Being the youngest cop on the force kind of sucks sometimes.
Sure, I get all the boring paperwork, all the terrible shifts, and somehow every job nobody else wants. But this time it landed me a pretty unusual opportunity.
For the past few months, there’ve been reports of suspicious activity surrounding a fraternity on campus. A few disappearances. Rumors about a new designer drug making its way through the student population. Nothing concrete, but enough to get my lieutenant interested.
So naturally, someone in the department watched way too many undercover cop movies and decided the best solution was to send me in.
Apparently I still look young enough to pass for a college student.
I’ve been undercover for almost three weeks now, and honestly? I’m starting to think my lieutenant got it completely wrong.
These guys don’t seem like criminals.
They’re loud. They’re immature. They’re obsessed with parties, the gym, and finding excuses to put their hands on literally anyone willing to tolerate them for more than five seconds.
Meanwhile I’m over here trying to remember I’m a police officer and not lose sight of why I came.
But being reckless, horny, and terminally allergic to responsibility doesn’t automatically make someone a criminal.
So far I’ve found nothing.
No evidence connecting them to any disappearances.
I’m about ready to file my report and tell my lieutenant this whole thing was a waste of department resources.
Tomorrow night the fraternity is throwing one of their biggest parties of the semester.
Before I close the book on this investigation, I’m going to take one last look around the house while everyone is distracted.
Just to make sure I didn’t miss anything.
After all, it would be pretty embarrassing to tell my lieutenant he was wrong…
…and then discover he was right.
I remember the day I joined the force. Dad was a cop. My older brothers were cops. But earning that badge mattered more. Academy, field training, endless exams... it took years. So when I finally pinned that shield to my chest, I thought people would finally see me as an officer. Instead I got:
"Damn, kid, just get outta middle school?"
"You ever think about growin' a beard? If you can..."
"You're twenty-seven? No way."
It never stopped. But it did come in handy for my assignment. Lieutenant James had slid a stack of files across his desk.
"Missing persons. Every one of 'em has ties to the same fraternity." Dr. Richard Peters. Christopher Saint. Paul Monroe. Different backgrounds, same house, then they vanished. "We think there's a new designer drug involved," the lieutenant said. "Brothers keep talking about being addicted, needing more, not being able to leave."
"So you want me undercover."
"You still pass for a student. Don't disappoint me."
So Officer Andrew Miller disappeared. Tyler took his place. Tyler was twenty-one, undeclared, and incapable of owning sleeves. I'd spent department time learning beer pong and fantasy football. The lieutenant's advice was simple: act young, act dumb, make friends.
Luke made the last two surprisingly easy. That first night he walked over, threw an arm around my shoulders, handed me a beer, and twenty minutes later had me doing a keg stand while everyone screamed my fake name. And you know what? I had fun. Luke wasn't secretive. Gym, food runs, parties... if I skipped an event to organize notes, he'd text asking where I'd gone. He never asked me to prove myself. He just included me.
"You'll get it," Richie told me while lifting. "Luke figures out what you need."
"What'd he figure out for you?"
"Needed to stop givin' so many fucks."
Everyone said the same. Luke gave them confidence, stopped their worrying, made them happy. Nobody knew how. And somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending every conversation was just work. One late night outside, he stared into the backyard. "Everybody wants something from me."
"I'm serious. They come here wantin' a better body, more friends, less stress."
"Sometimes." He grew quite, "What about you? What do you want?"
"Nothin'," I lied. "Just wanted to see what you guys are about."
Luke studied me, smiling. "That's it?"
I didn't know it then, but that answer meant everything to him. For two weeks Luke trusted me more than anyone. By the end of the third week, he had me pledge. But by that time, I'd decided the investigation had gone nowhere. Friday night's party would be my last look before filing my report.
Pushing open the front door, I realized I'd actually miss the place. Mostly Luke. But instead of the warm greeting from the guys like I was expecting, I got cold indifference.
"Luke wants you upstairs," Chris said, avoiding my eye.
I climbed the stairs and pushed open Luke's door, where I found him sprawled shirtless across the leather couch, backward cap over his dark hair, staring at me with hurt eyes.
Luke sat up. "Close the door, bro."
"Close it all the way." He stopped, "Officer Miller."
My hand was on the doorknob, "I don't know what you're talking about."
Luke laughed bitterly, standing up. "A fucking cop? Bro, I did a keg stand with you! You held my ankles! Two weeks ago I puked behind a Wendy's and you rubbed my back!"
"I bought you a Baconator!" He buried his head in his hands. "Fuck, bro! What the fuck?!"
"No one's fucking missing."
"You can't fuckin' mess with people like this."
I stepped toward him. "I want you to stop screwing around and take me seriously."
The question hit the exact wrong nerve. "Because nobody fucking does!" Years of swallowed frustration spilled out. "I'm sick of having to prove myself! I'm a police officer. Quit talking to me like I'm fifteen and take me seriously!"
Luke went completely still, then flashed a shit-eating grin. "Oh, bro."
"You shouldn't have said that."
"You wanted something from me." He shook his head, "All my pledges get what they want."
The itch started beneath my jaw. I scratched, but my fingertips dragged across something coarse.
"Aw, fuck, bro. Here we go."
Twenty-seven years old and I'd never grown real stubble. Now my fingertips scraped over coarse hair rapidly peppering my jawline.
"What the fuck did you do?"
Luke came toward me. "Dude, you did this."
My jaw cramped. Pressure spread through the bone until my teeth ached, my chin becoming heavier as the lower half of my face broadened.
"You wanted people to quit looking at you like you're twelve, right?" He scraped his knuckles through the new growth along my jaw. "Heard you loud and clear, bro."
Then my chest began to hurt. The ache was deep inside both pecs, building like post-lift soreness. I pressed my palms against myself and felt the muscles swell outward, packing with new mass while my shirt tightened. My shoulders burned as they broadened, pulling the fabric taut, and both sleeves cinched around my biceps as the muscles expanded.
Luke whistled. "Damn, Ty."
"That's not my... don't call me that."
"Oh, I'm definitely calling you that." He slammed both hands against my chest, pushing into muscles that hadn't been there a minute ago. "Bro, these are getting fucking huge."
He hooked both hands into the front of my shirt and yanked. The fabric tore with a sharp rip along the shoulders. He peeled the ruined shirt away, staring at the body underneath.
"Those look like they belong to a dude people take seriously."
"Fuck... fuck you..." I groaned and winced as my biceps cramped.
I grabbed my right arm, feeling it swell, steadily thickening until my fingers couldn't reach around it. Luke wrapped his hand around the other, squeezed, and laughed.
"Stop fucking enjoying this!"
"Why? I'm finally getting something I want too." He looked directly into my eyes. "Everybody comes to me wanting shit, Andrew. Maybe finally it's my turn, bro." He took a step closer, pressing up against me, "I want you. I want Tyler."
An intense itch erupted across my bare chest. Coarse hair pushed through my skin beneath my fingertips, thickening between my pecs before spreading outward and trailing down my stomach.
Luke stared openly. "Damn." His hand dragged slowly across my chest, flattening the new hair before finding the swollen muscle beneath, squeezing one pec appreciatively. "Never had that before either, huh?"
"Looks good on you, bro."
I hated the little rush that went through me. "Shut up."
"Bullshit." I reached for my phone, but I wasn't used to my thicker fingers. The phone dropped and I got a glimpse of the dark hair now spreading over my thickened forearms, "I... Fuck I need... back-up..." the Lieuteniants's extension was... I knew it. Of course I knew it.
Another wave of pressure rolled through my chest, and I groaned as my pecs swelled heavier beneath Luke's hands.
"You're doing good, Ty," he said, rubbing his thumbs through the hair covering them. "Looking real good too."
"You really think so?" The question escaped before I could stop it. Luke smiled, sending a warm flush through me. "You're messing with my head."
"Then make it fucking stop, bro." I froze. I heard the word echoing in my own head. "Why'd I call you bro?"
"'Cause that's how Tyler talks."
I tried to concentrate on the investigation, but Luke kept rubbing my chest, talking to me while my thoughts blurred.
"Same shit happened to Richie," Luke said with a smug grin. "Professor dude wanted to quit stressin'. CJ wanted friends. PJ wanted med school apps to stop kickin' his ass. My gift fixes shit, bro. Gives people what they want. All they gotta do is ask." He shrugged, "Don't ask me why everybody ends up like… this." He chuckled at my confusion, "Like one of my new frat bros, bro. Really works out pretty fuckin' great for me, though."
Richie. Dr. Richard Peters. The realization hit. I'd spent three weeks lifting beside one of the missing men.
"You did this to all of them?"
"They asked for something. So did you."
"I asked you to take me seriously!"
His hand settled against the center of my chest, and the panic faded. Luke had been my suspect, but underneath those facts were three weeks of workouts, parties, jokes, and nights talking shoulder-to-shoulder. I knew the smell of him. I knew how his hand felt gripping my shoulder.
"Sure you can." He grinned, "Let me help ya, bro."
His mouth was suddenly against mine. My hands grabbed his dense shoulders to push him away, but instead settled on them as I kissed him back. His hands moved over my swollen arms, squeezing my biceps before sliding across my chest. Every approving touch felt... so fuckin' good. I begrudgingly tore myself away, breathing hard.
"What the fuck did I just do?"
"I know what I fucking did!"
"Didn't seem like you hated it."
Luke kissed me again, and my resistance lasted seconds. My thickened arms wrapped around him while his hands explored my chest, fingers kneading through the hair before sliding up to feel my stubble.
"Twenty-two," he murmured when we separated briefly.
Our mouths locked together in a sloppy, desperate kiss, moaning into each other. Luke's palms slid down over my waist, cupping my hips, dropping beneath the waistband of my pants to grip my growing ass. He squeezed hard, kneading into the thick, muscle-packed curves.
"Bro... fuck..." I was breathing hard. Why was twenty-two bad? Something about twenty-seven. Some guy who... no. Me. Right?
"You're fuckin' gorgeous, Ty."
"You mean it, bro?" I mumbled, voice thick and desperate.
So I kissed him again. His skin smelled like cedarwood and sweat, and instead of wanting space, I pulled him closer. Everything about him was addictive... the warmth of his body, the scratch of his skin, the sound of his breathing, the way his hands roamed across my hairy chest.
Something clicked into place and Luke laughed when I pulled him against me, burying my face in his neck. I wanted him close, so fuckin' close. To feel him, smell him, worship him.
"Love you, bro," I mumbled against his skin, kissing his jaw.
"Love you too, Ty," Luke whispered, his hands sliding down to grip my heavy ass cheeks again.
The friction of our heavy bulges pressing hard against each other through layers of fabric made a low, strangled whine tear out of my throat. My hips bucked forward instinctively, grinding our groins together, and I felt his thick, rigid cock, swollen and desperate against my own throbbing, leaking length.
"Fuck… Ty, you're driving me insane," Luke gasped, a ragged, breathless moan tearing from his chest.
"Let me take care of it, bro," I murmured, a half-dazed grin spreading across my face.
Luke’s breath hitched sharply in sudden surprise as I shoved his jeans and boxers down in one fierce motion. His heavy, already-leaking cock sprang free, hot and throbbing in the dim light. Without a second thought, I dropped heavily to my knees between his thighs, my gaze locking up onto his flushed, half-delirious face.
"Ty…" he breathed out, voice cracking as my mouth closed over him.
That was when the door opened.
Richie stopped in the doorway. "Damn, Ty..."
Fuckin' Richie... Always getting in the fuckin' way, "Bruh, get the fuck out."
"Dude..." Richie grinned, "That's a rough fuckin' 21."
"Fuck you!" I laughed, scrambling to my feet, "What's the supposed to mean?"
I ran calloused hand through the thick, dark mat of chest hair sweeping across my broad pecs. People always acted so surprised by how much hair I had. Not my fault I hit puberty at like 8. Bunch of dumbasses. Besides, as long as Luke liked it, didn't really matter.
"Can't you see we're fuckin' busy, bro?" My swollen cock ached inside my jeans. I pointed a thick finger at the door, "Get the fuck out, man!"
"Hey, take it easy, big guy. Just came to see if you were ready to head back downstairs. The keg's overflowing, and half the house is asking where their favorite pledge went."
"Get lost, Richie," Luke muttered, his breathless rasp sending a fresh jolt of horniness straight to my groin.
"Alright, alright, I'm going," Richie chuckled, closing the door.
Once it shut, my gaze locked onto Luke as he fell back onto the mattress, his heavy, leaking cock completely exposed and begging for attention.
"Where were we, bro?" I murmured, laying atop him, pressing a hot, greedy kiss to his lips before trailing my mouth eagerly down his throat, sliding lower over his chest and stomach until my lips wrapped firmly around his thick, leaking cock.
