Chapter 19: Rush Week Invitation

The first day back on campus after Christmas break felt strangely normal. Jack and Tyler hauled their suitcases up the three flights of stairs to their old room. The new mattress the floor had bought them was already waiting, but the faint smell of old cum still clung to the walls like a welcome-home perfume. Nate, Liam, Connor, and the rest of the eight floormates were waiting in the common lounge with knowing grins and cold beers.

“Welcome back, mascot!” Nate teased, pulling Jack into a tight hug that quickly turned into a sloppy kiss. Within minutes Jack was on his knees in the middle of the lounge, happily sucking off three of his floormates in quick succession while Tyler leaned against the wall stroking himself and watching with a proud little smirk. A few quick “welcome home” loads later and the boys were laughing and clapping Jack on the back like nothing had changed.

That evening, just as Jack was folding his clothes into the dresser, there was a firm knock at the door.

Brock stood in the hallway in a tight Delta Sigma Tau hoodie, flanked by two other massive senior brothers—both of them linemen Jack vaguely remembered from the locker room. Brock’s eyes immediately dropped to Jack’s smooth legs and the tiny shorts that barely covered anything.

“Missed you, cutie,” Brock rumbled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “The whole house missed you. We’ve been talking about how you helped us celebrate after the game ... and how you took care of the entire dorm too.” He grinned. “Fraternity wants to properly thank you. Both of you. Special rush invitation. Tonight. Pre-rush party at the house. Just the actives—twelve, maybe fifteen guys. Nothing too crazy.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow, already half-hard. “We in?”

Brock clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re the mascot’s keeper now. Of course you’re in.”

The frat house was loud and warm when they arrived. Bass thumped from the living room, and the dozen or so senior brothers were already drinking and laughing. At first it stayed relatively tame—beers, small talk, a few hands casually brushing Jack’s ass or thigh as he moved through the crowd. But the energy shifted the moment Brock sat down on the big leather couch and patted his lap.