complete novel MadMutter’s Thicker than Water — Chapters 1-8

October 4, 2022

Spoiler

Author's Note: This was a commissioned story I've been working on for over the past year that was just recently finished. All credit for the characters and plot goes to the commissioner (an artist whose work I greatly admire), and I am thankful to have been allowed to post it publicly, following a semi-monthly release schedule. Please enjoy, and, as usual, please don't hesitate to leave feedback. All comments, criticisms, and suggestions will be greatly appreciated and useful in creating better stories.

MadMutter's
Thicker than Water

by Scarletic

Table of Contents

1

Of Funerals and Vacations

When Jolias’ grandmother passed away, he didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation to claim his inheritance.

It was, after all, free money. Along with whatever fabulous goodies she’d set aside for him.

Suddenly having enough rent for the next few months, especially when he needed two part-time jobs to make ends meet, was a no-brainer decision. Chicago wasn’t exactly the most affordable place to be living in, he’d realized. He wasn’t sure when he was — or if he was ever — going to return to Peru, but metaphorically looting his dead caregiver’s corpse wasn’t on his list of reasons why.

The four years he’d been gone had done away with any memories of home.

Names stuck, like his hometown of Copacabana at Lake Titicaca, but visuals and everyday details were gone, shelved away, and left to be forgotten. He’d even managed to scrape his tongue clean of the accent. Only the fear of meeting his parents again, of reliving the trauma they’d put him through, of remembering why it was he left Peru in the first place, haunted him.

He wasn’t too fond of how he couldn’t have his new self-appointed name on his passport — Jolias Castor. Instead, it read like a tongue-twister, one that no one in the USA ever dared to attempt: Julias Castillo-Moreno. Next to it, his often-called “face of an angel,” with his rich coffee skin, button nose, and unkempt black hair. He preferred it messy. It distinguished him from the rest.

The only person who’d ever gotten his name right (and on the first try) was his best friend. A fellow homosexual and expat from Germany, Maxwell Voigt was only two years older at 24 and working part-time as a café barista.

They were close, met at the local pride parade, and kept in contact ever since. It was almost a match made in heaven.

Almost. That was the important bit.

Jolias couldn’t reciprocate Max’s attraction. Not when the latter was adamant about refusing to stick to the personalized workout routine Jolias had made for him. It was a struggle on both their parts, coming to terms with the other’s shortcomings. But it passed, as all things do.

Jolias stuck to the gym where he worked part-time and built himself up to a nice 151 pounds at his humble 5-foot-6. Max, on the other hand, didn’t mind the extra bit of blubber on his 5-foot-11 frame, putting him at a not-as-solid 216 pounds. In his head, it made him look cuddlier, more touchable, something he wished Jolias wasn’t so averse to.

Nevertheless, Max welcomed the chance to take a vacation to South America at Jolias’ behest. They both wanted company, each other’s specifically, even if it were for different reasons.

The Economy section they’d been shoved in for seven hours wasn’t ideal, especially not when the crying children and obnoxious tourists seemed unable to shut their damn mouths. Jolias and Max rejoiced at the stop-over in Colombia, a momentary respite from their overpriced hell.

Max wiped the sweat from his brow as he took in the spacious interior of the Jose Maria Cordova international airport. “I didn’t know it was already going to be so hot.” The cafeteria was packed with enough plant pots to outnumber their plane’s passengers, and the arched glass ceiling didn’t make the air any cooler. “Are you sure we didn’t book a trip to the desert?”

“Sweating already?” Jolias sniggered as he whipped out his phone. 22°C. “It’s just a few degrees off Chicago’s usual. Probably just feels hotter because of the humidity.”

Max let out a huff. “Or maybe it’s because you’re here.”

“Ha-ha.” Jolias lifted both their carry-ons as they made their way out of the airport. Each bag was nearly the size of his whole torso, but he held them with an ease and grace Max knew he could never muster. “Just don’t make those same jokes when you meet my parents,” Jolias said. “You may be a cute boy-next-door, but they’re not going to be so nice when they know you’re gay too.”

Max nodded, tugging and fanning himself with the now-wrinkled collar of his shirt. “I won’t. I told you.”

“We’ll just be there for the celebration, then take the money, and then we head back before they even realize we’re gone.”

As they breached through the glass doors and stepped onto the driveway, the inflamed white flare of the sun was an unwelcome heat lamp that stung on Max’s skin and burned through his glasses. “I wouldn’t mind if we headed back now, actually. You didn’t tell me it was going to be so hot,” Max said. “I don’t even think I packed my graded glasses with me.”

“Get a grip, Germany. You’ve got that Übermensch legacy to live up to. We aren’t even in Peru yet. We are literally at the tip of the iceberg of South America.” Jolias stopped and spun on his heel, holding out Max’s overstuffed satchel in one hand. “Though if you carry your own bag the rest of the way, I won’t stop you from complaining.”

Max let out a sigh and — with great apprehension — took his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. He may have been pudgy, but the broadness of his shoulders still stretched further than his love handles. “Fine. I just hope you know you’re missing out on a quality workout.”

“Please. My bag is more than enough weight. I doubt your chips and extra clothes are going to be much of a challenge if you don’t start stuffing that thing with rocks.” Jolias quickened his pace, smiling to himself as he watched Max drag behind him.

Max, already catching his breath, made a light sprint to catch up. “That depends on what kinds of rocks we’ll find. Where are we going again? This stop-over is only for a few hours, you know.”

“It’s a place one of my clients recommended. Guatapé, I think. Said it’s full of lakes and rivers. Might be your kind of place since you used to be a swimmer.”

Max groaned. “Key phrase is ‘used to be.’ Is there anything else I’m supposed to be excited for?”

Jolias winked over his shoulder. “Stairs. I know you love ‘em. 740 steps’ worth.”

“Oh, my god.” Lifting his head up, Max opened his mouth and faced the clear blue sky, eyes shut in defeat. “This trip is going to be the death of me.”

“My grandmother’s, actually.” Jolias pressed Max’s jaw shut against his skull. “And close your mouth. You’re going to let the flies in.”

◊ ◊ ◊

Max had always known South Americans weren’t the tallest people around, but it was a tad unnerving to see so many eyes needing to look up to meet his gaze.

It was always either the women or Jolias, never the men — especially not all of them at once. He found comfort in the few caucasian tourists who didn’t make him feel quite so large, so obtrusive.

The track he and Jolias trekked on was a long, winding dirt path that twisted and cut into the hillside. They were surrounded by enough palm trees to make New York’s Central Park a flower garden in comparison. Blades of grass crunched under his boots as he followed Jolias to the mountainous rock a few kilometers away, tucked in the heart of a tourist village perched next to a crystalline lake of sapphire blue. If he hadn’t known what Germany looked like, he might’ve confused Guatapé for paradise — only several degrees hotter.

Max ran his fingers through his mocha hair, twirling each dried-out strand in his fingers. He thought if he’d rubbed them hard enough, they’d ignite like tinder. “Hey, are you sure we have to climb up that thing?” he asked, pointing at the hill in the distance, decorated on one side with a devilish flight of stairs. “I don’t have an insurance plan.”

Jolias, once again holding both carry-on bags (as Max handed it back at some point during the minibus ride), sniggered. “What did I say about complaining? You’ll be fine.”

“Just because I’m German doesn’t mean I descended from Nordic gods. If I die, I die.”

“Then I guess I get the full share of my inheritance. I’ll send your landlord my regards.”

“Can’t I just stay down in that town where it’s safe?” Max fanned himself with a small banana leaf he’d picked up somewhere along the trail. “A swim in that lake sounds really good right now.” He scanned his gray shirt, now darkened with sweat on his chest and armpits. “Plus, I think I need to change into something a bit darker. I’m sweating like a priest at a schoolhouse.”

Jolias lightly flicked him on the nose. “I warned you about the exercise. You’re either coming up there with me and taking my photos or losing your mortgage. Pick your poison.” The rocks rolled to the side as he kicked them aside with every step.

“You are evil. Fine. But if I pass out halfway up, you better throw me in that lake.”

Jolias looked back at his best friend and patted him on the shoulder, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight and his smile curved into a mischievous little wrinkle. “I can do that, yeah. I deadlift your weight for fun. I just hope you aren’t afraid of heights.” Max gulped, much to Jolias’ amusement. “Don’t worry. Once we get our photos, we’ll take a nice dip in the lagoon. We’ve still got a few more hours of sun to kill before we have to get back for our flight. Marco’s going to murder me if we aren’t at Lima by tonight.”

Max’s face melted into worry, the smile he’d been propping up disappearing at the mention. Marco.

◊ ◊ ◊

In all the years he’d spent part-timing as an accountant and personal trainer in Chicago, Jolias never got around to appreciating Lake Michigan.

It was clean. It was large. But there was always something about the concrete jungle that wrapped around it and blotted the horizon that didn’t sit too well with him; at first, he thought it was the color gray he didn’t like. Then, he figured it was the noise and smog of the city. In the back of his mind, it might have even been the people who died trying to swim in it.

He refused to accept that he may have just missed the green of his homeland.

Standing at the top of the rock (not quite a hill) that towered over Guatapé and taking in the magnificence of natural South America for the first time in years, Jolias found himself floating — the tropical scent of jungle mildew wafting in the breeze, the twinkle of the golden sun on the winding lakes. For a moment, albeit brief, he felt relief. From the stresses of monthly rent, of clients, of seeing his family again. If there was any silver lining, it was the chance to reconnect with nature. And, perhaps, his twin brother.

“This is so much better than the city.” Jolias leaned against the railing overlooking the town and pristine lake below, letting the cool air brush through his hair.

“Are you going to let me take your photo yet or what?” Max said, shivering. “These old people are pestering me.”

Jolias’ face read almost absent, immersed in the serenity of nature, of his home. He turned and rested his back and elbows against the rusted blue fence, facing the glare of the sun head-on and smiling for Max. The way he stood caused his developed chest to protrude from his paper-thin dri-fit shirt, stirring his #1 admirer’s senses almost manipulatively well.

“I hate it when you smile at me like that,” Max groaned.

Jolias preened at the mention. “I can’t help it. God-given looks and all that.”

Max took his photos of Jolias, and Jolias of Max. They’d barely been out of the USA for half a day, and, already, Max was beginning to roast from the heat, donning a light pink instead of his usual snow-white skin. “I really should’ve put on more sunblock.”

Jolias tugged Max’s wrist and led him back down the 740-step staircase. “You could use the tan. Now come on. Let’s go for a dip. I’m itching to get wet.”

Max, picking up his own carry-on from the ground (passed back at some point in the climb), sighed. His nether region was getting uncomfortably tight. His six-incher wasn’t exactly petite. “Way ahead of you there.”

◊ ◊ ◊

The two walked along the tourist-made path that shot through the forest-canopied expanse of lakes. Even without the bird’s eye view, it was a postcard-worthy hike.

Max had never experienced nature to this extent before. He’d been born in the city, raised in it, and believed — though prematurely — that he would never get to see a forest in person, to live out his childhood fantasy of a log cabin in the woods. Pure isolation from the needless bustle of everyday life. Of living in a society he never chose, never belonged in.

It was something he was reminded of whenever he was with Jolias. That same familiar longing. Being with him felt like that to Max: living in a log cabin. A place to call home. Someone whose fire kept him warm when the winter nights were coldest.

Even as he lagged behind his fit friend’s impossibly athletic pace, he couldn’t help but admire the way he seemed to glow amid the rays of light that pierced through the trees. He moved as a nymph would, back where he belonged.

“This is a lot more beautiful than my desktop wallpaper makes these types of places out to be,” Max said, picking a hot pink flower from a low tree branch. He loved the way it looked. And he loved the way Jolias looked. From behind, especially. “Wait! Slow down.”

Jolias turned on his heel and lowered both their carry-ons. “What now? Are you going to offer to carry your bag again before giving it back?” He pushed his hair back and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Max caught up and stopped inches away from Jolias. “I wouldn’t think of it.” They could smell each other’s musk, the other man’s sweat, the perfume of their breath. They were both shirtless. With a gentle hand, Max took Jolias’ hair and tucked the flower on the valley of his ear. “Not when you look like an angel.”

Blushing, Jolias covered his face with a vacant hand. “You’re so damn flirty.” Readjusting his shorts, he lifted both their bags and continued his trek. “Come on. That cave you saw is just around the corner here.”

“Right behind you.”

Max and Jolias turned the corner and stared at the perfectly circular maw of what looked like a chute built into the cliffside.

The inside was damp and lined with gray clay. Water still fed into it from the river, but where it went, neither man could tell: the stream disappeared into the darkness of the earth, echoing despite its silence.

It looked larger from where he’d seen it going down the stairs of that vantage rock, Max thought. Up close, the hole was going to be a tight squeeze for a man his size. He envied Jolias sometimes. Tight spaces weren’t exactly his comfort zone.

Jolias ran a hand across its surface, letting the clear waters run through his fingers before they disappeared down the hole. “It’s nice and slippery.” He dug a finger into the clay and stared at the buildup that had collected on his nail. “Gross.” He looked down at where he’d scraped and discovered that he’d exposed the material underneath. It looked ivory. Not quite stone. Though not quite metal. “I wonder what this cave used to be.”

“Are you going to go in there?” Max asked.

“Hey, you found it, Columbus. Your prize awaits down the rabbit hole.”

Max washed himself in the river before approaching Jolias. Standing next to someone with such chiseled musculature when he looked like a sack of pudding wasn’t very confidence-boosting. But, as he knew, Jolias was never the judgmental type. Not when he’d had his own fair share of men. While Max didn’t inspire awe, he was still Jolias’ favorite friend. But that’s all he ever was.

“Do I look like a white rabbit to you? Jo-Alice in Wonderland.”

Jolias rolled his eyes and gently moved his firm hand down Max’s soft back, urging him subtlely closer towards the hole. “I don’t know what you expect to find down there, but it’s no upelkuchen. A skeleton, maybe. But cake? Nah.”

Before he could even question it, Max was already kneeling and squeezing his legs, prepping to slide down. “The only cakes I want are yours.”

“You had your chance.”

Max frowned. “But—“

Jolias slapped him on the back, sending him flying down the lubricated slide before he could even finish his sentence.

MEANWHILE

The German man’s yelling echoed like a death squelch for several seconds before it punctuated with a profound splash. It was impossible to tell how deep it went. Especially not when Max was so silent. The echoing had ceased, and Jolias couldn’t even hear a whisper of a sound coming from the hole.

“Are you dead?” Jolias cried.

“The water’s cold as fuck! But I think I see an exit. Get down here! And be careful with the bags!”

Jolias squeezed himself into the hole, sitting in the same impression Max’s cheeks had left in the clay.

He stared at the exposed material again and wondered what it was. Oddly, it reminded him of Peruvian cuisine. He was no stranger to chicken bones and beef bone marrow, and something told him it was no different to whatever it was he was about to send himself flying down.

A giant bone? He thought.

But that query could wait.

“Jol’? Are you coming down here or what?”

He snapped out of it. “Coming.” And sent himself into the void.

Thankfully, he had prior experience jumping off cliffs and into the ocean. The protocols to avoid getting his balls crushed by the water were second nature to him.

When the chute ended, it took him a second to realize he was free-falling. But he kept his posture, maintained his stance, kept one hand on his groin and one on his nose. The splash he made wasn’t as large — or as loud — as Max’s. He was as a needle piercing the calm fabric of the water’s surface.

He opened his eyes in the freezing waters and found wisps of light poking through a crack in the ground above. They were in an underground cave, an aquifer, most likely. It didn’t seem like anyone had been down there in years. Decades. Instead of souls, he found boulders and stalagmites.

But someone was missing.

“Max?” Jolias asked, spinning in the water. He looked up. Down. Found nothing but rocks and shadows. Not even the floor below.

A frozen hand latched onto his ankle before he could blink.

In his panic, he kicked something that felt soft, felt breakable under the water.

“What the fuck?!”

Coming up for air, Max massaged his bleeding nose and released a handful of crimson into the spring water. It was difficult to see anything in the dark, but Jolias couldn’t ignore the red strips escaping from his friend’s face, not when his own eyes were wide with shock.

“I can’t believe you kicked me id da face!” Max cried, nasally, splashing Jolias with a wave. “Oh, god, by dose.”

“Jesus! I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you! I swear.” Jolias raised his hands in defense. Not from Max’s words, but the water.

Another splash. “Who else vas it going to be? A nazi zo’bie? A Russian superbodel?” Max snorted out the last of the blood into the water and jostled it. “First the water shoots up my damn nose and crushes my balls, and then you kick me in the face. Lovely. If you plan on assaulting my dick next, I,”—Max’s face went somewhere pleasant—"actually—“

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Fine.”

Jolias slapped a hand on Max’s wet shoulder and hopped behind him, posturing himself for a piggy-back lift. “You’ll be fine. Now, go, princess.” Jolias lifted an arm, pointing at the exit atop a short climb. “Take us to the exit.”

“Nuh-uh. Not yet!” Max gripped both Jolias’ calves and leapt backwards into the water, submerging them both.

The two roughhoused for the better part of an hour. Neither ever wanting to leave the cave.

Both their carry-ons had gotten ruined. But they didn’t notice.

In fact, they wouldn’t’ve cared.

Max and Jolias took turns plunging each other into the water, never quite enjoying a full breath of air before being thrown and wrestled and slam-dunked.

They weren’t sure when the glowing wisp in the water’s reflection started to move on its own.

“What is that?” Jolias pointed at something moving in-between them.

Seafoam green, Jolias described it. To Max, it resembled something more akin to blue sperm. It wiggled and darted through the water like a bullet, passing around their limbs and gracing them with light contact. Jolias wasn’t expecting to find anything sentient when he slid down the hole. But there it was. Something so alien, so slime-like, slippery and malleable to the touch, yet impossible to hold.

At some point, it disappeared from Max’s sight. “Shit. Where’d it go?”

“You can’t find it?” Jolias swam over and showered Max’s dried hair in a handful of water.

He shook his head, readying himself to dive. “I’ll see if I can find it. If I don’t come up in three minutes, feed Whiskers for me.” Max took a deep breath, puffing out his stomach and cheeks, and plunged himself beneath Jolias’ careless feet. Jolias wasn’t sure what Max was hoping to find, but the former hoped it wouldn’t’ve been another broken body part.

Jolias hadn’t said a word in the time Max was gone. Instead, he swam to the nearby gravel shore where they’d tossed their bags and pair of glasses and dressed up. A dry exit had revealed itself in their brouhaha, and he couldn’t wait to leave.

After two minutes, Max emerged from the water — head first — and trudged through the water towards Jolias on his tip-toes. “Couldn’t find it.”

“At least I won’t have to dig up your body. Now come on. We have to go. Our flight’s coming up.”

The water cascaded down Max’s body as he stepped onto the gravel, shaking his hair. “Wait. Not yet.”

Jolias hopped to his feet and rolled his eyes. He was primed, ready to go. The yellow shirt he wore clung tightly to his torso; its orange sun distorted because of his chest and abs. “What is it now? I’m tired of playfighting.”

Max stopped a foot away and let the rest of the water sink into the gravel. Standing still, he reached an absent hand down towards his crotch and grabbed a handful of his cock. Jolias knew Max’s body well enough to know that he was never quite so… endowed. His black shorts were jutting out from his waist almost unnaturally so. As if he’d stuffed it with socks. Several pairs of.

“I think something’s wrong with my dick,” Max muttered.

He was met with a snigger. “What’s new?”

“No, I mean it! I think there’s something up with it.” Max pinched the two ends of his shorts and readied to pull them down and expose his nether. Jolias stopped him with a lightning-quick hand.

The smaller Peruvian man had seen Max’s crotch before (they compared sizes at a party once), but they were intoxicated then. And not hundreds of feet deep in a prehistoric aquifer, surrounded by virgin spring water host to who-knows-how-many bacteria.

Before Max could question Jolias’ hesitation, a blue glow appeared in both their eyes, and they looked down to find the source. Emanating from Max’s pouch.

“You’re right. That— that isn’t normal.”

MEANWHILE

Letting out a whimper, Max shook his head and dropped his shorts to his ankles.

They both stared at the very same glowing organism they’d encountered in the water.

“What the fuck…” Max whispered. It was worm-like yet texture-free, smooth to the touch, wet and slimy and coiled tightly around his six-inch penis. He looked to Jolias with quivering eyes. “Get it off me…!” he whispered in a panic. His cheeks were already going red.

“I’m not touching that thing! We need to get you to a doctor. It might pop your dick if it gets any tighter.”

Max pouted. A flurry of sensual titillations washed over him in that moment. He felt his body heat start to rise. “No… I—I don’t think it’s…”—he moaned—“I don’t think it’s bad.” He coiled inwards, compressing his torso, reaching out to grab the blue-greenish snake but stopping, twitching. “This actually feels kind of good.” The organism strained momentarily, like a firm grip’s squeeze, and released, causing Max to release the stress built-up on his face. The blush went hot, even in the dark. With one eye open, Max gasped in pleasure. “Fuck… it feels like it’s giving me a handjob or something.”

Jolias froze. He was only watching as his best friend’s hardening member was being serviced by something they’d never seen before. “Max?”

But the taller man stayed silent. The contractions continued as the slime demanded Max’s blood rush into his penis, now a pillar that rose and protruded from his waist. The warmth rippling through his balls appeared intoxicatingly paralyzing. It was taking him all he had to keep himself upright, his eyes open as he stared at Jolias, whose hands quivered with hesitation.

The mushroom head of Max’s cock looked ready to burst after a minute of lubed hands-free masturbation. “Holy fuck… It’s gonna make me—“

Max’s train of thought was cut off. Before he could unleash the load he’d built up, the entity unraveled itself and darted into the slit of his penis.

There was a moment of concern as Max watched the slit of his cock be pried open. Yet, despite his initial assumption, there was no pain. Only the opposite: a gentle force that throbbed and bore the sensation of squeezing his cock from within. Even if he wanted to speak, there wasn’t much to say. Both he and Jolias only watched as the slime slithered up Max’s shaft, pulsating, and slipped into his mushroom head. It was almost torturous. The pleasure was overwhelming both the inside and outside of his penis, and his mind flashed white with surreal disbelief.

Max’s eye twitched as he glanced at his best friend who’d taken a step back in fearful fascination. “Jol’…” The building, tightening pressure in his shaft as the slime continued to pour itself into it forced Max to wince.

“Is this really happening?” Jolias asked, gawking mouth open.

As more and more of the slime seemed to endlessly make its way into Max’s genitals, another sensation piled on top of his already overwhelming nerves.

His eyes were on the ceiling, yet he felt the slime pulsate in his urethra, demanding more space, stretching out his six-inch cock like a balloon. Despite the abnormality, there was still no pain. It was as though the slime were incapable of it. Max shuddered second after second as it continued to throb and push against the outer limits of his penis, making enough room to accommodate all of it, its movements, its pulses, almost like a heartbeat.

Before Max could even lower his head to examine what was happening, a jolt of energy akin to a caffeine shot jolted his system. He was overloaded with energy yet held prisoner by the growing ecstasy. As more and more of the slime disappeared into his genitals, he could feel each and every gram that compounded in his balls, making them heavier, thicker. And still, the tail end of the slime continued to squeeze him from within, egging him towards release, demanding it.

His cock continued to swell inches larger and girthier and heavier. The slime sent a final wave of intoxicating power as it moved down from his shaft and settled in his balls, now engorged and loaded with cum and slime. He’d thrown his head back, lost to the ecstasy. The heat pulsating from his testicles was sending his adrenaline into overdrive.

Jolias stared at the much larger penis in stupefied horror. Max had only ever seen a cock that size once before, and that was in a porno. The ivory-white tool had lengthened to over double Jolias’. And it was still fully erect.

MEANWHILE

“Max?! Are you okay? That thing just—“

But he wasn’t there — not mentally. His glazed eyes twitched, but Jolias could still see through the mirth, flashing a quick purple before returning to their absent state, nothing going on behind them. All he heard were heaving moans, guttural breaths, and the running of his fingers as he touched himself feet away from Jolias.

Jolias wasn’t sure which to address first. The fact that his best friend’s fuckstick looked obscene? Or the way his balls looked big enough to rival baseballs?

Or that a living glob of slime just slithered into Max’s shaft?

He broke out into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

When the convulsions seemed to stop, solidifying the newly grown state of Max’s pumped member, he let out a groaning moan. Max motioned as if to ejaculate. But there was nothing. Only hot air and the faintest drops of cum came sputtering out, dotting the gravel beneath them in white.

“Jol’…”

Jolias wiped the sweat off his brow and approached his friend, a peripheral eye keeping close watch of the softening cock. It didn’t seem to be losing any inches, staying the same size it’d been when it became a host. “Welcome back to reality. Are you alright?”

Max sighed and walked over to his bag. “I just came. I think. I—“ He bent over and dug his face into his bag, scavenging for a dry shirt to wear but never settling. “Have you ever seen anything like that before?”

“I don’t know. No? Nothing I can think of looked anything like that slimy worm thing.”

Max scoffed, tossing a loose white shirt over his head and slipping it on. It didn’t hug him well. He didn’t care. “Great. I’ve got some new species of snake gurgling around in my balls. I’m gonna give the British Museum a run for their money. Do you think there’s a doctor on the plane I could ask?” The gray shorts he wore did nothing to compress his now-plus-sized cock and balls. Even with his boxers, it was a tight fit, poking out from his sweats.

Jolias tossed his bag over his shoulder and stepped towards the incline headed towards the hole in the ceiling. “A doctor in philosophy, maybe. I mean, we could ask, but I doubt we’ll find anyone.” He sighed. “We’ll probably have more luck in Lima. Marco might know someone.”

“Uh…” Max froze, a brief furrow appearing on his forehead at the mention. He stopped himself before the wrinkles settled.

But Jolias already noticed. “You’re worrying about nothing. He won’t get in the way. I told you.” He dug his fingers into the cracks in the cave wall. And climbed. “Now, are you coming? Or are you going to stay here and sulk and be petty with that huge slime hotel of a dick of yours?”

Max sighed, dropping his shoulders, dragging his sneakers across the gravel. One eye on Max, the other on the aquifer. There were no more unusual glowing organisms slithering around in the water. Just as there were no answers.

But those could wait.

“I’m coming.”

Jolias paused and snickered. “You already did.”

◊ ◊ ◊

The security officer conducted a full-body check and held his breath the moment his hand cradled what he’d initially thought to be a grenade. One haphazardly shoved inside Max’s underwear.

Everyone was watching, waiting, wondering what was holding up the line. Their flight had been called. All eyes were on Max. Jolias waited in the tunnel, ignoring the putrid gazes of impatient passengers who couldn’t wait a second longer.

“You’re—“ the officer gulped, eyes shaking as he turned to the flight attendant holding the ticket, as his wandering gaze left an imprint in Max’s mind. “You’re good to go, sir.”

With a firm nod, Max took his bag and followed Jolias through the tunnel.

People rushed by, a display of passive-aggression, bumping and elbowing their way past the two.

“Come on,” Jolias ushered. “Let’s get seated.”

Max kept his head low, making every attempt to appear smaller, to disappear in the crowd, to be forgotten. The trek back to the airport had been hell. It had been a mistake to wear gray sweatshorts, especially when his genitals resembled smuggled fruits.

Though, in a way, he technically was smuggling something.

Something alive. And it wasn’t wasting any effort in making its presence known.

People both native and foreign to Colombia glanced at him wherever he went — though not in his eyes. At his junk. Max had tried everything to keep himself under control. But it was impossible keeping his swollen python down, especially when it hardened whenever he so much as caught Jolias at the corner of his eyes.

They got into their seats — Max enjoying the window, Jolias the center. He glued his face to the glass, refusing to acknowledge his current reality until he was back on solid ground.

South America was a natural, picturesque haven. But he couldn’t enjoy it knowing something had tampered with the biology of his genitals.

MEANWHILE

Jolias didn’t know what to do. He’d invited his friend with the sole intention of offering him a vacation and a share of his inheritance. There was nothing in the agreement about this.

He lifted the armrest separating them, but Max only grumbled in reply. “N— not right now, Jol’. It was hard enough sneaking this thing through security. I don’t want you making this,”—he slapped his semi-hard cock—“this thing any harder than it already is. It might tear a hole through my damn shorts. For fuck’s sake…” he trailed off.

“I’m sorry this is happening. I promise, as soon as we land, we’ll get you to a doctor.”

“In Lima? I’ll pass.”

“What? Why? You’ve been complaining about that thing in your balls the entire walk back. Would you prefer to keep that thing inside you?”

Max stayed silent.

“I know it’s not exactly first world down here, but the people are still more than capable of helping.” Jolias settled back in his seat, lowering the armrest. “I already texted Marco,” he muttered. “He said there’s someone who could help. Just… give them a chance?” He patted Max’s shoulder, subconsciously drawing his face towards him.

In that instant, Max’s heated expression softened back to its innocent state, replacing his barista-esque charm. A smile emerged, albeit weak. “Alright. Fine. I just hope whatever is in me…” he moaned, “stops swirling around in my fucking balls. People have been staring at me, you know. It’s not exactly easy hiding a hard ten-incher.”

Jolias opened his mouth to speak, but the older American woman next to him cut him off. “Would you two stop?” she grumbled. “I don’t want to hear any more about your privates!”

“Our bad.” Jolias replied, a sinister smirk propping a dimple. He turned to Max and bit his lip, lightly flicking the semi-hard head of Max’s cock, outlining through his sweatshorts.

Max’s eyes grew wide — as his cheeks went red. “What are you doing?!” he whispered. “Didn’t you just hear what that lady said?”

Jolias shrugged. “She only mentioned privates. Why not make it public? Not like it’s public nudity while it’s in your shorts, is it?”

“Excuse me?” the woman spoke. Her eyes bounced from Jolias’ to Max’s snaking penis. “Could you please stop engaging in public sex? You are on a plane!”

“Sex? I’ll have you know my friend here happens to be a virgin. We’re just having a bit of safe-for-work man-to-man action. No one’s stopping you from switching seats. Better yet, I’m sure the next flight would be more than willing to accommodate you.”

Max placed a hand on Jolias’ toned wrist. “Hey… Jol’. Please. Don’t pick a fight. Things are hard enough as is.” And his hands rapped on his chocolate skin. “Though… “ he leaned in close to Jolias’ ear for a whisper. “We can get a closer look at my between-me-down-there when we get to our place. Just not here. That alright with you?”

Jolias paused, looked Max in the eye, and shook himself clean. “God.” He took one last look at the woman, now raising a wrinkled eyebrow in irritation. “Fine, fine. But just an inspection.”

Max sniffled, his cock bouncing in unison, as he caught Jolias in a gleeful trap. “Just an inspection.”

◊ ◊ ◊

Max woke up at two in the morning. His ears were first, emerging from the heavy silence of a dream come true and into a nightmare orchestrated by the hellish rumbling of the plane’s engine.

All the lights were off, save for a few. The occasional insomniac, the jetlagged businessman, the stressed and anxious. They were scattered around, none near enough to provide ample light to any one spot. Max’s eyes were drawn to the blinking seatbelt light overhead, blasted by the cool wind from the AC.

Outside the window was a sea of black and blue, the clouds more of a fog the plane penetrated with ease. Jolias was asleep next to him, resting his forehead against the seat in front.

Max sniggered. The guy he’d had a crush on for years had never looked so unbelievably unsexy. Yet, after everything they’d been through, he couldn’t have wanted him more.

They’d seen each other naked. Jolias’ eyes gleamed at the sight of Max’s enlarged crotch back in the cave — Max was never going to let him live that one down. For the longest time, he didn’t know what it was going to take to make the gym rat ogle him the same way he did every other guy at the gym. Being around all that hot sweat and those big men was never going to work for Max. The cold steel of the dumbbells didn’t feel natural in his hands. Artificial, not meant to be touched. But now he knew better. He knew what Jolias wanted, what he was always after.

He tugged the garter of his sweatshorts and inspected the damage. His cock wasn’t the iron-strength beam it was hours ago, but even soft, it was still longer and thicker than he’d ever been hard. And his testicles put eggs to shame. He shook his waist a bit just to see if it — if he — were real, to watch it jiggle in between his legs. To feel it smack against his thighs. Despite the abnormality of the situation, Max found the sensation his new weight brought a pleasantly natural development.

“What are you doing…?” Jolias whispered.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d wake up.”

Jolias tossed his head and smiled sleepily at Max, one eye still closed and fast asleep. “I work two jobs, Max. No rest means more money.”

“And yet, here we are, on the way to Peru to loot whatever rent money we can pry from your grandmother’s remains.”

“Shut up.” Jolias lifted the armrest and nestled against Max’s shoulder. “You make it sound like a war crime.”

The heat rushed into Max’s face before he could react. Jolias’ black hair was tickling the side of his neck, and his slowed breathing was crawling down Max’s bare arm. They’d never been so close before. Never so intimate.

He could feel the stream of blood returning to his cock, the very same beast he’d spent the past few hours struggling to tame, now breaking free of its reigns. “H-hey, Jol’… do you think you could, uh… not use my shoulder as a pillow?” He lowered his head to whisper into Jolias’ ear. “You’re getting me hard again.”

“Who cares? The old coon next to me is asleep, and I’m trying to get some well-deserved shuteye. We’ll deal with your horndog problems in the morning.”

Max gulped. The mushroom head was crawling down his right leg, inching towards Jolias, pulling and shifting under the gray fabric of his sweatshorts. He tried escaping, shifting closer to the window. Jolias followed. The smaller man was refusing to rest his head on anything that wasn’t Max’s immediate shoulder. Heat was something of an issue to Max. It always got him hard. And being around Jolias wasn’t making things any easier.

“I’m serious.” Max felt the flush of warmth course through his cheeks. He laid his eyes on the salami outlined through his shorts. It didn’t look real. But it was his. And he could make it jump at will.

Jolias grumbled, lightly flicking the shaft staring at him. “God. Did it get bigger?”

Max was confused. “What?” It never occurred to him that any changes, especially subtle as they were, would’ve been invisible to him. But was Jolias telling the truth? Or seeing what he wanted to see? “Don’t touch it.” Regardless, Jolias’ fingers playfully tapping Max’s cock made him twitch.

The pleasure being wrought was disproportionate to Jolias’ teasing. Max struggled to maintain his composure. The sensation was writhing through his every nerve, tensing and straining. It was in his fingers, his toes, his neck. But they were in public. Most were asleep, but the few who weren’t could hear every micro-moan and gasp quivering from his lips. There was no way to halt Jolias’ advance. He was indomitable, unrelenting, and oh-so-damn fuckable.

The AC turned lukewarm in minutes. Max couldn’t help it — he let out a moan. Though not of agony. Nor of pleasure. The latter was an understatement. It was ecstasy. Max was seeing red, and Jolias’ handsome face at the forefront of his imagination. His best friend’s toned, athletic body, that V-taper, those thick brown nipples protruding from his supple chest. Just from the way Jolias shuffled against Max, his strong shoulders poked and prodded Max’s own soft arm. Those copper eyes, pools of molten gold, shining like the sun. Though his crotch wasn’t as enormous as Max’s was, the ham-like thighs framing it were more than enough compensation.

Max glanced at Jolias and regretted it immediately. A drop of precum escaped from his balls. He’d lost control for a moment. Only a second. His testicles hungered for release. They were pressing against his chair, cushioned and primed.

But he held the urge down. Kept himself contained. They were still in public. And Max was two seats and several aisles away from reaching the closest toilet.

Yet Jolias’ heat permeated his every pore, bathing him in his natural scent, the musk of a Peruvian model. Without a word or any action at all, Jolias was unwittingly holding him hostage along the edge. And he wanted to fall. Wanted nothing more than to let go. The heat was creeping up his swollen shaft, the point of no return.

Max held his breath. And he looked, one last time, at Jolias’ heterochrome orange eyes, grinning at him. “Fuck.” He trailed off.

A stream of pre-cum pooled in Max’s shorts, coating the fattened cock of his head. Max’s and Jolias’ noses were bombarded with the pungent scent of cum, and they both stared at the source, paused for breath, dumbfounded in curiosity. Max waited for it to end. His hope was short-lived as his balls inexplicably began churning and radiating a sensual heat as it pumped out dollop after dollop of potent sperm. He couldn’t believe the feeling, as if his body had a mind of its own, mercilessly pinching his erotic nerves.

“Excuse me, steward, but… what’s that smell?”

Max turned to the voice and found it coming from across the plane, opposite to his own seat. It was an old man, sniffling. A cold. He shouldn’t have been able to notice anything. Yet Max stared at the way he described the masculine perfume: raw, warm, chlorine- or bleach-like. Those weren’t the words he would’ve used to describe his cum, but hearing them from a total stranger made them all the more real.

Jolias was salivating next to him, his eyes pointed at the couple a few seats ahead, sniffing around for the source. Max couldn’t believe what was happening.

Yet the cum only seemed to continue seeping through his shorts, streaming down his leg. The ecstasy was intoxicating. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass.

And he let go.

The flood of cum gushed out of his balls as a geyser would. Some of it splattered on the carpet. Some on the seat in front, in the net basket, in the pages of the magazines. The cock had broken free of Max’s shorts, pulled the fabric back into his pelvis, and stood at a 45-degree angle. The head flared as if it were alive, roaring and unleashing the white splooge in bursts.

Max threw his head back and shut his eyes. He heard Jolias’ voice call out, “Max?” And he wanted nothing more than to fuck it. To fuck him. He bucked in his seat, slowly, girating, picturing the sight of Jolias’ nude self positioned over him, manipulating the nerves in his oversized cock. Jolias had described them to Max before: the ways his ass and cock could take any and every man he slept with to heaven. Those side-comments were never lost on Max. He’d used them to ejaculate before. Just the words. And his voice. And this moment in time, frozen on the plane, was no different.

“Max!” Jolias whispered, almost in a yell. There were others looking, glancing over, realizing where the smell was coming from. People were waking up. People were staring.

Max shut himself up as he felt the blood in his face flush with heat, releasing the final glob of cum from his balls. It raced up his shaft and ejected, making an audible splat as it collided with the food tray.

“Holy fuck,” Max mouthed.

But the heat didn’t dissipate. Not yet. He was still far from satisfied.

Jolias tugged Max’s shorts in a vain attempt at covering up his privates before the approaching stewardess laid her eyes on the biggest, wettest penis she would’ve ever laid eyes on. It was no good. The tool was too hard, too difficult.

“Max, cover yourself up! Holy shit. Someone’s gonna see you.”

Jolias got no reply.

Max was well and truly out of it. His mind had gone blank-white with euphoria, even in the dimly lit cabin. The heat had taken over every bare inch of his skin, but it never showed. His fingers, resting on the windowsill and Jolias’ left leg, were twitching.

Then it happened, the moment Max had been waiting for — the true grand finale.

He felt it first in his stomach. With a struggling hand, he bent over and lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing his flawless baby fat paunch, hanging loosely over his shorts’ garter.

Jolias tried to unclench Max’s grip and cease the exhibition. He failed. Max’s will surpassed Jolias’ physicality in power, though neither man knew when or how.

But Max knew why. With one look, he directed Jolias’ attention to his exposed stomach. Before the latter could even utter a worded reaction, the unbelievable happened.

The fat that had once wrapped around Max’s midsection began to dissipate, sinking back into his body, disappearing like a deflating balloon. Both their eyes grew wide as they watched. What was once a torso akin to a bubble was shrinking — no, molding — into marble. The skin tightened until love handles became abs, and, as was revealed by another lift of his shirt, gynecomastia became a pair of pecs. They were faint, flat, nothing like Jolias’. But they were tough. They were square. And they were his.

Max didn’t notice the stewardess stop and turn to examine what was happening on seats 33 and 34. She spoke before looking, “Excuse me, sir—“

“Oh, my god.” Jolias reached out a hand to touch but hovered halfway. “Is this real? W-what happened?”

Max panted. The heat was finally disappearing, leaving his body like invisible fumes. He turned to Jolias, to the stewardess, to the businessman across the plane. Nothing could have prepared him for what just happened. His hands were still holding up his shirt, exposing his newly-formed chest, swimmer’s abs, V-line, and most importantly his ivory monolith, which was taking its sweet time retracting into a more manageable size.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think I need to clean up,” he told Jolias.

Everyone watching was dumbfounded.

Max turned to the stewardess, clutching her ID in shock. “You wouldn’t happen to have a box of tissues, would you?”

October 4, 2022

Wow, great start, looking forward to seeing where this goes!

Would be great if you kept the story in the one thread - means we can follow this post and get notified when new chapters and replies drop!

October 5, 2022

Great to see a new story from you!

I’m excited to see where this will go

October 5, 2022

HAAAAAAAWWWWT!!!

October 7, 2022

Hey, its been a long time since I don't read anything in the forum, and it was a nice surprise to read this one! Thanks for your work, I really like the way you write.

I'll be waiting for the next and final part!

October 8, 2022

4 hours ago, Sean7 said:

Hey, its been a long time since I don't read anything in the forum, and it was a nice surprise to read this one! Thanks for your work, I really like the way you write.

I'll be waiting for the next and final part!

Thank you! And sorry for the confusion; it’s supposed to mean it’s the first post for October. Let me update the title.

October 8, 2022

Can't wait for chap 2-8 seeing as chap1 is soooo good

October 16, 2022

Spoiler

Author's Note: I'm importing this directly with the formatting, so let me know if you use the light background on the forum or prefer the usual color, and I'll change the font color for the body to the default for readability.

MadMutter's

Thicker than Water

by Scarletic

2

Two Sides of a Coin

The morning of his visit, Marco Castillo-Moreno had forgotten to bring a tape measure with him.

Half his brain was trained on the cashier’s vacant eyes as she scanned the plastic-wrapped tape he’d picked out from the aisle. The other half refused to leave the bed.

“Four soles.”

It was still too early in the day. 5 AM to be exact. The sun had just come up from beyond the horizon of buildings, painting the clouds in a painterly blend of lilacs and oranges that refused to mix. Even from inside the convenience store, Marco could still hear the heartbeat of Lima just outside. Kids playing football on the streets, minibuses and conductors yelling and honking, people rushing to and from the aged public metro in a rush.

He passed the coins across the counter and pocketed the tape measure before the receipt finished printing. “Thanks,” he said with a swift nod.

Marco rushed out, stuffing his fanny pack with the new haul, and pulled out his phone. He saw his reflection first in the black mirror. It had become of a habit of his — looking, staring at himself. Not that it was borne out of conceit. Far from it. It couldn’t be helped that he bore a striking resemblance to his twin, Jolias, their family’s shining diamond to his lump of coal. Growing up, he’d never thought much about his own self-grooming. Only when his bedside ached for his better half did he bother to get his act together.

Nowadays, when he looked in the mirror, it wasn’t his face he saw. Not anymore. Even if barely anything had changed.

The only way anyone distinguished him from Jolias anymore was the haircut. Instead of a mop of hair, he preferred keeping it short, keeping it simple, clean. A fade.

While his twin lived out his USA fantasy, Marco longed for the chance to swap words with him again. Four years of radio silence frayed a man.

He’d told himself before, countless times both awake and lost in his dreams, that whatever Jolias asked of him next, whenever and whatever it was, he would comply without an itch of hesitation.

Yet, as he rushed over to his brother’s rented bedspace, sweat ruining his brand-new scarlet duds, he pinched himself. He couldn’t even remember to bring a tape measure.

“Marco, this is urgent. We need a measuring tape. You’ve got one at your place, don’t you?” Jolias had texted him. “It’s about that… situation. Details at our bedspace.”

Marco groaned, maneuvering past the parade of workers, market shoppers, and kids along the cramped sidewalks.

“I’m going to kill him.”

◊ ◊ ◊

Marco stood outside his brother’s rented bedspace: a compact two-storey home nestled in the heart of a nameless street. The orange paint was chipping off, revealing the concrete shell. There were also various articles hanging from a clothesline on the balcony — and Marco was sure neither Jolias nor his best friend had such poor taste in style.

Passers-by were giving him strange looks as he gawked mindlessly at the small house. He didn’t care. Though, he wasn’t sure what it was holding him back from knocking.

It was the right address, he knew that. He checked. Multiple times. But no sound came from inside, no texts arrived inviting him in. Harnessing a conscious effort, Marco lifted his right foot forward. Then his left. It’s not that he’d forgotten how to walk. Just that he refused to acknowledge that he could.

The wooden door was protected by a pathetic steel screen filled with holes that didn’t do much in the way of actually screening anything.

He looked to his phone. Nothing. His clothes were as neat — and dried — as they were ever going to be after his morning commute. The fanny pack on his pelvis was starting to weigh down on him. Before his self-doubt had anything to say about his short hair, he raised an arm and knocked on the door.

“Who’s there?” asked a voice. Marco had never heard it before, but it didn’t sound local. He’d watched enough movies to recognize the inflections of a German accent. “Jol’, I think someone’s at the door.”

Marco heard his brother’s voice before his brain had a chance to react. “I know. I heard the knock,” Jolias had said. “Stay in there. Don’t let anyone outside see you.”

Footsteps approached the front door, and Marco stood back, relishing the familiar weight his twin’s footsteps carried. The way he walked and stomped. He’d mimicked it to a tee. All his shoes’ outsoles were worn out the exact same way.

There was hesitation in the air when the sound stopped. “Uh… quién… está ahí?” Jolias mumbled.

The poor attempt at Spanish forced a chuckle out of Marco. He smiled that golden smile and leaned against the door. “Four years gone, and you already sound just like a white man.”

Jolias didn’t speak again. Instead, the door flung open, and the screen slammed against the wall as Jolias appeared in the doorway, eyes already watering, and quivering lips that softened Marco’s façade. “Oh, my god.” Jolias lunged forward and collapsed in Marco’s embrace, wrapping his arms around his skinnier twin brother.

Marco was lost in a stupor. He hadn’t seen his twin in the past four years, but the meaty man standing before him — crushing him in newly muscular arms — looked as though he’d eaten the twig he’d once called an equal. They were still the same height, 5-foot-6, but Marco could easily guesstimate that Jolias had added a generous 30 pounds or so to their once-uniform frame. There were larger men back home, but he’d never felt smaller than he did in his brother’s arms.

As Marco’s hands traveled along Jolias’ skintight shirt towards his back, he could feel the shifting ripples of muscle underneath; they felt like marble, toned almost to a fault.

It sparked an ounce of envy. But he’d long accepted that Jolias was never meant to stagnate. His twin was meant for greater things.

He wouldn’t have left him and Peru otherwise.

“I missed you,” Jolias said.

Marco turned into pudding. “Me too.”

Jolias lifted himself off Marco and stood, wrapping his fingers around the smaller man’s shoulders, absent-mindedly flexing his exposed biceps. “How is it you don’t look like you’ve changed a bit?” he asked.

“You’ve just changed a lot.”

Marco felt the heat from Jolias’ body travel down to his groin. He said a quiet prayer, thanking himself for having the foresight to wear denim jeans.

“Have I?” Jolias lifted an arm, giving Marco a quick flex, showing off his granite bicep, the way it curved off his arm like a baseball wrapped in skin. “I figured some time at the gym wouldn’t hurt. I’ve always wanted to be the bigger brother.”

“I’m still older than you by four minutes!” Marco joked.

Jolias winked. “I said bigger, not older.” He moved aside, providing enough room for Marco’s slender frame to slip into the house. “Come on. Get inside. We can talk more in here.”

The foreign voice came again, unseen. “Who’re you talking to?”

Jolias turned to face it. “It’s just Marco!” And twisted back to his brother in a flick. “Right, did you bring a tape measure like I asked?”

He did as instructed and pulled out the newly-bought, still plastic-wrapped, measuring tape from his fanny pack (which was doing a fine job covering his ensuing erection).

“Yup.”

Jolias snatched it from Marco’s hand and gripped his wrist with the other. Marco almost tripped on himself with the force his brother exerted, practically throwing him inside with zero regard for his wellbeing.

He managed to catch himself on the couch and examined the claustrophobic cube they called a house. There was a dangerously tight staircase leading up to who-knows-where, and nearing the back were two doors. The place looked decrepit, abandoned, plucked off Chernobyl and dumped into Peru. What may have once been considered bright cyan walls had chalked and chipped into cerulean desert crust. The fake wooden floor had also torn along the walls and around the furniture’s feet.

Marco was familiar with Peruvian architecture: glorified concrete boxes. That was all they were in reality. Why his brother chose to settle on such a depressing excuse for a bedspace, considering the conversion rate from dollar to sole, was lost on him.

Perhaps he would ask. Perhaps he wouldn’t say a word.

Perhaps, he shouldn’t be criticizing his brother’s decisions.

They weren’t teens anymore. What they had was long gone.

“You can come out, Max.” Jolias closed the door, returning the chain locks. “It’s safe.”

Marco opened his mouth to speak but was drowned out by an opening door, creaking loudly behind him, stubborn in its refusal to open. Whatever was on the tip of his tongue evaporated as he laid his eyes on the source of the distinct German voice he’d heard.

“Oh, wow… You really are twins.”

The man was tall. Alabaster white. Mid-20s. Had mocha hair, thick-rimmed glasses, broad shoulders. Little to no fat, like a computer nerd who spent too much time on the treadmill.

He was hiding behind the wall leading to what Marco assumed to be the bathroom — if even that; it was pathetically small, barely enough room for a toilet, much less a shower. The man’s back was sprawled out on the grime-covered mirror behind him. There was a print on the back of his shirt: the brand logo of a multi-national café. Work merchandise, Marco guessed. It was oversized. Though it didn’t do much to hide the muscular fibres in his exposed forearms and neck.

Jolias had told him before arriving that he was bringing a friend. Though their descriptions didn’t add up.

Marco was expecting a geek, yes, though somewhat pudgy, typically obnoxious but mostly quiet, timid.

The man standing before him, with a tight jaw and sharp gray eyes, was way too fit. Way too muscular.

Way too hot.

His brother seemed to have a habit of attracting the hot ones.

“Who’s this, Elias?” Marco asked.

Max sniggered, raising an eyebrow in jovial confusion. “Who’s ‘Elias’?” he asked, turning to Jolias.

“It’s an old nickname. Marco, this is my best friend, Max. The one I’ve been telling you about.” Jolias walked up to the German and gestured them towards one another. “Max, Marco. Marco, Max.”

Max walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He chose to keep his head lowered, but smiled and was evidently in a battle against his nerves. “Hi,” he said, raising a hand halfway.

Marco grinned and snickered silently. He stood up and met Max at the kitchen counter, offering a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Max,” he replied, being met with a sullen nod. Without anything left to say, he turned back to his brother, holding back his laughter behind a hand. “So, what’s this ‘accident’ you’ve been telling me about? And what’s with the measuring tape?”

◊ ◊ ◊

Max washed his face with another handful of water. He barely got a wink of sleep following his accident on the plane; the authorities weren’t sure what to do with him, so they let him go. One of the guards was familiar with the Moreno family, and Jolias spared no mercy in making himself known.

Jolias was brewing some coffee in the kitchen just outside the bathroom while Max stood against the mirror, examining himself in morbid curiosity. Though, he wasn’t quite sure if he even was himself. It wasn’t his body, his face, his physique. Everything was so cut. His skin, in a word: tight.

Pulling up the baggy sleeves of his oversized shirt from work (merchandise he’d nabbed in protest), he examined the tight striations and fibers that ran down his arms. Thin arteries were sticking out, and faint outlines of muscle would flex with every subtle motion. In his mind, he was impossibly mobile. The fat that once plagued him had melted and reformed into fresh, athletic muscle, though his weight hadn’t changed at all. His newly-carved face taunted him in his reflection. He could pull his skin for the first time, as though it were latex, and actually see the muscles and bones wriggle just beneath the surface.

His abs were carved from his cleavage to his waist, so deep that he could run his fingers through the cracks. What he’d initially confused for his love handles were rock-hard bone. If he blocked out his face and lifted his shirt, he imagined seeing a torso like his on social media, racking up the likes and randoms asking for ID. It was an amusing thought. Never once did he imagine a barista like him would have the body of an underwear model. Yet there he was, running his fingers up and down his now-triangular torso, wondering what else it would take for his crush to fantasize about him the same way he had for years.

“Stare at yourself any longer, and you’ll turn to stone,” Jolias said, snidely. “Come have breakfast. The owner left some bread in the fridge.”

Max had half a mind to ignore him. “Not yet. I’m still…”

“‘Still’ what? Checking yourself out? You’ve been at it since we got here.”

With a furrowed brow, Max twisted his head to face Jolias. “Wouldn’t you? In case you forgot, my balls aren’t exactly supposed to be accepting tenants. Weird shit’s been happening to me since that, that thing, crawled into my dick. At least give me some time to go through the damages.”

“Doesn’t look like anything’s broken to me,” Jolias said, crunching into his roasted bread, “this burnt toast isn’t going to eat itself,” he continued, mouth full.

“I don’t know how you can act like nothing’s wrong. Your best friend just got reverse anal probed by some prehistoric glowing ooze, and all you can think about is bread.”

Jolias sighed, cancelling his next bite, his expression harsh. “I have been worrying, Max. But there’s only so much my wishful thinking and positive thoughts can do. All we can do is wait for Marco to get some answers. Until then, it’s nom-nom time.”

At that moment, a knock came from the door.

It was still early, criminally so. Neither of them were expecting any guests besides Jolias’ brother, but Jolias had told him to come at noon. Not seven hours early. They both paused, blinking eyes rapidly darting from the other to the door and back. Max lowered his shirt, and Jolias returned his half-eaten toast to the plate. For a moment, they thought whoever it was had left. It went silent outside. But it came again. And again. And they knew their guest didn’t plan on leaving.

“Who’s there?” Max poked his head out of the bathroom door. “Jol’, I think someone’s at the door.”

◊ ◊ ◊

Marco struggled to wrap his head around what Jolias and Max had narrated. He’d never been able to travel very far, his home in Lima being the furthest he’s ever gone, mainly due to monetary constraints. Even then, the mystery surrounding this underground lake sounded a bit too far-fetched. And he’d read a lot of books in his spare time.

“Do we really need to do this?” Max had asked, yelling down the stairs.

Marco was sitting cross-legged on one of the two twin beds in the upstairs bedroom. They were shoved against the wall, with Max on the opposite bed. Both men were facing one another, but their eyes refused to meet. He wasn’t sure what to make of his twin’s traveling companion; there was a hunger whenever he glanced at Jolias — a glazed look he recognized from his own reflection. It was lust.

They didn’t share many words. But Marco knew all he needed to.

Jolias ran back up the stairs in a light hop, biting his lip. “Hey, you’re the one who’s been complaining about your junk getting too big for your trunk.” He closed the door behind him, eyeing the two and walked over to the balcony, shutting the blinds from the afternoon sun. “If your dick’s really getting bigger like you say it is, then we’ve got to measure it. For science, of course.”

It was true. Marco couldn’t deny what he’d been glancing at for the past few minutes: Max, clad in his black shirt and cotton briefs, had the most bulbous bulge he’d ever seen in his life. It didn’t look natural, more akin to a phallic balloon. He’d seen large cocks before, but not quite like this. Never in person.

Max felt the heft his junk weighed in his hand and let it bounce as he released it. “You didn’t tell me your brother would be watching. It’s weird enough that he’s a stranger to me. It’s even weirder that I’m seeing two of you.”

“You just haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.” Jolias stood in the center, dividing the two. Then he grinned down at his brother. “Here, Marco. Why don’t you do the honors?” he asked, tossing the measuring tape into his twin’s weaker hands, sitting next to him, rubbing his horseshoe tricep against Marco’s toothpick of an upper arm.

Marco froze, mouth agape, as both Jolias and Max eyed him, wondering what he’d say next. The zest in Jolias’ face told him he wouldn’t take no for an answer; Max stiffened.

“I’m not sure about this, Elias. Your friend doesn’t look very thrilled to have a ‘stranger’ touching his privates.”

Jolias nudged Marco off the bed with a strong pat on the back. “Pfft, don’t listen to him. He complains about everything.”

Marco turned to meet Jolias’ eyes, once again drawn to their topazine sheen, failing to notice the warmth seeping into his face. With a subtle flick of Jolias’ attention, Marco snapped himself out of his stupor. He shrank the distance between him and Max. Unlike his brother, the European’s face held no comfort, only cold, a palpable distance despite their proximity. There was a melancholy in his gray eyes that Marco couldn’t quite comprehend. But its effect was unignorable.

“Just make it quick please.” Max opened his legs, allowing his sack to droop. “I’ve got to relieve it soon. If I have to see both of you any longer, the blood may never circulate back again.”

“Please. You’re always horny, Mr. Notgeil,” Jolias commented, pulling a leg over his other knee.

With a sigh, Marco knelt and readied the tape measure in his fingers. “Could you, uh…”

Max pressed his lips into a fine line and sighed, grabbing the ends of his briefs and dragging them down, over his thighs.

The moment he did, everyone in the room paused for breath. Marco knew from their earlier explanation over breakfast that something inside Max was causing his genitals to swell. He’d thought it was something simpler: an allergic reaction or a trick of the light. Even seeing it compressed inside cotton underwear didn’t feel authentic, as if it were stuffed with socks. He didn’t like how wrong he was.

“Holy fuck,” Jolias exclaimed. “There’s no way that thing’s a six-incher anymore, dude.”

Even Max’s eyes were bugging out. “I— I— It wasn’t like this this morning. It must’ve blown up some more since we left the airport.”

Marco couldn’t believe it. Jolias’ best friend was hung like a dinosaur. It was a pristine pillar of ivory that was beginning to harden into a semi, its head pointing at Marco’s feet, nearly halfway to the floor. It was riddled with veins and made Marco’s own cock look miniature in comparison.

Even the balls that hung underneath and rested on the mattress had more in common with a sack of lemons than human genitals. How Max was walking around with such oversized goods in his briefs was an impossibility to Marco. He’d been so used to catfish posing with nudes far larger than they had. Yet there Max was, a stark contrast to the liars.

Without another word, Marco reached out and held its warmth in his hands. He couldn’t believe how heavy it was. Likely hovering around half a kilogram’s worth. It didn’t have much of a smell, but its heat tickled Marco’s nostrils as he moved it around, trying to press the first end of the tape measure against his shaved pubic base.

“22.5 centimeters,” Marco muttered, matching Max’s look of surprise. “I don’t know what that is in inches.”

Jolias gulped. “Around nine inches, give or take, I think. And you’re sure that’s soft?”

Marco shook his head. “It was approaching semi.” He looked up and caught Max looking away, his white face already beginning to blush. “Should I also measure him hard?”

“Eager as always,” Jolias leaned forward, twiddling with his fingers. “Yeah. Here,” he said, standing up and kneeling next to Marco in between Max’s wide legs. “Let me handle it. I know how to get this dingus horny.”

“You what…?” Max asked.

Jolias’ arm rocketed up, a finger pressing against Max’s mouth. “Shush-shush.” He then grabbed Max’s forearm and lifted it up in unison with his. “This shouldn’t take long,” Jolias said, mustering up his raspiest voice.

It was a vocal fry Marco hadn’t heard in years. The last time was a year before Jolias migrated; they’d been in bed after a particularly rough day, naked, wet. Very wet.

Both Marco and Max were stiffening up quick at the sound of Jolias’ voice. The rate at which Max’s obelisk rose matched that of the growing tent in Marco’s denim jeans. They hadn’t noticed how dreadfully warm the room had gotten with the balcony closed off. Knowing they were intermingling with one another’s musk was aphrodisiac enough to titillate their senses, set their minds ablaze.

“Whoa, hey, what are you doing?” Max asked, his own voice quaking at the slightest breath.

Jolias didn’t stop, much to Marco’s aroused discomfort. With both his and Max’s arms raised, Jolias flexed his left arm, shaking the sleeve down to his shoulder, exposing his taut, rippling upper arm, bicep and tricep curving outwards. He placed Max’s limp hand on its peak and dragged the German’s fingers across. The sound of skin on skin bounced against the walls, isolating everyone’s attention towards the source.

“Doing you a favor.” Jolias moved his arm as a lever, up and down, causing the vein-riddled bicep to stretch and compress into a ball in Max’s hand.

Marco couldn’t believe what he was seeing, hearing. He knew Jolias was fit, but the amount of muscle that was deceptively hidden in his one arm surprised him — and Marco couldn’t help but ogle. He watched as the man he once deemed his equal (only marginally superior then) was demanding worship under the guise of “speeding things up,” all thanks to his improved physique. When they were younger, Jolias was already prone to exhibitionism. Marco was already helpless then. More so now, fully realizing just how jarringly blatant the difference between them had become.

Perhaps calling Jolias his “twin” was giving himself a bit too much credit.

“Jesus…” Max whispered, wincing, biting his lip.

When Max was fully erect, Jolias let go and snapped in Marco’s face, pulling him out of his stupor. “Alright. Measure it,” he said, combing his hair to one side.

Marco did as he was told, still half out of it, torn between his bewilderment for his brother and the sheer mass of the cock in his hands. It twitched whenever his fingers got a bit too frisky, a bit too careless. There didn’t seem to be a single patch of skin that wasn’t overly sensitive on Max’s tool.

“Don’t… don’t touch it too much. You’re going to make me blow,” Max grunted.

At the mention, Jolias’ eyes lit up. “Oh, yeah. Something did happen last time, didn’t it? There wasn’t much we could do about the mess on the plane, but we’ve got free reign here.” Jolias scooched forward, grinning at both Marco and Max, stretching the latter’s legs to their widest to accommodate both Peruvians. “I want to see what another cumshot would do to you. Now that you’ve got no fat to melt. Don’t go anywhere, Marco. You’ll want to see what happens.”

“Fuck…” Max looked away. “Come on, Jol’. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with here.”

Marco planted the end of the tape against Max’s swollen cock head and read the measurement out loud. “28 centimeters.”

“11 inches, huh? No surprise there.” Jolias flicked the shaft aimed towards him. “This is the biggest tube of meat I’ve ever seen in my life. Shit, one more inch, and it would be thrice as long as we are soft, right, Marco?”

“That would make it a foot-long. I don’t know anyone with a penis that big,” Marco shook his head. “Just seeing it in my hands doesn’t feel real. No one in Lima comes close.”

Jolias sniggered, gently nudging Marco’s chest away with the back of his hand. “Not even anyone in Chicago has anything like this. They’re always all wrinkly and blemished and ugly. But not my best friend’s. Ain’t that right, Max? You like having a picture-perfect cock, don’tcha?”

Marco stood up and quietly slipped out of the room, his back against the door. While his brother failed to notice, Max glanced at him for a moment before darting back to Jolias on his knees. Though he didn’t really care. He didn’t want to make a scene, to become a part of theirs, to ruin what they had. The tension in Marco’s crotch had become unbearable, seeing Jolias in action proving his hold over him.

He had to get away. The bathroom was just down this one flight of stairs. Marco sprinted before the jostling in his pants got the better of him.

Quiet and alone at last, he locked the door and braced himself on the sink as he unbuckled his pants and dropped everything to his ankles.

Marco stood fully erect, the dark head of his cock resting on the aged porcelain. Pumping out a handful of hand soap, he rested against the tiled wall, pacing his breathing, recognizing his brother’s unmistakable scent from the shower, and coating his shaft with the makeshift lube. It smelled of shea butter, Jolias’ favorite.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “What the fuck am I doing?”

It was a stupid question. Thinking of his brother for one thing, the passion he’d long buried now resurfacing with every waking moment he stood in their rented space, the unbearable urge to touch and caress and be everything Jolias ever wanted. A bottom, a brother, and sometimes, a top. But, even then, he never held the reins in the relationship.

It was his craving for Jolias back in his arms that sent heat rippling through his body, fueling the motorized hand piloting his mortally hard cock. At his stiffest, he never went past the five-inch mark.

But size wasn’t important. What was important to Marco was one thing, one person — and all he ever needed to do was stand at a mirror. A near-perfect replica of his idol of admiration, molded and changed to his liking.

He would imagine himself with longer hair brushing his neck, shoulders that made shirts too small, round and firm pecs that strained the top-button of any top. And that smile, ripe with charm, those snow-white teeth that never failed to glimmer in the overhead light. Chocolate skin, begging to be licked. Fat lips. Kissed.

Marco shot a heavy load into the sink and held onto its side for support. His knees were buckling at the foreign intensity of his emission, enough to make him gasp for air. The ceiling light blinded his twitching eyes as he came and came again. Until, at last, it ended.

As the silence washed over him, he gave himself a moment to breathe, to put on his pants.

But a second was all it took to shatter his momentary respite. Upstairs, he heard the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing.

He sprinted out of the bathroom as fast as his legs could take him.

MEANWHILE

“I don’t know how to feel about this, Jol’,” Max muttered, propping himself up on the bed with firm hands, legs spread wide, neck wrapped with veins, gray eyes that peered down his tilted head at his best friend. Jolias, who was mercilessly tickling the underside of his engorged balls. He only managed to fit them both in one palm thanks to the skin holding them together.

Jolias played with them in his fingers, passing them through the gaps, fondling them aggressively.

His grin spelled out mischief. “You don’t have to feel anything. Just let this happen, yeah? I just want to know what’ll happen if I make you cum again. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to give my brother a demonstration. Right, Marco?” Jolias spun his head. “Marco?”

“He snuck out a few seconds ago,” Max said, wincing as Jolias’ fingers intensified their approach on his genitals. “Jesus, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“Well, I guess if he isn’t around, then there’s no point in me holding back, is there?”

Max opened his mouth to speak but stopped as a tidal wave of euphoria jolted through his every fiber. It coursed through his nerves from his balls, a sort of signal that pulsated in him. He’d never experienced anything like it before in his life. The way he winced and twitched and bit his lips—he couldn’t take it. Seeing Jolias on his knees, stroking and juggling his cock and balls with two capable hands. The smaller man was a master of his craft. Max couldn’t believe what he’d been missing.

Jolias smirked up at him, squeezing the fat head of his penis. “You think you can handle a bit of tongue?”

“Wait… ‘t’might not be a good,”—he moaned—“idea. Fuck. We still don’t know what the slime is doing to me. I don’t know what’ll happen if I cum down your throat.”

“So, we’re just skipping the whole mouth thing and going straight to my throat, huh?”

“That’s not what I—“

Jolias tightened his grip around Max’s shaft. “I know what you meant. But, fine. The floor will have to do.” He spat on the mushroom helmet as lubrication and molded Max’s 11-incher with a vigor that turned his German friend into putty.

Max was sweating. Some part of him couldn’t believe what was happening, the part of him that refused to believe someone like Jolias could have formed any semblance of interest in him, the part that told him what he saw in the mirror wasn’t worthy of his attention. But it was only ever a part. And parts were easy to subdue, to control. The same way Jolias was manipulating Max’s own parts. His most sensitive.

Again, just as it was in the plane, the heat reached its boiling point. It had curdled enough, ripe for release.

“Fuck me,” Max said, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his fingers on the bedsheet.

“I’m kinda busy right now,” Jolias said, going even faster, “how much longer until I make you shoot?” He punctuated his question by whipping his tongue across his lips…

…And that was all it took.

Max gasped as the load ejected from his cock with the power of a missile, flying past Jolias’ ear and forming the first puddle on the floor behind him. He couldn’t open his eyes to see. But he could feel every burst of ecstasy that soar through his shaft. It rippled through him in waves, paralyzing him.

Jolias scooched over to one side while maintaing his steady motion on Max’s penis.

The white streams of cum were unreal. It had been the first time Max had ever actually seen what his new and improved body could do, and watching each strip fly and add to the ever-growing puddles on the floor only fueled his desire for more, for the sensation to never end, to empty his balls if it meant experiencing nirvana on loop.

“Holy shit,” Jolias said, “it’s not stopping. What the fuck, how much spunk is in your balls?”

Max shook his head, his face beginning to pale. “How do you expect it to stop when you’re still squeezing it?”

Despite Jolias retracting his hands, Max’s tall cock continued to eject. It showed no signs of slowing down, at least not for another minute.

The arc finally began to recede then. Max, with whatever willpower he could muster, focused his eyes on the blotches of white spread across the floor. His cum had become almost opaque in its density. Heat dissipited from his fingers first. Travelling as it eased its way through his nerves, through his bones, down to his crotch.

Jolias stood up and watched in muted anticipation. Max was never a mind-reader. But even he could tell from the way his best friend grinned that he knew — they both did — what was bound to come next.

When a moment finally passed, the sensation hit Max like a freighter truck of caffeine. A jolt. The euphoria was replaced by that ever-familiar surge of power, a second dose only hours after the intoxicating effects of the first had left his system.

He flung his head back and lifted his arms to his side, unable to contain the energy coursing through him, bouncing from fingertip to fingertip.

His breaths were growing heavier, deeper, harder. Vision blurring.

“It’s happening again!” Jolias exclaimed, though his voice was somewhat muffled.

In a brief moment of recognition, Max looked down and felt the rush of power concentrate in his chest, forcing his torso to grow, to swell, to form two slabs of muscle unceasing in their protrusion from his ribcage. They held an alien weight to them, fresh new muscle that Max only ever imagined groping on other men. But as his hands wrapped across their increasing roundness, the arousal dropped in his balls, now dragging along the mattress. Max brought his left hand down and marvelled at the stone-hard ridges that had formed where he’d become so accustomed to feeling flab. Abs. There was still enough baby fat, but the little there was did nothing to prevent Max’s fingers from penetrating his skin and stroking the muscular fibers underneath.

His shirt was increasingly tighter with every breath he took, both around his chest and the sleeves that crept up his biceps. For a moment he’d thought that the power was suffocating. That it was choking him, crushing his lungs from within.

What he didn’t fail to notice was Jolias pouncing onto him and tearing his shirt off by the collar. Though Max’s mind couldn’t land on Jolias’ words, his face was evidently panicked. “Fuck, you’re growing too much for your shirt, Max!” Jolias cried. “Can you hear me? Are you breathing?”

With a quiet chuckle, Max brought both his swelling arms to his neck, his biceps like rising stones, resisting his movement, and he pried Jolias’ hands off, replacing them with his own. In one swift movement, without the same struggle Jolias faced, he tore his shirt open by the collar. The violent rip sounded throughout the house.

Now able to breathe, unrestricted by a fabric restraint, he took in a deep inhale and released the liquid power he’d been holding back.

He felt himself swell, become wider, bigger, heavier, in subtle yet intense bursts. Pulse. Another pulse. Max let out a vocal release as he tore his sleeves off his ruined shirt. He raised both arms, now rippling and thick with unblemished muscle, and held them against the overhead light. He flexed at his sides, leaving his left arm up, bringing his right hand over to run his fingers over his biceps. His triceps. He groped both muscles and failed to make a dent. They were twice as large as they’d been minutes ago.

The garter of his briefs strained as his waist expanded by a few inches. None of it fat. Yet the increase in bottom width did nothing to ruin his trim, cut V-shape torso. He wrapped both hands across his chest, examining his boulder-like shoulders, intoxicated by the heft in them, the way they broadened his chest and acted as extra canvas space for additional pec growth.

With a final surge, Max’s mind regrounded itself, bringing him back to his reality. The high was wearing off again. And, as these euphoric elements tend to go, he was developing the faintest whispers of withdrawal. Max wanted more, and he knew it wouldn’t be long again until it returned. Until he grew even bigger.

But that would have to wait. For now, he was big enough. More than enough. He’d only just arrived in Peru hours ago.

“Holy Jesus,” Jolias muttered. His wide eyes failed to hide his surprise. His awe. Fear. “You’re so… I didn’t think this would happen. Not like this.”

Max shook his head and once again moved with the grace of a newborn gazelle. He twisted his mouth in fear, in surprise, in desire. His hands didn’t look like his. Not his arms. His chest. Muscle that most spent years — if not decades — to build: his, in literal seconds.

For the first time in his life, even with his generous height advantage, Jolias looked— no, felt small to him. He was small.

At that moment, Marco bullrushed the door and stood in the doorway, gasping, sweating, staring at the enormous German man sitting dumbfounded on the curving steel mattress beneath him. “What the fuck? How…” His gaze jumped around the room until he landed on Jolias, his twin.

“I told you,” Jolias said. “You shouldn’t have left.”

◊ ◊ ◊

Jolias’ hands were still shaking. Even after washing his face and taking his third cup of instant coffee, he still couldn’t rid his mind of what had transpired in their bedroom half an hour ago.

Marco was sitting across him at the dining table, feasting on the burnt toast Max had declined earlier that morning. Neither of the twins said much. There wasn’t, after all, much to be said. That, and Marco’s face was glued to his phone. He seemed to be aggressively scrolling through something, though he didn’t feel the need to share it with his brother. Jolias thought it better to leave him to his own devices for now. He needed some time to think alone as well.

The afternoon sun was turning their bedspace into an air fryer. Jolias waited, toying with his crumbs, for Max’s voice to remind him of where he was.

“Jol’? Could you come up here a sec’?” Max called, his voice a fraction louder than usual.

“Coming!” Jolias said, standing up. “You coming, Marc’?”

The smaller twin shook his head, eyes still glowing white from the screen. “Not now. Your friend didn’t seem very eager on having me around earlier. Besides, I’m following up on a lead.”

Jolias brushed his hair and finished the last of his coffee. “A lead? On what?”

“On what you said. I did some research to see if anything like what you told me was actually true. I’ve found some articles, but I’ll need some time to cross-reference them and see if anything on these stupid news sites is actually worth reading or if it’s just media fluff. Give me a few more minutes, though. I’ll come upstairs if I find anything.”

“Alright,” Jolias replied, patting his brother on the back, firmer than he’d intended. “Max and I’ll be upstairs.”

“You go do that.”

Jolias hopped up the stairs in a gallop, almost daring to skip a step or two just to be with Max again. The aged floorboards creaked under the force of his weight, but he knew it wasn’t his weight the house had to worry about.

Not when someone likely twice his body mass was tragically struggling to find something to wear.

The door wasn’t locked when he arrived. Inside was as he’d expected of his best friend. The room had been turned upside-down, clothes on the floor — most unused, some torn — luggage emptied on the beds.

Despite the mess, Max’s newly grown body was still what hooked Jolias’ interest most of all. The large German was pacing around the center of the small room. He’d taken off his glasses for the time-being and laid them on the bedstand, crossing one arm across his chest with the other hand at his lip.

He was shirtless, exposing his contracted muscles. The balcony curtain was only half-opened, and Max was only half-clothed. He was wearing one of Jolias’ larger basketball shorts as a pair of boxer-briefs. They weren’t meant to be skin-tight, but Max’s hamstrings demanded otherwise.

When he saw Jolias, his feet stopped and turned. “I have nothing to wear.”

And he wasn’t lying.

Jolias approached him as one would a stranger, heart tight and stomach breathless. It had been less than a day since he’d last seen Max as an average-sized, above-average weighted barista. The muscleman standing in front of him hardly resembled Max at all. What had once been small lumps of fat on his chest were replaced by two thick and juicy pillows of meat that protruded from his ribs, forming an overhang. Instead of a gut, eight distinct cuts made their way down from the crevice of his pecs, forming deep ridges that could fit a finger each.

The only part of him that had shrunk was his genitals. Not that they were normal-sized. His cock and testicles had lost at least an inch and a half each, becoming just manageable enough for the meantime.

Though they both knew that it was only a matter of time before they got out of hand — literally. Again.

The fat had melted from his jaw, leaving it firmly square, exposing his dimples. If it weren’t for his bright mocha hair, gray eyes, and glasses, Jolias would’ve never recognized him.

The closer Jolias stood, the more apparent it was to both that Max was now twice as wide as his best friend. There was no room for doubt anymore. Not when Jolias physically confirmed it, side-stepping for comparison. Even if they stood chest-to-chest, Jolias was sure he wasn’t getting past the mounds of muscle tits between them. Not unless he groped them and moved them aside.

Seeing someone as big as Max tortured Jolias with a feeling he hadn’t felt in ages. Inferiority. It took others back in Chicago years to build the body Max had, and even then, there were imperfections. Unwanted blemishes. Stretched skin, steroid acne, wrinkles, imbalanced muscle growth.

Max had none. Max was perfect. And he made Jolias feel small.

But he smiled anyway, and he lifted one of Max’s limp arms with both his hands in mundane fascination. “Christ, what’d you stuff in this muscle suit? Rocks?”

Max chuckled, raising his arm into a flex almost by instinct. “No, just chips and extra clothes.” He didn’t even notice the way his bicep hardened and swelled underneath Jolias’ fingers.

Jolias squeezed the muscle, distracted by how it made his own muscular developments look meagre in comparison. He brought up his other arm and flexed his bicep as hard as he could.

Despite the sizeable mound it made, Max’s semi-unflexed tricep alone made his years of hard work meaningless. His own body, his own genetics had betrayed him. Even after leaving that damn house, that damn lake town, he was still haunted by his namesake.

Jolias lowered Max’s arm down and patted his shoulders, unusued to how far he now had to stretch just to span the width of him. “You didn’t have to grow so big; you know?” he joked.

Max chuckled, shrugging his shoulders, and rolling his neck. “Hey, neither of us knew this was going to happen. The first time on the plane was an accident.”

“And the second is a coincidence; is that what you’re trying to say? You big lug.”

Jolias caught the instant Max blushed. “I can’t believe you of all people just called me big. Me!” the German said.

“You were always the bigger one, dingus. You’re 5’11”. Plus, you used to be all fat. Now, it looks like whatever’s in your balls melted it all down and turned it into muscle and then some.”

Max ran his hands over his curves. “I actually measured myself a bit while I was looking for clothes. I’ve officially broken the six-foot mark.” His face beamed with excitement. “Can you believe it? I don’t know how, but I’m getting taller too, apparently.”

Jolias snickered and punched Max in the chest, caught off-guard by how hard it was despite its smooth surface. “You’ll be scouted for a basketball team soon enough if you keep this up.”

“Yeah. It’s weird to think about, honestly.” Max walked over and put on his glasses, lifting his right arm and inspecting the round bicep that perked up with an effortless flex. “I’m still not used to… looking like this. I used to dream about looking like this. Then I settled on someone else looking like this and hoping they’d like me, fat and all. But then this whole thing happened. And now…”

“Now you look like this. I get it. I’d probably shit myself if I started getting stupidly hot because some slime crawled into my dick.”

Max’s cheeks flushed red again, and he turned away, keeping his eyes on Jolias over his shoulder. “You think I’m stupidly hot now?”

Jolias’ stomach fell out of his ass. “That’s not—!”

Max collapsed on his bed, causing it to creak violently in protest. “I’m kidding, kidding. I’ve just been thinking too, y’know. I… it just feels like cheating. In a video game sort of way. I didn’t have to work to get this body like you did yours. It feels scummy. I can’t put it into words right now. If I knew I would’ve looked like this if I followed that workout program you made for me years ago, I would’ve followed through.”

“What stopped you?”

Max shook his head, cleaning his glasses with a torn-up shirt at his feet. “I don’t know. I guess I just never thought I’d have the body of my dreams. That it wouldn’t work out. Pun unintended.”

Jolias’ mouth wrinkled into a smile, though sad at the edges. He walked over and sat next to his best friend, inhaling a strong whiff of his dried sweat, the way its warmth seeped into his nose, crept into his clothes. Even seated, the distance between their faces had grown.

“And what is the body of your dreams, anyway? I always thought you were happy with what you looked like before all this.” Jolias rapped his fingers against his thigh, feeling the sturdiness of the exposed fibers underneath.

He didn’t notice Max’s eyes gleam as he looked over and down for a second.

“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to be someone you wanted. Someone you’d like. Seeing the way you look at me now is… it doesn’t feel real. I know I’m supposed to think it’s stupid and superficial that you’d only like me when I had more muscle than you do — no offense—“

“None taken. Continue.”

“Thanks. But I really don’t care, you know? Everyone has shit they’re into, me included. I guess I thought I could win you over without the gym. Guess I was just fooling myself all this time.”

Jolias softened at his best friend’s words. He pressed his lips into a grin and ruffled Max’s hair, reaching high up over his broad shoulder. “Well, better late than never, right? At least now you’re getting all the benefits without ever having to lift a single weight. And what are you saying, you think I’m into you because you’re bigger than me now?”

Max crinkled his brow and groped his pecs, jiggling them around in his hands. “Uh, yeah? How can you resist these big ol’ tiddies of mine? You ever met a Peruvian with breasts like these?”

Jolias coughed, choking on his saliva, and slapped Max’s hands away. “Stop! I’m— It’s not like that. You’re an idiot if you think I’d fall for you just because you’re suddenly the abhorable hulk.”

“Did you just call me ‘adorable?’” Max asked.

“I said ‘abhorable’— Jeez. Didn’t they teach you English back in Deutschland?”

“No, I was too busy mourning my recessive Aryan genes. It took me a decade to get over how I didn’t have blonde hair and blue eyes like everyone else in recess,” Max joked.

Jolias covered his mouth to chuckle.

He couldn’t believe it. It had only been a few sleepless hours fueled by desperation, but Jolias’ world had been completely turned over following his best friend’s latest growth spurt. It felt as though a wellspring that had been buried for so long had finally been uncovered. A quiet leak had become a waterfall in an instant. And all it took for the breach to form was a single glance at what Max had become physically.

Because emotionally? Mentally? Jolias didn’t even notice he’d lost to Max years ago.

“So, what was that you said about you having shit you’re into? What are your kinks, Mr. Grey?” Jolias teased.

“Now might not be the best time to—“ Max started, before he was interrupted by the door opening.

Marco stood in the doorway, phone in hand, eyes darting between the two friends. “I’ve got something. I think it might be connected to whatever it is you guys found in Guatape.”

Without warning, Max flailed every limb and panic-grabbed a white blanket, gathering it around his chest to cover himself up. “Jesus, why didn’t you knock? I don’t have any clothes on!”

There was no sense of urgency on Marco’s face. He turned to Jolias, calmly, partially confused. “Your friend has a problem showing off?” he asked.

Jolias leaned forward, resting his forearm on a knee. “Yeah. Body image things. Just give us a few minutes. We’ll find something to wrap around this bull and meet you downstairs.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “I don’t get it. What does he have to be afraid of? I literally jacked him off a few minutes ago. What’s there to hide?”

“It’s complicated! And could you please stop talking about me as if I’m not five feet away?” Max blurted, still cowering, and trying so hard to tent himself. “Just go already!”

Throwing his hands up in arrest, Marco shook his head and turned to leave. “Alright, alright! Don’t go berserk on me. I’m going. But be quick. If what I found online has any weight, this could be big.” He stole one last glance at Max. “Bigger than you think.”

Once the door was closed, Max released the blanket and stomped across the floor, locking the door, and checking it. Thrice. “Fuck me.” He leaned against the door, forehead against his forearm. “What the hell is going on? Why is this happening to me?”

Jolias sat back and stretched his legs, crossing one over the other. “I don’t see what you’ve got to complain about. You’ve always been talking about making my gains without the pain. Now you’ve got more than I’ve ever had in my life. And all from two orgasms. Honestly, you’ve got it, Max. You should flaunt it. I’m sure no one would object to seeing you in the nude.”

“I’m not going in public without any clothes on, Jol’. I’m going shopping this afternoon. Are you coming with?”

He didn’t hesitate to reply. “I took you on this trip, so you’re technically my responsibility.”

“Even if I’m probably turning into a bio-weapon?”

“Nuclear missile shaft and mushroom cloud and all. Now come on.” Jolias hopped to his feet. “Let’s find you something you can wear. And something of mine I can put on that you haven’t repurposed into confetti yet.”

“Good luck with that.”

◊ ◊ ◊

Max couldn’t believe it. He never once thought that he could ever beat his best friend in the size department.

Weights, he remembered, were never very comfortable in his tender hands. He avoided the gym like the plague. Yet as he finished measuring his new self with Jolias’ help, a part of him didn’t hesitate to accept his new calling as the bigger man in their friendship — and it was only getting louder with every passing hour. Just as his balls too continued to inflate the longer they were left to age.

Jolias walked ahead down the stairs, tape measure in hand. “How the hell do you have 18-inch arms? I plateau’d at 15 months ago.”

“Some of us are just luckier than others, I guess.” Max followed the smaller man down the stairs, struggling and pulling the inflexible, ragged white shirt he’d put on over his torso. “At least you still have actual clothes to wear.”

And it was true. Nothing Max or Jolias brought to South America was able to fit Max’s immense new upper body, not even Jolias’ stretchiest dri-fit shirt or Max’s roomiest polo.

It was a miracle that the last tenant had left behind an old, cotton shirt in the closet. It had long lost its pure white and had more sweat stains and overstretched fabric than Max would’ve liked. Or was used to. The lack of a collar and its three buttons at the chest made it at least somewhat breathable, especially since Max’s pecs and arms had filled out dramatically from his latest spurt. It deformed the poor shirt, but he couldn’t complain. Not when he wanted to stay clothed while he still could be. For his bottoms, Jolias’ oversized basketball shorts still fit, but both knew another bout of growth would make them obsolete.

Max was still unaccustomed to the new weight he carried. Moving his arms and legs, twisting his waist and feet, all his usual daily movements demanded more energy, more effort than he was used to giving. He was hauling around boulders wrapped in skin. There was a moment of temptation where he nearly gave in and punched a hole through the bedroom wall when no one was around — but he wasn’t about to pay for repairs.

But he was enjoying the new power he had. It was a microdose of a drug he’d never had before. And he was itching for more.

Marco was finishing his third cup of afternoon coffee in the living space when Jolias and Max walked in on him still glued to his phone.

“Alright, we’re here. Some fat dude left an old shirt in the closet,” Jolias remarked, sitting in the armchair next to his twin.

Marco turned to Max, taking his seat on the couch across the twins. “It looks a bit… gross, Elias. Isn’t it itchy? Or smelly?”

Max slid his hand into the slit of his pecs and scratched the underside of his right tit. “It’s both. That’s why we’re heading out to buy new clothes later. I can’t wear this for the next few days, or I’ll end up coming back to Chicago smelling like a wet rat.”

“Oh, sure. I know some good thrift places for plus sized men nearby. I’ll take you guys there after I tell you what I’ve found.”

“So what is it you wanted to show us?” Jolias leaned over the armrest and stole a look at the article on his brother’s phone. “‘South-American Mega-Tunnels’?” He shot Marco a raised eyebrow. “But it says these were in the Amazon. What do these have to do with what we found in Colombia?”

“Could I see?” Max asked, holding out his hand for the phone, to which Marco obliged. “No, Jol’, these caves look exactly like what we found. See?” He held out a picture of a cave from the article. “It looks just like a marble water slide.”

Jolias leaned forward in curiosity. “So you think the cave we found and that weird tunnel are the same thing?”

“Yes,” Marco said, “Or at least made of the same thing. It doesn’t mention it anywhere in the article, but don’t those tunnel walls look like bone to you?”

“What about it?” Jolias asked.

In that moment, Max’s eyes lit up in revelation. “Oh, yeah. You mentioned in the plane that the hole we went down looked like bone, too, right?”

Marco nodded, excitedly. “That’s what you told me as well.”

Jolias scrunched his forehead and crossed his arms across his chest. “But that’s insane. I was just fucking around. There’s no way there are bones that grow that big. It’s like you’re telling me the marrow just emptied out and left behind these suspiciously well-preserved organic bones the size of a subway tunnel? I don’t buy it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Marco replied. “The tunnels in this article were only found a few months ago, so it’s likely that they’ve been preserved underground for centuries.”

Max grumbled. “And I didn’t see any bones because the hole we went down was coated in clay.”

“But bones don’t grow that big,” Jolias muttered.

Marco snickered. “Not anymore, no, but dinosaurs’ did.”

Max’s smile evaporated. “Wait, but I’ve seen their bones in museums. None have ever been big enough to have a full-grown person fit in the hollow.”

Jolias had lost interest, holding his chin up with a hand, perched on his thigh. “Don’t tell me. There was somehow something even bigger than the biggest dinosaurs?” he said, with pointed sarcasm.

The room went quiet as they all looked to one another for answers.

“I don’t know, Jol’. I didn’t go to college. I just brew coffee for a living,” Max said, handing back Marco’s phone.

“What about that doctor expert you told me about, Marco? Didn’t you tell me you knew someone who could help figure out what the hell is going on with Max?”

Only Marco didn’t reply. Not a second had passed when the life returned to his face. “What if… what if… these weren’t dinosaur bones to begin with? Just think about it. What if whatever it was that made these bones grow so gigantic was still around? It might have been that growing slime you mentioned that entered your friend. People aren’t supposed to grow like Max is. If you ask me, these tunnels look a lot like bone. They might even be human.”

Jolias rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Do the math for me,” Marco replied. “It says here that this one they measured end to end spans 0.12 kilometers. Which bone would that be if it was downscaled to human-size?”

“I’m an accountant, not a human calculator,” Jolias grumbled. “You’re holding a damn phone. Just use it, jeez.”

Marco did just that, finding a calculator online and typing in his specifications. What he found stiffened his expression. “So, uh, I crunched the numbers.”

“What is it? What’d you figure out?” Max asked.

“You guys probably aren’t going to believe me… but I think the mega-tunnel in this picture is a human femur.”

Jolias chimed in. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

So did Max. “I second the motion.”

“I’m serious!” Marco then proceeded to make the photo of the said femur visible to both Max and Jolias in an attempt to dispel their doubt. “Just look at it. Doesn’t the end of this ‘tunnel’ look like the end of a bone to you?”

Max didn’t open his mouth. He already knew what he was going to say, and he didn’t want Jolias thinking he’d lost his mind. Because what he was seeing, perceived through the lens of Marco’s claim, did look like a leg bone without its pelvis. But the numbers weren’t lost on him. He didn’t say much, but he was listening, and he knows he heard a division by around 250. The bone he was seeing, spacious enough to fit a full excavation party, was a human being supposedly 250 times bigger?

Was such a thing even possible?

Jolias shook his head and leapt off the chair, heading in the direction of the bathroom. “It’s going to take a lot more to convince me of something that ridiculous, Marc’. I’m off to wash my face before we go. Let me know when you hear back from that contact of yours.”

“Stubborn idiot,” Marco whispered, glaring at his phone.

Max grinned, leaning back on the couch. “You’ve got that right.”

October 16, 2022

Omg everything is so good and the twist about the tunnel

Thanks as always for making stories

October 16, 2022

Nice!! Love where this is going!!!

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complete novel MadMutter’s Thicker than Water — Chapters 1-8

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