenges, more beers, Jake loosening up as we crushed a beer pong game against two cocky sophomores. He was laughing now, his Midwest charm coming out, trading trash talk with the frat brothers. But every time our shoulders brushed or our hands grazed passing a cup, that camp shower vibe hit me again—his bubble butt in those briefs, his hard cock brushing mine. I caught him staring once, his eyes dropping to my chest, my tight tee showing off my pecs, and I smirked, letting him look.

Later, we sprawled on a couch in the corner, sweaty and buzzed, the party still raging. My phone buzzed—Chris, a voice memo this time: “Proud of you, kid. Tell me about this frat shit. And any hot teammates?” His voice, deep and teasing, made my heart ache. I wanted to call him, tell him about Jake, but the words stuck. Jake nudged me, offering a fresh beer. “You’re zoning out, man. Thinking about home?”

I took the beer, our fingers brushing, and nodded. “Yeah, someone special. But I’m here now.” I didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened, just for a second, before he smiled.

“Cool,” he said, voice clipped. “You’re, uh, lucky to have someone.”

I wanted to say more, tell him it wasn’t like that, that Chris and I were open, but Tyler shouted for the next challenge—some dumbass icebreaker where we had to share “one truth” about ourselves. Jake went first, standing, his polo damp with sweat, hair a mess. “Uh, I’m Jake. From Iowa. Been playing hockey since I was six, and… I’m kinda scared I’ll fuck up this college thing.” The room laughed, but his eyes were serious, and I felt a pull to hug him, tell him he wouldn’t.

My turn. I stood, grinning. “Grayson, from Chicago. Hockey’s my life, and I’m stoked to be here with my boy Jake.” I nodded at him, and his cheeks flushed, a shy smile breaking through. “Truth? I’m in love with someone, but I’m figuring out what that means in college.” The room hooted, a few guys yelling “Spill the tea!” but Jake’s smile faded, his eyes dropping to the floor.

As we sat back down, his knee pressed against mine, and I didn’t pull away. “You good?” I asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” he muttered, but his voice was tight, and I knew he was thinking about my “someone.” I wanted to explain—Chris, the open thing, how Jake was already under my skin—but the party roared on, and the moment slipped. Pledging was just starting, and already, Jake was more than a teammate. He was trouble, the kind I wanted to chase, even if it fucked with my heart.

◆◆◆

Back in my dorm, the silence was loud as fuck after the Delta Chi madness. My roommate was out—some nerdy study group thing—and the room felt empty, just me, my Blackhawks poster, and the hum of the mini fridge. I sprawled on my bed, shirtless, briefs clinging to my thighs, my cock throbbing, hard as steel from the night’s adrenaline. Practice had me wired, but it was Jake’s face stuck in my head—his blue eyes, that tight ass in his shorts at the frat house, the way his hands had gripped my waist in the trust fall. I wanted to text him, tell him to come over, pin him to the mattress, and finish what we started in that camp shower. My dick pulsed at the thought, leaking precum into my briefs, but I stopped myself. Jake was my only real friend here, the one guy I clicked with since day one. Fucking that up for a quick nut? Not happening.

Chris’s voice echoed in my head—“Explore, kid. Just be honest.” Our open relationship was supposed to make this simple, but my heart was a goddamn mess. I grabbed my phone, his latest Snapchat—a shirtless gym selfie, captioned Counting down to your first game—making my cock ache harder. College was for living, right? I needed to get this out of my system, feel something other than Jake’s ghost in my head.

I downloaded Grindr, set up a profile fast—Hockey guy, 18, looking for fun—and uploaded a pic of my abs, cropped just above my bulge. Messages flooded in, most trash—creepy old dudes or obvious fakes. Then I saw him: Luka, 19, figure skater, out & proud. His pic was pure heat—petite, lean, with curly blond hair, green eyes, and a bratty smirk that screamed trouble. His bio? Glide on the ice, grind in the sheets. Corny, but it fucking worked. I shot a message: Yo, you free tonight?

He hit back quick, sending a mirror selfie in tiny briefs, his ass round, perky, and begging to be grabbed. My cock jumped, fully hard, straining against my briefs as I typed, Dorm’s empty. You down? Another pic came through—Luka in a jockstrap, bent over, his pink hole winking between smooth cheeks. Jesus fuck. I was leaking like crazy, my balls tight and heavy. Address? he asked, and I sent it, heart slamming.

Twenty minutes later, a knock. I opened the door, still in my briefs, my eight-inch cock tenting shamelessly. Luka stood there, smaller than his pics—5’7”, all lean muscle and smooth, pale skin, his blond curls falling into his eyes. He wore a crop top and skin-tight jeans, his out-and-proud energy radiating. “Grayson?” he said, smirking, his gaze raking over my pecs, my abs, lingering on my bulge. “Fuck, you’re built.”

“You’re not bad yourself,” I growled, stepping aside. He strutted in, tossing his phone on my desk, peeling off his crop top to show a tight, toned chest, nipples pink and hard. My dick throbbed, the head poking out above my waistband, slick with precum.

“No wasting time, huh?” he teased, closing the gap, his hand sliding down my abs, fingers dipping into my briefs to stroke my shaft. “Shit, this cock’s huge.”

I groaned, grabbing his hips, pulling him against me. “Gonna need that ass to handle it.” I spun him, yanking down his jeans to reveal that jockstrap, his cheeks round and firm, begging for my hands. I smacked one, hard, and he moaned, grinding back, his hole twitching.

We stumbled to my bed, clothes gone in seconds—my briefs, his jeans, that jockstrap framing his perfect ass. I kissed him rough, tongues messy, his hands clawing my chest, pinching my nipples. “Fuck me,” he whined, palming my cock, thick and veiny, the head flushed dark, my smooth balls swinging heavy. I grabbed lube from my drawer—no condom, we’d swapped test results in the chat, both clean—and slicked my dick, then his hole, my fingers slipping inside, stretching him as he moaned like a porn star.

“Ride me,” I said, voice thick, lying back, my cock standing straight up, glistening. Luka straddled me, green eyes blazing, and sank down slow, his tight heat swallowing my shaft inch by inch. “Fuck,” I groaned, hands gripping his hips, his ass clenching around me, so fucking tight it made my head spin. He started moving, bouncing, his own cock—five inches, hard and leaking—slapping his abs with every thrust.

“Goddamn, you’re fucking huge,” he gasped, grinding down, taking me deep, his hole stretched wide around my girth. I thrust up, meeting his rhythm, my balls smacking his ass, the wet slap filling the room. His moans were loud, shameless, his curls bouncing, face flushed as he rode me like he was born for it. I reached up, pinching his nipples, making him whimper, his cock dripping precum onto my abs.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” I growled, one hand sliding to his ass, spreading his cheeks to watch my cock disappear inside him. The sight—my thick, veiny shaft splitting his pink hole—pushed me close. Jake’s face flashed in my mind, his body in that camp shower, but I shoved it away, focusing on Luka’s heat, the way he clenched when I hit his spot.

“Gonna fucking cum,” he moaned, jerking his cock, and I thrust harder, slamming up into him. He came first, ropes of cum splattering my chest, his hole pulsing around me. That sent me over, my balls tightening as I unloaded deep them inside him, hot spurts of warm nut filling his ass, my groans mixing with his. He collapsed onto me, panting, my cock still buried in him, cum leaking down his thighs.

“Fucking hell,” he panted, grinning, his curls sticking to his forehead. “That cock’s a weapon.”

I laughed, catching my breath, my hands still on his ass. “You took it like a champ.”

He climbed off, cum dripping from his hole, and grabbed his phone, tossing me a wink. “Round two tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” I said, smirking. “Got practice.”

He dressed, blowing me a kiss as he left. “Hit me up, hockey boy.”

The door clicked shut, and I lay back, body buzzing, cum and sweat slick on my skin. Luka was a fucking firecracker, exactly what I’d needed, but Jake’s face crept back—his nervous grin at the frat house, his hands on me in that trust fall. Chris’s voice memo played in my head, “Any hot teammates?” I’d tell him about Luka, keep it honest, but Jake? That was too raw, too messy. College was for exploring, but Jake was making it fucking complicated.