Hi Literotica Readers!
I accidentally started writing a novel. This is part 1, with more to follow (if this is enjoyed).
The story is a slow burn, and the characters will go through ups and downs… But I promise there will be erotica in every section I post!
Feedback is gratefully received…
Warnings: mental health issues, brief references to violence
***
It’s the first day of university when I meet Danny. The first hour.
I’m standing in a room with a sunken floor and a tiered level around the outside. My shoes resist when I step forward in the queue – probably from spilled beer. This is the student union hall, but today daylight streams in from high windows and reps are stood around in green T-shirts.
There’s two lines of new students, lots of awkward chatter, all of us here to collect the keys for our campus accommodation. I’m keeping my head down, finding things to do on my phone – mostly just scrolling through possible tennis tournaments, big surprise there. I should have shaved or got a haircut. There wasn’t time. I stepped off the plane in chilly London, sprinted home for a night, and now here I am.
Finally, I get to the front and meet a peppy girl at a long table. There’s about a hundred envelopes between her and the rep serving the other queue.
“Err, my name’s, umm, Lucas Knight,” I say. I’ve had ten minutes to perfect that sentence.
She rattles off a welcome speech. As she’s rummaging through the stacks of envelopes, looking in the K’s, I glance to my left, and that’s when I see him.
He barely looks nervous. He’s smiling at the second rep like he’s a kid on an adventure. He’s got a buzz of hair over his brown skin, a sharp line shaved artfully backwards from his temple, a black stud in his ear. I stare at his edgy jacket and the way his ripped jeans hug his legs. It’s like he just walked off a clothing shoot. How can a real, live person look that cool? And why am I wearing a T-shirt and jeans with zero shape to them?
“Right, here you go,” says the rep, jumping my attention back to her. She speaks in a sing-song rush. “So, the flat details are in the packet and the keycard gets you in. There’s instructions about your nearest laundry point, a map of campus, bus timetable, a few other useful things. And you’re going to Block E, West Village. And that’s just over on-“
“Block E?” says the second rep, overhearing. “Looks like you two will be neighbours!” She gestures between me and the cool guy. “That’s great, huh? You’ve made a friend straight away!”
Christ, we’re not five. Still, the dude turns his smile on me, no hesitation. And my breath falters. Fuck.
After I’ve grabbed my envelope, he waits to fall in step with me.
“I’m Danny,” he says.
“Lucas.”
“Nice to meet you, man. What’s your flat number?” His eyes are almost opaque brown, wide and playful.
“Err…” I hurry to open the envelope, fumbling. God, this is annoying. The last thing I am is clumsy. “Room 3, Flat 209.”
He checks his own envelope. “No way. We’re flatmates! I’m 209 too.”
“Weird!” I say and we grin too eagerly at each other.
As we edge back around the waiting students, I check out his legs again, cased in their skinny jeans. Dark skin peeks through the fraying slashes. The denim is snug across his arse, too.
“What are you studying?” he asks.
I blink up, quick. He’s still grinning. He speaks like every sentence is a game.
“International Relations,” I say.
“Nice! I’m doing psychology. What made you choose IR?”
It’s like when the tennis bloggers ask me obvious questions and I had something prepared, but it’s gone out my head.
We get through the door and into the busy corridor. Danny waits for my answer. He probably thinks he’s being attentive. He has no idea how it feels to have all his focus on me. I wonder what I look like to him. I’ve got dark blonde hair flopping across slightly sunburnt, slightly freckled skin, a not-quite-straight nose and jetlagged eyes. I’m athletic at least – I’ve got that going for me.
“I travel a lot,” I tell him. “I play tennis around the world and I find it interesting – other places, I mean. Other countries.”
“You play tennis abroad? That’s impressive! Are you good?”
I’m so far in the bubble that it’s odd to meet someone my age who isn’t a tennis player. “I’m alright,” I say, finally feeling less stupid. I can’t help the smile that crosses my lips. “I’ve been playing in junior tournaments but I’m turning pro now.”
“Wow. That sounds… you’ll have to explain to me how important that is. I’m picturing Wimbledon.”
“Not yet. Well. I’ve been in the junior version.”
“That’s awesome, mate.” He looks at my biceps, straining a tad from my T-shirt. “I should have guessed you played tennis with arms like that.” His smirk finally abates, and he chuckles to make sure I know it’s a joke.
I’m distracted by this insane desire to reach out and touch his face. Or take off his clothes. My brain İstanbul Escort forgets to control my mouth. “Is that, like, a bomber jacket?”
Danny is kind enough to be only faintly amused. He turns the lapel back and forth a little, considering it. It’s got a thin strap collar with a popper stud and slightly padded arms, a faded red V just above the elbow. “I think it’s a racing jacket,” he says. “Kinda like what F1 drivers wear. Maybe it’s it a bit dumb.”
“No, it looks great,” I say. I’m an actual moron.
Danny is curious, head on one side. He’s studying me, biting his lip a little. Seems kind of flirtatious but I’m sure it’s not meant to be. “If you like it so much you can borrow it sometime, seeing as we’re gunna be flatmates. Though it probably won’t fit you, will it?”
Despite what he says, I can’t be more than a couple inches taller than him, and he’s on the skinny side but not tons narrower than me in the chest. I wonder how it would feel to try his jacket on right now, when it’s warm from his body heat. Maybe it would smell of whatever deodorant he uses.
A load of people push past us in the corridor, interrupting our eye contact. I get yanked back to earth. I’ve got this cold prickly feeling on my neck, like I’m being watched. “I better go back to the car for my stuff,” I say. “I’ll see you at our flat.”
Danny still has that cheeky smile. “Sure. I’ll see you later.”
We lose each other in the cool September sunshine. I walk quickly, resisting the urge to check over my shoulder.
When I get back to the car, my parents are worried. It’s not because they’re sad to see me move out – they’ve been packing me off to boarding school every year since I was eleven, so this will make no difference. Truth is, they’re not happy about me being here. I don’t know why they both had to come. I turn nineteen tomorrow. I can move in by myself.
“I made a friend,” I say, heavy on the sarcasm.
My mum brightens. “You did?”
“Well, I met a guy who’s going to be my flatmate.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Do you know where we’re going now, then?”
We drive around the campus road and down to the West Village site. It’s busy down there, lots of new students and their families hauling boxes. Block E is a few stories tall, looking new and modern and exactly the same as the other five blocks that surround it, a little pedestrian green in between them.
The thing about constant travelling is you learn to pack light. My parents and I only have to make one trip up to my new flat. I aim the keycard from under the box of cookware I’m carrying, and then we’re stepping into a bright, plain corridor. It looks like a hotel, but whatever, I’m used to hotels.
There’s six rooms and number 3 is easy enough to locate. My mother rushes into the tiny space and start making critical comments. It’s totally fine. Nicer than a lot of budget hotel rooms I’ve been in. There’s a three-quarter bed, desk, decent window, and bathroom about the same size as the wardrobe. “Lord,” my mum says, at her most upper class. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to fit in this shower, Lucas.”
She’s mental. I’m six foot, not a giant.
“When I went to university,” my father grumbles, “I shared a bathroom with ten other people!” He’s spending his whole time searching for the best place to hang my racket bag, trying to work out where to put it so I can’t possibly forget about it.
I tell them I’m going to put my pans and tinned food away.
The corridor is empty. I wonder if Danny is here yet. He’s not in the kitchen at the end of the hall. The only person in here is a girl with dark hair that goes all the way down to the bottom of her back. She’s crouching, peering into a cupboard, muttering about something. She straightens up when she hears me. Once she’s whirled around, hair flying, her face is full of relief. “Oh, thank God. You’re a guy.”
“Err, yes.”
She speaks in a nervous flurry. “Have you met the others? There’s three girls so far and they’re all, like, super into make-up and fashion, clearly, because they’re covered in it and I don’t think I’m going to have anything in common with them at all. Oh God, don’t tell them I said that. Jesus, what a way to start.”
I huff a laugh. “I’m Lucas,” I tell her.
She sighs and looks embarrassed. Her face is flush, the same pale skin as me. “Claire.”
“Nice to meet you, Claire. And good news – I’m not the only dude. There’s a guy called Danny on his way. I met him collecting my key.”
She beams. “Awesome.” Then she gives me a tour of the kitchen and it’s first-world issues. “Electric hob with melted plastic on it… Fridge with Antarctica at the back of it… Kettle that turns off every ten seconds – honestly, I’ve been trying to make a cup of tea for half an hour now…”
I’m rather liking Claire. Good sarcasm. I also like that she’s wearing basic, unfashionable jeans and a T-shirt, same as me.
I leave her to struggle with the kettle and come across two girls Maltepe Escort in the corridor. Claire isn’t wrong, their lips are pouty, their eyes dark, and they’re wearing tops that seem to have overly dramatic sleeves. But what do I know? I rarely see girls in anything other than uniform or sportswear, hair tied back, focused and competitive. These girls seem friendly enough. I say hi and keep walking.
Still no Danny. Where is he?
Doom greats me when I step back into my new room. My parents are sat on the bed, side by side, both of them looking incredibly solemn.
“Lucas-” my mother starts.
“Yeah, I know. Training three times a week. Get my timetable as soon as possible so we can plan Challengers around it.”
My dad huffs at my attitude.
“Alright.” Mum accepts defeat. “Do you want us to help you settle in?”
I try to soften to her. “No, it’s OK. I’m going to get to know my flatmates.”
They don’t know what to make of me. I spent years being silent and focused and passive. Then I screamed at them six months ago, demanding things change – demanding they fire Stratton. And they listened, but never looked at me the same again.
At least they gave me what I wanted. They sacked my coach, and they let me come to university, however confused they may have been about both choices. So now here we are. Me calling the shots.
Awkwardly, they say goodbye and give me a hug. My dad opens his mouth several times to speak and my mother swats him away before he can say something to guilt-trip me. Then I’m finally alone. Exhilaration seizes me. I square up to myself in my new bedroom mirror.
I fought for this. I wanted to get a degree – to have the whole university experience: living independently, partying, studying, having an actual life. I can go back to full time tennis in three years, after I graduate. It’s going to be fine.
***
Three hours later I’m in the kitchen with Claire, trying to make dinner. We’re doing OK. With cheese on toast, anyway. The other girls are popping in and out, and Claire has warmed to them – everyone seems friendly, whether we have similar interests or not.
There’s still no sign of Danny. Maybe he’s not in the same flat. Maybe he read his envelope wrong. Maybe I should stop wondering about him.
It’s Sunday, and freshers events don’t start until tomorrow, but that’s not going to stop us. After dinner, all giddy and excited, Claire and I run (me backwards, because she complains I’m too fast) to a nearby corner shop on the edge of campus. We excitedly use our IDs to prove we’re eighteen. I pretend I’ve done this a million times, but I start to think about the last time, the only time, I have ever had alcohol before. I think that night in China. I think about the morning after. I stop myself.
Having acquired vodka and headed back to the flat, I follow Claire’s lead and start mixing it with 50p cranberry juice. Before long, the three girls have joined us at the plastic dining table, and I’ve forgotten about Danny.
Of course, that’s when he walks in.
He puts food shopping down on the counter and calls out hello. I force a smile. The girls are excited by a new addition, the flat finally complete with the six of us.
“I guess you’ve all been here a while?” Danny says. He’s still in his racer jacket, looking even better than I remember. “Sorry, my dad wanted to have dinner with me before he left.”
Some of them say “aww”, all smiley and tipsy.
He looks at me and gives a nod. “Hey Lucas.”
“Hey, mate,” I gulp. “You wanna drink with us?”
He laughs. “Jeez, already? Not sure I planned to on the first night.”
I love how he doesn’t care about saying that. When I’m on the court, arrogance surges through me – but when it comes to social situations, I always try to fit in.
Danny heads to his room to unpack a few things. I count down the minutes, drinking too quickly. When he returns, he’s changed out of his jacket and skinny jeans. He’s in a close-fitting, white T-shirt sweater-thing, tucked under tailored trousers with turned hems at the ankles. What colour are they? Who even knows. Burnt orange? Around his neck is a thin chain – bright silver against his skin.
I get up and find a glass, offering him a drink. He leans against the kitchen counter, watching me pour it, gleeful eyes all over me. “Have I ruined your fun?” he teases. “Interrupted your night with the girls?”
I laugh, self-conscious. I should tell him. It’s a good opportunity. I don’t take it. “No, umm, it’s all good.”
When I hand him his drink, he brushes his fingers against mine. I can’t tell if it’s an accident.
At the table we do some boring chatter to bring Danny up to speed. We’re all from the midlands or more northern parts of England, but Danny is from London. Makes sense, given he probably models in his spare time. Claire explains to him what she’s already told us: her family has moved to Germany, her dad stationed there with Maltepe Escort Bayan the army. She tears up a bit, saying she already misses her sister. Danny reaches out, easily switching from his jokey demeanour to rubbing her back.
Two of the girls chatter about how they went travelling on their gap year. When that’s finally over, they patronisingly ask the rest of us if we’re only eighteen. I mention it’s my nineteenth birthday tomorrow and get a surprisingly enthusiastic response. Claire grabs the crappy plastic shot glasses we picked up at the corner shop. They all cheer me on. Danny does it with me. I’m sat opposite him, the two of us staring each other down as we knock the vodka back.
The three girls break off into their own conversation and Danny, Claire and I stay chatting at our end – or rather Danny and Claire chat, and I watch. Claire tells him she’s studying biology and he ribs her about cutting up frogs and watching plants grow. They hit it off, just like Claire and I did this afternoon, all three of us enjoying the same humour.
He’s got his elbows on the table, one hand over the top of his glass, the other propping up his chin. His smooth forearms are barely dusted with hair. I can’t stop staring at his jawline, his hypnotic smile, his-
“Lucas,” says Claire, and I think for a horrible moment she’s caught me. I haven’t been paying attention for at least a minute.
“Huh?”
“Danny’s right. You sound super posh, you know that?”
I groan a laugh. “Hardly.”
“You do,” Danny teases. I almost don’t hear him again. “Did you go to private school?”
“Umm, yeah. A tennis academy.”
“Oh yeah!” Danny’s the least drunk of all of us, but he’s the same excitable kid he was at the key collection. Charismatic and charming. Almost a little… Yeah, he’s gay. Or bi, or whatever. Something. Please? He gestures at me and gets the attention of everyone. “Did Lucas tell you? He plays tennis. Internationally. How cool is that?”
The girls think it’s very cool. Too much so. A couple of them are watching me with flirtatious eyes. I can’t even remember their names. I’m pretty sure my looks are average at best, but I guess I’m on the taller side, and I have athleticism in my favour. Still. Danny makes me not worth looking at, in my opinion.
“It’s not that impressive,” I say.
“Ah, c’mon…” Danny’s teasing me again. “Sporting superstar, jetting around the world, building all those ‘International Relations’… I bet you get all the girls.” His eyes don’t leave mine. I feel like he’s challenging me.
“OK,” says one of the others, misreading my silence, “so clearly Lucas is… well-travelled. Has everyone here lost their virginity? Because, uh, I haven’t.”
Another girl shyly admits the same. Claire says she has, with an ex-boyfriend in the summer.
“Danny?” someone prods.
Danny surprises me, giving a casual shrug and saying “nope”, as if it is no big deal. How can he be that seductive with no sexual experience? Maybe he’s not being seductive at all. Maybe I’m reading it all wrong.
I take a long swig of vodka and cranberry and speak before they can move the conversation on. “Honestly,” I say. “I haven’t either. Tennis makes me too busy to date anyone. I’ve only, like, gone halfway.”
“Halfway?” Danny smirks. “What counts as halfway?”
I blush. “You know…” Everyone sniggers as I struggle to get the word out. “Just oral.” They’re assuming I mean a girl. I open my mouth to qualify. The words die in my throat, my neck cold, again.
“Right,” says Claire. “No worries, virgins. Pretty sure first-year will cure you. Just as long as no one breaks the cardinal rule – no shagging a flatmate, OK?”
One of the girls says, “No promises,” and dissolves into giggles. I realise she’s looking at me.
“So that’s one vote for Lucas,” says Claire, rolling her eyes. “Who would the rest of you pick?”
People pretend to protest, but everyone’s having too much fun to refuse. I glance at Danny, only to see he’s looking at me again. I ping my eyes away in record time.
One of the other girls speaks up. “I’d also choose Lucas. Sorry, Danny.”
He grins. “Don’t worry about it.”
I risk a glance at him. He stares at me, long and slow, looking over the top of his glass as he takes another sip.
“Jessica?” Claire says, reminding me of at least one name.
“Well, sorry to Lucas, this time,” sniggers Jessica. “Because I’d pick Danny.”
Claire mutters, “If only, right?” – barely audible, and Danny throws his head back in a laugh, like he just can’t help himself. I dare to hope I might be understanding the joke.
Everyone’s looking at him now, waiting for his answer. He says, “Let Lucas go first.”
I chuckle with stress. I wonder how shocked they’re going to be. I’m not sure what they’re expecting me to say. I think a couple of the girls might be considered prettier than Claire. But I’ve been hanging out with Claire all afternoon. People might expect a guy to be interested if he spends a whole day with a girl.
Regardless, I guess it’s time to be honest. I’ll just go for it. Announce the truth to a room of strangers. My body is covered in goosebumps. I have that sensation again like I’m being watched.
I pull a smile onto my face. “Umm… Claire.”
Why have I done that?