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You hadn’t been expecting to be dragged to some party by your friends. If you could even call them that. They hardly remembered your name half the time. But they deemed you their little guinea pig to see how much they could get away with. They’d been pestering you all week to get out of your dorm, to stop studying, and go wild for a night. They expected drinking, smoking, and doing backflips into the pool. Running wild for no other reason than “just because”.
But you’d much rather be in bed right about now instead of standing in a corner, nursing a half-full solo cup of mystery juice. You managed a few sips, but didn’t want to risk losing your senses in the unfamiliar environment by yourself. The blinding lights, thumping music, hoards of people pushing, dancing, shouting, and getting it on; it was all overwhelming. You really wish that you’d at least taken your own car. But Beth was insistent that you ride with her. So now you’re stuck here unless you want to walk home in miles of dirty slush left over from the winter.
Lost in thought about whether or not you could hitchhike back to your dormitory, you fail to notice the yelling coming from what you think is a living room. That is, until it hits you.
A ping pong ball. It hits you in the shoulder before plinking down to the floor. It bounces at your feet. When you shift your eyes upward, there’s a man in the entryway watching you expectantly.
His eyes are patient, and brown. His hair is feathered, windswept and a little wild as he flicks his head to get it out of his eyes. A green jersey is pulled taut across his shoulders, firm muscle and caramel skin sculpted like a Greek statue. You can see the vein that runs down his bicep, intercepting one of his many beauty marks as he holds out a kind hand. He offers you a smile. “Mind if I have that back, brah?”
Without question, you bend down, picking up the ping pong ball and toss it to him.
“Thanks.” He catches it, and waves it gently for emphasis. “You any good?”
“At what? Ping pong?”
“Beer pong,” he clarifies. “We need a sixth player.”
“Uhh..” you hesitate. Glancing around, you understand that Beth is nowhere to be seen. It’s not like you’re going home anytime soon. “Yeah, I’m pretty good.”
He nods his head towards the living room(?) and holds out his arm. “C’mon, then. And put that drink down. We’ve got the good stuff.”
Your solo cup is left behind, as you cautiously approach the man. His strong arm behind your back, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder blade, is like a barrier against the heated mass of bodies in the room. He pushes through, and the swarm parts for him like the Red Sea. When you’re almost through, you can see a clearing.
A ping pong table, surround by four other guys. There’s ten cups set up in a triangle formation at each end of the table, facing inwards. All that’s missing is the ball. Which the man at your side holds above his head with a brilliant smile. “Bros! I got the ball!” He pulls you against his side, jostling you almost affectionately. “And a new teammate!”
You’re immediately pulled into a big, strong group hug. These guys have no qualms with personal space, apparently. There’s bright smiles on their faces as they pat you heavily on the back.
“You’re a life-saver, bro!” one of them says. A dark man with locs and a beard. He still has an arm around your shoulders, with you being the perfect height to tuck comfortably against him. “We needed another player or else it wouldn’t have been fair.”
“Yeah!” A blond man with untamed curls practically slams into you in his excitement. His wide smile shows off a missing tooth, and he’s close enough you can see freckles across his cheeks. “It’s totally righteous that you’re helping us out, homie! You’re a real one!”
“Real fine, that is,” speaks the ginger man. He’d been standing behind you, and leaned over your shoulder to look you in the eyes as he complimented you. He has freckles too, but much more than the blond. “Wish you were on my team.” A moment of hesitation. “Do you? Play for the other tea—?”
A hand is immediately over his mouth, simultaneously shutting him up and pushing him off of you.
A warm-toned Asian man gives you a small grimacing smile. “Please ignore him! We’re glad you’re joining our game, brah.”
You nod, a punched out laugh escaping you. “Yeah. Yeah, uh.. thanks for having me.” Looking around you, you take in the sight of them all. “I thought beer pong was a two on two?”
They shrug in unison. It’s a little unsettling how in sync it is.
“Well can’t just leave out one of our bros, bro!” The blond tugs at his hair, looking like he can hardly stand the thought of it.
“I guess so,” you start. They’re all so loyal to each other. All you can think about is your own friends, who’d left you to fend for yourself. “It’s nice to meet you.” You tell them your name.
“It’s so totally rad to meet you too, homie!” The dark-skinned man says. “I’m Hank 1!”
“Number 1?” You echo, a small smile growing on your lips.
“Chyah!” He moves away from you to wrap his arm around the Asian man’s shoulders instead. They lean against each other, comfortable and affectionate. “And this is—“
“Hank 2,” he interjects, holding up two fingers like a peace sign.
“And I’m Hank 3!” exclaims the ginger, pointing towards himself with a thumb. The digit presses into the muscle of his pec over the unbuttoned electric blue Hawaiian shirt and tank underneath.
“I’m Hank 4!” The blond offers some kind of surfer hand sign to you, but you’re not really sure what it means.
You turn towards the final man, the brunette that had invited you over in the first place. With a small dip of your head and a curious raise of your eyebrows, you guess, “Hank 5?”
He chortles, almost bashfully, and runs a hand through his hair. “That’s me.” He gestures to his jersey. Number 5.
“Huh. So you’re all named Hank? Or are these just nicknames?”
“They’re our real names,” answers Hank 2. Hank 1’s arm is around his head, squeezing his face between his bicep and forearm. He doesn’t seem perturbed at all.
“Best names ever, homie!” Hank 4 yells a bit too loud.
Eyes turn towards you at the shout. Or rather, on the group of all of you. Your comfortable smile starts to fade, hesitant to be in any sort of attention.
Catching on to your anxious demeanor, Hank 5 wraps his arm around you again. His solid body blocks you from any looks, and his voice is so unafraid, it’s soothing. “You said you were good at beer pong, right?”
“Yeah. Pretty good,” you repeat from earlier.
“Don’t sell yourself short, brah.” Hank 1 is on your other side, placing his hand over Hank 5’s forearm. He pumps his fist in the air, a competitive glint in his eye. “Let’s get this dub!”
***
Turns out, once you’ve gotten into the spirit, you’re damn good at beer pong.
Even with the blinding lights, thumping music, hoards of people pushing, dancing, and shouting, you were honestly having a lot of fun. The Hanks were a rowdy bunch, but also encouraging. They were as excitable as a litter of puppies whenever you’d score, and just as devastated when you’d miss. The range of emotion was incredibly varied.
Your team was currently winning, with four cups still up. Hank 5 and Hank 1 were on your team, cheering each other on. Pats on the back, high fives, shoulder shaking, and general excited yelling was natural as breathing.
The other team, consisting of Hanks 2, 3, and 4, only had one cup left up. They seem frazzled compared to their earlier confidence.
Hank 3 was up next. With his lip between his teeth, he lines up his shot. One eye is closed, his shoulders are tense, and the whole room is watching for them to make a comeback. The other two are behind him, grappling each other with anxiety. 4 is biting at his finger, and 2 is tugging at his swept bangs.
Hank 3 tosses, it bounces, and lands in the cup in front of you. Plip!
A loud cheer erupts from the Hanks. 3 reaches out for the cup, and you pass it to him. His hand overlaps yours as he takes it, and he gives you an unsubtle wink as he downs the liquid inside. You hope your burning face isn’t obvious under the strobing lights. It must be from the alcohol.
You allow them their time to celebrate before taking the ball. Just one more toss. One more cup. One more drink. Then you can… What had you been doing before this?
The Hanks hush. Hank 5 gives you an encouraging nod, and Hank 1 leans casually against him. “You’ve got this, brah.”
“Chyah,” Hank 5 agrees.
You hold the ping pong ball in your dominant hand, lightly rocking it to imagine the toss. Both eyes open, you focus on the last cup in front of you, full of delicious amber lager.
Toss, bounce, plip!
You’re embraced, wrapped up in the strong arms of Hanks 1 and 5. They whoop and cheer, shaking you excitedly.
“Nooo!” cries Hank 4. He dramatically falls to his knees, hands on his head.
Hank 2 sympathetically rubs his back, kneeling beside him in despair. He shakes his fist at nothing in particular.
Hank 3 grasps at his chest, like it physically pained him to watch you win. All his bravado from moments earlier was replaced with what looked like pure heartbreak as Hank 1 and 5 celebrated with you.
You were pretty tipsy at this point, your face flushed with pride and effects of the alcohol. Yet you still reach across the table, grabbing your victory drink. You tip it back, winking towards Hank 3 in echo of his own just moments before. You set the empty cup harshly on the table, jostling the remaining drinks on your side. Scrubbing a hand down your face, a wide smile pulls at your cheeks. As you turn back towards your teammates they—.. they’re kissing.
Not an affectionate peck. Not a friendly kiss on the cheek. Full on, arms wrapped around each other, mouths open, heavy kiss. You can see Hank 5’s hand sliding up under Hank 1’s orange sweater. Hank 1’s hand is pulling Hank 5 close by his waist, their hips pressing together, and the other is in that feathered hair.
They pull away from each other, panting. There’s smiles on their faces, loving and proud. You could almost write it off as a heat-of-the-moment victory kiss, but it seemed all too familiar for them.
“Uh,” is all you can manage.
They turn to you, as if they’d forgot you were there. “Oh!” Hank 1 starts, releasing 5 from his grasp. The other man stumbles a little, hand on his head, out of breath. Hank 1 has the courtesy to look a little embarrassed. “That.. That’s uh… We just do that. If we win, we celebrate. By smooching our bros.”
You look back over at the other team and their sulking. Was that because they lost? Or because they’re missing out?
“Oh. I mean.. if that’s what you do,” you say. You keep your eyes away, not wanting to ogle Hank 5’s breathless, flushed expression anymore than you should.
“What’s the matter, gorgeous?” pipes up Hank 3 from the other side of the table, suddenly gaining his suave nature back at the chance to tease you. “Feeling left out?”
“Wh—What?” You quickly shake your head, lifting your hands in front of you dismissively.
“I mean, you did help’em win,” he continues. He leans against the ping pong table. “Don’t you want to celebrate too? You’re a good player, y’know.”
“Well I—“ you try.
Hank 2 interrupts, standing from the ground to give you a soft, interested smile. His eyes are darker than before as he catches on. “You can say no, brah. But if you’re lookin’ for a little appreciation for your achievement..” he lets the sentence drop off, hanging there like bait.
“But—“
“But what?” Hank 4 tilts his head at you, pale lashes fluttering as he blinks slowly.
By now, your face must be red enough to see under the colorful lights of the party. And if that didn’t give you away, your body language must. Shuffling feet, tugging at the sleeve of your red shirt. “But it’s.. it’s your thing. I don’t wanna insert myself into your—“
“You could insert yourself anywhere you like, gorgeous,” Hank 3 croons.
“Okay, that’s not—“ you stumble over yourself, already sweating under the pressure. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, it’s just that I had a bit to drink and I don’t know if I’m really.. like, allowed to? I came here with a friend and she said not to do anything stupid.”
“And where is she?” Hank 1 asks, coming up beside you.
“Uhh.. I don’t know.” You shrug, grimacing slightly. “Probably with some guy.”
“She left you alone?!” Hank 2 exclaims, jaw falling open in shock. He storms up to you. “She left you by yourself at a party like this?! You could get roofied! Or kidnapped! Or—!”
“Hold on, I don’t know if it’s that serio—“
“Oh, it’s def that serious, bro,” Hank 5 puts a hand on your shoulder, looking certain.
Hank 3 and 4 approach your side of the table, and you’re suddenly surrounded.
“Don’t worry about whatever wack stuff your friend said. If you want it, we can take care of you,” says the blond with a lazy grin.
“I.. uhm. Really?” You ask, slowly working your jaw as you mull it over. “If it’s just a ‘you guys’ thing... like a relationship thing. It’s not like I’m… with you.”
“If you want it,” Hank 5 reiterates, “then just say so. We’re aren’t gonna leave you hangin’ like your friend did.”
It’s a few minutes of quiet as you make up your mind. But maybe it’s just the alcohol slowing everything down. Or maybe the intoxicating smell of their cologne is what’s making your head all fuzzy.
“Yeah. I want it.”
“Let’s get celebrating, then, hot stuff.”
***
Hank 1’s lips are warm and soft as he pulls you onto his lap. The couch sinks beneath your combined weight, creaking as the others take seats beside you. His hands roam your legs, squeezing at your thighs. The kiss is firm, but not insistent, still considerate of your earlier hesitation. It’s slow, experimental. And it’s over too soon.
Hank 1 pulls back with that same happy smile he gave Hank 5 earlier. Then, he goes to lean in again, but a hand pushes him back.
“Hey! You know the rules, dude,” Hank 2 scolds. “Once you pull back, it’s the next bro’s turn.”
Hank 1 pouts, crumbling beneath the hard stares of the other Hanks with a low scoff. “Fine, brah. Whatever.”
Still lost in the haze of the first kiss, you go easily as Hank 2 pulls you towards him. You end up straddling his firm thighs, his hand cupping your cheek while the others settles on your lower back. He gives you a kind look. “Are you with me, homie?”
Managing a small nod, you affirm that you still want this.
Hank 2 gently guides you closer into another soft kiss. It’s more assured this time, still gentle as you’re still getting comfortable, but he’s holding back to not scare you away. He kisses until his lungs start to ache before pulling away. Your noses brush together as your heavy breath mingles with his. His chapstick is smudged across your lips.
“Okay, okay, stop hogging them,” Hank 3 scoffs playfully. He tugs you out of Hank 2’s arms to the man’s dismay—“Dude!”—and holds the back of your head as he dives right in.
Compared to the slow, steady kisses before, this one is fast and hungry. He hardly waited until you were close enough. You basically fell against him, chest to chest, with your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. His fingers slide into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. He tries to keep the kiss going as long as possible, but you struggle for breath and he lets go.
Your face is burning as much as your lungs are as you shakily wipe your mouth.
They’re all watching, waiting for your reaction. Hank 1 and 4 are watching hopefully, Hank 2 and 5 are watching worriedly, and Hank 3 is looking up at you like he’s seeing a deity.
You catch your breath for a few moments, trying to think past the fog in your mind. A warm tingling makes its way through your body. It’s not something you’re used to. Even so…
“Okay,” you say between breaths, “Okay. Yeah. Alright.”
Hank 4 pounces at the affirmation. No more slow kisses. You’ve given them the go-ahead. So he grabs you by the waist and sits you sideways on his lap. He leans in, pressing your mouths together with fervor. He nips at your lower lip, and there’s a quiet disagreement at whether that counts as pulling away from the kiss. He keeps going though, pulling you back in until you’re fighting for breath once more.
You pull back with a heavy gasp, face red with exertion. You turn blindly towards Hank 5 on your own, reaching out and pulling yourself over to him. He wraps you in his arms and seals your lips together.
Hank 5’s kiss is refreshing. It’s careful yet very intentional. It’s slow and deep, open but not invasive. His hands don’t roam, only hold you securely against his chest. It makes you feel safe, cared for. You can taste his chapstick and smell his soap as the entire man steals your attention.
When he pulls away, your eyes don’t want to open. Dazed and warm all over, it’s like you could fall asleep right in his arms. It’s not helping that the alcohol in your system is making you feel even more fuzzy and sleepy. His hand reaches up to gently caress your cheek with his knuckles.
“C’mon, sweetheart. We aren’t done with you yet.”
You grumble in response. “But—“ you open your eyes and look at Hank 1 who’s all the way at the other end of the couch. “—he’s so far away.”
“They’re right! How are we supposed to all kiss them when we’re in a line?” Hank 2 brings up, as if this is the first time he’s thought about it.
The others vocalize their agreement.
“What else are we supposed to do though?” Hank 4 brings up.
“The floor!” Hank 1 proposes, “We sit on the floor in a circle, and we can just keep moving them over! Like a medicine ball twist but facing each other!”
“A what?” you mumble.
You receive no answer to your quiet question as the Hanks all “ooh” and “ahh” with understanding at the idea. Without warning, you’re lifted up in Hank 5’s arms as you all move to the floor. Now in a circle, you’re able to be easily deposited from Hank 5’s arms into Hank 1’s.
As he easily slots his torso between your thighs, his hands wrap around to your lower back. Emphasis on the low. Like he wants to touch you but is worried to overstep.
You lean in, bumping your nose against his, unafraid. They’ve treated you with nothing but kindness and compassion the whole time you’ve hung out, even when they were talking smack. The encouraging touch, the excited looks, the almost-constant cheering. They’re sweet. And trustworthy.
“Go on,” you whisper. “I want this.”
Hank 1 shudders a breath against your lips before leaning in. His hands roam lower as he presses a firm, eager kiss to your mouth. Hank 3 wolf whistles from his place in the circle while the others are more quietly interested in the development. His hands are warm and callused as they explore the natural curves of your body. You shiver as his fingertips graze underneath the hem of your shirt.
Your hands slide into his locs and hold onto the kiss for as long as possible. It’s Hank 1 who is forced to pull back this time, a gasp ripping from him as he remembers to breathe.
His hands linger on you, hesitant to let you go as Hank 2 pulls you towards him next.
His hands rest high over your shoulder blades as he presses his mouth to yours. With his hands in such a position, you hardly notice when they actually start to move. His lips are warm against your own, and his hand slides down. A finger digs into your spine as it travels down your back. You shiver, running from the contact and arching against him. He hums into your mouth, pleased by the reaction.
When you pull back, his hands have settled on your hips. He holds you tightly and sends a glare towards Hank 3, almost pouting. “Don’t rip’em away this time, brah.”
“You’re such a lame-wad,” Hank 3 grumbles. He holds out his hands in invitation, beckoning you over. “They know what they want. Am I right, baby?”
Hank 2 tightens his hold on you, frowning at Hank 3’s shameless attempt to get your attention. Although, once you start to shift towards the red-headed man, swept by the flow of the circle, he reluctantly lets you go.
Hank 3 gathers you impatiently onto his lap. His arms wrap loosely around your waist and he rests your forehead against yours. When you lean in, eyes fluttering in a daze, he slowly pulls away. A smirk on his face makes it obvious that he’s teasing, amused by your earnest attempt.
“Is there a problem, gorgeous?” Hank 3 croons. “I’m right here. Come get me.”
Hank 2 mutters, “now who’s hogging them, brah?”
Hank 1 pats him consolingly on the back, fondly rolling his eyes.
“C’mon,” Hank 3 encourages. His arms are still frustratingly loose around you. “Feeling shy?”
Hank 4 shifts impatiently beside you, his hands digging into the fabric of his shorts. He looks moments away from yelling at you to get it over with so he can have his turn.
In a moment of bravery—perhaps fueled by liquid courage—you grab Hank 3’s tacky Hawaiian shirt and pull. You collide in a clash of smiles and teeth, until he melts into it and guides you into a proper kiss. One of his hands slides into your hair, lightly tugging, and the other sliding underneath your thigh. He hikes you up close on his lap to kiss you harder, groaning pathetically into your mouth.
Like a desperate animal, he rolls his hips up against you. In less time than it takes to blink, a hand comes between you both and forces you to break the kiss.
“Woah, dude!”
Hank 4 wraps his arms around your middle and spins you backwards against him. His chest is against your back, heaving with emotion. His hands are tight around you, engulfing you with their surprising strength. Facing the middle of the small circle, you can see all the other Hanks. Hank 4’s attention seems to be on Hank 3.
“Take a chill pill, my guy. If you’re getting wound up, take a bro and go. They didn’t agree to that,” 4 rebukes. “Not that they could. They’re buzzed.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” you try. But it comes out slurred and unconvincing. More like, “S’not tha’ big’a deal.”
“Don’t say that,” Hank 5 pipes up. He slides a finger along your jaw to get your hazy eyes to focus on him. “You deserve better. We said we’d take care of you, homie. And it’s against the bro code to break a promise.”
“Exactly,” Hank 2 agrees. He whacks Hank 3 on the shoulder. “Stop thinking with your little head, bro.”
“Little?” Hank 3 echoes, offended.
Hank 2 grimaces.
Hank 4’s hand runs across your stomach absentmindedly as he sighs against your hair, gaining your attention once more. “Are you good, brah? Wanna keep going?”
You hum lowly, nodding. “Yeah… I do.”
You tilt your head to the side, accidentally bumping your nose against his. For a moment, your eyes meet, his green eyes flashing in the dim light of the party. He shifts and his lips brush yours, a silent plea. You close the distance, lifting a hand to caress his hair. He curls around your back to get the right angle as he kisses you over your shoulder.
It’s sweet, romantic even—if you were so bold to say. His eyes flutter shut as he melts against you. His hands slip under your shirt, tracing callused fingers over the contour of your stomach. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp and he shivers.
When you pull apart, his arms threaten to hold you there. But they obediently release as Hank 5 reaches out for you instead.
He seats you comfortably on his lap as his hands find your sides. No words are exchanged between you, just a soft, hazy glance. His brown eyes crinkle as he offers you a sweet smile. Then, his lips are on yours, alighting a spark that runs through you.
After that… it’s hard to remember. You get lost in it. In the moment, the atmosphere. In them.
Just little snippets. Visions of pretty eyes and warm hands. Freckles, piercings, and callused skin. The bright lights of the party, the pounding music, and the way you swayed as you were led out the door. The chilly night air and low chatter that surrounded you in the quiet neighborhood. The sound of keys jingling and the familiar creak of your dorm room door. You remember hands cupping your face and the shuffling of clothes, and the sensation of blankets being tucked under your chin.
***
The most obvious problem is the headache. The other problem is the light from the window that’s decided to be obnoxiously bright. It’s morning. Thankfully, you don’t have anything important happening today. That’s one of the only reasons you had decided to go to that party in the first place.
You jolt upright in bed.
The party! Those guys!
Your hands fly to your body to check for… something. Some indication that they went too far, that they weren’t as trustworthy as they seemed. But you couldn’t find anything. You were still in your clothes from last night, minus your shoes which were placed politely next to your bed. You sorta remember Hank 1 untying them for you. Hank 3 had been behind you then, stroking his fingers over your wrist and neck, touching your forehead and checking your condition. You remember them calling him a “medical nerd” or something.
There’s a glass of water on your small nightstand. Next to it is headache medicine, your phone—graciously charged, and a sticky note stuck to the old wood.
You pluck it from its perch, lifting it up to read it.
“I hope you had a fun night, homie!” Scrawled in orange.
“We made sure your door was locked before we left.” In pink.
“Drink MAD water for your headache, eat something absorbent for your stomachache, and sleep as much as you can. If you get sick, hit me up. Or anytime you want.” In blue.
“Sleep tight as hell!!” In purple.
“Don’t be afraid to ask us for anything. Sweet dreams, bro.” in green.
Oh.
That was… actually really nice. They were so… cute.
Taking the advice, you take the medicine with the glass of water—lukewarm from how long it’s been out—and hobble out of bed. You change into the comfy clothes that had been buried at the bottom of your dresser for special occasions. They had been worn soft over the years. Sick days, rainy days, game nights with your friends back home. They were for being inside, comfortable and lazy.
You pop a few slices of bread into the toaster and dig around for anything else you could eat. What had he wrote? Absorbent? What, like you were supposed to eat a sponge?
You settle for buttered toast, eggs, and more water.
As you eat, you realize how quiet it is. Looking for entertainment, you grab your phone from your room. You scroll mindlessly through the notifications you’d gotten since you last checked. School emails, Markiplier posted another video, your photo app put a collage together, you were added to a new group chat, there’s a sale at the comic store, and— wait. A group chat?
You click on it.
you have been added to THE HANKS + homie ❤️
Hank 5
“Let us know when you’re free next. We’d love to hang out again.”