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Rushing the Frat

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“This is hardly fair.”

“Sorry, chief. Trust me, this ain't the worst I could be doin'.”

“You're a terrible person.”

“I'm your big.”

“And a terrible person.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You weren't sure how you wound up naked in Cronus Ampora's kitchen but the phrase 'hazing' came to mind. So did 'sexual harassment', 'homoerotic', and 'wow this is terrifying'.

“Did your big make you do this, too?”

“Nah. I'm a legacy, my dad was in so I sorta got in automatically. Sorry it had to be this way but that's just rules and all, chief.”

He was smoking a cigarette and leaning against the island counter with his arms folded across the front of his t-shirt, stretched tight over his even tighter chest. You thought Cronus might have been Italian, it was probably the aquiline nose and the olive skin and the jet-black hair that was so smoothly slicked back against his head, pressed there by the weight of a significant amount of hair gel.

He made something in you stir. You weren't sure what. His bare arms were tattooed, a detailed picture of an anchor on one forearm, a sailor pinup girl on the other, melding beautifully with several other aquatic elements that made for a pair of sleeve tattoos that made you squirm.

But you were definitely not doing that now. No squirming, no feeling sexually oppressed, no, none of that.

You were in your freshman year at college and you thought that maybe joining the honors frat might be a little bit of a different experience than this. Fraternities, you had been warned, were a dangerous part of campus life. Echos of, “Toga! Toga! Toga!” rang in your mind, dark hallways littered in beercans and bras stretched endlessly in front of you, and your heart pounded.

Cronus's kitchen was disgusting.

“...please tell me you aren't going to be in here while I'm doing this.”

“Chief. I gotta make sure you don't peace out and get your clothes.”

Cronus was on the swim team and you were in debate. He was big and hunky, you were small and even a little scrawny and you hid your lack of shape well beneath bulky sweaters and he showed off ever inch of his cut muscle by wearing t-shirts that were inhumanely tight. He was the biggest, douchiest hypocrite who pretended to be some sort of sensitive artisty type when in reality he just craved the attention.

You thought Cronus might have been lonely but that just wasn't something you approached your frat brother with. Accusatory terms were not welcome among your brothers.

“I- oh.”

You found yourself oddly speechless as you started to pull on a pair of heavy rubber gloves, finding them hugely too big for your hands. The image of Cronus wearing them as he did housework was laughable, and you were unable to help the little smile that quirked over your lips.

He noticed. “Something funny?”

“Of course not.” You took a breath. “...are you sure there's not another way I can do this?”

“I'm sorry, dollface. If it makes you feel any better, your little pal Tuna's big is making him play Wet Biscuit.”

You asked him what that was.
When he told you, your face flashed immensely hot and you felt your gorge rise in your throat at the very thought, stomach bucking in protest to the image that manifested in your mind.

Poor Mituna.

“...that's terrible. I- how are you possibly not expelled for this kind of abhorrent behavior? I don't understand how such a respected honors fraternity has this kind of low-slung malice-”

“Take it easy. It's just once. Then you're really one of us.” Cronus had put his hands up defensively. “Don't worry, chief. I won't make you do anything like that.”

“...thank you. I suppose.”

“Now hop to it. My kitchen needs cleaning.”

“Remind me again why I'm naked?”

“You ain't naked, chief, you're wearin' that cute little apron getup-”

“I'm naked, Cronus.”

“...yeah, I guess so.”

You are loath to turn your back on him but you need to do these dishes. “...please don't look.”

“Right.”

But even as you turn to the sink and begin to stack dishes on the countertop, the smell of old food rising from the depths of the garbage disposal as it was slowly exposed, you feel his eyes burning into you.

The apron has no back and you are exposed totally to him, your heart pounding in your chest. You're aware he can see your butt. And you're also aware that he's enjoying the view.

The stink was enough to make tears spring to your eyes as you inhale through your nose. “Oh, god-”

“Sorry, doll.”

You run water into the garbage disposal and turn it on, turning your head away as your body lurched sharply in a gag. It was a horrible smell. Rotten.

As whatever creature that was nesting in the disposal was ground up and away, it eventually ebbed and faded, and you were able to begin washing the dishes without much further complaint. The room is frighteningly silent save for the clink of clean dishes in the drainer, and you feel your heart pounding in your ears as nerves rack your body.

He's still looking.

“...Cronus, please stop looking at me.”

“I ain't.”

“You are lying.” You turn to face him sharply, anger spiking your words, but, as luck would have it, the swiftness of your movement caused the skirt of the apron to flutter tantalizingly about your hips, and there is a brief moment of horror in which the thought occurs to you: he's seen your privates.

The expression on Cronus's face confirms your fears and you turn back abruptly to the sink, closing your eyes, humiliation pumping steadily through your veins.

“...Don't say a word, Cronus Ampora.”

“Lips are sealed, doll.”

“What did I just say?”

You look carefully over your shoulder in time to see Cronus make a zippering movement with his hand across his lips.

“That's better.”

 

Eventually the kitchen becomes something recognizable. It's been an hour perhaps, and you're fighting with the silence and the utter humiliation and the unabashed sexual harassment that Cronus is dealing you with every glance, every time you meet his face he's got some smug shitty look on his face and frankly it pisses you off.

“...Kankri?”

You don't lift your head up from scrubbing what looks like cheese off of the stovetop. “Yes?”

“You got a real cute ass.”

Enough was enough.

You turn to face him. He's grinning, that son of a bitch, and you feel your chest heave in a deep breath.

“I am beginning to doubt my decision to join this fraternity,” Your voice doesn't sound like your own, “I cannot abide this blatant torment from you. I am beginning to wonder if this is even worth it. Enough, Cronus. Do not speak to me, do not say another. Word. Or else I will not hesitate to report you to student services and they will take your charter away when they found out the sort of disgusting acts of clamorous hazing that's occurring here. It's disgraceful. Now shut your mouth.”

He is quiet for exactly 34 seconds as you continue to scrub the stove.

“...sorry, doll. I didn't mean nothin' by it.”

You don't even indulge him with a look this time and simply nod. “Fine then.”

“You gotta get under the stove, too. Sweepin' and all.”

“Okay.”

By the time the broom is in your hand, you are sweaty and uncomfortable and just want desperately to take a shower. Cleaning is not one of your hobbies and while you have been perpetually plagued by a mild germophobia, this is just plain ridiculous. The hellhole of an apartment kitchen is starting to look considerably better, this much you cannot deny, and, as you sweep, you find yourself pretty fucking proud of the job you've done here.

What you do not realize as you bend over to sweep beneath the stove is that Cronus has been jerking off behind the island counter for the past six-ish minutes, still sitting on a barstool and watching you with the most complacent and even blank look on his face as he palms his semi.

He makes the softest of grunting noises and you glance up from the pile you're steadily accumulating in the middle of the kitchen floor. Dried, withered macaroni noodles, grime, dirt, fuzz of all manners, food wrappers that were tucked behind the fridge and under the stove. Not sexy.

“Pardon?”

“Hah? I didn't say nothin'.”

“All right then.”

You go back to sweeping. Carefully you kneel so you can scoop the mess into a dustpan, and it makes its way into the trash can (you've changed the bag three times by now, there's a pile of them by the door for Cronus to take out later).

You decide to knot off bag number four but find it too heavy for you to pull it out of the trash can. “Could you help me?”

He seems to hesitate and you look up at him expectantly. “Please? It's heavy.”

“Oh, sure.”

The tiniest of little zip noises just before he stands up make you freeze and you stare at him, jaw dropped.

“...Cronus?” He is lifting the bag easily out of the trash can with one arm, and, as he piles it with the others, you cannot help but look and my god, he's sporting a hard on, you can tell from the way his pants look as he twists his body away from you.

His turn to look embarrassed. “Yuh?”

You look down. At him. He knows you're looking, and he pulls his shirt self-consiously down a little more, pretending to just adjust it.

“...you were not.”

“Not what?”

“Cronus.”

You're awfully close to him by now and you fold your arms and take an abrupt step back. To hell with this. You set about washing your hands in the now sparkling clean sink, shaking your head. “...forget it.” You're rinsing and trying to get a spot out from beneath your fingernail when you feel his warmth behind you.

“...you're real cute, Kanny.”

“What the fuck are you doing.”

“...I... sorry-” His breath in your ear and you find yourself squirming. Shit. You'd promised back in the first page of this fanfiction that you weren't going to be doing any of that bullshit. But his arms are circling your waist, you look down and see tattoos and your heart skips several beats.

“...Cronus-”

“-you're just... a little irresistible-” His voice is gravelly in your ear, his breath smelling like smoke and there's something unbearably hot about the smell. His thumbs trace circles over the curves of your hipbones, there's something pressing into the crevise of your ass, and your breath catches sharply in your chest. “-lemme touch you. Please. Just a bit.”

One of his hands is sliding up the front of the stupid getup you wear, feeling you, and he feels real and warm and when did the room get so hot? Has it always been like this?

Your lips part so your tongue can drag over the bottom one as his thumb brushes your nipple, you're breathing shallow now and all you can feel is his cock pressing against your ass and fucking hell he's big.

You can't help but squeak as he tweaks your nipple and your back curves into an arch, which he promptly strokes with his other hand. This guy is no fumbling virgin. Or you're just so much of one that it's barely taken anything for you to get bothered.

“Cronus...”

“Ssh... I gotcha, chief... oh, god, yeah... lemme just...” Cronus's lips skim the curve of your shoulder, he's kissing you there. He finds a spot at the delicate bend of your tendon and mouths it, teeth pinching at the skin before he brushes his tongue over it by way of apology. You're melting in his arms, and it barely occurs to you that the sink is still running. You fumble to switch it off.

He's hot. Very figuratively and very literally. His cock feels desperately hard and fuck. You're barely aware that he's moving, your body betrays you as your dick twitches uncomfortably behind the stupid apron, gently his hands come to your hips and he pulls you, you take a step back, and at the same time he replaces one hand at your shoulders and pushes you against the sink.

You feel vulnerable like this, with your legs spread, bent pathetically over the edge of the sink and his lips are winding down your back, between your shoulderblades, he's fallen into somewhat of a crouch and all at once his hand is between your legs as his mouth is at your thigh.

“Nn-”

“Ssh.”

He finds your semi and wraps a hand around it just as you feel teeth at the fleshy inside of your thigh and you let out a nervous squeak, blood pounding in your ears, euphoria and humiliated lust rushing in your guts. “O-oh god, Cronus-” When did you get so speechless?

A mortified gasp escapes you abruptly as you realize exactly what he's about to do and the words, “Shit don't-” manage to manifest but it's too late. He's jerking you off with one hand, slow and easy, you've sprung to life in his hands and he knows, the cocky fuck, and you can just imagine the dumb smirk on his face that he's got right now because you've just about turned to jello.

He's actually... you can barely think the word. He's rimming you, and you fumble for purchase on the ground beneath your feet while your hands grip the counter, teeth sinking into the fat part of your hand to stifle a pathetic cry.

You're arched on the balls of your feet, pidgeon toed, standing there helplessly as he goes down on you hungrily, and you practically sob with humbled pleasure. “Oh god don't,” You pant, “T-that's so unsanitary, don't- oh god-” He nips sharply at your thigh and you practically buckle.

Your cock is slippery and rigid, and, for a horrified moment, you realize that you've been steadily drooling precum into his hand. Fuck. All you can picture is his face, smug and satisfied, and you're sure he's tearing you to pieces for the fun of it.

Was this part of the hazing ritual? You'd wonder more but your mind goes numb as he squeezes the base of your dripping dick with reckless abandon, and you squeak for him again, arching.

“Cronuussssss,” The way you say his name is disgusting. “Please...”

“Easy, babe... stay here...” And then, suddenly, he's gone. His warmth has left you, and you're alone in the kitchen, hearing him pad away hurriedly to some other room.

You feel cold without him there, and, slowly, tremulously, you palm yourself, hiking the apron up a little and taking a deep, slow breath as you stroke yourself. It doesn't feel as good as when he does it. His hands are bigger, firmer, altogether hotter.

Your head's still reeling as he returns. Tremulously, you turn to face him, and the look on his face shocks you to the very core.

His eyes are glazed, his cheeks dusted in crimson, he's fumbling with something in his hands that you aren't paying attention to. He looks abstracted, practically rendered with lust, there's not an ounce of the self-appreciating smugness you were expecting and somehow you suddenly want him deep inside you.

The thing in his hands turns out to be a bottle of lube. “Don't got much left,” His voice is deep, husky, thick with aphrodesia. “We can deal.”

You can't do much other than nod and watch over your shoulder as he starts to lube up his fingers. “...are you going to put...?” You let the question dangle in the air and he nods, moving back to his position behind you. With one hand he plunks the bottle down onto the counter and a foil square skitters beside it.

You gulp.

Somehow you weren't expecting it to go this way.

“...easy...” Cronus breathes, and his fingers are warm and slick as they prod experimentally at your ass. “...easy, chief... you a virgin?”

Dumbly, you nod.

“S'okay...” He kisses your neck shakily. Somehow now that the condom is resting innocuously on the counter, he seems nervous. Fine with you, but you do wish at least ONE of you knew what you were doing.

“Oh- god!” You lift your head up sharply as he enters you. Just one finger, and it feels thick and strange and oddly muscular inside you, and you can't help but clench around him and you whine a little, the embarrassment seeping back in for an encore.

“How's that?” He's speaking into your ear as he fingers you, seeking deep inside of you for something that you aren't expecting to feel but fuck he finds what he's looking for and you let out the most awful keening noise. “Ooh... I'm guessin' you like.”

Whatever it is he's rubbing inexpertly, it feels fantastic in a weird way. You're too busy being embarrassed beyond words to say anything other than to nod stupidly again and try and ignore what feels like a weird side effect of him being inside you, a weird quivery feeling that feels a bit like your bladder is being sat on, and you cringe uncomfortably.

“...t-that's weird.” You manage to choke, but whatever, he's sliding in a second finger and you make a weak noise of protest that doesn't seem to matter much.

“Sorry.” He whispers, starting to stroke your openly rock hard dick with his free hand, his fingers sliding in and out of you as he jerks your cock in shaky tandem.

You moan. Apology accepted.

“You're just... real cute, you know?” He's still murmuring in that grating, gruff little voice, and you arch on the balls of your feet with a whine. “Real sweet... ho, man, Kanny, baby, let me have you, let me feel how good you are...”

You are in no shape to protest.

“Please... I'm begging you... let me put it in...”

The genuine sincerity of his voice makes you cringe and you look over his shoulder to see him staring glassy-eyed at you.

“...just be careful.”

“You're amazing.”

You don't watch because you don't want to see. You've never seen a dick before that wasn't your own and you aren't sure that you want to start today. He lets you go, fingers slowly sliding out of you. The sliding-out motion is awesome, you decide, and you want him back in there just so he can do it again.

He fumbles with the foil square and you can hear him swear a little under his breath, but apparantly he manages to get it on because he's suddenly grabbing you by the hips. “...here, this might be... easier... c'mere, sit-”

You find yourself being urged down onto the tile floor that you've just meticulously swept. Cronus leans on the island counter cabinets and pulls you onto him, and you gasp sharply, screwing your eyes shut. You don't want to see his dick.

“...just... lay back.” He guides you gently down. You settle your weight against him, and his chest is pressed flush with your back. You can only feel now, with your eyes closed like that, and you can feel the heat and weird stiffness of his prick as it presses against your thigh. “...crud, Kanny...”

“What?”

“...the lube's up on the counter.”

“...Cronus I swear to god.”

You stand up, legs quivering, careful not to step on him. You only open your eyes to find the lube and, carefully, awkwardly, you step backwards.

“...c-can you cover yourself?”

“What, my dick?”

“Yes! Just, please for a minute.”

“...all right.”

When you look down, he's covering himself with his t-shirt, pulling it down in a stretch to hide his manhood. You can see it though, the outline of it crisp against the tight shirt. It curves elegantly to one side, and shit, it really is big. Settling yourself on his lap again, you retake your place leaned back against his chest and you loll your head onto his shoulder, giving him the lube with a sigh and closing your eyes again, feeling your cheeks burn.

If you weren't so stupidly turned on, you'd be noping the fuck out of there but shit. There was no going back now.

“...you wanna touch it?”

“No. It freaks me out.”

He laughs into your ear. “...why?”

“...I've never seen one.”

“What about yours?”

“Of COURSE I've seen mine!” You open your eyes to stare at the ceiling and, just for him, roll them, before shutting them again. “...it's different. Just shut up, okay?”

You can hear the gross suctiony, squelchy noises of him lubing up his dick. You have your thighs spread on either side of you both, feet braced on the cold tile, and you take a breath as his cock presses against the inside of your thigh.

“...I'm gonna put it in.”

“Okay.”

“3, 2, 1...” He grips your thigh with one hand while the other guides himself in, and he gives a push and he's inside you. And it hurts. A lot.

You make no secret of this fact.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, it- h-hurts, Cronus, it really hurts, I-”

He strokes you gently, tenderly even, slowly pumping your cock back to life as you grip the head of his dick, you're clenching so hard around it that he's actually making a pained little noise.

“No, no... easy...” Slowly he eases into you further, and you feel as though it will seriously never end. He feels so fucking big inside you, and the irrevocable fact is that you have a dick up your ass. It glides relatively easily because of the lube, and somehow you think that makes it better.

Then he touches that spot again, this time with the head of his prick, and you practically convulse. He grips your thighs with both of his hands now, spreading them. “Jerk it.” He grunts into your ear, and you fumble for your cock, squeezing the base of it as you work yourself desperately back to the rock hardness you had achieved earlier.

Was this how it was supposed to be? Clumsy, rough movements from you, your hands shaking as you masturbate. He's inside of you, as far in as he dares go, and then, still using your thighs for leverage, slides out.

The feeling makes you weak. You gasp out a syllable, and, encouraged, he heads back in.

Eventually you fall into rhythm. You're jerking yourself off to the beat of him fucking you, and, as you droop your head against his shoulder again, moaning into his ear as he's grunting into yours.

The noise is so fucking hot. The whole room is hot. You're squirming desperately around him, squeezing his prick tightly as he works in and out of you. His pace is slow, languid and he's speaking to you but you can barely make out his words.

“Ho man... you feel so good... so good and tight, I could just... ugh... oh, man, Kanny, please, let me go faster... please please please-” His breath hitches. “Let me just...”

He speeds up, with or without your permission, and somehow you're okay with that, especially because he's bumping that little switch in you with every thrust and fuck it's good.

He's in deep, and your toes flex and curl and his fingers are tightening in the give of your thighs, pulling them to your chest as he pounds at you. He's talking the whole time, “Oh fuck oh honey oh baby oh god yeah you're so fucking good fuck fuck fuck-”

And you're talking right back: “Oh god, oh god, ohgodnnngh-”

He's surprisingly vocal, moreso than you, an endearing fact that makes him seem that much sweeter.

“Can you come?”

“I-I think so-”

“Good.”

You jerk yourself harder, faster, your hand is slippery and slick with precum and he's filling you in a way that makes your thighs quiver and your body feel so unbearably hot, from the very pit of your gut to your toes and you can even feel it in the palms of your hands.

When you finally come it's a blissful release, coital ecstasy making your head reel as you feel warm droplets of cum spattering your chest and you howl in pleasure, vicing around Cronus's dick in a way that makes him gasp. He's not far long behind you, practically jackhammering himself into your incredibly sore ass and before you know it he's balls deep and filling you, you can feel every twitch and throb of his cock as he comes in spurts, once, twice, three deep-set spasms that come from his very core and you're still gripping your hypersensitive dick and making little whimpering noises into his ear.

You've definitely just fucked your fraternity big on his kitchen floor and you're in a stupid maid apron.

He kisses your ear and you feel him soften inside of you, gently working his way out before he goes completely limp and the condom gets stuck inside you, which would be a terrible turn of events. Gingerly he peels it off with one hand, the other still gripping your thigh. He's left little red marks in it from his nails.

You don't mind.

He's still kissing the side of your head tenderly. You want to reciprocate but your body feels like lead, and you can do no more than to flop awkwardly onto him, feeling jizz drying on your clothes and on your stomach.

As you nuzzle his face, he starts talking to you again, and this time he sounds a bit more like himself.

“So, you wanna go out to dinner sometime? As a date? Oh, yeah, and welcome to the frat...”