Perchance to Dream

Disclaimer: See prologue.

Summary: See how Stan's adapting to college life.

-.-

At School X

-.-

I offer today further proof that God absolutely hates me. As an early admits, I got my choice of dorms. I chose Libby Hall, being just across the street from the Benson Earth Sciences Building where the Environmental Studies offices are, should I need to talk to my professors about anything. It's also right down the street from Folsom Field, should I get the urge to attend a game. I doubt it, but there's the option, at least. Anyway, with all that good, excellent convenience, why do I think God hates me? Two reasons, really: Bebe's located way over in Sewell Hall, and I think my roommate's in the running for gayest man on campus.

His name's Matt. Matt Williams. And he is epically, flaming gay. I swear on my Bible he's got not one, but three pairs of bondage pants in his closet. Plus fuzzy handcuffs, a vibrator, and a giant rainbow flag that he hung over his bed. He also has a bad habit of walking around the room with his shirt off, and takes far too long after coming back from showering to put on pants. He has Playgirl centerfolds hanging on his walls, a bottle of lube prominently displayed on his bedside table next to his skin lotion, and a large collection of gay bondage DVDs. I know for a fact he tried to seduce me when he first walked in the room. How, do you ask? Well, I answer, it's not too hard to discern intent when somebody rips off their pants and tries to pin you to your bed. He told me later he was just fucking around with me, but just to make sure he had his facts straight, I brought Bebe by for a quick fuck. Predictably, he didn't want to watch, but I did note that he didn't leave until I was naked, and that he "escaped" to the bathroom.

Why, after all the hell I went through with South Park's SuperFag Kyle, would I escape his clutches to Boulder and then get made to deal with the University of Colorado's Super-erFag? Well, I'll tell you it definitely wasn't by choice. Besides. Matt Williams is a fairly vanilla name, as far as names go. Doesn't really scream anything sinister at you, and it DEFINITELY doesn't scream "hyper-gay BDSM freak."

So, there you have it. God hates me. Maybe Environmental Studies wasn't such a good idea for a major. With my luck, I'm liable to get mauled by a bear while doing internships. Or even worse, run into a gay bear that hasn't been laid in two years and get raped by the bear, then mauled because I wasn't into it enough.

Matt, when not getting fucked harder than the pizza delivery girl at a frat party, and walking around like he's trying out for Playgirl himself, has a couple of really weird habits. He seems really nervous or shy around me, aside from the first day's "get to know you." For instance, the three times he's brought guys around so far (for the record, how he found three separate gay guys willing to pound his ass through the mattress so fast is absolutely baffling to me), he's made me leave before he even undoes his belt. He leaves a pink Post-It note flag (the kind that come in that pen thing for marking books, typically) on the door until his bed only contains him, is pretty damn meticulous about organizing (you risk the wrath of Harvey Milk's ghost if you try to put a stray sock into the wrong one of his three clothes hampers), and after a stressful experience – be it class, day, phone call – he can massage all your troubles away. Yet another personal experience on this last one; my Introductory Econ professor is a real bastard. He has magic fingers, I swear.

He's an OK guy, excepting the love of rough gay sex, really. I could even get used to his systems. But there's still something about him that seems a little hinky. His telephone habits, specifically. Be it cell or the landline we're allowed in our dorm, as soon as I step into the room, he hangs up. It just seems really … odd. What's so bad about your roommate hearing you talk to your mother or a fuckbuddy or some old friend from high school that makes you abruptly end the conversation and hang up with a promise to call back?

Speaking of which…

"Hey, he's back. I've gotta go," Matt says as I re-enter the room after a less-than-enjoyable Freshman English class, moving to hang up before a final question is asked in his ear.

"Yeah, yeah I'll ask him, man." Another pause while the mystery person says something else. This person, whoever it is, doesn't wanna let Matt go, and it's really getting at him.

"I know, you've told me seventeen times already." Brief pause while he's rebuked. It was probably only sixteen, Matt, don't exaggerate.

"I will call you back as soon as I know, ok?" It's a briefer pause for the answer this time. Judging by the brevity, Matt gets a simple OK in reply.

"K, call you later. Bye." Finally, he's able to hang up, tossing the phone onto the bedside table. I eye him cautiously, before moving past his bed to toss my bag onto mine and sit down at my desk to check my e-mail and such. I'm halfway through a reply to Mom, asking me how my first week of the semester is going, when Matt taps me on the shoulder.

"Stan?" he asks, his voice shaky.

"Yeah Matt?"

"Um…I wanted to ask you something." He's very nervous about asking this, I see as he's shuffling his feet, while he looks down kinda at them. If I were gay, or a girl, I'd say that he looked really cute like that, in his skinny jeans and tight black screen-printed Aeropostale tee.

"Sure, as long as you're not asking me to go to another gay club to buy you drinks with my fake I.D.," I reply. It's the only mistake I've made so far, letting him know I've got a fake I.D. He's been after me every night to go clubbing with him, so he can use me to buy hot guys drinks. I've declined.

"It's not a club this time," he says. I roll my eyes and sigh, but he interrupts me. "No, Stan, please…it's like a lounge, or bar, I dunno. But it's not a club. No loud music, no bright multi-colored strobe lights, and not too many super-hotties. And I don't want you to go to buy me drinks, I promise!"

"OK, then, what is it?" I ask. "And does it have anything to do with why you're always hanging up whenever I come in the room?"

"Uhh…yeah, actually, it does," he says, taking a seat on my bed. "I've got a friend, goes to CSU, he's going to be down here for the game this weekend, and he's playing on Friday at the place. He wants to meet you."

"Oh," I say. "He's doesn't wanna … meet me-meet me, does he?" I ask, cautiously, since Matt's kinda dancing around it.

"No, no nothing like that. Well, I mean, ordinarily, he'd be all over a delicious specimen of walking sex like you, but I mean, he knows about your girlfriend-thing, or whatever she is. He just wants to introduce himself and get to know you and stuff." I'm still wary, because I know what Matt's idea of getting to know someone is, and I doubt a friend of his would be much different.

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease, Stan?" Matt asks, turning on the puppy-dog eyes. This guy is such a bottom. He does them really well, too, which is the scariest thing. He's probably gotten more than one guy naked and hard with that look.

I sigh. "Will it shut you up about the clubs? If I go to this thing with you?"

"Buy me a single beer, and I won't bother you about it for the rest of the semester. When we come back for the spring, I'll have my own from home," he says with a wink.

"OK, I'll buy you one beer. But you have to pay me back double. And, I get to say when we leave."

"Agreed," Matt says. "I love you, man, really. I gotta go call my friend. I'll see you later, OK?" Before I can reply, he springs off my bed, gives me a quick peck on the lips, and grabs his cell off his table before running out the door.

Needless to say, he leaves me in a fair amount of shock. And more than a liberal amount of disgust. It was probably a reflex thing for him, really, but that doesn't mean I'm not supposed to almost puke. While he's off excitedly calling whoever the fuck I'm gonna meet on Friday, I'm jumping out of my chair, grabbing my Listerine and making for the bathroom. Six minutes and twelve rounds later, I think I've gotten most of the gay off my lips and any that tried to escape into my mouth. I spit one last time and head back into the room. Matt's still not back, so I sit back down at my desk and finish off that e-mail to Mom.

I then sneak my way onto Matt's Facebook profile, trying to do a little investigating to try and figure out who I'll be meeting, and most importantly, listening to sing. It'll influence how much money I'll be bringing (i.e.: how much I need to be drunk). Anyway, first I filter out all his friends that aren't members of CSU's network. From there, I filter out all the CSU girls; because Matt said specifically the friend in question was a guy. From there, I eliminate any guy whose "interested in" line concludes with "females," since the guy would presumably think I'm a total hottie. I'm left with five. Going to each of their profiles, I eliminate two who don't have "guitar" and "singing" in their Interests fields.

So, I'm left with three possible choices. All Colorado State Students, all gay, all guitarists and singers. All three have RSVP'd to the game Saturday. Really, then, this was pointless, except maybe I'll know immediately who his friend is. At least I shouldn't have to bring too much money. None of them are ugly, and none of them have really atrocious choice in music either. The worst in there is the soundtrack of Cats, and even then, there are a couple good songs on there, I will admit. With the images of those three burned into my mind, I close out Facebook and turn on iTunes.

By this time, Matt has returned from his phone-calling extravaganza and is trying to get my attention again.

"What now?" I ask. I could have been a little more diplomatic and nice, but after what Matt just pulled, I really don't feel like it.

"I just wanted to apologize about earlier. I know, I know, you don't like guys, and I really shouldn't have done that. I just…kinda got caught up in my excitement. I hope you didn't take it too bad," he says, very sheepishly.

"The room's still intact, isn't it?" I ask, mock seriously. He grins.

"That it is, that it is. I still wanna make it up to you."

"You can give me a massage," I say. "I think that'll make up for it." I stand up and pull off my shirt, laying facedown on my bed. "Don't go exploring though."

"I won't," he says with a wink. "Shame, though, you're really hot." Before I can snap out an equally clever retort, his hands are on my back and ohmyfuckingGod he's so good. Gentle, sensuous, massaging circles hit all the right nerves, and I don't give a shit about my English instructor wanting me to read an entire novel over the weekend, or my Econ professor dressing me down for pointing out flaws in his examples, or Matt trying to infect me with the gay, because how can you have any negative feelings when something so good is happening to you?

He keeps it up for fifteen minutes before stopping, eliciting a groan from me.

"Why'd ya stop?" I murmur, eyes still closed.

"Because the way you were moaning, if I'd kept going, our neighbors would have thought I'd seduced you, and you would have came in your pants." I snap my eyes open and glare at him. "It's OK, I know I'm that good." Another sexy wink.

"You fucker," I mutter, sliding off the bed and glancing down at my crotch. He really is that good.

"You want me to take care of that too?" Matt asks, leering at me. "They say my mouth is just as good as my hands."

"Get fucked, Matt, seriously. You're too damn horny today. Go find a butch twink or something when you go eat."

"Sure thing," Matt says. "You gonna go over to your girlfriend's while I'm getting fucked?"

"Yeah, sure. She's been wanting to introduce me to her roommate anyway."

"Hey, maybe you'll get a threesome out of it," Matt says with a shrug. "Don't tell me about it though, I don't like the bouncing boobs, ya know."

"I'll make you a deal. I don't tell you about the three-way I do or don't get, you don't tell me anything about how good the big cock you get up your ass tonight felt, deal?"

"Deal," Matt says, sitting down at his own desk and consulting his cellphone for a possible hookup. I just scoff and return to my iTunes, counting down the hours to solving at least one of Matt's mysteries.

-.-

Notes: I honestly have no idea how I managed to get this chapter to be as long as it is. Honestly, by the time I got halfway through most of what I had planned for this chapter, I was at less than a thousand words. For the next chapter, it'll either be a really, really, almost obscenely long chapter, or two chapters, one not so long, and one really, really long one. Either way, Stan and Matt will be going to the bar place next chapter, and you should be seeing that sometime between St. Patty's Day and Easter.

'Til then,

Phoenix II