Chapter Text
In the corner of a loud frat party, Ron quietly sipped on a cheep beer, watching his friends eagerly play beer pong.
Now that he was in his last year of college, at least of his undergrad, he was much easier to convince to go to parties. To really live that college lifestyle in it's "last moments" even though he already planned on going to grad school after. This was like the last time where it wasn't all too serious.
"Hey Ron, you gotta come play!", one of his friends yelled.
Before Ron could shake his head and thankfully deny the offer, a big red head jumped up: "I want to play!"
The guy had already grabbed a ping pong ball and squinted his eyes to focus on his target.
When he successfully landed the ping pong in one of the red plastic cups, Ron rolled his eyes annoyed.
It was like he always said: he wanted to be invited so he could be the one rejecting the offer. Who did this rando think he was to reject the offer for him??
Ron furrowed his eyebrows, grumbling something about respect and crossing his arms.
His eyes drilled into his newly found archnemesis. He was tall, about 6ft if Ron had to guess, well groomed and build like a body builder on a bulk. Or maybe just a very hunky guy? Definitely stronger and bigger than him.
Against his will, Ron caught himself finding pleasure in watching that guy play this stupid drinking game. His athletic movements were very mesmerizing just like the way his hair would fly from left to right and how he would wipe the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Hey Ron?", his roommate, Simon tapped his arm, "I think I'm going back to the dorm… are you coming?"
"Huh? Uhh, no man, I'm good. I think I'm gonna stay for a while", he pointed at the beer pong game as if it was a exhilarating sports match.
"Is everything alright? Are they keeping you hostage?", Simon laughed.
Ron hated when people made observations like that. He just wanted to live if life in peace. Yes, he didn't like parties and yes he was staying at this one longer than usual. Why did he have to explain himself?
He smiled without his eyes and nodded, which was Ron speak for 'leave me alone or I'm going to make you feel the consequences of not doing so', universally recognized by his friends.
"Nahh, really, I just want to stay for a bit longer"
"Alright, see you", Simon waved before leaving.
Ron hadn't even registered that. His attention was already diverted back to beer-pong-guy. Beer-pong-guy's shirt had slipped out of the pants it was previously neatly tucked into from all the jumping around.
"PARTY-FRICKING-HARDY", he yelled, trowing his arms into the air after nailing yet another shot.
Ron's eyes fixated on the now exposed stomach. A little pale but graced by a happy trail. He was glad that no one could see him blush in the darkness of his corner. Ron hadn't felt like that in a while. Maybe back in high school in the changing rooms before P.E.
It wasn't news to Ron that he was bisexual. It didn't bother him too much either. He had had a girlfriend all throughout high school and they only broke up because they were both moving away for college.
To Ron, his bisexuality meant that he would get flustered talking to good looking guys every once in a while but at the end of the day he still wanted to end up with a woman. It would be easier that way and no one had to even know that he liked men that way!
When he looked up again, away from his thoughts, beer-pong-guy was suddenly leaning over him.
"Hey, I'm Bruce", he reached out his hand to shake Ron's.
"Ron", he replied both drily and not able to articulate anything beyond that.
"Your friends told me to get you to help us out a bit", he lightly boxed against Ron's shoulder, "you know, we're all already a bit–", he paused for a hick up, "tipsy"
Ron wanted nothing more than to shake his head and say 'no thanks, I'll keep watching' but there was something about the icy blue eyes of Bruce glaring right at him that made him lose his usual grump.
"Sure, why not", Ron jumped off the counter he'd been sitting on.
Bruce grabbed his shoulder from behind, following him to the designated beer-pong-table. His other arm he threw up into the air, triumphing about persuading Ron.
Ron had accidentally landed in Bruce's choke hold. Not figuratively speaking, no, Bruce's arm had literally wrapped around Ron's neck while he was busy yelling something cocky into the crowd.
The smell of a shirt that probably hadn't been washed for a while combined with Bruce's sweat lingered in Ron's nose. That was what he got for giving into the temptation of being liked by this random guy. He wrinkled his nose and scoffed.
Right when Ron wanted to slip out under Bruce's arm to disappear into his dorm, someone handed him a ping-pong. Whatever. He was going to miss, everyone would sigh in disappointment and they would let him leave.
Desultory, Ron aimed and threw. To his own surprise, the ping-pong landed perfectly in one of the cups. Bruce high-fived him and suddenly everything went dark. In his memory at least.
The next morning, Ron woke up in the same disgusting frat house on a beer soaked couch. His shirt was almost completely unbuttoned and his tank top underneath covered in stains. He stretched, hitting one of his hands against an empty bottle.
"God damn it", he cursed.
Ron carefully tapped against his forehead once he noticed there was something stuck to it. He pulled it off, expecting a plastic wrapper but instead found a hastily written post-it note:
Dear King of Beer Pongian,
text me!
5410108700
XOXO, the other King of Beer Pongian
(it's Bruce in case you don't remember)
Ron scratched his head: "King of Beer Pongian, what kind of bullshit is that?"
He got off the couch, buttoning up his shirt in an effort to not look like someone's alcoholic dad walking across campus. On his way out through the hallway, he checked his hair in a mirror.
One of the major pros of keeping a well maintained buzz cut all year around was that, even now, it looked clean and not like he had just woken up from his first time getting black out drunk.
Good old Ron wisdom never failed him. Well, except when a cute guy put his arms around him apparently. His eyes rested on the note in his hands. Against his better judgment, he slipped it into the pockets of his chinos, making a mental note to text Bruce later. Maybe something sassy like:
"Here's the King of Beer Pongian and I'm degrading you to be my servant"
Never mind, too kinky. But he'd come up with something…