My Pretentious Roommate

Chapter 2

8:30 rolls around and I'm knee-deep in my Constitution Law textbook, trying to figure out how to write this paper about pornography. Peter left a few hours ago, probably to hangout with his friends or girlfriend or whoever. I have no idea who he hangs out with. I've never seen him bring them over.

I hear a bang on my door and Mike barges in, grinning ear-to-ear with a half-empty bottle of fireball.

"You're joking, right?" I ask, pointing at the bottle. "We are not drinking straight fireball."

Mike glares at me, "Um... yes the fuck we are. That's why God made fireball. For us to shoot it until we get wasted."

I groan and pull a Sprite out of my minifridge, tossing him the shot glasses.

----

We arrive to Lambda Chi around 9:30. There's a sea of boys out on the front porch, screaming and laughing with each other. I'm feeling good and buzzed, thanks to Mike's fireball. We walk inside and he's immediately greeted by a group of his friends. They all hug him and slap him on the back. I just give them a nod and a slight wave. I've never been one to have a lot of friends. Mike just makes it easy. We play video games and complain about life, and that's about it.

I beeline for the keg in the kitchen, stopping in my tracks when I see Peter leaning up against a girl in a very very short skirt. "Who the fuck wears khakis to a frat party?" I think to myself, filling up my solo cup. I glance back over to him, his back to me. "His ass does look really good."

I shake my head, trying to shake the thought away. EDM is blasting through the house and half the student population is jumping up in down in the living room, the old wooden floor creaking like it might give out at any second. I join Mike at the flip cup table set up in the back.

Craig, the frat president, has set up cups in the middle of the table half full of beer. I dutifully take my place on the side of the table across from Mike.

----

After about eight rounds of flip cup and three rounds of jello shots, I'm officially drunk and tired of being around people. I wander away from Mike and his friends and head upstairs. There's a big window in the den that opens up to the roof. I push it open and crawl out, grateful for the silence and the cool air.

I sit down and pull out the joint I rolled earlier for this very occasion. I light it and take a long draw and watch the people below me, drunk and stumbling out into the street.

After a few minutes, I'm startled by the sound of another window opening. Much to my surprise, Peter crawls out.

I clear my throat, making my presence known. "Oh... hey..." he says, looking like a deer in headlights. He looks around and turns like he's going to crawl back through the window.

"You can sit," I say, gesturing to the roof. He looks at me for a second and nods before he sort of stumbles over to me. He sits down a few feet from me, perfect criss-cross-applesauce.

"Hey, I'm sorry for earlier," he says, looking down to the street.

I laugh. "It's fine."

"You don't normally come to these," He says, looking up at me. I meet his eye contact for a second, his eyes still the same cold and dark brown I remember. But for some reason, I feel drawn to them.

I shrug, "not really my kinda crowd..... You want a hit?"

He looks at the joint for a moment and then leans over to take it from my hand. "Yeah me neither."

He takes a tiny hit and immediately starts violenting coughing. I laugh and take it back from him.

"Was that your girlfriend in there?" I ask, not really sure where it came from.

He collects himself and clears his throat, "umm no? Not really?" I laugh again.

The alcohol and the weed are definitely mixing around in my brain and the world is starting to spin a little. Peter is four feet away from me but I swear I can feel the heat radiating off of his button-down shirt, khaki-clad body. I lay down with my hands behind my head, looking up at the stars.

Without a second of forethought I blurt, "You know, Mike and I were thinking maybe you're just homophobic."

His head whips around to look at me, his mouth open and brown eyes softer. "What?! Why would you think that?!"

I start laughing. "I don't know, man. We were trying to figure out why you act like such a dick."

He looks offended, "I'm not a dick! You're just annoying." He says as he leans back over to take the joint again. His fingers brushed against mine and my cock jolted in my boxers.

"You're annoying!" I protest. He looks away out onto the street and takes a few hits. We sit in silence.

Eventually, he looks back at me and softly says, "you know I don't care that you're gay." I nod, still laying down.

Suddenly, I realize the distance has closed between us. Peter is right next to me, looking down at me. My breath catches and I sit up, looking into his eyes.

Out of nowhere, he grabs my neck and crashes my mouth to his. At first, I'm so in shock that I just sit there like a statue. Then, a feral growl comes from my throat as I throw my leg over him, straddling his lap.

I bring my lips to his, hard. My top lip catching his teeth and his hand grabbing fistfuls of my hair and of my sweatshirt. I push him onto his back, grinding my growing cock into his.

I kiss him everywhere that I can find exposed skin. His neck, his earlobe, and back to his mouth. When his tongue starts to dance with mine I swear I almost pass out. His unexpectedly strong arms are wrapped around me, grabbing my ass, when a pack of people busts out of the front door below us.

I fly off of him, both of us laying flat on the roof. My heart is beating so hard I can hear it. I see him readjust himself under his pants.

"How's that for homophobic?" He mumbles under his breath. He stands up, brushes himself off, and crawls back inside. I lay there, in absolute shock.