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His home got blown up while he was sleeping :/

Coffee By The Ton

What kind of coffee shop was called Coffee By The Ton?

Matt knew it was a play on words but as a businessman he hated it. If someone from marketing were to suggest a pun that illogical, they were either one of two things, an intern or fired. Back in his heyday, there was a regular Starbucks on the corner. It had survived everything, riots, the stock market crash, probably a dozen other disasters that had plagued any American city. Yet they couldn’t survive this, this being the invasion of all sorts of weird themed millennial joints.

Matt thought he had escaped it by avoiding any burger place that had cropped up in the 2010s, but now it looked like the infestation had come here. No matter, Matt’s craving for caffeine wasn’t going to deter him away from the coffee spot. So that was why he even bothered to step in, though he was already running late for his one’o’clock meeting. No matter, he thought, he had been in the business long enough to know what he could get away with.

“Oh my word I do apologise,” came a deep and undeniably British voice, as Matt felt a body pressed against him. Great, he thought, of course he’d bump into someone at a coffee shop. But he didn’t feel any liquid over him and looked over at the man in front of him, blinking. He was looking for coffee stains, instead he got golden embroidery over a vanilla waistcoat. Matt took a step back, his eyes looking at the tight waistcoat, up to the matching cravat, over the shoulders of a navy wool tailcoat.

Then Matt saw the man’s face, a square jaw with a perfectly polite and pearly smile. The man’s face was handsome and recognisable, like the kind of face Matt had seen maybe…act in something? But for some reason he couldn’t put the words together or any words at all. For some reason he just stared, like an idiot he thought. He wasn’t sure why he was staring and unable to say anything, looking at the man, who was admittedly pretty handsome. Matt blinked and went to try and find some words before the man spoke again. “Are you quite alright?”

The words came out posh, too posh, like they were more a character in a play or movie than how anybody would actually speak. Matt blinked.

“Yeah fine,” the man grunted, taking one last look at the man, from the tight breeches over the man’s thighs to the cravat stuffed around the man’s thick neck. “Fine.” He grunted again under his breath before shoving past the man, ignoring how the man’s deep eyes stared at him as he swallowed.

He had no idea why a man would be wearing such tight period clothes coming out of the coffee shop and in truth, Matt didn’t want to know. But the moment he stepped inside, he knew exactly why.

The new coffee shop itself held the same space as the Starbucks with little renovation besides the decoration. Any and all green was gone, as well as the minimalist aesthetic of the place. Instead though it held the same shape, it was a completely different building inside. It started with the smell, the gentle fragrance of perfumes that coalesced into a storm of scents, rose, gardenia, the hint of vanilla that made Matt rear his head back. As he blinked, he looked inside properly at the illustrious interior. The chairs were all brown leather armchairs, fitted and comfortable, looking as if they had been polished moments before Matt had stepped in.

The floor was simple, tiled black and white diamonds with the sound of violins playing over the speakers. There was a vague recognisability to the songs, much like how the place still held the shape of Starbucks or the man outside looked so familiar, the songs had a similar effect.

They sounded like songs from the radio but different, a new percussion to them of violins and harps and flutes. Any annoying choruses were replaced simply by instrumental and played well, the sound floating through the air like the perfumes and made the place look a little more…opulent, than Matt was expecting. The walls themselves had been painted over with cream and grey, making the walls appear as if they were made of marble. There were cracks and a roughness to the walls that looked as if someone had touched the dark panels that were inside the Starbucks and shifted the material.

Must just be a good paint job, Matt thought to himself though he couldn’t help but feel the urge to reach out and touch the wall, as if testing it for himself. Narrow sections of wall had been converted into decorative pilasters, lighter than the wall they were a part of, carved with thin stripes cut into the shaft.

The top and bottom were rounded, an ornamental floral pattern carved into them that repeated for every pilaster he saw. The square modern lights had instead been replaced by chandeliers, some small to the side but with a large and golden one that refracted the sunlight. A warm and golden glow enveloped the room and made it look larger, like Matt wasn’t in the midst of a cafe but in a ballroom, surrounded by leather armchairs and mahogany tables.

The only place that did look as if it came from the modern era was the service desk, that too made of mahogany but with steel and coffee machines all set behind it.

“Are you quite alright?” A voice, melodic like the music, had decided to float through the air too. Matt looked at the only two other people that were in the cafe beside him, both dressed like the man he had bumped into. Themed cafe, great, Matt thought as he stepped closer to the strange strangers. Both of them were dressed in a similar getup, one in with rolled down puffy white sleeves, a blue waistcoat, navy blue breeches, with a handsome bearded face sticking out. The other was friendlier, a doughy face that pulled into a wide smile that accentuated chubby cheeks. That man was dressed more properly, with a navy blue tailcoat over his waistcoat (speckled yellow and cyan blue), a golden cravat and even a fob hanging from the waist. It was all a bit much for a work uniform, Matt thought as he walked over in his three piece suit. Well, at least their clothes were nice and the accents weren’t half bad, Matt thought.

“Yeah uh can I get a uh…” Matt frowned at the names of the coffees available. A caramel macchiato was a Viscount’s Velvet Caramel Infusion, Grey Earl tea was Earl’s Morning Elixir, an Americano was The Rake’s Dark Roast. “Jesus Christ…”

“What was that sir?” One of the men spoke, the both of them attached to the hip, eyes only on him. Matt could smell the desperation for customers from a mile away.

“All these drinks…they’re just so…” Matt frowned like he had smelled something disgusting. He knew he couldn’t really complain, as the proper drinks were all labelled in brackets.

“Ah, not one for history I take it?”

“No, definitely not. It’s all just a bit…” Horrible? Trashy? Stupid? Matt tried to come up with words for themed businesses like these, like bars that thought they were medieval taverns. Tacky, was the politest one he could find. “Different.” The politest honest word he could find.

“Well we never shy away from differences, Anthony and I,” the man speaking clasped his hand on the shoulder of the more handsome one. That man was instead staring at Matt, looking at him up and down in what he had to assume was judgement. Though he didn’t get why there was a slight smile on the man’s face. “But it’s never too late for one to get into history you know?” “Hard pass. The only history I care about is the best sale I made this quarter,” joked Matt. Neither of the men laughed like they would do in the office, even if they were motivated because they were underlings. He scoffed. “Y’know just a little bit of advice from one businessman to another…you might wanna think of ways to drum up business soon. Considering you just opened.” Both men exchanged looks, it was the first time Matt realised they weren’t staring at him.

“We hope to get some investments soon, as you’ve stated we have just begun this venture,” said one of the men, politely.

“Investment huh? Good luck with that,” Matt scoffed, not noticing the grins both men exchanged as he looked up at the menu. “Uh I’ll just get…the Viscount’s Velvet whatever.”

“You wish for the Viscount’s Velvet Caramel Infusion sir?” “Yeah yeah I wish for the Viscount’s infusion whatever,” huffed Matt as he went to pay for it. He watched as the men got to work, the more handsome one keeping eye contact as he squeezed some of the caramel into his drink, forcing Matt to look away. It was only after a few moments that Matt realised they were making it in a cup. “Oh actually can I get that to go?” “I’m afraid not sir,” said the man making his drink, despite his cocky smile and demeanour his British accent made everything he said sound so polite. “All drinks are to be had at the premises. Viscount’s orders.” He winked at Matt, making the man’s brain short circuit and forget whatever it was he was going to say.

“Right uh whatever, sure, fine.” It’ll be just a quick lunch break, then back to the office and never coming here again. Matt waited before the man finished his drink and slid it smoothly across the table. The man’s warm fingers brushed against Matt’s, making him almost jolt as he looked up and swore for a second, he could see their dark eyes look into his and thought they did it on purpose.

“Enjoy.” “Yeah, sure.” Matt took the cup and its plate, going to find a table as far away from the entrance or the front as he sat down, finding himself next to a portrait. All the minimalist and corporate safe art had instead been replaced with framed pictures, some of classic paintings and others with portraits of men Matt didn’t recognise. But it was like the man said, he was never much for history.

By the time he sat down, he saw it was nearing one. And as if on cue, the phone rang before he could get his first sip in. He took it anyway and then the call.

“What?” Matt snapped, seeing it was his assistant who had phoned.

“M-Mr. Ashworth sir uh the clients are just wondering where you are, it’s nearly one and-” “Ugh. Can’t you see I’m on my lunch break?” Matt barked into the phone, where his assistant could only hear him. He grunted and took another long sip of the cup. He needed the caffeine today if his assistant was going to be an idiot again and waste his time. The moment the caramel coffee touched his lips, really touched and ran over his tongue, Matt closed his eyes. There was a single sudden second of bliss that only the first coffee of the day could bring and yet this was Matt’s third. The sweetness of the caramel and the tang of the coffee beans crafted a rich wet concoction that had the best parts of both, the right amount of sweet, the best amount of earthy tang to it.

“Sir?” Matt’s eyes opened. The coffee tasted amazing for a split second but clearly his eyes had been closed longer than that. He blinked and felt annoyance rise like bile in his throat when he heard the whine of his assistant.

“What?” “I was just wondering…if you could give me a time frame for when you’d be-” “Listen Alex and listen to me good cus I don’t know how many goddamn times I’ve had to explain theeees-” Matt grunted. A sudden tightness ran through him, not pain to be exact but something similar, a pressure as he blinked wide and quick like he was trying to get something out of his eyes. He stifled another grunt as he shifted, feeling his slacks suddenly pushing tightly into his thighs, digging into the skin. Matt winced and continued to try and shift, sitting up straighter, moving his chair as the tightness didn’t go away. If anything it was worsening as he listened to his assistant asking whether he could just speak to the clients over the phone. “P-Put them on, sure.” Matt ignored the sensation of how tight his trousers were becoming, blushing ashamed as he thought about the chance he could’ve been gaining weight. The last thing he needed this quarter was to suddenly look like a fat slob in the office. He hadn’t even realised that as his assistant put him on hold, that his flat ass had swelled and rounded out.

“Mr. Ashworth? This is Brian from Tyche Ventures, we met at the conference i-” “In Lyonesse, right yes uh there’s been a bit of a…delay,” said Matt, trying to quiet his grunts as his trousers seemed to only grow tighter. Along with the tightness was another feeling, pleasure. He could feel it when he realised his ass was brushing against his pants and then sucking it in. He could feel the pants sinking between his cheeks. He could feel the fabric almost tease his hole and Matt suddenly quivered. Fuck, he had gained weight. The fuck was wrong with him? He huffed in annoyance at himself and drank more of the coffee, needing the buzz now more than ever. “I’m just on my lunch b-breakkk-” Matt gritted his teeth, hearing the sound of something, wet and thick with the hiss of inflation like the sound of whipped cream squeezed out of a can.

“Understood but- Are you alright?” Matt coughed, trying to cover the sounds he was making, the way his breath hitched as his pants tightened around his thighs.

He couldn’t tell that it was the other way around, that his thighs were thickening and spreading, as if they were made of batter and having more poured into them to spread smoothly. Instead of the clothes growing smaller, the body itself was simply growing lighter, spreading the stitching of his slacks thin over muscular quads. The sound of creaking bones and stretching tendons came out muffled beneath the expensive charcoal pants.

“Fine. Go aheeaaaad-” Matt jolted as if a chill had run down his spine, more than that, like wet ice suddenly trailed down his back as he sat up. His own voice covering the sound of more creaks as his spine suddenly stretched at once, making his shirt crawl up closer to his midriff and his suit jacket hang a little higher. Matt reached for his coffee, drinking more and trying to savour as much comfort as the sweet taste could bring him as he could feel the rest of his pants starting to tighten.

“Right well it’s just we expect a level of professionalism. If you’re late we would like a call, you know? Especially as this is to be our first meeting, we-”

“Look I get it, I do. But it’s just five minutes t-to…” Matt huffed. Why was it feeling so hot in here? What the hell was going on with his clothes? Had he gained weight? Fuck, was he gonna be in trouble for this meeting? God damn it. It felt like even his feet had somehow started swelling, like he had gotten so fat that it was pooling downwards.

His socks suddenly felt tight within his shoes, sharply wrapped around his feet with an even tighter pressure than his pants against his legs. The socks suddenly felt like they were plastic wraps with the air being sucked out of them, wrapped tighter and tighter around the feet as it grew worse. Matt grunted again, wincing even more as he felt the socks shrink.

All the while it was his feet that were growing. The toes themselves were suddenly beginning to grow shades darker as they started to pop with gentle clicks, the bones inside shifting to suit their expanding size. The toes thickened slightly, lengthening as the nails themselves grew smoother and cleaner as if regularly pedicured. A softness began coating the darkening skin that was going from pale to something else deeper as the toes stretched and pressed even tighter against the socks. The soles of the feet dragged forward, as if being pulled suddenly like the stretch of his spine.

Both of them grew longer and longer, stretching as Matt went to speak when he was hit with a sudden sense of the world tilting. It was as if his brain specifically had tilted off axis for just a moment, lurching and making him feel a dizzying wave come over his mind, a sense of deja vu.

Yet it wasn’t focused on this moment, like he had seen it before. He remembered fields or a field, he could remember walking, the snippet of a discussion about…boots? Matt couldn’t remember the last time he wore boots, except when he had spoken with his maid about where to get some new ones made. Matt blinked. Wait. What did-

“Mr Ashworth? Hello, Mr Ashworth?”

Shit.

“Uh yes hello I’m rather busy-” Matt blinked, his voice having suddenly come out in a British accent, something sophisticated and posh like all the things he’d been hearing since he got in this damned place. “Uh I mean yeah, I’m fine. Fine. Uh, could you repeat that?” Matt pressed the phone closer as he swallowed, ignoring how much better it was now that he had found some new boots.

His shoes having wrapped tighter around his growing feet and clenching the swelling calves, slithering up them like a symbiote, like wet melted leather. All before they suctioned around the legs and hardened again to polished leather the shade of maroon. Perfect of course to match my tailcoat, Matt thought and almost cartoonishly shook his head.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

“Yeah we were saying if we could simply reschedule the meeting, maybe an hour later that way-” “What? No the meeting can- Can…Can ohhhh fuck-”

“Excuse me?!” “N-No I…I…Ohhh-” Matt blushed furiously, the heat coming on fast and heavy as he felt the pressure fixate on something else, his crotch. As if his pants were vacuum sealing around his cock, there was a sudden tightness around it, from his balls all the way down his shaft. The head of his cock suddenly bloomed as the skin pulled back from the suddenly wet and slimy head as the skin began to darken too. The honeyed brown tone spread up from his feet like dye in water, quickly taking over the paleness of the more muscular lean legs that he had gotten from how much walking he did!

He blinked.

The fuck? With how often he used Uber, he hardly did any walking. But then that wave came, the dizziness, the deja vu, the snippet of senses that came as quick as they went. It was the touch of breeze that carried the smell of grass and the taste of food with the sound of it drifting through leaves that he could see above. The memory didn’t so much as fade as blinked out of existence or rather somewhere in the back of Matt’s mind, becoming a piece of something growing, infectious, as his cock ballooned in size.

F-Fuck I- I haven’t been this hard since…

Ever was the correct answer. But the distracted Matt was too busy worrying about how he came across on the call to his clients than to wonder how his cock was suddenly so hard and veiny. What was once five inches hard at best had now easily encompassed seven and thickened slightly too.

“Matt? Hello?” “Hello I- I am so terribly sorry for my behaviour-” Matt blinked. What the fuck did he just say? “I- I mean it is most unbecoming.” Despite the words not having any meaning he could understand, there was a slither of appreciation for how composed he sounded, how deep his voice had become and how his words did not shake or moan or end in a huff of air or a wince. But those weren’t his words and Matt couldn’t understand why as his stomach began to deflate.

A layer of pudge that had made Matt worry so much about whether or not he had been gaining weight suddenly melted away like it was nothing. Before it suddenly rose again as if time was rewinding.

Except there was a key difference, instead of a soft rising like dough, there was instead a hard stirring, the coiled tension within his cock had become infectious. Matt helplessly writhed in his chair, sweat forming on his brow as he could suddenly feel his entire torso clench and then grow.

It was undeniable, the way that his upper chest spilled out into pecs, how his stomach fat had converted to the ridged muscles of abs, how the whole body just grew bigger; wider. The buttons of his shirt popped all at once, ripping open to reveal the bronzing muscle. Matt gasped as he witnessed his pale skin darkening, turning to the shade of chestnut. “O-Oh my fucking god goodness. What the hell on earth is going on? Why can’t I fucking swear?! I sound like some dumb British actor refined gentleman!” The more Matt spoke, it was like the worse things got, more and more of his voice feeling as if it were drowning in the new sophisticated tone that was taking over.

But it was more than that, along with the new accent, each word started to sound deeper.

There was a suaveness to it that was pouring over the words, a smoothness gliding over it as he writhed in his chair. He attempted to get up, but his body had grown so heavy that it was as if he were stuck, statuesque, posing for one of the portraits on the wall as waves and waves of deja vu washed over him.

Memory was the water that kept washing over the beaches of his mind, each new tide bringing forth new smells and discussions and pressures and senses that felt like they were calcifying in his head. He could remember the grandness of his estate, the names of favourite servants, the steps to the song he could currently hear if he were dancing to it at a ball.

Each memory was bringing together new feelings, making new thoughts rise in his mind, like why would I be shocked at my body? Of course it’s fit, I am the prize of the Ton after all. That time Matt did shake his head, just once, a flinch from the voice in his head, the same suave seductive voice that he could hear now infecting even his groans and panting now.

With that, it made him remember…other things, more explicit things of a rake such as himself as his cock throbbed.

“Mr. Ashworth?! Mr. Ashworth sir, are you okay? Sir?!”

The distant voice of his assistant came from the phone he had dropped. Matt writhed further in his seat, before a shadow suddenly fell over him.

“Are you quite alright?”

Matt looked up, seeing the handsome barista standing over him, poised like one of his butlers with hands behind his back. Matt clenched his eyes tight. No, he had no butlers. He didn’t live in some grand estate. He didn’t know what the Ton was and his hands weren't painful because he was boxing but because they were growing!

“P-Please…help me something…I can’t explain it sir something-” Matt’s voice was no longer this bold foreign thing to him. Instead the deeper British accent was becoming more natural, like the opposite effect of saying a word too much that it sounds odd. The man whose name he could suddenly remember as Anthony Bridgerton, viscount and notorious rake, suddenly lowered his head to Matt’s ear.

“But of course I shall help you,” came the man’s voice, his breath brushing against Matt’s darkening neck, making Matt’s cock twitch.

“Please h-heeeeelohhhhhhhh-” Matt felt the man’s hand clutch his crotch, the fingers lightly squeezing around his throbbing member. Pre-cum oozed out the head thickly as Matt gained another wave of memories. He could hear heavy moans, heavy bodies, tight holes and a name on the lips of all those voices, men’s voices, Simon, Simon, Simon.

“Is that what you seek?” Anthony’s voice was low, hypnotic as he gently stroked the cock, making Matt Simon blush as he writhed more.

“N-no no no noooohh please ohhh god please I’ll doooo-”

Stroke.

“Whatever you want I’ll-”

Stroke.

“Ohhh god I’ll pay-”

Stroke.

“I’ll pay money I’ll-”

Stroke.

“S-Stop your hand is-”

Stroke.

“Feel sooo-”

Stroke.

“Strong I-”

Stroke.

“Ohhhh my goood I-”

Stroke, stroke, stroke.

Simon writhed in his seat with his eyes stinging with pleasure and change as the cool blue eyes turned to dark brown ones. He watched Anthony helplessly, seeing the way the man smirked in earnest as he stroked his pants which had changed from charcoal suit pants to dark breeches. Each stroke made more of the dark skin race up his body, had more hairs sprout among his chest, had more memories come crashing into his brain like a tide threatening a flood. All of it and more made the businessman a moaning whimpering mess at the touch of another man and suddenly he looked at Anthony who stared back at him.

Then Anthony’s head collided with his. The man’s lips crashed into him, bringing about a tide of pleasure that turned to a flood of euphoria. Anthony stroked faster, his thumb pressed against the slit through the breeches, he swiped against it, his tongue invaded Simon’s mouth and he pressed harder as Simon moaned and came. The man’s entire body and mind unravelled, as he came hard in his dark breeches. As he did, his face shifted all at once in the kiss, his small lips plumping up, full and rounded. His pale face smoothed to a deep brown as his jaw stretched forward and chiselled. His cheeks shifted to form high cheekbones as his brows thickened, darker and slightly further apart. His light hair darkened and shrank to curls at once, as his nose grew slightly wider, the tip rounding as Simon came again hard.

As the stains sank into his breeches, they dried at once whilst the rest of his clothes shifted. His suit jacket lengthened to a wine red tailcoat. His shirt folded together, some forming a ruffled shirt beneath whilst the rest became a matching waistcoat. The shirt itself was adorned by a cravat, dark against the red, the full fit appearing perfectly measured and tailored exactly to Simon Basset’s body.

“So do we have a deal, your grace?” The voice of Anthony Bridgerton floated from above as Simon Basset blinked. He looked down, noting he had dropped his watch, as he picked up the silver fobwatch. How silly of him to do so when he had a business deal.

“Well I have to say, it is a very…unique venture the Bridgertons are getting into but what can I say? I think everything is right in order. Yes Mr. Bridgerton I’ll be happy to invest in your new business,” said Simon, standing up at once to shake the man’s hand. “I think you’ll attract many customers with my funds.” “Happy to hear it,” said Anthony with a slick smile, shaking the man’s hand.

“Now if you’ll excuse me…I saw a very handsome gentleman coming out of your establishment not too long ago and with my luck, I’ll be sure to catch up with him,” said Simon, giving a wink to Anthony.

Out of the shop, Simon Basset walked with a regular pride he always had, one he knew would charm the handsome stranger he ran into. But just as he stepped out, a man bumped into him.

“Ugh will you watch where you’re going man-”

“I do apologise. Are you quite alright?” Simon’s voice made the man finally look up at him, their eyes automatically locking onto each other. He watched the man react like most men, a longing stare, a slight blush to the face and faltering words. “I said, are you alright?” “Yeah fine uh…” The man did what some men did, deny the feelings and duck inside. But no matter. After all, going inside the cafe was the best place for a man and he lingered by the door as he watched them go up to order.

“Uh I guess I’ll have the…the Viscount’s Infusion thing?” “One Viscount’s Velvet Caramel Infusion…coming right up.” Simon Basset smiled knowingly before stepping outside, ready to track down that man and enjoy the rest of his day. He loved it when he knew a future investment was going to pay off.

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king-craftsman

A Body To Marvel

Am I really doing this?

When Rohan Desai had first heard of The Avengers, his life had been changed forever. Of course, he had grown up hearing about all kinds of superheroes, the one he was awaiting for today’s special event was in World War Two. But it was still so odd to suddenly see them blossom in his life. He was in college when New York was first attacked and though he was far from the centre of the invasion, when you grow up in New York, you’d likely run into someone who knew someone who had been saved by one of the titular heroes.

Even still, the Avengers were no longer just an idea, they had become something akin to a brand. It was why Rohan was here, he had turned from college student watching New York get saved by superheroes into one of the lead developers of one of the first superhero videogames. It technically wasn’t the first, but it was one of since The Avengers had been established and it was focused on the titular character of Captain America. From what he understood at first, nobody wanted this game. Not him, not the company and certainly not Captain America.

But overtime, there were some…business dealings and briefings, investments from the one and only Stark Industries and nearly four years later they had something. It wasn’t great, hell Rohan was just glad it was good and they had complete creative control, meaning the game actually could have some sort of genuine story or meaning behind it. At least as much as he could try in between missions of Captain America beating up HYDRA agents in a hyperrealistic sandbox of New York.

Are we really doing this? That was the question Rohan first asked when they got approval to begin development and entered pre-production. Are we really doing this? He asked again when they had finished making the model of Captain America, the motion capture and voice work done by a man who had played him in the infamous Avengers musical.

Are we really doing this? It was the same question that he asked that morning.

The common ambience of the office with conversation and keyboard clacking had turned into something larger. It had become a storm of busyness and a business hard at work. Conversations were now the cacophonous rain of commands to staff and camera crew. Thunder was the heavy thud of sound and camera equipment as it was picked, pulled and moved around the office like new ornaments. Lightning were the glimpses Rohan got of their special guest.

Captain America.

In the flesh.

Instead of his other common appearances doing charity work or on missions, he was practically forced to do what a lot of celebrities had to do, sell out. Rumour had it the only way they convinced him to come to the office to shoot the interview was if he could make some pledge to charity. So that was how after months of scheduling, they finally had the one and only Captain America ready to come into a small office with Rohan Desai and have the two alone in a room for an interview as they played the game.

I guess we’re really doing this.

Rohan wondered why he was chosen besides being one of the leads. Perhaps it was because he was the opposite of Captain America in every way. The hero was tall, blonde and broad shouldered with enough strength to take out anyone in his way and an aura of confidence that could lead men into battle. Rohan was lanky, skinny, nerdy with bronze skin and curled black hair who was only good at leading people when it came to the office. And even then, he questioned if he was that good at it.

Apparently there was a reason the pair were put together, according to the director of the whole ordeal, they both just seemed ‘nice’. Nice, wholesome, a carefully curated picturesque pairing of two men with morals so the interview didn’t look so much like the promo that it actually was. Maybe that hunger for authenticity was why they were being left alone in a room together to ‘chat’ rather than have an army of a camera crew managing their every word, trying to get the perfect shot.

“You ready for this?” came the familiar voice of another project lead. Rohan would have felt guilty for taking the man’s spot but despite him being more attractive and in line with a man who’d look good around Captain America.

“Yeah,” Rohan lied, playing the role of someone having at least something resembling confidence. “It’s not that big of a deal.” Too much confidence, his mind warned suddenly like a computer error. “I mean it is- Don’t get me wrong- No like it totally…totally is, but I mean like- You know…I didn’t realise the whole office would have to move and uh…stuff.”

“Yeah…” The project co-lead replied, echoing only Rohan’s first word like that was all he was listening to. “Well y’know the director says he wants it to feel genuine, not like an actual game studio. So you get the soundproof therapy room and everything, just y’know don’t actually call it the therapy room.” Rohan wanted to ask why and then realised he really didn’t want to get bogged down in the details.

“Okay…so the interview and then-”

“Chat”, corrected the co-lead. “Then snap some photos and then Cap will probably stick around taking more selfies or autographs or whatever with folks. Look…I know you’re nervous.”

“That’s…Yeah pretty accurate,” said Rohan.

“But look at it like this, you get to spend an hour with Captain freaking America. Playing the game that we busted our asses off and we know is good…”

“True…”

“And it’s pre-recorded. Anything weird happens or there’s some mistake, they can just edit it our, redo it, whatever.”

“Right…”

“So…my point is…” The co-lead smiled. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

It had been something of an odd process, a social ritual playing out as people seemed to drag themselves away from Captain America’s alluring presence. Though they had trouble with their half glances and a couple snapshots on the phone, Rohan had to do the opposite. He felt as if he had to orbit the man, not knowing exactly when they were going to start filming. The camera crew was still busy and they had turned the ‘quiet room’ (a soundproof room nobody used that corporate decided to have if only to list as one of the company benefits) into a recording studio.

A different couch had been pulled in and positioned against the far wall. A couple of plants had been taken from people’s desks to put around and add some greenery. A coffee table had been moved in hastily stacked with some water bottles and granola bars and a collection of different wires were hastily organised and hidden away beneath and behind the couch.

They had somehow turned a glorified storage closet into a makeshift talk show set. Warm neon lights cast a purple haze over it all and a television had also been moved in with all the right equipment to start up the game, a camera positioned in the corner to capture some of the gameplay, though Rohan knew most of it would be recorded from the console itself.

The most surprising ornament of the room was the one that this was all for, Captain America. Unlike everyone else, the super soldier walked in with a casualness, an ease that contrasted with the panic and pressure of the crew around to try and get everything working and perfect and looking good all at the same time.

He had been busying himself chatting with some of the same crew and Rohan doubted it was about features he should mention or anything to do with the video. It looked more like he was just having a casual conversation. When Rohan first saw him up close, it was when he had already been sat down in the room as they did camera tests and soon Captain America had come in.

The door opened without ceremony yet the effect was instant. Conversations clipped themselves short; the shuffling of cables slowed, as if everyone had suddenly remembered they were supposed to move gracefully. Captain America walked in. The hero stood in the doorway for a moment, one hand on the frame as if politely asking for permission before he could come in. The hallway’s cooler light haloed him from behind, a contrast to the warm, overworked neon of the room within. His frame was unmistakable: tall, broad shoulders and a shirt that stretched across his chest that would make any man envious of his pecs. Rohan felt a knot in his stomach, like all his nerves had bundled together and pulled taut suddenly. He swallowed dryly and was suddenly glad there was water nearby before Captain America’s eyes met his and he smiled, showing off some pearly whites as he stepped forward.

“Hi, Steve Rogers,” said Captain America as if he had any need to introduce themselves. He leaned forward slightly holding out his hand and Rohan shook his.

“Rohan Desai, uh it’s an honour to meet you sir,” replied Rohan. He almost immediately regretted calling the man sir as soon as it tumbled out of his lips. Steve blinked and smiled wider. God I wish I was like him, Rohan thought as he felt a slight shiver at that.

“You don’t need to call me sir,” assured Steve as Rohan nodded, ignoring the heat that was invading his cheeks as he swore he could only hear his heart drumming in his chest. “Honestly sometimes I wish I could be more like you guys who are so smart with all this coding and programming kinda thing.” Steve’s grip tightened slightly as he was shaking Rohan’s hand, feeling a slight shiver. “Oh sorry uh….So you’re the one I’m interviewing-” Steve stopped himself and laughed.

“Sorry uh doing the interview with, I get all tongue tied with this sort of stuff.” The man admitted as if the concept that Captain America, a man who was used to leading armies and stopped an invasion only a decade ago wasn’t absurd. Rohan just nodded, still too awestruck to say anything.

“We’ll be doing a bit of gameplay first, just to do a bit of a camera test and then we’ll go from there if that’s all good?” A voice, likely the director, sounded out from behind a camera and Steve nodded.

“Uh yeah that’s…whatever’s best,” stammered Rohan as he could already see some of the crew leaving. It seemed the pitch of a more close and intimate interview setting wasn’t solely for show.

“Excited for it,” said Steve as he sat down finally, adjusting on the couch which sagged underneath his weight. “Have to admit, it’s great that a portion of this marketing budget gets to go to charity but…It is kinda interesting I guess, being able to go to an event and play a game about myself.” The hero’s enthusiasm was like gust in a heatwave. Rohan could feel himself relax, as Captain America’s looming presence was beginning to grow more comforting than intimidating.

“Uh yeah I totally agree, I really appreciate it not just being a typical ad and uh we worked really hard on the game with quantum processing so we…” Rohan started and then smiled. “Sorry, rambling. I’ll save it for the video.” Steve chuckled.

“Sure, sure, so…should we get started?” Captain America glanced around at the remnants of the crew that were ready for the go ahead. They simply nodded and after a silent countdown, started the recording before the last people around quietly filed out. Rohan took a few deep breaths before glancing straight ahead toward one of the cameras.

“So hi everyone, I’m Rohan Desai, the director of Captain America Rising and with me is a very special guest…” Rohan started, glad that his voice wasn’t too shaky. Steve gave a wave and smile.

“And I’m Rohan- Sorry uh I’m Captain America and I’m happy to be with Rohan here playing Captain America Rising,” said Steve with a dazzling smile. The main menu booted up with an orchestral swell of strings and brass as a logo glowed across the screen. “Wow uh it looks pretty serious huh. I…” He blinked. “Well I definitely look a little more square jawed than I am and…is that the old suit?” Rohan chuckled.

“Uh yeah the art department wanted that kind of look and uh did use some generative facial composites,” replied Rohan as the game started to load up a save file for a mission to play. Everything had been set up perfectly. “So uh…you did visit the set I believe where the mo cap was taking place right?” Steve nodded.

“Yeah, yeah…it felt…kinda weird to see someone who looks a lot like me in a sort of tight suit doing my voice and such,” replied Steve as he shifted. They selected a co-op mode, one where one could play as Steve and another as Bucky Barnes. “Huh…weird I can’t play as Cap.” Steve chuckled. “That’s ironic.” Rohan frowned.

“That’s weird uh…well I can choose, but uh we can swap if you’d like?” Rohan suggested, holding up his controller in case the hero wanted to take it.

“Oh no no no that’s fine,” laughed Steve. “Instead I’ll be playing as…well hey I’m happy to choose Bucky for now, I didn’t really know there’d be so many different heroes to choose though for co-op.” It was odd though, Steve thought. He assumed that he would be playing Captain America and that the developer would have been playing the other hero. But perhaps it made all the more sense for Rohan to be the one playing the titular hero. He knew the game best. “So uh I’ll be playing-”

“James Buchanan Barnes, best friend of Captain America and war hero,” started Rohan. Steve looked pleasantly surprised by the sudden answer. Rohan blinked. “Oh uh sorry yeah uh as Bucky Barnes, one of the newer members of the Avengers I believe.” Rohan blinked. He was a huge fan of Captain America but…how did he know the answer so suddenly? He didn’t mean to have taken over and straightened, assuming it must have just been his nerves taking over and wanting the video to go as smoothly as possible.

“That’s right…uh looks like we’ve loaded in.”

“Let’s go,” said Rohan with a sudden enthusiasm, wanting to show off his hard work. The two started off in a pre-selected mission in the open world of New York City where the camera swooped down from the skyline into a bustling digital Manhattan. Steam hissed from subway grates, detailed pedestrians moved with believable randomness and the ambiance of the city started to sound out. Before they knew it, a fight had broken out with some HYDRA agents in a warehouse and the two began to move in, with Rohan as Captain America tossing his shield and performing finishers whilst Steve struggled slightly with his aim as Bucky. “Oh uh so it’s important we work together on this part.” Rohan coughed, his voice sounding a little deeper for a moment there before he cleared his throat.

“Got ya, got ya…the game looks really detailed it’s sort of scary, having grown up around black and white movies and all,” Steve said with a smile as the two of them quickly engaged in a quick time event. The both of them concentrated on the screen as the game prompted them to mash a button to move some debris out the way of a door. As Rohan began to mash, something strange began to happen. At first it was just a pressure, a swell beneath his skin. With each frantic press of the button, his sleeves began to strain.

His biceps slowly began to inflate and thicken, pushing against the fabric until the seams squealed. At the same time, it seemed that Steve was feeling as if his hands were growing weaker and slightly numb. A bronze tone began to take over his hands as dark hairs started to sprout over the back of his hand and trail down his arms where the muscles felt like they were beginning to shrink. It felt like the strength was being sapped away.

Rohan didn’t seem to notice except the sudden wave of pleasure that he began to feel as he tensed his arms. Every shift, every adjustment in his seat, made the arms begin to stretch like they belonged on a larger body as he felt a tinge of euphoria that was just growing as he continued to adjust and feel his now much paler arms.

“You doing okay there?” Rohan asked as he saw that on Steve’s screen he was having trouble doing the prompt as fast as he was. Steve could continue to feel like his arms had somehow grown weaker, slightly more numb and skinnier as dark hairs continued to trail down and cause them to itch. He wanted to look down but he felt like he could hardly break his gaze away from the screen.

By the time the prompt was over and both characters shoved the debris to the side, Rohan was laughing to himself and Steve smiled, albeit with a little more nervousness as he shifted with embarrassment. He just couldn’t get a handle on this kind of technology. At least that’s what he told himself to explain how he couldn’t do something as simple as a prompt to press a button over and over.

“Uh yeah heh I don’t play a ton of games so I’m not sure,” started Steve, coughing and clearing his throat as he shifted in his seat. Played a lot of games? He didn’t have time for that sort of thing. He was usually on playing missions…right? He found his mind growing hazy as he tried to think, suddenly remembering the hours he got to let go and relax, playing some videogames instead of the list of movies, shows and books he had to read since he’d been frozen.

As they continued the mission, both the characters got in a vehicle with Rohan taking the lead in the driver’s seat. As they began a chase sequence, Rohan could feel himself naturally swerve the controller when they turned, straining his tight sleeves until-

RIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP.

A small but sudden tear sounded out and Steve barely caught a glance of Rohan’s suddenly meaty and paler biceps in his shirt. “So you work out a lot then?”

“Oh no I prefer working out to video games,” blurted out Rohan. He didn’t mean to say that. He knew he didn’t mean to say that. Yet words were power, and as he spoke them, Rohan felt something seize inside him. His grin faltered, replaced by a grimace as he instinctively arched his back. His indie band shirt that once hung loosely on his skinny frame was suddenly one size too small, if for just a moment. The change began deep in his torso, his ribcage expanding as his skin prickled and continued to pale, bubbling as if his skin was the top of some boiling elixir.

He grunted softly, caught between shock and exhilaration, feeling each part of his spine stretch and realign as his body lengthened. He leaned back, suddenly taller on the couch as the hem of his shirt inched upward, betraying a strip of his stomach, no longer soft but tightening into ridges of muscle that flexed and defined themselves in real time.

He tried to tear his gaze away from the screen, tried to see what was happening, but it was impossible to ignore the hypnotic pull of the light around him. Whether it was the glint that caught Captain America’s shield or the neon beams of HYDRA enemies or the detailed lights of the city, Rohan blinked.

“I uh…No I…I uh…”

Rohan struggled, almost moaning as he could barely see his stomach gurgle and froth in the corner of his eyes. Any fat of his stomach melted away, slowly descending to nothingness as it became as visible as air, fading away. All the mass left was converting into muscle, beginning to carve itself and hardening like it was some liquid as Rohan couldn’t help but let a deep groan slip from his lips, mixing it with an exhausted grunt as his body did feel like that both exhausted and heavy.

His shoulder blades writhed under the fabric, expanding outward, stretching his shirt to its limits. Each shift sent another ripple down his torso, where abs carved themselves across his stomach. The paleness continued to crawl all over his changing body as a dusting of brown hair grew to form a treasure trail below his abs.

“You okay there dude?” Steve asked as he tried to turn to look at Rohan. His mouth twisted into a frown of concern as he tried to check up on the man until he realised…he couldn’t remember their name. It began with an…S…something. Sanjit? Samir? But as he tried to focus, he felt a wave of nausea pass over him, like something was punishing him for not having his complete and total attention on the game. “W-What the heck is this game…”

As Steve looked back at the game, focusing and uncertain, his accent began to shift. His parted lips and widened eyes began to relax, giving off an almost slack expression as he stared at the mesmerising visuals of the game. “Game…looks…so…good…” Steve said in a murmur of a slightly higher voice that no longer sounded like his own.

At the same time Steve could faintly recognize something happening to his body. At first it felt like the strength was leaking out of him, little by little, until the familiar density of muscle gave way to something looser. The shift was oddly natural, almost comforting, as though a weight he’d carried for years was being peeled away. His broad abs began softening into nothing, the scars from his time as a soldier and the super soldier experiment all beginning to fade away.

What had once been a frame carved by years of training was becoming lankier and softer in all the places that used to be sharp. The pale skin began to darken, first beginning as a faint warmth and then deepening to bronze as it smoothly crept down his body like ink spreading through water. The sleeves of his shirt slid against thinner arms dusted with the faint hair that hadn’t been there before. All the while his fingers stretched longer, growing softer and more delicate and gripping the controller with an anxious energy he didn’t recognize as his own.

“Yeah the game looks so good, I’m…glad it uh…worked out…” said Rohan as he continued to stare. Steve blinked.

“Yeah worked out…No yeah I loved working on the game,” confirmed Steve as he grunted. He could feel his legs shrinking too, making him grow slightly shorter though with less muscles, he was beginning to seem more lanky than broad and tall. All the while Rohan could feel like air was being injected into his upper chest as his pecs began to swell, growing and inflating and making his nipples harden underneath the already tight shirt that could no longer cover the lower half of his stomach as he blushed and moaned.

“No I…worked on the game I…was…a developer consultant,” replied Rohan as he blinked. Consultant? No he was the lead…lead…consultant after all, who would know Captain America best?

He wanted to say something, but that was when he felt something else inflate as if it was filling with air, causing him to grunt and sit up even higher as his cheeks began to grow. The pressure of the changes coiled in his hips and thighs as his legs tingled with the same pleasure and heaviness that was spreading across his body. His thighs pressed outward, stretching the fabric as they swelled with new density, every seam groaning in protest.

His calves grew, once spindly but now carved into powerful bastions of muscle as his ass continued to grow and grow. The couch sagged deeper as his glutes surged, rounding and hardening with a weight that felt both foreign and inevitable. Rohan could feel the denim split, hearing the faint pop of stitching as eat of his jeans tried and failed to contain what was now unmistakably growing to be…AMERICA'S ASS.

“O-Oh my god…I…I…” Rohan would have squeezed his legs together in the past, like that could somehow stop the horniness that was invading his cock as his ass and legs grew paler and devoid of the usual dark hairs. His bulge was already growing next, half because he was harder than he had ever been before and half because his cock was growing from whatever forces was changing him.

“I had to do…so much work…for the game, really was a lot…”

Rohan added with a voice that wasn’t his own, one that was deeper and richer and sounded exactly like the voice that was coming from the game, the voice behind Captain America’s quips as a sharp pressure came at his feet. His toes pressed hard against the ends of his socks before finally tearing through, pale fabric ripping as his feet surged longer and wider. His toes stretched and spread as the soles expanded beneath him. The converses that he’d worn comfortably all day suddenly bulged at the seams, leather squealing under the new size and weight until it looked like they might split apart at any second.

“That…that doesn’t sound right, I’m trying to remember reading all about it,” mused Steve as his own voice had shifted completely to the slightly more higher pitched and nervous sounding tone of Rohan. He blinked, his eyes growing darker and hazier, already forgetting about the missions he had done for the past year and then the year before that and the year before that as all he could think about was the game.

“We’re over time but we shouldn’t stop, we’re nearly finished.” Steve scratched at his face as his fingertips no longer traced the familiar hard line of his jaw. His face was beginning to shift, His jawline, once sharp and square, softened under his touch.

The solid edge drew inward, narrowing into something more delicate, more angular. His cheeks followed suit, the fullness draining until they hollowed just slightly, reshaping his face into something that was longer as his eyes were suddenly adorned with thick glasses. The pale tone of his visage continued to shift, deepening shade by shade to match the rest of his body as his blonde hair darkened and grew longer, spilling out into dark messy curls over a higher brow. Steve blinked, unsure why he was so surprised, feeling his face…he was only 29 after all.

“Yeah…let’s not stop, we’re almost over-” and as Rohan leaned forward and continued to be mesmerised by the game, he was growing more and more infatuated with his character. He knew every detail of the suit, every move, every nuance of the character. But he blinked, blinked as his own glasses fell off his face as his nose shortened and disappeared before they hit the ground. His brown eyes turning blue as the pale tone that had reached his thickening throat was beginning to crawl over his jawline that suddenly widened and hardened. His hairline crawling back slightly as the dark curls receded into a natural slicked back blonde style whilst his features grew sharper and rougher and larger especially his growing lips as he blinked. Why wouldn’t he know his character? He was the character. He was Captain America. This was his game. “W-Wait…I think…”

But there was nothing to think about. The mission ended and just as Rohan and Steve looked at one another in shock and recognition, both their hard cocks throbbed at once and they had only the time for one thing and one thing alone; realisation. All before they suddenly felt their cocks throb in tandem and finally…release.

Their cocks spasmed violently, releasing in perfect sync, a shared climax as both their heavy moans suddenly filled the room as both bodies bucked. Rohan’s hips twitched as he was in Captain America’s muscular body with the hero’s hung cock between his legs spilling thick ropes of cum stained his clothes, pooling in his lap. At the same time Steve in Rohan’s body gasped as it felt like he was cumming for the first time in his life, the sweet bliss of pleasure rushing over him and making him forget everything for just a few moments as his own six inch cock twitched and come in his clothes.

“O-Oh god…w-what the-” Rohan in Steve felt his body, his face, his muscles. “W-What happened to me?!” Steve in Rohan panicked, gasping as he looked down at himself.

“N-no this can’t be-”

But then came another climax, making both men forget their panic for just a moment as their minds were colliding and folding into one another. The decks of their lives shuffled amongst one another that it was hard to tell which piece was what.

“M-my head…I keep remembering…battles and…and world war two and…Bucky and…god Bucky…”

“N-No I don’t want to forget…” Steve in Rohan’s body moaned as he tried to hold on. But all the willpower was in the muscular hunky body that was once his own next to him. “O-Oh god I’m-”

But their cocks twitched again and their old lives melted, dissolving into something else as Rohan Steve gasped as he came again one last time and Steve Rohan moaned as he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same. Rohan…or rather Steve was the first to move, blushing as he felt Steve Roger’s natural embarrassment for doing anything like cumming in public flare up whilst Steve or rather Rohan felt the same, but more out of natural awkwardness rather than dignity. Both the men’s eyes met.

“I’m…I’m you,” Steve said as he looked at Rohan and Rohan blinked.

“I’m you…but uh h-how? I…I can remember your life…fuck my head…”

“Swear,” both Steve and Rohan said simultaneously.

“T-This is…this isn’t right. The game, we used quantum computing for the engine, I- I don’t know how this happened…”

The air remained thick, not just with the fading warmth of their lust, but with a quiet and almost sacred stillness that followed a transformation too bizarre to name. The both of them still somehow had their minds as they gazed at one another, the other in their body. It was such a bizarre feeling, as if looking in the mirror and realising that the reflection was blinking all on their own.

But at the same time there was also a quiet thrill to it as the other looked down, prodded at their muscles (or lack of muscles), flexed a muscular bicep (or touched their skinny one) and felt their face, their new jawline and features. Both the men stopped as they realised what they were doing, almost mirroring each other in their inspections as they still managed to somehow keep their minds about them, even if it was fused with one another.

“I’m…you,” Rohan continued as he glanced down at himself and the massive muscles. In all honesty, he had never felt physically better and more mentally anxious than ever before in his life. It was as if the feeling he got from his runs on the treadmill or few times he decided to visit the gym had compounded and formed a permanent bliss that permeated his newer bigger body.

But there was something else too, as if he was watching a movie, he could see the memories of Steve Rogers all the way from the 30s and 40s, the skinny young man who was even thinner than he was, unhealthily so, doing anything and everything he could to serve his country. Rohan blinked and had to admit, being in such a muscular body felt good, even if there was a strange balance, like he was scared if he took a step then he’d fall over.

He felt Steve’s own earnestness, his confidence leaking into him and almost infecting him.

“And I’m…you?” Steve said, still not used to his newer voice. In his mind, there was still a tenacity, one that reminded him of himself before he got the Super Soldier serum. It didn’t come in the form of a man trying to fight for his country, but instead just navigating the modern world and trying to make something of themselves. He could see the memories as far back, trying to save up to start a company, registering the LLC, working late nights out of his home. All the sacrifices and meetings and blood, sweat and tears that had not only gone into making this game but making anything of value. It was a far cry from being a soldier, but isn’t that the kind of world Steve wanted? Where people could prove their worthiness in different ways that didn’t involve war? It felt like watching someone’s life on TV or that site, Wikipedia that helped him understand so much of what he missed whilst frozen. Although he missed his body, the strength and muscles, he had to admit, there was a sort of relaxing feeling being younger and skinny again. But this wasn’t right. They had to swap back! “H-how did this happen?”

“I…I don’t know,” replied Rohan as he glanced down at himself in disbelief. “This…this feels…”

“Weird?” Rohan was pleasantly surprised to see Steve chuckle in his body. “Look you clearly didn’t do this on purpose so let’s just figure out a way to work together and…turn back.”

“Y-Yeah I can’t…I mean this is…I can’t actually be Captain America…and you can’t be stuck in some…” Rohan gestured at Steve in his old body. “Uh well we know who got the short end of the deal.”

“Hey let’s not…say stuff like that,” said Steve. Even now he was being so…nice even if he went through something that should have been shattering his reality, his sense of self, should have made him panic. But if they still had their minds, then they must clearly have some of their old mental traits as well.

“Yeah…”

“Though I definitely felt like I was losing mine before. Now maybe it’s because we don’t know how this things work but I kinda get the sense that whatever this…thing is…” Steve gestured at the console.

“It’s true. You’re Captain America and I’m…uh…” Rohan glanced down at himself in the star spangled hero’s body. He tried to ignore how much the man’s pecs turned him on as he swallowed dryly.

“I could’ve been put in a billion worse people, besides you’re not…bad. A lot of this is just confidence, that and highly risky untested serum.” Steve gestured at the muscular body Rohan was in as Rohan smiled at that, at least appreciative the hero was still, well, being a hero, trying to assure him everything was okay. “The way I see it…somehow we both still have our heads.” Steve gestured at the console.

“It was trying to mess with our minds. I have the serum that could’ve helped but you seemed to keep yourself…as you too. Maybe it says a lot more about you than you think…and good thing too, I don’t know enough about this thing even with your head to…fix whatever this is.” Rohan blinked at the man’s words as he considered them.

He had never even come close to thinking about it, but if the quantum computer could somehow change their bodies like it was code, it should have done the same with their mind, programming them as if they were caricatures, NPCs.

But it didn’t. They both managed to hold on. What did that say about the technology? And if it was meant to work and wipe their minds…what did it say about him? He blinked again.

He doubted that he was even half as attractive as the hero but there was something about seeing himself from another man’s perspective, the warped features he once hated in the mirror didn’t look…as bad from another person’s eyes. He blinked.

“Uh yeah your memories are…a lot,” Rohan half joked, not only were they heavy but there were so many of them reaching so far back. “N-Not that I’m complaining. I mean I don’t want to…uh…say your body is bad…but…I think maybe I shouldn’t look at them too much. Uh kinda an invasion of privacy and I wanna keep a hold of my mind.”

“Are you sure you can manage?” Even now, Steve in another man’s body was looking out for someone else rather than himself.

“Yeah I’m sure I can do this all day,” said Rohan with an ease before he blinked.

“What was that?” Steve questioned. “I…I don’t know, that just felt…uh sort of right saying but that’s your…”

“Catchphrase…not that I really intended on one but growing up in wartime you learn that slogans stick,” said Steve with a casualness. Rohan was relieved, as if he half expected Steve to be angered someone else was in his body and now saying his words. “So what’s gonna happen? Am I gonna start listing off…game engine…things?”

“Game engine things?” “Like how you used my words, am I going to suddenly start rambling about how quantum processing is actually a brilliant and efficient way to cut back on cut back on loading times, procedural generation overhead, and memory thrash- Oh…Oh fuck-”

“Swear,” both Rohan and Steve said simultaneously again.

“Okay, okay…maybe we just…calm down. And figure out how this happened and-” Rohan said, nervously pacing and fidgeting in Steve’s body.

“Alright relax, I’m not mad at you. Weirder things have happened to me…I get it,” said Steve with a slight smile, even now the way he spoke, the confidence leaked out even if it was in another body. “It was the game, something…” Then the man’s eyes widened with realisation. “The game!” Steve started as he sat up. “We need to fix this…if we can, uh we can get to Tony’s before he does what he does next.” “Does next?” Rohan in Steve’s body asked as he blinked.

“He hacked into your office to play a demo of the game. He told me he would He’s playing with Bucky right now.”

“Oh…Oh no uh…” replied Rohan as he stood up awkwardly in the much taller and broader body than he was used to. “How do we stop them?” It was only then that he realised he had no idea, memories of programming and even the game’s engine having filtered out.

“I don’t know but I do know this…if that game gets into Stark’s servers and somehow mutates or gets shared then…”

Then a whole lot of men would suddenly find themselves swapping bodies or turning into Avengers, both Steve and Rohan thought to themselves. With no way to figure out the extent of it, no way to predict who transforms into who and no way to wonder what would happen if someone was playing alone? What if the game made clones of heroes? What if it recruited heroes, all with one transformation at a time? Steve and Rohan both glanced at each other and blushed, remembering the pleasure they shared, the mess they made and now the mess they may soon have to clean up.

Sooner or later, it seemed every man who got their hand on the game could get a body to marvel.

Rohan just wondered…does that mean he had to wear the suit?

Thanks for reading! You can check out more stories like this on my Patreon!

occamstfs

Journalistic Integrity

Sinclair was a steadfast reporter committed to spreading the truth. This has gotten him some hot water and his bosses demand he return to grunt work. Four paths before him, which will he begrudgingly choose.

Partially inspired by a couple photos sent to me by MiscTF, this story includes my first inanimate TF! Surely not to be to everyone's tastes but I'm sure there's something to every TF fan's tastes in one of these shorter stories. Hope you enjoy! -Occam

One of four headlines will determine the rest of Sinclair's life:

Pleasant Valley Pistols Find Their Home In State Of The Art Arena: Hockey Player

Fort Pleasant Repurposes Old High School: Soldier

Pan-Asian Community Center Places Capstone: Asian Gym Bro

New Talent Being Developed At Pleasant Valley Paper: Cock

After everything Sinclair’s done to keep this raggedy, well, rag afloat they decide to send him back into the field to do some reporting. Sure, it’s how he started out all those years ago, wandering into the streets, freshly earned degree in hand, to interview for puff pieces in the Pleasant Valley Paper.

Decade and some change of late nights writing and early rises to edit copy, Sinclair just wants to stay at his desk. And his bosses know that. ‘There’s just too much going on in town.’ As if he buys that. It just feels like punishment. Well, no, he knows it’s punishment.

He’s published stories on lemonade stands before and they wanted him not to report on the shady shell companies coming in to buy and redevelop half of town? The fact that one of them bought out the paper a week later is proof that he was onto something. At least, that's what he says to the few coworkers not avoiding him like the plague.

hairyjocktf

The Hat Makes the Man

Carson hated going home for the holidays. He was young, skinny, popular, and absolutely killing it in New York City. His life had improved tenfold since leaving the small country town he’d grown up in, and going back only reminded him of all the terrible memories. The years he’d spent getting bullied for being bad at sports, for not being manly enough, and being hairless, they all rushed back to him as he was in the car from the airport. It was a long time to think about it all too, since the closest airport was two hours away. The memories of jocks ostracizing him, the years of not feeling like he belonged all flooded back, His family was excited to see him, and he made small talk during that long car ride, but he couldn’t help but feel ripped away from the world that appreciated him.

Upon reaching his old family home, he was bombarded with greetings and hugs from his entire extended family, all of which had arrived before him since they lived within ten miles of each other. After what felt like an eternity, Carson was finally freed to go up to his old room. He tossed his suitcase on the ground and flopped onto the small bed. That was an exhausting ordeal, and he had several more days of it before he could escape back to the city. After a bit of rest he rallied and headed back down to dinner, where he put up with another round of ceaseless questions about what he’d been doing all year. Some were genuine, but many felt targeted, as if he couldn’t be making an honest living and supporting himself in the city. It wasn’t worth an argument though, so he just let the attitude wash over him without response. Another eternity later, he ducked out to his room again, promptly falling asleep after a long flight and even longer day.

The next day was Christmas, and the noise of a dozen relatives chatting downstairs quickly woke him.. He quickly showered and put himself together before his mom had a fit that he wasn’t down with everyone, and joined the fray. His family had always done presents in the morning, right before a huge feast for lunch, and this year was no different. He was scared at what his extended family had gotten for him, for the twisted version of himself that lived in their heads. Carson himself hadn’t bothered to get gifts for anyone, but played it off as “his presence was a gift,” which sometimes got a laugh. They went around and around, everyone gifting the others some crap from a local store, and Carson struggled to stay awake. So far he’d gotten some clothes he’d never wear, a collection of books he was into as a kid, and a bunch of seasonal chocolates and sweets. Overall, not awful. That was when his uncle, Jack, piped up.

“Hey kid, I got somethin’ for you this year. It’s out in my truck, why don’t you follow me out there,” he gestured.

Carson couldn’t remember the last time he’d even interacted with uncle Jack, much less when he’d gotten a gift from him. Jack was a rancher, always out tending to his cattle and working on his ranch. Carson had seldom seen Jack when growing up, and he rarely made it to family events. He picked himself up off the floor and followed his uncle outside, suddenly feeling the two glasses of wine he’d already had that morning. Stumbling slightly, Carson met his uncle outside the garage, where he was digging in the backseat of his truck.

“It’s in here somewhere I swear to-” his muffled voice barely registered. “Ah! Here it is.”

Jack reappeared from the truck with a large, worn cowboy hat.

“This ‘ere was my first purchase after inheriting the ranch. I want you to have it now.” Jack said in a deeply sentimental voice, handing the hat to Carson.

“Uh, thank you,” is all Caron could get out, unsure exactly how to respond. This gift was off the deep end, in what world would he want this?

“Well? Try it on!” Jack said with an eagerness that made Carson feel almost guilty. He put the giant hat on, feeling ridiculous as it clearly didn’t fit right.

Jack laughed, “Lookin’ good, son! Maybe you’ll carry on the family ranch one day lookin’ like that!” he slapped his knee, getting a kick out of his own joke. He stepped over and patted Carson on the back, “I’m glad you like it,” he said so earnestly that a knot swelled up in Carson’s throat. He hated it but didn’t have the heart in the moment to say anything, so he just walked back inside looking like a misfit cowboy.

The room had quite a few comments when they reentered the den, and Carson tried to just suck it up and get through the day. He tried to take it off and stash it away during lunch, but after some devil eyes from his mother he put it back on. Strangely enough, it fit a little better that time. He left it on the rest of the day, nearly forgetting about it by the evening, reminded only by the grins and winks from Jack across the room. When getting ready for bed, he saw it still on in the mirror and laughed, he still looked ridiculous. He did, however, hang it neatly in his closet before passing out for the night.

When the next morning rolled around, the sunlight shone through the blinds and onto Carson’s face. He stretched and slowly opened his eyes, feeling less groggy than usual. Rolling over in bed, he reached towards his side table, feeling around for something. Not his phone, something else. After a couple seconds he came to his senses and got up, heading to the bathroom to shower. For a moment under the warm water he pondered what he had been reaching for in a fuzzy state, and couldn’t seem to place it. He grabbed some old jeans and a jacket from his closet and threw them on, before taking the cowboy hat off its hook and putting it on effortlessly, as if he’d been doing it for years. He barely registered the fact he’d put it on until walking downstairs and receiving a confused look from his mom. Carson wrote it off in his head as trying to be nice for his uncle who’d shown up again that day.

The day was another fairly standard family get together, with lots of eating and drinking involved of course. Carson felt like he was in a better mood today, talking with everyone came a little easier, and he was especially eager to chat with Jack more. They even sat in the sunroom and shared a beer that afternoon. Carson hated beer, or so he’d thought, but it seemed so natural to drink.

“I’m glad you like the hat, son,” Uncle Jack said whilst they were both sitting together. “You look like a natural in it, matches the scruff you’ve got growing real nice.”

Somewhere in Carson’s head, alarm bells suddenly started going off. Scruff? What did he mean by that? Carson excused himself briefly to use the restroom. He flipped the lights on and stared at himself in the mirror. Jack was right. Carson’s face was covered in a good few day’s worth of stubble. His jaw nearly dropped, he’d never been able to grow any facial hair, and now suddenly he nearly had a beard? His hand slowly raised up, feeling the coarse, bristly hairs that were poking out of his jaw. Brown stubble stretched from ear to ear, with a light mustache beginning to come in as well. Carson was floored, but a sensation of ease swept through him before he could panic.

Y’know, he actually looked pretty good with it. Jack was right about the hat too, it worked as a look. He could almost pass as someone who lived around these parts, if only looking at his head at least. Questions about how it’d happened faded, as it just felt natural to have the scruff. As his hand felt around his face he didn’t even register how hard he was getting. He looked better with stubble than without, he thought.

Carson returned to Uncle Jack in the sunroom acting like nothing had changed. This was how every holiday went, right? The two continued their banter, conversation slowly shifting away from Carson’s life in New York and towards Jack’s life on his ranch. In what felt like just minutes, the day flew by, and Carson’s mother was calling them in for dinner.

Unbeknownst to Carson, while he’d been sitting out with his beer, his body had been doing more than growing a little stubble. His slender legs began putting on some never before seen bulk, toned calves and bulky thighs emerged and pushed against his originally loose-fitting jeans. His feet grew sore as they expanded, stretching his shoes and socks tight as his size grew from a 10 to a 14. Small wispy hairs started to push out of his toes, just a few at first. The hairs spread over to the top of his feet, where the newly expansive room allowed the hairs to thicken, darken, and grow longer. Within minutes he had full hobbit feet, hairs pushing out between each other, poking through the fabric of his socks as they stretched thinner. The hairs moved upwards, swirling around his ankles and onto his calves, where skin quickly vanished beneath a tidal wave of hairs. Thick strands popped up rapidly, tangling together as they wrapped his lower legs in a blanket of fuzz before climbing up his knee, the joint itching slightly as hairs pushed out of any available skin. His now enormous quads were next, acting as the fertile ground for a bounty of hair to crop up, stretching solidly across and growing denser and thicker with every minute. Patterns emerged as hairs crawled along his skin, before vanishing as the hair thickened and puffed up, curling into an impenetrable mat.

Carson sat through dinner, entirely unaware of the goings-on beneath his jeans. He only noticed how much better a mood he was in today than yesterday, enjoying the time with family and not missing his own apartment and friends nearly as much. Talking with the family members began to feel less like catching up and more like regular conversations. After a long hearty meal, Carson excused himself to head to bed. He had an early morning planned with Jack, going out to his ranch to see it himself. It’d been many years after all, and Jack was eager to get Carson more invested in his business.

Carson headed upstairs, getting ready to hit the sack; he was strangely exhausted after a day of not doing much. He took off the cowboy hat and nearly put it up in his closet, before correcting himself and placing it on his nightstand. He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his jeans which were overly tight at this point, revealing his fur coated legs. Carson didn’t bat an eye at them, he’d had hairy legs for years. He remembered getting teased at school when wearing shorts for how hairy they were! Of course he didn’t care anymore, he loved how hairy they were. He felt strong, more masculine with them exposed, slabs of muscle covered in coarse hair. Thick fur sticking out of his socks turned him on a bit, he realized that long ago, but he could also appreciate his huge hairy feet themselves. Before he could get too distracted he finished changing and hopped under the covers, setting an alarm for early the next morning.

The sun had not even begun to rise yet when Carson’s alarm blared. Waking up at this hour used to be reserved only for the worst timed flights, but this time he didn’t mind. He rolled over in bed, reaching for his side table once again, this time finding the hat he’d left. His body felt at ease as he put it on first thing. He threw on some jeans, making sure they fit better this time, a shirt and thick jacket. Before leaving he put on some decent snow boots and quietly left the house.

Jack was waiting for him at the end of the driveway, truck and all. The exhaust was steaming in the bitter cold morning. Carson hopped into the passenger seat, fully energized.

“Mornin’ son, ready for this?” Jack asked.

“Damn right I am,” Carson responded eagerly, “It’s been far too long.”

The drive out to Jack’s ranch took over half an hour. The sun had started to peak above the horizon when they pulled through the gates and over the cattle grid. Jack parked up by his house, and the two hopped out into the snow and mud. Jack spent the morning showing Carson around the ranch, introducing him to the cattle, and showing him all his gear he’d invested in. A small part of Carson was shocked that he was here, enjoying the ranch tour. A week ago you couldn’t pay him to visit the ranch. Now, he was just plain excited.

Trudging through the snow had Carson really working up a sweat underneath his layers. Getting a workout like never before, his body started to adapt. His chest tingled as pecs began to form for the first time, muscle gathering and pushing out two firm mounds. His cock throbbed in his jeans as his nipples perked up, rubbing against the material of his shirt as he moved. His stomach gurgled as abs inflated down his torso, imprinting their outline on his slim but growing frame. His shoulders stretched his jacket as they widened, bulking up as muscle worked its way down his arms. Biceps and triceps inflated, filling him with new strength, and his forearms and hands grew to match. If Carson had been paying attention he might’ve noticed the warmth and sensation coming from his chest, but he was too enamored with his uncle showing off his old rodeo gear.

Underneath his flannel shirt, between his new pec muscles, hairs began to pop up. At first they were short and wispy, barely visible against his skin. They clustered in the center of his chest as a light patch of fuzz, followed shortly by similar hairs poking out around his nipples. His skin prickled as the hairs grew thicker, follicles maturing to push out real adult hairs. The patch of hair darkened as it spread, hairs pushing out longer and thicker, laying flat against his muscular chest at first before they curled away, pushing out against his shirt. The sensation of thick hair rubbing against the fabric sent chills through Carson’s body, but he simply chalked it up to the frigid air outside. But beneath his layers of protection against the cold, he continued to grow his own. Hairs blossomed across his pecs as they surged out from his nipples. Swirls and spirals developed as the hairs slithered out across the mounds of muscle, slowly curling and tangling together as they lengthened. Skin vanishes beneath whorls of hair as his follicles activate in hoards across his chest. The distinct patches of hair blend together, uniting his pecs under a blanket of ever thickening fur. Hairs continue pushing out further up his chest as well, climbing up and over his defined collarbone. A lone dark hair curled bravely out of the collar of his shirt, tasting the frosty air for the first time.

Jack spied Carson’s burgeoning chest hair as it poked out of his shirt collar and couldn’t help but grin. He knew he’d given the hat for good reason.

“C’mon boy, I need your help moving some gear for today,” he barked at Carson, who quickly pulled himself out of the corner full of rodeo trophies.

“Yessir,” he responded. Another grin from Jack.

The two spent the next few hours moving hay and feed from storage as the sun attempted to break through the thick winter clouds. Carson was initially surprised at how much he could carry, but memories trickled in of years of weightlifting. Of course a little manual labor was no big deal. His biceps began to swell again, even more muscle growing in the span of minutes. His shoulders became true boulders, delts stretching and pulling as they created an increasingly dark and damp recess beneath. Despite the cold air, he was working up a real sweat for the first time in years, liquid dripping down his increasingly large muscles and pooling in his pits. The thick sweat soaked into his armpits as he worked, leaving a musky residue on his skin and a tingling sensation bubbling up underneath.

His barren pits darkened as prickles of hair erupted from the smooth skin. Dark pinpricks elongated into wispy hairs, brushing up against his cavernous muscles as they pushed outwards. The hairs twisted together, thickening as sweat flowed down their ever increasing length. Carson lifted a particularly heavy bundle of hay, hairs squeezing out further as he grunted, exerting his whole body in the effort. If he’d been paying attention he could’ve noticed that each movement of his arms came with more friction as hair filled the space between arm and torso. Sweat and musk filled the dark caverns between muscles as hair inched out every moment, vying to fill every open pocket. Dark hairs grew thicker, wirier, tangling together as they kinked and curled outwards. The hair spread outwards, crawling out from the recess and curling around his biceps and chest as pit hair blended into a growing mat coating his torso entirely. The deepest crevices began to truly reek as sweat coalesced, the hairs bathed in testosterone laden juice taking on an even thicker texture. More hairs poked out between the old ones, barely able to fit as the jungle filled out. His biceps swelled more as hairs brushed against the fabric of his jacket, fully pushing out of his shirt and beyond.

After what felt like an eternity of heavy lifting the pair finally finished, pausing their labor for lunch. Carson felt the icy contrast of sweat dripping down his forehead and freezing from the cold blasts of wind, but instead of groaning about it he grinned. He felt truly alive working hard like this. Jack saw the look on Carson’s face and mirrored it on his own. As the two headed inside to eat, they shed their heavy layers by the door. Just in a few hours, Jack could see how much Carson had bulked up. His flannel was bursting at the seams, thick hairs splaying out of his collar and creeping out of his sleeves.

“Looks like you’ve been hitting the gym, boy,” Jack said, giving Carson a look up and down. “Why don’t you flex and show me?”

Carson paused. The old him would’ve been mortified. Flexing in front of his uncle? And what did he mean by that anyway, he’s been slim his entire life. But that side of Carson had taken a back seat. A smile crossed his face instead.

“Sure have, glad you noticed,” he said, curling his arms up. His newly developed biceps pressed against his shirt, straining the fabric instantly. The threads pulled apart as thick hairs popped out, his shirt giving way to his overly masculine form. His pecs swelled in size once more, popping the top button completely off the flannel. His chest barreled out, hair pouring from between each side of the shirt. His stature had shifted too, growing a few inches taller. The shirt rode up on his torso now, revealing his still hairless stomach. His body shivered slightly as the wispy translucent fuzz acting as a treasure trail caught the chilly draft from outside.

Jack laughed. “We’ll have to get you a new shirt there. Looking good though, son,” he said with a wink. He walked over to the closet and pulled out an old work shirt that he thought would fit Carson and tossed it to him. “Go try this on and I’ll throw some lunch together for us.”

Carson took the shirt into the bathroom, struggling to take off his old flannel from how tightly it clung to his form now. He eventually got it off, letting it slide off his bulky shoulders and onto the floor. He looked at himself in the mirror, seeing a very different man from the one he’d woken up as that morning. The man in the mirror should have been a stranger, but the longer he stared the more familiar he became. As he gazed over his body, the shadow formed by the overhang of his new pecs darkened as wiry hairs erupted across his torso. As the forest on his chest grew denser, the southern front pushed out, a trail of thick dark hairs pushing out on a mission towards his navel. His newly visible abs were hidden behind a growing carpet of hair that stretched out from the thick trail. He should’ve been alarmed, terrified at the changes taking place across his body, but no such thought even crossed his mind. His old body was being overwritten by his new one, he’d always looked like this, it felt natural.

He undid his belt and jeans to take a piss while he was waiting for lunch, sliding his sweat soaked underwear down out the way. Looking down at his crotch, memories flooded in. He remembered the panic when he was younger and saw the first dark curls poking out from his body. He’d grown a rug long before any of his friends, and he’d remained ahead of the pack in that sense ever since.. He chuckled to himself, imagining if his younger self could see him now. As if manifesting it, the wispy cluster of hairs above his cock began to darken. Pigment flooded them as they thickened up, curling with texture they’d never had before. His groin warmed as testosterone flooded the area, follicles waking to the call long awaited. Dark spots appeared across his crotch, radiating out from the existing hairs, creating a spreading shadow that began to take shape. Each pinprick pushed out a thick, dark hair, strands emerging from the skin like a field in bloom.

Carson slid his hand over the growing bush, nascent hairs tickling his fingers as they twisted and curled. The forest of hairs grew and spread, filling out his crotch with a full triangle of hair, growing denser beneath his touch. Like a timelapse the hairs grew longer and thicker, blocking out the skin beneath as his bush developed into a true jungle. The edges blurred as hairs climbed onto his thighs and crawled up his stomach, merging seamlessly with the coating of hair over his abdomen. He’d long since finished peeing but had gotten distracted feeling the growing hairs. Another memory of his new life appeared in his mind, from the locker room in school, the first time another guy had pointed out his pubes. They’d grown so much the hairs had curled up and over his waistband, a sign of his newfound manliness on display.

As he reminisced, his bush puffed up to match, hairs exploding outwards from his groin. His cock twitched as it snaked out longer, hairs beginning to climb up the base of the shaft. The sensation of coarse hairs brushing through his fingers quickly aroused him, blood rushing to his cock as it grew. His hand transitioned from pulling at the hairs to fully gripping his cock as it hardened, the newly grown short hairs prickling against his grasp. He looked up at his reflection again, seeing the hairy, built man still rocking the cowboy hat. It felt right.

He stroked his hand up his shaft, sending waves of pleasure rocketing through his body. In that instant, his balls truly dropped. Carson involuntarily moaned as his balls swelled in size, engorging to the size of large eggs dangling below his furry crotch. The wrinkly skin looked odd in comparison, until the hair began to make its way down. His enormous testicles quickly vanished as thick wiry hairs sprouted from his sack, engulfing it in an impenetrable cage of dark hair. It was as if his pubes had reached down to claim them, coating the expanse in a continuation of the thick jungle above. His hand jerked quickly up and down, precum budding at the tip of his cock as hair thickened all around it.

“Food’s ready!” Uncle Jack’s voice called from the kitchen, falling on deaf ears. Carson was lost in himself as his groin felt like the center of the universe. His breath quickened as his hand increased its tempo. His cock thickened, pressing out against his tight grip as he jerked off, precum dripping down his shaft. The sensation of hair pushing out across his groin was electric, it felt masculine, it felt primal, it felt natural. His cock pushed out longer, growing past seven, then eight inches as he brought in his other hand to help. The hairs on his shaft lengthened as well, climbing higher and higher up his member as he stroked. Carson moaned again, not noticing how his pitch had deepened since he’d started growing.

Jack knocked on the door to the bathroom, but Carson once again failed to notice. His breaths grew ragged, cock reaching past nine inches as his pubes glistened with the precum constantly leaking from his tip. His massive balls tensed up, ready to release. Strokes grew sloppy as precum lubricated his shaft entirely, until finally his body gave in. With a body enrapturing clench his cock erupted, cum blasting out all over the mirror in front of him. Load after load shot out, covering the glass and counter as the arc of his shooting changed. The loudest moan yet involuntarily slipped out as Carson was overcome with the most intense orgasm of his life. The last remnants of his old memories leaked out with the last dribbles of his cum, splattering onto the tile beneath him. His body buzzed with energy as the feeling echoed throughout his frame. Through the cum painting the mirror he could see part of his face reflected, a grin plastered across his face as he felt content.

Eventually the orgasmic state began to wear off, and Carson remembered that he was late for lunch. He quickly pulled his pants back up and buckled his belt, his uncle’s shirt fitting perfectly on his newly bulky frame. Promising to clean up his mess later, he walked back into the kitchen unsure if Jack had heard his moans from earlier, but he also didn’t truly care. Jack had a smirk plastered on his face when Carson entered, which told him everything.

“Lookin’ sharp, buck,” Jack said upon looking at how his old shirt fit on the young man. “Now, I made us some sandwiches, dig in.”

Carson sat down and began scarfing down the sandwich. It was a messy meal, but once again he didn’t seem to care much, this wasn’t a fine dining restaurant. Sauce leaked all over his face as he crammed the food down, he was absolutely starving after hours of hard work. Jack looked up over his own lunch, staring intently at his nephew’s face as he ate. From beneath the smear of mayo, the light stubble began to thicken. Starting on his upper lip, the soft skin prickled as stubble darkened into a thick shadow. The hairs slowly pushed out, a thick mop emerging from his face as a true man’s stache came into being. A dark, dense wave of hair flowed out of his lip, growing longer as it curled down, completely covering his mouth. Jack couldn’t help but crack a smile, remembering his own youth when he’d had a thick stache for years.

Carson’s face itched as his jaw widened, bones defining and growing into a sharp jawline. The hairs from his stache began to trickle down the sides of his mouth, a dense five o'clock shadow developing, spreading from his mouth out over his cheeks. Within moments, his face was awash with a thick stubble, more than anything he’d ever grown before. The stubble lengthened, hairs pressing out of his face in a continuous layer. His cheeks vanished beneath an extruding layer of hair, growing thicker and coarser as follicles became drenched in testosterone. Stubble turned to short beard as his sideburns flared out, connecting up to his ever darkening hair on his head. His new jawline disappeared beneath the onslaught of wiry hairs, pushing longer and longer as his beard inched out from his face. The hairs grew thick, dense, and dark as his beard continued to grow, stubble crawling up his cheeks and down his neck, threatening to merge with his chest rug. By the time Carson had finished eating, he had a bushy beard to rival most cowboys, dark and impenetrable. It was a clear and solid silhouette of hair, oozing masculinity as he wiped the last of his sandwich from his mature mustache.

The two cleaned up lunch and quickly got back to work. The sun hung fairly low in the sky despite it being midday, the harsh rays bouncing off the snow. Carson’s originally bulky winter jacket fit snugly now, wrapping his built form as he worked clearing snow and ice. Despite memories of working hard at the gym and even harder at the ranch slowly filling his mind, the labor never seemed to get easier. Within minutes he was sweating his ass off once again, feeling frostbite on his face and like he was in a sauna under his coat. He could feel the sweat running down his broad, muscular back as he heaved the shovel back and forth.

Where his sweat trickled down his spine, small hairs began to bud. Starting from his already furry shoulders, hair cropped up moving down towards his shoulder blades, where patches of dark fur quickly began forming. Dark hairs traced down his spine as smooth skin ceded to the hair, thick strands popping up across rapidly roughening flesh. His lats hardened as curly hairs framed them before fully covering the expanse of muscle, connecting into the thick trail leading down his spine towards a burgeoning puff of hair above his ass. The hairs at the base of his back billowed out, growing thicker and curlier than the rest, mirroring the monstrous bush in his groin. The hairs quickly breached south of this patch, engulfing what was once a smooth backside in record pace. His ass itched as fields of dark hairs cropped up, swirling together over the plump expanse. He reached a hand back to scratch at it as the hairs began to concentrate between his cheeks, darker and thicker hairs sprouting as his crack grew sweaty and rank. Inky black hairs pushed out from around his hole as it steadily grew tighter and more sensitive, feeling the brushing and scratching of the thick coils surrounding it. His upper body was sealed beneath a thick layer of fur, stretching from ass to beard and back, insulating him against the frigid cold.

After another couple hours of gruelling work he’d finally hit his limit for the day, and both him and Jack called it quits. Jack lit a fire in the fireplace and poured them both a cold beer to enjoy.

“Cheers to an honest day's work, son,” he said, raising his glass. “You know, that hat really does fit you, I’m glad you took to it so well.”

Carson was beaming. He felt incredible, despite being exhausted. He was stronger, more rugged, more confident than ever before. He tipped the cowboy hat to his uncle in thanks.

“Couldn’t have done it without ya, uncle Jack.” Carson smiled, barely visible beneath his thick beard. He undid the top buttons of his shirt, letting his newly hairy chest breathe. He’d always been a hairy guy, it was just natural to finally embrace it. It fit his life, a down to earth ranch worker. He couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else.

Jack looked over at Carson with a smile on his face. “Y’know, son, think it's high time I truly give you a stake in this ranch, you’ve earned it.” He said as he took another swig of his beer. “I want to pass this all on to you, y’know.”

A huge smile crossed Carson’s face. He’d been hoping to hear that for years, ever since starting to help out around the ranch as a teenager. This was the future he’d been waiting for. Not in the city, but on his own ranch. He couldn’t imagine his old life anymore, who in their right mind would want to leave all this for some big city. He’d been born and bred for this life, finally becoming the cowboy he’d been destined to, and Uncle Jack couldn’t be happier.

Hey Y'all! Thanks for reading :) Bit of a long one this time, hope its worth the wait. As always let me know your thoughts and ideas for future stories, and feel free to show me your own hairy transformations ;)

vaniwall

"You again?"

pufferfishdude

Dragon Ball Anime: Episode 53

In the Red Ribbon Army Saga, General Blue goes up against Goku several times, and here in their first confrontation in a pirate cave, adapting chapters 77-78, Blue pumps up as he shows off his psychic power, which is seen when his eyes shine blue.

The anime has his normally slim muscular figure expand, making his chest, biceps, ribs and abs very hard to miss. As he swells up, veins bulge over his head, neck, biceps and arms, though they seem to vanish at points while his forehead and necks ones stay until his powers manifest at their most. The growth here could be a natural occurrence of him tapping into his ability, or it could even be him using it to stress his body to give him an additional advantage as he fights Goku.

Goku declares that he looks like “a great big balloon,” though overall his figure is the same as in the manga, where once shirtless he’s drawn a fair bit top-heavy but it seemed to be more natural than from a boost like in the anime.

pufferfishdude

Dragon Ball Z: Episode 8

The Z anime adaptation of manga chapter 208 goes into detail on Gohan’s transformation, showing his arms and legs tear his clothing as they grow suddenly, his hands growing more ape-like, and his body covering thick dark hair, his clothes tear completely as he grows gigantic, roaring atop the mountain with the moon behind him. It’s a good TF sequence and the rapidity of the expansion is nice. The scene plays out the same as in the manga, complete with the moon’s destruction and the tail’s removal, though this does get revisited again in ten episodes’ time with an anime-only TF.

pufferfishdude

Dragon Ball Z: Episode 66

This muscle expansion here is interesting since it’s something that never happened in the manga scene it’s from.

Vegeta is given a Senzu Bean by Goku to be healed after a tough fight with Recoome of Frieza’s Ginyu Force, who none of the heroes (and Vegeta in a temporary alliance that starts his character development into a good guy) have been able to actually harm.

In the manga, there’s no emphasise on Vegeta’s body, he just eats it and then looks at his revitalised normal-looking figure in confusion. The anime instead has his biceps suddenly swell up, tearing what battle armour fabric covered it, which is odd since the armour’s meant to be stretchy and accommodated him turning into a Great Ape. His torso blows up as well in a behind shot along with the top of his arms, you can hear the muscles stretch throughout the sequence. He observes how his body’s changed but given how wide his chest has expanded, it looks less like he’s surprised by being healed and more like it’s to do with the extra muscles he’s packing.

pufferfishdude

Dragon Ball Manga: Chapter 296

Frieza, now confronting the heroes, fights Vegeta, who by this point is under the belief he’s become the mythical Super Saiyan after gaining so much power, and the two fight at a standstill. However, Vegeta remembers Zarbon’s mention of Frieza being able to transform, and goads him to do so, believing himself tough enough to handle him. He soon realises he isn’t upon seeing and feeling the hideous power of Frieza’s larger, muscular second form.

The process begins with the emperor’s torso expanding like a balloon, followed by his limbs extending to match its proportions. His white natural body armour goes from ending at his shoulders to hamfeay down his biceps along with the purple bio-gems. The head and neck become thicker, the face more mature, and the horns growing and curving upwards like a typical depiction of a demon.

This lasts until he fights Piccolo in chapter 302, taking on a more Alien-like third form. It only gets worse, culminating in his fourth final ‘true’ form, one smaller and simpler in design.

pufferfishdude

Dragon Ball Z: Episode 98

Frieza building up to 100% of his power in the anime takes up a great deal of DBZ episode 98, emphasising his growth up to 80% with veins along his forearms, head, biceps and tail, and his shoulders bulging out like great spheres. As he crosses over to 90% percent, the same sweeping shot as when he powered up just past 80%, we see additional veins and bruising appear across him in comparison, adding to the intensity and pressure he undergoes as his body becomes more and more engorged and stressed. His shoulder, chest and tail swell forward in close up to the point they totally fill the screen. He finally finishes his power up, chest thrust out, body huge and vein-ridden, and ready to finish the final battle.

pufferfishdude

Dragon Ball Z: Episodes 155-165 Part 1

DBZ’s anime gets nice and up-close with the Second and Third Grade transformations. While Vegeta’s TF in the manga was done literally in a flash, here we see the short stuff’s muscles widen, thighs thicken and calves fill and stretch out his boots, putting on enough extra weight and power to crack the ground. When he’s fully revealed in his short buff glory, the anime increases the level of his aura’s shine on him to emphasise the detail of his extra mass.

pufferfishdude

Dragon Ball Z: Episodes 177-188 Part 3

Trunks’ Third Grade muscle inflation is handled faithfully to the manga. We get his shoulder and back swelling as his hair rises and destroys his hairband, his aggressive/stressed face as he undergoes the massive transformation with a much broader chest and his limbs swelling further. Maybe it’s just me, but in the last image here, he doesn’t look as huge as in the manga. I suppose it might be due to the manga’s depiction being sharp and angular compared to the anime’s softer smoother approach. In any case, he retains the general size and sense of raw mass and heaviness for this form.

pufferfishdude

Seven Deadly Sins Anime: Signs of Holy War Episode 2

Signs of the Holy War is a filler arc for the Seven Deadly Sins anime, a four-episode special set between the first two seasons. On Netflix, it’s listed as Season 2. Thanks to @come-to-the-day for bringing this up along with Season 2 Episode 13, Ban and Escanor as a whole for the series’ muscle scenes.

Meliodas and Ban have a fight against each other, with Merlin the Boar Sin of Gluttony casting a magical area for them to go all out without harming any of the people watching them. When Ban loses a great deal of blood as he’s sent straight into a wall, he uses the Hunter Fest ability for the first time in the anime, stealing blood and half the strength of everyone in the audience. With that, his body stretches out with pure raw muscle, rapidly filling out his jacket until it’s torn to shreds, displaying his bare, pumped-up physique. The pecs are the clearest to stand out like boulders; the torso has widened a little at the top; his modestly-muscular arms have bulked up; the shoulders are larger; and the collar bones stick out and his usual well-developed sex-pack is in full view now. Veins also pop up briefly on his arms and chest (pics 11 and 12).

Ban proceeds to pummel Meliodas without hesitation, though Meliodas is able to counter him blows and eventually takes off his arm, even whacking the Sin of Greed repeatedly with his own limb. However, Ban retrieves it using his powers and it’s reattached without a problem. The two friends carry on their match to the point that they’re both totally worn out, Ban reverting back to his normal size on the ground in total exhaustion.

It’s a really good instance of showing his actual growth and the best so far in showing how big he can get. Bursting out of his jacket was a really nice touch.

hairyjocktf

The Hairy Huddle

Wes didn’t have a care in the world. He’d made it. He was the star quarterback on his college football team, he was popular, and he was the hottest guy in the world, as far as he was concerned. They were 1 and 5 this season so far, but he didn’t let that rain on his parade. The parties never stopped, it felt like he walked on a red carpet no matter where he went. They’d lost the game on Saturday but he still had fun that night, so did it really matter? The promo deals kept coming in, his socials were constantly blowing up, it was great.

Wes walked into the locker room on Monday to find the rest of the team waiting for him. They didn’t look too happy to see him.

“Yo Wes,” the running back Brandon barked, “get your ass over here.” Wes was taken aback, his teammates had never spoken to him like that before. He walked over to where they had grouped up and let his gym bag slide off his shoulder.

“What’s the event, boys? Y’all were all waiting for me?” Wes quipped with a hint of anxiety in his voice. He was unsure what to make of this scene. Wes wasn’t a small guy at all, at 6’2” and packing well over 200 pounds of muscle, but in that instant he felt intimidated by his team.

“Seems like you didn’t hear,” Brandon replied, “the school’s not pleased with our performance currently. ‘Bad optics’ they’re sayin’. They sacked Coach yesterday over it.” His face was a mixture of disappointment and ire, clearly he wasn’t taking that news well, despite holding face. Wes knew that Coach and Brandon had been pretty tight, their families had known each other or something like that, he thought. “Our team needs a new coach, new direction. I don’t like this losing streak we’ve got goin’ on right now, and I feel you’ve been slacking on practice and performance,” Brandon continued. “The way I see it, and I talked to the boys about this, you’re the problem here. And seein’ as we need a new coach right now, I think you might just fit the bill.”

Wes took a step back. What the hell was Brandon talking about? Him? The new coach? That made no sense, he was young and fit and not at all what a coach was. His heart sank when he heard the door lock behind him, whipping his head around to find one of the linebackers guarding the exit with his hulking frame. He was suddenly surrounded by his own teammates; some looked at him with contempt, and some avoided eye contact all together. His attention was brought back to Brandon as he loudly spat in his own hand. He nodded at the others, who turned from Wes and walked over to the running back, before spitting in his hand as well. In just a few moments, Brandon’s hand was dripping with the thick saliva of every jock on the team, and he locked eyes with Wes as he marched over towards him. Wes was frozen, he couldn’t bring himself to move. This whole scene was surreal; what the hell was going on?

Brandon took his spit coated hand and grabbed Wes’ own into a firm, if wet, handshake. He even brought in his other hand for enthusiasm. Brandon looked up at Wes with a sadistic glimmer in his eye. “Congrats on the new position, Coach,” he said, his voice dripping with vindication. Wes could feel the slimy texture of his team’s spit pressed into his hand, and before Brandon had even let go, his skin began to tingle, his hand twitching to his disbelief. He stumbled backwards, breaking away from Brandon’s tight grip. Wes stared down at his hand, the feeling of pins and needles pulsing around it. His eyes widened as he watched his palm widen, slowly stretching with a large cracking sound. His fingers elongated one by one before thickening, doubling in size from what he was used to. He felt bones popping and growing as his hand swelled, looking comical in proportion to the rest of his arm. Thick callouses coated his palm as the soft skin wrinkled just a bit more than it should’ve. The tingling sensation reached a peak, and Wes gagged as he watched as thick hairs pushed out from the backs of his newly beefy fingers. The back of his hand followed next as hairs sprouted through the leathery skin, weaving together into a wiry mat that covered his hand end to end, and started creeping up towards his wrist. He brought his other hand over and felt the newly grown hairs, his still normal hand caressing over the thick wiry hairs that looked alien on his body. His cock lurched in his shorts as he felt the mat of hairs across the back of his palm, bewildered at what was happening to him.

He barely had time to breathe before the hairs continued their advance. The newly grown strands on his hand darkened, as if coming to age, as thick, progressively darker hairs popped up on his wrist, climbing up his forearm in rapid succession. His arm thickened, the lean muscle he’d built up over years of training suddenly bloating, as if he’d been bulking nonstop for all that time. The hairs took advantage of the enlarged terrain, and his forearm was buried beneath a forest of dark, coarse hairs. His bicep bulged slightly, upper arm thickening as muscle but mostly fat packed on, the smooth and tanned skin growing spotty. The tingling feeling that had trickled up his arm alongside the hair intensified into a strong itch, which concentrated itself under his arm.

Wes was panicking at this point. He looked down at his arm in disbelief, it looked like it belonged to a different man entirely. He raised his head up to stare at Brandon, who was now sitting on the bench in front of him with a smirk on his face. Wes opened his mouth to lash out at his former teammate, but before he could get a word out the itch in his pit exploded into an unbearable sensation. He quickly pulled his shirt off and raised his arm up, revealing his armpit that had a scant few wispy hairs in it. Wes sighed in relief, but the itching continued. The lump returned to his throat upon seeing a dark, wiry hair push out from between the other light fuzz. In short order another sprouted out, and then another. Wes’ pit quickly turned from pubescent to virile as thick dark hairs continued to burst out, his wispy tuft rapidly becoming a manly thicket of hair. The dark brown hairs tangled together as they curled out from the follicles, becoming an impenetrable jungle trapping sweat and scent in his increasingly oily pit. The jungle continued to spread out, new hairs popping up on the edges of the deeply forested pit, hairs slithering out to claim new territory as older hairs pushed out even longer. He stuck his hand into the growing hairs, feeling them twist and lengthen against his fingers. Unbeknownst to him, his cock was beginning to tent against his compression shorts, the sensation of hair growing in was flooding his body with a euphoric effect as his pit gushed with new hairs.

The steady march of hair continued, reaching from his hand up his arm and through his pit as the first brown hairs began to pop up on his pecs. His nipples perked up as slender threads pushed out from around their edges, wispy strands that glistened in the harsh locker room lighting. Wes watched as those hairs grew darker as more and more started cropping up, his nipples became the center of a vortex of stubbly hairs that crept out across his chest. The hairs remained flat against his skin as they coated his pecs in a light, but still visible field of hair. The density of that growing field was lessened somewhat as he saw his pecs bloat slightly in size, growing a tad softer as they enlarged. His refined, chiseled body continued to vanish before his eyes, his abs softening until they blended in entirely. Hair began to trickle down over his newly padded stomach, a trail tracing towards his navel and past it, soft brown hairs pushing out in branches from that central line. Wes groaned as his nipples grew larger, becoming more proportional to his growing chest.

The other players surrounding Wes were hypnotized by his growth, and Brandon was front and center with a nasty grin on his face. He had one more idea to try out. While Wes was completely distracted in his own world, Brandon approached him and once again spat in his own hand. He yanked Wes’ shorts down, exposing his now fully erect cock. Before Wes could react Brandon grabbed hold of Wes’ balls with his saliva laden hand, squeezing them tight. Wes groaned again, this time much louder as pain and pleasure pulsed from his testicles. In an instant, they began to swell in size, his sack stretching to accommodate. They doubled, then tripled in size, growing from grapes to lemons, hanging lower and lower. Wes could feel them churning, immediately beginning to fill with cum as they started pumping testosterone out into his body. His scrotum wrinkled, tingling as hairs started to push out. Dark brown strands quickly coated his entire sack, the coarse hairs curling as they sprouted and tangling together, creating a nest that swung between his legs. He reached down and cupped his balls with a similarly furry hand, feeling how hot and heavy they’d become.

The added hormones quickly began to act on Wes’ body, his cock stiffening even more as it slowly inched out. Wes looked down to see his groin darken, brown pinpricks spreading across the skin as they formed a dense shadow. Pale skin was overrun by budding hairs, the pinpricks blossoming into a lush forest that surrounded the base of his cock before spreading out over the fertile ground. Wes ran his hand through the growing bush, feeling the hairs lengthen and curl around his fingers, tangling together with the thick strands on his fingers. His cock lurched, shooting out another inch and thickening as a feeling of pleasure he’d never experienced washed over him, his mind conflicted between hormones and horrors. More and more of Wes’ groin vanished beneath the growing hairs, forming the full triangle he vaguely remembered from Coach’s sex ed lecture, before continuing its assault. The hairs lengthened, curling together as they unfurled, the mass stretching further away from his skin as the bush took on true volume.

The wiry strands climbed upwards towards his navel, reaching the growth trailing down from his chest and igniting a new surge of fur that shot back up the vine. His trail thickened and darkened, more hairs twisting into its form as his stomach continued to soften, the entire gut beginning to form a mass. The growing hairs reached back to his pecs and exploded out like a firework, the soft fuzz previously adorning his chest blooming into a rugged pelt. Testosterone was surging out from his newly grown balls, flooding the follicles across his body with the fuel to pump out thicker, darker, wirier hairs. His pecs continued to bloat and sag, though the growing forest did its best to hide that fact. Between every existing hair two more sprouted, weaving across his skin into a dense rug that crawled up towards his collarbone. They grew long and thick, ensuring a tuft of hair would pop out of any shirt collar. The pelt climbed up and over his shoulders, his traps growing as hairy as most guys’ chests.

Wes grunted as his neck thickened, his Adam's apple doubling in size as his voice dropped to a husky growl. The bulge protruding from his neck was quickly swallowed up by a shadow he’d seen before; dark pinpricks spread upwards from his chest coating his neck in stubble before moving up to his jaw. Another, more pained grunt burst from Wes’ mouth as his jaw bone shifted and cracked, becoming much wider and more angular. His newly defined face was instantly coated with a dark 5 o’clock shadow, one which crawled high onto his cheeks. The prickles of hair appeared on his upper lip, completing the shadow across his face. He brought up his hand to feel the stubble, his fingers gliding across the expanse of bristles, and his cock throbbed in response, globs of precum pouring out of the tip. Under his fingertips, Wes could feel the hairs begin to push out, shadow turning to stubble turning to beard as a thick coat sprouted evenly across his face. Where before he barely had peach fuzz he now had a short but incredibly dense coating adorning his face, obscuring his pale flesh beneath.

Short would not describe his beard for long, however. Wes’ balls churned, inundating him with more and more testosterone, with his follicles reacted accordingly. Hair surged out from his face, growing inch after inch into a coarse, wild mane. Thickening strands interwove as curls tangled and pushed out from his face. His hand remained on his cheek, the sensation of hairs sprouting and twisting around his fingers had him high on euphoria. For every inch his beard pressed out, his cock grew larger. By the time his beard reached his chest, fully blending into the hairs there, he had a rod pushing ten inches and thick as a beer can. Wes’ other hand drifted down towards his rock hard member, but his focus was stolen by a gurgling sensation in his stomach.

He looked down, only to see his already plush torso fattening up beneath the fur coat. His pecs softened even more, coming to rest on a gut that grew outwards at an alarming rate, as Wes packed on dozens of pounds in seconds. His muscle mass stayed, even increased underneath, but his body was soft with a layer of fat coating it all. His enormous bush disappeared from view behind the growing belly, only leaving the tip of his massive cock visible as it leaked precum. Wes’ hand now rubbed across his furry gut, feeling the hairs continually sprouting across the growing landscape. A deep groan slipped from his lips as his foreskin regrew over his massive cock, something he’d never experienced before. His hand moved down to grasp his thick cock, feeling the new skin and the incredible pleasure as he began stroking it. Precum poured out of the head of his cock as Wes fell further into his state of bliss. He didn’t even notice as his gut continued to grow, and his limbs grew plump as his body continued to balloon outwards, like he’d given up taking care of himself for 20 years. As he grew larger, the dense pelt he’d grown continued to fill in as more skin became available, follicles awakening and pushing out thick brown hairs in every corner.

Brandon and the rest of the boys stood back and watched the show, as Wes lost himself to the sensations of growth. Brandon’s own cock started to tent his shorts as he watched fur wrap around his former teammate’s body, there was something so primal and masculine about it. He looked up and saw a bunch of the others with a hand down their pants, similarly turned on by the transformation. “Fuck it,” Brandon thought, and joined them, stroking his stiffening cock that had already left a precum stain on his shorts.

Wes had lost all thought in his head but the need to jack off. He had one hand gripping his cock and another rubbing through the growing fur across his belly, the thick hairs twisting and tangling around his fingers. A low groan leaked out from his gaping mouth, as he could feel every hair popping up across his body, each one like a miniature orgasm in itself as a new brown hair erupted out from his skin. What Wes couldn’t see though, was how the hair on his shoulders had started to crawl down his back. Wispy hairs cropped up in patches on his shoulder blades, before growing darker and thicker. The patches spread out quickly, hairs spreading and merging together over his spine, where the hair seemed to shoot up and down even more rapidly. A rug was growing in, connecting his shoulders to his neck and down towards his ass in an unbroken stretch of fur. The dark brown hairs grew longer and longer, shrouding his skin below as the pelt consumed his widening back. At the base of his spine there was an explosion of fur, with thick curly strands popping out just above his ass. The patch grew denser and darker than the rest of his back, as if the testosterone had pooled there, igniting the follicles. That was only the prelude it seemed, as shortly after his massive ass cheeks tingled, hair racing over the expanses and coating them with a wiry mat, one that only grew more and more tangled in between. His crack itched as the same thick wiry hairs bust out into the confined space, weaving together into an impenetrable jungle that quickly grew sweaty. Wes groaned again as his hole was surrounded by curly hairs, his sensations heightened by the hormones and hair.

Wes’ groans echoed off the lockers lining the room, the sweat and stench of his growing body mixing with that of the team and the copious amounts of used gear spread around to create a noxious yet almost erotic musk. By this point every single other athlete in the room had started jerking off, the combination of pheromones and Wes’ hair overriding any sane thought in their minds. Brandon had let his shorts fall to the ground, fully engrossed in his own masturbation, gliding his hand up and down his fully erect cock as it drizzled precum onto the floor. Between shallow breaths, he could feel his balls churning, ready to release a load like none he’d felt before. He slowly hobbled over towards Wes, not letting up on his cock in the slightest, feeling the pressure building in his balls more and more. The other guys followed his lead, approaching Wes in a circle while all still stroking. Brandon's breath rose to a fever pitch as he tipped over the point of no return, his balls emptying copious amounts of cum as his cock erupted. His load came out in pulses, shooting across Wes’ massive chest and gut, the cum catching in his thick beard and body hair. The other boys couldn’t hold out any longer either, with each of them letting loose their own massive loads. The room echoed with grunts and moans as jock cum splattered across Wes’ huge body. His thick pelt was saturated with semen, the thick sticky liquid seeping deep into his fur.

Wes’ body tingled, the cum-soaked hairs thickening up and growing longer as his breath quickened, his body preparing for the finish. Everywhere he was painted with cum the hair grew denser, more sensitive. The feeling of hairs knotting together pushed Wes towards climax just a bit more as his neverending pelt fluffed out. His whole body shuddered as his massive balls let loose a flood, his cock widening in preparation. Wes’ hips bucked involuntarily as his cock erupted, a deep roar booming from his throat as a load larger than all the jocks’ combined shot out, gush after gush of hot cum spraying across his hairy face and gut. One shot flew up and over his head, coating one of his teammate’s toned chest in thick spunk. Under where the cum landed, the jock’s skin grew itchy, and seconds later dark hairs began to sprout through the liquid. He couldn’t believe his eyes as his chest sprouted a rug befitting a man 20 years older.

Wes continued to empty his balls onto his body, his cock releasing a seemingly endless amount of semen onto his still thickening pelt. Underneath the dozens of cum splatters his body hair grew denser, curlier, reabsorbing all the testosterone into his body. His breaths grew ragged, his energy consumed as his fountain turned to a drizzle. Wes collapsed onto the bench, not used to the size and weight of his new body. His senses slowly returned to him, the intense euphoria fading as he took stock of what had happened to him. Before he could panic or say anything, Brandon approached him, a huge grin plastered on his face. Brandon slapped him on the back before grabbing his massive paw with both hands.

“Welcome to the team, Coach. I think the rest of the season’s lookin’ up now,” he said with a chuckle. “Come on over boys, let's make sure our new coach is ready for practice tomorrow.”

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aardvarkia

The Master of Magic

Words by Aardvark Illustrations by Theobromic

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“They didn’t have a ticket for him,” Jeremy heard the girl on the couches whispering. He kept his head down, eyes locked on his phone, but felt the heads turning to look at him. Jeremy knew it wasn’t a personal slight. He was the last student on the alphabetical list. At some point between sending the roster to the theater box office and the tickets being confirmed, “Jeremy Williams” got chopped off. It was an innocent mistake. His chaperone felt horrible. And none of that made Jeremy feel less shitty about it.

Jeremy was fine with his social status. He was introverted and fine with a small, tight circle of friends instead of everyone knowing his name. Everyone thought of him as the quiet kid, which was true. He was more of a listener. He didn’t like attention. But that didn’t mean he liked being the odd man out, either, and this class trip kept making him feel like one. He’d gotten roomed with guys he didn’t know instead of the friends he’d requested. He’d gotten to breakfast late and once again had to sit at a table where he knew no one. And now, he was going to a magic show alone.

That was the apologetic box office attendant’s solution: the magic show. The theater offered a complimentary ticket to the opening night of Magic & Might. They had one seat available, while the rest of Jeremy’s group - parents, chaperones, students - had tickets to Cirque du Soleil. There was a scramble when they realized they were a ticket short and it was Jeremy who didn’t have one. Two adults both volunteered to give Jeremy theirs, but he didn’t want to make it a big deal. And the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of being on his own for a couple hours, without having to be “on” socially. Since the theaters were in the same building, the adults okayed it as long as Jeremy agreed to watch his phone and meet the group at Guest Services immediately after.

That was the end of the kerfuffle, but for the next hour the rumors spread throughout the group: that the quiet kid was skipping the show, or that he’d lost his ticket, or that he’d purposely been left off the list. Jeremy tuned it out as best he could, chatting with his friends during the group dinner and insisting he was fine with the solution. But he felt so self-conscious knowing people were talking about him. He wanted to flip up the hood of his sweatshirt, pull his baseball cap over his eyes, and cinch the hoodie strings so tight they covered his face.

Finally, it was time to go to the show. Jeremy knew everyone would still be talking about him, but at least he wouldn’t have to listen to it. He promised his chaperones he’d turn his phone back on as soon as the show was out, and wouldn’t go outside until he met up with the group.

Since it was opening night of Magic & Might, Jeremy felt honored to be in the audience. He noticed that the people filing in were dressed nicer than the crowd for Cirque du Soleil - there were even some men in tuxes. There was a photo op where people could have their pictures taken by the poster, but Jeremy skipped it because he didn’t want to ask a stranger to take one of him. The poster was a black background with the words “MAGIC & MIGHT” made out of smoke and mystical blue sparks, and beneath the logo was a big gold banner that read “Opening Night!” It didn’t say anything about the show, and Jeremy hoped it wasn’t cheesy.

“Hi there,” said an usher as Jeremy walked in. “With anyone?”

“No, just me.”

The woman looked surprised but smiled as she took his ticket. Her eyebrows raised. “Quite a seat! Fourth row on the aisle! You must have friends in high places,” she said, leading Jeremy down to the front of the stage. She handed him a program, which Jeremy barely noticed because he was craning his neck to take in his surroundings. The theater was bigger than the ones back home, with three levels. “How many seats are in here?” he asked.

“About twelve-hundred,” she said. “Enjoy the show!”

Jeremy set his program on the ground and got on his phone. He tried googling things - “Magic & Might,” “Magic Might Vegas,” “What does magic might mean” - but could find nothing about the show he was about to see aside from press announcements and ticket links. Then he went to his photo reel to find pictures from the day that were suitable for posting. There weren’t many. Not that one…he didn’t like how skinny he looked, and his smile was weird…delete…next one, eyes closed, delete…next, pimple front and center, definitely delete. He didn’t care about social media as much as his peers but this trip felt like something worth commemorating. He finally landed on a good picture of him; it was a group shot, him and two of his friends and three girls from their class, all standing in front of the fountains. He wasn’t the shortest since he was next to girls, and his long bangs covered the breakout on his forehead. Perfect. That was the post.

“Remember, no phones during the show,” the same usher reminded him as she returned to seat another group. Jeremy just nodded. The service was so patchy in the theater that it wouldn’t matter much anyway. His texts weren’t going through, so he put his phone on airplane mode and played games to pass the time. He tuned in and out of the conversations around him - “is this going to be corny?”; “oooh, it says there will be strobe lights”; “Diane said he’s extremely handsome” - but noticed the theater was getting quite full. The buzz was palpable and helped Jeremy forget the circumstances that led him there. He just hoped for cool magic, nothing too kiddie.

A deep voice announced over the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and turn off all cellular devices. The show is about to begin.” Jeremy put his phone away and sat back in his seat, watching the last stragglers hurry to their seats. He felt lucky to be near the action, especially since the show looked to be sold out. Maybe he was close enough to see how the tricks actually worked.

The lights went out with a loud crack of synthesized sound, making Jeremy jump in his seat. Audience members gave nervous titters around him. For several moments the theater was pitch black, with electronic underscoring ringing through the speakers. Then, the music sped up and became more epic - it reminded Jeremy of a war movie. Lasers and lights swirled around the proscenium, and then on the right of the stage was a blast of fire that revealed the silhouette of a man in front of it.

The audience cheered. The man could only be glimpsed before the flame died out, but a moment later, the same effect happened on the left of the stage, too much of a distance for the man to have covered in a few seconds. More cheering, and then the whole back of the stage erupted with flame - Jeremy felt the heat - and this time, the large black outline of the man didn’t go away, but walked dramatically toward the front of the stage as the lights and lasers swirled around him. When he got under the stage lights and could be fully seen, the women around Jeremy gasped. The man was shirtless and jacked to kingdom come. His shoulders rippled visibly as he swaggered to the front of the stage, biceps undulating under the skin as he flexed them. His legs were clad in a pair of leather pants tight enough to show the cuts of muscle through the material. He was fair with Nordic features, a swoop of gelled blond hair, and blue eyes that looked like they could shoot ice out over the audience.

The burly blond bodybuilder raised his hands in triumph, and the audience clapped. Jeremy had never seen a man so muscular in person, only on magazine covers. He was glad he wasn’t with his classmates, because he could just imagine them giggling and making rude comments about the guy.

“Good evening!” the man bellowed to more applause. “Ladies and gentlemen, you are in for the experience of a lifetime tonight, courtesy of the Master of Magic. You will not believe your eyes. Your belief in the very fabric of reality will be put to the test. There are no wires. There are no mirrors. There are no tricks up my sleeves,” he smirked, flexing his naked arms to feminine shrieks of joy from the audience. “TONIGHT! The Master of Magic invites you, his audience, into his world. All you have to do is…believe. Do you believe, Las Vegas?!”

The crowd, including Jeremy, responded yes.

“I am not the Master of Magic you all are here to see tonight. I am his humble assistant, Oliver.” Oliver had a posh British accent that made everything he said sound a tad snide. “And before the Master arrives himself, he has asked me to perform something of my own to set the mood. Will you indulge me, my friends?” Oliver thumped his beefy chest to roars from the crowd. “Thank you. For our first display of magic, I will require a participant from the audience.”

Hands shot up all around Jeremy, but he sat on his own and shrank down in his seat. The last thing he wanted was to go up on stage in front of over a thousand people. Thankfully, there were plenty of people volunteering all around him. A drumroll joined into the electronic underscoring as two spotlights searched the crowd, and then with a loud sting, they both locked on the same seat. Jeremy’s.

Jeremy went pale under the glare of the spotlights. He looked to his left, hoping that it was his neighbor who’d been selected. “Young man, come join me on stage, please,” Oliver boomed.

Jeremy shook his head. He hadn’t volunteered, he didn’t want to! He realized he’d been chosen because he was close to the stage and on the aisle - quick and accessible - and it annoyed him that he hadn’t noticed the risk of audience participation when he’d sat down. Oliver was still motioning for him, so Jeremy slowly stood up, the color draining out of him as he eased onto his feet. The crowd was cheering, but it just made him feel like throwing up.

Oliver extended a veiny hand that Jeremy shook limply. “Pleasure to meet you,” the buff Brit said. “Please inform the crowd of your name.”

“J-Jeremy.” Jeremy had never felt smaller inside the cavernous theater next to the most muscular man he’d ever seen.

“A bit louder?” Oliver leaned in, holding a handheld microphone closer.

“Jeremy. Jeremy Williams.”

“Applause for Mr. Jeremy Williams, everyone!”

More cheering. Jeremy forced a smile but felt bile rise in his throat when he looked out into the dark theater and saw how far away the back of it was.

“How old are you, Jeremy?”

“17,” Jeremy said, rounding up.

“Got a girlfriend?”

Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Uhm, no, I-”

“First time in Vegas?” Oliver interrupted. Jeremy only nodded, so Oliver asked another question: “First time at a magic show?”

“Yeah.”

“And to confirm, you and I have never met before?”

“No, never.” Jeremy realized the synth underscoring was holding one long, steady chord as he and Oliver spoke.

“And you are not a hired actor, correct?”

“Uhm, yes, correct,” Jeremy nodded, having trouble focusing on what Oliver was saying since he was so nervous. There was something familiar about Oliver’s voice - maybe he’d heard it on a commercial? He couldn’t place it, but he recognized it.

Oliver rested his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I think he’s a little nervous, everyone. Can we get a cheer going for Jeremy? JER-E-MY, JER-E-MY!” The audience took the prompt and kept going as Oliver bellowed over them. “Ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to see is not a nightly occurrence! This is not a standard Vegas trick! This is a once-in-a-lifetime moment - real magic, right before your eyes! Jeremy Williams! Are you ready?!”

“I, uh…” Jeremy looked over at Oliver, who was backing away, arms outstretched and palms facing forward. Jeremy wondered if he was supposed to walk with the assistant, but his nerves kept him rooted to his spot, knees knocking together. Finally, he nodded. Oliver rotated his hands palms up and tensed his fingers, then threw a wink Jeremy’s way.

When Jeremy saw the wink, he felt better. His legs stopped shaking and he smiled at Oliver, who smiled back. But Oliver’s smile seemed to be getting further away, somehow… Jeremy’s stomach dropped like it did before going over a rollercoaster, and then he heard murmurs and gasps from the crowd, along with claps scattered throughout the theater. Had the trick even started yet?

Jeremy suddenly jolted when he realized his feet weren’t touching anything. He looked down and gasped in shock. He was floating several feet above the stage, and still rising. “Hey! Hey!” he yelped, shaking his limbs wildly. There was nothing to grab onto, and nowhere safe to land if he fell.

“Not real…” Jeremy whispered under his breath, his voice squeaky and airless. “This isn’t real–” He shot forward ten feet, suddenly no longer hovering over the stage, but the audience themselves. People in the front two rows turned around to look up at him. Jeremy hoped he was floating back down to his seat - that would be quite an effective trick, and he had no idea how this was being done - but instead, he rose even higher, reaching twenty feet in the air. He could see the eyes of the people in the first balcony.

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