As part of a trade for @occamstf. Also, some of my stories are old, and if you wanted to rewrite them, use similar concepts, do a "remake" etc please reach out! Happy to collab and get your spin on one of my old stories!
Tristan tried to weave in between the sweaty bodies of several shirtless frat bros, doing his best to avoid spilling the beer in his red solo cup. The smell of beer and cheap cologne clung to them, which only made Tristan feel dizzy. Worst yet, the music was loud, so loud that he could barely hear himself think.
"This was a mistake." He thought as he escaped the crowd of people and leaned up against the wall in the corner of the frat house, "At least I gave it a try."
Tristan was never someone who imagined he'd enjoy the party scene, but given that it was nearing the end of his freshman year, he figured he should at least give it a try. At least he knew now that parties were not his thing, and neither was the beer in his still nearly full red solo cup.
"Where'd they go?" He preened his neck to see if he could locate his friends from the dorm, "I shouldn't leave without them."
But after a few minutes of searching, he decided to give up. He'd text them and check in on them in the morning. And with that, he made his way towards the door. But before Tristan could reach the front door, somebody bumped into him, splashing the beer across his hoodie.
"I'm sorry!" Tristans squeaked out, looking down at his beer soaked shirt, "I didn't mean..."
The apology died in his throat. The guy he'd bumped into was huge. Not just tall. Huge. Broad shoulders stretched the sleeves of a gray fraternity shirt. Thick forearms crossed over a chest that looked like it had been carved out of granite. A backwards baseball cap sat low on his head, and even in the dim party lighting Tristan could see the confident grin spreading across his face.
"Damn dude." The guy barked out a laugh, "There you go again."
The guy burst out laughing, as did the group of jocks behind him. Tristan felt his face turn red and he looked down. But he felt a muscular arm thrown around his shoulders and he was pulled in close to the guy's sweaty, muscular torso. Up close, Tristan could smell sweat, deodorant, and stale beer clinging to the guy's shirt. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but somehow the guy seemed completely unaware of it. Or maybe he simply didn't care.
"Name's Ryan." He said, "You?"
"Figured." Ryan smirked, and Tristan could see something predatory flash through the frat bro's eyes, "You gonna take that off." He nodded towards the beer-soaked hoodie.
"I-I'll change when I get home." Tristan replied quickly.
"No you fuckin' won't." Ryan pulled Tristan towards the stairs, "I ain't letting a freshman walk home soaked in shitty beer. I've got something for you in my room."
Ryan didn't even slow down. He kept a hand planted firmly on Tristan's shoulder as he guided him up the stairs. Tristan was struck by how easily the larger man moved through the crowded house. People stepped aside without even seeming to realize they were doing it. A few called Ryan's name. Others nodded in greeting. Ryan answered every one of them with the effortless confidence of someone completely at home.
"Seriously," Tristan said as they reached the second floor landing, "you don't have to do this."
Ryan pushed open a door near the end of the hallway and stepped inside. The room looked exactly how Tristan imagined a fraternity president's room would look.
Sports memorabilia covered the walls. Framed photographs showed Ryan posing with teammates, fraternity brothers, and various championship trophies. A collection of baseball caps hung above a dresser. The room smelled faintly of detergent, deodorant, and the lingering musk of somebody who spent most of his time either at practice or in the gym.
"It's... nice." Tristan replied.
"Good, glad you like it."
"You play football?" Tristan asked, nodding toward one of the trophies.
Ryan laughed, "Played. Graduating in three weeks."
Tristan watched as Ryan yanked his shirt off, revealing his physique. The guy was built. Not in the exaggerated way movie superheroes were built. Ryan looked real. Years of football, lifting, and hard training had left thick muscle packed across his shoulders, chest, and arms. Ryan caught him staring.
Tristan immediately looked away, "Nothing."
"Bullshit." Ryan laughed and tossed the fraternity shirt onto the bed, "You were checking out the gains."
"It's okay." Ryan walked up to him, "You like it, don't you?"
"C'mon bro, stop fuckin' playing." Ryan grinned, "Everyone wants this." His hands suddenly pulled at the hem of Tristan's shirt, "Let's see what we're working with here."
Before Tristan could object, Ryan grabbed the hem of his beer-soaked hoodie and peeled it over his head. The cool air of the room immediately hit Tristan's skin. He instinctively folded his arms across his chest, suddenly aware of how much smaller he looked standing in front of the jock. Ryan slowly nodded. A smile spread across his face.
But Ryan was suddenly on his knees, looking up at Tristan with a smirk. And before Tristan could react, Ryan was fumbling with his belt.
"I need this, bro." Ryan said.
"Wait... I..." Was this really happening? Tristan could never imagine that a guy as hot as this would ever...
"You want this, don't you?"
"Y-yeah..." Tristan bit his lip.
As Ryan pulled Tristan’s pants down, letting them pool around his ankles, he leaned forward and looked up. His eyes locked onto Tristan’s with an unyielding, dominant confidence. The heat of Ryan's breath hit Tristan's cock just a second before his lips made contact. The moment Ryan took Tristan into his mouth, a strange, electric jolt shot through both of them.
"Oh god..." Tristan moaned. This was his first BJ and god it felt better than he could've possibly imagined. Ryan's tongue worked the head of his hard cock, and he could feel the jock's firm hands grasp his skinny ass.
And as Ryan rhythmically bobbed his head, his hands gripped Tristan’s thighs tightly. And as he gripped harder, Tristan’s thighs, typically lean and soft, felt a sudden, internal surge. The muscle fibers beneath the skin began to swell and density doubled. At the same time, Ryan grunted as his heavy, square jawline that had defined his face for years began to soften, the sharp angles rounding out. His grip on Tristan's thighs wavered as his own fingers lost a fraction of their calloused thickness, shortening and becoming smoother.
"Wait..." Tristan choked out, his hands trembling as he gripped his own newly expanding legs. "Ryan, what... what are you doing to me? What is this?"
Ryan didn't answer. He couldn't. His lips were wrapped firmly around Tristan’s cock, his head bobbing with an intense, deliberate rhythm. But looking down, Tristan saw a frightening yet mesmerizing change overtaking the older man. Ryan’s massive, boulder-like shoulders were visibly losing their breadth. The thick, rigid muscles of the jock's back were softening, compressing inward, collapsing into a much smaller, slighter frame.
A sudden, sharp pressure bloomed in Tristan’s own chest. He arched his back, crying out as his ribcage expanded with a loud, deep pop.
Tristan watched in absolute awe as his narrow torso erupted outward. Layers of dense, heavy pectoral muscle sheeted across his skin, stretching his pale flesh until it turned a healthy, sun-kissed golden-tan. His collarbones broadened, pushing his shoulders out so wide that he had to brace his feet against the floor just to keep his balance. He felt massive. He felt heavy. And he reached up to give his new pecs a squeeze with his increasingly thicker hands. He grunted at the feeling of the firm flesh beneath his palm and let out another moan as Ryan's pace quickened.
Down below, the hands gripping his thighs had completely changed. They were no longer the rough, calloused hands of a football captain; they were smaller, the fingers shorter and smoother. They were Tristan's hands.
Ryan let out a muffled, desperate grunt against Tristan's length, his eyes squeezed shut. The backward baseball cap sitting on Ryan's head suddenly slipped, sliding down a face that was rapidly losing its sharp, hyper-masculine definition. Ryan's jawline was shrinking, the bone structure shifting and rounding into a softer, much more delicate shape.
"Ryan, stop! Look at me!" Tristan pleaded, but the voice that left his throat completely shocked him. The high-pitched, nervous squeak of a freshman was gone. Instead, a deep, resonant rumble vibrated through his expanded chest... a rich, commanding baritone that belonged entirely to the man on his knees. "My voice... I sound like... you?"
Ryan squeezed Tristan's thicker ass, as if to reassure him. And then, without hesitating, continued to suck him off. Tristan moaned as he felt his cock start to lengthen in Ryan's mouth. Becoming girthier, thicker. All the while, the bulge in Ryan's pants became less impressive.
"S..Stop... wh-what is this?"
He looked down at his arms. His thin, spindly forearms were ballooning, thick veins pulsing beneath the skin as rock-hard muscle packed itself around his bones. Right before his eyes, a faint, dark ink began to bleed upward through his skin, settling into the exact shape of the fraternity tattoo Ryan was sporting earlier.
Ryan finally pulled back, gasping for air, and looked up at Tristan.
Tristan stared down, his breath catching in his throat. He was looking at himself. Ryan’s face had completely transformed into Tristan’s own fresh-faced, wide-eyed freshman features. His messy, soft brown hair fell into his eyes, and his expression was entirely devoid of his previous swagger, replaced by a vulnerable, submissive awe.
"I'm... I'm you," Tristan whispered, his large, heavy hand instinctively reaching up to touch his own face. His fingers brushed against a rugged, broken nose bridge and thick jaw, "And you're... you're me."
The boy on his knees smiled, a soft, tired, yet incredibly satisfied expression crossing his newly acquired, youthful face.
"I'm graduating, bro," Ryan whispered, his voice now carrying Tristan's exact light, breathless tone. He looked up at his own former body with a mixture of relief and envy. "I don't want to leave. I'm not ready for the real world. But now, I don't have to leave." He looked at his now lankier frame, "Might take some work, but I'll rebuild everything I had here."
"No... no, please. I didn't agree to this." Tristan begged, his voice a heavy, vibrating rumble that practically shook his own newly expanded ribs.
But even as the desperate plea left his lips, his new body was completely overwhelming his senses. The physical reality of being Ryan was staggering. Tristan gasped as a sudden wave of heat rolled over him, bringing with it a whole new sensory world. He didn't smell like himself anymore; he could smell the heavy, masculine scent of expensive sport deodorant, deep musk, and the faint, bitter tang of dried sweat from a long workout.
"This is how it is now, bro," Ryan whispered from below. He used Tristan’s small, smooth hands to brush a strand of soft, messy brown hair out of his eyes, looking up with a serene, relaxed smile. "Look around. You liked my muscles, right? You were checking out the gains. You liked my room, the trophies. It’s all yours now. I get to restart as you, and you get to be the big man on campus. It’s a fair trade."
"No, it's not!" Tristan protested, tears of pure panic forming. "I don't want to be the big man on campus! I want to be a student! I want to live my life, go to my own classes, hang out with my roommates... I can't just occupy your life! I'm not you!"
Ryan let out a soft, youthful chuckle, shaking his head. Tristan's old face looked so innocent, so small from up here. "Too late for that, man. Look at yourself. You are me now. In three weeks, you're walking across that stage with a degree. You need to start acting like me so my brothers and teammates don't get suspicious. Walk tall. Stop stuttering. You've got practice tomorrow morning."
"I can't," Tristan whispered, his massive chest heaving as a cold sweat broke out over his broad, tanned shoulders. He felt completely disconnected from the timid freshman he was supposed to be, trapped inside a prison of pure, unyielding muscle. "I don't know how to be you. I don't know how to act like this. I can't do it, Ryan..."
"Let me help you adjust," Ryan whispered softly, his eyes darkening with a quiet, deliberate intent.
Before Tristan could even think to push him away, Ryan leaned back in. The motion was slow, incredibly sensual, and deeply intimate. Tristan’s massive, throbbing cock slid past Ryan’s new, soft lips, and the moment the wet, intense warmth enclosed him, a gasp tore from Tristan's throat.
Ryan didn't rush. He bobbed his head with a slow, agonizingly perfect rhythm, swirling his tongue around the hyper-sensitive, engorged head. Tristan’s knees buckled slightly, his massive thighs trembling under the sheer sensory overload. As the warmth of Ryan's mouth worked over his length, Tristan felt his mind begin to fracture. His core memories... the long nights studying in the library, his quiet dorm room, his nervous anxiety around crowds... began to haze over, melting away.
In their place, a torrent of foreign thoughts, impulses, and memories rushed in to fill the void. Tristan choked out a moan, his thick fingers tangling in his own soft brown hair on Ryan's head, but he wasn't trying to pull him away anymore. He was remembering the roar of the stadium crowd. He was remembering the exact weight of a football in his palm. He was remembering the absolute, unshakeable certainty that he owned every single room he walked into.
"Oh god... fuck..." Tristan groaned, but the panic in his voice was rapidly dissolving, replaced by a dark, heavy, confident heat.
His internal monologue was shifting. The anxious, overthinking voice of the freshman was being utterly crushed, flattened beneath a rising tide of raw, unadulterated jock confidence. The world was reorganizing itself in his mind. He looked down at the boy giving him pleasure, and he didn't see his old self anymore. He just saw a freshman. A cute, soft little freshman who belonged on his knees, doing exactly what he was told.
Ryan... the original Ryan- finally pulled back with a wet, heavy sigh, wiping his mouth with the back of his small hand. He looked up at his old body with a submissive, wide-eyed awe, completely content to be small, young, and entirely free of the real world.
The man standing above him didn't look confused or scared anymore. He adjusted his stance, his broad, shoulders squaring perfectly as a cocky, predatory smirk spread across his rugged face. He looked around at his sports memorabilia, his trophies, and then down at his freshman, feeling completely, utterly at home.
"Damn, bro," Ryan rumbled, his deep, dominant baritone dripping with an effortless authority as he reached down, his heavy hand firmly gripping the freshman's hair. "You're pretty fucking good at this. Who told you to stop, bro?"
