Jamal!

The bass from the speakers thrummed a low, insistent beat, a pulse that seemed to match the possessive energy coiling around the patio. Jamal found him exactly where he expected: Trent, leaning against the polished granite of the outdoor bar, a picture of predatory ease. His skin was still damp, dark and gleaming under the party lights, and it looked like he held his drink like a scepter. He wasn't just watching the party, it was like he was surveying his kingdom.

Jamal moved in, his shoulder brushing Trent’s with deliberate pressure. “You’re playing with fire,” he said, his voice low and even.

Trent didn’t flinch. He slowly turned his head, a lazy, satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Fire’s the most fun part of the party, bro. You know that.”

“You already claimed your territory. Sarah and Justin are literally wearing your brand,” Jamal continued, his gaze unwavering. “Why are you sniffing around whats about to be mine?”

A low chuckle rumbled in Trent’s chest. “‘Yours’? Jamal, come on. The white boy’s been in your dorm for, what, almost a week? You haven’t even collared him yet. That’s not territory, that’s a vacant lot. I’m just checking the area.”

“Because Emile’s not like that,” Jamal said eventually.

Trent hummed. “Maybe not when he’s sober.”

Jamal shot him a annoyed look.

“You saw him,” Trent continued, unfazed, “Loose and smiling. Saying things without thinking. That boy opens right up when he drinks.” Jamal laughed once, sharp. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“Then why are you mad at me?” Trent grinned almost triumphant. “If anything, I’m showing you how easy it’d be to own him. If you actually moved, you know?”

Jamal shook his head, amused despite himself. “You’re wild.”

“And you’re slow,” Trent shot back. “Which is funny, considering you live with him.”

The casual arrogance was a familiar weapon, and it landed with precision. Jamal’s jaw tightened, but he refused to rise to the bait. “He’s not like the others. He’s not a game.”

“Isn’t he?” Trent’s eyes glinted as he looked past Jamal, his gaze locking onto you, you were now being led away by Abigail. “Did you see his face when I had my hands on him? The way he melted into the tuch? Boy’s got ‘own me’ written all over him in that drunk little German accent. He’s not a game, Jamal. He’s a fucking masterpiece waiting to be owned and hung on the right wall.”

Jamal exhaled through his nose, half a laugh, half a warning, “You already got Sarah and Justin. That not enough for you?”

Trent took his time with his drink. “Since when have I ever stopped at ‘enough’?”

Jamal snorted. “Man, you’re unbelievable.”

“You say that like you’re different,” Trent replied easily. “Last semester you were juggling half the white boys on your dorm floor.”

“That was different.”

“How?” Trent tilted his head. “Because this one’s your roommate?”

Jamal’s jaw tightened.

Trent leaned in closer, the scent of chlorine and expensive cologne filling the space between them. His voice dropped, becoming a conspiratorial, seductive poison. “And that ass... don’t even get me fucking started on that ass. You and I both know a white bubble butt like that wasn’t made for walking. It was made to be held, to be spread, to be claimed. I’m just giving him a preview of what a real man’s hands feel like.”

Jamal’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wanted to wipe that smug look off Trent’s face, but he knew that’s exactly what Trent wanted. Instead, he **** a smirk. “You’re all talk, Trent. You always have been.”

“Am I?” Trent challenged, setting his drink down as he turned his body fully to Jamal, his presence swelling, filling the space. “I seem to remember a certain bet we made. First one to make him beg for it. And right now, I’d say I’m a lap ahead. I’ve had him blushing, panting, and practically grinding his crotch against my cock. What have you really done besides being there because I lead him? Read him a bedtime story?”

Before Jamal could retort, a deep, resonant voice cut through their standoff. “Sounds like you boys are having a much more interesting conversation than the rest of us.”

It was Darnell.

He seemed to materialize out of the shifting crowd, his sheer physical **** silencing the tension instantly. He was a monument of black muscle, his skin gleaming, his swim trunks sitting low on hips that spoke to raw, undeniable power. He clamped a heavy hand on both of their shoulders, the grip a clear reminder of his status.

“Darnell,” Jamal greeted, his posture straightening slightly, “Nice to see you again.”

“Trent,” Darnell nodded, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Still causing trouble, I see.”

“Just exploring the local attractions,” Trent replied with a disarming grin.

Darnell’s gaze drifted over to where Abigail was now leading you toward the house. He let out a low, thoughtful rumble. “That one... he’s soft and malleable. You can see it in the way he moves. He doesn’t know his own value yet.” He looked back at Jamal and Trent, his expression turning serious, almost instructional. “That’s where you’re both fucking up.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that commanded attention. “You’re treating him like a prize to be won. A sprint. I dort think that he’s like that, I think that he’s a long game. Presence over pressure and influence over ****. You don’t break a boy like that; you mold him. You make him want to kneel before you because the alternative should feel empty to him.”

He looked from Trent’s cocky confidence to Jamal’s simmering possessiveness. “You both have the tools. You have the look, the dominance, the... equipment.” He let the word hang in the air, thick with meaning. “But your approach is sloppy. Trent, you’re too loud, too obvious. You scare off the pretty ones before they’re ready to be caught.” He then turned his full attention to Jamal. “And you... you’re too quiet and way too protective. He’ll see you as a big brother, a safe space and not as a potential partner, if you don’t show him the beast soon.”

Darnell stood back, his point made. He gestured vaguely toward the house. “Look at Abigail. She’s not going to **** him. She’s going to guide him. She’s going to show him a world so intoxicating he’ll beg to be a part of it. That’s how you do it. You don’t put a collar on him, you just simply make him ask for it.”

He gave them both one last, knowing look. “The party’s just getting started. Play smarter, not harder.” With that, he turned and walked away back toward the crowd, leaving them in a charged, thoughtful silence.

Jamal let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He looked at Trent, who was unusually quiet, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Damn,” Trent muttered, picking up his drink. “He’s not wrong.”

Jamal smirked, the fire in his gut now burning with a new, clearer purpose. “No, he’s not.” He looked back at the house, at the doorway you and Abigail had disappeared through. The game had seemingly changed. It wasn’t about who could get to you first anymore. It was about who could make you want to be gotten.