Suite Seduction Pt. 01

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is Part One in a four-part series that I am really excited to share with you all. The story goes in really fun directions and the characters are some of my favorites I've written. Give a favorite, comment, and vote! I love hearing from you all. Thanks for reading!

SUITE SEDUCTION

Part One: An XXL Mystery

It's move-in day and I don't know that I can imagine a worse version of hell. It's a cluster fuck of clueless teenagers wandering around wide-eyed, their parents protectively chasing after them, both of whom are simultaneously drenched in sweat from hauling boxes and bags and televisions and gaming systems from the dorm parking lot. And if it already weren't enough, from there, either up the many flights of stairs or up an overcrowded and slow-moving elevator. Must say, there are not many redeeming qualities to college just 30 minutes in.

Amidst all the miserable conditions, the air at Barnaby South University is still buzzing with a nervous energy. I join the line in the Bedding Hall lobby to get assigned my dorm number and retrieve my keys.

All the freshmen are going into this blind. No clue who their roommates are. Even if you've put in a request for a specific person, it's never guaranteed until you retrieve your key and open that door to see who is waiting to spend the next nine months sleeping six feet away from you.

An older student, presumably an RA—yup, an RA; I can see it on her nametag now; Krysta. Residential Advisor (RA). Bedding. —is sitting at the front desk, quickly glancing over her list, shuffling through a sheaf of envelopes, then handing the respective enveloped key to the deer-in-headlights freshman whose turn it is to meet their fate. She then sends them on their anxious way. Her voice is high pitched and clearly getting tired of her script.

"Name?" she starts with.

"Nick Ferrell," a boy a few students in front of me says. Masculine but laced with the tones a straight boy produces when he is trying to pretend he's too good for feelings.

I chuckle quietly before stifling myself.

I really need to get better about laughing at everything straight people do. Back home, I have a whole group of strictly queer friends. We're constantly laughing about "breeders" and their vapid ways.

They've all gone on to different colleges, though. Many of them went to school for theater or for some other form of art. I've always been different, leaning toward the sciences more than anything. Admittedly, I've had an embarrassing fascination with bugs since I was really little and love to spend time outside, hiking, geocaching, or climbing. It sets me apart from my other friends. You know, other than the fact that we can all relate to being gay... at least in some way or another.

But now I'm here and chances have it, I'm going to be living among a strong majority straight men. Men like the boy Nick Ferrell. For at least the next year. Just the thought makes me queasy.

Lost in thoughts of home, before I know it, I'm face to face with Krysta who seems to have already said "Name?" once and by the look on her face would really rather not say it again.

"Kylan Anderson," I manage. Kind of impressed I didn't choke on that. With a bit of a sad internal laugh, I realize that the queers back home would be making a deep throat joke just about now.

I remember the time we all took turns deep-throating bananas to see who could take theirs the furthest without gagging. I came out the champion and earned a reputation for my lack of gag reflex pretty early if I'm being honest.

Shaking me from memory, Krysta hands me my key and plasters on her 500^th smile of the day, giving me a "Welcome to the Bedding Fam" through gritted teeth. Something tells me she'll break at smile 501.

I glance down at the envelope which has a label with my name and room number printed on it. Anderson, Kylan. Suite 426 A. A quizzical look passes over my face before turning to bravely face Krysta once more.

"Excuse me, this says 'Suite' instead of 'Room' on it? I just wanted to make sure there wasn't a mistake."

With a huff she impatiently explains, "Suite style units have three different rooms, so six total occupants, a shared living space and private bathroom."

"Oh shit, for real?" I blurt out, near a bemused laugh.

I was wrong. Krysta's plastered smile breaks before 501.

Outside, I share the good news with my parents who seem relieved I won't have to use the dorm's communal showers. Because of sanitary reasons. I have to admit; I don't think I would have minded it. Though locker rooms and public showers have always been a bit of a stress-inducing situation for me as a gay guy, I can't honestly say there isn't a certain excitement being around all the naked men. It's helped me develop excellent control over my boners over the years.

I promise I'm not too much of a pervert, but maybe a little bit of a pervert.

My parents aren't really the sentimental type, so they don't even leave the car. My dad doesn't want to have to worry about parking and there is a 20-minute unload time limit that we have to beat, so we pile all of my belongings onto a cart, they kiss me goodbye on the curb, and I start to haul my things to one of the lines for the elevators.

In front of me is none other than Nick Ferrell, who I had heard nervously utter his name at check-in. Now getting a good look at him, I definitely realize I definitely perceived his voice to make him out to be more masculine than he actually appears close-up. He doesn't have any facial hair and doesn't look as if he ever has, but he does have a nice jaw. His skin is near-perfect and he has a mess of brown hair that looks like it hasn't seen a comb in a while. He's dressed in athletic shorts and a Thrasher t-shirt, some average-looking Nike's on his feet. My spirit shrugs sans my body and I admit he's cute.

Nick ends up in the elevator on the left while I end up in the elevator on the right, accompanied by a nice looking girl who is waiting behind me. She also seems to have piled all of her belongings on her own single cart, whether because her parents aren't sentimental like mine or she has no parents or hates them, I wouldn't know because I'm not one for making forced conversation in elevators. Though I admit, if I were, I would be much more likely to do it with women. Men make me extremely nervous most of the time, even though I love having sex with them.

When the elevator gets to the 4^th Floor, I am greeted with a ding and the gentle roar of conversations between new roommates, parents, old friends, RA's, music, and the occasional text alert chime. The soundtrack of dorm-life.

A sign points me to the left, which appears to be the side of the floor dedicated to "the males". Beneath the left-leading arrow, it reads, "Rooms 400 -- 425, Suite 426".

Hauling my giant cart, I head all the way down the hall to the left, dodging other students moving while also peeking in open doors to people-watch while they unpack and get to know their new roommates. I don't know if others are genuinely more open-hearted than I am or if they're all just feigning happy confidence at these new acquaintances, but I just don't see myself being that overjoyed with not just my one roommate, but my other four suitemates.

The door to Suite 426 has more wall-space around it than any of the other doors. I assume to accommodate the extra occupants. I don't hear much from behind the door, so I cross my fingers I'm the first to arrive and hope that I can just quickly unpack my belongings then go for a walk around campus. I really don't feel like being around five strange straight guys and their parents as they settle in.

Sliding my key in the lock, I turn it the handle and push on the heavy wood door that reveals our living space. It's all hardwood flooring, has a small couch and coffee table, another small taller "dining" table with two accompanying chairs, and a door leading off to a bathroom that appears to have a really nice shower. I instantly realize that I lucked out.

"This place looks like it's never been lived in."

Thinking I am alone, I unknowingly say this out loud and jump when I hear a response.

"It hasn't," says the familiar voice. Popping his brown-haired head from around the corner, Nick Ferrell adds, "It's brand-new. University just finished building it over the summer. Hey, I'm Nick."

He is approaching me with his hand outstretched, ready to shake. The universal straight guy first-meeting ritual. His hands are soft like his face.

"Kylan," I breathe. I expected to be near hyperventilating and at peak anxiety at this point, but this feels much more like an exhale. I can already tell I like Nick for some reason. Other than that he's really adorable.

"Which unit are you in? A, B, or C?"

"I'm 426A. You?"

"Looks like we're roommates, man."

"Sweet," I say, smiling. Another exhale. "Is anyone else here yet?"

"Not yet."

"This suite thing is crazy, right? I didn't even know schools did this, you know?"

"Yeah, I know! A buddy of mine also got a suite, but he's down on 3^rd Floor. I don't know anybody else in the unit. You?"

"No clue," I admit, shrugging.

There's a silence as I access my bank of social skills and get-to-know you questions a little too early and suddenly I'm blurting, "So Nick, what's your major?"

A long time ago, someone told me a good way to get some to like you is to say their name a lot. Nick's face looks confused for a fraction of a second before answering in his masculine baritone, "Bio. What about you?

"Me too, actually!" I exclaim a little too loudly, laughing a little too much.

Nick doesn't seem to notice. "Nice! You looking to go to med school after?"

"Nah. I wanna study bugs."

SHUT THE FUCK UP.

"Oh! Cool, man."

LIAR. IT IS NOT COOL!

"You're such a liar. It is not cool," I laugh, much more smoothly than was reflected in my conscience.

Nick laughs. "Damn, man. Call me out."

"Gotta establish honesty as a strict expectation for my roommate, right out the gate. I'm a giant nerd for bugs, but I promise not to bring any back to the room."

"Appreciate it, but no judgment. People are into all sorts of weird stuff. My girlfriend collects buttons. But that's not even the weirdest thing about her."

So, he's definitely straight then.

I laugh. "What is the weirdest thing about her?"

"I'll give you another week before we start sharing kinks," he says. Sly and with a wink. I hate the way straight guys (whether genuine or only perceived as such) ironically flirt with each other. Very unfair.

My face flushes bright pink and I begin burying myself in my belongings, unpacking to try and get my mind off Nick's joke.

It was a joke, right?

Each room is furnished with two beds on opposite walls, two desks—each under a window on the wall adjoining the bed walls, and two closets. Nothing spectacular. Everything is made from black metal and lightly finished particle wood, but the suite thing really is awesome.

In the midst of us unpacking, two other suite mates bustle through the door. And they look exactly alike. They're identical twins.

"Trev, you go first 'cause I have the fridge and don't wanna have to move all around it while we're unpacking."

"You go first, Trent! Just plug in the fuckin' fridge and then it'll be out of the way already."

"You can't just listen to me just this one time?"

"No."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you."

"Sup, dudes?" Nick interjects smoothly.

Trev and Trent snap their attention to us and their faces split into genuine grins that drip with stupid charm.

"Dudes! What's up?!" they exclaim in unison.

The one called Trev, or Trevor has longer hair the exact same shade as his brother, Trent's strawberry blonde. The long-haired one, Trevor, is the one who practically charges toward me and then toward Nick, pulling us each into crushing bear hugs. The dorm light isn't doing his hair much justice, but every once in a while you catch a really nice glint of red. Trent waves from their cart, still half in the suite, half in the hall. After a couple more glimpses, I realize they're equally handsome to Nick. If not more. It's ridiculous.

"I'm Trevor. Just call me Trev and this is my bro, Trent. He doesn't have a nickname because he's such a dumbass."

"Yup. I'm a dumbass. Nice to meet you guys," Trent flashes a grin but his eyes cast an annoyed look at his brother.

"So, you're supposed to be rooming together, then?" Nick asked, clearly amused at the idea of these two sharing a living space like two old men with insane muscle definition.

"Yeah, you'll have to make sure you call campus security if you hear a loud shriek and a ton of loud bangs coming from our room because chances are, one of us is brutally murdering the other. Probably me, him."

"Oh, good," I say with light sarcasm.

"We'll keep an ear out," says Nick, playing along really well with his monotone.

With that, the twins start their unpacking. Each box unpacked is punctuated by a string of arguments about where something belongs or doesn't belong or whose socks are whose or whose side of the room the mini-fridge should be on because it makes complete sense for it to be on Trevor's side because Trevor's the one who makes his protein shake every morning and he needs to make sure he has quick access to the oat milk otherwise—I mean, you get it.

Nick and I spend our time unpacking just quietly laughing at their constant bickering and asking each other basic get-to-know you questions. Turns out he does want to go to med-school after undergrad and plans to become a pediatric surgeon, which sounds so Grey's Anatomy to me, it's hilarious. I have my very own McDreamy. (Or McSteamy. I still get them mixed up, I've only seen a few seasons. Sue me.) But he's dead serious. There's something funny about that profession for this kind of gloomy looking guy, with his deep, serious voice and near-constant stoic expression. I do admit, his laugh and smile carry more weight because of it, but him working with kids is just a weird idea.

I also learn that he has been dating his girlfriend, Mia, for going on two years now. She has gone off to NYU, but they're going to make the long distance thing work. I stifle my doubts since I don't believe in long distance relationships, but I also don't believe in being an asshole to someone I've just met and need to establish a positive relationship with in order to remain sane the next two semesters.

The next roommate arrives and he's already blaring NBA YoungBoy from his phone's speakers as he crosses the threshold.

"Oh, SHIT!" he says, a wide smile. He says it again, this time into his fist as if attempting to conceal excitement and failing. "SHIT, MY DUDES! This place is rawww!"

He makes the rounds to each of our rooms which are both still in disarray from unpacking and deciding how to arrange all of the furniture.

His name is Kamir, he tells each of us while shaking us up. He's at least six feet tall with a fade, a really nice and pure white pair of Jordan's, and an even purer, whiter smile shining from his dark brown face.

I have a bit of a thing for Black men, I'll admit. Not in a fetishizing way. I'm definitely not the type of gay man who goes around reducing Black men to their cock sizes. But I have had some of the best sex of my life with Black men. And coincidentally, both of these Black men have had some of the biggest dicks I've ever seen as well. However, I've also fucked my fair share of average-sized Black guys. So while BBC isn't really a statistical, scientific thing in my opinion, I still really love some BBC.

Kamir also smells amazing. He has really distinctive cologne and it wafts through the suite. I do my best to resist how intoxicating it is and try to remind myself these are my straight roommates and that I need to keep stricter boundaries! I've practically drooled over each guy who has entered this suite!

And with that, the final hottie enters. He isn't carrying much. Maybe a few large duffel bags and a box held firmly in front of his chest, overflowing with notebooks, video games, stray extension cords, and other odds and ends. His brown skin isn't quite Kamir's shade of dark, but there's something rich and golden about the tone of his arms and chest, dusted with black hairs beneath a tank-top. The hair on his head is, for lack of a better word, luscious. It's long and has the slightest wave to it. Classically sexy.

The suitemates all share their hellos and he just bobs his head at us, not offering up a greeting back or even his name. He opens his door and I hear him introduce himself to Kamir at least. His name is Teague.

"Oh man, thank god we got another brother up in this suite!" I hear Kamir exclaim while chuckling. The sound of him shaking up Teague. "Of course, I know you're not Black, you're what—Brown?"

"Yeah, Arab I guess most people call it."

"Raw. Gotta add some color, man. These white guys need it," he laughs. Teague gives a soft laugh back, but you can tell in his tone he is done with the conversation and would prefer to be left alone.

I think of myself as a bit of an introvert personally, but my shyness doesn't come close to Teague's. He remains silent the rest of the evening.

As we all unload our remaining belongings, we begin to fill up the living space. The twins brought a TV and Nick brought a giant beanbag chair. Kamir says he'll pick up a futon from Target sometime this week so they have more seating for when they want to have girls over to pregame before heading out to parties.

By the time everything and everyone is settled, it's about dinner time and I feel sweaty and disgusting from first being out in the August humidity then hauling boxes and furniture around the suite. I decide to hit the shared bathroom to put on some more deodorant before heading with the guys down to the dining hall, which is in Bedding's basement.

Everyone's bathroom totes are lined up along the bathroom counter and I realize in that moment that with six guys sharing one bathroom, it is going to be extremely difficult keeping this thing clean.

After applying my deodorant, I begin feeling a bit nosy and start snooping through the other bathroom totes. At first, I don't spot anything too revealing and can't even really decipher whose is whose. Probably never will since we won't actually be using the bathroom at the same time, anyway. But of all the totes, I notice one has a bottle of lube that must be for some slick shower jerking. That tote is red. It gives me a good laugh, but also gives me vivid images of each of these guys beating their slick meat in the shower. The shower we will be sharing. I make a note to check the drain for cum and then catch myself, appalled at the notion.

Maybe I'm more of a perv than I thought.

Another tote, this one green, has a box of XXL condoms buried under a few wrapped bars of soap.

Whose could these be?

I wonder on the mystery while checking to see if the box has been opened. It has and a few are already missing. Two things I now know—one of my roommates is a chronic shower masturbator and another is getting laid regularly. And the latter has a big, giant, XXL sized dick.

After a meal from the dining hall, which really isn't bad, the guys and I decide that we should go out to some of the frat parties happening around campus. I'm nervous, but rolling on a high after all the excitement of moving day and meeting my hot roommates. All agree except for Teague. At first, Nick is kind of on the fence too, worried what Mia might think if he is out and drunk with a bunch of girls.