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  1. Updated 9/21 parts 1 - 9 Megadrol Chapter 1: Megadrol My name is Matt, and at the time that I am beginning this story I was 22 and just about 6’2”. It might have been a little strange back then to immediately describe my height before all else, but that’ll be clear later. At the time I had just gotten my LPN and well…kind of flunked out of the program to get my RN. I had been going a community college in Tyson, Michigan, just outside Detroit. I had just moved to town from my hometown of Marshall, just west of Tyson by an hour’s drive. It was an old money town, where your last name really meant something. I was not necessarily part of this “old money” crowd, but I wasn’t poor…and I wasn’t popular growing up. I didn’t really have any friends, so I was delighted to move to Tyson and start over. And as it turns out, I came across a good deal on a house in the countryside outside Tyson. My house, for how small it was, had some perks. Tyson had everything I needed and I was only a half hour away from Detroit (okay an hour due to traffic). I had a whole two acres of land surrounded by woods which is why I really bought it, a nice open space to do whatever I liked. I am not sure what were my ultimate plans— maybe sell after renovation and turn a profit? I can’t be sure, and obviously it does not matter now. At the time, living on my own I kind of struggled for cash. I did not go hungry, but the mortgage and the day-to-day expenses ate up my checks quickly. Although I did like to spoil myself too, and maybe if I budgeted better I wouldn’t have gone looking for a roommate. But let’s be honest, I was also a bit lonely. I had some hobbies, I loved to stay active and didn’t have any kids. Not that it was likely to happen anyway, with me being gay and all. But I was certainly bored. My love life though, was kind of lackluster. I’ll be the first to admit, I kind of had high standards and a couple of issues. One: I was fairly tall, and I liked guys taller than me. And Two: I prefer to be dominated, and it’s just not the same when someone is smaller than me. Every so often between long work weeks at the clinic I worked, or long pensive bike rides, I’d find myself downloading apps like grindr or tinder or whatever. And a lot of the time I’d end up thoroughly disappointed. I knew a few gay guys in the area, and a few had become friends of mine. But a lot of them, barring a minority were pretty bleh for my tastes. I love handsome jocks, what can I say? And there was a shortage. There were a few buddies that I had that lived in and around the area. Michigan, being the automotive state is terribly spaced out. So it is not uncommon to measure distance between friends and places in minutes it takes to drive there. So that brings me to Ben. At this time (and it blows my mind to remember this) he was little shorter than I was. About 6’, and he had a stockier build, when we had first met. Ben and I met in college, he actually lived in Tyson his whole life. We were actually both going to nursing school and unfortunately Ben walked away even before I did. It had been a few months since we had seen each other. Despite his premature end to school, he found success in his own way. He too found an amazing deal on a house; it was actually way better than mine. It had an awesome full basement, three bedrooms and a big yard. I had come to wonder, in the months after moving into my house what he had been up to? I seriously considered hitting him up. He didn’t live far from me; I’d drive to him. And then came a sign that could not be ignored, he showed up on grindr one day. I struck up a conversation. “Hey!” I said, “How have you been?” And sent my picture. He typed back right away, “Oh man, Matt how are you! I’ve been super good actually!” I replied, “Good! I just moved to Tyson and got my own house, just like you!” Ben wrote, “Awesome dude! I’m glad to hear that for you, I’ll have to come see it some time.” I smiled at my phone; I was sitting in my living room, leaning over the app with a twinkle in my eye. “What have you been up to since we last spoke?” I asked. “Working on my house, but really working on me, and my body.” He returned. My eyebrows raised, “Oh yeah?” I wrote, “Show me.” He sent me pictures of his recently redone carpet and painted walls. Which while nice, weren’t really what I was asking for. “I think you know what I meant when I said show me lmao” I replied. I was gobsmacked by what he sent me, they were standard grindr pictures: a headless torso. But that torso was not like the one I remember, this one was cut! I had to ask, “Did you just send me some random guy’s pics haha?” “No.” He wrote, and then sent a candid with his face. Ben had put on some serious mass! And he had lost quite a bit of fat, he was getting leaner, buff even! I was a little jealous! “Holy shit dude, you look great!” I typed, “You have been working out a lot!” “Thanks man, I got a home gym.” He replied, “We should workout together!” I immediately stood up with excitement, “Definitely! When?” “I’m free all week,” Ben said, “Come over whenever.” “Tomorrow afternoon?” I asked. He sent a winking face as a reply. I was stoked! I had to study the photos of Ben, he had taken this photo in his basement right next to his gym, his chest had gotten super defined, it had always been kind of big, one of his best features, but now his pecs, they were a lot tighter and bigger. His abs were a respectable four-pack and his legs, thick and strong from his countless miles of running, looked aided by squats and deadlifts. His ass was always thick and strong, but now in his tight workout shorts it looked amazing. And as I stroked my dick, I asked myself something, “How did he do that?” I would soon find out, and my life would change forever. The World would too.
  2. Authors Notes: This thread is a replacement for the merged threads that became partially disabled that this story was previously posted in. That thread will be closed upon all the chapters of the story being reposted into this new thread. But, there is quite a bit of discussion in that thread about the story - good feedback, questions answered and such.. So, to find and read that discussion, please follow the following link. Closed To Protect and Serve Thread I wish to emphasize in the beginning - as some feedback over the time of this story has asked or accused concerning this topic - that no political or current events allegory or commentary is being made in this story. It is a story about love between two people and the monumental circumstances that their love must endure. If there is any allegory or commentary or something thought provoking I wish to encourage in this story it is two questions: What makes someone, anyone, human? Is it simply a matter of genes or is it something more? Is the muscle growth scenarios we all love here REALLY something we would choose to do in the real world? Is the fantasy really what the reality would be like? My thanks to everyone who has supported me with encouragement, suggestions and criticism, questions, speculation, tips, etc. Especially @dredlifter who suggested the original idea when I was looking for a new story idea and who has given me suggestions and proofreading help along the way, and @SeaMusc who graciously allowed me to borrow some of his ideas and the universe he has set his stories in for this one. Please give a read to both of their sets of stories. You won't be disappointed. I have included links to various videos, more information, music etc that can enhance the experience and give some explanation to what I am presenting in the chapters. Feel free to use them. I have also included at the end of most chapters a graphic showing the relative size difference between John and Gabriel at that point in the story. I make references to and include characters based on the real world of bodybuilding. Although these persons are real, they are referenced only to enhance the realism of the story. Any actions described as being made by these real world persons is purely fictional. None of these individuals endorse this work. To Protect and Serve - Chapter 1 -The First Morning “Take me to the magic of the moment / On a glory night / When the children of tomorrow dream away in the wind of change/” ~ Scorpion, Wind of Change Prelude: Just imagine - You’re standing at attention with your peers in your best Class-A Uniform. All around you in the auditorium your friends, family, and fellow officers who can come are here to see the solemn occasion. A freshly earned, freshly shined badge has just been pinned on your chest by the Sheriff. You raise your right hand and take the oath. The oath is a bit different from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, but we boil its meaning down to one phrase - “To Protect and Serve.” So many have taken the oath. Some who took it did little things that made a big difference, while some risked their lives and paid the ultimate price. And some … well … some are special. This is the story of one of those special ones - no, he is even more than that. Though it was not his intention nor mine, he went beyond special. How do I know? He saved me. He has given me a life I could never have dreamed possible that first early morning. And what happened to him? Well, a transformation that is better in the telling. To those who take the oath as seriously as he did; To those who give it a new and bigger meaning as he did; to those who change more than they can imagine by repeating those words as he did, this story is dedicated. This is the story of what could happen if you could protect and serve many thousands of people, and just one man, me, in ways beyond your wildest imagination. ~ Gabriel York A deceptively small man hung his duty shirt onto a dry cleaners hanger and placed it in his locker. As he stood bare chested in the cool air, he appeared to be hiding his body, but he had nothing to be ashamed of - having a lithe but very tight build under that shirt. Nicely shaped, mounded pecs accompanied hard small orange sized biceps. A tight 6-pack graced his lower abdomen to an impossibly small looking waist. He was way better than most men of his age, no “dad bod” here to be sure. But, the man always felt self-conscious in the locker room despite the room being empty. He wasn’t one of THEM, something that had haunted him since high school. He lifted one booted foot and then the other onto a wooden bench before him. Loosening the laces and pulling the side zipper, he removed each boot. He held them in his hands like precious artifacts for just a moment, remembering the first time he put these on. Soon it would be his last, he mused. His time could go on as long as he wanted. But -- he questioned why. What had he done to stay on? What good had he really done? REALLY made a difference? It took but a few more minutes for him to put on his civilian duty clothes (a departmental polo, slacks, and loafers), secure his badge to his belt, and close his locker. Most locker rooms were replete with all sorts of combination locks, but not here. A few men and most of the women officers used them, but it wasn’t exactly necessary. You couldn’t be in a much safer place after all. Deputy Sergeant John Declann closed his locker for the millionth time and went to collect his personal sidearm from the gun locker clerk. He had no sooner than entered the hallway from the locker room, he heard a truly tremendous booming upper bass voice: “WHOA, ONE SIDE DECLANN.” Declann immediately pulled back into the doorway and looked up … and up, to see 5 men in a tight formation with shields and cell-entry equipment. Each one of them was every bit of 6 foot 4 inches plus - although tactical boots always made you look taller than you were. They were more like 6 foot 2 without them - but still, they all out-weighed John by at least 60 pounds of muscle. At his 5 foot 7 inches in height and in normal shoes, he felt positively TINY seeing them pass by. That was sort of the point of those uniforms - to try and intimidate anyone who saw what was coming - and it always did, at least it did Declann. They were in helmets and wore thick padded vests, under which were black t-shirt with black BDUs and those boots below. While those clothes were technically “loose,” they did little to hide every oversized muscle in their massive bodies. Gigantic arms stretched forth from sleeves that seemed to be straining to the breaking point. 2 pairs of arms were thick, powerlifter looking, and 3 more were supremely cut muscle. The CERT - Cell Extraction and Response Team - blew past him looking like they were heading to Mary-pod - the maximum security section. No doubt it was to remove an offender from a cell for morning counts who did not want to be removed. There was no question, he WOULD be removed, no matter what it took. The injury inflicted was entirely the offender’s choice. And, that amount of muscle and its overwhelming power could do plenty of that. Declann had tried out for both the CERT and SWAT teams years ago. But at his 165 pounds, it was deemed he just did not have the physical size necessary. “You have all the skills needed and more Deputy Declann,” he had been told. “You should be proud of that. But some other officers just beat you out in the scores. And we need you on the streets. That is where you belong.” Funny, he thought in a moment of jealousy. It was always those guys who were of larger than life proportions that got the spots, even if their skills were not as good as his. After the group had passed, Declann walked down the hall toward the sally port and stopped. He always did it at times like this, halting at the Officer’s Gym. He looked inside. It was rather quiet, normal at 0545 and shift change. Still, he could see some of the remnants of workouts by the big guys on the force. 45 pound plates left on the sides of incline bench press rack. What looked like 5 plates on a side on the bar on the squat rack. Dozens on the leg press sled. It was a bit of a mess, in truth, but most well used gyms were. Now, Declann was no physical slouch. He always kept in shape and his skills honed as the primary martial arts instructor for the Sheriff’s Office. He could have done well in that room, even though he was pushing 40 years old. Could have grown. But, he sighed and went on. There was just a part of him that never wanted to face big men in the gym. The injustice of being mocked for his smaller size and unfamiliarity with the equipment the one time he went in blazed in him still all these years later. He guessed the big men thought it was good natured fun, but it hurt Declann deeply. So, he kept to his body weight fitness room and small dojo set up in the garage at home. That made him feel less conspicuous. When it came to them, John always saw himself as a small man in boots that were a size too big. And yet - to so many others, he wasn’t that at all. He was everything that made police work an honorable profession. --- John Declann had wanted to be a police officer for as long as he could remember. Since his youngest days, he had been fascinated by police dramas on TV, how they always seemed to catch the bad guy no matter the odds. How they always saved people in distress. In his mind, there was no better calling. No better way to spend his life. He had the mind to be anything he wanted. He excelled in most subjects in school and was a top flight musician. But, those pursuits were not where he heart lay. He was a cop at heart by his teenage years, and he did everything he could to prepare himself. He took JROTC through high school, where he picked up his interest in martial arts and started Aikido lessons. Though he wasn’t the best at team sports, he blasted through the competition at his dojo. He became quite fit from the military style calisthenics workouts he adopted during ROTC summer camps. And, that fitness matched perfectly with his blooming skills with his hands and feet on the mats. Before high school was over, his featured had matured into those of a very fit, handsome young man with striking brown eyes. And he had his first degree black belt, the first degree of many. It took a nearly a year after graduating high school to get his first small town commission to the force. He spent his first 18 months in the jails, and then took and passed his Colorado POST exams. He had been a road officer ever since. Now, he was a Sergeant in the Boulder County Sheriff’s Office - an area not unknown for large scale crimes as it held the University of Colorado. “The Berkeley of the East” though had its full measure of minor offenses. But the area wasn’t exactly the worst gang spots in Denver either. He had for served with true distinction for nearly two decades since - being decorated for bravery multiple times for saving civilians lives under fire. He had saved those intent on suicide. He had even delivered a baby once in a convenience store, and the story made the local news. He had had plenty of hands-on run ins with offenders, but he gave way more than he got, never having much more than a bruise or a black eye on occasion. He just never saw what the community and his immediate superiors did - a good man, serving the people Boulder and the kids of the University the best way he knew how. --- John went out to his car - an unmarked Dodge - cranked it, and began the slow crawl toward the Turnpike then Wheat Ridge. One of the things he learned in his own initial officer training long ago was to never live in the county you worked in. It could always lead to problems with local offenders. So, it was up and over the Flatirons toward home. Even though traffic volume was already increasing as it spread toward Denver in the morning rush, his mind wandered as if on empty roads. He made the necessary turns though the city and came proximate to the University entrances, but was running his schedule through his mind. He was due for a weigh in at the doc’s today. And they usually took his measurements too. Height, waistline, all that stu -- John’s senses caught something in the barely lit dawn. Someone moving way too fast to be normally jogging to the right of his car. Moving toward campus. John slowed his vehicle and his brain went into observation mode. It captured the scene in moments with his practiced eyes and mind. A young man -- looking to be just outside of college age but could still belong to the University. Short, black hair. Trimmed beard. White button down shirt and navy slacks. Looked like there was some money invested in those clothes, certainly not cheap. Behind him, perhaps eight or so paces, was running - and running faster than the first - a white young man, shaved head, jeans and ratty t-shirt, tatted with jailhouse tattoos that stood out even under the fading street lamps. And, then John caught sight of a gun in the rear waistband of the second’s jeans. Semi-auto by the outline. Instinct took over. John turned his car in an instant, hit the flasher toggle for his lights, and wound with wildly fast, yet practiced precision toward the danger. Less than 20 seconds later, John pulled his car to a stop where his instincts said he could cut this off. “Boulder County Sheriff's Office -- ON THE GROUND NOW” John yelled as he leapt from his car and drew his weapon virtually simultaneously. The running suspect didn’t listen, just as John had expected. He instead broke his pursuit of the well-dressed man and taken off toward a side alleyway. But, John was good at his work. The offender was fast, but John - was FASTER. He holstered his weapon as he calculated his movements nearly autonomously. He had chosen his intercept point well. John calculated the takedown, knowing an almost undisputable, universal law - 95 percent of offenders have no idea of how to fight, and the remaining 5% seldom need to fight. And this one looked like the former. It took a few seconds, but just a few, for the whole pursuit to be over. Exactly two PPCT strikes and a normal compliance take down and the suspect wa on his back, with John twisting his arms and putting the handcuffs on. He never even had to hurt more than the punk’s pride. Once secured, John kept his knee in place just under the lower shoulder blades, cuffed arms resting on his quad, knowing a bodyweight advantage and leverage would be critical with this man who slightly outweighed him. “What’s your name?” John demanded as he patted down the suspect and quickly removed a 9mm weapon and several baggies of what looked like methamphetamine. “Fuck you” was the response. John smiled a bit and gave a half chuckle under his breath. He loved this a bit too much when it happened, and some mischievous streak in him just drove him to do it. “OK, Mister Fuk Yu. I am placing you under arrest for possession of an illegal firearm and possession of controlled substances. You have the right to remain silent …” John mirandized the “Mr. Fuck,” pulled him up to his feet, and maneuvered him the few yards to his car. He put the offender in the back seat and locked the door of his unmarked. The guy was going nowhere. Now, to more important matters. John made his way toward the young man being pursued - who had by now stopped and was almost collapsed on the sidewalk. Declann withdrew his cell, called 911, and requested uniformed officers to his location. He was upon the man on the sidewalk just as he hung up. John immediately knelt down to do a quick assessment of his condition. There were no obvious signs of trauma at the first once over. He then took a more careful look at the victim’s features. While he certainly wasn’t of student age, he was still under 30, John guessed. And, he was a very nice looking under 30 to boot. Blue eyes setting off dark, intense features. Old enough to just have the barest hint of a wrinkle at the eye but nothing else. John noted a rather slim body - the size of his own would have been were it not for his training in Aikido and Krav Maga. John felt a twinge of attraction. Yes, John was bisexual, but no one cared among his superiors anymore. Besides, he had always kept that part of himself separate when on duty. “You OK Sir? I can’t see any obvious injuries. Do you need an ambulance? ”John asked as he came and sat down at the man’s level. “Thank you . . . . officer, thank . . . you.” The man panted in reply with a pronounced British accent. “I was . . . just going toward my . . . lab . . . after my tea . . . when this fellow . . . started chasing me screaming at . . me. ” The young man was now gathering his breath, becoming easier to understand. John was a bit surprised to hear that English accent coming from him. Not unheard of, but still unusual in Boulder. “Did he assault you in any way?” The Englishman finally looked up to see John’s slightly older but obviously concerned and kind face. He visibly relaxed as he looked into John’s light brown eyes. “No, he never caught me but he was close. I am not exactly in running shorts and shoes here. But thanks to you, I’ll be OK. I do not know what would have happened if you had not arrived when you did.” “With what I found, I suspect he wanted to mug you. You are rather well dressed for campus, if I may observe. And, forgive me, if he heard you accent, you may have looked like an quick target as a tourist. When the uniform officers get here, you will need to give a statement to them, or you can give it to me if you prefer. We need to make sure this scumbag gets what he deserves.” “Of course. Anything I can do to assist, although I would be much happier speaking to you.” the man said giving just a hint of a smile. It was then that the uniformed officers in their black and white vehicles showed up. John excused himself for a moment, let the uniforms know what was going on, and allowed them to take the offender back to the jail for booking. John then returned to the man still sitting on the sidewalk. Pulling out a notebook he kept on him for times like this, John got all the pertinent information as he had done thousands of times before. Name, description of what happened, when, and why, if he knew. Any details the young man, who he had come to know as Gabriel York, may have remembered before, during, and after. As he took the statement, John became even more convinced this was an attempted mugging, perhaps for more drug money, maybe even more if that weapon came into play. Knowing he had all he needed, John said, “Finally, is there a way we can contact you if we have further questions. The staff from the District Attorney's office will be sure to want to speak with you about testimony if it comes to that. Although with the evidence we have, this one will probably plea. This is not his first time in jail.” Gabriel reached into his pocket for a very expensive-looking leather wallet and removed a business card. “This is my lab contact information. I am easiest to reach either here on campus or with my secretary. My other lab is ...a… well ... it is easier to reach me here. Again I can’t thank you enough, Sergeant.” “Believe me, Dr. York, it was my pleasure. I am just glad you are safe and sound.” John said. “Are you OK to go on your own or would you like me to escort you to your lab? I would be happy to do so.” “Thank you sir, but I think I’ll be fine. My lab is just over the hill in the Biological Sciences building.” Gabriel replied. “OK” John said, handing Gabriel a card of his own with his name, rank, and contact information on it. “This is my card. If you need anything or remember anything else, please do not hesitate to call me anytime, day or night.” “Of course. Sergeant Declann.” The Englishman arose with a friendly hand from John. Almost as an afterthought as he was leaving, York turned around. “Oh, Sergeant Declann, by the way. I do ….ah… certain work down at the Federal Center in Denver. I will have to report this incident to my superiors there and to the British consulate. In case there is testimony or something as you said. They may wish to speak with you. Just to make sure. You understand?” John nodded. Ah, he works with the feds as an international scholar of some kind, and the red tape must be dealt with. “Of course. No problem at all. I’m proximate to the Federal Center half the time anyway.” York nodded an ascent and turned again to walk away. John stood a moment watching - and admiring - Dr. York move until he was sure he was alright AND that he was moving toward the Biology building. He turned around and began to make his way back to his car. As he did, he looked down at the card: Gabriel York, MD. PhD., FACS Research Director/Professor of Medicine Advanced Bio-neurological Applications Project University of Colorado School of Medicine Hmmm, John thought. He looked a damned sight young to be in such a prestigious job, a full professor under 30 and with two doctorates at least. And a fellow of the ACS -- so why talk to the Consulate? John’s “detective sensor” started to sound off in his mind. This advanced applications thing wasn’t a program he was familiar with, but there were so many new research projects on campus these days. But, as soon as the “alert” came, he let it go. Probably a government grant given what he said about the Federal Center. John was reviewing the incident in his mind for his own after action report as he pulled onto the highway. Suddenly, there was a loud roar of a horn and air brakes. John never even saw the tractor trailer that plowed into his car, crumpling it in an instant like so much tissue paper and driving it 30 yards down the highway. Two Hours Later-- Trauma room one at the University of Colorado Hospital was abuzz with activity. At least a dozen doctors, nurses, and specialist technologists in yellow plastic smocks and shields hovered over a trauma bed doing a myriad of tasks to the man laying there. “What do we have?” the lead trauma surgeon said as he came into the room and took up control of the life-saving operation. On of the smocked figures raised up and stepped back, raising his shield. “John Declann, Caucasian male, age 39. Boulder County Sheriff’s Deputy. MVA - car versus tractor/trailer. Passenger was in a seatbelt with airbags deployed but required extraction by fire-rescue. Initial assessment shows superficial cranial abrasions, with most likely a simple concussion. No evidence of other cranial, brain, or upper spinal injuries. Seat belt bruising pattern is highly indicative of internal organ disruption, but nothing so far on physical examination and plain films of the abdomen. Lacerated and collapsed left lung, re-inflated with chest tube. Pneumothorax proximate to same lung injury also responding. Initial x-rays show compromised T-12 vertebral body and possible pelvic fracture. No apparent lower limb trauma beyond cuts and bruises from extrication from the vehicle. CT scans are coming up now for the spinal and pelvic injury areas. This was a driver’s side T-bone crash. I think that this guy’s level of fitness is why we’re talking about saving his life and not pronouncing him.” the lead resident efficiently rattled off. The lead surgeon took a look at the patient, and agreed with the resident’s assessment. John was alive because of his trained, flexible, body and more than a little random chance. But what kind of life was it going to be? The doctor walked over to the computer terminal screens and pulled up the CT scans. The pelvis showed a simple left side Ilium fracture. Non-displaced. Something the orthopods could deal with easy enough. He then flipped to the scan of John’s spine -- and frowned. “Fuck,” he said under his breath as he looked. He sat down on a stool and zoomed, in, out, rotated, and closely examined the different views provided by the technology. The burst fracture was unmistakable and at precisely the worst spot for leg function. As he walked back to John, the doctor barked orders to the residents and nurses, while he removed an ink pen from his pocket. He ran the pen up first one foot and then the other. Goddamnit, he thought. The veteran doc’s heart sunk even more. “Get neurosurg here stat. Tell them severe impact, burst fracture at T-12, CT visualization and reflex response indicative of cord injury.” The room went silent for a moment before carrying on. It was always hard to treat an officer. Much less for this. The supervising physician turned and again just looked at the radiology. The soft tissue injuries were no walk in the park, but were easily fixable, recoverable in just a few weeks, the pelvis in a couple of months, except …. that. There was no hope for that, in his experience. This man would be paralyzed. Five minutes later the head of neurosurgery looked at the same CT scans, and came to the same conclusion. No hope. They could do an exploratory, check and see if by some miracle there was just pressure on the cord from a fragment, but not likely. Better to just do a vertebral stabilization with the orthopods, but his chances to recover function … Declann had been stabilized and was ready for transfer to have his lung laceration repaired. As he was about to be moved, another man in a white coat burst into the trauma room. One look from him toward John, and his eyes moistened. “I...I...can’t believe it.” the black haired man wept at the side of the bed. “I had to be sure.” The man almost looked skyward, “Why him?” Gabriel tenderly wiped a finger down John’s cheek. “Gabriel?” the head of neuro looked up. “What are you doing here? Do you know this man?” “This man, he saved my life this morning, not even four hours ago. Kept me from getting mugged by this man with a gun. Everyone heard the crash and when I saw that the wreckage was his car. Is he going to be OK?” Gabriel was out of breath and had obviously lost clinical detachment between the events of this morning and the shock of seeing the officer who had been so kind and patient with him lying there. He would have been removed if treatment were still going on, but it was basically complete save moving him to OR. The two attendings just nodded toward the computer screens with the radiology still on it. Gabriel walked from John’s head side, looked, and was overcome with remorse and guilt. Had he just been at his normal time, 15 minutes later, none of this would have happened. But, he just HAD to check on a minor experiment. And now, this man lay here because of him. Gabriel zoomed in to the machine’s maximum sensitivity. He looked again and again. Through a choking voice, Gabriel looked around and almost whispered. “Jack, can you send me these scans please? To my secondary lab.” The lead neurosurgeon looked horrified, searching for a reason not to. “Gabriel. You can’t be serious. You know I can’t do that. It violates protocol, federal law--” Gabriel cut him off, almost angrily “Jack you know I can take care of that with one call to Washington.” “What are you going to do?” Jack asked, never having seen such anger in the young, brilliant surgeon and scientist. “IF I can, if there is anything I can do, I am going to try and help this man.’ “You can’t have a man as a lab r--. I can’t sanc---” Jack stumbled. Gabriel stood to his full height, taking on an almost military bearing. “You know I can and will go over your head if I have to. I will have him removed if I must.” Gabriel took a breath and seemed to calm a bit. “Jack I am not promising that I can or will do anything, I do not know if there is anything to do. But I have to try. I owe it to him. He is here because of me. I have to try or I’ll never forgive myself.” Jack knew Gabriel could follow through on his threats in an instant. He had seen some small manifestations of Gabriel’s connections to political power before, and he knew that interference in hospital functions was the very least of what he could do. As much as Jack detested it, with this kind of anger Gabriel could bring down the mountain on top of his whole hospital. But, as it was, there was nothing anyone could do for Officer Declann, not even York. Jack just silently waved his fingers in a gesture of defeat, nodded an ascent, and transferred access to Gabriel as primary attending physician. “Thank you Jack. I owe you about 10 times over for this.” “I WILL HOLD YOU TO THAT,” the older surgeon replied, his voice suddenly sharpened. “And I insist on one thing. Before you present him any of those things you do that I do not have a clue about, you will at least get his consent.” Gabriel looked like he had been shot himself and his voice shook, “I would NEVER do anything to harm him.” York turned on a heel and left the room, walking out of the ER doors, and toward his car in the parking lot. As soon as he was in the vehicle with the door closed, he pulled from his pocket an encrypted cell phone with just one number it could access, locked to his fingerprint. A male voice answered in military precision, “Yes, Doctor York?” “Codeword Ariana. I want the full computer network prepped for simulator study based on some CT scans that will be coming from CU Trauma ER shortly. Run the program with emergent parameters and stand by to report when I get there. Not a proof of concept level scan, Don, but full cellular level calculations. I am leaving the hospital now. We have 24 hours at the most to complete simulations. And...ah.. Don. This is important to me, personally.” “Yes SIR,” the sharp voice on the other end said. Gabriel could not quite understand what he was feeling, this pull toward this man. He didn’t know the man existed six hours ago. Sure, there was guilt and anger and sadness. But, he just could not remove from his mind those eyes he saw this morning. Those haunted, caring brown eyes. Something about him. This John Declann. He did not know what. But he saw it in his eyes. He deserved more than this, and Gabriel would find out why. He would make it happen, he willed it to happen as he drove toward the freeway. This good man would walk again.
  3. Hi, everyone! So I'm starting this experimental series to see if a more traditional narrative would work here, and I would really appreciate all feedback and critique to help me improve. This is mostly going to involve more plot and character than growing, although there will still be a lot of growing done. It just won't be the main focus (for now). Writing is something I don't normally get to do on a regular basis, but it's something I want to make a living out of, so all advice is incredibly welcome. I am more than willing to alter the way the narrative develops and is written depending on how people prefer their pacing and writing. Thanks and enjoy! Hard at Work [Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5a -5b - 6 - 7 - 8a - 8b - 8c - 9 - 10 - 11a - 11b - 12a - 12b - 13] PART 1 Working at my job wasn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world, but it paid the bills. On an average day, I would sit at my desk, wondering how a bachelor’s degree in Chemistry got me a job in human resources. It’s not like I had particularly good chemistry with other people either. During my time at the company so far, I’ve only been able to get close to two people. One of them was a co-worker of mine named Marcus. He often pulled pranks on me and made childish jokes at my expense whenever we took a break for coffee. Normally, him being a 23-year-old man, anyone would expect some sort of maturity or sense of responsibility. Marcus was nothing of the sort. He played around far too much and just did whatever the hell he wanted to. Every attempt our boss had at scolding him fell on deaf ears. With any other employee, our boss’ words would stop us dead in our tracks. Boss had that charismatic, authoritative aura about him. Unlike Marcus, our boss, Mr. Wesley Smith, or just Wes, took everything seriously. He had a reputation to uphold. Sure, he had his fair share of dad jokes every now and then, but people in the workplace were already so used to Marcus’ absurd antics that nobody ever really noticed. The three of us were often referred to around the office as the “threesome of power.” In one way or another, we all held some sort of power around the office. Wes had his obvious influence and status. Marcus had his absurdity and over-all charisma. Compared to them, I didn’t have as much. All anyone ever told me was that I was the glue that held together our little threesome. In my opinion, it’s just an excuse to call us a threesome since we’re always together. I wasn’t a big fan of the name, honestly. Especially since I was the only gay one. The main reason people chose to describe us as a “threesome” specifically is that Marcus and Wes were probably the most attractive and sought-after guys at the workplace. Marcus was 5’11” and pretty damn attractive. He had wavy, blonde hair that looked like it was streaked with chocolate, and his eyebrows were incredibly thick and a deep chestnut. Of the three of us, he also had the best body. He had been a model in his university years, so he developed a toned, muscled body with a deep V-shaped torso and disproportionate pecs and shoulders. On the other hand, Wes wasn’t bad looking, but all his time spent in bars showed. He was a good-looking man for his age, 31, having South-East Asian genes, and he had a strong square face that accentuated his stocky figure, being only 5’6”. He did go to the gym after work, but he developed a gut after all the vodka. People often say his most attractive feature is his cat eyes. His eyebrows also tilted inwards, so he always had this fierceness about him. It didn’t seem like he was meant to be built in any way besides a small tank either. While Marcus and Wes were the stars of our threesome, I was labeled the “DUFF.” I was only 24, but the new terms the kids kept coming up with always got lost on me. I was the least attractive among us, I must admit. 5’7” isn’t exactly a height anyone would be flaunting off. It’s not that I looked like Quasimodo though. I was just… average—nothing spectacular about me. On one particularly rainy day, Marcus approached me at my desk, wearing his favorite sky blue button-down. He leaned over the divider with a coffee in his hand and sipped it so loudly it echoed. “What are we gonna do about the rain? Do you wanna just move bar night to Wes’ condo again?” he asked. “Yeah, but have you asked him? We might still be banned since you wrecked his condo the last time.” Marcus flubbed his lips, nearly spilling his coffee on my desk. “Don’t worry about it! Wes’ll understand. Besides, this time we got someone to clean our shit.” “I’m not cleaning your mess this time, Marcus.” “Not you, stupid. I meant the new intern. Wes said he was coming in today.” I looked at him, puzzled. “What new intern? No one told me about any new interns.” “That’s because you never join the meetings.” “What? The last meeting we had was two months ago, and literally all we talked about was how you put red food coloring in the water tanks to make it look like we were drinking blood.” Marcus laughed. “Well, now we just have meetings at the bar. I managed to convince him to move our meetings to the conference room with the dancers.” He chuckled. I sighed. “Fine, whatever. What’s his name? The intern, I mean.” “Ah, wait.” Eric brought out his phone. “I’ll ask Wes.” We waited for the phone to pick up. As soon as we heard Wes’ voice, Marcus didn’t hesitate to yell. “Yo, Wes!” I could hear an audible sigh come from the phone. “What’s up, Marcus? I’m kinda busy right now.” “I just told Dory about the new intern, but I forgot his name. What was it again?” “Froy Adamson. 20 years old from Harbridge University. He just texted and said he was coming up. Could you two let him in and show him around? Thanks.” “Sure thing, sir.” Marcus bounced his head to the side and looked at me as if he were planning something. He always did his squinted eyes, raised eyebrows, and pouted mouth. It was a staple of his. He wasn’t fooling anyone doing a face like that. I wonder if he ever noticed. He put the phone back in his pocket. “Well, Dory, looks like you’ve got some more work to do.” I knew it. “Seriously? Didn’t he tell us to handle him? To-ge-ther?” Marcus shrugged. “Well, I’ve got some work to do, and I’m reeaally tired.” He yawned. “You can handle the kid by yourself, right?” I said yes, and he was off, walking back to his desk. I don’t know why I let him do this to me. He’s lucky he was hot. Before I could prepare myself for the new intern, there was a knock coming from the glass door. I got up and headed over. Only people without access cards couldn’t get in and had to knock, which meant it had to be the intern. If I heard correctly, his name was supposed to be Froy, and a student at Harbridge… damn, someone was loaded. I got to the glass door and saw him standing outside. He was wearing a black button-down with his sleeves rolled up and skintight black jeans. They must have been pretty big too since he looked like he had to be at least 6’1”. His jet black hair was short and cropped with little spikes sticking up. He had a cute face too. He had the most precious baby button nose and pronounced dimples, making him look younger than he actually was. I wouldn’t be surprised if girls crushed on him everywhere. He had a decently lean body, but he definitely had bodybuilder potential by the way his broad shoulders stuck outwards, much like Marcus’. However, it didn’t seem like he was the braggart type. If anything, he was a bookworm. He looked like he lived and breathed in a library. All he was missing was a pair of glasses, but instead, he had the most perfect eyelashes. The poor thing seemed soaked by the rain. I opened the door for him and let him come inside, causing him to shiver in his shirt from the cold, freezer-like office temperature. He smiled at me and giggled nervously. “Sorry, sir,” he said with a nervous smile. “I forgot to bring an umbrella. I didn’t think it would rain today.” My heart hadn’t fluttered in so long by a guy’s voice. The last time I felt this elevated was when I was still in college and chatting up the star football athlete before he got caught doping and got expelled. I missed having crushes like this. Thankfully, Froy seemed to be legal. A co-worker of mine already got fired once for having “intimate relations” with an underage intern. I wasn’t going to be next. “It’s fine. Are you Froy?” I asked. He nodded. “Yes, sir. I was supposed to start last week, but my mother had an emergency at the hospital, so I couldn’t leave.” “It’s fine, don’t worry. Family first,” I said. “Did you bring an extra shirt? You might get sick if you wear that wet shirt here all day.” “No, sir. I don’t have anything to change into. Sorry.” I grabbed his forearm. “It’s fine. Here, I’ll let you borrow one of my backup shirts.” “Sir, are you sure?” “Yeah, it’s fine.” I brought him to my desk where I grabbed him a seat. My co-workers who passed by would smile at him, enticed by his cute face and meek demeanor. He’d greet them back with a small wave and shy smile. Some people even came up and asked me if he was my new boyfriend. How many times did I have to tell everyone that I’ve never had a boyfriend before? They were just making the boy uncomfortable. I brought out a plain white shirt from my emergency kit and handed it over to him. He looked it over and thinking about it now, it was probably too small for him. Such was a con of being six inches shorter than someone. He held it up to the light, trying to estimate its size. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit,” I said. “Could I try it on, sir? Just to be sure?” “Sure, go ahead. Just don’t tear it.” I leaned back into my seat as I watched him begin unbuttoning his button-down. At the back of my mind, I knew this was leaning towards sexual harassment—and on the first day of his internship to boot—but I couldn’t help myself. The kid wasn’t reacting negatively either, so I guessed he was okay with it. A lawsuit was the last thing I needed. He started from the top-down, exposing his lean muscle underneath. He had a decently-sized chest for his leanness, and I never noticed how perky his nipples were underneath the black fabric either. There was no body hair on him too, just like Wes. “Nice abs,” I said. He blushed. “Ah, thank you, sir.” “You go to the gym or something? You play sports?” “No, sir. I used to be part of the gymnastics team, but I quit so I could focus on my studies.” Froy raised up his arms and tried squeezing into my shirt. He stuck his head through the tight hole and did his best to stretch out my shirt to fit in as much as possible. He looked ridiculous. It was like a man trying to wear a child’s dress. “You’ve still got a nice frame. If you went to the gym, I bet you could build it up easily,” I said. He looked ridiculous in my shirt. The sleeves didn’t even reach past his shoulders, so the fabric dug into his armpits. The shirt only reached the first set of abs, exposing his core and defined pelvis. It looked like a crop top. How he even got into something so tight is still a mystery to me. “Sir, I’m not sure I can wear this.” “Obviously.” I punched his abs. “Come on, let’s go ask someone else. I’m too short to be lending you my clothes.” “You’re not too short, sir.” “Yeah, you’re just too tall.” I told him to take off the shirt. He looked like he was in too much pain to be wearing something so ridiculous before we found a better replacement. As he raised it over his head and pulled his arms through the sleeves, he accidentally tore it down the side from the left sleeve down to the hem. He froze in panic. “Sir, I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to break your shirt. It was an accident, sir, I swear.” “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s just a shirt.” His lean torso was now exposed to the cold of the office again, but at least he wasn’t squeezed so tightly in my shirt. I didn’t want to kill him before Marcus did. I couldn’t afford that kind of blood on my hands at my age. No way my salary was going to cover it. I led the tall kid over to Marcus’ desk at the other end of the office. Marcus looked visibly disturbed, watching in silence as I approached with a tall, shirtless kid following closely behind me. I didn’t know what he was going to say or do. His eyes just kept darting back and forth between us, seemingly asking me, “What the fuck is going on?” “Hey, Marcus, this is the intern, and he—” “Why is he shirtless?” Marcus interrupted. I looked back at Froy, looking lost as always. “He got wet in the rain, and I told him I’d get him a new shirt. I tried giving him mine, but, uh…” Marcus raised an eyebrow. “But what? Dory, I need to tell you as a friend that you are very small. Did you try lending him your shirt? Was it too small? Did you come all the way here, to my cubicle, while I’m working, to ask for a shirt from me?” “Yes.” “Alright, here you go.” Marcus dug into his drawer and tossed Froy a clean, black shirt. Froy looked confused but put on the shirt. It fit him perfectly. Thankfully, Marcus’ tailored shirts to fit his broad shoulders and chest fit Froy just right. It was a bit short at the hem though. His pelvis would peek whenever he moved, but he was well-covered. The sleeves also accentuated what muscle he had on his arms, as expected from Marcus. “I have to say though, he’s got a nice body,” Marcus said. “The ‘overtime work’ he’ll be doing later is gonna be a nice work-out.” “Marcus, he’s not a maid.” “And I’m not Frida Kahlo.” “You aren’t.” “Shut up,” Marcus said. “Hey, kid, you’ll be coming with us after work, right?” Froy’s eyes grew wide. “Uh…” “Marcus, it’s only his first day. He doesn’t even know our names yet!” “It’ll be fiiiine. My name’s Marcus Fringe, and there’s your Sir Dorian Yale. You can just call us Marcus and Dory. Our boss is Sir Wesley Smith: short, stocky Asian dude. You can call him Wes. If you ever wanna come work for us, you could be a part of our little circle of friends here. We got cookies.” “Oh, I like cookies,” Froy whispered. “Stop fucking with my intern, Marcus.” “You’re not my mom.” Wes’ office was right in front of Marcus’ cubicle. Any time Marcus made too much noise or whenever Wes would leave for the washroom and caught Marcus doing something stupid, Wes would be the first to scold him. He often threatened to lower his pay, but Marcus didn’t care. They were too close to actually do anything like that. As we were talking, the door to Wes’ office opened. He walked out, wearing a skintight banana yellow collared shirt that showed off his muscles and small gut. Every shirt in his wardrobe seemed to be skintight. I remember him telling us once that he was raised to only wear the tightest clothing because it makes you look bigger. He was only 5’6”, so I could understand why. “Why are you making so much noise, Marcus?” he asked, standing in the doorway. “Oh.” I waved at him. “Hi, sir. This is Froy, the intern. I was just asking Marcus for an extra shirt since he got wet in the rain.” “Well, take care of him then. Show him around the floor or something, I dunno,” Wes said. “Oh, and Dory…” “Yes, sir?” “Take him out with ya later, aight? We’re gonna have a little fun.” Oh god. “Yes, sir.” Wes was returning to his office when Froy spoke up. “Oh, sir!” he said. “How do I get through the door? I don’t have an access card.” “Hm? You don’t need an access card. You just grab the handle, twist it, then pull. That’s how you open a door.” “Wes, never speak again,” Marcus said. “What about this?” Wes whispered. “Or this ♪?” he sang. “I’m done,” I said. “And I’m just getting started!” He fired double finger guns at me with the silliest grin, laughing at himself immediately afterwards. We all separated and went back to our work for the day. I finished up the rest of my work as fast as I could so that I’d have more time to tour Froy around the building. It was just a hunch, but I thought he’d appreciate the convenience store. The store has an unlimited sundae cone deal where you could get as much ice cream as you wanted as long as it’s in one continuous swirl and it doesn’t fall over. When we got there, I saw his eyes light up like a child at the carnival. He wasted no time and immediately ordered a sundae cone. I didn’t even have to tell him. It seemed like he was used to doing this sort of thing already. By the time the ice cream was five inches tall, I was getting worried. It looked like it would fall at any moment. “Froy, are you sure you wanna keep going?” “Yes, sir! I’ve done this before. My mom calls me a master at this.” By the time it reached 8 inches tall, he stopped the machine. He stood still at first, watching it intently. It looked like he was trying to connect his soul to the sundae, becoming one with its spirit or something. When he finally got it to stabilize, he smiled. “See, sir?” he said. Then he raised it up and dunked it in his mouth, all the way down to the cone. My eyes grew wide. Froy just took in 8 inches of freezing cold sundae in his mouth like it was nothing. “What the fuck? Did you just eat the entire thing in one bite?” He nodded, still swallowing the ice cream. When he finished, he accidentally exhaled into my face, filling my nose with his cold, breath-infused chocolate smell. He apologized and offered to wipe it off my nose. I had to tell him to stop since he still had the cone to finish. “How the fuck did you do that?” “My brothers taught me when I was younger how to exercise my gag reflex so I could take in more things. I could fit a whole foot-long in my mouth too!” he said. “It just got kinda messy… so we had to stop.” His face sunk. The cute smile he wore faded away after it seemed like he remembered something. “What happened?” “They, uh, taught me to give them blowjobs when I was 12. I thought it was normal for a few years, then they got arrested for selling drugs when I was 15. My mother told me they were horrible to me and told me what they were doing to me was wrong. So now I’m trying to find a job to pay for my mother’s hospital bills since I’m her only family left. She already used up all her savings on my tuition.” I felt horrible for him and found myself hugging him. He was stiff and caught in surprise at first, but he softened up and wrapped his arms around me too. I didn’t know he lived like this. I couldn’t take advantage of someone like him. It wouldn’t be right. “I’m so sorry.” He gave his ice cream a quick lick. “Don’t worry, sir, it’s fine. I’m over it now. I still miss them though.” “Who? Your brothers? They molested you as a kid. You shouldn’t be missing them. They deserve to rot in prison.” “We used to play games every day outside our house. They even bought me a goldfish once for my 14th birthday since it was all they could afford with their own money. I named him Pudge.” We headed back to my desk upstairs after finishing his ice cream and filing for his access card. The issue with his brothers was something we didn’t want to bring up too much in case he got triggered. More than half the office had already gone home for the day. Marcus, Wes, and I planned to leave for Wes’ condo at 8pm with Froy together. After I finished up, I asked Froy if he was okay with it. It was only his first day as an intern. I wouldn’t be surprised if he declined. Who knows what we might have been planning to do to him outside office hours? “It’s okay with me, sir.” “Are you sure? I haven’t even told you what we were doing.” “Oh, uh,” he said before chuckling nervously. “We’re going to your sir Wes’s condo to drink. Wes and Marcus just want you to be their sober caretaker, so you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Froy waved his hands. “Oh, no, sir, it’s okay with me. I’m used to being the sober one with my friends.” “Oh, okay. And don’t worry about something bad happening to you. None of us have ever done anything crazy before. Besides, Marcus is straight, and Wes is bi, but he has a family. I’m the only gay one here.” His eyebrows shot up. “You’re gay, sir?” “Yeah, why?” He looked away. “Nothing, sir.” That led me to wonder. Was he also gay? I guessed I could always figure that out some other time. After we packed up, we headed down to the basement carpark where Marcus and Wes were waiting for us at Wes’ truck. There were paper cups everywhere. It seemed like they’d been waiting there for a few years by the way they were lounging around and drinking coffee endlessly. When we got there, Marcus walked up to me and grabbed me by the shoulders. “What the fuck took you so long?” he asked. His pointed gaze shot into my skull. “You told me not to fuck with your intern, but is it really me you should be worrying about?” “We were just finishing up some shit. It took longer than expected. Sorry ‘bout it.” “Just get in the fucking truck already!” Wes yelled. “The vodka isn’t gonna drink itself!” I sat in the passenger seat, with Marcus and Froy in the back. It was the system we developed together when we first started hanging out at bars a few months ago. Marcus hated seatbelts and feeling claustrophobic, and I preferred the safety of the seatbelt. The three of us normally went out to the bar down the street on foot, but tonight, we decided to head to Wes’ condo instead to avoid the rain. The only thing different was that we had Froy with us. “Hey, kid, what was your name again?” Marcus asked. “Uh, sir, Froy Adamson, sir.” “Froy?” Marcus began to chuckle. He was visibly struggling to hold in his laughter. “Like fro-yo?” Froy was silent. “...Yes, sir. Frozen yogurt.” Marcus released his contained laughter, nearly keeling over his seat. Froy became worried and began to panic. Wes and I had to reassure him that making fun of people’s names was just something Marcus did on a daily basis to everyone around the office. Marcus was only a year younger than me, but he had the heart of a child that he never grew out of. We loved that about him. Marcus placed a hand on Froy’s shoulder. “I like this kid,” he said. Froy blushed. “I’m sure you do,” Wes said. “Everyone loves yogurt.” “Don’t predate on my intern, Marcus!” “I don’t wanna hear that from you, Dory!” Marcus said. “Hey, kid. I’ve been planning on going back to the gym again. If you ever wanna come with, just tell me, okay? You look like you’d be a great workout partner.” “Hey, what about me? Why do you ask the intern before your boss who you KNOW goes to the gym?” Wes asked. “How tall are you again, Wes?” Marcus asked. “Right now, about as high as your chances at a promotion, Marcus.” Marcus threw his arms around Wes’ seat. “Hey, come on! It was just a joke! It’s just too hard to be gym buddies with someone so short. Plus you’ve got that tiny gut.” “I can’t help it! Vodka might as well be my blood of Christ.” “So you’re a cannibal?” “What do you think happened to my first boyfriend?” The conversation continued for the next half hour on the road. Froy and I remained silent for the most part while Marcus and Wes bantered, with us being brought in every so often as jokes. Marcus couldn’t let go of “fro-yo.” The rain blocked the streets and kept us in traffic longer than we would have wanted. Wes began getting calls from his wife, asking about where he was since his kids were getting impatient after being locked up for so long. When we got to the forest separating Wes’ condo complex from the city district, Marcus brought out these small white pills he hid inside a tic-tac box. The resemblance was uncanny. Froy and I watched him, unaware of what the pills would do. No one was around to help if Marcus did something stupid. “Hey, Wes. You want a tic-tac?” Marcus asked. Froy and I watched in silence, fully aware of what Marcus was trying to do. “If you’re trying to bribe me for a pay raise again, it’s gonna take more than a tic-tac this time.” “No, seriously, come on. It’s just a candy. Completely free. No strings attached.” Wes held out a hand, and Marcus placed one on his palm. “This better not be another one of your fucking pranks, Marcus. The last one is still giving my kids diarrhea.” Wes threw the small white pill in his mouth without any hesitation. Suddenly, his stomach grumbled loudly. “God damn it, Marcus.” Marcus laughed and slammed his hand repeatedly against the back of Wes’ seat. Froy shifted closer to the door in fear. “What did you give him, Marcus?” I asked. “Dying in a car crash with you was not on my list of things to-do today.” “Mine too,” Froy mumbled. “Relax! It’s harmless. I already tried it on my dog, and nothing happened to her.” “I’m not a dog, Marcus! I’m your boss!” “And I’m not a scientist!” “That doesn’t make things any better, Marcus—Oh, my god... what the fuck is going on...” Wes looked uncomfortable, shifting around like there was a cactus on his seat. I looked down and saw that he was growing a tent in his pants. At first, I thought it was just viagra, but then a wet spot began to form. Wes’ face was red as a tomato and was completely speechless. I could smell the familiar smell that filled my room after school as a kid. Wes came. He came right in front of all of us. He didn’t even have to touch himself or do anything for it either. I looked back at Marcus and Froy, and Marcus’ face was frozen in a face of pure glee. He had the expression of a child witnessing Santa for the first time and couldn’t be happier. Froy on the other hand was completely mortified. The poor thing didn’t know how to react. Wes was barely able to keep his focus on the road because of the way he was feeling. He just came in his pants. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what that pill did to him. Wes stopped the truck at a nearby tree and turned off the truck, running out and checking the damages at a tree out of sight. The three of us followed suit. Marcus didn’t even look the least bit guilty about what he just did. Froy stood by me, waiting and watching for what happened next. “What the fuck did you give me?” Wes asked. Marcus waved his hands in the air. “Nothing! I swear it was just a bunch of random shit I found in my kitchen. I didn’t think it would do anything.” “Well, it did! Now my favorite pants are ruined.” Wes stepped back into the moonlight where we saw a massive wet spot all over his crotch. If we didn’t know it was cum, we might’ve mistaken it for piss just by its sheer quantity. I didn’t think it was possible to cum so much. Judging by the defined outline running down his left thigh as well, it seemed he was hiding more than just one secret. The short man had to compensate somewhere. “God damn it, Marcus.” “Come on, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean it. I was gonna try it on myself, but I wanted to see if it—” “If it killed me?” “Well, no, but—” “I can’t believe I already wet myself… I haven’t even had a fucking bottle yet. You owe me for this.” Marcus shot me a look of relieved anguish, knowing he wasn’t going lose his job or his friendship. He walked up to Wes and helped him clean up by the tree. While Wes and Marcus were off cleaning up, Froy and I wandered a bit off to the forest to take in the beautiful nighttime scenery overlooking the city. The city lights shined brightly over the trees. They gave off an iridescent spotlight-lit night sky that shadowed the tree leaves and branches, blocking out the stars but lighting up the darkness. “This is a great view,” I said. “Yes, sir,” Froy replied. As we were enjoying our quiet time alone together, Froy noticed what looked like a shooting star in the empty sky. Wes and Marcus came over and joined us in staring at the falling light. A thought occurred to me, however, that this was not how falling stars normally worked. It looked as though it were literally falling out of the sky. I’m pretty sure falling stars aren’t supposed to look like they’re coming straight at us. “Hey, that’s no fucking shooting star, you idiots! That’s a meteor!” Wes said. “Hide behind something!” We could barely react when we saw that it was already a building’s height away from us. Froy and I hid behind a nearby tree. Marcus sprinted across to the truck with Wes. The burning rock rang a piercing loud screech in our ears before crash landing into the clearing between us and the truck. Flaming debris flew everywhere, covering the area in a black soot. Smoke filled the air for a good few minutes until we were able to breathe and see things again. All four of us emerged from our hiding spots and eyed the strange rock. Froy, Wes, and I approached it hesitantly, watching it from a distance in case it had any surprises waiting to pop out and do some serious harm. It could have had some new viruses or small flesh-eating aliens hiding inside. I highly doubted our job’s insurance program covered space AIDS. Meanwhile, while three of us were being careful, Marcus decided to make a headstart and gingerly walked up to it. He stuck out his hands and felt the intense heat emanating from the meteor. “What are you doing, Marcus?! Get back here where it’s safe,” Wes said. Marcus looked back and smiled. “Relaaax, it’s not gonna do anythingI” When the rest of us got to surround the meteor, it seemed to have cooled off. All four of us examined it closely, checking for any dangerous movements or glowing substances sticking out. For the next few minutes, it just seemed like it was a regular, boring old rock—from space. It didn’t grow a face and sing show tunes like I expected. I’d be lying if I said wasn’t disappointed. “It just seems like a rock,” Froy said. “Obviously,” Marcus said. “But what’s inside?” “If it's anything like your head, not much,” Wes said. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, right?” Marcus stepped into the crater and slammed his hands onto the meteor. He began pressing down on it with his body weight, trying to pressure it to crack open and reveal whatever monstrosity was inside of it. Froy and I backed away while Wes stepped forward and tried prying Marcus off of it. “Marcus, what are you doing?! Stop!” “I just wanna see what’s inside! It might have space diamonds, Wes!” Marcus let out a yell as he used all his strength and cracked open the meteor. From the crack, a neon green liquid splurged out, spilling onto Marcus’ shirt. He panicked, wondering what the hell the scentless, luminescent goo was, when suddenly the crack opened up further. It erupted, blasting a mortified Marcus with the strange gunk. He was covered head to toe, front to back, unable to even open his mouth or eyes in pure horror. The meteor now looked unstable. It was rumbling, and cracks began spreading from where Marcus first breached its outer shell. More and more of the green liquid spurted out. It didn’t seem long before it would explode. Marcus grumbled for help, running towards Wes. “Hey, stop! Don’t get that shit on me! I just got my pants dry!” Wes yelled. Before Marcus could even get to him, the meteor exploded. Nuclear green slime flew everywhere. Marcus got blasted back onto the ground by the sheer amount he was covered in. He didn’t look like he could move very well at all anymore. Wes was yelling out Marcus’ name when the goo flew into his mouth and covered his entire front from head to toe. I could hear him yelling as he swallowed it. “Sir!” As the meteor exploded towards us, Froy ran up to me. He used his body as a shield to block me from the slime, with his back spread out against the meteor. I looked up at him and saw fear in his eyes. Neither of us could move from where we were as we were frozen in absolute shock about what just happened. The meteor settled down, and there was green slime absolutely everywhere. It coated the trees, the grass, the soil, everything. Marcus was absolutely drenched in it, struggling to even stand up. Wes ran to a tree and began vomiting, trying to expel whatever he swallowed and trying to get himself clean again. Froy’s entire backside and his arms were completely covered. He shook his body as much as he could to try and get it off of him. “What the fuck just happened?” I asked. “That fucking—pfthuh—piece of shit meteor just fucking exploded!” Wes yelled, spitting out the remnants. “Are we going to fucking die?!” Marcus yelled, on his knees, crying in anguish at the sky, looking like a grotesque smile monster. “I don’t wanna fucking die, god!” “This is all your fault!” Wes said. “I’m fucking aware of that, Wes! I wasn’t expecting the meteor to be a fucking water balloon filled with green shit!” “Okay, everyone, just relax!” I said. “We just need to get clean and report this to the police so they can clean it up or something.” Marcus and Wes turned and glared at me, clean and dry from head to toe. “We can’t tell anyone about this! If the authorities find out we fucked with some meteor and got caught with some disease, then we might be forced to spend time in a lab until we die,” Wes said. Marcus pointed at me. “And why the fuck are you dry? Did you tell your little boytoy intern to be your shield?!” “No, he ran up to me himself. I didn’t tell him to do anything, Marcus.” “Fucking shit, man…” I stood watch by the truck while Froy, Wes, and Marcus cleaned themselves up by the river. It was nearly midnight when they got back looking absolutely exhausted after trying to get every drop of slime off their bodies for the past few hours. They dumped all their clothes in Wes’ gym bag and got into his truck in nothing but wet underwear. ‘Uncomfortable’ could not even begin to explain the atmosphere. I couldn’t even be bothered to appreciate all the hot, semi-naked bodies surrounding me when I was still reeling over what the hell just happened. I’d already seen all of them shirtless before at least once, but I had yet to see Froy’s business. Did he prefer boxers or briefs? Was he a shower or a grower? It didn’t seem that important. All I knew was that Wes was thick and hung like a motherfucker. “This has to be our secret, got it?” Wes said. “No one else can know about this.” We all agreed. None of us were in the mood to get dissected or experimented on for the rest of our lives. As Wes drove away, heading to his condo, I took one last look back at the scene. The meteor looked like a cracked egg that got blown up in a microwave. However, what seemed strange to me was how there seemed to be a lot less slime than before. What used to be a complete sheet of glowing green slime over everything was now mostly back to normal with some freckles here and there. It must have either dissipated in the atmosphere or got absorbed into the ground. Either way, it didn’t seem like that was just going to end there. I could feel in my gut that this wasn’t the last time this meteor was going to be a part of our lives. If the slime did get absorbed in the ground and trees, then what would happen with humans? There was no way they didn’t at least absorb some of it. There was just no way. Regardless, this was going to be our secret from now on. It seemed our little threesome just became a foursome.
  4. Thanks to Dredlifter for the idea suggestion of this little thing - or maybe it will wind up being a big thing. I haven’t written a story like this in a long time - at least 4 years. I hope you will bear with me for a slow burn introduction here and getting my “verbal” chops back into shape. But the fun stuff will start coming next chapter. I am open to any and all feedback as I want to re-hone my writing abilities. Critiques are welcome -------- To Protect and Serve - Chapter 1 - The First Morning Prelude: Just imagine - You’re standing at attention with your peers in your best Class-A Uniform. All around you in the auditorium your friends, family, and fellow officers who can come are here to see the solemn occasion. A freshly earned, freshly shined badge has just been pinned on your chest by the Sheriff. You raise your right hand and take the oath. The oath is a bit different from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, but we boil its meaning down to one phrase - “To Protect and Serve.” So many have taken the oath. Some who took it did little things that made a big difference, while some risked their lives and paid the ultimate price. And some … well … some are special. This is the story of one of those special ones - no, he is even more than that. Though it was not his intention nor mine, he went beyond special. How do I know? He saved me. He has given me a life I could never have dreamed possible that first early morning. And what happened to him? Well, a transformation that is better in the telling. To those who take the oath as seriously as he did; To those who give it a new and bigger meaning as he did; to those who change more than they can imagine by repeating those words as he did, this story is dedicated. This is the story of what could happen if you could protect and serve many thousands of people, and just one man, me, in ways beyond your wildest imagination. ~ Gabriel York ----- A deceptively small man hung his duty shirt onto a dry cleaners hanger and placed it in his locker. As he stood bare chested in the cool air, he appeared to be hiding his body, but he had nothing to be ashamed of - having a lithe but very tight build under that shirt. Nicely shaped, mounded pecs accompanied hard small orange sized biceps. A tight 6-pack graced his lower abdomen to an impossibly small looking waist. He was way better than most men of his age, no “dad bod” here to be sure. But, the man always felt self-conscious in the locker room despite the room being empty. He wasn’t one of THEM, something that had haunted him since high school. He lifted one booted foot and then the other onto a wooden bench before him. Loosening the laces and pulling the side zipper, he removed each boot. He held them in his hands like precious artifacts for just a moment, remembering the first time he put these on. Soon it would be his last, he mused. His time could go on as long as he wanted. But -- he questioned why. What had he done to stay on? What good had he really done? REALLY made a difference? It took but a few more minutes for him to put on his civilian duty clothes (a departmental polo, slacks,and loafers), secure his badge to his belt, and close his locker. Most locker rooms were replete with all sorts of combination locks, but not here. A few men and most of the women officers used them, but it wasn’t exactly necessary. You couldn’t be in a much safer place after all. Deputy Sergeant John Declann closed his locker for the millionth time and went to collect his personal sidearm from the gun locker clerk. He had no sooner than entered the hallway from the locker room, he heard a truly tremendous booming upper bass voice: “WHOA, ONE SIDE DECLANN.” Declann immediately pulled back into the doorway and looked up … and up, to see 5 men in a tight formation with shields and cell-entry equipment. Each one of them was every bit of 6 foot 4 inches plus - although tactical boots always made you look taller than you were. They were more like 6 foot 2 without them - but still, they all out-weighed John by at least 60 pounds of muscle. At his 5 foot 7 inches in height and in normal shoes, he felt positively TINY seeing them pass by. That was sort of the point of those uniforms - to try and intimidate anyone who saw what was coming - and it always did, at least it did Declann. They were in helmets and wore thick padded vests, under which were black t-shirt with black BDUs and those boots below. While those clothes were technically “loose,” they did little to hide every oversized muscle in their massive bodies. Gigantic arms stretched forth from sleeves that seemed to be straining to the breaking point. 2 pairs of arms were thick, powerlifter looking, and 3 more were supremely cut muscle. The CERT - Cell Extraction and Response Team - blew past him looking like they were heading to Mary-pod - the maximum security section. No doubt it was to remove an offender from a cell for morning counts who did not want to be removed. There was no question, he WOULD be removed, no matter what it took. The injury inflicted was entirely the offender’s choice. And, that amount of muscle and its overwhelming power could do plenty of that. Declann had tried out for both the CERT and SWAT teams years ago. But at his 165 lb, it was deemed he just did not have the physical size necessary. “You have all the skills needed and more Deputy Declann,” he had been told. “You should be proud of that. But some other officers just beat you out in the scores. And we need you on the streets. That is where you belong.” Funny, he thought in a moment of jealousy. It was always those guys who were of larger than life proportions that got the spots, even if their skills were not as good as his. After the group had passed, Declann walked down the hall toward the sallyport and stopped. He always did it at times like this, halting at the Officer’s Gym. He looked inside. It was rather quiet, normal at 0545 and shift change. Still, he could see some of the remnants of workouts by the big guys on the force. 45 pound plates left on the sides of incline bench press rack. What looked like 5 plates on a side on the bar on the squat rack. Dozens on the leg press sled. It was a bit of a mess, in truth, but most well used gyms were. Now, Declann was no physical slouch. He always kept in shape and his skills honed as the primary martial arts instructor for the Sheriff’s Office. He could have done well in that room, even though he was pushing 40 years old. Could have grown. But, he sighed and went on. There was just a part of him that never wanted to face big men in the gym. The injustice of being mocked for his smaller size and unfamiliarity with the equipment the one time he went in blazed in him still all these years later. He guessed the big men thought it was good natured fun, but it hurt Declann deeply. So, he kept to his body weight fitness room and small dojo set up in the garage at home. That made him feel less conspicuous. When it came to them, John always saw himself as a small man in boots that were a size too big. And yet - to so many others, he wasn’t that at all. He was everything that made police work an honorable profession. --- John Declann had wanted to be a police officer for as long as he could remember. Since his youngest days, he had been fascinated by police dramas on TV, how they always seemed to catch the bad guy no matter the odds. How they always saved people in distress. In his mind, there was no better calling. No better way to spend his life. He had the mind to be anything he wanted. He excelled in most subjects in school and was a top flight musician. But, those pursuits were not where he heart lay. He was a cop at heart by his teenage years, and he did everything he could to prepare himself. He took JROTC through high school, where he picked up his interest in martial arts and started Aikido lessons. Though he wasn’t the best team sports, he blasted through the competition at his dojo. He became quite fit from the military style calisthenics workouts he adopted during ROTC summer camps. And, that fitness matched perfectly with his blooming skills with his hands and feet on the mats. Before high school was over, his featured had matured into those of a very fit, handsome young man with striking brown eyes. And he had his first degree black belt, the first degree of many. It took a nearly a year after graduating high school to get his first small town commission to the force. He spent his first 18 months in the jails, and then took and passed his Colorado POST exams. He had been a road officer ever since. Now, he was a Sergeant in the Boulder County Sheriff’s Office - an area not unknown for large scale crimes as it held the University of Colorado. “The Berkeley of the East” though had its full measure of minor offenses. But the area wasn’t exactly the worst gang spots in Denver either. He had for served with true distinction for nearly two decades since - being decorated for bravery multiple times for saving civilians lives under fire. He had saved those intent on suicide. He had even delivered a baby once in a convenience store, and the story made the local news. He had had plenty of hands-on run ins with offenders, but he gave way more than he got, never having much more than a bruise or a black eye on occasion. He just never saw what the community and his immediate superiors did - a good man, serving the people Boulder and the kids of the University the best way he knew how. --- John went out to his car - an unmarked Dodge - cranked it, and began the slow crawl toward the Turnpike then Wheat Ridge. One of the things he learned in his own initial officer training long ago was to never live in the county you worked in. It could always lead to problems with local offenders. So, it was up and over the Flatirons toward home. Even though traffic volume was already increasing as it spread toward Denver in the morning rush, his mind wandered as if on empty roads. He made the necessary turns though the city and came proximate to the University entrances, but was running his schedule through his mind. He was due for a weigh in at the doc’s today. And they usually took his measurements too. Height, waistline, all that stu -- John’s senses caught something in the barely lit dawn. Someone moving way too fast to be normally jogging to the right of his car. Moving toward campus. John slowed his vehicle and his brain went into observation mode. It captured the scene in moments with his practiced eyes and mind. A young man -- looking to be just outside of college age but could still belong to the University. Short, black hair. Trimmed beard. White button down shirt and navy slacks. Looked like there was some money invested in those clothes, certainly not cheap. Behind him, perhaps eight or so paces, was running - and running faster than the first - a white young man, shaved head, jeans and ratty t-shirt, tatted with jailhouse tattoos that stood out even under the fading street lamps. And, then John caught sight of a gun in the rear waistband of the second’s jeans. Semi-auto by the outline. Instinct took over. John turned his car in an instant, hit the flasher toggle for his lights, and wound with wildly fast, yet practiced precision toward the danger. Less than 20 seconds later, John pulled his car to a stop where his instincts said he could cut this off. “Boulder County Sheriff's Office -- ON THE GROUND NOW” John yelled as he leapt from his car and drew his weapon virtually simultaneously. The running suspect didn’t listen, just as John had expected. He instead broke his pursuit of the well-dressed man and taken off toward a side alleyway. But, John was good at his work. The offender was fast, but John - was FASTER. He holstered his weapon as he calculated his movements nearly autonomously. He had chosen his intercept point well. John calculated the takedown, knowing an almost undisputable, universal law - 95 percent of offenders have no idea of how to fight, and the remaining 5% seldom need to fight. And this one looked like the former. It took a few seconds, but just a few, for the whole pursuit to be over. Exactly two PPCT strikes and a normal compliance take down and the suspect wa on his back, with John twisting his arms and putting the handcuffs on. He never even had to hurt more than the punk’s pride. Once secured, John kept his knee in place just under the lower shoulder blades, cuffed arms resting on his quad, knowing a bodyweight advantage and leverage would be critical with this man who slightly outweighed him. “What’s your name?” John demanded as he patted down the suspect and quickly removed a 9mm weapon and several baggies of what looked like methamphetamine. “Fuck you” was the response. John smiled a bit and gave a half chuckle under his breath. He loved this a bit too much when it happened, and some mischievous streak in him just drove him to do it. “OK, Mister Fuk Yu. I am placing you under arrest for possession of an illegal firearm and possession of controlled substances. You have the right to remain silent …” John mirandized the “Mr. Fuck,” pulled him up to his feet, and maneuvered him the few yards to his car. He put the offender in the back seat and locked the door of his unmarked. The guy was going nowhere. Now, to more important matters. John made his way toward the young man being pursued - who had by now stopped and was almost collapsed on the sidewalk. Declann withdrew his cell, called 911, and requested uniformed officers to his location. He was upon the man on the sidewalk just as he hung up. John immediately knelt down to do a quick assessment of his condition. There were no obvious signs of trauma at the first once over. He then took a more careful look at the victim’s features. While he certainly wasn’t of student age, he was still under 30, John guessed. And, he was a very nice looking under 30 to boot. Blue eyes setting off dark, intense features. Old enough to just have the barest hint of a wrinkle at the eye but nothing else. John noted a rather slim body - the size of his own would have been were it not for his training in Aikido and Krav Maga. John felt a twinge of attraction.Yes, John was bisexual, but no one cared among his superiors anymore. Besides, he had always kept that part of himself separate when on duty. “You OK Sir? I can’t see any obvious injuries. Do you need an ambulance?”John asked as he came and sat down at the man’s level. “Thank you . . . . officer, thank . . . you.” The man panted in reply with a pronounced British accent. “I was . . . just going toward my . . . lab . . . after my tea . . . when this fellow . . . started chasing me screaming at . . me. ” The young man was now gathering his breath, becoming easier to understand. John was a bit surprised to hear that English accent coming from him. Not unheard of, but still unusual in Boulder. “Did he assault you in any way?” The Englishman finally looked up to see John’s slightly older but obviously concerned and kind face. He visibly relaxed as he looked into John’s light brown eyes. “No, he never caught me but he was close. I am not exactly in running shorts and shoes here. But thanks to you, I’ll be OK. I do not know what would have happened if you had not arrived when you did.” “With what I found, I suspect he wanted to mug you. You are rather well dressed for campus, if I may observe. And, forgive me, if he heard you accent, you may have looked like an quick target as a tourist. When the uniform officers get here, you will need to give a statement to them, or you can give it to me if you prefer. We need to make sure this scumbag gets what he deserves.” “Of course. Anything I can do to assist, although I would be much happier speaking to you.” the man said giving just a hint of a smile. It was then that the uniformed officers in their black and white vehicles showed up. John excused himself for a moment, let the uniforms know what was going on, and allowed them to take the offender back to the jail for booking. John then returned to the man still sitting on the sidewalk. Pulling out a notebook he kept on him for times like this, John got all the pertinent information as he had done thousands of times before. Name, description of what happened, when, and why, if he knew. Any details the young man, who he had come to know as Gabriel York, may have remembered before, during, and after. As he took the statement, John became even more convinced this was an attempted mugging, perhaps for more drug money, maybe even more if that weapon came into play. Knowing he had all he needed, John said, “Finally, is there a way we can contact you if we have further questions. The staff from the District Attorney's office will be sure to want to speak with you about testimony if it comes to that. Although with the evidence we have, this one will probably plea. This is not his first time in jail.” Gabriel reached into his pocket for a very expensive-looking leather wallet and removed a business card. “This is my lab contact information. I am easiest to reach either here on campus or with my secretary. My other lab is ...a… well ... it is easier to reach me here. Again I can’t thank you enough, Sergeant.” “Believe me, Dr. York, it was my pleasure. I am just glad you are safe and sound.” John said. “Are you OK to go on your own or would you like me to escort you to your lab? I would be happy to do so.” “Thank you sir, but I think I’ll be fine. My lab is just over the hill in the Biological Sciences building.” Gabriel replied. “OK” John said, handing Gabriel a card of his own with his name, rank, and contact information on it. “This is my card. If you need anything or remember anything else, please do not hesitate to call me anytime, day or night.” ‘Of course. Sergeant Declann.” The Englishman arose with a friendly hand from John. Almost as an afterthought as he was leaving, York turned around. “Oh, Sergeant Declann, by the way. I do ….ah… certain work down at the Federal Center in Denver. I will have to report this incident to my superiors there and to the British consulate. In case there is testimony or something as you said. They may wish to speak with you. Just to make sure. You understand?” John nodded. Ah, he works with the feds as an international scholar of some kind, and the red tape must be dealt with. “Of course. No problem at all. I’m proximate to the Federal Center half the time anyway.” York nodded an ascent and turned again to walk away. John stood a moment watching - and admiring - Dr. York move until he was sure he was alright AND that he was moving toward the Biology building. He turned around and began to make his way back to his car. As he did, he looked down at the card: Gabriel York, MD. PhD., FACS Research Director/Professor of Medicine Advanced Bio-neurological Applications Project University of Colorado School of Medicine Hmmm, John thought. He looked a damned sight young to be in such a prestigious job, a full professor under 30 and with two doctorates at least. And a fellow of the ACS -- so why talk to the Consulate? John’s “detective sensor” started to sound off in his mind. This advanced applications thing wasn’t a program he was familiar with, but there were so many new research projects on campus these days. But, as soon as the “alert” came, he let it go. Probably a government grant given what he said about the Federal Center. John was reviewing the incident in his mind for his own after action report as he pulled onto the highway. Suddenly, there was a loud roar of a horn and air brakes. John never even saw the tractor trailer that plowed into his car, crumpling it in an instant like so much tissue paper and driving it 30 yards down the highway. *** Two Hours Later *** Trauma room one at the University of Colorado Hospital was abuzz with activity. At least a dozen doctors, nurses, and specialist technologists in yellow plastic smocks and shields hovered over a trauma bed doing a myriad of tasks to the man laying there. “What do we have?” the lead trauma surgeon said as he came into the room and took up control of the life-saving operation. On of the smocked figures raised up and stepped back, raising his shield. “John Declann, caucasian male, age 39. Boulder County Sheriff’s Deputy. MVA - car versus tractor/trailer. Passenger was in a seatbelt with airbags deployed but required extraction by fire-rescue. Initial assessment shows superficial cranial abrasions, with most likely a simple concussion. No evidence of other cranial, brain, or upper spinal injuries. Seat belt bruising pattern is highly indicative of internal organ disruption, but nothing so far on physical examination and plain films of the abdomen. Lacerated and collapsed left lung, reinflated with chest tube. Pneumothorax proximate to same lung injury also responding. Initial x-rays show compromised T-12 vertebral body and possible pelvic fracture. No apparent lower limb trauma beyond cuts and bruises from extrication from the vehicle. CT scans are coming up now for the spinal and pelvic injury areas. This was a driver’s side T-bone crash. I think that this guy’s level of fitness is why we’re talking about saving his life and not pronouncing him. ” the lead resident efficiently rattled off. The lead surgeon took a look at the patient, and agreed with the resident’s assessment. John was alive because of his trained, flexible, body and more than a little random chance. But what kind of life was it going to be? The doctor walked over to the computer terminal screens and pulled up the CT scans. The pelvis showed a simple left side Ilium fracture. Non-displaced. Something the orthopods could deal with easy enough. He then flipped to the scan of John’s spine -- and frowned. “Fuck,” he said under his breath as he looked. He sat down on a stool and zoomed, in, out, rotated, and closely examined the different views provided by the technology. The burst fracture was unmistakable and at precisely the worst spot for leg function. As he walked back to John, the doctor barked orders to the residents and nurses, while he removed an ink pen from his pocket. He ran the pen up first one foot and then the other. Goddamnit, he thought. The veteran doc’s heart sunk even more. “Get neurosurg here stat. Tell them severe impact, burst fracture at T-12, CT visualization and reflex response indicative of cord injury.” The room went silent for a moment before carrying on. It was always hard to treat an officer. Much less for this. The supervising physician turned and again just looked at the radiology. The soft tissue injuries were no walk in the park, but were easily fixable, recoverable in just a few weeks, the pelvis in a couple of months, except …. that. There was no hope for that, in his experience. This man would be paralyzed. Five minutes later the head of neurosurgery looked at the same CT scans, and came to the same conclusion. No hope. They could do an exploratory, check and see if by some miracle there was just pressure on the cord from a fragment, but not likely. Better to just do a vertebral stabilization with the orthopods, but his chances to recover function … Declann had been stabilized and was ready for transfer to have his lung laceration repaired. As he was about to be moved, another man in a white coat burst into the trauma room. One look from him toward John, and his eyes moistened. “I...I...can’t believe it.” the black haired man wept at the side of the bed. “I had to be sure.” The man almost looked skyward, “Why him?” Gabriel tenderly wiped a finger down John’s cheek. “Gabriel?” the head of neuro looked up. “What are you doing here? Do you know this man?” “This man, he saved my life this morning, not even four hours ago. Kept me from getting mugged by this man with a gun. Everyone heard the crash and when I saw that the wreckage was his car. Is he going to be OK?” Gabriel was out of breath and had obviously lost clinical detachment between the events of this morning and the shock of seeing the officer who had been so kind and patient with him lying there. He would have been removed if treatment were still going on, but it was basically complete save moving him to OR. The two attendings just nodded toward the computer screens with the radiology still on it. Gabriel walked from John’s head side, looked, and was overcome with remorse and guilt. Had he just been at his normal time, 15 minutes later, none of this would have happened. But, he just HAD to check on a minor experiment. And now, this man lay here because of him. Gabriel zoomed in to the machine’s maximum sensitivity. He looked again and again. Through a choking voice, Gabriel looked around and almost whispered. “Jack, can you send me these scans please? To my secondary lab.” The lead neurosurgeon looked horrified, searching for a reason not to. “Gabriel. You can’t be serious. You know I can’t do that. It violates protocol, federal law--” Gabriel cut him off, almost angrily “Jack you know I can take care of that with one call to Washington.” “What are you going to do?” Jack asked, never having seen such anger in the young, brilliant surgeon and scientist. “IF I can, if there is anything I can do, I am going to try and help this man.’ “You can’t have a man as a lab r--. I can’t sanc---” Jack stumbled. Gabriel stood to his full height, taking on an almost military bearing. “You know I can and will go over your head if I have to. I will have him removed if I must.” Gabriel took a breath and seemed to calm a bit. “Jack I am not promising that I can or will do anything, I do not know if there is anything to do. But I have to try. I owe it to him. He is here because of me. I have to try or I’ll never forgive myself.” Jack knew Gabriel could follow through on his threats in an instant. He had seen some small manifestations of Gabriel’s connections to political power before, and he knew that interference in hospital functions was the very least of what he could do. As much as Jack detested it, with this kind of anger Gabriel could bring down the mountain on top of his whole hospital. But, as it was, there was nothing anyone could do for Officer Declann, not even York. Jack just silently waved his fingers in a gesture of defeat, nodded an ascent, and transferred access to Gabriel as primary attending physician. “Thank you Jack. I owe you about 10 times over for this.” “I WILL HOLD YOU TO THAT,” the older surgeon replied, his voice suddenly sharpened. “And I insist on one thing. Before you present him any of those things you do that I do not have a clue about, you will at least get his consent.” Gabriel looked like he had been shot himself and his voice shook, “I would NEVER do anything to harm him.” York turned on a heel and left the room, walking out of the ER doors, and toward his car in the parking lot. As soon as he was in the vehicle with the door closed, he pulled from his pocket an encrypted cell phone with just one number it could access, locked to his fingerprint. A male voice answered in military precision, “Yes, Doctor York?” “Codeword Ariana. I want the full computer network prepped for simulator study based on some CT scans that will be coming from CU Trauma ER shortly. Run the program with emergent parameters and stand by to report when I get there. Not a proof of concept level scan, Don, but full cellular level calculations. I am leaving the hospital now. We have 24 hours at the most to complete simulations. And...ah.. Don. This is important to me, personally.” “Yes SIR,” the sharp voice on the other end said. Gabriel could not quite understand what he was feeling, this pull toward this man. He didn’t know the man existed six hours ago. Sure, there was guilt and anger and sadness. But, he just could not remove from his mind those eyes he saw this morning. Those haunted, caring brown eyes. Something about him. This John Declann. He did not know what. But he saw it in his eyes. He deserved more than this, and Gabriel would find out why. He would make it happen, he willed it to happen as he drove toward the freeway. This good man would walk again.
  5. J'ai un peu des problèmes avec mon copain. Je l'aime plus que tout au monde, hein, ce n'est pas la question. Mais des fois ça peut être difficile avec lui, parce que, et bien il n'est pas très intelligent. Et ce n'est pas une critique, le fait est qu'intellectuellement il est très limité. Pour moi ça fait partie de ses qualités, je suis amoureux fou de mon copain, donc je ne suis pas objectif, avec les yeux de l'amour je ne lui trouve aucun défaut. Son intelligence est différente, mais réelle. Le jour où je l'ai rencontré, dès que je lui ai parlé j'ai senti cette connexion très forte entre nous, et j'ai adoré discuter avec lui. A vrai dire, il ne disait que des mots très simples, et ce n'était pas très cohérent, mais je le comprenais, et j'étais fasciné par tout ce qu'il disait. Je buvais ses paroles, comme on dit. Et il avait l'air content de trouver quelqu'un qui le comprenait, et je l'écoutais avec passion. Il m faisait rire, quelquefois je voyais qu'il avait dit quelque chose pour être drôle, alors je me mettais à rire à gorge déployée, et il reprenait son récit fascinant. Je ne comprenais pas bien ses mots, mais j'adorais parler avec lui, et j'étais tellement content d'avoir la chance d'échanger avec lui, et qu'il apprécie ma compagnie. Je vivais un rêve, j'étais sur un nuage. C'était véritablement formidable d'échanger avec lui, et ses quatre ving douze centimètres de biceps. il s'était rapidement retrouvé isolé dans cette soirée, parce que les gens ne comprenaient pas son génie, du coup j'ai eu la chance de pouvoir me retrouver avec lui et sans cesse il disait des mots, ce qui était absolument fascinant avec mon visage face à ses énormes pecs. Je suis instantanément tombé amoureux de ce mastodonte d'un mètre quatre-vingt dix-huit et deux cent soixante-dix neuf kilos de muscle, et mes efforts pour qu'il m'apprécie ont payé, car nous sommes devenus inséparables. Clairement, ce n'est pas toujours aisé d'être auprès de lui, car il peut avoir ses humeurs, et il ne saisit pas bien le monde qui l'entoure. Il m'a fallu développer des trésors de patience pour pouvoir le gérer au mieux, et ce n'est pas toujours évident avec un colosse qui peut exploser un crâne en claquant des doigts (il chausse su 54, il a des gros doigts) mais mon amour a fini par payer et il s'est vraiment attaché à moi et il me respecte. Évidemment je suis la risée de mon groupe d'amis, l'un d'entre eux l'avait ramené à la soirée où nous nous étions rencontrés dans le seul but de se moquer de lui et le ridiculiser, et ils ont eu tôt fait de voir que j'étais fou amoureux de lui, très vite ils ont estimé que mon attraction envers lui n'était due qu'au fait que ce soit un gigantesque bodybuilder aux muscles surpuissants. Cela fait quatre ans que nous sommes ensemble à présent, et je ne parle plus trop à ce groupe d'amis. Notre liaison est très forte, et c'est pour moi le plus important, je me pas mal suis isolé de ma famille aussi qui ne le tolère pas. Et la société est bizarre, dès que l'on débarque à un endroit, que j'arrive quelque part avec ce monstre de muscles, les gens réagissent bizarrement. Bon, je reconnais que c'est un véritable phénomène, sur le plan physique et musculaire, et j'aime bien l'effet qu'il fait n'importe où où je vais avec lui, et j'adore ça. Donc voilà, c'est l'homme de ma vie, j'aime faire des efforts de chaque instant pour essayer de maintenir son humeur, j'aime être là pour l'écouter ânonner des sylabbes pendant des heures, j'aime financer ses stéroïdes, et tout en général parce que c'est impossible pour lui d'avoir un travail, j'aime tout en lui, je l'aime mon colossal tas de muscles même si on ne fait pas l'amour. Le problème que j'ai dernièrement c'est qu'il est un peu trop protecteur avec moi. Il tient beaucoup à moi, et de plus en plus, et rien ne pourrait me rendre plus heureux, mais ça devient un peu problématique des fois. Il pense que tout est une menace.Il veut être toujours près de moi et me protéger de tout. Un jour, on traversait au feu, et une voiture a freiné un peu tard et débordé quelques centimètres sur le passage piéton. Il a eu peur pour moi, donc il s'est jeté devant la voiture et a frappé du poing sur le capot, il a traversé le moteur et cloué la voiture dans le bitume. Il a peur pour moi quand je suis au travail. Dès qu'il n'est pas à la salle, il vient à mon taf et s'assoit à l'entrée de mon cubicle et lance des regards agressifs à tout le monde. Mais je l'aime plus que tout. L'autre soir on était posés devant la télé, puis il a regardé, et il a dit une vraie phrase, "Tu aimes mes biceps"? C'était émouvant. On s'est regardés avec les yeux plein d'amour et il a levé son bras près de moi, puis il l'a plié pour faire jaillir son biceps en bandaison. Je me suis mis à lécher tout ce que je pouvais de son biceps. " Donne main. Touche gros biceps. Gros gros gros biceps. Oui mouiller biceps.Gros biceps pour toi. Gros muscles. Je t'aime. Moi vouloir plus gros muscles pour plaisir toi. - Oui j'aime tes gros biceps mon amour. J'aime tes énormes gros biceps. - Toi aimer gros biceps - Oui mon amour. - Moi gros biceps pour toi. - Tu es le plus beau mon amour - Touche gros biceps! S'il te plaît, - Mais ils sont trop gros tes biceps mon amour - Gros biceps content - J'adore caresser tes énormes biceps mon cœur - Biceps des fois, gros et mal - Oui, ça doit être compliqué - Mais lever haltères, lever haltères. - Vraiment ? - Oui, oui, gros biceps - Haha tu es merveilleux - Haltères biceps, gentil - C'est vrai? - Gros gros biceps. - C'est génial. Je suis tellement heureux de t'avoir comme ami. - Toi ami le plus. - Oh bravo, bravo. Bravo mon ami - Toi amour moi. - Mais tu as raison. Tu es tellement intelligent, tu as tout compris - Moi intelligent - Tu es parfait. J'ai tellement de chance de t'avoir rencontré. Je t'aime si fort." Il avait relâché la tension de son bras, mais il se mit à rebander son biceps de plus belle. " Toi aime gros biceps ? - Haha tu es le meilleur mon copain, tu es génial. - Toucher gros biceps. - Ce gros biceps, là ? Cet énorme biceps ? - Oui, maintenant. Maintenant. - Tout ce que tu voudras mon pote, tu sais bien que je suis à tes woof... - Oui toucher biceps, toucher biceps... - Bordel de merde, j'ai pourtant l'habitude de toucher ton corps à longueur de journée mais tes gros biceps bandés je ne m'y ferai jamais... - Gros biceps, gros biceps - C'est si dur, si énorme... regarde comme ma main est minuscule sur le sommet de ce biceps - Je t'aime. - Moi aussi je t'aime mon amour, on est pas pédés mais toi et moi c'est merveilleux..." Oui parenthèse, nous ne sommes pas un couple homosexuel. On s'aime très très fort, on habite ensemble, depuis bientôt quatre ans, mais non, pas de ça entre nous. Eric a un peu de mal avec la notion d'homosexualité, de pédalitude plus exactement, c'est pas bien il faut pas. Il peut se fâcher tout rouge si on nous traite de pédés, mais ça n'arrive quasiment jamais. Pourquoi ? on s'en fout un peu mais si vous y tenez : on n'a pas l'attitude, ni lui ni moi, et aussi, il paraît impossible qu'un avion de chasse de compétition comme Eric puisse sortir avec un pauvre gars comme moi. Voilà. C'est dit. "Moi gros muscles, toi gros tête. - Ne te diminue pas mon copain, toute ta vie on a voulu te faire croire que tues un imbécile mais moi je vois en toi, tu es mon soleil, tu m'apprends tellement de choses, chaque moment avec toi me rend plus intelligent et lus sage c'est à toi que je le dois c'est pour ça que je veux toujours être auprès de toi. - Ah ? - Chaque seconde loin de toi est une seconde de perdue.Chaque seconde près de toi me rend meilleur. - Hervé, moi toujours avec toi. Toujours avec toi. - C'est vrai, Eric ? Tu vas rester avec moi tout le temps ? - Oui, Hervé, toi et moi, toujours, tout le temps. Viens. - Oh Eric prends-moi dans tes bras s'il te plaît. Mon grand Eric (oui Eric est bien grand, 1m98 de beau gosse, des porte-avions à la place des pieds, des gants de baseball en guise de mains blindées de cals par le travail de la fonte) mon grand Eric me prend dans ses bras, et me serre très fort contre son torse, et il me dit qu'il m'aime, et une milliseconde comme celle-ci vaut bien une année de conversations approximatives.et de moments d'ennui. Oui, je me suis éloigné de mon entourage et même de ma famille parce qu'ils ne comprenaient pas mon attrait pour Eric, ou alors peut-être qu'ils le comprenaient trop bien au contraire, à l'évidence j'étais sous le charme de ce golgoth au visage ciselé à la perfection et aux yeux d'un bleu intense, lumineux, profond et vide. Mais j'avais réussi à gagner son amour, un amour sincère et entier, comme celui des chiens et des enfants en bas-âge, et c'était pour moi le trésor le plus précieux au monde. - Hervé moi pas amis, pas famille, toi Hervé ami. - Eric je suis heureux et fier d'être ton ami. Eric je t'aime plus que tout au monde. - Hervé, je aime, plus que monde." Et c'est à ce moment là qu'il m'a soulevé, je l'ai vu avoir un moment d’hésitation quand mes yeux étaient à la hauteur des siens, puis il a jeté sa bouche contre la mienne avant de l'envahir avec sa langue pendant plusieurs minutes. Quand il a cessé, il a plongé mes yeux dans les siens à nouveau, et il était en larmes. " Désolé, désolé, désolé... - Désolé de quoi Eric ? Moi je te dis merci Eric. Merci pour ton courage, merci pour ta confiance, merci pour l'amour que tu as pour moi. Alors que je suis un petit rien. - Désolé... Désolé... - Comme ça on sera quittes." Et j'ai plaqué ma main derrière ses trapèzes, et cette fois c'est moi qui ai amené ma bouche contre la sienne pour les faire communier. Au bout d'un temps presque aussi long il me laissa plonger dans se yeux à nouveau, mais cette fois ils étaient souriants. Intérieurement, je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher de penser qu'il était tout de même malheureux que des yeux aussi magnifiques couleur bleu infini soient si... qu'il y manque une petite lueur à l'intérieur. Et à l'évidence, le fait qu'ils soient si grands, profonds et fascinants, rendait son absence d’autant plus remarquable. Une lueur non moins belle vibrait dans ses yeux toutefois, celle de l'amour, celle de l'amour de ce superbe Dieu pour moi. Combien de centaines, de milliers de personnes, avaient été subjuguées par la splendeur de cet homme mais ont été déboutées par sa simplicité ? Ces gens ne peuvent donc pas voir la beauté intérieure ? Ne lui ont pas laissé une chance ? Il est vrai qu'il n'est pas d'un abord facile, rien que moi je l'encourageais à prendre un peu la parole en société, en visite à ma famille, au resto avec des amis, mais chaque fois qu'il ouvrait la bouche, les gloussements et pouffements de rire allaient grandissant. C'est terrible de pénaliser des gens pour leur manque d'intelligence. De ne pas avoir de respect pour leur handicap et ne pas cherche à voir au delà. A l'évidence, je venais de découvrir le seul véritable talent qu'il pouvait démontrer en ouvrant la bouche, et quel talent. C'est la première fois que l'on s'embrassait, pour de vrai, on était très émus, et moi j'étais bouleversé.J'en avais roulé des pelles dans ma vie, certainement plus que lui, mais jamais je n'avais ressenti autant de plaisir. Et de passion. Je n'avais jamais fait ça avec quelqu'un de son gabarit, non plus, une telle caverne buccale, et surtout sa puissante et énorme langue. Nous restâmes un long moment à nous sourire, puis Eric me reposa à terre. Mais un peu plus loin devant lui. Parce que, je parlais de ses proportions, et bien évidemment, mon géant possède également un pénis d'une taille conséquente. J'avais déjà pu l'apercevoir, à quelques reprises, mais de toutes façons, il n'y a pas de pantalon, ni de short, sans parler de maillot de bain, qui puisse ne serait-ce que tenter de dissimuler la taille de la bête, donc, oui, voilà, le très grand monsieur avec plein de testostérone il a une grosse bite. J'avais déjà, aussi, de temps en temps, été témoin de la montée en puissance de l'engin. Quand on se fait un petit câlin dans le canapé devant la télé, quand il me laisse jouer avec ses muscles, quand je lui applique ses crèmes, des fois quand la couverture de son lit est relevée le matin, ce genre de choses. C'était rapidement impressionnant. Enfin c'était déjà impressionnant au départ, mais manifestement, la prise d'ampleur de la chose laissait supposer un potentiel assez remarquable. Donc une fois sur le sol je fus confronté au spectacle de son chibre en pleine lutte, fermement décidé à faire exploser le short de mon homme, et c'est à ce moment que je pris pleinement conscience des dimensions que sa verge pouvait atteindre en érection, elle ne devait pas être bien loin de son expansion optimale, bien que le short en jean l'empêchait de s'ériger pleinement et la maintenait à une distance raisonnable de son bassin. Putain quel homme. J'avais l'impression de voir une veine battre à travers la toile. Je n'étais pas sûr qu'il ait réellement conscience de ce qui était en train de se produire en deçà de la prodigieuse opulence de son poitrail. " Ca va ?" je lui dis. " J'ai mal au zizi." Ce qui répond à mes deux questions. " Pense à une femme, ça ira mieux. - Femme ? - N'importe laquelle." Et, effectivement, ça allait mieux quelque temps après. Eric avait l'air soucieux. " Eric, tu penses quoi. - ... - Dis-moi Eric. - Toi, moi, pédales. - Non. -... homosessuels. - Arrête, quel besoin de dire ça. Je t'aime plus que tout au monde, tu m'aimes plus que tout au monde, on partage tout, il n'y a pas de mal à se faire du bien. -... - Et ça ne regarde que nous. Personne n'a besoin de savoir." Dix minutes après, on était sur la route de la plage, il semblait avoir tout oublié.Il faisait éclater son sourire au soleil impatient de se mettre torse nu, en slip, de sentir les rayons du soleil sur son corps majestueux, et les regards de la foule alentour. Moi, j'étais surtout impatient de pouvoir enduire son corps d'huile, en me délectant à mon tour de ces regards derrière mes lunettes de soleil, cherchant ceux qui enragent d'envie le plus, se bavent dessus, se désagrègent en voyant la chance incroyable qui est la mienne. Deux fois un gars, et une fois une meuf sont venus demander s'il y avait moyen de prendre le relais et finir d'étaler l'huile. Eric réagit assez agressivement dans ces cas là.Il est un peu parano avec ce qui vient de l'extérieur et il ne fait pas dans la dentelle pour envoyer chier les gens. Par rapport à ce que je disais tout à l'heure, clairement sur la plage on avait tout d'un couple gay. Le badigeonner, batifoler dans l'eau avec lui, le sécher, ce n'était pas rare même qu'il me tienne par la main ou qu'il ait un bras sur mes épaules alors que nous repartions. Bizarrement, personne ne nous a jamais fait de réflexion homophobe à la plage. Ma théorie est que, il peut y en avoir des grandes gueules dans les stations essence et les files de caisse au supermarché, mais bizarrement, personne n'avait envie de venir nous insulter quand Eric quasiment nu exhibe sa surpuissante musculature dans toute sa gloire, personne n'ose approcher le colosse bardé de gigantesques muscles hypertrophiés à l’extrême qui débordent de partout. Une fois un trou du cul a voulu nous emmerder, je ne sais plus pourquoi, ils avait reçu de l'eau je crois. Oui c'est ça, le gars faisait un pique nique à côté avec sa femme et ses gosses, il regardait Eric de travers depuis qu'on était arrivés - si le gars voulait se prendre pour un alpha, c'est clair qu'avec deux cent kilos de testostérone à côté c'était pas gagné - et quand Eric est revenu de sa baignade il s'est ébroué, il avait ses cheveux blonds mi-long à cette époque, donc le gars se plaignait d'avoir été mouillé. Eric s'est avancé vers lui. Il s'est penché pour ramasser une pastèque qu'ils avaient posé pour leur pique-nique, d'une seule main, parce que comme je disais Eric il a des putain de paluches, et il a refermé sa main, et la pastèque a explosé en mille morceaux, il est allé s'allonger sur notre serviette, et le gars a remballé ses affaires et sa marmaille et ils se sont barrés. Il était arrivé un autre truc aussi, ça je ne l'ai jamais raconté à Eric, c'était en partant, sur le parking, un type bien sapé m'a accosté discrètement, et m'a demandé combien mon bodybuilder coûtait à la location, ce qu'il faisait ou pas, etc. Le bonheur de lui dire "Non, non, c'est mon copain. On est en couple tous les deux." Cette tête qu'il a fait. Il était sur le cul. Il n'y croyait pas. Et Eric à la voiture m'a appelé. "Hervé! J'ai faim!" et j'ai laisse l'autre sur deux ronds de flan an allant retrouver mon homme. On est rentré, on s'est posé, je lui ai fait à manger, je l'ai servi, il était content, il est passé à la cave soulever de la fonte une petite heure, je l'ai aidé à faire ses injections du soir, et on s'est posé dans le canapé mater une connerie. Eric était tout contre moi, comme d'habitude, mais je le trouvais un peu plus câlin qu'à l'accoutumée. Et plus la soirée avançait, plus il l'était. Je nous ai servi un petit fond d'armagnac, puis deux, puis trois. Eric ne boit jamais normalement, mais là il s'est laissé faire. Forcément, il était très vite bourré. Et il a commencé à me faire des petits bisous dans le cou. Je n'ai pas poussé au vice, mais je l'ai laissé faire, et quand il a commencé à piquer du nez, j'ai coupé la télé pour qu'on aille se coucher. Il était bien sonné le Eric. Et au moment de se coucher, il me " Hervé. - Oui Eric. - Je t'aime. - Moi aussi je t'aime Eric, je t'aime de tout mon cœur. - Oui, très très fort. - Tu as passé une bonne journée mon Eric? - Oui Hervé, merci Hervé. - Merci à toi Eric, j'ai passé une journée formidable, parce que c'était une journée avec toi mon amour. - Hervé, viens s'il te plaît. - Mais je suis là. - Hervé, debout, viens s'il te plaît." Je me lève, et j'admire la débauche de muscle étalée sur ce lit, ses grands pieds qui dépassent, et je vois dans son regard, briller une teinte de bleu inhabituelle. "Viens Hervé. - Quoi Eric, tu veux que je vienne dans ton lit ? - S'il te plaît Hervé. - Mais je ne sais pas s'il y a assez de place pour nous deux. - Viens, dessus." Je mis un genou sur son matelas, essayai de m'allonger sur le bord, et il me prit dans ses bras pour me serrer contre lui. C'était bon. C'était chaud. C'était tendre. J'adore son odeur. Il me serre plus fort. Je sens son cœur battre. Je me sens bête de l'avoir fait boire. " Mon Eric que j'aime, on va dormir maintenant? - Non. - Et pourquoi ? - J'ai mal au zizi."
  6. Something new for all you gorgeous people to read! This one's shaping up to be pretty schmoopy, fyi. It was spawned by a couple of really different songs getting thrown together while doing Cardio. I'm linking them and a visual aid for anyone who likes to see the inspiration side of things before they start reading. Also, another thank you is owed to Dredlifter for helping me iron out some numbers. First Song - Falling Slowly https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gQvwXbvs5GY Second Song - Confident https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwLRQn61oUY And the T-Shirt https://www.teeturtle.com/products/gym-unicorn?variant=1540111073289 Enjoy. FORTUNE FAVOURS... Cas watched TJ warily in the gym mirror. The asshole behemoth had been eyeing him and Karen since they arrived. He had his usual band of cronies working out with him but today there was a new face added to the mix. TJ kept leaning down, way down to speak in his ear like he was giving some sort of direction. New Guy finally looked over and made eye contact in the mirror. Cas shivered and immediately dropped his gaze to the floor – the guy was fucking perfect! He snuck a look back up in the mirror to see New Guy nodding slowly to TJ before he started to swagger across the gym. “Incoming, Karen....” She pushed her blue-black hair out of her eyes and glanced over her shoulder before pushing out a final rep on the leg press. “Well fuck. How did he even figure out what time we'd be here?” Normally TJ followed a pretty strict schedule. With a little unofficial help from the staff, Cas and Karen had been able to schedule their own workouts for times when he wouldn't be there at all. Today TJ had thrown them for a loop – they came in well after he would have normally departed but he was still here with his counsel of sycophants scurrying about his massive frame. Cas watched the twink's approach. Well, that probably wasn't fair – New Guy was pretty damn built, more like a twunk, maybe. Ash blonde hair was playfully mussed at the front, a tuft of it standing straight up. Grey eyes stared out below fuller brows that arched up to prevent him from having a permanent cro-magnan scowl. He was a little scruffy but Cas could still see the square definition of his jawline before it tapered to the chin. He had a slightly upturned nose that lent his symmetrical face the slightest hint of a feline quality. He was achingly handsome and Cas felt a tingle of desire twinge through his body. It was like TJ had gone out of his way to find someone who would be as attractive to Cas's tastes as possible. New Guy was almost to them. "Fuck, he's seriously built...." Definitely thicker than a twunk. It was his height that made him seem smaller than he was. Cas estimated himself to have about a six-inch advantage. Karen was on her feet now, also appraising his approach. “Shit, Cas. This one's very easy on the eyes. And damn he fills out that racer tank in the best way. If he hasn't absorbed too much of TJ's douchebagliness, maybe he can be saved? How much do you want to bet that he mentions your shirt?” Karen looked over at Cas and grinned mischievously. The sight was decidedly unnerving. There was something about a woman who looked like she could bench press Buick smiling wickedly that could rattle anyone. “But you told me you love this shirt?” Cas started defensively. “That shirt is fucking amazing. Doesn't mean he isn't going to mention it. Five bucks?” “It's a lousy bet and we both know it. How 'bout we just give you the win and I'll bring you cookies next time I make some?” "Done. Let me know if you need me?" And with that, she moved off to more leg work nearby, earphones off and listening. “I'm sure I'll be fi-” “Hey.” Damn, Cas had turned to keep talking to Karen and lost track of how close New Guy was. Of course his voice would be misleadingly deep for his size. It was a low, rich tenor, just a smidgen above a bass. Cas felt his balls draw up tight in response to the vibration. His bottom lip hinged open and he stared slack-jawed at the person before him. Karen was not wrong – his chest and back completely stretched out his tank top. Well developed delts and traps topped off the look with the barest tease of his serrati disappearing into the shirt down each side. The dense spread of blond hair across his pecs was trimmed but not shaved. Same thing under the arms, but, as Cas's gaze involuntarily lowered, not the legs. Interesting.... “Uh, Hello?” New guy tried his greeting again, this time paired with a confident smirk in response to Cas's less-than-subtle ogling. “Sorry, sorry – Hi?” Cas couldn't stop himself from blushing scarlet. “I just came over here to say that I, um, really like your shirt...?” Karen snorted in the background. “That sounded like a question. You sure that's why you're over here?” Cas gave a pointed stare at TJ across the gym. New Guy turned his head to follow the look. TJ just stood there, watching patiently with a malicious stare – his blue eyes chips of ice from across the room. Cas shivered at the hate in the look. New Guy noticed the shiver as he turned back. “Just... just ignore him.” “It's... complicated.” “I'm sure it is. Any more complicated than why you decided to wear a shirt that has a buff, dead-lifting unicorn with a rainbow, mohawk mane to a gym in a small, conservative city?” New Guy took another step closer so they were barely 6 inches apart. “There is nothing wrong with my shirt. It's a dead-lifting unicorn, where the hell else am I supposed to wear it?” Cas hissed out through his teeth and tiptoed closer trying to intimidate New Guy. New Guy didn't rise to the bait. He just widened his stance, rolled his broad shoulders back distractingly and kept eye-contact with Cas. “I didn't say there was. It's ballsy. I like it.” “Oh... um...” Cas deflated immediately and shuffled backward. This was...unexpected. “Hey, you don't have to- Fuck this posturing bullshit. I'm Blake.” New guy held out his hand at what he hoped was a non-offensive distance. Cas reached out and shook it, grateful for the offer. “Cas.” For a shorter guy, Blake's hand dwarfed his in thickness. Sure, Cas's hand was a bit longer, but the strength in the breadth of Blake's palm could easily crush his if he wanted. Blake eyed the guy shaking his hand quickly. He had looked so confident laughing and joking with that woman from across the gym. He was taller than he looked – lean and athletic upper torso tapering to a lean waist. Blake could see the obvious curve of his ass through the pants but couldn't tell much else about his legs. High cheekbones highlighted his oval-shaped face capped with playfully tousled toffee-brown hair. His eyes were a vibrant green set evenly beneath what had to be shaped brows. A narrow, refined nose split the face evenly with full lips below that would be perfect for giving... a lot. Blake turned away to surreptitiously adjust himself a bit as he halted his thoughts before he got fully hard in his workout shorts. “Just Cas? Or is it short for something else?” “You sure ask a lot of questions, Blake?” “How else am I supposed to get to know you?” Why was this guy so defensive? “What did TJ send you over here to do?” “Well...um....” Blake knew this was a bad idea. Why did he agree to this? Cas saw the look of confusion flit across Blake's face. “Caspian. Cas is short for Caspian.” The revelation emboldened Blake. “He wanted me to challenge you to some sort of lift competition? I just kinda smiled and nodded and hoped I'd be able to work out what he really wanted once I got over here and started talking to you. He gave me this free workout drink to do it. I'm supposed to get the other part to after I, um, blow you away and win. He's kind of a creepy asshole, actually. He kept going on about how he was finally going to be the one to teach you something? I figured I didn't have a lot to lose – I don't really know anyone at this gym yet. It's a great ice-breaker, in here anyway, showing off a bit without being an ass and maybe find a work out partner. Besides, it's not like you'd be able to lift as heavy as I can, right?” Blake finished with what he hoped was a cocky yet endearing grin. “I'm sorry, what was that last part?” Cas had a plan forming in his mind. “TJ kinda led me to believe you'd be, well, smaller than me.” Cas quirked an eyebrow at that. “And even though you're not exactly small, there's no way you could ever lift as much as these guns!” Blake brought his arms up and flexed, hard balls of muscle popping up and filling the space above his arms. They were impressive on his frame – probably 15 inches cold. “Did he say what you were supposed to win?” “Something about you wearing the little blue devil and proving it to me and to him at the gym. Does that make any sense to you?” “He told you to ask for that?! Are you sure?” “Pretty sure. He made me repeat it before I got this drink.” Blake started to lift it up to his mouth to take a swig but Cas reached out and touched his elbow lightly, leaning in to whisper. “Don't drink it, Blake. Keep raising it to your mouth and pretend to drink but whatever you do, don't actually put it in you. And don't let TJ know that you aren't slugging it back. TJ has a number of...questionable hobbies. One of them is amateur...biochemistry, you might say.” Cas stepped back and looked around for Karen. They were probably going to need help for what he had in mind. "I'm sorry? Are you saying that this is some kind of...experiment for him?" Blake stared at the unnaturally scarlet liquid in his shaker cup. “Do you really know TJ outside of the gym, Blake?” “Uh, no. And I only joined like a week-and-a-half ago. I was using the gym on the college campus before I started my practical placement. What's the deal with you two? You looked really on edge earlier when you first looked over at him and now you're acting weird again....” “I just need to find my friend, the woman I was with before. I'll be right back, okay?” “Uh yeah? I'll just wait here?” “Perfect.” Cas practically bolted toward the cardio machines. After legs, Karen usually cooled down on a treadmill. He found her on her favourite one and led her back to Blake, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Hey Kid, hear you're going to challenge Caspian to some lifts?” Karen smirked as she drawled out Cas's full name. “Um, that's right, Ma'am?” Karen raised an eyebrow at getting Ma'am-ed. “Er, Miss? Do you... prefer Ms. maybe?” Karen burst out laughing as Blake floundered. “What's the matter, Kid? Haven't you ever seen a woman who lifts?” “Er, nooo...” Blake raised his shaker cup and almost forgot to only pretend to take a drink. “It's Karen, Kid. And don't really drink that shit – it's toxic as hell if it's from TJ.” She took a swig of water. "So here's the deal, Karen," Cas started. "TJ asked Blake here to challenge me, defeat me handily, and as his prize, I was to wear the little blue devil to the gym in order to prove it to Blake and TJ." Karen choked on her water. “He wants that?! Oh Kid, what the hell did you do to piss TJ off?” “My. Name. Isn't. Kid.... It's Blake. And what the hell is this blue devil thing? Why is it so important?” Cas leaned in conspiratorially and brought up a picture on his phone. Blake sputtered and his ears flushed bright pink. “He wants me to make you wear an ass plug?! Wait, does that thing actually fit in your ass?” Several people looked over at the trio strangely. “Say it a bit louder, Blake,” Caspian whispered. “I think there's a deaf woman in the tanning room who didn't hear you.” He stepped back and looked over Karen and Blake before continuing. “So, if you win, that's what you're going to get from me. I can guarantee TJ will bring his posse in on it and you probably won't be getting out of here without having your own forced blue devil experience.” “TJ is so sick. Sick and wrong. Why can't I just go over there and call him out? You know the management has just been looking for a reason....” Karen was livid. “Guys, I just met you. This is a little...heavy. Is he really going to get away with this?” Blake was looking green. “Hell no. You're not going to win.” “What!?” “You're not going to win....” “How the fuck are you going to do that!? I mean, you're in great shape and all, but I'm pretty sure the advantage is mine.” Blake puffed up. He wanted to help Cas out but he didn't want to be shown up in public by someone so...slim.... “Kid – shit, sorry - Blake, you don't know what you're in for.” Karen caught on to where Cas was going with his plan after hearing Blake's self-aggrandizing. “Did TJ tell you what he wanted you to beat me at?” Cas grinned widely down at Blake. “He...no, he didn't....” “That just convinces me he wanted to get back at you for something. Here's the wager, if you win, TJ ravages our asses against our will. If I win, you have to attend a HIIT class with me tomorrow morning and let me take you to brunch. Deal?” “I'm sorry, are you saying that if I win we throw ourselves at TJ's mercy but if you win, I'm the one who gets free food?” “And you have to attend the class.” “Pffft, it's a fitness class. I'll be fine.” “Do we have a deal?” “Fine, whatever. We have a deal.” “Karen. You get to be our neutral witness. Not even TJ will argue with you.” “Oh Blake, you're in for a ride today.... You doing what I think you're doing, Cas?” “Yup. Blake, you're challenging me to standing calf raises. Working set of 8.” “What?!” “You look like you don't skip leg day so it shouldn't be a complete blow out for you.” “Calf raises?” Blake was still stupefied as Cas led him over to the machine. “C'mon Blake. You should warm up.” Cas started to adjust the pads for Blake's height and then stopped himself. That was going to involve way more physical contact than someone like Blake would probably want from him. “You should, um adjust the machine for yourself....” “Are we seriously doing standing calf-raises?! Who the fuck tests themselves with calf-raises?” A couple of machines over, one of TJ's lackeys overheard the comment and started snickering. Blake blushed deeply, a tight coil of anger gathered in the pit of his stomach. “Fuck them, let's do this. I hope you know what you're doing, Caspian.” He lowered the shoulder pads and popped the pin down to 250 lbs and blew through 8 quick reps. "Nice, Blake! Did you even feel that? And starting at 250 will help make sure TJ gets the drawn-out show he thought he wanted. Just let me get the pads up." Cas slid into the machine and smoothly cranked out a warm-up set. Blake watched him lower the pin to 300. That wasn't too much below what Blake used as a working set. "All ready for you. Pin should be set too." Blake stepped in and started to push up, but something felt off. The shoulder pads weren't sitting where they should. They were too high. He shot Cas a glare, who stood there making the least convincing innocent face in the history of pranks. “Nice, Caspian. 'Cause that hasn't been done to me since high school. How tall are you anyway – you've got to be at least 6 feet if you need to raise it that much more than my 5 feet, 6.5 inches." Blake lowered the pads a bit more. Cas looked from him to Karen, who looked back at Blake and slowly shook her head. “Blake, who told you that you're – aw Fuck - it was TJ wasn't it?” Cas was fuming – this was a new low. “Uh, yeah. Said his drink could make me at least an inch taller in a week, just like it bumped him up to 6 feet, 5 inches....” “I'm not 6 feet tall. I might squeak by at 5 feet, 11 inches. Karen's 5 feet, 4 inches and you don't have almost three inches on her....” Blake looked over at Karen. His eyes were above hers by about an inch, but if she was only 5' 4”.... He tried to stop the tears of anger from welling up in his eyes. Simultaneously, both Cas and Karen reached out to touch his shoulders but he shrugged them off and stepped into the machine. “I'm going to fucking kill him. He is such an asshole!” Karen started to march off but Cas grabbed her shoulder. “Just wait. He'll get his without you having to go murder anyone. Blake, you good?” "Yup. Apparently, I'm still... 5 feet fucking 5 inches and...just fucking... fine...." He started slowly lifting himself up and down. “Hey, tell me about your favourite breakfast food? Pancakes? No – it has to be waffles. You totally look like you're into waffles.” Cas approached the machine taking care not to make physical contact with Blake. Blake finished his set without answering and just stared at the machine. “I bet someone as built as you are - like a stacked tank - can pack away tonnes of food, right?” When in doubt, appeal to the straight man's sense of masculinity. It managed to get a small smile out of Blake, but was he straight? “You have no idea, Cas. I'm going to cost you so much money with breakfast tomorrow. I'm going to eat so much – you're going to help me get even more massive.” Blake's small smile widened as he described the vast quantities of food he would consume. “You're up.” “You okay if I up the ante to speed this along? I think it may have been a bad idea to try and give TJ a show.” “Absolutely. He deserves nothing from us. I'm a little lost about why you decided to go along with this whole thing that he set up anyway. You clearly don't like him and I've put together that he probably doesn't like you so much either. Which is weird, because every time I met up with him, he was always talking about you.” “It's complicated.” “Yeah, you said that earlier....” Blake trailed off mid-sentence, obviously trying to cue Cas to jump in at any time. "Have you ever had someone do things to you over and over and over that you couldn't stop because they were just too strong, too big, too powerful, too whatever for you to deal with? And eventually, you resign yourself to just go along with certain things to avoid making it worse on yourself? To avoid the struggle, because the struggle always ends up with you losing and making things worse for yourself?” “I can't say that I've ever really experienced it....” Blake started to look distinctly uncomfortable with where Cas might be going. “But you can follow the train of thought?” “A bit, I guess. Kinda sounds a little... rough, actually.” “Yeah...you could say that....I-” Cas stopped himself and sighed. This wasn't the time or place; he could not have this conversation here. “...Cas...?” Karen's hand reached out and made the faintest contact with his elbow. Blake watched them look at each other silently. Without exchanging a single word, he saw the tension bleed out of Caspian with that single, gossamer touch from his friend. Hearing Cas speak, seeing him fight to get the words out.... Blake wasn't stupid. He knew where the train of thought led. It woke something inside him, not quite a righteous anger, but a desire to make things different, to show Cas that he was stronger than he gave himself credit for. “Let's just say it's like that, okay? I don't want to give TJ any reason to do anything and so I'm going along with this little charade of his. Besides, if I hadn't, you and I might not have really met, right?” Cas tried to lighten the mood. This was way too serious. “Well if you put it that way, I am pretty amazing....” Blake couldn't resist bringing his arms up behind his head and flexing them while he flared out his shoulders and upper back. The look of raw, naked awe and desire Cas gave him fuelled whatever was awakening within him. He wanted so much more of that look. He wanted so much more than five paltry minutes of feigned intimacy with this person. Caspian discerned a change in Blake's expression, a glint of something he couldn't identify. Shaking off his own emotions he broke the gaze and looked back at the machine. "Brilliant then. Let's finish this." Cas lowered the pin to 350 and adjusted the pads, taking special care to actually mark what height Blake needed. He cranked out the set without breaking a sweat. Blake gaped at how easy Cas did the warm-up set. “You're still warming up at 350?” It was Cas's turn to blush a bit as he lowered the pads. “....yeah.... Um, maybe you should just go for your max...?” Blake gulped and stepped into the machine. He liked leg day... mostly. He didn't skip it at least. How could this ...twig, well relative to him anyway, outperform him on any lift? He dropped the pin to 400 and took a deep breath. It was one plate more than he had worked with last week – he could do this! He made it to three before he started to struggle. Four and five burned but were workable. Six... six was rough. Seven...he felt the weight move up the slightest bit before he had to lower it. “Nice job, Ki-Blake. I'll give you your seven.” Karen clapped him on the back. She was being generous and he knew it. “Fuck. TJ's starting to make his way over. I'll try to make this quick, but it might get ugly, Blake.” Cas raised the pads and did four quick lifts and then stopped and lowered the pin to 500 even. Blake's jaw fell open as he watched Cas work through his complete set. At least this time it looked like he had to work for it a little. “Can he actually max the machine?” Blake's gaze didn't leave Cas's curvaceous ass methodically rising up and down in steady, controlled motion. “Probably.” Karen crossed her arms and widened her stance in preparation for TJ's arrival with his henchmen. “He's stopping at 500 so I can save some face, isn't he?” “Yuuup. Cas is usually a pretty good kid.” “Finally, he gets Kidded.” Karen snorted. “Kid, everyone's 'kid' to me. Except TJ and his crew – they're just assholes.” “Is he... How...old-” Blake leaned in close to ask but Karen saved him from having to say it. “25. But you didn't hear it from me.” She spoke low enough for only Blake to hear before calling out as Cas finished his set, “And that's a set of 8 at 500 for Caspian. You want to try it, Blake?” “Hell no. I, uh, have to survive a HIIT class tomorrow now and find something clean to wear for breakfast....” Cas stepped out of the machine just as TJ finished his lumbering approach. Blake watched Cas's body tense. He raised himself up onto the balls of his feet as if he were expecting to run or kick. He clenched his hands tight but not into fists. Blake could see Cas's fingernails digging into his palms. Was he seriously going to make himself bleed? Could he be that angry? And then Cas shot a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Blake and Karen were with him. His eyes were wide with fear, pupils dilated in preparation of a flight response. Despite his anxiety, he still managed to turn back to the object of his terror and stand his ground as TJ sneered down at him. Blake cursed under his breath and started toward Caspian. Karen quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him from rushing in before Cas had a chance to stand up for himself. “Queer.” The voice sounded reedy, petulant. A sharp contrast to the hulking exterior. Dark hair and a solid brow line scowled over emotionless blue eyes. A grim slash of a mouth barely opened when he talked. He could someday, possibly even be handsome if he bothered taking care of himself or took the time to smile occasionally. “TJ.” Cas returned icily. “Anything I can help you with?” “Just coming over to see how your little competition went. Calf-raises huh? Can't say I'm really surprised that someone as pitiful as you would pick something like that, Cassie.” He rested a hand on the machine and leaned down into Cas, trying his best to force him into giving ground. Blake was having none of it. He broke from Karen and deftly interposed himself between Cas and TJ's looming form. Sure, Cas was tall enough that TJ still had a clear shot at his face, but if he tried it, he'd have to leave his abdomen open to whatever Blake wanted to dish out. Blake shoved his shaker cup up at TJ's chest. Hard. The unexpected movement caught TJ off guard and he stumbled back a step. Blake felt Cas slowly let out the breath he had been holding. “It went pretty well, all things considered, big fella.” Blake kept his voice steady, neutral. “I did get my ass handed to me though, so there won't be any blue devil in your immediate future. I guess you'll have to have one of your 'friends' help you out with that instead.” TJ's eyes narrowed. "Oh, and I won't need that drink you offered me after all. Looks like I didn't have the stomach for the first bit. How about you keep my shaker cup, eh? It's the least I could do for all the assistance you gave me showing me around this week and helping me figure out who to avoid.” “Careful, shortstack. Pretty sure you're making a mistake right now.” “Nah. No mistake. But thanks. So Much. For coming over. To say goodbye.” Blake laid it on thick at the end. A moment of tense silence settled between them before TJ finally spoke. “That's... cool.... We were just about to head out anyway. Take care, ladies.” His inflection ensured not a single person felt anything was 'cool.' TJ pushed against Blake as he made his way past the trio and toward the door. The couple of hangers-on scampered after him looking more like animated caricatures than actual people. Just as he reached the corner Cas called out. “Blake was telling me about your problem with accurately measuring your height, TJ. If you ever need someone to help you buy shoes with even thicker soles than those ones so you can actually hit 6'4,” give me a call. I'd love to help you deal with your insecurity.” TJ stopped for a moment but didn't turn around. His two underlings failed to notice and collided with his broad back. Muttering apologies to TJ, they all awkwardly started toward the exit again. "Well, you two little shits were in fine form. Did you feed each other fistfuls of sass pills while you were flirting earlier?" Karen barely managed to keep a straight face. Blake shook himself out while Cas tried to control his breathing. "Thanks, guys. And Blake, you didn't have to do that, stepping in front of me. It was a stupidly brave, kind gesture and really appreciated but you could have gotten yourself killed or worse what if he had actu-" “Hey.” Blake raised a hand up to Cas's shoulder to snap him out of his rant. “If I didn't want to be there, I wouldn't have put myself there. I'll do it any time and every time....” He looked as if he was going to say something else but instead suddenly blurted,” I, um, have to get out of here. Now. To go do some laundry so I have something that doesn't make me look like a hobo for tomorrow. What time's the class?” "7:30 am. Lasts about 45 minutes. Don't wear loose boxers. See you then?" “Without a doubt.” Blake gave them one final bi flex before making his way toward the men's locker room with an overhead wave. Karen and Cas watched him leave in silence. “You manage to figure out if he likes you yet?” Karen crossed her arms again. “I had, like, five minutes. Five. What do think I said, Nice shoes, wanna fuck?” “From you? Yeah.” “Oh my god. I hate you so much right now.” “Nah you don't. He know you're teaching the class tomorrow?” “Not a chance.” “Smooth. Sure that'll be fun. Maybe I'll show up to see his face.” “No you won't – you won't even be out of bed until after 9:00 am.” “Nooope.” Karen grinned and then looked at Cas expectantly. “Well?” "Well, what?" All Cas could think about was how the hell he was going to patch together a workout when all he could think about was Blake's smile and his biceps and the perfect pattern of shorn hair on his mammoth chest.... “Aren't you going to follow him?” “Like, right now?” “Yes, now! Go.” With a playful shove from Karen, Cas tried to keep from tripping over his own feet as he hurried toward the locker room.
  7. For your reading pleasure. Thanks for being an awesome space. “You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.” The thought runs through my head like a mantra as I climb the stairs. I find myself at the door to his loft before I realize I'm there. I clench my fingers into a fist in a final effort to steel myself and raise my hand to knock. The door rattles noisily as it slides open. His eyes widen in surprise at my hand in front of his face, still poised to rap on the door. “Whoa – that was quick. People don't usually make it up the four flights that fast.” I look at him and shrug, doing my best to act non-chalant. “What's wrong, out of breath?” He grins toothily at me and gestures to come in. “Not yet.” Well yes, but not from the stairs. Fucked if I was going to let on how he has me panting and terrified at the same time. Of course, he had answered the door in nothing but shorts. We were the same height at 5' 10”, probably even the same foot size, but everything else was different. He was clearly the bulkier one. His profile listed him at 175 but he looked a little bigger in person. He was carrying a little extra bulk from the winter but that did nothing to hide the thickly muscled core underneath. The dark hair dusted across his chest trailed down his abdomen thickening above those shorts that did everything to accentuate the reason we were here today. The fabric outlined the meaty shape of his dick so clearly, he had to be going commando. “This isn't going to be much fun if I'm the only one who's getting naked.” He slides the door shut behind me, audibly sliding the pin in to lock it. “I've got the heat cranked so we don't have to worry about any extra...shrinkage. Bathroom's to your left if you're shy to start.” I ditch my shoes and head left, closing the bathroom door most of the way behind me. I manage socks and pants first, only getting tangled in my own clothes once. I turn to face the mirror and start unbuttoning my shirt, getting halfway down before my hands start to tremble. Cursing inwardly I stare at my hands, willing them to stop while I slow my breathing to help focus. My head snaps up at the sound of wood creaking behind me. There he was, right arm raised and bent to brace himself in the doorway leading to his bedroom. I didn't even notice the other door in my distraction. He looks me over slowly, feet to head, finally making eye contact in the mirror and before approaching from behind. “Hey.” He turns me toward him and rests his forehead against mine. “Here..” He slowly grips my hands to steady them. Together, we finish undoing the buttons. He pulls the shirt off my arms, hanging it off a door handle. It was unexpectedly intimate and incredibly kind. “Do you forget how to undress yourself often?” His smile colour the words softer than they would have been. “Well, no, I just-” Fuck. The heat rising in my cheeks means I'm blushing, something I don't do often. I hate blushing. “I may be a little nervous. You?” “Terrified.” “But you're not even-” “Home turf advantage” I groan. So corny. “And we both know I'm going to win.” “Oh, yeah?” I step back from him then, raising my gaze defiantly. “You remember the rules, right?” He steps back and crosses his arms. I swear he's flexing to make sure I notice the taught balls of muscle that swell. “Oh I remember, all right. Looks like someone's been hitting the stair-master to draw out the inevitable as much as possible.” I preen at the comment. Once we decided to get together and compare in-person instead of online, I had upped my cardio and tightened my diet. I had meant to drop the weight for a while and this real life meeting gave me the extra inspiration to finally do it. I was a lean 152 pounds now, down from the 160 my profile listed. A simple run over my lower body with clippers meant things everything was trim and neat. My upper body was bare until a triangular stripe of dark blonde flaring down below the navel. I also have the sense to wear briefs that flatter my average endowment in the front and really show off the work I put into my ass. “ I just wanted to accentuate the difference as much as possible, you know?” I'm smiling now, finally finding the vibe that prompted us to agree to this in the first place. “It. Worked.” At that he drops his shorts and steps out from them, fondling his sack gently after he does. About four and a half inches flaccid, his ample cock is forced forward to drape over his thick, heavy sack. The balls are a quite a bit tighter against him than I'm used to seeing them on cam; maybe he was telling the truth about being nervous. I raise an eyebrow at him and hook my thumbs in the band of my briefs. Slowly drawing them down, I watch his eyes widen as the material cleared my soft cock. His lips part slightly and his breath hitches as I finish sliding them over my feet and stand up for him to appraise. I barely clear three inches soft. It looks bigger because I took the time to trim, but a quick glance down at himself re-affirms that, while I'm almost textbook average, he, quite clearly, is more. Hips forward, he takes an involuntary step toward me, ready to compare the two together. Blood is already starting to redirect itself toward his thickening member. I clear my throat and he steps back again, imploring me with his eyes. “The Rules, remember?” “But we could just-” he starts to protest. “Trust me?” He sighs and nods before turning around to lead me through his bedroom and back into the open space of the loft. The furniture is all moved to the sides and a large mat covers the empty floor. He has the shades drawn down so the neighbours won't be getting a free show. Every light is on, lending the space a garish arena-like feel. I make special note of the island counter that separates kitchen area from the rest of the space – it could be of special use later, depending on exactly how this night plays out. “Wow. Do I even want to know why you happen to have a wrestling mat this size? Where would you even keep this?” That gets a chuckle but he stops just past the bedroom door and gestures with his chin to the other side of the room. I pad past him to turn to face him, legs bent and ready to spring. “That's quite the bed you just led me by. Pretty big, even for you, isn't it.” I smirk to drive the barb home. “Custom-order.” His voice is a little rougher now. We're both almost ready for the chase. “Guess you need something custom to hold the gigantic fucking weight of your sack. I mean, really, are you even strong enough to lift that thing up when you have to take a piss? I think you might have to start doing some extra curls to handle it.” We're quickly heading full dark, no stars now; just our symbiotic kinks centred on his glorious endowment. He quickly rises to the bait. Literally. His cock rapidly approaches full mast, the skin stretching tight around the tip. It's so damn pretty. He glares and crouches down a bit to lunge at me. He gets a bit of a glazed look, clearly plotting what he's going to do if he fully wins. To win though, he has to catch and pin me first. His lip curl into a sneer and he bonafide growls at me,”I. Am going. To own. You.” “You bet your sweet fucking ass you are.” The words come out as a taunt, even though I'm already saluting his victory. It's on then. The temperature in the space rises noticeably as the chase begins. He isn't slow, but he doesn't stand a chance with all the cardio I've put in. Leg day is my favourite and, while I might not squat several hundred pounds, I have put in more than enough hours to add quite a bit of extra bounce to my step. I only have to outpace him for ten minutes for me to be the one to choose how I get to worship him tonight. I tease him through every sprint, every jump, every panting breath. He tries to banter back about my inadequacy but, really, we're here to 'talk' about him and we both know it. “Careful you don't throw out a hip with that thing!” “Awww, is your big thick dick slowing you down? Too much resistance keeping you from getting enough speed to catch me?” “Shut. Up. Pissant.” “Muffin.” Like that's going to happen. The rules specify he wants to know how big he is and for me to mock him about it. I'm not about to forfeit any time soon. The whole experience is like a football drill crossed with an intense zumba class all from somewhere in special-hell. We're both covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing hard from the constant exertion. He went flaccid right after the start – all the movement quickly solving any erection distraction problems that may have occurred. The flopping up, down, and side-to-side of his endowment could be comical if it wasn't so mesmerizing. We're closing on six minutes now – maybe I'm better at this than I thought? “Does any body else hear a helicopter? I swear I hear a helicopter....” Past eight minutes and approaching nine. The idea that I might call the shots is a little shocking. I had every expectation that I would lose. “What kind of host are you, leaving your mammoth cock out on the floor like that? Shouldn't that be draped on a couch before I trip on it or something?” And then 'or something' happens – kind of. I technically trip. There's a sensation of my foot connecting with something warm, soft, and heavy but when I look, there is nothing there. I tumble face-first to the mat, confused, and flip myself over onto my back. He's already there, looming over me with a face-splitting grin. He drops into full straddle and his splayed hand pushes hard on my chest, pinning me to the mat firmly. “Gotcha.” I squirm uselessly. “You have any other tricks to try or are you ready to call it?” I relax and then try a sudden lunge forward but he already anticipated that. He slams me back to the mat, this time pinning my shoulders down and keeping my legs from bracing against the floor for any leverage. I feel somewhat like a pretzel and seriously turned on. “You win.” He leaps to his feet instantly but with a hand extended to help me up as well. I gladly accept and the heady sensation of someone pulling me to my feet causes me to stumble against him. He catches me easily, holding my arms at my sides while keeping me flush against him. The heat of him is sublime, the aromas from our mutual exertion sending a lightning rod to my groin. We're the same height so it's awkward... for me. The weight of his larger equipment forces my struggling cock straight down. I try to wiggle out of his grip but he holds me still, mouth curled up in a slight smile. “Anything wrong?” “I can't, uh” “You can't what?” “I can't get it around....” “Oh? Does something have you pinned?” He's totally gloating. It makes me harder than I thought possible. “Hnnnhnn” “Maybe you need to do some curls.” “Dick curls? That's not a thing.” I was getting pretty desperate. “Bet you it is. What do you want to bet?” He sounds very confident, like he has a dick-curling-guideline page bookmarked on his laptop or something. “Or maybe we should make sure you stay the bigger man?” “I have no doubt about that. You ready for this?” “Fuck. Please?” I'm practically begging and he hears it. It's not like he's fully soft against me and he's starting to fill even more of the limited room down there. He finally lets me take the smallest step back, freeing my hard-on to spring up at it's full size, just brushing his skin. It's a pretty average five-and-a-half inches long and the same around. We both stare down as he expands freely between us now, his bigger rod gobbling up the new space. His bobbing cock knocks mine aside and under itself as he thickens and lengthens more, taking over the gap to accommodate its superiority. I can feel his slick tip straining against my skin - the sensation is sublime as his foreskin drags itself even wider around the head. “You might, mmmm, want to move back a bit. I'm not. Done. Yet.” He finally lets go of my arms and poses with them behind his head. His cock stretches inexorably toward me as it continues to increase in size. He has to be getting close to his full seven-and-a-half inches. He's wider than me as well and my smaller cock is totally eclipsed; I can only see it if I glance from the side. The moist tip makes contact with my pubic bone again and I can't help letting out a moan. I rock ever so slightly against it, sure that he's done but I'm wrong. It pulses back and widens just a bit more. I am absurdly close to cumming. “You were right about the Chase. I don't think I have ever been this hard. Your smart mouth might even make me harder than seven-and-a-half. What do think about that?” “Fuck. Me.” He smirks at that. Not like my response was unexpected. “If you're lucky. Guess I closed the gap...again. Fuck, just look at me.” And I do, of course. There is no denying my absolute worship as I take in the flexed frame of his arms, his heaving chest, the spectacular trail down his abs, and, finally, the monolithic main event pushing against me between his meaty quads. It's physically digging into my pelvis now, ever harder and precious like diamond. He flexes his hips just slightly against me and the unbelievable happens. I stumble back and fall on my ass. The view is godlike, looking up at him like this and I moan again. His eyes go glassy and wide with unbridled lust – he just knocked a person to the ground with the size and strength of his fucking manhood. His first volley catches us both by surprise. It launches over my head almost entirely, a little of the trailing end catches me on the cheek. My mouth reflexively opens wide in shock and anticipation. He grips his cock for the second volley – he has excellent aim and now I've presented him with with an obvious target. It splashes against my lips and into my open mouth. That's more than enough for me to release my own shot up at him. I spray against his legs a few times as he lets loose at me with the rest of what he's got. The third makes contact against my chin spilling upward into my mouth again. Number four and five paint my chest and torso. He pushes out a sixth load and soaks my balls and cock. Seven is finally a dribble but even that makes its way onto my left ankle and heel. “Wow.” He finally manages to pant out. “Yeah. Wow, alright.” I have to lick my lips and wipe my face clear before I'm able to reply. I slowly get to my feet and cup my softening dick in my hands. The smell of him is everywhere - I have never been so thoroughly and utterly marked. “Um, you need to get over here.” There's an edge of fear in his voice. “Hey, I'm right here.” I finish clearing what I can from my face as I come closer. “Good, 'cause you, uh, you need to see this....” He's still holding his hard cock firmly in one hand and it isn't softening. The head of it is pulsing, the skin drawn taught and engorged with blood. The pulsing isn't just that though. His dick swells more, inching it's way ever closer to me with each second. It broadens in his hand, forcing the fingers apart. He starts making a low keening sound in the back of his throat and his eyes begin to flutter like he's cumming again. I brace him by the shoulders as his cock spools out inhumanly between us – when is it going to stop? His body gives a final tremble and his eyes widen as he glances down. He now has more than twice the cock I do – it might be obscene if I wasn't so hard from it. He touches the tips of our cocks together and the size disparity is comically overwhelming. His face breaks out into the largest smile. “I don't know what you did, but thanks? Like the upgrade? Wanna touch it?” I barely get a finger on the fat, meaty shaft before I'm cumming again against his tip. It's more of a dribble this close to my last one but he takes the obvious appreciation in stride and pulls me for a hug. “I'll take that as a yes.” The hug is a little strange with his gigantic erection pressed up between us. It's only a momentary reprieve. We start to feel his dick pushing upward between us and rush to take a step apart. “Umm, you're not quite done yet?” And that's when I notice it. It isn't his cock getting bigger, it's him. His eyes have already risen so I'm looking just below them, then his nose comes into my line of sight, then my gaze falls to his mouth as he continues to grow, and then, at last the top of his chin fills my field of vision. I have to tilt my head back to see his eyes now. “Fuck. Yesssss.” He closes his eyes in bliss as his body starts to gain mass next. The winter bulk melts inward so his already significant muscle mass stands out sharper relief beneath a thinner layer of flesh. His traps rise up a bit and the delts round out significantly to cap his frame. His already ample chest broadens further and the serratus start to pop into view down the sides. The biceps swell into higher, broader peaks in balance to the horseshoe expansion of the triceps. His lats flare out deliciously down to the taper of his waist while his abdomen sculpts itself into a gorgeous six pack. His quads are even more corded now and the calves have a diamond pattern below the skin. The growth ebbs to a halt leaving him a comic-book super-porn version of the already attractive man he was. I reach out in wonder to turn him around but he tackles me to the floor without warning. He straddles me again, this time with his knees pinning down my shoulders. His new-and-improved mammoth tool finally softening directly in front of my face. “Kiss it.” Fuck did I want to. I close my eyes for what feels less than a second. Would that even be safe right now? What if he grew more, while on top of me? Would he just crush me into the floor? My panic must have been unmistakable because I hear his voice prompting me back to reality again, just like with the shirt before this began. “Hey, get out of your head. Open your eyes aaaaand, there you go. Not that tough, right? I don't think it'll bite. And really, you kissing my big dick is totally the kind of thing we've role-played online 500 times. Now there's just, more of it. So, here.” He leans down a bit to make it as easy as possible in my pinned state and my lips meet that gorgeous, swollen glans. The skin in scorching and salty. I tease the tip of it with my tongue milking out some remaining semen. He takes a sharp breath in and I feel his cock stretch into my mouth. He pulls back quickly and leans back on his haunches. “Easy there, I don't think we're ready for what might happen if you do that yet. You remember what I said earlier?” Huh?” I'm entranced by his heavy, pendulous endowment swaying with each movement. “Eyes up here.” He grips my jaw and moves my head so I look him in the face. “Who owns you?” “What?” This wasn't exactly my brightest moment. “I said, Who. Owns. You?” He's growling again. “You do. You won.” It was a theme we often used. My final submission to his superiority – thank fuck he wasn't an asshole. It seemed even more fitting now that he was, well, this new version of himself. “That's right, you're mine.” With that he leans back on his heels, grips my by the chest and stands up with me in his hands. “Hmm, that was easier than I thought.” “Easier than you....?” I limp over to the island to steady myself. “Did you even look at yourself to see what you look like?” “Not...really? It's not like there's a mirror in here or anything.” He's right of course, but shouldn't he have been able to see some of it? “Bathroom. Now.” I start toward the door without waiting to see if he follows. “Mmhmm?” “Stop weighing your junk from hand to hand like a slinky and come look at yourself.” “Yeah, but it's soooo heavy.” He shoots me the dopiest grin. “So's the rest of you.” “Is that a fat joke?” “Just get in here, you dork.” “Fine.” I hear his heavier footfalls approaching the door. He steps into the room and really looks at all of himself in the mirror. “Is that all me?” “Uh-huh.” “Holy fuck! Really?” “Well it sure as shit isn't me, so, yeah.” “That sass though. You sure that's such a great idea right now?” He flexes an arm into a curl in my direction, pitifully failing at a scowl. “Seriously? Get on your scale. We have to see this. Do you have a tape measure anywhere? Bedroom maybe?” He hustles to get on it, I have his full attention now with the numbers. “Right there, top drawer.” Of course he kept in his bathroom. I fish it out while he steps gingerly onto the scale. “I can't. Fuck. I'm...I'm 260 pounds....” “Mmmm. Sweet daddy fuckballs!” “Did you just say sweet daddy fuckballs?” “Shut. It. Stand straight against the wall.” He complies, silently for once. He's taller than I thought – this could be a bit of a challenge. “Need a stool?” He teases. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” I look around the room for something to make a mark with. “...Maybe.... I mean, I'm already this big so what's a bit more?” Bullseye! Tweezers would do to scratch the paint the tiniest bit. “Okay step out from the wall.” He hovers over me as I stretch the tape from the floor to my mark. I suck in an audible gasp. “Well, what is it?” I turn to look at him, shock and awe apparent. “Six feet, four inches.” His giant dick is coming to life now. “Holy fuck! That's like six inches more I was!” Up and out his member comes. Fuck that thing gets huge. “And 260 lbs.” Full on cock surge from him now. “That's like half a foot taller than you. And 110 pounds heavier.” He eyes me up and down, calculating something while he gently strokes himself harder. I am positive it will be something devious. I also don't fail to notice the switch from inches to feet to describe how much bigger he is than me. “I'm measuring that next, aren't I.” “Mmmhmm” He smirks and keeps stroking. I hold my breath as I do it. I don't think I would be able to stop fondling it if I were breathing normally. It was hot, thick, heavy, the skin blissfully silky to touch. Pulling the tape against it causes a final surge to its magnificent size. The flesh is unyielding as I wrap the tape around his giant fucking hard-on. It takes conscious effort to let out the breath I forget I was holding. I look up at him in full, mindless reverence. “You're 11 inches long and 7.8 inches around. I can't...I can't even....” He leans forward and grips my ass with his larger hand. Lifting me up onto my tip-toes so he doesn't have to lean down as much, he places his lips next to my ear to whisper. “I don't know what happened tonight but, you know what?” His voice is lower, throaty, indescribably sexy. I quiver at the sensation of the sound and breath against my ear. “Um, yes...no...I don't know?” Fuck. Words were not going well again. He was holding me so tight to himself that I felt the corners of his mouth raise into a smile. “I. Want. More.” I was so fucked. Was beyond so fucked because I knew what was coming next. “You want to help me get more, right?”
  8. spacevlad

    Away Game: Chapter 1

    Hey everybody! I got inspired and finally wrote this idea that I've been playing with in my head for years and years. Many of us have had those crushes in our youths that we just couldn't touch but always wanted to if only we could get in the right situation. For me, I had major crushes on some guys on the football team when I was in college, and I look back and wish I could have just touched them, if not more. This story is an attempt to explore that idea. Adam is a scrawny freshman kicker for a small college in Minnesota. The smallest guy on the team, he doesn't fit in real well and feels pretty awkward around the other, bigger players. On a road trip to an away game, Adam gets paired to room with Wyatt, the biggest offensive lineman on the team, a hulking senior. In chapter one, they get to know each other and Adam tries to control his desire in the tight space of their hotel bed. Adam lurched in his seat as the rickety old school bus trundled down a bumpy road somewhere in rural Minnesota. He was squeezed in next to the window beside one of the wide receivers as the bus sped north towards their away game. It wasn’t until tomorrow, but because it started at noon the team had decided to spend the night at a cheap hotel on Friday to make sure everyone was fresh. Adam was a scrawny freshmen, the backup kicker for a small liberal arts school that happened to have a pretty decent football program. They weren’t D1 or anything, but the team was still filled with athletes, guys who had done well in high school and were good enough to play in college. Most of the other guys on the team were big, 220lb+ and built, lean, fast, muscular, but Adam wasn’t really any of those things. Sure he could aim the ball with uncanny consistency, which had earned him a partial scholarship and all-state honorable mention last year, but Adam was not really athletic. Just 150lb and 5’7”, he was easily the smallest guy on the team and didn’t really feel like he fit in. The bus was hot and musty, and the weather was unseasonably warm and humid for September in Minnesota. The bus was filled to the brim with oversized college jock bros who were loudly talking, playing music, and carrying on. Adam tried to ignore it and pressed his headphones on a little tighter. Finally the bus pulled in to the parking lot of the crappy little hotel they would staying at for the night. It was already sunset outside, and everyone was eager to get off the bus but before they could, coach stood up and yelled for everyone’s attention. He explained that there were only 30 rooms to go around, so people were randomly assigned a roommate for the two nights they were staying. Adam gulped. He didn’t know most of the guys on the team and he still felt pretty insecure about being around so many other big guys he didn’t know. It didn’t help that he had a crush on one player in particular… “Adam!” Coach bellowed and Adam perked up in his seat. “You’re with Wyatt!” People chuckled and hollered at this, and Adam blushed. He turned to look and saw Wyatt looking back at him, grinning. Wyatt was the biggest guy on the team by far; pairing him and Adam together must have been some sort of sick cosmic joke. Adam sunk down in his chair as the rest of the team filed off the bus. Adam slumped his heavy bag down on the floor of the room as he filed in. He was carrying not only his normal luggage but also all his football gear. Admittedly his gear was lighter and smaller than most, but it was still a heavy load. He looked around the room and cringed. It was small and dingy, like it hadn’t been updated since the 80s, with an old TV and cramped bathroom. And… “One bed!?” Adam groaned to himself. There wasn’t much room on the floor to sleep either. Would he have to… share!? Suddenly a shadow engulfed Adam as the light from the doorway was blocked. He turned and Wyatt was filling up the entire doorway. Wyatt was a senior offensive lineman and easily the biggest guy on the entire team. He was 6’1” and at least 360lbs, or so Adam had heard, with a bulky mix of lumpy, thick muscle and a generous distribution of fat. He was wearing a sweat-stained tanktop and blue mesh basketball shorts; his pasty, huge arms were slick with sweat as he lugged his considerably bigger bags in his hands. The weight from his bags made his enormous round delts twitch with muscle; his biceps exploded with muscle as he hefted the bags in front of him and entered the room. “Hey, you Adam?” Wyatt rumbled in a deep but soft voice as he threw his bags next to Adam’s. “Man, you ARE a little guy!” Wyatt laughed. Adam blushed, embarrassed. Wyatt extended a hand. “I’m Wyatt,” he said. “I-I know,” Adam stammered awkwardly as he extended his hand. Wyatt’s engulfed Adam’s completely, and Adam felt the thick, calloused hand squeeze his own until he winced. “Guess we’re roomies, huh?” Wyatt said as he bumped past Adam, his enormous round gut and shelf-like pecs brushing past Adam’s arm. A wave of musky BO sweat followed Wyatt as he passed. “You’re a freshman, right?” he said as he went into the bathroom. Adam marveled as the size of Wyatt’s enormous round ass, wide and powerful, and the spread of his huge back. He watched as Wyatt awkwardly squeezed into the little bathroom, his back wider than the door, his giant shoulders brushing against the frame roughly. “Y-yeah, the backup kicker. You’re a senior, right?” Adam said timidly. A loud stream of piss poured into the toilet as Wyatt dropped trow with the door open and relieved himself. “Yup. I saw you practicing the other day, you’re pretty good!” Wyatt said. Adam was taken aback. The big senior had noticed him? “Uh, thanks man, just something I’ve always been good at,” Adam said as Wyatt flushed the toilet. Adam sat the bed. Wyatt waddled back into the room, his big thighs rubbing together as he walked. He stepped up to Adam and towered over him. “Well it’s good to have you on the team, hopefully I can help set you up for some points tomorrow,” Wyatt said with a genuine smile. He had narrow, green eyes, black hair, and a sharp high and tight haircut. A wispy mustache and chin hair was all the facial hair he could grow, and Adam guessed that Wyatt was probably smooth and hairless under his tight tanktop. Wyatt’s exposed arms were huge, easily over 20” around and solid with hard muscle. His chest stuck out like a shelf, heavy pecs heaving up and down as he breathed, stretching the straps of his tank top until they were taut between his traps and chest. Adam gulped a little and felt his cock chub up as the handsome guy three times his size complimented him. “Th-thanks big guy. Uh, I’ve seen you around too, kinda hard to miss the biggest guy on the team,” Adam said. He couldn’t help but comment on Wyatt’s size. “Heh, yeah that’s me, always trying to get as big as possible. This isn’t nearly big enough to me, I’d love to start pushing 400lb by the end of the year if I can,” Wyatt said, looking off into the distance and flexing a bit. His forearms and upper arms bulged with mass and his traps rose to engulf his neck. “B-bigger!?” Adam blurted. “You’re already like three times my size!” “Heh, well, we’ll see,” Wyatt said and he sat down on the bed too, his soft belly jiggling slightly as he did. It creaked ominously and leaned towards Wyatt’s side. “I don’t want to intimidate any teammates now,” he said and nudged Adam roughly, pushing him off the bed. Wyatt boomed a jovial laugh and extended a hand to help Adam up. “Oops, sorry little guy! Guess I underestimated just how light you are!” Adam was shocked as just how easily Wyatt’s mass had displaced him. “Well with power like that you might intimidate people more than you think!” Adam said with a smile. He noticed just how thick and bulky Wyatt’s legs were from down on the floor, and gulped as the size of Wyatt’s huge feet before he stood up again. “I try to save it for the field,” Wyatt said. “I actually try to be extra nice and approachable outside of football…people tend to be kind of scared of me because of my size,” Wyatt explained. “I can see that, I’ll admit I was kind of nervous when they said we were gonna room together,” Adam admitted. “Oh really? Don’t be, man, it’s all good. Seniors gotta take care of their freshmen, right? We’re all on the same team,” Wyatt as he rose to his full height. He patted Adam on the shoulder roughly. “Besides, I’m a lineman, it’s my job to protect you,” Wyatt said with a smile. “Heh, yeah that’s true!” Adam chuckled nervously. “H-have you always been big?” “Oh yeah, growing up I was always the biggest kid in class, way taller and heavier than everyone. I grew up on a farm, so kind of got that cornfed diet and functional strength from doing chores. I was kind of a fat kid growing up but then I discovered weights and football in high school and here I am,” Wyatt said as he shifted his bulk from side to side. “It’s fun being the biggest!” Adam nodded and then looked over to their single queen-sized bed. “So, uh, I guess I’m taking the floor and you can have the bed?” Adam said nervously. “Naw, the bed is plenty big enough for both of us, I don’t want you on the floor the night before a game!” Wyatt rumbled and moved over to where his bag was sitting. “I mean, obviously I’m gonna take up more room than you, but you can squeeze on there, you’re a small guy,” Wyatt said as he looked Adam up and down with an expression that Adam couldn’t quite figure out. “You’ll be right up next to me.” Adam noticed Wyatt’s enormous bulge in his tight basketball shorts shifting around. “O-ok if you insist, big guy,” Adam said. “Mmm big guy, I always like when people call me that!” Wyatt laughed. He lifted his shoulder pads up out of his bag and set them down on the bed, causing the bed to bounce a little. “Jesus, those are so big!” Adam blurted. “Heh, yeah they had to custom order those for me. Already getting a little tight compared to earlier this season though, the bulk I’m on right now is working great! Put on 10lbs in the last three weeks!” Wyatt said excitedly as he unpacked the rest of his gear. “The school cafeteria is always good for me,” he said patting his gut. “Gotta have them gainz, right?” “Heh, yeah, right, gainz!” Adam chuckled nervously as the big lineman took up more space with his gear. “Let’s go get some food before it gets any later,” Wyatt said as his huge belly rumbled. “I’m starving!” -- Adam and Wyatt had spent more of the evening watching ESPN on the crappy hotel TV and getting to know each other. They talked about they each got into football, what Wyatt’s gym routine was like, foods they liked, and so on. The AC in the room was on full blast but it was still pretty warm, so both guys were in bed without shirts on. Eventually they turned the TV and stared at their phones for a while as it got later. Adam laid next to Wyatt in bed, tense and nervous. Wyatt’s wide frame spread to take up most of the bed, and Adam was clinging to an edge. It didn’t help that Wyatt’s heavy weight made the mattress sink down; Adam had to make sure he didn’t roll towards the middle of the bed and against Wyatt. Adam had to focus to contain the rising pressure in his pajama pants as he tried not to look too much at the bulky behemoth laying next to him. Wyatt was shirtless and hadn’t showered, so his smell permeated the room. He also radiated heat, a massive meaty furnace just inches from Adam. “Alright bud, I’m gonna sleep now. See you tomorrow,” Wyatt said as he turned off his phone and set it on his night stand. He shifted around in bed until his back was turned to Adam. He looked like a huge wall or mountain next to him, taking up 3/4ths of the bed. “O-ok Wyatt, goodnight,” Adam said nervously. Adam tried to lay as still as he could until he heard Wyatt starting to snore and breath evenly. Adam couldn’t sleep. He was raging hard; he couldn’t believe the guy he had such a massive crush on was right next to him, shirtless, sleeping, snoring. Adam could feel the heat and smell the musk radiating off of him, inviting Adam in. Adam couldn’t help but reach out and touch Wyatt’s big back. He was hot to the touch, his thick body soft but solid at the same time. He touched Wyatt’s traps, feeling their hardness and thickness, and then moved his hand up and over Wyatt’s massive boulder shoulder. Adam risked giving it a little squeeze and shuttered as he felt the hardness of the bulky muscle. He moved his arm across Wyatt’s upper arm, feeling the bulk of his huge thick triceps and running his fingers over the curve of Wyatt’s round bicep. Adam groaned softly and arched his back, his cock throbbing. He leaned closer to Wyatt’s sleeping form and breathed in his warm, heavy, musky scent. He couldn’t believe this fantasy was coming true. Suddenly Wyatt shifted, turning around to sleep on his other side, and Adam quickly retracted his hand and went still again. Wyatt settled with his face towards Adam, his chubby round cheeks looking soft as he snored and breathed on Adam. Wyatt’s breath was minty and fresh, and his lips were pouty and soft, with just a bit of a mustache and goatee framing them. His pecs were pressed together as he layed on his side, showing the enormous bulk of chest. He snored louder as he drifted off to deeper sleep, a deep rumbling growl that made his huge chest rise and fall, and Adam knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep that night. He thought about reaching out to touch the lineman’s meaty chest, moving his hand just over it, but couldn’t muster the courage to do it. He didn’t want to wake him and make things awkward. Instead Adam pulled a pillow around his head to try to block out the snoring and tried to go to sleep. -- The next day the game went just fine. Adam didn’t actually play, as he was just the backup, but he had fun watching Wyatt flatten the opposition and move people around easily with his huge bulk and tremendous strength. He had never noticed the way Wyatt really controlled the offense, because he had been so focused on the ball before. The only problem was that it was brutally hot, the hottest day this late in the year Adam could ever remember, and everyone was a sweaty soaking mess by the time they were done. After the game, the team had a post-game meeting, dinner, and then all went out to a movie, and Wyatt mostly stuck with his linemen buddies and Adam kept to himself. Adam sometimes caught Wyatt looking over at him and he would nod or look away awkwardly. Did Wyatt know that Adam touched him last night? What if he had told everyone else on the team? Adam was anxious and self-conscious the entire day. Finally, Adam headed back to his hotel room. It was dark by the time all planned activities were done. Wyatt had gone over to a friend’s hotel room after the movie, so Adam was alone. They weren’t leaving until the following morning, so he just had to wait around. He decided to go to bed early, but was awoken at 11:30pm by Wyatt bursting into the room. “Adam! You should have gone along with me tonight, bud,” Wyatt slurred as he stumbled into the room and slammed the door louder than he probably meant to. “Derrick somehow got a couple cases of beer and we were all playing Cards Against Humanity,” he rumbled as he sat on the bed and slipped off his huge shoes. “I-I didn’t know I was invited,” Adam said quietly, and Wyatt turned and stood up. “Of course you are, little guy! You’re my friend now, so you’re always invited,” Wyatt said as he looked down at Adam, who was shirtless and laying in bed. “Hey why is it so hot in here?” Wyatt said as he started trying to strip his shirt off. “The AC broke,” Adam explained as he watched Wyatt wrestling with his Underarmour compression shirt. “It’s, uh, gonna be kind of a warm one I think,” Adam said but his attention was fixed on the giant lineman exposing his enormous sweaty torso. Wyatt finally slipped the shirt off and stood shirtless and sweaty in the middle of the room. He then proceeded to awkwardly step out of his grey athletic shorts, leaving only skin-tight white compression shorts that left little to the imagination. “Ahh, that’s better!” the big lineman boomed as he approached the bed. “W-what are you wearing?” Adam said, shocked that his crush was about to get into bed wearing nothing but compression shorts. “The only thing that fits me,” Wyatt said. “My boys need plenty of room, as does my ass and thighs, so the stretchy stuff is what I wear. Now scoot over, short stuff, make way for the big guy!” he said before crashing down onto the bed. The mattress squealed dramatically, and Wyatt partially squashed Adam. “Whoa, jeez, Wyatt, aren’t you gonna shower first?” Adam said as he wrinkled his nose as the sweat-soaked behemoth pressed against him, smearing sweat all over his arm. “You’re gross!” “I never shower after games, it’s bad luck and I kind of like the football pad smell,” Wyatt grumbled as he pressed against Adam harder. “Deal with it, little guy!” Wyatt’s beer breath wafted over Adam as he pressed against him. “Jeez, how much did you have to drink?” Adam asked as Wyatt’s sweaty frame soaked the sheets. “Enough for even someone my size to feel it!” Wyatt said and then burped loudly. “Jesus… that’s gonna be tougher if you get bigger like you said you want,” Adam said nervously as he scooted over to the edge of the bed again. “Mmmm yeah but it’s worth it. Bigger… I wish I was so big I took up the entire bed,” Wyatt said sleepily. “Yeah, well, it would take you even more to get drunk then… Wyatt?” Adam asked as he shook the big man’s shoulder. Wyatt was out like a light. Adam didn’t move, realizing that his crush was pumped up, sweaty, drunk, and laying just inches from him. He couldn’t decide if he had the best or worst luck in the world, and let his eyes explore the giant football stud. Adam’s cock swelled to life as he watched Wyatt breath, watched his muscles twitch whenever he shifted in weight or twitched in his sleep, and he couldn’t help but want more. He reached out again, hesitating at first and just hovering his hand over Wyatt’s pale skin. This was wrong! But he couldn’t help it… his lust was too strong. This time Adam reached for Wyatt’s heavy smooth pecs and front shoulders. He scooted closer, close enough to feel Wyatt’s breath, and pressed his lean legs against Wyatt’s thick tree trunks. Adam sighed and ran a finger over Wyatt’s meaty nipple, then ran his hand down across Wyatt’s huge, perfect belly. He rubbed it in circles and jiggled the chub at the bottom. Wyatt’s BO scent filled his senses and Adam’s cock throbbed harder. “What are you doing?” Wyatt rumbled softly. Adam retracted his hands and then froze, holding his breath. “Were you touching me?” Wyatt asked.
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