A morning full of hangovers and shame

The morning sun sliced through the thin dorm curtains like a knife, stabbing straight into Chad’s skull.

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that echoed in his pounding head. His mouth tasted like stale beer, sweat, and something he refused to name. His stomach lurched. Worst hangover of his life—no question.

He sat up too fast, the room spinning violently. Flashes from last night slammed into him: Tom on his knees, cherry-red lips stretched wide. Those pigtails in his fist. That massive golden ass bouncing as he pounded into it. “Fuck,” he rasped. “No. Fuck no.”

Across the room, Tom was already up—of course he was—standing at the kitchenette counter in nothing but skin-tight white booty shorts that barely covered anything and a cropped baby-pink tank top clinging to his slim waist. The shorts rode high, the bottom half of his perfect bubble butt peeking out, round and golden, jiggling softly as he stirred coffee. His long blonde hair fell loose and wavy down his smooth back. Every small movement made those thick thighs flex, the fabric digging into the crease where ass met leg. He looked fresh. Glowing. Like getting railed had led to the best sleep of his life.

Tom turned, catching Chad staring. His plump lips curved into a slow smile. “Morning, daddy,” he said sweetly. “Coffee?”

“Don’t. Don’t you fuckin’ call me that.”

Tom blinked innocently, leaning back against the counter, one hip cocked so his ass pushed out further. The shorts stretched tight, sinking slightly between the cheeks. “Call you what? Daddy?” His voice dripped teasing honey. “But you liked it so much last night. Begged me to say it while you were—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Chad snapped, swinging his legs off the bed. His head throbbed harder. “I don’t wanna hear that gay shit.”

Tom sipped his coffee calmly, blue eyes watching over the rim. “You look rough, big guy. Need water? Advil?”

“I need you to stop actin’ like last night meant somethin’,” Chad growled, standing unsteadily. He towered over Tom, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. “I was blackout drunk. You took advantage of me, you sick fuck.”

Tom set the mug down, arching a brow. “Took advantage?” He laughed softly, infuriatingly. “You followed me upstairs. Grabbed my pigtails. Shoved your dick down my throat. Bent me over and—”

“I said shut up!” Chad roared, stepping closer, face red. “I was wasted! Didn’t know what I was doin’. You planned it—dressed like a slut, teasin’ me all night with that fake ass. You knew I was drunk and used it.”

Tom crossed his arms, pushing his toned midriff out. The crop top rode higher, exposing smooth golden skin. “Fake ass?” He turned sideways, glancing at his reflection in the closet mirror, then gave his hips a slow shake. The bubble butt jiggled in long, hypnotic waves, the shorts barely containing it. “Still 100% real, daddy. You felt it. Grabbed it. Spanked it red while you called me your bimbo.”

Chad’s eyes flicked down involuntarily, watching the ripple before snapping back up. His fists clenched. “Stop movin’ like that. Stop talkin’ like that. Just—stop with all this gay bullshit, Tom. I’m not into it. I’m not like you.”

Tom stepped closer, sweet scent filling the air. “You’re not?” His voice dropped low. “Because your cock was rock-hard the second you saw me. And when you slid into me… you groaned like it was the best thing you’d ever felt.”

Chad’s breath hitched. He backed up, bumping his bed. “That was the ****. You trickin’ me. I’m straight. Fucked dozens of real girls—with tits and pussies—”

“And none made you cum as hard as I did,” Tom finished softly, eyes locked on Chad’s. He reached out, fingers brushing Chad’s forearm. “You pumped so much into me. I can still feel it.”

Chad jerked away. “Don’t touch me, faggot!” The word spat out harsh. “I’m serious. This stops now. No more slut outfits. No more bendin’ over. No more callin’ me daddy or talkin’ about my dick. We’re roommates. That’s it.”

Tom didn’t back down, tilting his head up, plump lips inches away. “You really think you can pretend it didn’t happen? That you didn’t love pounding my ‘fake’ ass?” He turned again, hand on hip, giving one cheek a light slap. It jiggled perfectly. “You’re already looking.”

Chad’s jaw ground tight. His cock twitched despite everything—despite the shame, the rage. He hated it.

“I’m not lookin’,” he lied. “And it don’t mean shit. Guys get hard sometimes. Don’t make me gay. You’re the one walkin’ around lookin’ like a damn Instagram thot with a dick.”

Chad grabbed his towel and shower caddy. “I’m done talkin’. Goin’ to shower. When I get back, wear normal clothes and act normal. No more games.”

He stormed out, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled.

The communal showers were mostly empty this early. Chad stood under the scalding water, scrubbing hard, as if he could wash away the night. The steam did nothing to clear his head. Every time he closed his eyes he saw that golden ass bouncing, felt the tight heat gripping him. He punched the tile in frustration, forehead pressed to the cool wall, willing his body to forget.

Eventually he gave up, wrapped the towel around his waist, threw on a hoodie and jeans, and headed out toward his first class, backpack slung over one shoulder.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out in the hallway outside the dorm building, thumb unlocking the screen.

A new message from Tom.

The preview thumbnail alone made his stomach drop—a bent-over mirror selfie, white shorts wedged deep between those perfect globes, glossy lips pursed in a kiss. He glanced around quickly—no one nearby—then opened it fully.

The photo filled the screen: Tom arched perfectly, ass pushed out, tiny waist accentuated, the shorts barely containing anything. Caption: “Still full from last night ♡ thinking about round 3”

Chad’s face burned. Heart hammered. He looked left, right, praying no one had glanced over his shoulder. A group of sorority girls walked past, laughing—probably about something else. He shoved the phone back in his pocket fast, grip tight, knuckles white.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, starting toward class with long, angry strides.

But the image was already burned into his mind, following him the whole way.