Don’t scroll!

by BRK   

Micah is distracting himself with his Picthread feed, when suddenly one of the posts he’s scrolling past turns out to be very different from the others.

Micah was thumbing idly through his Picthread feed while he leaned against the kitchen counter waiting for his pasta water to boil, appreciating the flow of smooth, cocky East Asian fitness model hunks, multilimb manips, and smooth, cocky East Asian fitness model multilimb manips he’d been stocking it with pretty intensively over the last six months or so, when suddenly he heard a frantic, tinny voice coming from his phone’s tiny speakers.

“Wait! Glasses dude!” the little voice cried out. “Don’t scroll past me! Please!”

Micah frowned, his thumb paused in mid-upstroke. That shouldn’t have happened. For one thing, he knew for a fact he had his audio settings on the Picthread app set to “never”, so the little mini-videos should all be completely muted. It couldn’t be an ad, either—he was paying for the premium version of the app, so there shouldn’t be any ads at all. Not that he would put it past Picthread LLC to find a way to sneak them into the ad-free feeds somehow.

He looked at his screen and saw the bottom half of a video he’d already mostly scrolled past. The firm, golden legs of an aesthetically minded gym rat shifted nervously in front of the heather green photographer’s backdrop as he stared at them. He hesitated, not sure whether to go all irate netizen on this. If Picthread was bypassing his audio prefs and/or slipping ads in his feed he should probably check the post in question and flag it or document it for his complaint, but… on the other hand, he was pretty fucking hungry, especially after the extra-long cashiering shift he’d pulled at Mal-Mart tonight. The dash of garlic he’d dosed the pasta water with was starting to fill the air and boost his already pretty serious craving for the spinach tortellini he had in his future. Ignoring the weirdness was pretty tempting.

The bare feet wriggled at the edge of the almost-scrolled video. “Hello? Please?” came the voice again, as if sensing Micah’s uncertainty. “I could really use your help!”

The hair on the back of Micah’s neck rose up a little. This was starting to feel like more than just a preferences glitch.

Very deliberately, Micah slid his thumb down the glass surface of his phone, and the square, exquisitely composed moving image of a classically proportioned, generously muscled Korean model returned to view—Johnny-Ho Park, if he wasn’t mistaken. One of his favorites (and a recurring player in his spankbank fantasies), though the account name above the pic was something unfamiliar with “plusboys” and a lot of underlines in it. The cutie grinned gratefully, revealing a perfect smile to go with his sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and friendly eyes.

“Thanks,” the guy who looked like Johnny-Ho Park said. “Can you… get me out of here? Please?”

Micah stared at his screen. This was a pretty impressive video—not only for the fake interactivity but for the way whoever had doctored the image had added what looked like a pair of perfect and perfectly functional arms behind the usual ones, and the same with the extra legs. Those simple white four-legged gym shorts had quite the bulge up front too, hinting at more improvements. Micah blinked, not even sure what he was looking at. He knew it was tough enough to manage such lifelike extras on still images, so it must be almost impossible on an extended video like this one.

In fact, the more Micah looked, the more uncanny this manip looked. There really was no weirdly liquefied joins or awkward gaps where the duplicate limbs were attached. The arms in back were clearly moving independently of the ones in front, too. As if to underline this, the model lifted his front right hand and ran it through his short, black hair, mussing it slightly.

Fascinated now, Micah used his thumb and forefinger to zoom in on the doubled right shoulder, looking for joins. Even if this was computer-generated 3D, he’d never seen free-range motion and detailed muscular integration that looked this impossibly real. It was like he was looking through a window, not watching a moving image in a Picthread feed.

The model in the video seemed to notice how Micah had come in for a closer look and turned to observe his own golden-brown shoulder and the thick delts there, the smooth striations deftly divided in some unfathomable feat of digital engineering into two separate sets of muscle to handle the powerful, well-sculpted twin arms below. Micah’s eyes drifted to the model’s face, noting that he looked even more handsome in profile.

The digitally enhanced version of Johnny shifted his glance to camera while remaining in profile, and as shiver ran up Micah’s spine. “Nice, right?” he said, his mouth curving in a knowing smile. “I think your glasses are steaming up.”

Micah smiled bashfully and answered without thinking, forgetting he was looking at a video and not a live connection. “That’s the pasta water,” he joked.

“Yeah? What are you making?”

“Just a little spin—wait, what the hell?”

“What’s your name?” Johnny pressed, still looking at him sideways in profile. The divided shoulder was still in frame, and the guy in the image shifted his delts slightly, as if knowing how well they held the attention of his one-man audience. Micah was such a sucker for great arms. Especially in quantity.

He narrowed his eyes and, after weighing his options, decided to answer, if only to help sort out whether this was a cleverly-written video or some kind of interactive boytaur bot. “My name is Fred,” he said, watching the guy in the video closely.

The Korean hottie turned toward him a little more, tilting his head a bit to keep his face mostly in frame. “You don’t look like a ‘Fred’,” he observed shrewdly.

Micah’s stomach fluttered, and his pulse picked up. Beside him on the stove the water in the big pasta pot was just edging in the earliest stages of boiling. Micah ignored it.

“Oh yeah?” he challenged, drawn into the conversation despite its being completely impossible. “What makes you say that? I could be a Fred.”

Johnny smirked. “You look more like a Wesley,” he said coyly. “The cute, nerdy, tight-bodied type who’s also a secret badass.”

Micah took a second to realize what he meant. Fred, Wesley—he was referencing the cast of Angel, the cheeky bastard. He mentally added a third possibility to “video” and “bot” to his assessment of what might be going on. If this digitally boosted version of his favorite Picthread model was a Buffyverse fan on top of everything else, there was a solid chance Micah was dreaming all this and none of it was real. He kind of hoped he wasn’t, though. “So what does that make you, monster of the week?” he shot back, amused.

The model wiggled his dark, well-groomed eyebrows. “I could be your monster,” he said. He sounded like he meant it, too, and Micah couldn’t help but respond to a literal fantasy man flirting with him like this. His cock shifted in his boxers, ready to be brought fully into the fray.

“Well answered,” Micah said drily, trying to push down his arousal so he could save it for later. He finally noticed the water was seriously boiling now, and was starting to fill the kitchen with garlic-tinged vapor. “Uh, so, nice talking to you or whatever, but—”

“Wait!” Johnny said, the urgency back in his voice. He shifted to the right so that his face was fully in frame, his brown eyes staring earnestly out at Micah. Micah’s own eyed dropped to the delicious, elegant bulge of his lightly bronzes triceps as they arced away from his neck, until the model spoke again. “Listen,” he pleaded, “I need you to bring me out of here and into the real world.”

Micah scoffed at this. “What would you do in the real world?” he said. “You’re a boytaur version of Johnny-Ho Park! One of the most famous fitness models on Earth!”

Boytaur Johnny beamed at him. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Of course, everyone has,” Micah affirmed awkwardly. He didn’t want to get into just how much of an Asian celebrity muscleboy hound he was—not to one of the muscleboys in question, anyway. “Wait—are you the actual Johnny-Ho Park?” he asked.

The model shook his head. “I’m an image of him that someone made into a boytaur,” he explained. “Except they did it through sorcery, and they didn’t realize it brought me to life, too.”

“What, and so you’re stuck begging for release from everyone whose feed you pop up in?” Micah asked incredulously. “Or can you only do this with the guys who are into you?”

Johnny lifted a brow. “You are the first one I’ve really been able to interact with,” he said meaningfully.

Micah swallowed, trying to ignore his cock thickening in his shorts. He was feeling a little warm, too, and not just because of the furiously boiling pasta water that was busily steaming up his kitchen. “What, and you can get out of there—how? True love’s kiss?” he mocked.

Johnny smiled, a little crookedly this time. “I think it’s just mutual want,” he said. “True lust’s kiss would probably do it,” he added wryly.

Micah blinked. His glasses really were starting to fog, and the boiling water was flailing in the pot. It all felt weirdly like pressure to decide now, like the pasta water was a ticking timebomb and he had only seconds to act before this strange reality boiled away and was gone forever.

And if this was a strange reality, a dream, a delusion—fuck, what was the point of him only having his fantasy Boytaur Johnny through the thick glass of a smartphone screen?

Shaking his head at his own ridiculousness, Micah leaned forward abruptly and kissed the screen of his phone. For a second, he almost thought he felt real lips meeting his own, and then—

Then those lips parted, letting a hot, teasing tongue through to meet Micah’s, and as the kiss deepened he felt warm pairs of strong, corded arms wrap around his shoulders and around his waist. Hard muscle pressed against him everywhere, and Micah pressed his own hard flesh back.

After a moment, Micah broke the kiss and pulled back slightly in Boytaur Johnny’s embrace, finding himself staring straight into those same warm, friendly, and, at the moment, arousal-darkened eyes. He realized his hands were both sliding along Johnny’s wide, bare back. “Wait—where’s my phone?” he asked.

Johnny gave him a flat look. “I’m your phone now,” he said.

Micah stepped back, startled. “What?!”

Johnny grinned and held up Micah’s phone in one of his left hands. “Just kidding,” he said.

Micah huffed. “Funny.” He took the phone and started looking Johnny over, but got a little overwhelmed… especially when he got to the thick bulge in his white boytaur shorts. Yep, definite upgrades there. He looked away hastily, his eyes falling on the big package of refrigerated pasta on the counter next to him.

“I’m hungry,” he said, feeling agitated. “Are you hungry?” He set his phone down and picked up the bag, fumbling to open the package top but unable to get a rip started in the soft plastic.

“Starved,” Boytaur Johnny said, watching him avidly.

“Good,” Micah said without taking his eyes off the bag. He finally got the tear going. “You, uh, like spinach tortellini?”

“I love spinach tortellini.”

Micah looked up, meeting Johnny’s heated gaze. He set the pasta bag aside blindly and dove toward him. In the end the water boiled down almost to the bottom of the pot before they finally turned off the burner and made for the bedroom. Pasta could wait.

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