Hunter stood at the entrance to the kitchen, watching several fuck-drunk frat bottoms doing their duty to SPIT, and he tried to remember what it was like to be one of them.

Each had been knocked up by a SPIT Seeder, and they showed the telltale signs of Surrogacy. Their stomachs were swollen with their Seeder’s cum, which even now pumped a steady stream of hormones into their bloodstream. Their muscles had gotten both larger and doughier all over, looking fluffy but strong. But their pecs changed before Hunter’s eyes, going from strong and soft to post-workout pumped as they swelled with spiritually potent milk.

They looked… happy. They had one purpose at that moment: drinking pure Seeder cum from a glass to stimulate their milk production until it could be collected into tanks for alchemical refinement into sex-enhancing potions. They were pampered, massaged by their studs, praised for their bodies and the work they were doing. They didn’t look humiliated.

Hunter^[2] remembered that bliss. He remembered his satisfaction, his excitement whenever he was called down to the kitchen. But when Hunter tried to put himself in their shoes, to imagine himself sitting there right now with a frat boy kissing his neck and squeezing his pecs, his chest knotted in anxiety. He didn’t belong in that image anymore.

What was wrong with him?

His mind had been going in circles about it. To distract himself from his tortured reflections, he turned to look at the refinement operation. No less than four alchemy tables lined the kitchen walls on either side, each staffed by two frat boys. One interacted with the fluid physically, stirring it, heating it, distilling it, and so on. The other interacted with a final tank, working the fluid with his spirit, pushing his will through alchemical symbols to subtly refine the final effect.

Each Surrogate’s milk had several different effects on the drinker, enhancing sexual pleasure or desire in any number of ways. The alchemist’s job was to separate those effects, strengthen and refine them, and distill them into ‘supplements’—pills or shot-sized liquid doses that could contain one or more sex-enhancing effects in a delicate balance. These supplements would serve as rewards to entice partygoers into risky games of chance or skill. Undistilled milk would be collected and mixed with alcohol to serve as the party’s main intoxicant and the forfeit for many games.

It was an efficient operation, and it all relied on the frat bottoms in the back. But Hunter had to wonder—did the alchemists ever think they were better than the Surrogates? More important? Hunter finally looked back at the Surrogates, watching the eyes of their studs. Was the glee in that one’s eyes innocent, or was it prideful and superior? Did another close his eyes while he nipped a frat bottom’s ear because he thought it was a waste of time?

In his junior and senior year, Hunter hadn’t been summoned for this duty often, too busy organizing the events. It had always been a nice break, but if he was asked now… would it feel like a waste of his time? A waste of his potential?

“You wish you could join them, don’t you, Hunter?” Hawk asked, from behind, as he clapped a hand on Hunter’s ass and squeezed it firmly.

Hawk. Of course. There was one pair of eyes that always looked disdainful—but then, that was how he acted towards everybody. When Hunter and Chase had evolved from “hungry bottoms” to “predatory bottoms”, when Hunter had learned how fun it was to ride a top until they were catatonic with pleasure, Hawk had been on board at first. And then he’d made it his personal mission to ensure that when he had the Hunter and the Chase, they would be the prey.

They’d danced like that many times. While it was pure fun for Hunter, Hawk had always acted like he needed to prove himself. Hawk was a Seeder. He could knock Hunter up just like that. But Hunter wasn’t looking to be a Surrogate right now, so they couldn’t dance.

“I can get knocked up in my own neighbourhood, Hawk,” Hunter replied, in deadpan tones. He kept his hands to his sides, but didn’t stop Hawk^[3] from kneading his cheek like dough. “I don’t need frat boys to be a Surrogate.”

“And yet here you are,” Hawk said, “with a flat belly—“ he slapped his palm onto Hunter’s toned abdomen— “and lean muscles—“ he hit Hunter’s bicep next, squeezing it appreciatively— “and no milk in your tits.”

“Unlike frat boys,” Hunter replied, even as his dick rose to attention, “the Seeders at home don’t mind using condoms.” Hunter omitted that, even at home, he had to argue for it. If he showed he wasn’t just a Surrogate waiting to happen, then he’d be safe.

“Because they’re boring.” Hawk slid behind Hunter completely, pressing his chest into Hunter’s back and his erection between Hunter’s cheeks. Wrapping one arm around Hunter’s abdomen and the other around his chest, Hawk continued, murmuring into Hunter’s ear, “They don’t give sluts like you what you rightfully deserve.”

The word ‘sluts’ fell hard out of Hawk’s mouth, and it made Hunter shudder, but as Hawk kissed his ear and squeezed his pec, the word started to feel more affectionate.

“They don’t pamper you like we do.” Hawk massaged Hunter’s pec, and in that moment, Hunter felt like a mirror image of the Surrogate in front of him, minus the gut. Hawk rubbed his stomach anyway. It felt good. “They don’t treat you like a king just because you bend over for them at a moment’s notice.”

His fingers found Hunter’s nipple, lightly pinching the peak and twisting it, sending tingles of pleasure through Hunter’s chest. “You’re just another guy to them.” He nipped Hunter’s ear gently, then kissed his way down to Hunter’s neck, leaving electric bliss behind. “SPIT boys are your brothers.”

With every word, every touch, Hunter was falling a little further under Hawk’s spell. Hawk had learned the art of making Hunter swoon. This was everything that he had hoped for, coming back to SPIT. This was a place where he could be a slut and not have to worry about his image. Maybe Hawk was right, and Hunter was looking for disdain that wasn’t really there. Maybe he did belong with the Surrogates, basking in the attention, living for his brothers’ praise…

But it wouldn’t last long. He’d have to leave. He wasn’t built for this life anymore. He wasn’t just a slut. He had other things to do than worship every dick he came across. Another shudder, and finally, he spoke up. “I know. That’s why I came here, Hawk. SPIT knows how to treat a bottom. But I simply can’t join them.” Hunter pulled away, and Hawk reluctantly let him go. He took one last forlorn look at the Surrogates and turned to face Hawk. “I can’t… live that lifestyle anymore.”

Hawk’s expression darkened. “And what lifestyle are you living now, Hunter?” he asked, all the affection gone from his voice. “Do they know you used to be a prized slut? Let me guess. None of them fuck like frat studs, so when you try to ‘powerbottom’ them like you do us, they can’t keep up, so they might think you have fire, but all you are is hungry.”

Hunter was shocked by Hawk’s sudden antagonism, but the words ‘prized slut’ made him want to respond in kind. If it was supposed to be praise, it came off much less sincere than the sweet nothings of the studs in the back. “Tell me how you really feel, huh? When you made me beg for more, is that what you were thinking? Was it just about putting me in my place?” Hunter’s eyes widened as he understood. “I made you feel like a slut, didn’t I?” he asked, a laugh in his voice.

Hunter knew he’d struck a nerve when Hawk’s eyes narrowed in indignation. “You did, didn’t you? When I wrung you out and you didn’t know whether to beg for more or tap out—you felt like a slut.” Gods, it felt good to use that word in reverse. “You figured out you were my bitch.”

How had Hunter never understood what he’d become? He wasn’t here to be a bottom slut. He was here to be the Hunter that made his prey wet their pants with need. “You and everyone else in SPIT,” he continued, haughtily, “the Beast Tamers’ bitches. Every underhanded trick you pulled to make me a begging bottom again, it was all to prove I was your bitch and not the other way around. But you couldn’t say it, because then everyone would know. Oh, this is rich—”

Hawk’s hand snapped out and grabbed Hunter by the chin. “Shut up,” Hawk spat. “You know what you and Chase did to the seniors? You made them weak. You made Caspian weak. But I never fell for it. I just took it as a challenge. Your place—”

Hawk stopped, looking past Hunter at the frat bottoms on the other side of the kitchen. Hunter glanced back, and it seemed like everyone was either looking directly away from Hawk or directly at him with encouragement. A picture suddenly came together in Hunter’s mind, of SPIT on the verge of tyranny by Hawk and his supporters.

But Hawk must still have had dissenters to appease, because he seemed to calm down. “You’re lying to yourself, Hunter. That isn’t how it is at all. I know you, and I know Chase. When you weren’t bossing us around on party days, you seemed like you loved your job. I’m making a SPIT that’s willing to keep up with you, a SPIT that can satisfy you, because you two? You are the biggest sluts around.”

Hunter glared at Hawk, but Hawk stared back with a confident grin, then pulled Hunter’s face in close and spoke into his ear. “You think you aren’t? Prove it. The naiads are calling, Hunter,” he murmured, sing-song. “They rejected our previous deal because they think we’re withholding you. If you’re really not a SPIT slut anymore, go convince them. It’s your fault they’re back in the main pool. It’s your job to fix it.”

Hunter felt a sudden pang of need. Hawk had caught him out. The naiads. He remembered hours spent under their spell, hours he’d given to them, when his sense of self faded and his only purpose was to bottom. The high they brought was spiritually addictive. It was unfair to even bring them up in a conversation like this. Every answer he could provide would prove Hawk right.

What better way to prove Hawk wrong?

“Fine,” Hunter said, crossing his arms. “I’ll take that challenge.” He scoffed at the satisfied look in Hawk’s eyes. “You think I want to Iose. It’s your turn to shut up and watch.” He pulled away from Hawk and strode out of the kitchen, Hawk on his heels.

He waltzed through the house and yard with purpose, looking for Chase, the ace up his sleeve. They were a team. If things went badly, he’d need his best friend at his side. With no Chase in sight, Hunter brushed his wrist to activate his holographic phone screen—no notifications. He willed a message off to his friend, but Chase would only get the notification if he bothered to check his phone, and it was bad manners to do that while you were fucking.

There was one person that could help, here. Caspian.

He tried very hard not to look at his ex, but their eyes met for a moment—and then lingered. Caspian was dreamy, full stop. His cheeks and chest were covered in freckles, his whole body gave off his radiant smile, and he had red hair from the carpet to the drapes.^[4] Hunter missed him, even though, Romeo knew, Caspian didn’t deserve it.

“Peen,” he said, sharply. “Find me Chase.”

Fuck. Why had Hunter used his pet name? Caspian snapped to attention and walked off, and in the corner of his eye Hunter watched Hawk fume. Hunter ignored him.

He knelt at the edge of the pool, sitting on his haunches. Hawk settled behind him. Sure as day, the three naiads from the front yard pool had appeared here instead, transporting themselves through their mysterious connection to water. Their heads broke the surface, water dripping down their black hair and dark, blue-tinged skin. The three naiads were arranged in an arc, all facing him with their subtle, seductive smiles, and the one in the centre, with a buzzcut, full lips, and a youthful face, spoke first.

“If we’d known Hunter would be here,” he said, “we wouldn’t have made a deal without you included in it.”

“We’ve missed you,” said the one on the left, with long, straight hair, eyeliner, and epicanthal folds, which made his eyes look thinner. “And we want you.”

“We want to satisfy that hunger of yours,” said the one on the right, with dreads and a golden nose ring. “We’ll fill you until you can take no more, and then do it again and again.”

Hunter hesitated, but he had worked hard over the last several months to wean himself off the addiction. Part of that meant setting boundaries. Naiads would do anything to pull you into their embrace—including agreeing to and honouring terms. These naiads had offered none. “I’m not for sale anymore,” Hunter said, unwilling to even start the negotiation. “I’m not a frat bottom—SPIT can’t peddle me out to you in exchange for favours. You get what you agreed to.”

“Don’t be so unkind,” said Buzzcut, tutting. Naiads didn’t easily give their names, so it was easier to use distinctive physical features. “We’ve been good to you all these years.”

“All we want is to gangbang you,” said Eyeliner, his crude words laced with their siren song, drawing images to the surface unbidden: eager caresses from six hands, long tongues devouring him in underwater kisses, a dick in his mouth and two in his ass, prehensile so that they fit perfectly and hit all his sweet spots.

“Three hours,” said Nose Ring. “Tomorrow morning.”

That was a recipe for instant addiction. The power in naiad cum gushed through your spirit like a river, drowning your thoughts and sensations in bliss and slowly carving channels into your soulstuff that could only be satisfied by more of them. Three hours would mean load after load after load, reopening all the channels Hunter had allowed to shut.

“Too long,” Hunter said, at once, and then cursed himself for not saying ‘no’ outright. Before they latched on like the piranhas they were, he said, “The way I see things, I’ve been good to you all these years. You’d be lucky if I offered you one load each.”

Disappointment flashed across their faces, gone in an instant, but Hunter had seen it. He realised with a thrill that he had leverage. The naiads needed him as bad as anyone in SPIT.

“Come now,” said Buzzcut, with a full-lipped pout. “You love how our dicks make you feel. We fit you so perfectly.” The memory those words drew out was so vivid he could almost feel it—two warm, wet dicks, more giving than most, easing his hole open, sliding in deep, hitting his p-spots one by one, all those little bulbs that made anal so utterly blissful.

“Two hours, no lower,” Nose Ring said, grinning confidently. They thought they had him.

“One hour, two loads each,” Hunter offered, before he knew he was offering it. What was wrong with him? Why would he even consider it? He could feel Hawk’s satisfaction radiating behind him, but that drove him to try and take some power back in the exchange. “I know what you love. You love that no matter how high I am, I can still keep up with you.”

“And we deserve it, for what we give you,” Nose Ring teased. “You miss the way we please you.”

“An hour is nothing,” Eyeliner said. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“We won’t tire like your brothers do,” said Buzzcut. “You can take and take and we will give and give.”

Every time Hunter cast off an image, another came to replace it. Hunter knew, in the back of his mind, that if he wasn’t so much of a slut, he’d have an easier time ignoring the song. But he found himself leaning just slightly over the water, his heart racing.

“I spent the whole summer weaning myself off of naiad cum,” Hunter said, surprising himself with the desperation in his voice. His world was shrinking to the naiads, their voices, their promises, their song. He needed to pull away, but he couldn’t. “I don’t want to go home and do it again,” he pled.

“Then don’t,” said Buzzcut, his melodic voice becoming yet more seductive. “You can just stay in the pool with us.” They wanted him as a thrall, he realised, numbly, while a distant voice in his head sounded the alarm.

“You never have to leave,” continued Nose Ring. Hunter could feel his will to resist slipping away as palpably as his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he’d lost. How did it come to this?

Eyeliner sang, “You should just fall in now.” Hunter felt himself relaxing, his mind running in circles and leaving his body behind as his weight pulled him ever closer to the naiads’ waiting arms—

A familiar, raspy voice cut through the fog with a melody of its own. “Hunter,” the deep voice sang, touching something deep in Hunter, a trained response. “Here, kitty kitty.” The words clinched it. Hunter straightened up and turned his head, suddenly curious and intent, the naiads forgotten behind him. And there he saw Chase.

His best friend, his frat brother, glued at the hips since they’d met as juvies, was on his knees in the grass, an arm around Hawk’s neck, squeezing tight. Hawk was trying to struggle towards Hunter, but now he froze, looking like a trickster caught in the act. Chase’s^[5] other hand was out, his fingers rubbing together like he had a treat.

In this state, as Chase’s pet, Hunter had learned for the first time that his affection was a privilege to be given, not an expectation. And Chase had earned it a hundred times over.

Hunter leaned toward his master and lapped at the presented digits, suckling on them as Chase slid them into his mouth. “What a sweet panther,” Chase cooed, pulling his fingers out and scritching behind Hunter’s ear. Hunter practically vibrated from the attention, preening like he was the centre of the world and his master had put him there.

“Do these naiads own you, Panther?” Chase asked.

“You own me, master,” Hunter said, pleased with his pet name. When Chase called him Panther, Hunter felt more like a predator than ever. “Only because I let you.”

“And I’m very grateful. You’re the best kitten a guy like me could ask for. And my panther knows that, doesn’t he?” Chase asked, rubbing Hunter’s short, wavy hair. “Have these naiads earned you?”

Rather than reply, Hunter smiled and turned back around to the naiads, and at the way they flinched, he knew they could see the predator in his eyes.

“One week from now, at noon,” Hunter said, “you will appear at the pool where I live and wait for me. You’ll tell me exactly how much you need my holes. If I feel convinced, then I’ll give you…”

The naiads waited with bated breath.

“One load each,” Hunter said, repeating his previous deal. They looked chagrinned, but Hunter knew they would accept.

“How do we find you?” asked Buzzcut, as if to postpone his inevitable concession.

“I’ll be in the water other days. You can look for my spirit, but you’d better not show up until the scheduled time.”

“Do we still get the SPIT boys tomorrow?” asked Eyeliner, hopefully.

Eyeliner’s expression gave Hunter a little thrill. He had power over these mysterious water-dwellers. They couldn’t resist their lust for him. He acted like he was thinking about it, but he’d always found it funny when SPIT bruisers got thrown into the deep end. So— “Yeah, sure,” he said, with a shrug.

“Deal,” said Nose Ring, immediately.

“Good choice,” Hunter sang, and then he stood up. “I’ll see you three soon. And you’ll have my full attention.” He savoured their looks of desire before he turned around.

Chase now had two arms around Hawk, one on his neck and one just below his chest, pressing his dragonscale muscles into Hawk’s skin. Hawk was struggling less, and there was a restrained look of pleasure on his face, like he was trying to hide the effect that Chase’s erogenous body paint had on him.

“He was tryna push you into the water, Panther,” Chase said, looking up at Hunter, on his knees with Hawk. “What should we do with him?”

In a sudden motion, Hawk wrenched himself forward, surprising Chase enough that Hawk managed to pull himself away completely. He shook himself, absently touching the spot under his chest where Chase’s arm had been, and then said confidently, “You two have spent too much time away from SPIT. You don’t understand how much you loved to submit.”

“Maybe we’ve changed,” Chase offered. “Did you think of that?”

Hawk ignored him. “Lots of frat bottoms forget while they’re gone over the summer. You know what we do to remind them of their place? We knock them up.”

“You and what army?” Hunter asked. “We can wrap any brother in SPIT around our fingers. Including you. You’ll give us what we want, and only that.”

“Oh, I know what you two want,” Hawk said. “You spend much longer here, and you’ll remember.” And then he stalked away.

“Sorry I didn’t see you, Panther,” Chase said, wrapping an arm around Hunter and squeezing his back. Pleasure fizzed into existence where Chase’s dragonscale met Hunter’s skin. “I was tryna get this guy to wrestle me down.”

“You’re fine, master,” Hunter said, kissing Chase beside the lips and drawing his tongue up Chase’s jaw. Being near his best friend soothed Hunter’s racing heart. “You came running when I called. That’s enough for me. Do you still want a fight?”

“Yeah,” Chase said, shifting on his feet. “I know you wanted to slut out, Panther, but… maybe we should go hunting?” he asked, hopefully.

“I’ve changed my mind.” Hunter’s eyes flicked to Caspian, who stood apart from them, trying not to watch. Caspian and Chase had trained him together. The redhead was his master as much as Chase was. But it seemed Caspian knew better than to try and stake that claim. Hunter looked back at Chase. “The sophomores don’t seem to understand who they’re dealing with. Let’s find us some fresh prey, shall we?”

Caspian shifted forward, but Hunter glared at him before he could run his stupid mouth. He stalked toward the frat house with Chase at his heels, but he could feel Caspian’s eyes on his back.

Caspian and the rest of SPIT. They all wanted him. Let them earn it.

Chase wished Hunter hadn’t looked at their ex that way. Caspian wasn’t just anyone. He’d been everything to Chase—Hunter too—and now, to Hunter, Caspian was nothing.

Chase loved Hunter more than everything, so when Hunter got hurt, Chase stood with him.

But Chase had needs, too. Where he and Hunter lived, most of the tops weren’t all that physically aggressive. They manhandled him, they facefucked him, they knew how to pin him down and pound his ass into a crater. But they weren’t like frat bruisers.

Before Chase had been a frat bottom, he’d been a bruiser. Turns out, a bruiser who wants to lose doesn’t last very long in frat warfare without getting knocked up. But, even as a frat bottom, Chase still wanted to lose.

He started asking his brothers to wrestle him down before they fucked him. He always promised to lose, but he wanted to feel subdued first. They’d been sceptical of a frat bottom that didn’t want to be treated as free-use, but they’d quickly learned the thrill of fighting someone bigger than them, stronger than them, and still guaranteed to lose.

Caspian had done it better than anyone else in the frat, so on graduation night, when Caspian offered to spend his life with them, Chase was ready to jump at the chance. But something Caspian said that night had nearly destroyed Hunter. Chase had spent the next six months trying to forget about Caspian, but the tops in his neighbourhood really didn’t get it.

Unfortunately, the SPIT sopohomores didn’t seem to get it either. Chase and Hunter had approached guy after guy, but the excitement each sophomore had at being pursued by SPIT’s most coveted bottoms faded when they realised they’d have to fight Chase for it. Where were their balls? He knew he was asking for something weird, but that weird? They already fought for holes all the goddamn time.

Hunter must have sensed Chase’s frustration, because, as they stood in the middle of the vast, well-lit living room, he asked: “Want me to take over, master? I can make you a hunting dog. They’ll fight for their pride if I order you to bowl them over.” Hunter looked all too pleased with the idea.

“Thanks, Panther, but I’d rather they say ‘yes’ first,” Chase said, hearing the dejection in his own voice. “It’s more fun when they’re totally on board.”

“With what Hawk’s doing to this frat, I doubt any of them will,” Hunter said, shaking his head. “They have entirely too much stud pride. They don’t want to have to fight for it. They don’t want to be seen melting for me.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, dude!” Chase said, bumping Hunter in the arm. “I mean, kitten. Bruisers want pleasure too. We just have to find one who understands what we’re offering.” He shrugged his shoulders, turning and looking around at the broad windows, the props, the signs for the games, the furniture piled in one corner, and the frat boys milling around it all.

He’d come to this barbecue to get a replacement for Caspian, at least temporarily. But Caspian was here, and nobody else wanted to play his role. What the fuck was he supposed to do?

The answer arrived when someone finally had the balls to approach them first.

“Am I the first guy brave enough for the Chase and the Hunter?” asked a wavy-haired, dirty blond twunk who could only be described as a golden retriever. With warmly tanned fair skin, a sweet, glowing smile, and a friendly tone to his voice, he looked like the sweetest guy in existence—and with his lean, perfectly toned muscle, he looked like he could fuck.

Chase felt his mood surge—as it always did when someone finally decided they wanted him. He turned to the new guy, crossing his arms under his chest and grinning. “Most of the other sophomores are getting cold feet. I don’t think they believe they can beat me,” he said, casually bouncing his scale-painted pecs over his corded forearms. In his peripheral vision, he felt the eyes of watchers—people wanted a show, huh? Maybe they’d learn what they really wanted from a frat bottom. Still, he kept his full attention on his gorgeous catch. “But you got an advantage, don’t you?”

The frat boy grinned knowingly. Corded ropes were painted across his body: two helices twisted around each of his arms and legs, two bands of rope framed his pecs, three wrapped around his chest. One end of each rope had the head of a beige snake with a red, sinuous tongue. “You can fight all you want,” he said, “but that’ll just snare you tighter and tighter. Wanna play?” he asked, extending a hand to shake. “My name’s River.”

Chase felt a thrill in his bones as he took the bait, giving River more than just his hand. He clasped River^[6] at the base of his forearm, their arms locking. River gave Chase a surprised smile, and then Chase felt it: the ghostly touch of smooth coils, wrapping ever so gently around his forearm. Chase tried to softly pull his arm away, and the coils responded by constricting, resisting to match the force he applied.

River winked at Chase. “Can’t take your hands off me, huh?”

“Can you?” Chase asked. He knew what would happen if he wrenched his arm away: the coils would pass invisibly through his skin and cut through his spirit in a way most frat bruisers would regret. But he wasn’t going to throw away the game that easily. Maintaining his grip on River’s arm, he suddenly yanked the frat boy inward. Before River could react, his back was flush with Chase’s torso, their arms still linked up to the elbows. Chase pinned River’s free arm with his own, trapping it against River’s abs, and he felt another familiar thrill. This was what he’d been missing.

“I dare you to let me go yourself,” Chase teased, tugging at the coils around his forearm. Only River could dismiss them.

“And lose an advantage while I have it?” River asked. But he was looking at something other than Chase. Chase tried to follow his gaze and noticed that one of the frat boys who’d been looking had turned around, acting like he hadn’t seen a thing.

River craned his neck to look back at Chase with that charming smile, and continued, “The only way you’re getting out of those bonds is if you break them yourself.”

Chase had his dick pressed right up against River’s bare ass. “And since I’m not doing it… guess we’re dancin’, huh?” Chase started to sway back and forth, grinding between River’s cheeks. He glanced briefly at Hunter, who was looking at the watcher who had turned around. Had Kitten accidentally given that guy the stink-eye? Hunter’s stares could get intense.

“Upstairs,” River said earnestly.

“What, so nobody sees you lose?” Chase asked, leaning in to nip River’s earlobe.

“I’m not worried about that. We both know this fight is going to end with you face down, ass up, right?” River asked, radiating the good cheer of someone who just wanted to play—and the casual confidence of someone who knew he could win. Why was that so familiar? “I just want you two all to myself.”

Chase met Hunter’s eyes abruptly. For a moment there, besides the accent, River had sounded just like Caspian. Suddenly, they both wanted him more. Hunter bit his thick lip, appearing conflicted—and then he nodded.

“Careful what you wish for,” Chase said, and then, with his much greater bulk, he shoved them both toward a nearby flight of stairs. “Lead the way, dude!”

They climbed the stairs in a haphazard rush, Chase glued to River’s back and their right arms tied together. Hunter followed behind in case they fell, but there was nothing to worry about. Who in SPIT hadn’t made out while climbing up these stairs? Chase counted the steps under his feet, remembering exactly which would creak. They hurried down the hall and River led them into his room. Just before the doors shut, they heard those creaking stairs again.

River nudged the door shut and gestured with a hand. An EDM track with pounding bass filled the room. River tried to tie up Chase’s leg with his, but Chase casually kicked it away.

“C’mon, you think I’m just gonna let you have that?” Chase asked, as he shoved River forward into the centre of the room. He tightened his free arm around River’s, the dragonscale on his bicep and forearm pressing into River’s skin. As he flexed his arm, his spirit swelled through the scales and massaged River’s own until the bruiser couldn’t help but moan.

“You like how that feels?” Chase asked, pulling back on both River’s arms, bending River’s head back, pulling it toward one of his pits. “Y’know, alumni still have bottom pheromones. If you don’t want a whiff of mine, better let go of my arm before you make out with my armpit…”

River’s nose passed under Chase’s pit, and with a reluctant “Damn it!” he let go of Chase’s arm and pulled away abruptly, yanking his other arm free too. The spiritual bonds disappeared from Chase’s skin. “Okay, so you know how to fight someone with snakes,” River said, wry but cheery as ever. “All the more fun when I make you mine anyway, right?”

Chase laughed. River radiated Caspian’s eager, playful confidence, and Chase loved it. This alone made the visit worth it. “What did you think? That I was gonna make it easy?” And yet he couldn’t wait until he finally let River win. He’d missed this energy in his doms.

“You never know,” River said. “Maybe you’d have fallen head-over-heels and let me pound you once you finished tumbling.”

“Never.”

River suddenly surged forward, and their hands met and clasped as they began to grapple. In a straight strength-for-strength battle, Chase would win, no shot.

But River was fast. He dropped the grapple, surging forward for a shoulder tackle that knocked Chase off balance. Chase wheeled as River slipped behind him to catch him by the arms… and the binds caught him again, now on both arms instead of just one.

The way Chase was still wheeling, his arms tugged hard against the spiritual coils. They strengthened in kind, biting into his skin with hot, flaring bliss, but they didn’t break. River went for a full nelson, pulling Chase’s arms up, and Chase fought for his freedom while trying not to break the bonds. He could overpower River. It would be so easy.

But he had to give River something. Chase gave in just enough to let River finish the hold. Elbows snaked around Chase’s pits, hands clasped on the back of his head, and River ground into Chase’s ass.

“Your turn,” River sang. His chest was flush with Chase’s back. Three pairs of warm, gentle binds slowly began to creep around Chase’s sides, slithering across his skin, and once the pairs met in the middle of his torso, the submission hold would be complete. ‘Submission’ was the operating word. If Chase broke these bonds, all the thoughts of fighting might just… melt away.

“That’s a good frat bottom,” River purred. “I was wondering when you were gonna drop the act and bend over. I know what you want.”

Chase’s stomach hollowed into a pit. That wasn’t in the script. That wasn’t Caspian. “And what’s that?” Chase asked.

River answered in Chase’s ear with a voice darker than Caspian could ever manage. “You want someone to manhandle you down and put you in your place. All this fight, and you’re just a paper tiger.”

So close, and yet so far. The illusion was broken. River wasn’t Caspian. “I don’t think you get how the hunt works, River,” Chase murmured, his voice darker to match River’s. He felt a surge of frustration, giving him the energy to resist submitting this easily. “We fight until you make me feel like I’ve lost. And all I feel right now is a little snake who thinks it can make me trip.”

Chase was running out of time fast. He engaged his lats and pulled his arms downward, his superior strength forcing River’s arms to budge. The coils on his arms tightened rapidly until they were sinking into his skin, pushing on his spirit, desperately trying to hold him, his spirit trembling with erotic need and that flaring, biting feeling. “Hrrrrngh!” he grunted, and then he forcibly yanked his arms against those coils, accepting the punishment for breaking them.

Instead of snapping, the invisible binds cleaved through his spirit, passing into his arms and out the other side, shredding his spirit into a storm of overwhelming, electric bliss. The storm billowed through his arms like a cloud, then two lightning bolts shot up through his collar, up his neck, sending crackling sparks up into his head that faded away.

Chase staggered forward, freed from River’s hold, but the damage was done. He shook off his arms, turned toward River, and felt a sudden urge to… submit. He contemplated charging, but instead he wanted to approach with open arms and mouth. He contemplated a grapple, but instead he wanted to be pinned again, face in River’s pit. He wanted to keep fighting, but giving in suddenly seemed inevitable, necessary.

River crossed his arms and stood there, waiting with a smug expression. Gone was the boundless, unbothered mirth Chase remembered from Caspian. “Changed your tune yet?” River asked.

Chase laughed, shrugging his shoulders as if shrugging off the gnawing urge that now rested in his brain. He got back into a fighting stance, firmly ignoring the poisonous need that would eventually submit him to River. “You think that’s enough to make me give in? Keep it up and maybe I’ll submit a little faster.”

River’s face twisted into a scowl, just for an instant. Chase felt bad—this was supposed to be fun for both of them. But then River grinned again, charged, and moments later they were rolling on the ground.

“So… is there something going on between you and the Brats?”

Caspian turned abruptly to look at Hawk, whom he had been trying to ignore. Since Hunter and Chase had left him behind, Caspian had been sitting in a lawn chair and staring at the festivities, looking way too depressed. Hawk had settled down near him, fidgeting in his seat, not getting the same hint every other SPIT brother had. Caspian wanted to be left alone. But he’d have to deal with Hawk first.

“Why do you ask that?” he asked, wearing a blank expression.

“Because they’ve been avoiding you since they got here,” Hawk said, flatly.

Caspian’s chest tightened and he looked away. Leave it to Hawk to tell it like it was. “We, ah… we fell out.” It was hard to be anything but honest under Hawk’s piercing stare.

“Why?” Hawk asked, sounding disgruntled. “You had them eating out of your hands all through senior year. You were sickeningly in love with them.”

Something about Hawk’s wording rubbed Caspian wrong. “What do you care?” he snapped. “Jealous, Hawk? Too busy bruising to waste your time dating?” But it had been a waste of time, hadn’t it? His friends scattered across the country, his lovers vanished from his life. Caspian’s expression softened and he turned to Hawk with an apologetic smile.

“Frat warfare is what binds us,” Hawk said, visibly controlling himself. “Maybe—”

Caspian raised his hand to shut Hawk up. “We’ve hashed this out a dozen times already. I can’t go back and change how I led. I wouldn’t. You can do whatever you like, whether or not I agree.”

Hawk took a deep breath, then steadied himself. “Alright. Will you tell me what happened?”

Caspian tried to resist the idea, but he knew he desperately needed to tell the story. Since he’d moved out, there’d been no one to talk to face to face who would really understand. When he’d visited his brothers, he’d been unable to broach the topic. It felt too good to be around them, so why kill the mood?

But Hawk had killed the mood for them. So why not finish the job? With as much pain as relief, Caspian began.

“It was at graduation. At the end of it, when we’d all walked and we were celebrating, I found them. Hunter stood in front of me, looking like he knew what I was gonna say. And I think part of me knew I shouldn’t say it. But I did anyway; I asked if they wanted to come and live with me as my frat bottoms.

“It was pouring rain, because it might as well be, right? Still remember the way he shook, like I’d lit the fuse and he was a firework. When he blew up… he told me he was done being a frat bottom. He said… ‘I thought you understood that.’” Caspian trailed off, his mouth still a little open. He still felt so guilty, his stomach twisting with it—but he didn’t really know what he’d done wrong, not even now.

“Lying his ass off,” Hawk said, derisively. “Here he is again, acting like he never left. Did you say anything to him? At least try to convince him otherwise?”

Caspian shook his head. “He didn’t let me get a word in edgewise. If I pushed back… maybe. I think he was struggling. I think part of him did want it, but he wasn’t listening.”

“Maybe now’s your chance,” Hawk said, abruptly. There was newfound intensity in his eyes, like he’d latched onto something and couldn’t let go. “SPIT misses the Brat Tamers, and we want them back.”

“Back?” Caspian asked, incredulously. But the idea formed in an instant: Caspian as alumni trainer, Hunter and Chase living in SPIT as frat bottoms, ripe for a rekindled romance. “I—we’ve started whole new lives,” he said, helplessly.

“Just listen, Caspian,” Hawk urged passionately, leaning forward. “If they’re here, don’t you think they want to be here?” Hawk barrelled on before Caspian could answer. “There’s a hunt on, Caspian. Every Seeder in the frat is in on it. You should join, too.”

Caspian recoiled in shock. He opened his mouth but—but he couldn’t find the words. Gods, he wanted them back. His stomach twisted tighter with guilt as he asked, “What kind of hunt?”

“To win, you have to knock up both of them. One after another. You have to be sure you can do it to both, or the punishment is serious. If you win, you get dibs on them whenever you want them for the rest of the year.”

That reward didn’t make any sense. That wasn’t how the Beast Tamers worked. Did Hawk understand who he was dealing with?

Before Caspian could object, Hawk continued, fervently, “You could have them back, Caspian. If you win, if you stay here like I asked, they’ll be all yours.”

He could give them everything they wanted. If there was no one for Caspian to wrestle with in his neighbourhood, was there anyone for Chase? Who could fight him like Caspian? And Hunter—oh, gods, Hunter—had told him, in the weeks before graduation, how stressed he was about entering a world where he couldn’t be a frat bottom, couldn’t act like a slut. They’d be so much happier here.

But they had lives too. “You’re talking like they’re gonna stay after tonight.”

Hawk snorted. “Once they’re Surrogates, they’re not gonna want to leave and you know it.”

Caspian bit his lip. Hawk was right. To be knocked up by a Seeder was nothing short of life-changing: for fifteen weeks, a Surrogate would be addicted to bottoming, attached to their Seeder, eager for the same cum that bred them. There was no baby involved, not like in the old world, but this kind of “pregnancy” was nothing to scoff at.

And it would trap Hunter and Chase in SPIT as surely as the sun rose.

Caspian’s heart started to pound. “Do they know?” Caspian asked, his voice quiet. It didn’t matter if Hunter had struggled with leaving. He’d made his choice in the end. SPIT had collectively decided to make Hunter take it back. They couldn’t just do that.

Hawk shrugged. “Maybe they don’t know there’s a hunt on, but if they don’t know we want to knock them up and keep them, then they have a blind spot as big as their dicksucking lips.”

Caspian stared daggers at Hawk.

Hawk fidgeted, then finally said, “Well—alright. At least one of us is hoping to take them by surprise.”

“Who?” Caspian asked, with sudden urgency. If anything, if nothing else, Hunter and Chase had to know first.

“River,” Hawk said. “A sophomore. He thinks he can just wrestle them down and knock them up one after the other. Honestly, I don’t think he can actually win it. If he gets one that way, the other will know. But I doubt they’ll let him get away with it.”

“They don’t know,” Caspian said, his breath coming short. “You didn’t fucking tell them, Hawk, you’ll—” Hunter and Chase were in danger. Whatever the frat assumed about them, they weren’t perfect. If they didn’t know… “You’ll ruin the game,” he said, trying to couch things in Hawk’s terms. “One will get bred and the other won’t. I know them, Hawk.”

“You just want them for yourself,” Hawk said, with a laugh. “Fine. Go save your brats, Caspian. Just don’t tell them about the hunt.”

Caspian rose abruptly to his feet, and as he strode urgently toward the house, he looked back one last time to glimpse a self-satisfied look on Hawk’s face. He ignored it and just swung open the door, scanning the main hallway for a glimpse of his friends. He could try texting them, but they rarely replied to him, and they’d have to check their phones anyway to get the notification. He just had to find them. He ducked into the library, but there was no sign of the men on all the pillows and cushions. No sign in the grand hall, nor the dining room, and he knew the kitchen was a waste of time. Fuck—where were they?

He grabbed someone’s shoulders and pulled them aside. “You,” he urged, trying not to growl. “Have you seen the Beast Tamers in here? River? All three together?”

“I—I did,” stammered the frat boy, “But I don’t know where they are now!”

“Where did they go?” Caspian demanded, shaking the frat boy in his own agitation.

The frat boy’s eyes widened. “I don’t know, man! I think they went toward the stairs? River’s room is on the second floor!”

Caspian let go and hurried for the stairs in the main hallway, calling back a “Thanks!” just before he rounded a corner. And then he was storming up the stairwell, breathing harder as he felt the time ticking down. With no one immediately visible, he jogged to the other end of the hallway where it turned right, and there, a few yards away from him, three young-looking frat brothers stood around a door whose placard bore five distinct letters.

All three looked at him—then, with him, at the door—then back at him. Caspian cracked his knuckles, calling on the Bruiser’s Blessing. He couldn’t tell whether the thrill in his bones was fear or glee. This was a fight. It felt like the glory days again. But Hunter and Chase…

These three boys were all that stood between him and his lovers. Three fresh bruisers, huh? He could… he could take them.

He had to.