Reaching the dorm and seeing a lot of skin!

The walk back from the club fair feels different than the walk there. The sun is lower, warm orange light sliding along Jamal’s shoulders, catching on the edge of his jaw. And he keeps brushing against you, nothing big, nothing obvious, just these small, controlled nudges… like he’s letting you feel him without ever announcing it.

You don't say anything.

You’re still buzzing from seeing everyone again, the noise, the flirting, the laughing, the way the BSA booth felt like stepping into some kind of warm gravity field.

And Jamal?

He notices. Of course he notices.

As you both reach the dorm building, he glances over at you with that easy half-smile that always feels like it sees too much.

His eyes drop quick and subtle to your hips, your thighs, the thick curve your new clothes give your ass even when you're just walking normally.

Your stomach flips the way it did earlier when he pulled you into that picture with his hand “accidentally” low on your back, low enough that your breath had hitched.

He starts walking again, unlocking your shared room.

You follow him inside.

Jamal tosses his keys on the desk and stretches, shirt riding up just a little too high for someone who definitely knows exactly what he’s doing. You see his toned lower stomach and his sharp v-line and for some reason your pants start to get tighter.

“Oh yeah. New energy, new faces, new dynamics…”

His eyes find yours for a second, smoldering, playful.

“And with you? Man, I’m excited to see how you fit in.”

You don’t know what to do with that, your face heats, your chest tightens, and something low in your stomach twists with a weird mix of anticipation and confusion.

He sees it.

He always sees it.

You drop onto your bed while Jamal opens the bag with the swim gear from yesterday. Just the sight of the bag makes your pulse jump, every memory of that changing-room mirror flashes through your head.

“Oh God,” you mumble into your hands. “I can’t wear that tomorrow.”

Jamal hums, pulling out one of the pieces he had picked for you, the one that barely counts as fabric. The light blue speedos with the deep cut, the high sides, the kind swimmers with insane bodies wear in competitions. It looked tiny in the store. It looks even tinier now.

He holds it up by one finger. It dangles there like a dare.

“Yeah you can,” he says simply.

You feel your face burn. “Jamal, it's so....”

“Sexy?” He grins.

“Exactly.”

You sputter. “But... everyone will see...”

“Good.”

He steps closer.

“You got blessed by god with that thin. You are thick in all the right places. Why hide it?”

Your heart pounds. You hate that it actually makes you feel proud. And hotter.

“And besides,” he adds, voice lowering, “Just and I already saw you in this! You’ll fit in fine with my crew and the other white boys.”

You blink. “…Your crew?”

Jamal smirks, folding the swim piece over his shoulder casually like it weighs nothing.

“Relax. All the guys from the BSA and some former members, you’ll see tomorrow.”

Then, softer, “Trust me, Emile. I wouldn’t put you in something that didn’t make you look good.”

The sincerity hits harder than the flirting.

You swallow and after a moment, you give him a nod

Because you do trust him.

Even when it scares you.

.....

You peel off your clothes, too tired to think and too flustered to look at Jamal. You are still in those tight underwear you picked earlier, the regular pair, not the lingerie-like ones you tried on this morning.

Still… they’re snug.

They hug your hips and lift your ass without even trying.

You don’t really notice what they look like from behind until Jamal’s voice slips in behind you:

“Damn.”

You freeze.

He didn’t sound mocking or teasing. But he sounded honestly impressed.

You turn halfway, face hot. “Wh-what?”

He’s leaning against his desk, arms crossed, eyes openly taking you in like he’s allowed to.

“That’s the pair you chose?” he asks. “Looks crazy good on you. Turn around again.”

You make a tiny noise, you don’t even recognize it, and scamper into the bathroom before he can actually see you do it.

You hear him laugh as the door shuts.

Once inside, you brace your hands against the sink.

Your reflection looks… different.

Your cheeks flushed, your lips parted a little, chest rising fast, your thick thighs looking firm and full in the tight fabric.

And your ass... God.

It sticks out in a way you never noticed before shopping with him.

You go trough your evening routine, brushing your teeth, applying skin care products to your face and every thing else to get ready for the night. You step out of the bathroom still just in your underwere.

........

You’re half-expecting him to still be dressed.

He’s not.

He’s standing by his bed in nothing but a pair of dark boxer-briefs, the loose tank top he wore earlier tossed carelessly on the chair. His back is to you at first, broad, defined, warm dark brown skin catching the lamplight like it was meant for it.

When he turns....

Your breath catches.

Because the front of him is… Well.

That boxer-brief fabric is doing a terrible job at hiding the prominent seemingly very thick and long shape beneath it.

Not explicit. Not obscene.

Just… impossible to ignore.

And the worst part?

He knows you’re looking.

“Bathroom’s free?” he asks casually, like he isn’t standing there looking like a walking thirst trap.

You nod too quickly. “Uh-huh.”

He steps past you, slow, brushing your shoulder with his strong defined chest. Heat pours through you from thr touch.

Then he stops.

Leans in, just enough for his voice to drop lower.

“You look good tonight,” he murmurs.

“Don't overthink it.”

Before you can answer, he walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

The echo of his words sits heavy in your chest and your clearly considerably smaller dick gets hard in your tight underwear.

That image, him in those tight underwear, burns itself into your mind whether you want it or not.

.....

By the time he comes out, steam rolling behind him, he’s less casual about covering himself. The boxer-briefs cling even more now, damp from the humidity, the exact shape and form of his member is clearly visible and if you weren't sure beforehand that he must be big, you know now that he's packing a monster.

Seemimgly unknowing how much he's showing of himself, Jamal shakes out his hair with a towel as he moves around the room.

You lie on your bed, facing the wall, because you’re pretty sure you’ll actually combust if you look at him again since your dick is now rock hard for some reason.

“Emile,” he calls softly.

You turn your head and he’s smiling. Its warm and gentle but still dominant in a way.

“Big day tomorrow,” he says. “Get some rest.”

Your heart flutters.

You nod again, softer this time.

You don’t know if you fall asleep because you’re tired

...or because thinking about him awake is suddenly too much.