Talisman: What Will Be
by Flashpoint and scot158f
Scott was so tired as he entered the room that he very nearly forgot to close the front door to the apartment, then nearly missed hitting the basket he and Trip kept their keys and wallets in on the breakfast nook. Not that it mattered to him personally, but Trip got so anal about little things like that. Eh. It meant they had a neat apartment, so it didn’t bother him too much to put things away every now and then. At least he could keep his own room the way he wanted it. Except when Trip made his comments about the laundry everywhere of course. Trip really could get pushy about things like that.
But Scott liked Trip; they’d gotten along since they met as roomies a year earlier, right after the breakup, so if he wanted to take charge of a few things here and there it was cool. Scott was so tired from work most days anyway he really didn’t want to make many decisions about the place. At least he didn’t buy Scott clothes. Or cook. Scott loved a good meal, but Trip was obsessive over his muscle diet, which drove Scott bonkers. He didn’t gorge himself, but he liked something tastier than chicken and protein shake on a platter. Scott was perfectly content getting a burger every now and then, or even the occasional gourmet meal to go at Joe’s, a high-class bakery and diner that catered to the upper crust.
Besides which, he really needed the room. It was the only apartment in town he’d been able to find that he could afford on his salary. That did much for keeping him agreeable to Trip’s... well, they weren’t demands exactly... but Trip seemed to forget sometimes that Scott wasn’t a bottom. The fact that he set himself up so that he didn’t have much time for sex was neither here nor there. He’d pretty much always been Top, even with Phil, just not a pushy one. And he wasn’t sure about Trip, but Scott thought he was versatile but mostly Top. He wasn’t really interested in Trip’s sex life. But it didn’t matter anyway; Scott had always had a strict policy about no sex with roommates. The (few) times he’d let it happen had always ended up rather uncomfortably. And with him losing his place to stay. Oh, well; c’est la vie.
It was about ten minutes before he realized he’d sat down on the couch and hadn’t moved even to take his jacket off. Aargh... Naffer had been on his case the entire day. “That’s Mister Naffer, Aytef!” He winced just from hearing it in his mind’s ear. Prick. What made it worse was that Scott was just a sales rep and Naffer was only three years older and already a regional manager. Apparently Scott didn’t have the right ambition to get ahead. Yeah, ambition. What that meant was that Scott wasn’t willing to blow Krellin to get a promotion. Everyone knew about their “Sunday sales meetings” that Mrs. Krellin “didn’t know about.” But then she was supposed to be seeing some personal trainer dude on the side herself, so who the fuck knew what that marriage was about. Money, probably.
Shit, shit, shit, he thought, suddenly furious. He almost leaped out of the couch, tearing off his jacket as though he could somehow make himself feel cleaner. All he did was tell one customer – one! – that the XRJ didn’t have the features she needed and that since it was the first release since the XR777 being taken off the market (a mistake, in Scott’s opinion; it really had been a good model) it still had bugs, as most new products did...! Oh, his ears still rang from the shouting. Don’t be truthful to the customers?! "They're there to buy, not to know!" Oh, Scott was still furious over that one! It went against everything he’d been taught in college. I went to college for this? He’d heard people say that on sitcoms for years and never understood why it was supposed to be funny. Now he understood why... and it wasn’t funny at all.
What made him even angrier was his meek reply, swallowing his anger and disgust. He told himself the same reasons he always gave himself. The job market sucks. You didn’t follow through on your degree. You don’t have any other training. You need to pay the rent. You hate waiting tables. Blah, blah blah, blah blah, blah blah. The real reason was one he was afraid to face. He was a coward, and he knew it. He was afraid to take a chance on anything. He’d been afraid of pretty much everything ever since he and Phil broke up. Oh, Phil still said he loved Scott, and Scott believed he did, but he said that with Craig hovering over his shoulder asking if Phil was talking to him again. Yep, that was Scott; the uncomfortable ex that wouldn’t go away. But he and Phil had been friends since elementary, in love since after high school. Yes, he admitted he still loved Phil too – he always would – but he knew that they weren’t happy in the same house. Not without serious therapy, anyway. Maybe Craig would make him happy. It hurt Scott to think that, very deeply, but Phil’s happiness was important to him... even if it was with someone else. He gave up talking to Trip about it, however; Trip seemed to get irritated by the whole topic any more, and Scott was uncomfortable bringing it up with him.
He hesitated in front of the silver starburst hall mirror, one of Trip’s purchases, trying to avoid thinking about Phil and... and the breakup. He had to get used to that word. One of these days. He knew Trip would appreciate it. Although he wasn’t sure why it should matter, other than Scott not moping around the apartment... or why Scott would even think of Trip at a time like this.
He sighed heavily, pushing the disturbing thoughts out of his head, and examined himself, not at all pleased with what he saw. Not what was there, with what he saw. No wonder he had no presence or authority. You’d think a 23-year-old college grad would look a little more... well, mature than he did. He grimaced. He looked so young. He hated looking young. He knew in his heart of hearts that one day he’d miss looking young, but for the moment he hated it with a passion. His five o’clock shadow, now at 6:35, looked more like 11am and it was patchy at best. There were still days when he woke up late and had to run out the door to work, forgetting to shave, and his face was still baby smooth from the night before. He’d had guys, mostly Italians for some odd reason, ask him what he used to keep his beard from growing. After a few times of being asked this, he researched a few beard suppressants and started giving out the names just to shut them up. He’d been too embarrassed to admit it was shitty genetics on his part. Not that most people would agree; some club kids would kill to have his problem.
A tuft of hair poked over his undershirt, right at the collar, and he grimaced again. Well, that was one hair. Seemed like the only one too. He didn’t need to take his shirt off to see how hairy he was... or wasn’t, as the case may be. He had so little body hair he’d actually counted them on nights he was laying around feeling depressed. On his chest he’d named them individually.
Maybe a new hairstyle would make him feel better... but he ran his hand over the cowlicks running all over his messy hair, hating the fact that they never laid down right. He’d had several stylists take one look at his head and recommend he try someone else, and one that recommended he buzz his head down to the scalp, which had been extremely depressing. A stylist friend of his (who also refused to do his hair) told him why; Scott had, according to his friend, “the most amazing cowlicks he’d ever seen.” That made him feel better; oh yes it did. So Scott was forced to part his hair in a way that was extremely unflattering, longer than he wanted it, would stick up in odd places at odd times, and never looked as nice as the guys in the bar, on his rare occasions out, on the even more rare occasions when he didn’t feel like a sack of potatoes in a room full of beef.
He brought his full height up as far as it would go, not that that was much. Nope, still 5’7”. Not that he expected a growth spurt to happen at this late date. His father’s side had always been tall, but leave it to his mom to have a couple of short uncles in the genetic closet. Not for the first time, he considered wearing lifts. He’d always wished he were taller, knowing logically that height had nothing to do with anything, knowing in his heart that he didn’t care about that. To make matters worse, straightening his spine made his front bulge forward rather unattractively. He was a bit chubbier than he wanted to be. The Freshman 15 had blossomed into the Sophomore 65 and never gone back the other way again, making his height seem even lower. Well, maybe 220 wasn’t that heavy, but it didn’t do much for his mood. The fact that his 36s and XL shirt were now getting uncomfortably tight didn’t help things... he looked, and felt, like a tightly packed sausage.
Trip had suggested, none too subtly, that Scott should join his gym, maybe put on some body mass and start to feel good about himself (and work on getting over Phil, although he never actually said that), but Scott never followed through, though he made promise after promise to sign up. Who knew, maybe working out really would help him. He just didn’t feel much like it. He’d never been terribly strong anyway so working out wouldn’t be easy. The illogic of that thought never occurred to him.
Shaking his head at the unfairness of life, he turned and headed into the kitchen, craving the caffeine and sugar comfort a Coke would bring right about then. If nothing else, it might raise his mood. On his way, he grabbed the pile of mail, separating out Scott F. Aytef and Daniel V. Tripman into two little piles. Hm, a flyer for Greta’s Great Griddle... a late night delivery of blueberry crepes might just be in order. As long as he ate them and got the trash out before Trip saw it; he hated having any fattening food lying around in plain sight of his precious chicken breasts, like it was going to taint them.
Scott set that one out to the side by itself and noticed a small black velvet jewelry box sitting by itself on the spacious counter, a small cream ribbon tied in a perfect bow that screamed Trip, and a small gift tag with Scott written in Trip’s flowing hand. He rolled his eyes. That Trip! He certainly was one sometimes. What was this going to be about?
He slipped the ribbon from around the box – being careful not to untie it; it really was beautifully done – and examined the tag. On the back was written I know you’ve been down about work lately and other stuff, so I got you this. Thought you might like it. I know you like bears. Trip. Scott shook his head, smiling as he opened the box. Trip, you awesome guy! Trip may have been a musclebound anal-retentive control freak, but he was also one of the most thoughtful guys on the planet. He always cheered someone up when they were down; he always sent Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa cards; he baked cookies for their neighbor whose husband died recently (bad ones but it was the thought that counted); and he always gave the perfect gift. Always. Scott would never admit to anyone else about his row of teddy bears. Of course, Mr. Cuddles lived on the dresser instead of the shelf, but that was neither here nor there. He had such a cute little sweater.
Scott’s eyes widened and he gave a small gasp when he saw the sterling bear claw pendant on the leather shank in the box. This was no cheap gift. He shook his head again, stunned. Trip, you awesome guy, he thought again, feeling a small leap inside that he chose to ignore. Trip was just being thoughtful. Scott thought about refusing it, but turning it over in his hands, he rejected that idea. Trip would be scandalized and probably offended. And he had meant it as a gift, after all. He could hardly refuse it. In fact, very uncharacteristically, he wanted to put it on right away and see what it looked like. He wasn’t a jewelry-type person, but this definitely appealed to him. It even seemed to tingle in his hands, almost saying in words that it was meant for him to wear it. Ridiculous thought. But it was meant to be worn right away after all. Trip would want to see it on him and he would be home any time now himself. Scott had to show proper consideration. Right now.
As he went back to the mirror, he didn’t even notice the urgency that was blossoming in his mind to put the pendant around his neck, almost as though it had been planted there the moment he touched it...
Almost in a dream, Scott watched his reflection move in slow motion, placing the ends of the shank around his neck to tie it in place, momentarily absorbed by the view. It was a small oval of silver with the impression of a tribal bear claw design etched onto each side in mirror image, except for a tight spiral holding the claws together. It was fascinating, that spiral, almost hypnotic... His vision entirely taken by the nature of the pendant itself, he let go of the ends of the shank before they had a chance to connect with each other. He was so removed from reality at this point, so deeply entranced, that he didn’t even notice the ends, instead of dropping to the floor, joined together behind his neck. On their own. In an unbroken line.
He gasped, his body twitching in shock as energy gathered from the very air around him into the silver at his throat, his eyes rolling heavenward. It felt like slow lightning, gathering and building like an impending electrical discharge. It seemed to take an eternity, but in reality only moments passed as the energy built to almost an orgasmic level.
And when it reached critical mass, light exploded in the room. If Scott had not had his eyes closed, if there had been anyone else in the room... the pure light, so white as to make snow seem dingy, would have blinded them. There was no sound, not even through the windows from the outside. The entire world seemed to be holding its breath. And while it did, the pendant seemed to pulse, not moving but giving off an almost visible extension of force that seemed to cause a ripple outward in the air around him. The strange ripple seemed to pass right through solid matter, including Scott himself and the walls around him and everything beyond them, but as the ripple passed some things in the apartment weren’t quite the same...
Scott started, his eyes jerking open. Huh? For a moment there, he thought... he imagined... it was almost like someone was behind him whispering in his ear. Scott, it seemed to croon seductively. I can give you what you want. I can make all of your dreams come true. Open yourself to me, Scott. Such was the quiet strength of the almost-voice that he spun to look behind him, almost expecting to see someone... or something... behind him that wasn’t reflected in the mirror...
...but wasn’t surprised to find himself still alone. He chuckled to himself wryly. Expecting vampires? Or ghosts? The birds were still chirping their end-of-day songs, the cars on the street were still zooming by, taking their wage-slave passengers back to the comforting womb of home. He shook his head, the small but noticeable weight of the pendant tapping lightly on his chest. He looked back into the square wood-frame hall mirror, a present from Trip last Christmas, with its repeating pattern of little dancing bears and paw prints. Mm... the pendant actually was pretty nice. And he did look good wearing silver. Oh, well, it wasn’t like he never wore jewelry at all, just not often. Necklaces just didn’t seem very butch, and rings... he involuntarily glanced down at his left ring finger, feeling the gap, the itch to fill the space. No. No rings. But the bear claw was really growing on him. He got so engrossed in examining his image that he forgot his discomfort from a moment ago.
And then, like a gap closing in his mind, he truly did forget his discomfort, as the memory quietly erased itself. There had been no shock, no discomfort, no gathering of energy, to his memory. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and he felt mildly better than he did when he first walked in the room. Getting unexpected gifts always did that to him, especially thoughtful ones. He smiled at that, turning away from the mirror... and hesitated, looking back at his image. It... wasn’t right.
Was his face rounder? Couldn’t be... well, actually it could. He hadn’t exactly been hitting the salad bars at lunch lately. More like the buffets. Though he couldn’t think of the names of them at the moment, or where they were, he knew he’d been there several times in the past few weeks. And his outline seemed... bigger. There were gaps showing between the buttons of the dress shirt that he hadn’t noticed earlier. Had he been walking around all day with his belly showing through? He hated wearing undershirts, which is why he never did, so his flesh was showing right through. Shit, no wonder Naffer had been staring at his middle the entire time he’d been bellowing. Funny, though, his pants didn’t feel tight at all.. his 38s fit just fine, except in the rear, where it formed a bit snugly over his ass. It didn’t feel bad, though... in fact, it was almost as good as wearing jeans. He felt like people were staring at his ass all day, which wasn’t a bad thing. Oof... he had to get the belt off though.
He turned from the mirror, still thinking there was something odd about the image, but as he took the first step up to the bedroom level he shrugged it off as fatigue and irritation playing tricks on his mind in the setting sunlight, even as another small pulse, so small that if anyone had seen it they would have mistaken it for the swing of the metal against his chest, radiated outward from the pendant. Three steps further up, he’d already put it out of his mind. And before he reached the top landing, the oddity had disappeared from his mind entirely. After all, there hadn’t been anything different to see other than his new gift, which stuck out in his mind brightly. He smoothed his shirtfront, glad that he was able to find larger sizes that fit around his belly without gapping.
But as his foot hit the top, a rush went through him, like a weird jolt of energy building from the air itself. He gasped, breathing heavily, involuntarily grabbing at the pendant at his throat. It seemed to be radiating heat, energy, electricity, and sheer force all at the same time. The electricity seemed to jolt him forward, the heat set fire to his blood, the energy gave him speed, the sheer force seemed to fuel his strength. His hand sprang away like from a live wire, but it kept pouring into him like a water balloon being overfilled but not bursting. In fact, he felt like instead of reaching the breaking point, his body was adapting to take in the energy, like the balloon was growing to accommodate the filling.
He didn’t know how he found himself there, but he found himself on his king-size bed (King? It’s a queen mattress, he thought vaguely, but it was gone a moment later), frantically tearing his clothes off his rounded body. The belt was nowhere to be seen. He had to please himself. It was urgent. There was no one else around to do it for him, so he had to take care of himself. With no slow buildup like he usually liked, no complicated fantasies with men that looked suspiciously like Phil or Trip lurking in his mind, he began stroking himself almost violently. It was as if he'd never done it before; each stroke drove him higher in pleasure. Never had it felt so good, so powerful. His cock felt so heavy, so thick in his hand, bigger than he’d ever felt it. Good sex can do that to you; make you feel hung like the proverbial horse, even when it’s with yourself. He was fireblind, taking all automatically, his eyes closed in sheer erotic rapture as he felt the climax building.
If his eyes had been open, the sight he would have seen might have interrupted even the uncontrollable wave he was riding. The pendant was now radiating a visible aura, cycling through the spectrum so fast the colors were a blur of recognition.
But Scott was too far gone to even consider impossibilities like that. The climax had built beyond ecstasy. The light was burning him. The orgasm was no longer in his control; it was dragging him along for the ride. He didn’t seem to be able to stop, even had the thought occurred to him.
And he came. Although that is an inadequate description. It was more like a crateful of fireworks all exploding at the same time, taking a natural gas main and an oil refinery with it. Thick ropes of semen, much more than he usually shot, propelled upward almost a foot before landing down on his belly and chest with audible splats.
...and a moment later, his head dropped back onto the pillow as he lost consciousness, his thoughts scattering, overcome by the sheer bliss of climax. He smiled as he dropped into darkness, not feeling drained but almost as though the orgasm had charged him, filled him...
He knew it was a dream the moment it started to the moment it ended. In it, he was entering a long hall, vaguely like a 16th-century castle, and he was dressed in the style of un ballo in maschera. There were others there, all of them dressed in finery from times past, all masked as he was and milling about. Some of them appeared confused, others eager, others impatient. But he strode forward, seeking his dance partner. Not his previous partner; somehow he knew that they no longer danced together. And not the one he’d thought of asking... he wasn’t interested. But there was someone...
Scott came upon the man draining a silver goblet filled with a wine so red that Scott almost mistook it for blood. He knew the man as though he had spoken with him only a moment ago, but knew he had never seen him before. The man’s smooth scalp gleamed in the dim fire and candle light of the hall, his eyes green and captivating, his mouth surrounded by thick hair, severely styled and waxed so that the immense mustache of the man was even larger and more protruding, though well tended. He stood alone in the room though surrounded by people. The others were not avoiding him, but somehow they never seemed to intrude in the oval of space he occupied no matter where they tread or danced. Unlike the others, dressed and masked in finery of all eras, all times, each more elaborate and embroidered than the last, he was unmasked and wore simple breeches tucked into tall boots reaching to his knee, with a silk shirt and coat covered in elaborate stitching, and every bit, even the boots, in pure white. He was belted in woven silver links, with a matching silver chain around his neck, from which hung, somewhat incongruously, a large silver antique key.
As Scott approached, the man rested the goblet upon a table that had not been there a moment earlier and gave an elaborate bow. “My Lord,” the man said in a rich, cultured tone that somehow seemed to have an undertone of humor. “Welcome to my house.”
Scott nodded. “Why am I here?”
The man raised an eyebrow. “You’re more perceptive than most, but I knew that already. The first question most have asked before is ‘where am I,’ but you already know the answer to that, don’t you?” Scott nodded again, glad that he didn’t have to articulate the answer. He knew, but could not explain it in words. “You’re here because the lines of fate have converged upon the here, the now, the one. You.” Scott didn’t respond, although he wanted to. The man nodded. “Very good indeed. The forces have already begun the Change in you.” Scott heard the capital but still didn’t respond. It wasn’t time yet. “Only a few minutes ago you would have been irate and demanding. Self-possession has already become part of you. There will be more.”
”You have a choice, such as these were given the choice,” he gestured around him, “as to whether you turn your back on the precipice or spread your arms and leap, unsure you will learn to fly before you reach the bottom. You don’t understand, do you?” Scott did not, but indicated it through no more than a raised eyebrow.
Strangely, he was not afraid, nor incredulous, nor demanding, although he felt he should be. He didn’t respond, at least not directly. He looked around at the milling and dancing crowd ignoring the both of them utterly. After a moment of thinking, he said, “They’re not real.”
“Not any more they’re not,” the man replied dryly. “They were once. Now they’re simply echoes of ones I have known in the past. They have a sort of life, a sort of identity here, but no, in your terms they are not real. But they keep me company in my solitude. And I loved, and love, each and every one of them.” He gazed at them fondly for a moment, then returned his attention to Scott. “You were looking for another when you came upon me. I’m not who you hoped I would be.” They weren’t questions.
“No,” Scott said, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s not here.” I want Phil. The thought twisted in his mind. I want Trip. The thought surprised him, even though he didn’t know who either of them was.
The man looked grim, his eyes rich with sympathy. “No. He is not here. But think about this: he doesn’t need to be here. He’s already with you.” Scott gave him a questioning look. “Everywhere you go, everything you do, Phil is with you, Scott. He’s no longer your companion, but his love is still strong and true, as is yours for him. He is, and always will be, part of you. I know it’s cold comfort, but it’s comfort nonetheless.” Scott felt his eyes start to brim, but held onto just enough self-control. The man paused for a moment, giving him a considering look. “And there’s someone else in your heart now, someone who shares your love, though you deny it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Scott said stoutly, keeping his hands from wiping his eyes through sheer force of will, with no idea either why he was sad or irritated by the man’s words. “I’m not interested in... I mean I’m not ready to get involved.”
The man looked into his goblet, his face completely smooth, but Scott had the distinct impression the man was laughing at him. “Of course you’re not,” he said blandly. Scott’s eyes narrowed; that had the sound of mockery to it. “Well, it doesn’t much matter at this point; he had to make sure things go down that road anyway. He just had to Delve the Silver. Bloody fool.” The last two words were muttered into his goblet, and Scott knew they weren’t intended for him. “What will be will be. I am here to present you with a choice.”
“What choice?”
The man clucked his tongue, looking at Scott with an almost exasperated expression, a queer sidelong look that seemed to look right through him. “It’s almost too late to ask. The spell reacted strongly to you, almost more strongly than I’ve ever seen before. You want what is coming, more than you realize, though you know nothing of what that is or why. More to the point, the one who Delved wants it as well, perhaps more strongly than you.” He snorted. “He doesn’t realize what he’s unleashed. He will, but it will be too late. It already is. It always is.”
Scott stared, utterly perplexed. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.
“Scott, as I said, you have a choice. The choice of Change. Some would view this as a blessing, some as a curse. It’s up to you to decide which it is for you. You can be the man you have always wanted to be but fate denied. You can have this and more. All you need do is accept the gift freely given.” His eyes seemed to glow, or perhaps it was reflected firelight. “Part of you is still resisting.”
“He had no right to do this to me without my permission,” Scott said, not sure where the words were coming from or what they meant. Who? Do what? “Yes, I like it, but he didn’t ask. I might have said yes.” Of course I’d say yes to Trip. If he’d ask. It was a different question he had in mind.
The man gave him a wry look. “His motivations and interests of self are his own concern. Though you do have a point. He is a decent person, but he has always been the center of his own world. No matter how thoughtful he can be, have you ever known him to ask permission? He works his body unmercifully toward a goal of masculine perfection and does what he needs to accomplish that with no regrets or reticence. I’m not saying he was right in what he did to you, but can you say you’re surprised?”
“Not with him, no.” It was true, though how he knew was a mystery since he still had no idea what was being talked about. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t tan his hide when I have the chance.” He blinked. That was very unlike him.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Like I said, it reacted strongly. Any longer and...” He pursed his lips. “You don’t have to accept. The Change can be undone, such as it is at this point, and you will remember nothing except a pleasant dream. You know your answer already, don’t you?”
Scott nodded, not knowing the answer or the question involved but knowing he was right. “Yes. My answer is yes.”
“Then kiss me.”
Scott gave a double take. “What?”
“Kiss me and you will have what you desire.” Scott still hesitated. The man sighed. “Would this help?” And before Scott’s eyes, the man closed his own, and a moment later Phil stood before him, the way he’d appeared the first time they met outside the admissions office in college. “Kiss me, Scott.” It was Phil’s voice, his eyes, his loving smile. And, strangely, Trip’s body.
Scott found himself stepping forward, knowing it wasn’t really Phil and not caring. It had been so long since he’d held Phil in his arms, felt his soft lips against his own... Within an inch of the man’s face, he hesitated. “Who are you?” He wondered why the thought hadn’t occurred to him before.
The man in Phil’s face/Trip’s body started to answer “My name is He...” before abruptly cutting off, grimacing as though he’d said too much. “A friend. Someone who will always look out for you.”
“Will... Will I see you again?” Not Phil or Trip, but...
The man gave him a look. “Perhaps. But I cannot exist in your plane for more than brief periods and then only... No matter. Simply rest assured I will always be watching. Watching you both.” There was wry humor in the last, but it was lost in the sheer electricity as their lips touched, Scott drowning in the sheer happiness of Phil’s touch, Trip’s affection, the blinding light, the throbbing pulse at his throat like a heartbeat…
Scott started awake, gasping in the darkness. He had a momentary flash of his dream, of kissing Phil... it couldn’t have been Trip... before it faded from his mind, forgotten. How long had he been out? The sun was gone and the only light was coming from the streetlight outside the window. The apartment was utterly quiet. “Trip?” he called out blearily, but there was no answer. Not home yet. This was late for him. Must be working out with his bodybuilder buddy again, Gary Something. They hit the weight pretty hard when they trained together, then threw their weight around in private afterward. Even as tired and woozy as Scott was, he was startled for a moment at feeling... well, jealousy. It’s not like they were dating, for Light’s sake. If Trip wanted musclesex he could get it any time he wanted. It didn’t matter. Just because he liked muscle guys instead of heavy guys made no never mind at all.
But he lost focus on his internal dialogue as the room continued a slow spin around him. Uhhh... this was worse than his 21st birthday party, when Phil dared him to chug a pony keg. He’d been bloated for the rest of the night, his belly swollen like a beach ball, and the next morning his head was pounding like a jackham...
That didn’t happen, he thought, confused. He’d been over 60 pounds lighter then; he couldn’t have chugged a whole pony keg. Or wanted to. His birthday had been just the two of them dancing and romancing under the moonlight at their favorite restaurant, Tara. He’d had his first legal glasses of wine, whereupon they got a bit too tipsy and ended up laughing and splashing through the fountain out front, much to the manager’s displeasure. He remembered that. But he remembered the other too, and vividly.
He closed his eyes as a stab of pain hit him in the forehead. Once again, the pendant glowed... but a moment later faded, taking the pain with it. Scott shook his head, trying to reconcile the two conflicting memories but couldn’t. And unlike earlier, his memories did not assimilate, not that he had any awareness of that.
A moment later, though, he shook off the internal conflict, at least for the moment, and made a supreme effort of raising his head, and this time succeeding just long enough to see the clock. After 8p. Uggh.. he’d been out for almost two hours. It seemed like longer. A lot longer. He tried to raise up... and discovered he couldn’t. He seemed hampered by his own bulk. He must be tired. After trying and failing three times to sit up, he simply rolled to the side, letting his feet tip off into space, letting the momentum help raise his torso to vertical. It did seem like an unnecessary waste of effort, however.
It was in the process of doing this that he realized two things. The first was while he bringing his hand out to balance himself and realized it was stuck to his belly with a very firm hold. A bit taken aback, he pulled it forcibly away – needing a bit more force than he expected, by the by – and was rewarded by a half-ripping-half-squelching sound as the palm was pulled from the adhesive puddle of semi-dry cum matted in his belly and chest hair. He winced as it yanked the copious hair in the area. Light of Heaven, what the hell kind of load did he shoot?? Flexing his meaty paw to get some of the crust to flake off with only moderate success, he felt around the edges, surprised that it covered most of his round front and quite a bit of his chest as well in one unbroken circle. Except for the handprint he’d left behind, that is. His front looked like a frosted doughnut.
As his feet touched the floor, however, he felt... odd. Different. Not just in that he’d shot in one go what he ordinarily shot in a week. He couldn’t quite place it, but his balance was off. No surprise, really, with the intensity of the orgasm he’d just let go, and his confrontation with Naffer earlier today... Naffer must have been upset to even raise his voice a little bit to Scott. Scott was slightly bigger than him in most ways, although Naffer was taller at just under six feet. He still thought he could intimidate Scott, which was becoming less and less likely with time, even if he couldn’t see the results himself. Scott accepted most of what the man dished out as long as it wasn’t entirely insane and unreasonable, which could happen. At least Scott didn’t cower and take his shit meekly. He met it with head raised, eyes straight and a serious expression. Straightening his back didn’t hurt things either; it emphasized his superior bulk just a touch. Scott loved those little power play things, if only to push Naffer back just a tiny bit.
He was groggy enough waking up that when he finally got to his feet he stumbled across the floor without turning on the bedside lamp, nearly tripping over his boots and flannels on his way to where he thought the door should be. The streetlight provided just enough light that he wasn’t quite blind. He did wince and jump a little, holding his foot around his belly, when he stepped on his keys. He really had to start cleaning his room. He wished he could get Trip to do it, but that wasn’t something you asked your roommate to do even if he kept the rest of the place immaculate. And cooked. Scott couldn’t complain about the cooking; a few of his pounds were definitely table muscle earned at home.
The thought, once it formed, was startling enough that Scott misjudged the doorframe in the twilight and rebounded slightly before entering the hall in front of the bathroom. Trip cook? The man never cooked, not what Scott remembered eating, anyway, not after the noodle incident. Scott wasn’t even sure he could cook... or why he would cook for Scott anyway. The man was protein shake and chicken breast and mass-building meals the whole way, in his relentless quest to gain muscle. But Scott saw in his mind’s eye Trip wearing an apron (reading “Burned is Beautiful”), serving portion after portion of deep-dish lasagna, thick steak, fettuccine alfredo, full one-pound burgers, spaghetti and meatballs... They were vague memories, but they were getting stronger with each moment. Not that Trip ate much of it; the memories still pointed to his muscle diet. He seemed, in Scott’s memories, to be making sure Scott ate enough, which always seemed to be too much to Scott’s mind.
The bathroom doorframe was an even bigger hindrance than the bedroom for some reason, but he was sure he entered dead center.. it was like his shoulders were suddenly wider. He gave a groan of irritation... and a pulse went out. He hesitated for a moment, not really sure why, while the building gave an audible groan of its own audible to anyone who could hear it, which was no one currently there. After a moment, Scott lurched through the wider frame, glad that his growing bulk had a place that would accommodate it.. he and Trip had had conversations about that before settling on this one. But Trip planned to become a superheavyweight bodybuilding competitor, so it hadn’t been that hard convincing him to go for wider halls and doors in advance...
In the act of reaching for the switch, Scott stopped. Trip didn’t want that, or not seriously... he’d of course mentioned it as a dream bod but not made plans about it, but now Scott distinctly remembered Trip dropping his old PT and going with Scott’s, the local World’s Strongest Man competitor, who was now pushing Trip into mass-building and giving some not-so-legal advice on which chemicals to use... A pulse went out in the dark, directed toward a hidden space in his bedroom that Trip knew about but wasn’t supposed to, one that was becoming well-stocked in the dark...
But after a moment, he shrugged it off uncomfortably. Of course Trip wanted that... he’d been talking about mass since the moment they met, irked that he hadn’t met anyone who could ‘help’ him in that regard, and glad that Scott decided to join the same gym, meeting up with the WSM competitor at The Bar, and after a night of making our WSM friend barely able to walk, able to get pretty much anything Scott asked of him, which helped Trip greatly. Scott’s mouth and cock both drooled at the memory of seeing the man‘s eyes get wide when he saw Scott’s cock and realized he wasn’t going to be the Top despite his superior size over Scott (for the moment). And seeing the back of his head as he screamed into the pillow for an hour for Scott to stop pounding, but spreading his huge legs just the same. And helping him stagger back to his truck, the back of his sweats drenched in Scott’s cum. And his sheepish look when he asked whether they could get together again soon.
Groping for a moment, he found the switch and flipped it up.
The sight that greeted him made his jaw drop. My belly’s bigger, he thought, stunned. Well, he’d been expecting it to happen, but not this much bigger. Not so quickly. He looked like he’d gone from a... a 36… a 36? He hadn’t been that size since age 17... no, he was that this morning. From a 36 to at least a 40. No. Yes. Still staring in the mirror, he raised a tentative... and more meaty... hand up to touch his middle. It didn’t feel right. It was rounder, jutted out further forward, and was softer, like a layer of fat had been inserted right under the skin, rounding him out. His pecs were rounder though, and not with fat.. his workouts must be starting to pay off in his chest at least, even if he was still soft overall. Oh, well, maybe letting Trip talk him into joining the gym had been a good idea after all. He knew he’d never lose the gut – part of him didn’t want to, strangely – but he hoped to at least make it a hard ball rather than a soft doughy mass like it was now.
Just as his mind accepted the difference, he noticed another odd thing. His hair seemed a bit... unkempt. No, that wasn’t it.. it was more like his hairline wasn’t in the right place. It seemed to be much higher than he remembered, which was odd... He’d just gotten his hair cut at the salon... he gave a slow blink, pausing as his eyes were closed, before opening them again... the barbershop, he meant, last week. He was there getting his flattop cut shorter again.. damn hair grew so damn fast he couldn’t keep up with it, but he admitted that they did do a good job shaping and trimming his goatee, short as it was, so it was worth the expense of going every other week. Still, maybe he should just shave his head, knowing Phil would disapprove, wondering what Trip would think, wondering why he wondered. He glanced at Trip’s bedroom door in the reflection, mildly irritated he wasn’t back yet, and just as he turned away a pulse emerged, emanating toward a certain corner of Trip’s bedroom and a certain corner of Scott’s.
Trip should be back now, he thought for no particular reason even as he thought I wonder what Phil’s doing tonight. Thursday nights were movie nights for them, watching old movies from the 40s, cult movies, avant-garde art films... Trip didn’t like to do any of the things Scott liked to do, so even though they worked out together and ate meals together, they had very little in common, except maybe opinions about politics, which made for dull and irritating conversations. Then he wondered why it mattered... he wasn’t in love with Trip, didn’t think he could be, although he thought Trip’s body was hot as hell and had J/O’d on countless occasions on the way his rock-hard glutes flexed and rolled when he walked around the apartment in just his tight spandex workout shorts and nothing else.. and when he asked Scott to critique his posing routine for his next show and Scott got an uninterrupted view of a tiny posing strap on a growing man...
What? What? Trip had never shown any more flesh around the apartment than he needed to. His little moneymaker he called his body, and not just on the stage, also on the webcam pay site he thought Scott didn’t know about. But now Scott saw Trip being a showoff around Scott as much as possible, asking for input on what body part needed work, checking his routine, vacuuming wearing a thong, that type thing... Scott knew Trip was in no way, shape or form attracted to him so it couldn’t be that; Trip had always been a huge exhibitionist, knowing it drove Scott crazy in several ways.
He shook his head, scratching the thickening hair on his belly. It really irked him that the hair didn’t grow consistently, being thicker on his chest than his belly, and thicker on his thighs than his calves.. bad enough he felt soft, but the hair pattern made him feel even more conspicuous. At least he had body hair. Trip trimmed all of his off, what little he had. Not that Scott complained; he liked body hair, but only on himself... he preferred the unobstructed view of Trip’s body and the fact that he had so little hair anyway. That was one thing Scott had, even though he liked it on Trip; he looked more like a man when they were naked. Not that they ever were together, of course, he thought hurriedly, not sure why he was coloring.
Shaking his head with all the conflicting thoughts he was having, he turned toward the bathtub, sighing that this was the one thing that they should really have checked before the paid the deposit... Trip’s shoulders barely fit the width of the tub, and Scott’s middle was a good bit wider at 235. He wished, not for the first time, that he were taller than 5’9”.
A sound caught his attention and he turned. “Trip? Are you home?” It didn’t sound like the door, though... it wasn’t like any sound he’d ever heard before. A pulse, and a ripple went out... A second later, he shrugged, glancing at the clock now reading 8:14 and turned back to the spacious shower stall, glad that they’d thought to check this first, after the doors of course. It was big enough that Scott and Trip could both get in if they wanted to... not that they would of course. Well, maybe if Scott... No. He pushed that thought out of his head. Trip would never even think of that. But if they did... Scott lingered over the image of soaping the hard flaring muscles of Trip’s back, probing between rock-hard glutes that just begged to be explored...
Sweat beaded over his short hair and started to cascade down his face as blood started rushing from his heart to places further south. You want it, don’t you, Scott, the image of Trip seemed to say. Fuck me, Scott. Trip was standing in the shower facing away from him, wide shoulders and perfect hourglass lats thrown back, ripped six-pack bowing forward as he hiked his perfect ass up into the mounting position, head turned around on thick neck in a no-nonsense look, fingers pulling his cheeks apart, exposing his well-fucked ass to Scott’s invading missile... it was so much like Trip was really there that Scott reached for him, almost felt the smooth skin over hard muscle...
When Scott’s meaty paws met with empty air, it was too much. He had to have release and he had to have it now. Fumbling for the shower controls while stumbling into the stall, Scott reached for his thick manhood with both hands, his fingers spread wide. As the warm water erupted into life, drenching the hair on his round belly, a distant thought occurred to him. It’s too big. His hand knew his cock, the way a man knows the feel of his own, but this wasn’t his, despite being attached to him. He was sure of it.
But this thought evaporated in the steam in the shower and the steam in his blood as the stroking took hold of his mind. Fuck me, Scott, Trip moaned just out of hearing. Ram that cock in me. Let me feel that hairy belly of yours. Plow me, Daddy. He would have laughed to picture Trip actually saying these things if he hadn’t been fireblind. He ran his hand over the thick trail of hair leading from his chest to his crotch, over his round gut that seemed to jut further forward, his feet readjusting as his mass increased with every moment. Uhh... n-no! Trip! He almost toppled forward as the sheer explosion of orgasm took him, squeezing his eyes shut due to the sheer force.
And while his eyes were shut, a blinding glare shot forward as well, bathing the entire bathroom in light. The light became just as pure white as his issue, blanking out everything else, not just in his mind but around him as well as the pendant gave off an explosively powerful pulse.
It took Scott a while to come back down to earth. It took Scott a while to realize he was still alive. When his eyes finally uncrossed, he noticed his ass was cold and wet. When he thought about it, he thought it might have something to do with him sitting on the shower floor, his back propped against the wall. He didn’t remember falling down, but apparently he had. He tried to jerk himself up and was mildly surprised that he misjudged how much strength it would take to leverage his bulk upward and off the floor.
He must be out of it, but then he was still having a hard time adjusting to his new strength. He and Trip both had been surprised at how quickly Scott had gained muscle and bulk when he’d transferred his gym membership to The Gym, where Trip had been working out and doing personal training. He couldn’t believe just how big he’d gotten just in the past few months, since he and Phil... he grimaced and let the thought fade. He and Phil had worked out together, and even though Phil had been pushing and pushing Scott to gain more mass Scott had been reluctant to make that drastic a change to his body. Now he was doing it on his own, with Trip’s encouragement and Sven’s help and enjoying it and he felt guilty that he hadn’t acceded to Phil before. Now it was too late. He flexed his arm a bit ruefully. It was nice to be... big...
His brows knitted in puzzlement as he rose off the floor, almost not hearing the cracking sound behind him from the wall where he’d been sitting. The talisman at his throat started a fitful glow, as though fighting Scott. Phil had been in natural good shape and rode his bike and bladed but he hadn’t wanted to be around ‘muscleheads’ as he called them, so had a knee-jerk reaction around any fitness center. And Scott knew he didn’t have a membership, but... In-between the struggling light, pulses went out in uneven circles from him as he put a shaking hand to his head to fight off the stabbing pain. Glancing through slitted eyes, he saw his and Trip’s official ‘The Gym’ towels on the shelf next to the shower, his workout tank on the hook where he’d put it a moment ago, when he’d gotten home from the gym after work. The pic in the hallway he could barely see was of him and Phil both thumbs-up, the time at the gym when Phil’s bench had finally gone over 250... but he remembered it differently.
The talisman pulsed and faded. Scott shook his head, unable to reconcile the inconsistency and unable to understand why. It was as though he and Phil had had two different lives together, very similar but at the same time drastically different, and he remembered both clearly. Including the painful separation, which remained largely unchanged in his memory. He made a mental note to call Phil and ask...
A cracking sound. He stopped in the act of turning off the water and turned around, knowing exactly what he would find. There was a large broken crack in the vinyl wall of the shower enclosure that he must have made when he fell. Shit. Sven warned him that this kind of thing might happen as he got bigger, but he hadn’t really taken it seriously. But then, Sven was a WSM competitor and outweighed Scott by a good bit, so he ought to know about such things. Not for the first time, he wondered whether going on Avalon had been a good idea. Even while he thought how nice it would be once Trip started getting bigger from it too... he’d been avoiding doing the Avalon even though Scott had made a special effort to get Sven to sell it to them both. He was rather irritated by that; Trip had been getting a bit stubborn lately about things Scott wanted done. They definitely had to have a talk about which was the bigger guy around there.
He gave an irritated grunt at the crack and opened the door and stepped out, dripping onto the white tile. No point in worrying about it now. Maybe Trip could fix it; he was good at fixing things, and Scott was big enough to admit he was not mechanically inclined. Well, he was also big enough now to get Trip to do just about anything Scott wanted done, not that he exercised that kind of influence over Trip. Not very often, anyway. As he stepped out, reaching for the oversized towel, a strong steady pulse went out behind him and out of his view the crack silently melted together into an unbroken seam.
After scraping the excess from around him, a bit irritated that his shoulder flexibility had become so limited in the past couple of months as the mass had piled on, making raising his arms above shoulder level difficult, he wrapped the towel around his hard furry ballbelly... or at least tried to. Damn cheap towels. They shrank constantly. But they were 100% cotton and it did happen, but he distinctly remembered being able to wrap just one around him just last week. Now one wouldn’t even go three-quarters around him. He rolled his eyes and grabbed a second one, wondering why he was even bothering since Trip wasn’t home, but then he wasn’t the exhibitionist Trip was, walking around naked in the apartment all the time obviously trying to show off. Well... Scott had to admit he did enjoy the show, but he also liked driving Trip crazy by not making it obvious whether he enjoyed it or not.
Just as he managed to get them wrapped around each other in such a way that they wouldn’t fall off, at least not immediately, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror... and froze. It wasn’t right. At least, it seemed for a moment like he was seeing a different him. It wasn’t of course, but for a second... But no, he was still 250, still just under... he wished, not for the first time, that he was taller than just under 5’11”. He knew he was taller than most of the guys at Naffer’s shop, but he still felt short. Especially with Trip just a touch taller, much to his gall. Oh, well, at least he had natural body hair, he thought, running his hand on the thick mat on his round hard middle. Trip had almost none and a hard time growing facial hair like Scott’s thick goatee hanging past his chin. He frowned, wondering if he should trim it shorter, but discarded the thought for the hundredth time. Trip said it looked really good thicker, nice and dark. Not that Trip’s opinion had that kind of impact on his decision of course. He just needed to make sure he was making the right choice and Trip was handy. No other reason.
He did glance ruefully at the tattoos. Why he had ever let Trip talk him into it he had no idea, but Trip knew he liked teddy bears, and it had been Christmas, so... the little huggy bear on his shoulder did look just like Mr. Cuddles. As for the dancing bear armband...! His face didn’t change color now the way it had after taking the wrappings off in front of Trip that day, although he felt like it should. Trip had been surprised and pleased when Scott walked in that afternoon with his arm and shoulder bandaged. Scott guessed that Trip had thought he would never actually go through with it. Trip had given Scott a gift certificate for them, and Scott had gone the extra effort of bringing in pictures of Mr. Cuddles and the mirror border for the artist to work from. Trip hadn’t said anything about the fact that Scott had taken the design from the mirror but it was impossible to miss. For some reason, the fact that Trip hadn’t said anything made him extremely uncomfortable. If he made some snide remark about it, like Scott expected, it would be different...
Just then, he heard the front door slam.