Here there be whump

Frat house box boy part 2!

Let’s see how our boy fares with the various members of the house. credit for this universe goes to @sweetwhumpandhellacomf ​ and @shameless-whumper ​! ps i know some lovely current and past frat boys irl who do community service and are all around good folks lol no shade this is very much a boxoffice movie portrayal lol. I’ll do the tag list tomorrow thank you for those who asked to be tagged!!!!

heres part 1

“Just be glad it isn’t Bacardi this time.” One of the boys says dryly over his shoulder, turns back to the game.

He is. He’s grateful it’s just water. But they keep making him drink more every time their favorite team on the TV fumbles, every time they lose a point, even sometimes when they win. It doesn’t make sense, but it doesn’t have to. The point is they tell him to do something and he does it.

“How much is that now, Z2? Hold it up!”

Z2. The first letter and number of his BoxBoy serial ID. It’d stuck, and now they called him Z2, sometimes making beeping noises at him like a Star Wars droid. Except Alex. Alex just calls him Z.

He holds up the plastic gallon of water. Even three quarters empty, the weight of it makes his arm shake. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning. No one had offered him anything since then.

Last night they had a party, one of their all-night affairs that ended with the house in disarray and people he’s never seen passed out under tables, on the stairs. Even the front yard had been a mess. Part of his job is cleaning up after the parties, which he much preferred to being included in their games.

His hand still hurt from the game with the darts. He was told to stand beside the board and hold his hand up—  to keep it still even if one hit him. One had been thrown so hard it stuck right in the meat of his thumb. That got a round of raucous laughter. Even the pledges, freshmen who always looked so eager and nervous liked to join in. He was the only thing lower on the totem pole than they were.

Later, Alex found Z2 curled up on the floor at the foot of his bed and bandaged his hand for him. It took a half hour of gentle questions before Z2 could even formulate the story and tell him what had happened.

Alex rubbed antibiotic cream over the sore punctures, wrapped them in gauze. He’d stayed in Alex’s room that night, the sleeping bag and pillow bed Alex had made him on the floor of his closet. It felt safe there. Alex installed a hook-eye lock on the inside of the closet door for him, told him not to tell anyone about it. Only when he was inside and it was latched could he relax enough to truly sleep.

“Almost there.” Someone taunts.  “Can you get the gallon down before halftime?”

He whimpers, feeling the pressure on his bladder like an anvil, like a balloon about to burst.

One boy leans close to him. “You don’t have to drink any more of that.”

Z2 looks to his left and sees Dominic, a senior who’d set some sort of school record last semester for the football team. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with a mischievous look in his eyes that has always made Z2 nervous. He hadn’t realized how close he’d been sitting to him until just now, distracted by his own misery.

“How?” He whispers back.

“Just don’t if you don’t want to.”

Cheers erupt from the boys. Something’s gone right for their team. The team in white, he’s deduced from their noises of joy and dismay so far.

“I….” He bites his lip, embarrassed. “I really have to use the restroom.”

Dominic gives the smaller boy a once-over glance. His fraternity brothers would like nothing more than to know that information, to tell him no and taunt him, make him keep drinking the water until he wets himself in front of everyone.

Dominic leans in close again so no one else hears. “Hold it until halftime. I’ll get up for another beer and take you with me, alright?”

He feels a surge of gratefulness that stings the back of his eyes with tears. He hurries to blink them away. A round of let-down cries makes him jump.

“Come on, Z2. Take one for the team. Bottoms up, little bitch.” Cameron says.

Z2’s heart thuds in his chest. It feels like the water he’s drunk is in his throat, like his sloshing stomach couldn’t take another ounce. His bladder hurts, and he’s started tapping his heel to avoid having an accident right there in the living room among all of them.

“You deaf and stupid?” Cam asks. He’s the one who’d missed the dart board deliberately, aimed for Z2’s face instead, laughing as he flinched away to protect his eyes. Z2 was nervous around a lot of the boys, but feared Cameron above the rest.

On the rare occasion they were alone, Cam would beckon him close only to twist his arm behind his back in a way that made it feel like it was going to break, just to hear him yelp. He’d hold it there until he begged for mercy, and sometimes wait a little longer after that. The sight of him made Z2 flinch and look down at his feet. Only when Alex was around would Cam leave him alone, knowing Alex was fiercely protective of their BoxBoy. Cam would tease him, asking if they’d sealed the deal yet, if Alex had fucked him.

“You’re projecting again, Cam.” Alex would always reply, nonplussed.

But Alex wasn’t here to protect him right now.

“Drink. Up.” 

Z2 shakes his head. “I can’t.” He says quietly.

A few heads swivel in his direction.

“What’s the matter?” Cam stands, coming closer. “You not thirsty anymore? You’re always thirsty.” He presses the heel of his hand to Z2’s lower belly. He whimpers, squirming. “Gotta piss yet?”

“Leave him alone, Cameron.” Dominic says in a voice that begs no argument.

Cam lets off, laughing. “Little water never killed anybody.”

Dominic dips his head. “It has, actually. And I’d like to graduate without being involved in a lawsuit.”

“That’s what we got him for. No more lawsuits from pussy boy pledges.”

“Go use the restroom.” Dominic tells Z2. He looks at Cam flatly. “No one will follow you.”

Z2 gets up slowly, wincing at how badly he needs to relieve his bladder. When he comes back, as he knows he is expected to, he keeps quiet as possible and climbs onto the sofa next to Dominic… closer this time, holding his breath. Dominic might have only been helping him to annoy Cameron. He’s heard them arguing before.

But Dom lays a heavy arm around Z2’s skinny neck, pats him gently on the opposite shoulder. Z2 glances up at him and gets a little smirk, a nod that seems to say see? It’s alright. You’re alright.

He doesn’t know what would become of him without Alex, and apparently Dominic, who was the last guy he expected it from. He only hopes he doesn’t pay for it later.

this is actually my first foray into bbu. I haven’t read every single one I don’t think, so if I repeat a name of someone else’s OC im sorry, I’m stupid. I actually am not even sure no one’s done a frat one… so link me if you have, I’d love to read it lol. I used the left outside in the heat trope and (a little bit) the drugging from this post by @whumpthisway. thanks for the tag!

summary: The brothers in a college fraternity house infamous for rowdy partying decide to purchase their very own box boy. 

*****

“They left it outside. It’s like a hundred degrees out.”

“Are the trucks air conditioned? I mean, they have to be right? It’d kill ‘em otherwise.”

The words outside the box are muffled, but he tries to listen for any clue of his new surroundings. He’d stopped sweating hours ago, and wondered if it was simply because he didn’t have any more moisture in his body to afford. His tongue feels thick and dry inside his head.

 A cramp in his left calf keeps coming back, making him groan in pain, unable to stretch it or even massage it with his hands. His head falls back, exhausted. There’s a million ways that being outside the box could be worse than being inside, but right now he doesn’t care. His only thought is let me out. Please. Out.

More of the voices. Male. “Help me with this, would you? I think it’s… oh. Nope, here’s how it goes.”

With a metal click the pressure on the lid of the box gives, and the boy shrinks as tightly as he can away from it, ducking his head into the crooks of his arms. Sunlight spills inside as the lid is lifted away. He hides his eyes, suddenly unable to keep from trembling. 

Two boys- young men, really -are standing in a spacious living room, white walls and high ceilings. The blessedly chilled air of the house hits him like wave. The boys seem close to his own age, somewhere in their early twenties. They’re bigger than he is, though, with a look to their build that suggests they play a sport or like to frequent the gym.

“Oh, fuck.” Says one in a loose muscle tank, covering his nose with his elbow. He’s got dark hair in a careful fade and slicked back on top, his facial hair just as carefully kempt. “Is that vomit?”

The boy glances up at that, afraid he heard something like anger or disgust in his prospective new master’s voice. 

He did throw up— only because they’d given him a strange bright cocktail of fizzy medicine and held his nose to make him drink and then put him inside a box with little slats for air-holes and the motion of the truck had made him too sick to bear. His pink sick had long dried to the floor. 

The boy who’d pulled back groans, taking another step away. “I can’t with vomit, Al. You know that.”

“So go on then,” the other says irritably. He’s got short blond hair and a blue collared shirt with a logo on the chest, three funny looking letters. He’s looking at the boy inside the box with brows raised in something like concern. “It’s okay. Just a little throw-up, huh? It’s not a big deal. My name’s Alex. Can you hear me?”

The boy nods. Even the tiny movement of his head makes him dizzy, and he closes his eyes for a moment as the world tilts. 

“Here. I thought you might be thirsty.”

He flinches involuntarily as Alex lifts a water bottle close to his lips but leans forward, watching his new masters carefully as he lets the cool, sweet water past his cracked lips, into his parched mouth. He could cry with how good it tastes, and sucks on it shamelessly like a bottle until it’s gently tilted away. The dark haired boy gives a high-pitched titter, like something’s funny. 

“You can have more in a little bit.” Alex says gently. “You can have as much as you want, but you don’t want to get sick.”

Right. Of course not. He’d already gotten sick in his box and made one of them nearly gag as how disgusting he was. He looks down in shame. 

“There’s a manual.” The dark-haired one says, ripping it off the outside of the box and flipping through it as if something more interesting might fall from between the pages. “Yo, they know these like… positions. And he doesn’t have a name it’s just like…. ten numbers.”

“Yeah.” Alex says flatly. “I’ve seen the Youtube videos.”

He scrunches his face in confusion. “There’s Youtube videos?”

Alex ignores him. “I bet you’re ready to come out of there, aren’t you? Yeah. Can you take my hand?”

His voice is soft, coaxing. Although the instrument of his torture feels like a relatively safe place to cower, he knows he’s not to stay in the box. He’s been purchased, and for that there are reasons. He takes the blond boy’s outstretched hand, ducking to crawl outside. 

Alex looks to his friend. “He’s burning up, dude. Or am I crazy?” His voice gets sharper. “Paul. Will you feel?”

The dark haired boy, Paul, drops the manual carelessly to the floor, coming closer now that the dried vomit is left behind in the empty box. Still, the boy cringes from him as he touches the side of his cheek, his forehead. 

“Damn. Yeah he’s hot as fuck. God, why’s he naked? What’s with this company?”

Alex gives Paul a look before turning back to the boy. “How about a cool bath? You must be so hot. We didn’t know you were out there. They didn’t even ring the doorbell.”

He hasn’t been told be can speak, but he hasn’t been told he can’t either. Running the risk of a backhand slap to the mouth, he ventures quietly… “Uhm, Sirs? Which…which of you is my Master? Please?”

Paul snorts. “Sirs. I like him already. He’s funny.”

Alex smiles but it’s more like a grimace, almost guilty. “We uh… all the brothers in the house sort of… we pooled money to get you. We thought… well to be honest I was pretty wasted that night, so it’s a little hazy, but…”

“You’re like our house mascot.” Paul supplies, gesturing around the living room. He smiles with straight, white teeth. “We’ll go easy on you in initiation, though, since you didn’t exactly pledge. Wait til the guys get back, he’s better than the picture.”

The boy pales at that, wondering how many of them it is he belongs to, what they intend to do with him. He was incredibly nervous for one Master, let alone this. 

“It’s okay.” Alex says, sensing his subdued panic. “Don’t be freaked out. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

 He manages to whimper weakly before his calf muscle cramps violently again, and he nearly stumbles to the floor. Two pairs of hands catch him, hold him up. 

“Woah. Easy there.”

“Get him to the tub?”

“Yeah. Here, you take his feet. Ready?”

oh oh oh holyyy shittt I adore this!!! the poor poor box boy!! and the frat guys (who seem decent as well!!) ahhh :D I'm so happy the prompts list helped a bit as well oh gosh :D :D

hey @gimmethatsweetwhump @redstainedsocks check this out!!! I can't *wait* to see where you go with this! <3 <3