Could u write a story about Henry Metzger swapping bodies with his bf Branson when Branson tired of bottoming and puts on Henry’s workout clothes to feel more like a top
Relationship Dynamics
Henry had just come back from the gym when he peeled off his clothes and headed straight for the shower. Branson barely looked up from his phone as Henry disappeared down the hall, the sound of running water starting up a moment later. The bedroom still smelled faintly like sweat and detergent. Henry’s workout clothes were draped over the chair, abandoned and oversized, exactly where he’d left them.
Branson’s eyes lingered.
The compression shirt looked ridiculous next to his own clothes—built for a chest he didn’t have, shoulders he’d never needed. The shorts were even worse, waistband wide enough that Branson already knew they’d slide straight off him.
He didn’t think about consequences. He didn’t think about anything except the dull, familiar frustration sitting in his chest.
Just for a second, he told himself. Just to see how it feels.
He pulled on the shirt first.
It hung on him immediately, loose through the torso, sleeves falling halfway to his elbows. He laughed under his breath, turning sideways in the mirror. He looked like a kid playing dress-up, swallowed by fabric that refused to take him seriously.
“Yeah, okay,” he muttered. “Definitely not fooling anyone.”
The shorts were worse. He had to cinch the waistband with one hand just to keep them from sliding down his hips.
Still, something about it made his chest tighten—not embarrassment, but longing. He straightened his posture, rolled his shoulders, trying to inhabit the clothes instead of letting them wear him. That was when the weight hit.
Not all at once—more like a slow, creeping density. The shirt stopped hanging loose. The fabric pressed closer to his skin, tightening across his chest, then his arms. The shorts no longer slipped. They settled. Branson frowned, breath catching.
His reflection was changing—not dramatically, not instantly, but unmistakably. His shoulders were broader. His arms thicker. The narrow angles of his body filled out like someone had adjusted the gravity around him.
“What the hell…” he whispered, his voice lower than it should’ve been.
He took a step back and felt it immediately—his feet hitting the floor with certainty, balance locking into place. His body felt anchored. Heavy in a way that made him feel unstoppable instead of fragile.
Down the hall, Henry shut off the shower. Steam filled the bathroom as he stepped out, towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping from his hair. He wiped at the mirror without looking—then froze mid-motion. Branson’s face stared back at him.
Not a trick of steam. Not exhaustion. Branson’s eyes. Branson’s mouth. Branson’s body—slim, light, unfamiliar in every way that mattered. Henry sucked in a sharp breath and stepped closer, heart pounding. He lifted one arm slowly, watching it rise with an ease that felt wrong. Too light. Too easy to move.
“No,” he said under his breath.
He turned sideways. Narrow shoulders. A chest that didn’t hold him the way it always had. He pressed a hand flat against himself, searching for something solid that wasn’t there.
In the bedroom, Branson stared at his hands. They weren’t his. Bigger. Stronger. Veins standing out under the skin. He flexed his fingers experimentally and felt power answer back without effort, like his body already knew what to do.
“Oh my god,” Branson breathed.
The bathroom door opened hard.
Henry stood there gripping the towel, eyes locked on Branson—on his own body wearing his gym clothes like they finally fit the way they were meant to.
“BRANSON! What did you do?” Henry asked.
Branson spun around, excitement collapsing into shock. “I—nothing. I just put your clothes on. I swear.”
“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” Branson continued. Not panicked. Not apologetic. Almost reverent. “I’ve never felt… settled before.”
Henry’s jaw tightened. “I feel the opposite.”
Branson turned to him. Seeing Henry like that — smaller, guarded, shoulders slightly hunched — sent a strange jolt through him. Not satisfaction. Something more complicated.
“I know,” Branson said. “But just—listen to me for a second.”
Henry hesitated, then nodded.
“I spend my whole life being read a certain way,” Branson continued. “People decide things about me before I even open my mouth. Cute. Harmless. Easy.” He gestured vaguely to the body he was in now. “This… people don’t decide for you. They wait.”
Henry looked away.
“I just want to know what that feels like,” Branson said. “To be big. To be taken seriously without having to earn it. Just for a little while.”
Henry swallowed. He hated how convincing it sounded. Hated how part of him understood it.
“And what about me?” Henry asked. “I feel like I could get knocked over by a strong breeze.”
Branson softened, stepping closer—but slower this time. Careful.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said. “I just want to try living like this. Just long enough to see.”
Henry studied his own face, now animated by Branson’s excitement. It felt disorienting, like arguing with a reflection that didn’t belong to him anymore.
Finally, he nodded once. Reluctant. Resigned.
“Just tonight,” Henry said.
They went out to dinner like nothing was wrong.
At least, that’s how it looked from the outside.
Henry stayed close to Branson’s side as they walked, hyperaware of every step. His stride was shorter. His body reacted differently to the cold air, to the noise of the street. He felt… breakable. Like the city was too sharp for him now.
Branson walked ahead without realizing it.
People moved out of his way.
That alone nearly made him stop.
At the restaurant, the host smiled at him first. Not the bright, indulgent smile Branson was used to — something more neutral. Respectful.
“Two?” the host asked Branson.
Henry opened his mouth, then closed it.
They were seated quickly. No lingering glances. No double-takes.
When the waiter arrived, he addressed Branson directly. Told him about the specials. Waited for his response. When the check came at the end of the meal, it landed squarely in front of Branson without hesitation.
Branson stared at it for half a second too long.
Henry noticed.
“I don’t like this,” Henry murmured, twisting his napkin in his lap. “I feel invisible.”
Branson finally looked at him. Really looked.
“I’ve always felt that way,” he admitted quietly.
Henry didn’t have an answer for that.
Branson picked up the check easily, naturally. No awkwardness. No pause.
As they stood to leave, someone brushed past Henry without apologizing. The contact sent a jolt through him — not pain, but a reminder of how easily he could be moved now.
Branson noticed again.
He slowed his pace so Henry could walk beside him.
But he didn’t give the body back.
And as they stepped back out into the night, Branson realized something that unsettled him almost as much as it thrilled him:
For the first time in his life, the world was treating him like any other guy.
And he didn’t want it to stop.
By the time they got back to the apartment, Henry was exhausted in a way he’d never felt before.
Not tired—drained.
Every step up the stairs had reminded him how little leverage his body had now. His legs burned faster. His balance lagged. Even the act of slipping off his shoes felt awkward, like he was borrowing someone else’s coordination and doing it badly.
He headed straight for the bedroom.
“I just want today to be over,” Henry said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his arms, more out of instinct than cold. “I don’t feel like myself at all.”
Behind him, Branson closed the door.
He hadn’t stopped feeling good all night.
The way people looked at him. The way space seemed to make room for him. Even now, standing in the bedroom, he felt grounded—solid feet on the floor, shoulders wide, presence undeniable.
Date nights always ended the same way.
That expectation hummed in the air between them.
Branson watched Henry for a moment, then said, carefully, “We don’t have to pretend nothing changed.”
Henry stiffened. “What does that mean?”
Branson stepped closer. Not looming—but unmistakably bigger now. “It means maybe tonight doesn’t end the way it usually does.”
Henry turned to look at him, confusion giving way to unease. “Branson. I’m not going to bottom for you, even if I’m in your body.”
“But I want to try being the top. Plus I don’t know how much of a choice you have.” Branson replied. “You know how submissive I am. My body responds to control, so all if I start being dominant, you’re going to submit.”
Henry was stunned. He never thought Branson could be so intimidating. Maybe it’s all the testosterone pumping through my body.
The next thing Henry knew, Branson had lifted him in the air and threw him onto the bed. Branson commanded him to get naked and lift his legs over his head. Henry’s new dick started to get hard hearing this coming from his old body. He didn’t know what was happening to him, but he felt compelled to follow. Henry got naked and lifted his legs.
Branson was amazed by this new feeling of power. He has never been able to direct someone and have them listen. It felt nice. He took off his own clothes and got on the bed. He spit on his new dick and inserted it into his old ass. As he fucked his old hole, he asked Henry, “Who’s your daddy?” Henry moaned, “yoooouuuu arrrrreeeee.” Branson followed with, “what’s my name?” Henry said, “Branson” but that wasn’t the answer he wanted. Branson pulled out and slapped Henry’s new ass. He repeated the question, and this time Henry said, “Henry”. “That’s right,” Henry said, “I’m Henry now and you are Branson.”
Henry realized that he no longer had any power, and he was at the mercy of Branson.
The next morning, when Henry asked Branson to swap back, Branson said with a smirk, “this is the new normal, you better get used to it Branson.”
