Celebrating With Besties Brother

Writer's note:

A shorter chapter. We're getting pretty close to the end of the story.

"Hurry up," Tasha scolds me.

She's the one who told me to 'slut it up.' I'd love to see her try to haul ass in four-inch heels without snapping an ankle. She picked flats, of course. The hypocrite.

"It's my birthday, you don't get to talk to me like that," I whine.

It's not very effective. She doesn't slow down.

A gust of wind passes right through my coat, and I hunch lower, cursing my little black dress for doing absolutely nothing to protect my legs. Late March can suck a dick.

Downtown's buzzing. Couples, college kids, the first traces of nightlife starting to spark. The streetlights are already blinking on.

And yeah, I'm obviously getting ambushed tonight. The surprise party isn't exactly subtle. Roman's been dodging me all day long. The man cannot keep a secret to save his life.

I almost bump into Tasha when she stops in front of a bar.

"We're not getting in," I groan.

We've already suffered enough rejection from bouncers to last me a lifetime. It's always fun when the European students in our class find out about 'underage drinking.'

"Watch how the pros do it," my roommate says with a smug grin.

I follow her inside, and the burly dude manning the door lets us through with a wink. What the fuck?

The place is covered in old punk rock posters. But the few patrons huddled around the barrel tables look like they'd fit just right in some tech company's HR department.

Tasha waves to the goth barmaid, who beams back the fakest smile ever, then goes right back to shaking a drink.

"Come on," Tasha pulls on my hand, tearing me from my momentary lapse.

We head up a narrow set of stairs. I can already hear somebody whispering for everyone to shut up. I bite down a grin, straighten my face, and brace for impact.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

"Oh my God!" I gasp, my hands fly to my mouth like I've just seen a ghost. Maybe overkill, but I'm a crowd-pleaser.

Tasha puts a cheap plastic tiara on top of my head. I'd feel like a five-year-old if it weren't for the amount of cleavage I have on display.

The room is packed. Every familiar campus face is crammed in here, and Roman stands stiffly dead center. I can already picture the pain on his face while trying to make small talk with sophomores about psych electives.

I give a quick wave to Jules and Trevor. Technically his friends, but they're growing on me. Plus, I'd never dream of depriving Roman of a night with his boyfriend. And Jules is loaded, so I can't wait to see just how outrageous her present is going to be.

Then I spot her.

Paige.

I squeal and fling myself at her. She staggers, but doesn't dodge. When she finally peels me off, there's a fat lipstick mark on her cheek and the faintest trace of a smile she's trying way too hard to hide.

"Surprise," she sings half-heartedly, waving her hands awkwardly.

"When did you get here?" I ask.

Are you still mad at me?

My eyes add silently.

"Just today. Roman picked me up from the airport. Wouldn't miss your twentieth." A pause. "Truce?"

I wrap her back into a hug and bury my nose into her black curls. I've missed her so much. She smells so safe.

"Enjoy tonight," she whispers. "Because tomorrow, you and Rom will have to work hard to make it up to me."

Before I can come up with something, I'm pulled into a dozen different conversations from people who want to get their slice of birthday girl. But an hour (and a fair amount of wriggling) later, I finally manage to get within Roman's reach.

"Hey, you," I can feel the familiar tug of the goofy smile on my lips. His fitted black shirt and grey pants perfectly match his darker features and affected laid-back attitude.

We share a very PG kiss, and still get a round of playful jeers for it.

"Having fun?" He asks.

"Still can't believe you managed to book us a bar," Tasha cuts in, unaware of her intrusion in our intimate moment.

Or maybe she knows she's interrupting and just doesn't give a shit. I've walked in on her in our dorm with enough random dudes to know we don't exactly share the same boundaries.

"Wait? This was you?" I blink, turning back to Roman.

"Helped, maybe," he mumbles.

"Help?" Tasha snorts as Roman blushes. "More like he set up the entire thing. I just slapped together a group chat and added people from school."

Someone is getting the sloppiest blowjob ever tonight.

"How'd you get a bar to agree to host a party for a bunch of college students?" I continue.

"It's nothing really," he says, brushing it off. "The bartender and I go way back."

Her tattoos and dyed black bangs don't feel so quirky anymore.

Way back?

That slut.

Luckily, the cake saves me from spiraling too far. Twenty feels like one of the last birthdays where people still bother with the exact number of candles. Obviously, I do a little show of blowing them out.

The following dozen minutes are basically me holding court with a beer in hand as people line up to hand me their presents. The plastic beads on the tiara really sell it.

As expected, Jules' draws the most envious looks from my girlfriends when I unwrap the ridiculously expensive moisturizer in a crystal jar. I resist the urge to obediently tilt my chin and let her apply it right then and there. I know she'd do it, but it would ruin my makeup.

And my panties, too.

The presents start to pile up on the dedicated table. Most of them will end up stored at Roman's place anyway. Paige is excused tonight, but she owes me something at the second birthday party our parents will undoubtedly throw next time we're both back home.

It's Tasha's turn. Inside the half-collapsed cardboard box is a fake driver's license. A hot twenty-four-year-old Maddie looks back at me from the photo.

"Fake ID?" I almost shriek. Tasha just nods, looking proud.

Roman lets out a loud snort. "What's the name, McLovin'?"

He sounds tipsy. I usually love Drunk Roman, but Tasha and I exchange a confused look. "Maklovin?"

"You guys are so lame," he mutters, shaking his head in defeat as he wanders off toward Trevor for moral support.

"So that's the plan for tonight," Tasha picks up the conversation. "We wrap things up in here, then take you clubbing."

Paige leans over to check out the ID, a tiny smile on her lips.

"You coming too?" I ask.

"Nah," she shrugs. "I had a long day, think I'll head back. You guys have fun."

I pout. Paige and Tasha together is always a guaranteed shitshow. The good kind. I'm about to guilt-trip her when Trevor ruins everything.

"We can give you a ride back to Rom's, Paige," he says. "And take all that too," he gestures toward the present pile. "No point dragging it around all night."

He flashes me a warm, helpful smile. Traitor.

"Let's get going then!" Tasha declares cheerfully.

She ignores the glare I give her and goes for a goodbye hug with Paige instead. Roman, standing behind me, wraps me in my coat and plants a soft kiss on the side of my neck. That, and a peck on the cheek from Jules, does a lot to lift my mood. I love Drunk Roman.

By the time we're back in the cold street, it's just Roman, Tasha, the gym bro from my media studies class, who she keeps trying to hook up with, and a few older students left.

"Do you guys know where we're going?" I ask, hoping someone has at least a concept of a plan.

Tasha starts to answer, but Roman cuts in.

"Oh my God, I know exactly where we should go. You guys are going to shit your pants."

He doesn't wait for us to agree and just takes off, unaware of the amused looks shared behind him. I bolt forward to grab his hand, my heels clacking on the pavement.

We keep bumping shoulders, and after a few dramatic sighs and the right amount of whining, he lets me climb onto his back for the rest of the walk.

When we reach an unassuming entrance, he gently lowers me back to the ground and untangles the forgotten plastic tiara from my hair.

"Ok, listen up, scramps," he half-shouts, half-whispers at the group, in the best display of drunken discretion possible. "Pair up, each guy with a girl. And try not to act too wasted. This isn't the students' union."

Even with how ironic his warning is, it's pretty effective. We climb the stairs in an orderly file, the muffled beats growing louder, to find a small door and a hulking bouncer.

I feel apprehensive when I pull out the fake ID. But the guy barely glances at it before waving me in. Miraculously, the entire group makes it.

A short trip to the coat check, and we finally enter the club, letting out a collective 'Whoa.'

I could easily imagine Renaissance Italian princes throwing orgies in here. The walls are covered in mirrors, frescoes, and statues that climb all the way to the high ceilings. The rooms are a little cramped, almost entirely free of furniture except for a few low tables and couches that probably cost more than Rom's rent.

Despite the lack of space, a small DJ booth has been set up next to an old hearth, and techno music is playing over the speaker system. A modern-looking bar also clashes with the rest of the decor.

Amazingly, people are actually dancing in the collection of small rooms, rather than treating the place like a museum.

"Told you," Roman says, smug as hell.

He makes a beeline for the bar while I take in the dreamlike atmosphere and pose for a few selfies with my friends. When he returns, he's already working through a gin-tonic and hands me one of my own.

I take a sip from the straw. Ugh, they put pepper in it. Still, free drink.

Roman lets me drag him to a window so I can take pictures of just the two of us while we're still presentable. I won't be able to post these to Insta: my sister follows me there. But my private stash of cute, coupley photos is growing at a steady pace.

"I wanna dance," I tell Roman, but the music has grown louder. He has to lean over and force me to repeat myself right in his ear.

With a shrug, he grabs our empty drinks and pops them on top of a random marble alcove in the wall.

It's weirdly fun, weaving through the tight space to find a free spot to dance. And as much as Rom can be a stick in the mud in everyday life, the man has moves.

Our little group quickly gathers, forming an improvised circle. Everyone's flushed, tipsy, and already too loud. It's perfect.

Roman gets a little wilder. People keep feeding him booze, and he keeps calling every single David Guetta track

an absolute classic.

The alcohol helps, because every time I glance over my friends' shoulders, I spot the same depressing scene: A young, pretty woman wrapped around some older, below-average-looking guy.

Yikes. It's like this place was designed in a lab to make me feel bad about my relationship.

But Roman just turned twenty-six. He's objectively hot. And for anyone outside of college? He probably qualifies as broke. Not a sad sack who lost the divorce and decided to date the babysitter.

I must've let something slip on my face, because Roman wraps a strong arm around me. He pulls me into his chest, and I can't help but giggle.

"Happy birthday," he whispers in my ear. "I still have one more present for you..."

He clumsily presses his crotch against my hip, letting me feel the beginnings of his erection.

"My cock," he adds dramatically.

Dork.

I wriggle within his grasp to look up at his face, flabbergasted by his porny antics.

"Is that supposed to turn me on?" I ask, just sarcastic enough not to hurt his intoxicated feelings.

Roman would normally blush or bashfully look away. But Drunk Roman keeps his brown eyes right on me. In his arms, warmed by his hard chest, it feels like his entire presence surrounds me.

Fuck. It's actually working. How am I so easy?

"Says the girl grinding on my thigh," he answers, just to make sure I die of embarrassment.

Without adding a word, he slowly pulls us away from my friends. We progress through the crowd step by step, but I never focus on the rest of the world. I can feel myself shivering. Is this happening?

It only feels real when the bathroom stall closes behind us. And reality is not as sexy as my fantasies: the small cubicle is only passably clean. But it will have to do.

Under the fluorescent lights, Rom doesn't look like a werewolf from a shitty teen movie. He looks like my sweaty boyfriend. But for some strange reason, it makes him that much more attractive.

I probably don't look better as I crouch before him. I carefully undo his belt and zipper, to free his cock. No way am I letting my knees touch this floor.

His hot length comes alive in my palm. I lower my face, looking up into Roman's eyes and inhaling the smell. He grasps the top of the stall's partition to let me lean on him for balance.

I slide my lips down his shaft, but don't take him too deep. Instead, I generously lather his soft skin with as much spit as possible, while my other hand navigates around my dress to dive inside my panties.

My own wetness surprises me. My fingers glide straight through it, brushing my matted curls and the slick skin beneath. Roman has game. We won't have too much work.

I grip his elbows to get back on my feet. He lets out a disappointed grunt. Between the booze and the arousal, I imagine he won't be able to speak until I take care of him.

Balancing on my heels, I shimmy my panties down one leg, then the other, and tuck the soaked scrap of fabric into Roman's pocket. Only place to put it.

Even buzzed and barely functioning, he gets the message when I turn around, hike my dress to my belly, and bend above the toilet seat. My palms press flat against the wall. My legs spread as far as the stall allows.

There's no talk of protection. No thoughts about the people outside. Just Roman, bare and throbbing, sinking into me from behind. I feel his coarse pubes grind against my ass as he bottoms out.

I bite down on my lips to muffle the moans as much as possible. Nothing I can do about the wet sounds as he starts thrusting. I realize I'm not even sure whether we're in the men's or women's bathroom. I just hope we don't get an audience.

Roman grips my waist, keeping the dress bunched up with one hand while the other slides up my belly. He pushes under my bra cup, the strap digging into my back as his fingers roughly knead my breast.

Thinking of the bruises I'll be sporting all week only makes it better.

He bends over me, his mouth greedily seeking my shoulder, my neck. I do my best to meet his kisses. I can feel his weight on me, and it's a miracle we don't fall. He lets go of the dress to cup his hand over my mound.

My over-sensitive clit makes me howl when he mercilessly rolls it between his fingers. Pangs of pleasure pulse through my core, like he's dragging an orgasm out of me.

I go over the edge. My legs are so weak, it feels like my feet don't touch the floor for an instant, with only Rom's cock and his hands under me to keep me from collapsing entirely.

When I recover, it's pretty clear I don't really need to hold on to the wall anymore. I awkwardly caress his face, stroke his belly despite the relentless thrusts.

"Cum for me baby," I whisper. He groans. "I'm ready for you, don't hold back."

My cooing works like it always does. Roman locks his arms tight around me, his back arching as he buries himself as deep as he can.

I keep lulling him, gently bringing him back to Earth as he empties himself in my pussy. Delicately, I push him off when the tremors in his cock finally stop.

A glob of cum drops from between my legs, and I can't tear my eyes off it, watching it crash on the toilet seat. This all feels so filthy. For a second, I'm uncertain, a little scared even.

Then I turn, and Roman kisses me. He still tastes like gin. I try not to giggle as I wipe my pussy and thighs with toilet paper, fish my panties from his pocket, and pull them back up. I'm still a mess, but I'll have to manage.

One last little kiss to the drunken, horny boy, tucking himself back as best he can.

Then, in a determined voice: "Alright. Back to dancing, baby."

===

"Hey Paige," I call when I enter the kitchen.

She's bent over the cupboard and springs up when she hears me. My heart flutters a little when she smiles at me in her PJs, rattling the box of cornflakes.

"Looking for a bowl," she grumbles.

I join her behind the counter and open the cabinet where Roman keeps them.

She snorts. "Almost forgot that you basically live here now."

"Comes in handy sometimes." I pull two bowls out.

"I guess..." She tilts her head. "When'd you get back home last night? You think Rom'll get up soon?"

"Don't know, we got here pretty late and then he woke me up like five times when he went to puke."

Paige's face betrays her. She laughs at the image of her hungover brother stumbling to the bathroom in the middle of the night. And frowns at her childhood best friend sharing a bed with him.

I follow her to the living room, where she's crashing for the few days staying with Rom. With

us

.

I fill our bowls while she makes room on the couch and selects a channel.

Her nose wrinkles when I plop down next to her.

"You need a shower."

Still, she lets me lean against her and pulls a blanket over our laps.

One and a half bowls of cereal later, we hear heavy footsteps down the hallway.

Rom emerges, barely registering us. His hair is still damp from the shower, and his boxers don't leave much to the imagination as he shuffles to the kitchen. I blush. Paige rolls her eyes.

"Dumbass," she sighs.

"Let me make sure he's not dying," I chuckle, bolting from the couch.

When I reach the kitchen, he is downing a tall glass of water. The light from the window hits just right. I catch everything, and I mean everything, through his soaked underwear.

"Hey, you okay?" I ask, amused, pulling the elastic up to cover the top of his butt.

He holds up his finger, finishes the glass, then takes a beat to catch his breath.

"I think I blacked out," he says. Then he flashes me a bright grin. "So much for keeping up with college kids."

It's my turn to roll my eyes.

"You need to stop talking like you're thirty," I chide him, my worry melting away. "Besides, you were the one doing most of the drinking. This is on you."

He leans over to kiss me. Thank God he brushed his teeth.

But when we pull away, a shadow passes over his face.

"I know we promised Paige we'd show her around town today," his voice lowers, almost a whisper. "But do we need to drop by the pharmacy? Pretty sure we hooked up last night."

I stroke his back and flash him my most innocent smile.

"Don't worry," I say lightly. "It was only a 'thank you' blowjob."