Kris and Minato

by BRK   

Two best friends on a class trip get some help declaring their feelings for each other.

Beautiful scenery slid past the train window. Vista after vista of rolling deciduous hills kept appearing and vanishing, verdant and full of promise under a bright and nurturing sun; but Minato didn’t see any of it. Once he would have been watching avidly, engrossed in the fluid passage of nature. The soaring, stolid oaks and maples teeming across the juddering Pennsylvania hills, some just on the turn of autumn sweetening the lush sky-reaching carpet of sunlit dark and light greens with vivid hints of orange and yellow… the fleeting appearance of tiny rustic towns, flashing their barns and tin roofs and mysterious winding roads before sliding past and disappearing, replaced and forgotten with new forests and new nooks of humanity…

Not this Minato. This Minato was just as captivated, but not by any passing trees.

Why did he have to wear a sleeveless shirt?

Minato let out a long breath, his eyes never straying from the object of his desire as he considered the urgency of his situation. Should he move his hand off the arm-rest and into his lap, or keep it where it was? His whole body was thrumming with a warm, low-key lust, like a fever that was just starting—a fever that made you ache with yearning and you felt flushed with the uncomfortable awareness of your own stupid physical infatuation. He could sense his thick, tentative tumescence hovering on the edge of full commitment, dancing around the edges of wanting to be fully hard but not there yet.

If he moved his hand he’d be better prepared to hide a putative boner should things take a turn and his erection blossomed into being, almost instantly, as his erections always did. And he was wearing his tan chinos—not the best choice for concealing a long, middle-flaring turgidity.

But then, maybe the motion would be noticed, and the reason guessed, and there would be smirks and jokes, because there were always smirks and jokes with this lot. And of course that would be how he found out. Minato would rather climb the Eiffel Tower hand over hand and keep going until he vanished into the clear blue sky before he found out that way—”that way” being via the inevitable teasing of their fun-loving, loud-mouthed, and utterly irreverent classmates from St. Korbinian’s School, the obscure upstate private pre-college boarding school that had taken in this particular motley assortment of high-achieving misfits. Entering his last year at St. Kobi, with the parallel attainment of official manhood (his eighteenth had passed a month back), had shocked him into a painful realization: being best friends with Kris was not enough. Not nearly enough.

This, in turn, spurred awareness of an equally painful corollary. He had no idea whether Kris liked dudes, at all, much less whether his feelings for Minato amounted to anything more than happy, brotastic brotherhood.

Man, he looks so good. I want to fucking eat him.

Minato was in a good position strategically to observe and agonize over his friend, occupying the forward-facing window position in a four-seater unit toward the back of the car. His present location was exactly six rows down from where Kris stood in the aisle laughing and gossipping, surrounded as was often the case by a bevy of pretty people. In this case there was their gangly, goateed buddy Walt, always with the big, wide grin; a flirty and rather pronouncedly buxom girl Minato didn’t know from the female side (St. Kobi wasn’t co-ed, exactly, but the male and female schools were right next to each other and operated in a close parallel); and the tall and lanky, peaches-and-cream O’Donoghue twins, looking liked they’d been pulled straight from a twincest manga and somehow making the uniforms they were still wearing look like the regalia of a secret mischief cult.

All of them, Minato included, were rostered with the happy contingent of juniors and seniors escaped from school grounds for an official weekend study-field trip. The destination was an array of pre-Columbian shrines deep in the Pennsylvania Appalachians, only recently been opened to the public and much the topic of conversation with the anthropologically-minded science master, Mr. Kim. Minato, however, wasn’t thinking about thousand-year-old rock formations any more than he was the passing foliage. His eyes were on Kris and his audience.

His friend was nearest to him in the group, side-on from his perspective, allowing Minato to drink his fill of some of his favorite Krisly features as the boyish athlete carried on regaling the others with whatever story he was telling them, cheerfully oblivious Minato’s nakedly prurient perusal.

There was a lot about his friend to draw the eye, and Minato took his time. His friend’s handsome, firm-jawed Roman profile, for example, was well worth lingering over for afternoons at a time. He loved everything about it, from the entrancing smile to the tiny mole high on his left cheek to the dark, carefully trimmed sideburns, underscored with just the hint of afternoon stubble broaching his smooth olive skin below. That it was his left side that was facing him meant that the tiny argent stud he kept in his left ear was exposed to view, which Minato appreciated. The ear itself was nice enough, but Minato had a thing for contrasting textures, and the humble glint of shiny silver embedded there made him want to taste that ear from shell to lobe.

Minato let his gaze sink lower, past that enticing neck with its bobbing Adam’s apple, down to his delicious, irresistibly exposed torso. Kris was tall and strong, and every part of him showed that strength in swells and curves and a palpable susurrus of energy and capability in every well-defined thew and sinew. Minato had tracked Kris’s growing athleticism for almost as long as they’d known each other with a parallel feeling of compulsion, mostly through random hints of the muscle gradually accreting under their blazer-and-tie uniforms; but this year things were different. Thanks to the greater freedom of dress afforded seniors outside of classes in their valedictory year at St. Kobi, the guys in his friend group had been dressing as they pleased as much as possible—and what seemed to please Kris was no sleeves if possible, and no shirt at all if he could get away with it.

Seeing his form and his beautiful strength made Minato hurt with a deep, organic horniness that was, somehow, not a hundred percent about sex. Minato had been feeling that half-horny, half-adoring ache a lot these last months.

Today, as it turned out, Kris was wearing one of those heather-gray sweatshirts designed to look as if it had once had sleeves like any good and proper top, only for some benevolent authority to order them removed at the last minute in the interests of public aesthetics. Minato was duly grateful. He slowly traced his eyes along the long, enticing contours of Kris’s bare upper arm, indulging himself in an ant’s-eye view of the magnificent landscape from the upper reaches downward. The hard, rounded swell of his olive-toned delt, with that intriguingly pointy V where it gave way to triceps and biceps gave way to the faintly veined expanse of his firm biceps—gently rounded in extension with the arm at rest, then suddenly bunching as Kris spoke with his hands or playfully responded to some taunt with a slap of Walt’s arm.

Minato let his wandering gaze be drawn to Kris’s chest, his own soft breathing just barely audible in his ears over the low, mechanical rumble of the train. Ironically it was the sleeveless shirts that made Minato even more aware of Kris’s firm, rounded pecs standing out subtly enough from that athletic chest to push forward the fabric of the top and create a shallow, shadowed crease between them. Any regular shirt covering such a well-muscled torso—say, their usual, long-sleeved white uniform button-downs—might make the eye flit about, looking for every suggestion of swelling mass under the thick, loose high-weave cotton. The bare provocation of those exposed arms, on the other hand, drew Minato’s attention right to the wondrous bastions of power between them: the dynamos that moved those brawny arms, commanding them, dominating them.

Kris had seemed drawn to them as well of late, if his focus on butterflies and bench presses at the gym this last year were any indication. The balance of his physique, from thighs and ass to arms and abs, had been rigorously honed and perfected in ruthless thrice-weekly workouts over the time passed since junior year—improved and refined, but not consciously bulked. His chest, by contrast, had seen a noticeable increase in both size and definition. Kris still wasn’t anything like “massive” or “swole,” but Minato thought maybe “built” would work, and if there were a word for “built with an especially nice chest” that would be an even better fit.

Kris’s attention to this area had shown itself in other ways. He’d seemed to notice nice chests on girls and guys alike. He was habitually complimenting other gym-rats in their cohort on their pecs and urging them to go shirtless, and he was just as observant with the other sex—any woman walking by with prominent breasts would earn his notice. This equal-opportunity behavior had left Minato confused but slightly hopeful. Him noticing girls’ boobs didn’t seem promising on the face of it; but if he noticed guys’ chests too, as much as or more than their faces or the rest of them, maybe Minato had a chance after all.

He’d always been more pretty than handsome. His skin was fair and his hair longish, just shy of the shoulders, and normally tinted (at the moment he sported a very dark magenta). He didn’t mind being mistaken for a girl. His body was lean, hairless thanks to his mother’s Japanese ancestry, and pleasingly fit and defined owing to a combination of his naturally high metabolism and an ingrained morning-run habit he’d picked up as a kid in Paris. He’d started trotting tirelessly with his parents through the cool, dewy sidestreets as a tyke and then kept it up on his own, the practice persisting once they’d all moved to the States as a form of life-continuity. He was proud of the softly rippling abs he’d gained through nothing more than everyday existence and a bit of self-care. He’d never worried about conforming to the obvious signs of conventional masculinity. Guys like Kris had that bit sewn up, and Minato knew who he was and who he wasn’t.

Picking up on the way Kris noticed chests, regardless of gender, had started him being more proactive about this particular quality. He’d begun adding push-ups to his morning exercises almost a year back, and over the ensuing period, with his customary diligence, he’d managed to gain enough firm, rounded mass in his still-demure but increasingly noticeable pecs (and other, associated muscles) that lately his uniform button-downs had started, somewhat triumphantly, to feel genuinely tight and uncomfortable around the shoulders and lats. Even the black polo he was wearing now was considerably more snuggly around the upper torso than he was used to.

The idea that he might have to order new uniform shirts frankly turned him on. Of course, his own pectoral improvements were nothing like the proud, massy achievements visibly causing Kris’s sleeveless tee to drape the way it did, making Minato’s mouth water just at the sight of them. Had Kris had to get new uniforms too? Fuck, that was hot.

Just as he was starting to divide his focus, allowing himself to wonder what they were all talking about, anyway (something about Bigfoot? Had he heard that right?), Kris suddenly turned away from his group with a grin and started tromping down the aisle straight toward him. Minato was saved from being caught staring by Kris turning his head at the last second and calling something over his shoulder to Walt and the twins heading the other way toward the front of the car. Forcing down his panic, Minato quickly tore his eyes away, but he had no place to send them instead. His phone was stowed in his pocket—too late to fumble it out now—so with no other options he jerked his head to the right and started staring fixedly out the window at the rolling sunlit scenery, just as though he’d been watching it the whole time in utter fascination.

He sensed Kris dropping into the aisle seat opposite him, the jock-bro’s grin so potent Minato thought he could feel it warming his skin like September sunshine. Too late, he remembered his anxiety about whether to move his hand and realized he was, embarrassingly, half-hard.

“Anything interesting out there, cheri?” Kris said, his tone affectionate and slightly teasing. “No skunk apes or anything?”

Minato looked over at him casually, as if he’d just noticed his friend had joined him. The other man was lounging in the chair in pure, relaxed contentment, his arms folded over his chest in a pleasant pile-up of manly attractions. In a cocky breach of train etiquette he’d popped his feet up onto the seat to Minato’s left, his ankles crossed and his big, new-looking sneakers waggling gently like a contented pup-tail. Minato very much wanted to grab them. What he would do with them then he wasn’t sure.

He tried forcing himself to engage in conversation. “Uh, nope, no skunk apes,” he said.

“Damn, I was sure these woods would be cryptid central,” Kris said with a smile. “Hey, after the group thing at the welcome center there’s hiking free time until dinner. Want to go get lost in the woods with me?”

“Of course,” Minato said. It’s what he would have said anyway as Kris’s best friend, even if he weren’t totally gone for him.

“Cool. The O twins are coming too.”

Minato snorted. At one point there had been two sets of identical twins, the O’Donoghues being distinguished from the Carnaby brothers through the shorthand designations “O twins” and “C twins.” But the C twins had graduated, and the O twins had coyly started pretending that the nickname had a very different origin. As part of their plan they’d become very handsy and cuddly all of a sudden, with other guys and with each other. Frequently, they were found lurking in corners where they knew they’d be caught “almost” making out. Word had spread, too, that there was currently only one bed in their dorm room—though that, too, could all be a part of the joke. A pool had developed among the other seniors as to whether they really were fucking, or were just pretending to so as mess with everyone. Either would be totally in character, and Minato figured the twins themselves were sly enough they could draw out the present level of ambiguity pretty much indefinitely, for their own amusement and everyone else’s. “That should keep things interesting.”

Kris was looking at him, his green-gold eyes locked on Minato’s. “Yeah,” Kris said with a heartbreakingly sweet lopsided smile. Suddenly Minato was hit full-force with how handsome Kris was, head to toe, right here in front of him, and the intensity of his feelings almost hurt. Somehow, some way, he would find out how Kris really felt about him, and if it was anything like what he was feeling. He just had to do it without losing his best and closest friend.

The woods were lovely, dark and deep, just like Robert Frost said, though without all the snow and the judgmental horses. Summer was gone and fall was setting up shop, but it was still a beautiful warm day, clear sky and high in the. mid-70s, perfect for showing a little skin and seeing whether a certain ravishingly pretty boy happened to notice.

Kris had known for a while now that he’d fallen hard for his best friend. Every time he saw that sweet, perfect face and those red enticing lips his heart started pounding, and all he could think about for a solid few seconds was how much he wanted to slide his fingers through Minato’s lush, cherry-Coke locks and pull him into a deep, tongue-tangling, neverending kiss. That long, sleek body stirred things in him, too, making him yearn to pull it against his own and keep it there, staring into those bright brown eyes with the long lashes that lay along his cheek whenever he looked down, suddenly unable to hold Kris’s ardent gaze.

For his part Kris was desperate to act on his feelings, but the risk was too great. Minato had never said a peep about being attracted to anyone, man, woman, or mongoose. Kris had tried. He’d worked at finagling a clue out of him a few times, but Kris’s random comments about how hot those gropey guys in the dining hall were, or how stacked the work-study redhead at the library desk was, had gotten him bupkis in response. Minato loved him and wanted to be nowhere that wasn’t near him—that much Kris knew instinctively, as sure as the sun rose in the east and the O twins loved fucking with people. There was no questioning their connection as the closest kind of friends. But—fuck, did Minato want to be with him, the way Kris wanted to be with Minato?

Fuck, now he was thinking of Minato naked.

His cock swelled automatically in his jock, nudging the fabric of his navy sweats. He’d had a full monty glimpse only once, when Minato had borrowed the showers on Kris’s floor after a rainstorm and hadn’t gotten the towel up quickly enough, and the image of that pretty, tightly defined male body had stayed with him like a Minato-shaped tattoo on the inside of his cock.

He couldn’t get enough of Minato’s look. He wanted there to be more. He wanted for Minato to be so irresistible that Kris’s own wavering and uncertainty became impossible. He wanted gobs of it, for there to be more of everything that made him want to hold him and kiss him. He wanted to drown in everything that drove him to lust after his beloved, so that there was nothing between them, ever.

What did Minato want, though? What was his fantasy? Did he have any? Would he ever tell him?

He glanced over at his friend. He looked subtly different out here in the woods, away from people. The clear, leaf-green sunlight dappled across a slight smirk on his sweet face, his silky red-tinged hair, and the black polo that showed off just a hint of the nascent muscular definition he’d been accruing recently.

Alas, he wasn’t looking at Kris, his amused gaze fixed instead on the twins walking a few paces ahead, their hands laced together.

Kris admitted to himself he had half-hoped to see him lingering over Kris’s arms or the swell of his chest again. He’d caught his best friend looking more than a few times. But Minato’s visual perusal of Kris’s strong, smooth, soccer-star physique didn’t answer as many questions as it should have. The problem was, Minato was all in for golden ratios and classic design in everything—not just the gym-honed lines of his well-built bestie. Minato had tons of books about aesthetics, Hellenistic sculpture, and whatnot packed into his little tower room, and one was usually shoved in his bookbag on any given day. Kris knew his dream was to learn the theory and practice of fluid design from the palaces of ancient Crete and the temples of Persepolis. Kris’s carefully hewn physique might be just a case study to him, like the Myronian minotaur or the Patras Antinoös.

How to get a real reaction out of him, then? He’d tried getting sexier still, but while working out more, increasing the size and swell of his arms and shoulders and especially his pecs, had got him more looks from his best friend, he still had no real concrete answers. It was erotic and frustrating all at once. He’d enjoyed the subtleties of the game, sure, but he also wanted to know. When Minato stared at him, was that lust? Or simple appreciation?

Maybe if he were bigger. Hunkier, all the lines and curves exaggerated and escalated so there was no getting away from how sexy he was. If he had beautiful, aesthetic muscles no one could ignore, maybe then Minato wouldn’t be able to hide the raw, delicious hunger he thought he saw sometimes in those beautiful brown eyes…

Fuck, my bulge is definitely showing. Being hung had its disadvantages, and a stretchy jock only hid so much. Should I try to get him to notice that, too?

His pulse quickened, his resolve balanced on a knife’s edge. He was just opening his mouth to say something when one of the twins called out abruptly. “Hey, there’s something off the trail up here!”

Without waiting for a response the lanky duo left the well-defined, beaten-earth trail and plowed into the trees, hands still intertwined, their dark uniforms looking strange and alien in the seemingly untouched sylvan landscape.

Kris peered past them curiously. They seemed to be making for a craggy jumble of tall, uneven stones a hundred feet or so into the forest. He could just make out something glittering in a sunbeam filtering through the dense, oak-leaf canopy.

Kris turned to Minato with a smile, offering his hand to his best friend. “Shall we follow suit?” he asked.

Minato smiled back, the radiance of it making Kris’s breath catch. He took Kris’s hand and immediately laced their fingers. “Absolutely!” he said.

They turned and followed the twins off the trail into the unknown, Kris half-hoping Minato wouldn’t notice he was all the way hard now in his jock, and half-hoping he would.

No sooner had they left the trail, their shoes sloshing through the first fallen leaves of autumn, than the twins, passing through the gap between two rocks standing erect like sentinels, suddenly let out a double yelp and disappeared ahead of them, swallowed by the earth. Kris and Minato broke into a run, hands still clasped, and two moments later they screamed as the world upended and the forest became a blur of green, yellow, and black.

Minato looked around himself in confusion. It was clearly the main dining hall at St. Kobi, vast and cavernous, but the dining hall was never this silent. No students bustled and shouted and laughed, no cutlery clattered, no drum of shoes sounded on smooth hard wood, filling the room with sound. The heavy oak tables were pushed aside, scarred and naked. A dreamy, vivid sunlight suffused the open space, streaming from nowhere he could see. Even the varnished wood floor seemed deceptively green and verdant, as though he were heading across a lawn he could only half see. He looked down in confusion, seeing his ankle boots, then big white sneakers next to them, then the hand he still had twined with Kris’s.

Kris was looking at their hands as well. They raised their eyes together. All the air around them was charged and expectant, like it was oversaturated with sizzling energy it was desperate to release in any way it could.

Their eyes met. Kris licked his lips. “You can let go,” he said. “If you want to.”

The energy in the air was buzzing against his skin now, seeping into him spark by invisible spark. He wondered if Kris could feel it too. He looked so sexy, his body almost glimmering with strength and power. It was magnetic and, to Minato, impossibly hot.

“What if I don’t want to?” he whispered.

Kris smiled, the smile making him more handsome with each beat of his hammering heart. His whole body seemed to swell with feeling and emotion. His arms looked more massive than ever, carved from stone and thick with masterfully sculpted brawn. His traps curved under the gray sleeveless sweatshirt, his pecs pushing out in front as if straining to get closer to him. Minato could hear his own panting breath as he stared up at this vision that was his friend, his crush, his man. He was so visibly, obviously the opposite of a pretty-boy like Minato, in so many ways; and yet he felt their connection, their unity, now more than ever.

“Yeah?” was all Kris said, but his eyes were glinting with excitement. Hope transformed him, making him more handsome, pulling harder than ever at Minato’s soul.

He wanted to laugh. Of course, it was up to him. Kris was a smart guy, a fixture on the honor roll and always being hit up at meals and in the hallways for pointers and study ideas. It wasn’t often he lived up to the stereotype of the inarticulate jock, but when he did Minato found it super-adorable.

He stared up at his towering lover, smiling in adoration at his dreamy, naked manliness. The air was teeming with light and zeal, the seeds of its fire dancing further under his skin and burning into his flesh and bones. He squeezed Kris’s meaty hand. “I don’t want to let go,” he said firmly. “I’m never letting go.”

Kris seemed to swell with excitement and exhilaration. His arms and shoulders looked positively huge, capable of crushing melons and putting holes through walls. His pecs were truly incredible in size, pushing outward at least a foot from Kris’s chest and casting actual shadows over the rippling, bricklike eight-pack below—any larger and they’d start to obscure the heart-thuddingly handsome face of his looming, brawn-packed inamorata. As if his almost blazingly bright green-gold-eyes and awed expression weren’t enough to show his feelings, Minato felt Kris’s leg-sized cock brush heavily against his other arm as it rose to a mighty, rigid arousal.

He really does want me, Minato thought, barely noticing the extremity of his own arousal. He hurried to make sure that Kris could be in no doubt he felt the same. “I love you, Kris. I want you,” he said. “I want your mouth covering mine, your pecs against my face, your cock drowning me in thick high-pressure cum.” He locked his gaze with those eyes so far above his. “I want your hand in mine and my soul locked in your heart and your cum on my lips, and I want it forever.”

He squeezed that big hand again and smiled, reaching under and around the enormous four-foot cock and stroking its side with his other hand. Kris shuddered, his dripping pecs seeming to swell even more with need and excitement, and Minato reveled in how strongly he could feel that pleasure straining under the skin of the massive stone-hard cock. “What are you feeling, K?” he pressed. “What do you want, my huge, hard, beautiful man?”

The delirium-like fantasy version of the school dining hall didn’t make any sense, what with the shifting leaf-green forest light and the thick, glimmering air teeming with eldritch energy mixed into the otherwise familiar space, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the impossibly attractive man whose hand was in his, holding his gaze as he finally confessed what they were both feeling for each other.

“I don’t want to let go,” Minato said. He seemed to fill Kris’s vision, the attractiveness of his face seeming to grow and sharpen almost to the brink of endurance. Kris knew he was raging hard now, and he always would be the moment he saw that face. Minato was the beauty of arousal literally made flesh, so irresistible that just the sight of him made his blood heat and his heart race and his cock so hard it curved up along its mighty length, as though its arousal were exponential and it was arching upward toward infinite pleasure.

The rest of Minato’s nude, demigodlike form was just as captivating, sending tremors of desire all through Kris’s huge, perfectly proportioned muscles. Everything about him pulled at Kris. Minato’s fair, exquisitely smooth skin seemed to glow with an amber perfection. Minato’s long hair was grown out, just the way he liked it, luxuriant and golden-blond against his shoulders and back. The length and thickness of Minato’s tresses seemed made to invite the threading of fingers through his flourishing sunlit mane. His sleek form was elegantly and appropriately enhanced with firmly defined muscles that suited his sylphlike grace. It was like he existed to put classical statues to shame in an inarguable demonstration of the ultimate physical ideal. His pecs swelled more than the others as if to demurely mimic the disproportion of Kris’s more massive chest. On Minato it was a matter of being gently noticeable rather than massive, though his pecs still were meaty enough for Minato to sport a long, narrow trench between his two-inch-thick pecs—enough to meet Kris’s first criterion for himself and hold a pen, maybe, Kris thought with a kind of amused awe. Or to squeeze his finger between, if he wanted. On Minato it was crazy hot, everything Kris had dreamed of and more.

And Minato, this impossibly beautiful, perfectly designed boy, wanted him. Even if he weren’t saying the words, words Kris could barely pay attention to because of how ravishingly beautiful he was, the two long, distinguished, mouth-watering cocks he had snuggling against each other, pressed upwards against his groin muscle and rigidly overlapping onto the lowest rank of his abs, told him everything. Precum welled on the two blushing, slightly overlapped cockheads, betraying Minato’s deepening lust.

Minato wanted him, needed him, and loved him. Being sure of that suddenly was almost too much. Kris’s balls tightened, so unexpectedly his cock was jerking upward and spattering precum across the floor to a distance of several feet away. He stared down at his man, panting, and all at once it was all Kris could do to hold back a blazing, gut-wrenching, Minato-drenching orgasm.

Minato was still speaking, almost as though Kris weren’t going to be stupidly distracted by the movement of those mesmerizing lips. “I want your hand in mine,” he was saying, stroking Kris’s cock with one hand and gripping his paw tightly in the other. “I want your hand in mine, and my soul locked in your heart, and your cum on my lips, and I want it forever.” Those wondrous, startlingly brown eyes caught him, impaling his heart. “What do you want, K? What do you want?”

“You,” Kris gasped, and then he was cumming, his enormous cock blasting his hot, heavy, cement-thick pearl-white cum all over everything. Minato was grinning and laughing, already coated with his unstoppable jizz, the sperm so big and thick you could almost see them wriggling in the gushing flow. Then Minato threw his head back, and at first Kris thought he was just trying to avoid drowning in the deluge—but as he squeezed Kris’s hand even more fiercely he realized Minato was cumming too, adding his own little eruption to Kris’s epic cum-Vesuvius. Minato’s climax only intensified Kris’s orgasm, and he started cumming even harder, letting out a long, euphoric yell of utter, feverish pleasure.

Minato blinked. They were standing in the forest, nothing but nature around them. Birds chirped distantly overhead. Wind whiffled through the leafy branches. There was no sign of the dining hall, or of the jumble of rocks the twins had found. Just tall oaks and maples and hickories basking in the breezy afternoon sunlight, the last faint echo of flickering magic energy ebbing away before he even knew it was gone.

He was hugging someone, his arms wrapped around a very male-feeling, well-muscled form. Kris—it had to be Kris. Except… instead of his head brushing against Kris’s, or lying comfortably in the nook of his shoulder, his cheek was pressed against taut fabric, and under it was—abs? Something heavy was brushing against the crown of his head, or maybe it was two somethings. The hell—?

Gooey, tentative arousal rippled through him, letting him know a full-force version was in reserve, ready to overtake him. He felt in command of his need, able to control it, though not to diminish it in any way. His libido was insane. If he willed it, he thought, he could fuck and fuck and fuck until—

“Minato?” Kris’s voice rumbled from somewhere above him. “Is that you?”

Minato tried looking up, but saw only massive mounds just above his head. His jaw fell. Releasing his embrace he took two steps back, until Kris’s amazingly handsome face appeared from beyond his ridiculous, foot-thick pecs.

“Kris?” he said weakly. He cast his gaze up and down his best friend’s form, and it all came back to him. Kris was as he had been in the vision, or dream, or whatever it was, from the hyper-muscled seven- or eight-foot scale to the leg-sized cock currently lying dormant and flaccid, the head nuzzling the laces of Kris’s sexy sneakers. Even weirder than that, Kris was still wearing the clothes they had come here in, only they were perfectly adapted to this new body: the sleeveless gray muscle shirt was big enough to contain Kris’s enormous pecs, with a bit of straining, and the navy sweats were not only swollen to multi-X size, there was a literal third leg to the sweats that was clearly meant to contain Kris’s big, bulky, not-quite floor-dragging figurative third leg of a cock.

He met Kris’s gaze, and suddenly the bigger man’s eyes bugged. “You’re too beautiful—I’m going to get hard—!” he choked. The third leg twitched, starting to fill out and thicken even more, already bigger around than either of Kris’s real lower limbs.

“Control it!” he urged. “You can control it!”

“I want you so bad, though!” Kris confessed, and though his giant cock kept twitching it didn’t start rising. Not yet.

Minato laughed. “You nutball, you just came like fifty gallons and you’re already superhorny?” Of course, Minato was aware of his own arousal, his heavy cocks pressing against his fly, wanting to straighten out. The fabric of his thin chinos felt unexpectedly tight across the curve of his larger-than-before basket, mirroring a tightness in the back, and he realized he might have gotten a roundness upgrade to his firm, pert ass to match his improved pecs.

He’d have to ask Kris later what his backside looked like now. That would be a fun conversation. “You’re such a lustmonster,” he said.

Grinning crookedly, Kris knelt down so their faces were closer, his third leg lying thick and alert in the thin layer of fallen leaves. “Like you’re not,” he said roughly, his expression equal parts fond and carnal. His voice was deeper now, rumbling somewhere in Minato’s heavy, plum-sized balls. “Pretty and horny—the perfect combination.”

A glint caught Minato’s eye—the unassuming silver stud was still there in Kris’s left ear. Minato smiled. Kris might have changed his shape and mass, but he was still his man.

Kris lifted a big hand and threaded it gently through the long, thick, luxurious golden hair Minato had now. “Can I kiss you, cheri?” he asked shyly.

“If you ever don’t kiss me,” Minato said solemnly, “I will find a way to use my prettiness against you.” Kris smiled, and then their mouths were joined together. It was a sweet first kiss, slow and gentle, though they were flushed with heat as they broke apart.

Weirdly, the sound of their making out seemed to continue, the unmistakable smacking of lips and accompanying low moans emanating from somewhere close by. They looked around in confusion. Kris rose and took a few steps, peering over a drift of leaves and brush to look behind one of the larger oaks.

He glanced back at Minato, his dark brows raised. Curious, Minato followed, taking Kris’s hand. When he saw what was beyond the tree, he let out a gasp.

It was the O’Donoghue twins, Ben and Kevin, lying on the ground and very literally wrapped around each other. Everything about them seemed stretchy and malleable like taffy, from their long, long legs interlaced almost to the point of braiding, to the way their heads had twisted around as they made out with what looked like tireless passion, each noggin now almost at right angles to their respective shoulders, with the necks stretching and bending to a J-like shape to accommodate the new position. Their arms were wrapped fiercely around each other, hands and wrists stretching past the cuffs of their uniform-jacket sleeves to cinch the hold even tighter.

A gush of arousal washed through Minato at the sight. He thought the stretchy, extra-tall twins were incredibly hot, and obviously they did, too. They must have confessed their love and lust, he thought, just like Kris and Minato had, and the magic had worked on the twins’ physical desires as it had theirs. If the pair weren’t fucking before, they would be now!

Shit, I bet their tongues are stretchy, too. His cocks thickened with interest as the thought took hold. Flushed, he looked quickly up at his mountainous, enormously-chested boyfriend. They shared a grin, then Minato cleared his throat theatrically. “Anybody got a bucket of water we can toss on these lovebirds?” he said in a loud voice.

The twins started, looking up in surprise—and then alarm as the sight of Kris and Minato forced them into a sudden, unexpected orgasm. Even as they were shuddering with the instant climax, though, they were laughing, looking between the two of them with matching mischievous expressions.

Kris and Minato exchanged another look as the twins slowly untangled themselves and got to their feet, their mouths kiss-bruised and their crotches wet with cum, their eyes still roving Kris and Minato’s new forms. Minato belatedly remembered they’d all be going back to the others; and then would come the train, and the trip back, and the school with all the eyes, and hands, and cocks.

Were they freaks now? Had their clothing just adjusted, or had they “always” been like this? Were they so hot now no one could keep their hands off them? Something told him that however fun it would be finding out, the answers to these questions wouldn’t all be quite what he wanted or expected them to be.

Minato hadn’t realized he had been deep in a haze of blithe, blurry acceptance until it fell away. The sun seemed to come out from behind a cloud—maybe it did, literally—and all at once he was overwhelmed with everything that had just happened.

He stared slackjawed up at his longtime crush, his heart pounding hard in awe that this eight-foot-tall, massively muscled, radiantly handsome specimen of ultra-manhood could possibly be the same man who’d randomly dipped out of studying together in Kris’s dorm single to casually drop to the carpet and pound out push-ups in a steady, tireless rhythm until his bared, olive-toned delts glistened and his tanktop clung to his flared back, while Minato stole furtive glimpses over the lip of his tablet, the assigned text unable to hold his attention for more than seconds at a time… the same man whose sudden, easy smile from across the hurlyburly of a crowded dining hall pierced him like a bullet… the same man who called him cheri because he thought Minato’s half-French upbringing made him more interesting and exotic than Kris’s other, more ordinary “white bread” friends and buddies… the same man, in fact, who now gazed down at him from an inhuman height, possessed of a body he could scarcely take in, familiar green-gold eyes round with unfamiliar rapture.

As usual, Minato couldn’t help letting his stare slide down Kris’s handsome face, past the sharp, ultrasmooth jawline to a thick, sleekly-muscled neck, and then… bliss made manly. He licked his lips, his vision filling with heavy, sculpted brawn. The round swell of mighty traps; massive protruding delts; and then—fuck, and then pecs. Enormous, impossible pecs that were almost literally beyond imagining, barely concealed by the fabric of his muscle shirt. How thick were they? A foot? More?

Minato stared, unable to get enough of the sight. They should have hung down, burdened by their weight, but they betrayed their incredible density by jutting outward like they were crafted of living concrete. They were as thick in the upper reaches near the collarbone—groceries could be stacked up there, or ferrets, or tiny men—as they were at the lower reaches where the nipples had rolled under to what would be viewed from below where Minato had been standing only moments before, as being like underside cliffs.

The gray heather of the mysteriously resized sleeveless sweatshirt seemed to embrace the foot-thick mounds more than contain them, the cotton-soft covering doing dual duty—emphasizing their size while at the same time tantalizing Minato for the raw flesh they kept hidden. As before, Minato’s lust was drawn to the ludicrously enticing pecs as much being unbared as for their intrinsic beauty, now enhanced and intensified beyond human possibility. The cloth of the sweatshirt, he noticed, was dark and damp in two spots beneath, near the larger-than-usual nipples he’d barely glimpsed during their… during whatever it was that happened.

The memory-flicker from before jolted him with the lingering feel of Kris’s stone-hard battering-ram of a cock against every part of his arm as it curled around a warm, pulsing shaft as thick as Minato’s torso and as hard as mountains. He felt the rush of his blood in his ears as he dragged his stare down, over the chiseled abs he’d felt against his face before, to the comparatively narrow waist and the navy sweatpants below, now modified like the sweatshirt above to accommodate a cock as big as a leg, seeping sexy ooze onto the dark, leaf-strewn soil next to Kris’s sexy upsized sneakers… huge and leaky, and the thing wasn’t even hard.

Minato, by contrast, was very, very hard. His whole body felt erect, like his arousal was so in the red zone it was spilling out of him uncontrollably, filling his flesh and blurting incoherently outward from him like drunken speech. His cocks felt huge and achingly, painfully hard, flexing slickly against each other as they strained up his abs past his navel, like they were trying to get each other off. His muscles felt tight and excited, more subtly larger than before and tingling with the palpable need for Kris’s fingers to brush across every inch of his psychically glowing skin. His pecs were the pièce de résistance: thicker and more impressive than before—thicker even than he remembered from their dreamlike confession—hard and tingling with lust like they were made of muscle-cockflesh, agonizing for a caress of a finger or the long slake of a tongue across their broad, curved surface.

His eyes were still gazing at that enormous, mess-making cock, and for the first time Minato imagined what that cock was capable of. He could turn around, right now, and present his virgin ass, and Kris would willingly shove every inch—every foot—of that godlike dick into him all the fucking way. He would cum, and—or, Minato could turn around as he rides close to the edge and fuck that giant dick with his own steel-hard pricks, forcing their semen blasts to fight against each other…

He shook his head, and blinked, unable to take it all in. What he was seeing, what he was feeling and imagining, was… it was the fulfillment of fantasies so outrageous Minato had barely allowed himself to acknowledge them. And here he… they… How could he possibly reconcile the Kris he loved with a dream of enormous muscle and endless oceans of cum?

“Min?” Kris said. Minato’s eyes snapped up to Kris’s. He looked slightly worried, though it was clear the sight of Minato was making him constantly, ridiculously turned on.

This should feel more unreal than it did. Colossal Kris—he should be ethereal. Transient, like the gossamer illusion of the false dining hall where they had changed, and bonded, and confessed. He was a fantasy, a shallow dream made flesh. A notion, like the stretchy-kissy joke version of the twins watching them both from somewhere in the indistinct space beyond his upswelled man.

But the confession had been real, not a dream like those he had dreamt for years unchecked and unacted on. The bond that had formed—that was real, too. He felt it, along with all the too many things he was feeling. And this Kris, this impossible, awe-inducing Kris he was gazing at in wonder, was so real it was almost painful. He wasn’t in some other place where fantasies were safe. He was here, The eyes, the silver stud in Kris’s left ear, the tentative smile… the shoulders, the pecs, the cock….

He wanted both Krises, the ordinary grin-across-the-room Kris and the fantastic fuck-me-with-your-four-foot-cock Kris. How did the pieces fit? It was like he was stimulating different parts of him. How did pure, simple love meld with this id-tingling fantasy pulled by sheer desire into the real world? A real world where changes meant consequences where there were others—people, observers, and complications.

Reminded of their present audience he glanced past Kris and was startled to see that the twins were gone: the spot where he and Kris had discovered them, tangled together and making out behind a tree, was conspicuously twinless, nor were they anywhere to be seen in the rest of the clearing. At some point, Minato thought, they must have discreetly moved off somewhere while he had been caught up in the moment. Maybe they had wanted some privacy for themselves, or else they’d reckoned Kris and Minato needed a moment and thoughtfully withdrawn somewhere else. No one could be immature imps all the time.

Knowing they were alone made Minato’s arousal and awe purer and more intense. He felt suddenly deluged. All these reactions had flashed through him in the barest space of a moment, capsizing his sense of inner balance.

He was still staring, slightly unfocused, into the face he had been helplessly drawn to all these years. Dark, sexy brows drew together slightly. “Cheri?”

Minato took another uncertain step backward. “It’s too much,” he whispered. At the last moment the words lifted almost of their own accord at the end, becoming a question, or a plea.

Kris smiled, making Minato shiver against a blast of love, relief, and cock-throbbing need. “Then,” Kris said, his voice spine-thrilling smooth and deep, “let me simplify it for you.”

Kris knelt, bringing their faces close. With this new proximity Minato fully registered something he had subconsciously already known: Kris wasn’t just taller and made ultraswole with inhuman quantities of delicious muscle—he was bigger. Kris’s smiling, radiant olive-toned face, with those green-gold eyes skewering him under the dark, slightly arched brows and thick, lightly waved walnut-black hair cut like a Roman hero, was larger than before. His skull was bigger, and those eyes he loved were bigger, and those sweet, deftly shaped cheekbones, and—Minato’s already pounding pulse increased as his eyes fell lower still: Like the rest of him, Kris’s mouth was clearly, obviously, enticingly bigger.

Minato swallowed, and Kris, maybe sensing his thoughts, hitched his mouth up a little more on one side, making for a more crooked smile that had Minato falling for Kris all over again. Unable to control himself, he lifted a hand and stroked along the smooth surface of Kris’s square, sharply defined jawline. Kris let him, holding himself still and watching Minato patiently. Minato had touched him like this before, as a joke, but now all restrictions were torn away. They couldn’t hide behind friendship any longer.

Minato let his thumb drift close to those red, twisted lips, feeling the faint indent of a rarely-seen dimple, and then the soft, spongey flesh of his red, mesmerizing lips. He heard Kris take in a shaky breath and, letting his thumb brush back and forth along Kris’s full lower lip, he lifted his eyes to meet his lover’s. A swell of pride and gratification gushed through him at the raw hunger Minato saw there. Hunger for me, he thought, feeling both awed and ardent.

Minato’s return smile was subtle and tentative, and it widened Kris’s smile even more.

As during the phantasm, something large and long and very heavy began rising barometrically along his leg and arm. Soon there was a huge, stiff, straining log clad in the fabric of navy sweatpants positioning itself into place at his side, pressing warm and hard against his forearm. Minato didn’t look, though he enjoyed the feel of it pushing against him, especially as its presence made him imagine more than just the feel of it against him. Instead, he held Kris’s gaze, communicating his raw, gigantic lust and his admiration for everything Kris had become. Kris’s eyes dropped to Minato’s mouth, and he moved his hand along the expanse of Kris’s cheek and onto his thick, smooth neck, sliding under the locks that almost covered Kris’s gently tanned nape.

Before his hand was even in position, Kris was moving. He brought his larger mouth against Minato’s, and then they were kissing, and though they had done it moments before their minds were now clear and it felt like the first time.

Kris had been gazing in wonder at Minato’s beauty before that first step back had focused him on the moment. His cheri had been beautiful before. His exquisite face had always seemed to catch his gaze and latch onto it, every time, so that it was difficult to look away—like turning his eyes in another direction required overcoming a strong magnetic force. Passing him in the crowded halls would make Kris literally turn his head to watch him pass, and the only reason no one remarked on it was that other students did it too. It was to be expected at St. Kobi, all other things being equal, that one’s eye would be drawn to him in passing, and would linger on him if allowed, no matter one’s gender or orientation. Some might pretend it was his brightly dyed hair, which might be magenta or cyan or chartreuse on any given day, that drew their stares and prompted conversation, or the way his attire might be more girly one day or more manly another, or the sheer unusualness of everything about him among thousands of swarming, ordinary folk; but Kris knew it was singular beauty, unlike any other person at St. Kobi, maybe anywhere.

It wasn’t just change encounters that affected Kris, either. Every face-to-face conversation had been an exercise in not letting himself get distracted by Minato’s heart-twisting appeal. He hadn’t even needed to understand (which he hadn’t, for a long time) that he was attracted to his friend, because Minato’s face and defined, well-proportioned form were objectively mesmerizing. Staring at him, it was almost like his beauty was impressed into his retinas like a high-powered display burning into the phosphors of a CRT monitor, so that he was still seeing Minato’s face lingering in his vision hours later, lying in his bed alone with a hard-on he couldn’t quite account for.

Kris had known many handsome men: the genetically gifted who easily aligned with the mouthwatering standards of fitness idols and movie stars; and many beautiful females, whose cascading hair, flirty eyes, and sensuous figures firmly and consistently ticked every box for admirers of women; but Minato had always seemed like something more, transcending conventions of beauty and outmoding gender. He’d read once that Alexander the Great was beloved by men and women alike because he was more beautiful than any woman and more handsome than any man, but what was propaganda for the hellenizing conqueror of antiquity was truth for Minato. He was pretty, as far into the extreme of that word as a human could be.

And now, as if bursting through a gossamer barrier across the upper limits of human allure, he was even prettier than that. To look upon him was to be consumed with fascination. It was not a simple awe, but a complex and multi-tiered one. One layer, he knew, was pure aesthetic appreciation for the lines of his perfectly smooth, fair-skinned face, the brightness of his almost iridescently brown eyes, the subtle length of his lashes, the height of his cheekbones, the plumpness of his sweetly smiling lips, and the demure shape of his jaw and chin, calling for the hand and mouth to touch and caress. Even his hair was transformed and evolved, becoming a thick silken mane of golden tresses that perfectly framed his riveting face as though in adoration before flowing over firm, defined shoulders. His body was enhanced, too; still pretty and lithe but with hints of muscular aesthetics, as though in faint emulation of his larger friend—and, like Kris, the pecs were disproportionate to the rest, looking plump and impressive on his otherwise reticent physique.

Beneath such abstract appreciation, of course, Kris was aware of another layer: one of pure lascivious desire. Minato’s enhanced face alone seemed to heat Kris’s blood, setting his heart pounding and his pupils dilating with unslakable lust; the rest of Minato only amped it up further. He wanted to see that face in every contortion of ecstasy, crying out with pleasure, sweaty with sex, covered in Kris’s thick, high-pressure cum. He wanted those lips under his. He wanted to feel them against his mammoth pecs, brushing and mouthing his damp, mysteriously transformed nipples. He wanted to expose that hidden tongue and taste it against his own, to feel it lapping his smooth, taut, soccer-ball-sized testicles, to revel in the pleasure of it devirginizing his tiny, still-tight anus.

Instinctively, he’d moved closer to dazzled lover when he’d taken that step back, knowing that proximity—sharing the same air and the same breath—would steady them both, even as their senses fired with geometrically escalating need. He knelt, bringing their faces together, and the potency of that nearness eroded every remaining barrier between them. Longing to touch his exquisitely beautiful cheri, Kris had still let Minato touch him first. The feeling of his smaller, cooler hand along his smooth, burning cheek released the uncertain hold he’d kept on his leg-sized cock like chocks from under an F-15, sending it lurching unstoppably upwards toward a state of full and raging erection only a spectacular orgasm could mitigate. He smiled giddily, knowing that they would now share joys he hadn’t even known he’d imagined.

They kissed.

At first it was a sweet kiss, like two friends who expressed their love with mouths and lips instead of hugs. Surprisingly, Minato did not open at first, perhaps savoring the simple pleasure of lips moving together before parting his lips and letting Kris’s probing tongue inside. Kris moaned as their tongues brushed together, his balls tightening fiercely and his gigantic cock jerking wetly, the cloth-covered shaft twitching against Minato’s side. The kiss deepened, and their tongues shifted into a slow, athletic dance.

Kris’s tongue was big because his mouth was big—significantly bigger than Minato’s, enough so that his wide, flat tongue feeling slightly constrained in the smaller space of Minato’s mouth was an unexpected rush. Somehow, though, as their tongues moved together it became increasingly clear that Minato’s tongue was thrillingly longer and bigger than Kris’s. As Minato pushed it into him, swiping deftly along the deepest recesses of his back palate and even rimming the edges of his throat as they twisted around each other, Kris moaned again into the kiss. This time the vocal release was even louder as he imagined all the things that tongue could do besides kiss.

Suddenly they wrenched apart and panted at each other, nose to nose, each gripping the other’s nape. Kris reacted to Minato’s beauty after the kiss almost like seeing him for the first time, his cock jerking and violently spitting long ropes of precum to splatter on the forest floor far behind Minato. The long hair brushing over Kris’s hand felt like a hundred soft, gentle caresses.

Minato grinned. Almost at the same time they said, “I need to fuck you!”

They stared at each other for a second, and then they both laughed. Finally Minato said, “Take off your shirt.”

Kris eyed Minato’s chest saucily. His black polo had been cosmically modified as well as Kris’s gray muscle shirt, and though the alternations hadn’t been as extreme for the upgraded but still humanly-shaped Minato has they were for the giant-sized Kris, it was clear that Minato’s dark top was happily stretching across two half-melon-sized pecs that had not been there before. Minato had been building up his chest before, and Kris had definitely noticed; but he now felt with conviction that these particular eruptions of thick, round, and altogether wondrous muscle should never be hidden by cloth. “You first,” he said.

Minato’s expression became playful as took his hand back from Kris’s neck, reaching behind himself for his collar. He seemed grounded now and ready to engage—had clearly gotten past that fleeting crisis of too much sensation and arousal, much to Kris’s relief. Kris went for his own shirt collar, mirroring the smaller man, and they relieved themselves of their tops together (Kris with perhaps surprising ease, given how lovingly well the top matched his unusual shape). They cast the clothes aside in the dirt without taking their eyes from each other.

Perversely, after all that, they held off for a long moment from visually or tactilely appreciating each other’s exposed chests, too busy staring into each other’s eyes. Finally they broke the stare and looked down, each ogling the other’s comparatively thick upper bodies and tight, chiseled abs.

Kris was busy relishing his appreciation of the thickness of Minato’s new pecs and how they seemed so full they were pressing together at the middle, so that the sternum was lost behind a muscle chasm so narrow and dangerous Kris suspected it might possess a vise-like grip, when he heard Minato whisper, “They are wet.”

Confused, he met Minato’s gaze, which flicked up to Kris’s face before returning to his foot-thick, Brobdingnagian pecs. “Your shirt was damp around your nipples,” Minato explained in wonderment. “I told myself it could be sweat, but…” He smiled in delight, meeting Kris’s eyes again. “Your nips are dripping precum, K!”

Kris stared back at him blankly. Before he could respond, he heard the sound of two drops hitting the ground near his knees, pat pat. Fuck, he wasn’t kidding. He was a fucking cum machine! The idea was hot enough for Kris’s cock to jerk violently in excitement, causing a long gout of pleasure to gush through his leg-sized love tool. More spattering pattered loudly across the forest floor several feet away a second later.

Minato grinned, piercing Kris’s heart, and it was a second before he could respond. “You, uh, sure it’s precum down there, cheri?” he asked when he regained his voice.

Eyes glinting, Minato took the challenge. Darting under Kris’s lofty left pec he took the nip there directly into his mouth, grabbing Kris’s narrow waist to steady himself. Kris forced down a shout at the jolt of sudden pleasure, and his cock rocked and flexed again. Fuck, he could get off just from this! Easily! He could already feel the orgasm welling up, ready to take him. He’d experienced cumming in this body once so far, but that was before, while they were in that numb haze of mutual transformation. Now that his mind was clear he could tell that his impossibly sexy pretty-boy man-lover driving him to blast a load, in this body, would thrill every part of him with an inhuman intensity. It would be like five orgasms at once.

To Kris, the prospect of being torn apart with such an extreme and total climax was a bit daunting, and, in that moment, very, very urgently necessary.

Just then Minato escalated his pleasure-giving, moving on from merely mouthing the nipple to using his impressive super-tongue on it. “Unh—uhhhh—” Kris groaned as he felt Minato’s amazing tongue first dazzle his nipple with stimulation, then press against it so unsparingly that it seemed to part and grudgingly admit him! At first it was just the tip, the nipple resisting with great strength; but it was like there was a ring of muscle there in the center of that thick, stubby protrusion, one that Minato could push through—and he did, millimeter by millimeter, the hot, tight passage within priving more pleasure-sensitive than he could have imagined. His anus twitched in sympathetic appreciation, wanting exactly the same treatment, almost echoing the stream of pleasure coming from his nip—mere anticipation providing a ghostly harmony to the intoxicating song of Minato’s sweet, probing tongue.

Kris was shouting now, and his cock was jerking steadily, coursing with constant pulsing along its sensitive inner passage and painting the leaves and undergrowth across the clearing with goo. His massive balls felt like they were writhing with need. The sparkle of his looming orgasm rode along the edge of release, his control increasingly ragged. He couldn’t last much longer; but there was one thing he needed to feel before he came.

“Unh—unh—cockslit!!” he cried, grabbing Minato’s firm, finely sculpted shoulders and pulling him gently free of his nipple ministrations.

Minato came into view from under his pecs with a messy smile, his long, goo-slicked tongue lolling past red lips that were equally messed with Kris’s thick pre. The tongue slurped in as he nodded. “It is kind of like a—” he started to agree, meaning the nipple the smeary exploration of which he’d just been enjoying.

Kris, chest heaving and half mad with need, shook his head. “Cockslit!” he repeated, panting, staring down into his almost-luminous brown eyes. “Do that… to my cockslit,” he rasped.

They both eyed the far end of Kris’s cock, four feet away from his huge, churning balls. When Minato turned back, his ravishing smile had widened into a huge, precum-smeared grin, and Kris’s heart almost stopped. “As you like,” Minato purred, his sly expression communicating his readiness to give Kris all he desired.

Minato knew his time was short. Kris was clearly going to blow at any minute, and Minato wanted himself to be in front of that eruption of cum as much as Kris did. Minato wanted to feel it, taste it—to be submerged in Kris’s deluge. He couldn’t deny either of them that. Kris’s eyes were hungry, his desire as colossal as the rest of him, and now that he knew Kris truly wanted him Minato could deny him nothing. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t tease his giant a bit. Their love had been a long journey, and his big beautiful man getting everything would mean more if it didn’t come all at once.

Plus, this was one mammoth stiffie. Getting to the end of this navy-clad colossus wasn’t just a trek—it was a commute.

He started with the balls, using both hands to cup them through the snug fabric of the sweats. The orbs were truly massive, requiring considerable strength just to keep the round, heavy units taut against the underside of his junk, and as he ran his hands over the curved surface—feeling a little like God embracing twin earths from somewhere in space—he could have sworn he felt the churning of cum within, the wriggling of trillions of spermatozoa palpable even through skin and cloth.

“Min—!” Kris whimpered, and Minato smiled. Kissing each of Kris’s granite abs, he slid his hands up onto the cotton-covered shift (they were really going to have to do this properly naked soon). He marveled again at the girth—it was easily as thick around as his own admittedly narrow waist. It was also far from smooth, the bulging line of the dorsal artery was as thick as three fingers. He felt all the topographic features through the cock-hugging fabric of the sweatpants leg as he chased his hands along the shaft, reaching around and under to give as much tactile pleasure as he could to the hugely muscled man grunting and whining behind him.

As remarkable as its size was the way it not only maintained a rock-steady elevation but managed to rise above the horizontal—this, to Minato, was clearly as great a testament to Kris’s now superhuman strength as his medicine-ball pecs, treetrunk legs, and bristling, doorway-wide shoulders. There was even a bit of an upward curve to its trajectory as he moved along the seemingly endless shaft, as though the cock’s unprecedented stiffness and the extent of its extreme arousal were even more impossible than its huge, ponderously gigantic size.

The beast was rigid and straining, bucking gently under Minato’s long, moving caress, and Minato’s own cocks jumped and snuggled in sympathy, messing the bared surface of his abs as they strained against the waistband of his cum-doused chinos. They, he knew, wanted to go in the slit as well, feeling their way along the messy tightness deep inside while Kris made helpless noises of mindless, unmitigated pleasure, but they would have to wait.

“Hurr… hurry…” Kris begged, and when Minato glanced over his shoulder at him, tossing him a flushed but saucy smile, Kris squeezed his eyes shut and shouted, “C’mon!” Minato thrilled inside as he held back a laugh—he was so pretty now just his smirk was enough to drive Kris to the edge.

He could feel Kris’s heat rising, as if the imminent orgasm were releasing the raw essence of thermodynamic sex into the air around him, and Minato’s body responded with a sudden extra rise in his already stratospheric arousal. The time for play-teasing was done. They were going to cum like gangbusters.

Minato could feel the tension as he bent in front of the glans. It was pushed out from the elastic cuff of the blue sweatpants leg like it was a second foreskin, the slit as wide as a smile in the vivid scarlet-purple flesh. A steady stream of precum was erupting from it by this point, and when Minato bent in front of it his face and chest were immediately doused with warm, salty-sweet slick. He glanced up, holding Kris’s dark gaze for the briefest moment, then he grabbed the sides of the shaft just below the heads to keep it from jumping and dove in.

The eruption was already so strong he couldn’t take it all in and swallow it down, so he kept his mouth wide and loose as he slid his thick, excitingly stretchy tongue into the sensitive crevice. Kris’s moans filled his ears, seeming like a liquid flood that streamed around the burbling goo. His own cocks seemed to stretch around each other in a desperate desire to cum, but he couldn’t climax. Not yet—not without Kris. Gripping the huge, heat-radiating cock hard he pushed in, aggressively twizzling his tongue around as it drove deeper and deeper into the interior conduit, enjoying the feel of his tongue against the secret inner flesh and, equally exciting, the contrary pressure as he fought the outward flow. His tongue seemed to be able to expand and lengthen, and he imagines what it would be like to go all the way in, to find Kris’s balls and make him cum from the ultimate form of direct stimulation.

Kris was shouting. Lost in their mutual pleasure Minato could barely make out the words, but he could feel the blissful tension rising. Then the moment came and Kris erupted, the geyser so forceful Minato lost his grip like a man holding onto a car in a hurricane and was thrown onto his back and pummeled by the sheer unstoppable power of the firehose ejaculation. It kept cumming and cumming, battering Minato as he laughed and came, the constant press of it actually pushing him backward over the cum-lubricated ground until he was pushed up against a tree, still being battered like the torrent of cum would never stop. Kris, on his knees and mighty arms thrown wide, head tossed back, looked like some kind of animated evocation of divine rapture, and Minato couldn’t help but spasm in a second orgasm at the sight of it.

Finally the flow tapered and fell to a stop, and the mighty cock drooped, though it seemed unwilling to give up its turgidity completely. Minato was physically spent, and yet his exhilaration felt boundless as he crawled to the squelching grass to his flagging lover, reaching him just in time to let him slump massively against his nicely thick, cum-covered chest. Minato sat, legs crossed, and cradled his giant lover against him, and he realized his anticipation for the future was making his heart thump all over again.

Kris was gazing up at him, a mix of unblunted awe and utter satisfaction in his big green-gold eyes. He seemed unable to stop smiling. “Your beautiful hair,” he mumbled indistinctly. “It’s soaked in cum.” He seemed to find this tragic and funny at the same time.

Minato smiled. “I was out of conditioner anyway.” Maybe they’d find a lake on the way back and go for a dip. Minato wanted to see that. Kris as he was now, his face, shoulders, and pecs gradually appearing as he rose past the surface like a legendary sexy god rising from the lakebed while the cum they’d been drenched in sloughed away to ripple across the water in thin, milky layers—that would definitely be worth trying to make happen.

The sun had shifted across the sky, and the shadows of the trees around them had lengthened since they’d first arrived in this part of the forest. Even if the others didn’t come looking for them, they would have to find the twins and make their way back to the group sooner rather than later. The fact that the clothes had adjusted to their new forms had felt like a cosmic hint that their destined paths and their relations with the mundane world might have been altered to some unknown extent; even for aesthetes versed in the classics of antiquity, though, the reading of omens was never a sure thing.

He held Kris’s stare for a long moment, each reveling in the calm enjoyment of the other. Around them, the wind riffled the trees, and Minato, looking at Kris’s handsome face and broad shoulders and those pecs that from this angle obscured most of the rest of him that wasn’t cock, found a bit more cum to push from his happy cocks.

He licked his lips, and Kris watched the movement of his tongue with keen interest. He might be slightly obsessed, Minato thought proudly.

He smiled. “You ready?” he asked softly.

Kris’s smile was easy and untroubled, and his eyes were full of love and that awe that never went away. “For all this?” he asked. “Absofuckinglutely.”

Ben cast a sly smirk at his brother as they strolled idly, hand in hand, through the sunlit trees. The manual embrace was nothing new—they’d been trolling their classmates for ages with scandalous suggestions of salaciously secret twincest. Messing with the world around them was just who they were. But their little transformation in the forest glen had upped things a notch. For one thing, not only were they holding hands, their fingers firmly laced with each other’s, but they’d also taffy-twisted their wrists and forearms a full half turn so that Ben’s paw was actually on his side of the meld, his palm weirdly, but also perfectly naturally, facing his brother’s sweet sexy legs instead of his own. Ben’s knuckles lightly brushed his own school trousers as they walked, sending shivers of awed, slightly horny appreciation up his spine with each passing impossible-yet-normal graze of the rough navy fabric against his sensitive skin.

Hands didn’t twist that way. He knew that. And yet, here they were, their lower arms cockily and defiantly skewed around each other, their wrists and hands at a 180-degree turn from reality where they protruded from the sleeves of their dark-blue uniform blazers like the two of them were thumbing their noses at the universe.

Ben loved this, in so many ways. The constant low-level burn of the twist gave him a rush of steady physical pleasure every way they tried it. More than that, something in him got off just on them being able to do this—that they could manipulate their bodies like this, contorting and intertwining their malleable flesh, their bones and sinews becoming elastic pretty much at will in blatant defiance of all rules and reason.

He hadn’t even been aware how much they’d both wanted this kind of defiant, reality-breaking intimacy. Sure, yeah, from boyhood on they’d jerked off together to stretchy slash erotica stories—the kind of thing illicitly featuring the likes of Plastic Man, or Reed Richards, or Elongated Man. Monkey D. Luffy… those goofy rubber-limbed Silver Age incarnations of Jimmy Olsen… heck, they’d even tried writing one, though they’d ended up abandoning it halfway through to urgently and spectacularly empty their nuts all over themselves after getting too heated up to string together a coherent smut-sentence.

It had been their shared little kink. They hadn’t even thought of themselves as gay, per se; and until now, until this very day, they’d never gone past a mutual hand-job in front of the laptop. It was all about grinning and getting off together, trading jokes about the comical bluntness of the writing in the stories they read together, or the porno-mandated single-mindedness of the characters in seeking their stretchy release under any circumstances. They hadn’t been a couple. They just did everything together, whether it be sitting close as they took meals in the mess hall, or gleefully winding up their fellow students, or busting their nuts to their own special niche erotica—or just sleeping away the night together, contentedly spooned around each other in whatever bed they happened to share.

The incident at the hidden shrine, though. That had changed things. Their joke had been that they had deliberately been together all the time, because of all the reactions they got from people clocking the twins being a little too close and pushing whatever prank they were pulling a little too far. The Outrageous O brothers, always up to something. The idea they’d had such fun planting of them possibly being “together” together—that they might be scandalously wrapped around each other whenever you couldn’t see them—had sparked a reaction in pretty much everyone, friends and strangers alike, and that was awesome. What the reaction was didn’t matter. Disgust, curiosity, arousal—it was all good.

Then they’d fallen past those standing stones and found themselves in an inexplicable elsewhere, a neverspace that for them had looked like (but clearly wasn’t) the huge attic bedroom they’d shared back home before moving up to school. The way they’d fallen somehow ended up on the floor in a full-body embrace, like they were wrestling, or something. All of their inhibitions and delusions had fallen away, and looking into each other’s eyes they knew, truly knew, that their need to be constantly together had little to do with pranking the boys of St. Kobi, and everything to do with how they were truly and irrevocably twisted together in every possible way—physically, emotionally, and psychologically.

Kev had grinned so hard, lying under him all sexy and delicious in that moment stolen from the interrupted passage of normal time—well, Ben had just had to kiss the fuck out of him.

They’d said things in that neverspace—true things, binding things—but the words had been kind of redundant. They hadn’t needed to speak. They’d felt each other’s burning love, deep and strong and hot as magma. As their bodies had twisted more and more around each other they’d reveled in the possibilities of acting out that love and desire, every way they could.

Man, their classmates were going to freak. It was awesome.

Kev felt Ben’s smoldering look and returned his smirk. “What’s up, handsome?” his brother asked slyly, squeezing his delightfully contorted hand against Ben’s.

“Nothin’ much.” Fuck, Kev’s smile was getting him hard—like, insta-hard. He let his fat tool swell and stretch down the leg of his trousers, adding a bit of girth and length to his firm but pliant cockflesh with a small effort of will.

Kev winked. “You thinking about my dick?”

“I’m thinking about my dick,” Ben corrected. “And so are you.”

“Maybe.” They entered a sunny glade, leaving the trees behind them, and Ben could only feel a kind of happy, proprietary awe at how the warm, glimmering sunlight made Kev’s bright eyes, his dark brows, and his smooth, chiseled features even more delectable. His heart swelled with a heady mix of intoxicated lust and deep, unshakable love—spiced with the rich, smarmy satisfaction of knowing he was exactly as hot as his lifelong crush turned inseparable love-partner. They’d looked alike before, but somehow he knew that in the course of their beauteous transformation they’d become absolutely identical, in a way no natural twins ever were. It was exhilarating.

He squeezed their hands tightly, wanting more. “Look at you, thirsting for your irresistible bro like that,” he teased. “I bet you said all that gooey stuff back there just to get in my pants.”

They turned to face each other, standing there in the waist-high grass like the world was all picturesque idyls and fantasy landscapes. Unwinding their hands they embraced each other, their arms gently stretching out of their sleeves to bind each other closer and tighter.

Kev’s blue-gray eyes twinkled mischievously. “I can get in your pants any time,” he said, as their strong arms went on lengthening incrementally around each other’s well-defined torsos, squeezing to feel the muscle under their jackets and white school button-ups. “As you well know.” Ben expected a hand to slide into his trousers and grab his ass. Instead Kev let out his thick tongue and let it expand out of his mouth, past his chin. Ben watched in fascination—was Kev going to lick Ben’s balls right then and there, while they were standing there facing each other, wrapped up in taffy arms twice as long as they should be?

Ben’s cock surged with need and he dove forward, sucking that tongue into his own mouth and starting a make-out session that would have to end in explosive, star-spangled orgasm.

Before they could get that far, a cry of triumph went up from a few yards away. “Fucking finally!” someone shouted, startling them from their mutual twin-appreciation revelry.

Together, they turned their heads to see their tall, gangly friend Walt, grinning in vindication as he held up a camera. Clearly, their buddy was psyched at being able to document the O twins, after months of tantalizing twincest trolling, being caught together for real. “Finally,” Walt said again, tucking the phone away in his jeans pocket and eyeing the twins with an air of immense satisfaction. “Billy fucking Conrad owes me fifty bucks. He said you guys were faking the whole thing, but I fucking knew better.”

“Maybe we are faking,” Kev said saucily, flexing his fat kneelength hardon again Ben’s leg as if to share a secret lust-message with him, because neither of them was capable of not playing with their friends.

“Yeah, maybe all this was just for you,” Ben concurred, returning the favor with his own (even bigger) cock. Ben thought it was nice that, if nothing else, their weird stretchiness just happened to mean that the awkward bending of his huge erection to fit his pants leg didn’t hurt like hell the way it should have. It was worth it just for that, he thought, chuckling inwardly.

“Want to give him more of a show, ‘darling’?” Kev asked, turning to beam at Ben.

“Absolutely.” They moved in for a very dramatic kiss, letting out little moans and subtly rolling their shoulders to add a hint of writhing. Ben even kicked up a heel like a silent-movie-era debutante.

“Uh huh,” Walt said drily, not buying it. “Yeah, you guys are fucking busted. You got true love written all over your fucking faces.”

They broke the kiss, Ben’s insides thrumming happily like a new refrigerator at how transparent their bond was to their friend. “We do?” he said, acting shocked.

“Brother dear, have you been getting out the markers and writing LOVE on our foreheads again?” Kev jibed playfully.

“I thought it was you!” Ben said. Overcome just at the sight of each other they kissed again, brief and sweet, their long tongues sliding together cozily before pulling back.

“Uh huh,” Walt said again. “Come on, lovebirds. We fucking need to find Minato and Kris and fucking head back to the fucking station.”

Ben and Kev shared a grin as they unwound from each other—a little reluctantly. K and M had to be fucking by now, going by what they’d seen before making themselves scarce… and if Walt and the others liked what they saw when Ben and Kev were getting it on, he couldn’t wait to see how they’d all react to the sight of Minato and Kris making love in the way ordinary humans could only dream of.

Kris gazed down at Minato with a kind of deep, indulgent infatuation as his lover made a slow circuit of him, gliding his splayed hand over Kris’s bare torso like he was cataloging Kris’s improvements by touch alone.

Kris longed to do the same. The thought of touching Minato made his massive leg-sized cock—enormous and impossibly heavy even while mostly flaccid—twitch restlessly in its thick cotten leg-sheath, the wide, slippery exposed head smearing the sides of Kris’s big white sneakers as the mighty organ jerked and flexed, tingling with suppressed pleasure.

Kris was used to being the kind of jock everyone kind of lusted after. He’d seen the constant admiration as almost routine—a natural byproduct of the years of hard and sweaty work he’d put into getting strong and shaping himself into a skilled athlete. Unlike some he knew, for Kris it wasn’t about ego; the attention wasn’t why he did it, just an expected side effect. In a way, this new body was just an exaggeration of the way he’d inwardly seen himself for a long time, a self-image amplified by fantasy and the infinite potency of fathomless desire. He was a meta version of the old Kris, in that size, attractive muscle, and being the “D” everyone wanted wasn’t that new to him.

What he wasn’t used to was Minato, his introverted, self-contained, low-key secret crush, having gloriously broken free of his shell, releasing a dazzling version of himself whose newfound sexy confidence was visually and palpably manifested in the pure angelic allure that seemed to radiate for every inch of him at a level just below conscious perception. His natural, almost literally luminous beauty completely flooded Kris’s perceptions, so that Kris’s nerves sang and his blood seemed to pump faster and hotter in his veins out of the sheer joy of his proximity. Kris was entranced—maybe literally, the way his emotions were sloshing through him, blunting his thoughts, his being saturated with everything he felt and wanted for Minato.

To Kris, at least, the smaller man had been like a demigod even before the shrine. With that smooth, fair skin, that lush silky hair, those features so divinely attractive, his pretty friend could easily have been mistaken for an ethereal immortal casually slumming it in the human realm, his attractiveness maybe discreetly dimmed just enough not to draw too much attention from the humdrum mortals around him. Now, though, his sweet, inhuman splendor was blatantly, irretrievably exposed.

If there was a scale that measured beauty—not handsomeness but raw, genderless beauty—this true, revealed Minato had pushed its needle all the way to the hard end and then past it, to levels that could not help but physically affect the minds and bodies around it.

Everything. It was just—everything. Just the man’s long, luxurious hair called to Kris. It was a pure, intense blond now, with thick tresses so perfect and free of mundane flaws like strays or splits it might be sun-infused gold spun into finest silk. Even sex in the forest hadn’t mussed it in the slightest, every lock in its place as it slid over Minato’s bare, succulent shoulders. Kris’s hands itched to card through it, feeling its soft, lustrous length as it slid endlessly through his fingers.

Minato’s face demanded touch, too. The angles of his jawline, the graceful way his cheekbones, dark brows, and bright brown eyes accentuated a hundred sublimities… And that body! Lither than ever, but subtly improved at every level from the macro to the microscopic. Shirtless, Minato’s bare torso was almost obscene in its heartbreakingly ideal proportions, from the firm, demure swells of his strong but elegant shoulders, to his long, lightly muscled, sassily capable arms, to the gentle rippling of an abdomen still being constantly smeared by a snuggling pair of long, weepy, eternally rigid cocks. Even his beautifully sleek bare feet were enticingly on display—Minato had dispensed with his ankle boots, which had gotten absolutely sodden with macro-semen Kris-cum during their earlier encounter.

With the refined attention the rest of his smooth, sophisticated form had received in the transformation, Minato’s prominently rounded pecs were perhaps a notch or three more than the rest of him might give cause to expect; but Kris loved that about Minato like he loved everything about Minato. Maybe more. Those half-melons of muscle were the only obvious concession on Minato’s rangy, spine-tingling physique to the id-pull of size that had so transformed the olive-skinned jock-turned-juggernaut; then again, everything was relative. Next to the giant, hypermuscled Kris, with all his massive brawn that was literally led by foot-thick pecs shoving outward from his upper torso like monuments to the concept of extreme masculinity, Minato’s deliciously thickened chest seemed positively modest by comparison.

Kris ached to touch him everywhere. And taste him. The feel of his sleek form under his tongue, tasting all that messy spunk residue that still covered him in thin streaks and the odd stray globule. The smears of stray man-juice should have made Minato less than perfect, a museum-worthy marvel turned fallen nephalim. For Kris it was like icing on the cake. A bit of leftover cum nade him want Minato even more.

Kris needed to lick him. And suck him, and feel those long hard cocks shoved deep inside him. The necessity of it was building up in him and had to, had to be slaked. He could only hold out so long. But for the moment Minato wanted to play muscle worshipper, and there was nothing Kris would not do for the man who filled his emotions and warmed his soul.

Minato was coming around to Kris’s front again, sliding his hand over the expanse of Kris’s broad, boulder-wide back and across Kris’s flank, feeling up the distinct bulges of his intercostals and ranging up to admire the winglike spread of his massive lats. The deep awe was literally visible in his eyes and face and even the way he carried himself around Kris. It was clear he saw Kris as a beautiful eight-foot colossus, freighted with the most arousing rendition of too-much-muscle possible from the shoulders as big as a sofa to swollen thighs the size of a horse’s back. An actual tear of overwhelmed wonder glittered in Minato’s eye, though he was playing off his emotions with a deliberate impishness. Kris watched him move around him with desire burning deep in his heart, waiting for what his lover would do next.

“It’s all so strong and dense,” Minato purred. “It’s like you’re made of concrete. Warm, living concrete.”

Kris smirked. “Only sometimes,” he rumbled, giving his third leg enough of a flex for its lower reaches to nudge Minato’s stained chinos.

Minato smiled up at him, eyes twinkling. “Behave,” he admonished, reaching up and tweaking one of the thick nipples hanging down from the lower curves of Kris’s enormous pecs. He was rewarded with a grunt of pleasure and a double spurt of the same hot, clear precum that was messing the leafy ground between Kris’s crazy-big sneakers and a good deal of Kris’s massive, towering expanse, skin and clothes alike. Minato laughed and languidly smeared the precum Kris’s leaky nip had drooled onto him over the fist-sized, steel-hard bumps of Kris’s extreme ten-pack abs. Why was that so hot?

Minato was standing under Kris’s pecs now, enough so that Kris could barely see him. Kris loved that his gargantuan body was so massively muscular, and in particular possessed such a ridiculously disproportionate chest, that his lover could literally shelter under it—completely lost to sight anytime he wanted to embrace his giant beast around the middle, or even just sidle close to him, pressing against him with every inch of his body.

He could feel that Minato was reaching up now, brushing over the firmness of his enormous pecs, and Kris grinned when the hands appeared over the swells. It looked almost like a pair of disembodied hands from an old B movie had found him and decided to feel him up—like those detached hands you sometimes saw in erotic drawings whose only purpose was to stimulate and goad to the point of unstoppable release.

“They’re so packed, they barely move,” Minato said from somewhere under him, real awe in his voice. Kris playfully flexed his pecs, alternating left and right the way douchier fitness models did on millions of thirst-trap pic feeds, and heard a surprised gasp from Minato. “Fuck, and flexing makes them even bigger,” Minato said in a low voice.

Reappearing from under his chest-shelf as he took a step back, Minato met his gaze, shaking his head, a quirk in his soft smile. “Just how big are you, big guy?”

“You tell me,” Kris said playfully, his noticeably deeper voice sounding like pure sex even to him.

Minato propped his elbow on his hand and rubbed his chin, as though he were sage considering a mustery of the universe, or a lawyer deciding on the right clincher to convince a jury. “Well, let’s see,” he said slowly, eyeing the massiveness of his chest. “Those two monstrosities are like the size of—what? Car tires? Beach balls?”

Kris grinned. “You know they make really giant beach balls for festivals and stuff. Like, the ones that are 15 feet across,” he said. “Usually they break free and cause all kinds of mayhem.”

Minato laughed. “Maybe not that big,” he said. “Though I can imagine plenty of mayhem.” He reached up and twisted the other nipple he hadn’t gotten before, yielding an unhhh from Kris and another dribble of warm, clear goo. This time Minato made a show of licking it off his hand and smooth, lightly corded forearm, making Kris’s heavy cock chub another few notches closer to reawakening.

“And?” Minato said. “What else you got besides big pecs, big guy?”

Wrenching himself free of his rapt stare, Kris lifted his right arm up for a classic bicep pose. They both watched, impressed, as the flexed muscle rose dramatically in a high peak, like a new mountain being arbitrarily thrust out of the earth.

“Jesus,” Minato said. “You ever compete, muscle man?”

Kris twisted his forearm around, watching the shape of the peak shift as it turned. “Naw,” he said. “These are just for—” He glanced down at the beautiful Minato with a smirk. “—riling up my many admirers.”

“Consider me riled,” Minato said, licking his lips. Without seeming to realize what he was doing, the pretty godling reached down and gave the hard, nuzzling cocks erupting from his low-hanging chinos a long, indulgent stroke, forcing some precum of his own onto his pale, bumpy abs.

Kris let out a loud, ragged breath and nodded jerkily toward his bicep. “So? What do you think?” he asked in a strained voice.

Minato eyed the mountain of muscle speculatively. “It’s like…” Inspiration seemed to hit him, and he said decisively, “A ham!”

Kris raised an eyebrow, holding back a smile. “A ham?”

“A ham,” Minato repeated defensively. “You know how hams in the deli case are, like, big and wide, but narrower at one end? A ham, definitely.”

“You’re a ham,” Kris said, lowering his arm and slapping the side of his chubbing cock. He was holding back the erection, though the force of it was sort of like trying to keep a levee from breaking. Even a quarter of the way tumescent it still hung heavily at his ankles, the only sign of its increasingly aroused state so far being a pronounced forward bend in the middle and upper reaches. “What about this? What would you compare the size of this to?”

“Hmm.” Minato considered, eyeing the colossal wang with a pretense of dispassion, though his own pricks were jumping with excitement against his abs. “I’d say… an Ewok?”

Kris barked a laugh at the unexpected answer. “An Ewok? Seriously?”

Minato shrugged, his grin squeezing Kris’s heart in all kinds of amazing ways. He couldn’t wait much longer.

“Come on, this thing is definitely bigger than an Ewok,” he said. “You could have at least said ‘punching bag’.”

Minoato snapped his fingers. “Punching bag, definitely.” He nodded for a beat, then smiled saucily up at Kris. “You, uh, want me to punch it?”

The rakish smile was what tore it for Kris. Playtime was over. “I have a better idea.” Bending down he quickly grabbed Minato by his sides and lifted him effortlessly off the ground with a squawk. He raised him to eye level like he weighed nothing.

Minato stared at him, wide-eyed and excited.

“Pants… off,” Kris growled.

Minato hastened to comply, undoing his chinos and shucking them off his slender hips. They dropped off him onto Kris’s rapidly rising beast of a cock, draping across the sweatpants-encased mass of his swelling four-foot dong. Kris gave him a lopsided smile, and Minato smiled back, his eyes dark with lust.

Kris had been going to ask if he liked being manhandled like this, but the spasming of his embracing cocks told him there was no need. Instead he said, “Legs up.”

Minato’s eyes widened. Instantly his sharp mind divined where this was going, his gaze moving from one of Kris’s shoulders to the other. Dutifully he lifted his ankles, and Kris brought him forward so his legs draped across the bulges of his mighty traps, and his round sweet ass perched on his barely movable pecs. “Nice,” Minato started to say. “I lo—”

But Kris wasn’t wasting any time. Thrusting Minato closer he wrapped his mouth urgently around Minato’s junk—cocks, balls, and everthing—before the smaller man could even finish the sentence. “H-holy fuck, holy fuck!” Minato shouted, grabbing onto Kris’s head as Minato started working Minato’s balls with a tongue as big as a thick, raw steak. “Oh god, Kris, I love you, oh god, make love to my balls just like that, ohhh fuck…”

Kris was all the way hard now, his giant, heavy cock jutting straight out before him, forcing him to shift his feet slightly to account for the alteration in his center of gravity. Precum sprayed outward onto the grass, with more dripping from his nipples like an old faucet. Kris was barely aware of any of it—his mind and body were inflamed with need and lust, and a lot of deeper feelings besides.

Minato’s footlong cocks in his hot mouth felt like a revelation, like they belonged there, and Kris resolved they were not moving from this position. This was it, the rest of their lives would be spent with Minato seated right there on his concrete pecs, his delicious cocks and smooth, salty balls forever stuffed deep in Kris’s hot, appreciative mouth.

No, he needs to fuck me, too, he thought. Okay, they would only be like this some of the time. The rest of the time Minato would be driving his rigid tools deep into Kris’s virginal ass.

Or, no, he needed to fuck Minato, too. He knew he could. He was afraid of his size when it came to Minato’s perfect ass—he knew the transformation would allow it, but what would Minato feel? He had to find out. He knew, too, from the look in Minato’s eyes and the way his stares caressed his big cock that Minato wanted it in him—would insist on it. They both needed to know. That was as important as all this, as important as sucking these mouth-perfect immutable dicks or Kris being drilled into orgasm by Minato’s relentless fucking.

He was close already. Kris was a little shocked at the extent of his rising orgasm—it felt even bigger than before!

He wrapped his tongue nimbly around Minato’s long uncut shafts, stroking up and down Minato’s sides as he did so as if Minato himself were cock. Minato cried out, reveling in all the sensations. “I’m close, K,” he panted. “Do want me to hold out, or—?”

Kris redoubled his oral ministrations, urgently wanting Minato’s climax. He had to taste. He had to taste. “Oh god, oh god—!!” Minato yelled.

All at once they both exploded, their climaxes arriving exactly together in a chaotic explosion of rampant euphoria. Minato’s cum burst sweetly from his big, long cocks, flooding Kris’s mouth with ambrosia, even as he erupted with gallons of high-pressure cum firehosing all over the far expanse of the glade. They kept cumming, Kris holding Minato’s waist and Minato gripping onto Kris’s head and short, walnut-brown hair, rocking with fresh jolts of fiery, amazing release.

Feeling Minato cum inside him was like a dream come true for Kris. His eyes stung with the sweet beauty of it, and the ecstatic swell of emotion crashed through his body like a chain reaction, tightening his massive balls further and forcing out his hushing cum at a even higher pressure than before, to the point that it was bending year-old saplings and stripping the very bark of the larger, more venerable trees bordering the clearing. Wrapping his tongue around Minato’s sacred cuddling cocks he could almost imagine feeling their shared, elegant lengths pushing together past his tight, yearning hole, and in the midst of his sensory tumult he vowed he would know that feeling for real, the sooner the better.

Only as their cumming finally subsided were they aware of the hoots and clapping coming from the side of the glade. Evidently they had had an audience, and an appreciative one. They’d had the world to themselves for as long as they could get away with, but that idyl was now firmly in the past: Kris and Minato had been found at last.

Hiking back through the forest to the meeting point with Minato and the twins was unexpectedly strange.

For one thing, no surprises but Kris was not used to walking around with a massive, four-foot-long dick the size and heft of a punching bag. The weight of it alone was colossal, comparable to a full-grown man hanging from his groin. It should have been painful—hell, something that iron-heavy should have been ripping his guts out from the bottom and spilling his small intestines all over his nice white size-17 sneakers and the hard-pack dirt of the main trail. Not only was it not doing that, not only was he holding his own just fine, but—fuck, it felt good. The pull of all that weight on his groin felt really, really good, like that moment you’re holding the apex of a curl and feeling the soft, familiar burn propagating through your biceps. Except that moment was fleeting, but this—it was a steady burn, like a banked hearth that never ebbed or died but just kept on smoldering.

Man, ever since puberty’d started he’d been plenty appreciative of all the many pleasures his cock and balls (and adjacent areas) could give him with a bit of external stimulus—a stroke, a lick, even a bit of warm air from a hissing radiator (or a hot mouth). Never once had he thought about how much his groin muscles might savor the continuous downward pull of a phallic load heavier than half a pallet of bricks.

And fuck, those muscles were strong. Had to be. Hail the unsung heroes of the crotch! It might still count as a workout for them—he had a feeling he’d be sore down there later from carrying around all this weight—but for right now it was the kind of tug that kept him hot and thinking about all the things he wanted to do with Minato when they were alone.

Still… actually walking with the leg-sized troublemaker was another story. The thing had so much mass it responded to every movement with an exaggerated counterswing of momentum in any goddamn direction it wanted. First, it would flail left to bang into his left leg. Then it would overcorrect and flail right to smack into his right leg. If he tried to widen his stance it would thrash backwards between them and hit both his legs in succession. When they’d first started walking and all that was happening he genuinely considered trying to get it all the way hard just so it would jut straight out in front of him like a steel girder and he wouldn’t have to worry about it knocking into it with each forward motion. The only saving graces in this respect were his pumpkin-sized nuts, which pushed the man-sized wang outward by at least half a foot so that wasn’t dangling straight down and trying to tangle around his ankles or whatever with every step.

Then there were his pecs. Not that he was complaining. He loved having these huge, rounded, densely packed foot-thick pecs he couldn’t see over. They were a perfect match for the incredible bulk of his sprawling shoulders and massive, tree-snapping arms and how strong and powerful he felt with every beat of his bigger, stronger heart. He could feel their weight, too. The giant meat sacks were pulling hard on his torso like cats hanging on screen doors, except the cats are mountain lions and the screens are unmovable reinforced titanium that can take that weight and then some. It was the same kind of soft-burn undertow as his phallic third leg, and the unremitting stimulation of the pull pressed all the right buttons. Having pecs so big you could just enjoy their weight was… heck, it was pure fantasy, achieved.

They especially felt good naked, shifting in the cool forest air as he moved, the centripetal forces feeling just as nice and effecting less trouble here than on his other great mass below. The gray muscle tee was tucked away in his back pocket, almost forgotten, and the one thing keeping him from dreading putting it on, or any top ever again, was the memory of how they appreciated being held and snuggled by a swatch of soft cotton alllmost as much as they enjoyed being exposed, bare, and utterly unconstrained.

Anyway, his nips were leaky, and that was a consideration. He wouldn’t trade that either. Even the slow, minute seep of precum from his chest felt good—and when he came from his nips, spraying high-pressure spunk like he had notional cocks on the undersides of his medicine-ball pecs, the sensation multiplied the ecstatic overload of his climax beyond what anyone with only a four-foot monster cock and perfectly ordinary nips could even imagine.

He should go shirtless all the time, really, if only to help out the freshmen on laundry duty back at St. Kobi. Truly, he loved his pecs and everything about them.

The problem was: he couldn’t see Minato. Minato, who was right there walking right next to him, hidden from view by the enormous shelf of his naked pecs. He could hear him, joking away with the twins and comparing notes on their experiences at the shrine, and that helped; but Minato was a visual rush to be around on top of being funny, smart, and generally great company. Kris was used to dosing himself with Minato’s pretty face, his amazing hair, and, especially, that dazzling, ball-churningly beautiful smile, going back years and increasingly building something close to an addiction. And now—damn, now he was beyond pretty. He was alluring to the point of angelic, if angels had perfect bubble-butt glutes that your dick pulled toward like filings to a magnet, and an obscene grin that melted your brain and left you with nothing but id. Seeing Minato was like a slow lick to the hard cock that was his soul.

So what happens? His own tits, of all things, were preventing him from doing that. If being an eight-foot-tall colossus with a leg-sized cock and foot-thick pecs had a downside, he reasoned with a turn of his lips, it was his Minato being all but invisible next to him. Like a ghost, he thought, or a fantasy.

Abruptly he stopped and knelt in the middle of the trail, unable to stand it any longer. Ben and Kevin stopped and stared at him in surprise, their hands more tangled than regular human hands oughta be. He ignored them and held Minato’s bright, excited gaze.

“Get on, pretty boy,” he said, jerking a thumb toward his shoulders.

Minato raised an eyebrow. “For real?” he asked, amused and heartbreakingly beautiful. It had only been ten minutes without seeing him, and that was too long. He slipped his massive hand into Minato’s thick, golden hair almost without meaning to, and Minato leaned happily into the touch,

The twins chuckled salaciously. “Facing which way?” one of them asked. Kris wasn’t sure which brother it was. Weirdly, ever since they’d rejoined them back in the cum-clearing he was having trouble telling the twins apart—something he hadn’t had any problem with before. Maybe their new plasticity made them more alike than ever. At the moment, that only made them even more of a pain than usual.

Kris gave them a sidelong look. “Go raid a pirate ship or something,” he said.

The twins turned to each other, delighted. Each shot up their free hand. “First mate! Jinx!” they shouted together.

“For fuck’s sake,” Kris groused.

“I, Ben O’Donoghue, vow to stand by your side from now until the end!” one said. “No!” cried the other. “I, Kev O’Donoghue, vow to stand by your side from now until the end!”

Minato was giggling. “You can both be first mate, and I’ll be the captain.”

The twins both looked at him in mock dismay. “You can’t be Luffy!” “You’re not a devil fruit boy!” Though to prove their point, they both reared back an arm and shot it across the eight feet or so between them. Kris tensed, but the fists only connected with a light tap on each cheek.

“You’re too sexy-pretty, anyway,” one of them added. “You can be Sanji!” the other added. “Or Nami,” finished the first.

“Okay, enough hitting on my cheri,” Kris said. “Literally or otherwise.” He pointed at Minato, then back again at his shoulders. “You. Up.”

Minato grinned wide at him, filling him with gooey warm happiness even as his cock twitched in happiness against the ground where he knelt. Using Kris’s thigh as a step up he clambered easily onto the monolithic back and slid his legs down on either side of Kris’s beech-tree neck. Kris rose to his feet in a single fluid motion, and as he was thus lifted in the air Minato squealed like he was on a carnival ride. “Yay! Again!” he laughed.

“Let go of the ears,” Kris growled, holding back a smile.

Minato laughed, latching onto Kris’s shortish walnut-black hair instead. “C’mon, mighty steed,” he called. “Chaaarge!”

Kris held back a laugh and started forward at a gentle lope, the twins keeping pace as they bantered inanely about the others in the class and which One Piece character they matched up with, while Minato kicked his heels into the dense muscle of Kris’s chest as though he really were Minato’s “steed.”

Actually, Kris kind of did want to run. He was an athlete after all, not just a gym rat. He loved exerting his strength, and right now he had a craving to test out just how fast his powerful new thighs and calves were. Just one problem—or three problems if he counted his pumpkin balls. He needed some way of restraining his junk so he could bolt like only someone with this much power could bolt. Maybe a harness?

He sighed, exasperated and amused. If only the multiverse explanation were real, he could try getting his hands on his alt-realty self’s diary and see how he handled all these weird, mundane challenges.

After another five minutes or so minutes or so he found a walking rhythm that kept the movements of his oversized phallic pendulum small and predictable, and he was able to relax a little more. Still, the small sense of achievement he felt at sorting out this unexpected but fairly basic problem of applied physics was in its own way slightly embarrassing; after all, if he’d been born this way he would have figured all this out in nursery school. Maybe in another universe, he had been born this way. That would be funny, if he and Minato hadn’t grown, they’d taken on their alt-reality dream bods, waiting for them this whole time.

After a little more walking they heard snatches of loud conversation, then all at once they turned a corner in the trail and they were at the meeting place.

It looked like everyone was there except them, milling around in the usual friend clusters or immersed in their phones—most were doing both. There were various scattered greetings, mostly letting them know they’d been waiting for them. “Hooray!” “Finally.” “At last.” “Where were you guys, building a tree fort to fuck in?” That got someone some snickers and a high five or two.

Kris frowned at them all. The other students looked the same as ever whereas the four of them… didn’t.

Mr. Kim, the fit, gray-haired science master leading the trip, was very pointedly checking the time on his phone. “Now that everyone is here,” he said, pocketing his phone while casting a trademark brief-but-caustic glance at the new arrivals, “we can head over to the pavilion for the local expert’s presentation, and then hit the restaurant for dinner. After that, we’ll check into the cabins for the night.” Gathering the group with a broad wave of his arm, he set off resolutely down a brick path toward the main buildings of the new attraction. The students barely spared the giant, the godling, and the two rubber twins a glance as they turned and followed en masse.

Kris frowned. “Uh…”

“What just…” Minato whispered.

“That man has no ass,” one of the twins tsked.

Kris didn’t get it. Surely something about their transformed appearance would have garnered a remark. Minato’s hair had grown out a foot and changed color in the last three hours—that should have earned a furrowed brow, if nothing else. Hello? Colossal dude rocks leg-sized cock? Exceptionally pretty boy experiences butt improvement and uber-amplified radiant beauty upgrade? Twins suddenly start twisting their arms together like a DNA helix? Pec-bottom nips burble delicious precum? Anyone?

“They… didn’t notice?” Kris said finally, nonplussed.

“Guess not,” Minato said.

Kris glanced down at the twins, who gave them an exaggerated double shrug, grinned, and trotted ahead to join the others.

“Ooookay, then,” Kris drawled after a beat. Being the generally upbeat guy he was, he realized he was mostly entertained by the bizarre situation. “Let’s go be normal, I guess.”

From his perch on Kris’s shoulders, Minato huffed a laugh. “Good luck with that!”

Kris grinned, and, carefully resuming his patented new cock-flail-minimizing walking rhythm, he trundled after the rest of their friends and classmates into whatever new weirdness lay ahead.

Minato climbed down from Kris’s back as they approached the smallish amphitheater, a round structure a little ways into the forest. This way it was set apart from the parking area where the food and lodgings were that also catered to passing travelers off the nearby highway. Immediately, Minato could see a looming problem.

Kris noticed it too. “Am I going to fit through that?” he asked, leaning down to whisper.

“Search me,” Minato chuckled. “I want to see you try, though.”

It was a perfectly ordinary glass door. Minato remembered from his wide reading in architectural aesthetics that most North American door frames were something like 6-foot-8 tall and 30 inches wide. Until now, Minato had reckoned those dimensions were plenty big. Glancing up at his massively muscled 8-foot giant, he wasn’t so sure. That aperture looked small, like, camel-through-a-keyhole small.

He eyed Kris’s gargantuan shoulders, the span of which looked as wide as he was tall. “Maybe just… burst through?” he suggested, biting his lip. He wanted to giggle.

Kris gave him a cocky smile. “I could, but I don’t have any Kool-Aid,” he said.

As they got nearer, Minato hurried ahead to open the door. There were a handful of classmates Minato didn’t recognize loitering near the door thumbing away on their phones. They looked up to watch as Kris approached, anticipating a show, maybe. Kris gave them a smile and a head tilt as Minato swung the increasingly narrow-looking door open. It opened easily most of the way, and then suddenly stopped.

Minato looked down. There was a little stopper about two-thirds of the way around that the door-bottom could hook into, propping it open. Great, useful for a flow of ordinary people, but the door not completely clearing the opening had to make things a notch more difficult.

He grinned up at his man. “My idea is looking better,” he said.

“Laugh it up.” Minato watched in great amusement as Kris sized up the doorway with a very serious expression, like someone trying to figure out how to stuff two suitcases worth of clothes in a single carry-on.

Keeping his sexy sneakers firmly planted where they were at an angle to the entrance, Kris slowly started twisting his bare torso sidelong, bringing his massive, protruding pecs into profile while highlighting just how narrow his lower torso was front-to-back by comparison. Frowning at the doorway some more from this position (while showing off how his abs, viewed side-on, looked like five rows of speed bumps), Kris started bending his torso downward, as if he meant to bend his upper half at right angles to his lower half.

Minato heard a snicker from the classmates behind him, and he couldn’t blame them. “It’s like watching an exercise in hydraulic robotry,” he laughed.

“Shut it,” Kris said, appraising the doorframe doubtfully as he bent a little further. The thing was, with the size of his back muscles and the immensity of his pecs—not to mention his junk being the size of a person all on its own—Minato wondered if getting through even sideways might be a challenge. He wondered what would happen. If his pecs got squeezed as he shoved through, would that push glops of Kris’s special man-juice from his nips, smearing all over his abs and dripping onto the concrete floor below? The thought was kind of exciting.

Kris seemed about to make his move when they heard another voice from behind them. “Not this again,” Mr. Kim said, appearing from the walkway leading to the administration building where he’d evidently been finalizing their arrangements. “Mr. Merino, what are you doing?”

Kris retained his twisted and half-bent position and tried to glance back at the science master, though Minato could tell he couldn’t see Mr. Kim past his pecs from that angle. “Trying to get through the door?” the big man said, breaking out in a smile at the evident absurdity of things.

Mr. Kim clicked his tongue. “Did you forget I already told you this morning about the double-wide service doors around the side you could use?” he asked, as though Kris tried getting through the wrong size door all the time.

“Uh… yes?”

More snickering from the peanut gallery. Kris sent them a handsome sideways grin.

Mr. Kim cleared his throat. “Out of the way, Mr. Merino,” he ordered, with the thin patience of a professional student-herder. “If you please.”

Minato laughed, and Kris grinned, too, as he carefully reversed his contortions and stepped back, clearing the entrance. Mr. Kim gestured the others through and went in behind them, casting Kris a disappointed look as he passed.

Minato was delighted. “You can’t fit through dooors,” he sing-songed when they were alone. They started walking in the direction Mr. Kim had indicated, around the side of the little amphitheater.

“You love it,” Kris said, offering his wide paw for Minato to take.

He clasped it and grinned, swinging the hefty limb as they walked. “I totally do.”

The interior of the pavilion was set up like a classical odeon, with wide benches ranged in nesting, well-spaced semi-circles down to a low stage area. There, a large viewscreen was set against a dark scrim, with a simple lectern to one side. The benches were even constructed of stone as of old, as though to emulate the playwatching experience of ancient Athenians; though Minato guessed the intent was to remind visitors that they had voyaged into the naturalistic depths of the wild, there to meet the spirits of those who had lived very different lives from their own that were now vanished into centuries long past. The macro-sized leaf pattern in browns, reds, and golds decorating the encircling walls added to the backwoods motif, and the big LED screen, the main inhibitor to immersion in the atechnological past, was currently showing a slow montage of the local pre-Columbian shrines and artifacts, most of the photography carefully contextualized in situ, deep in the living forest.

Their fellow students were filing in or already seated, nestling in little clusters as usual, with a few stray knots of tourists mixed into the group for variety. Minato spotted the O’Donoghues in a little group with their friends Walt and Garry. The twins were casually wrapping their rubbery arms again and again around their buddies as they chatted. Their friends were very deliberately giving the twisty limbs not the slightest amount of attention, as though this kind of showing off were so routine on the twins’ part as to be unremarkable and the prevailing response was to not under any circumstances reward their behavior with interest. The twins, of course, were absolutely delighted and were obviously planning to see just how far they could take their elastic antics and get away with it. Minato shook his head as they passed.

Hand-in-hand, he and Kris started working their way around the circumferal aisle. Without need for discussion, they knew to head for the back of the auditorium. Bulky, monster-chested eight-foot hunk giants didn’t get to sit in the front row, and Minato was completely fine with that. He’d always kind of liked sitting behind everyone anyway. Front-row conspicuousness was, for him, less attractive than the illusory isolation you got from nestling in an aftward vantage. Before this trip, he’d sought out that kind of faux-seclusion as being a good place from which to safely admire his crush, namely that magnetic, gregarious, olive-skinned force of handsome, bluff masculinity around whom so many of his beta-male classmates eagerly revolved. Now? Well, right now he just wanted Kris to himself, even if they were in a crowd of gabbling peers.

The permanent state of mutual-proximity horniness they’d accrued as part of their transformation seemed to be mounting rapidly again. Minato’s sensitive flesh all but demanded touch, taste, and release. It was palpable—physical as well as emotional and sensual. His balls literally felt packed and swollen, perceptibly churning with hot spunk as the two men found a spot in the last row center.

The wide, sturdy stone bench was empty along this middle segment, most of the students having found places closer to the stage. Minato was duly grateful. Infectious arousal seemed to be radiating off of the colossus next to him, sinking into Minato’s skin through the air and flowing like river rapids through their joined hands. He thought he might be having the same effect. As they took their seats, side by side, thighs and arms pressed together, fingers laced, the warmth of Kris’s penetrating, lust-filled gaze beat down on the side of his face like heat vision.

All that Minato could think about was Kris’s amazing, supersexual form and how desperately he needed to feel it with every inch of his body. It was like all of his skin ached for the press of Kris-flesh against it… brushing along it… inflaming his pores and his tissues and his very bones with the insanity of paranormally amplified lust. It wasn’t just his outsides that needed to feel it, either. His mouth, his tongue, his throat—his—

With a seismic flash of desire Minato realized that, even more than any part of him, it was his guts that craved the burn and stretch of Kris’s hard, red-hot flesh pushing relentlessly into him—far deeper than any other cock could possibly go. This was a gift that only he could know: the inward thrust of a cock so monstrous no other man or beast could compare. In a sudden rush he was craving the experience of fucking impaling himself on that one-of-a-kind leg-sized Leviathan of a cock… feeling it filling him like no other cock possibly could, until his wide-spread ass reached the smooth, flat-muscled hilts of the enormous weapon and his legs were riding the massive balls that supplied Kris’s quivering, cum-gushing tower of lust-flesh.

“What are you thinking about so hard?” purred a low, deep, familiar voice.

With a blush, Minato glanced down and saw that he was, in fact, very, very hard. His twin, entwined cocks were making a single, snuggling bulge along his hip, one that was as obvious, in its own way, as Kris’s unmissable tool. The truth was, his whole body felt tumescent: his flesh was hot and so freighted with emphatic, indomitable desire he almost felt phallically swollen with need in muscle and sinew. When he glanced up at Kris, the fire in his gaze instantly met an answering gleam in Kris’s intense, green-gold eyes.

Kris licked his lips and glanced furtively toward the stage. There, a broad-shouldered, bespectacled man, looking not unlike a movie producer’s idea of an adventure-magnet archaeologist down to the stubbled chin and coarse khaki button-down, was taking his place at the lectern, loading a presentation onto the screen entitled “Dream Chasms and Human Avatars: The Sex Magic of the Kalunakohome.” In the audience, heads were coming together in that flurry of last-minute jests and jibes that signaled a lecture was about to begin.

Kris’s intense gaze dropped back to Minato, and the renewed burning eye contact made Minato’s cocks jump all by itself. Kris’s thick, kissable lips were parted slightly, he noticed—his big man was distracted, too.

Kris tilted his head toward the front. “Can you see okay?” he asked softly.

The lights lowered, making the burning glint in Kris’s eyes seem almost luminescent. There was no way Minato was passing this up. Not even looking, he shook his head infinitesimally.

Kris nodded. Then, in a single, fluid move, he took Minato in his hands by the lower torso and shifted him bodily onto his lap.

Minato was panting, his semi-entwined cocks thrusting messily against each other in his pants as he settled himself into Kris. The big man’s size and potency surrounded and engulfed him, overwhelming him with gratifying stimulus.

He almost didn’t know what to do with his legs. His heels wanted to sink into the gap between Kris’s burly legs and his equally meaty half-hard cock, but that would work against the experience of being fully nestled deep in Kris’s lap (and might be a prelude to something less than public). Instead he pulled his sleekly-muscled legs up and folded them under him, falling backward into Kris’s massive torso.

As he relaxed backward, he came up against a somewhat ironic impediment to his sensual enjoyment of Kris’s humungousness. Though his ass was firmly situated against Kris’s crotch, the palpable throb of Kris’s partially awakened cock making his own pulsing anus almost self-aware with desperate need, and his lower back was in comfortable contact with the smooth, hairless bricks of Kris’s lower abs, the fact was that Kris’s pecs were so colossal that Minato’s shoulder blades couldn’t quite reach the flat planes of Kris’s upper abs beneath them.

Minato gritted his teeth, his cocks throbbing defiantly. This would not do. At least we’re still shirtless, he thought. No one seemed to care that Minato was exquisitely topless or that Kris was naked, massive, and dripping from the waist up, and Minato was happy to make sure it stayed that way. It was certainly fortunate for the moment. With steely determination, he began grinding his head backward into Kris’s foot-thick cleavage, lightly rolling his shoulders at the same time to help shift the dense, heavy sacks of beautiful, firm pec-muscle. Behind and above him Kris grunted, clearly enjoying the manhandling. Minato wondered if Kris’s new muscle-tits were a little more sensitive than normal, the way his own exceptionally thickened pecs now seemed to be.

Finally Minato’s back was more or less fully seated against Kris’s torso, his head nestled comfortably partway into Kris’s voluminous muscle-cleavage. He sighed contentedly and wriggled his shoulders one more time, earning a smear of nipple-precum along his traps and delts and a rumbly hum of aroused happiness from Kris that seemed to vibrate straight through him.

The manly archeologist had already started his talk, but Minato was barely paying attention. “Since the opening of the Kalunakohome caves, there’s been a growing consensus that this singular ancient culture was deeply in touch with the connections between love, sex, and the powers of the metaphysical world. In the shrine labeled ‘the Princes’ chamber,’ for example…”

Minato was having trouble concentrating. The stray thought about the possible sensitivity of Kris’s enormous muscle-bags had him thinking about his own suddenly-there chest and how aware he was of that particular part of his body. They were almost as insistent in claiming his sensual attention as his raging erections and heavy, cum-filled balls. Almost without realizing, his hand was reaching for them, and as his fingers and palm made contact with the swell of his inches-thick he shuddered with pleasure, a low moan escaping his lips. Could pecs feel this good?

A few rows in front of them, a couple of male classmates looked back, grinning. “Minato’s feeling himself up again,” one whispered. Minato registered the remark half-consciously as he inched his hand across his chest, lapping up the pleasure gained from this simple tactile self-contact. I guess in this reality I do this a lot, he thought muzzily, swamped with the sensation. No surprise there!

“You think they’ll—?” the other muttered excitedly. “Oh, shit, yeah! Look!”

Minato wasn’t sure what he meant for moment, until a massive hand gently pushed his aside. “Let me,” Kris rumbled quietly, taking up the slow caress of Minato’s proportionately oversized chest. At the same time, Kris’s other hand moved to Minato’s waist, undoing his fly with surprising deftness.

“Fuck yeah, I love it when this happens,” one of the spectators whispered.

“Those fuckers are so horny for each other,” another said in an awed undertone.

Minato was barely able to hold onto his reason, but he hadn’t quite forgotten where they were. “Kris—?”

“Gotta do it,” Kris ground out, fumbling Minato’s hardons free. Immediately the rock-hard, twisted-around-each-other erections were in his giant mitt, being slowly stroked in tandem with his equally erogenous pecs.

“Oh god,” Minato breathed. The pleasure built geometrically, the pressure like that experienced by a poorly built dam that could not possibly hold back the floods. A cry of ecstasy rose in him, and only with an effort of will did he keep it from filling the whole pavilion. As it was, the little whimper he did release was so filled with concentrated desire, it sounded in his ears as wanton as any sound any man had ever made.

He blinked, his vision barely in focus. The blurry forms of the two guys watching them avidly from a couple rows ahead seemed to have gathered a few more nearby spectators, but Minato couldn’t care about that. Maybe this was normal in the timestream they were now a part of. If not, it was now.

Dr. Sexy Adventure-Scholar seemed to be looking their way, too, one sandy-blond eyebrow raised, though he continued his talk undaunted. Minato couldn’t bother about that either. Random words sank into his brain, almost meaningless in their detachment from the deep pleasure he was experiencing. “Sex-avatars… inscriptions describe experiences of growth and intensified sensuality… rest of the community seem to have accepted the change as if they had always… each marked with a sign or sigil only to be seen in moments of private intimacy...”

Minato’s consciousness blurred hard, as though the settings on his ability to relate to his surroundings had been pushed all the way to the left. The sultry pleasure of Kris’s attentive ministrations, of being engulfed and stroked by him, was becoming too much. “Kris—!” he whined, almost inaudibly.

“Here it comes,” someone whispered excitedly.

Kris rumbled again in his chest, low and deep, and the thrill of that vibration pushed through him, riding him mercilessly along the ragged edge of release. “Let go for me, babe,” Kris murmured finally. “Do it for me.”

With a soft, explosive “uunnnnnhh” Minato shuddered through the final barrier into a full, brain-melting climax, orgasming again and again in twin arcs of hot seed all over his pecs and chin and the backs of Kris’s big, talented hands.

“Fuck, dude, you gotta kiss me,” someone said, and then there were soft smacks and murmurs as the guys caught in Minato’s radiating pleasure-explosion made out with each other in a kind of instinctive, atavistic response.

Minato shuddered out his last spurts, relaxing bonelessly into his man. He was a being of pure satiation, and probably would never move from this recumbent, muscle-engulfed torpor ever again. That was fine. More than fine.

Kris was still moving his hands, slowly smearing cum into his chest and still-hard cocks. He lowered his head, bringing his lips as close to Minato’s ear as he could.

“Tonight, cheri,” he whispered, his voice ragged and intense. “Tonight, when we are alone, I am going to be in you. I’m going to be in you, and make love to you, and shoot so much cum inside you you’ll be made… of… spunk.”

With that promise Minato suddenly realized he hadn’t finished orgasming after all, and shot two more surges of hot, sweetly fragrant cum into the mess they had already made, as all the guys in the arousal-impact zone succumbed to a gentle, insistent lust and fervently made out in a group around them.

The large buffet restaurant they were meant to share dinner at was a part of the conservation area complex, and after the presentation Kris and Minato filed over with the mixed crowd of St. Kobiers and other random tourists for some much-needed grub. They were brought up short at the entrance, however—not owing to any difficulty of getting Kris into the building, as this time there was a wide set of double glass doors that Kris could duck through, but because of the prominent sign in the window next to the doors engraved with the classic warning in white rounded text on brown laminate: No shirt, no shoes, no service.

They looked down at Minato’s shoes and Kris’s big white sneakers, then at each other’s very naked and pectorally prominent torsos. They’d hurriedly wiped away the mess of their auditorium encounter with a few wads of scratchy brown paper towels from the men’s room off the back exitway, the result leaving them looking like buffed olive-toned marble and polished alabaster respectively. Drops of warm sex-goo were already making new long drops and smears down either side of Kris’s bumpy abs.

Minato gave his lover a crooked smile as the others filtered around them and into the building, some casting glances at the pair as they did so. Minato recognized a few of the men who’d been drawn to their little back-row moment of intimacy, and wondered if they were still feeling any lingering effects of being so close when their sex-bomb had detonated.

He nodded at their bare torsos. “Think we can get away with it?” he asked, stepping closer and casually trailing the side of his finger through the trickle of pec-spunk. He lifted the finger to his mouth and sucked it clean, pulling the digit free of his lips with a soft pop.

That glint of ravishing desire instantly rekindled in Kris’s green-gold eyes, as Minato had hoped. It was an intense, aggressive lust, hinting at something possessive and untamed. Seeing it Minato felt taken ahold of, as through strong hands held him by the arms, shoulders, and pert, rounded ass.

“I should put a top on just to keep you from doing shit like that,” Kris rumbled, soft and deep.

“And to keep everyone from ogling your magnificent chest,” Minato remarked, sliding his fingers around his ear to adjust his heavy mane of long, silky blond hair.

Kris smirked, lowering his voice even further as more students moved slowly past them on either side, most of them in couples and small groups. “I’m not the one they’re looking at, cheri,” Kris said, his eyes burning with promises of deep, phallic appreciation. “You’re basically a prettyboy lust god, you know that?”

Minato’s insides fluttered at the praise. “Wasn’t I always?” he asked playfully, though in truth he was still working to reconcile the ultra-Minato he was now to the milder version he’d been before.

“Flirt,” Kris said.

Mr. Kim cleared his throat as he stalked past. “Let’s make ourselves presentable, gentlemen,” he said archly, not even pausing to accost them directly. “We can at least try to be civilized creatures while we’re in public.” Then he was gone, the doors swinging closed behind him.

Minato stared after him. “I think we’re getting a reputation,” he said.

Kris grinned. “Probably had it for years, in this world,” he said gamely, pulling their shirts out of his back pocket and handing Minato his size-adjusted black polo. “Shall we go be civilized creatures, lover?”

Minato smirked up at him, shrugging into the well-fitting top as Kris struggled to pull the heather-gray sleeveless sweatshirt over his bulky frame. “I’m ready to be as civilized as you are,” he said, tugging the shirt into place at the waist.

“Deal.” Kris cheerily stuck out a massive fist. Minato bumped it with his much smaller, paler one and, Kris ducking almost double to clear his bulging, muscular back, they headed into the restaurant.

The fabric of Kris’s shirt under his pecs was already damp by the time they got in the buffet line. “Maybe we should cut some holes in your shirts,” Minato mused drily as they moved through the queue. He reached up toward the spots with both hands. “We could put one hole here,” he said, torquing one large, down-pointing nipple through the shirt, “and another here,” he added, twisting the other. Both tweaks produced a small gobbet of pre that easily soaked directly through the sporty cotton.

Kris hissed, smiling down on him menacingly. “Keep doing that and see what happens,” he said.

“Yeah?” Minato teased. Maintaining eye contact, he very deliberately twisted both nips a second time, turning his wrists a full half revolution in opposite directions, as if he were unlocking two combination locks side by side.

Kris sucked in a breath. Then, lifting Minato off his feet with a yelp as though he weighed nothing, he hauled the smaller man’s bulging chest straight up to his mouth and made a show of giving both nips a toothy bite through the thin black fabric. “Hey—ow! Put me down, you sexy brute!” Minato protested, letting the electric thrill of Kris’s incisors rocking against his nipples shudder through him. Fuck, more of that, he thought. I want more of that.

Kris gave him a savage smile that made Minato’s heart melt with how handsome his lover looked. “You going to behave?” Kris growled mischievously.

“What do you—mmmph!” Minato said, his sass interrupted when Kris pulled him in for a long, tonguey smooch that only ended some seconds later when someone started prodding Kris’s big muscle-butt from behind.

“Keep it moving, at least, fuckgiant,” someone teased.

“Geez, these two,” another snorted in amusement.

Minato smiled slyly at Kris as they broke their kiss and Kris started moving forward. A day ago his classmates referring to him and Kris as “these two” and joking about their public affections would have been an unlikely dream. Now, for everyone but them, it was just another day with the colossus and the lust god.

Darn, he was already hard again. He stared into Kris’s eyes, remembering the big gut’s earlier promise, and felt his balls tighten with raw anticipation.

Instead of putting Minato down, Kris settled him into the crook of his arm and picked up a tray with his other hand, sliding it onto the three metal tubes that made up the tray path along the front of the buffet. “Tell me what you want,” Kris instructed.

“For fuck’s sake, put me down.” He pushed against Kris’s heavy pectoral, enjoying the pushback from the superdense muscle.

“Nope,” Kris said, popping the ‘p’. He grabbed two of the white dinner plates and placed them on the damp tray. “You’re going to have to tell me everything you want.”

Oh, I’ll tell you what I want, you saucy titan. Wait ‘til we’re alone. His nips were still tingling, and he hoped Kris’s were, too. “Fine,” he sighed aloud. “I should resign myself to always being a spectacle around you.”

“I’d want it no other way,” Kris said with dry conviction.

Following Minato’s instructions he dished out generous helpings from the healthier offerings onto one of the plates, piling the other with the most heart-stopping masses of cheese, beef, and grease to be found this side of a cartoon series about a fat dad and his snarky son.

“What the hell are you eating,” Minato said in wonder as he snagged three mini-bacon cheeseburgers from a warming tray. “I thought you were an athlete!”

“What, these? They’re barely a mouthful,” Kris purred in his low, growly voice. He patted his tight, fat-free waist, adding, “Anyway, I have a funny feeling this body can turn just about anything into pure, hard muscle.”

“I don’t think it’s being turned into muscle,” someone joked unexpectedly from behind them.

“Right?” another dude agreed. “All those semen-gushers have to come from somewhere!”

“Heh heh, you said ‘cum’,” the first sniggered.

Kris and Minato exchanged a look, both smiling sheepishly. Being this big and this… potent… kind of put everything out in the open. Minato leaned in for a soft kiss, which was fondly returned. Worth it, he thought happily, knowing Kris was thinking the same. Kris enjoyed being big—well, it was the fulfillment of their mutual fantasy, after all—but he seemed to love being the Kris of “Kris and Minato” even more.

Minato deepened the kiss a little, his lover’s long, deft tongue responding fully to his own.

“Get a room,” the wiseacres behind them laughed as they ended the kiss and Kris started moving again.

“That’s the plan,” Kris muttered under his breath as they moved to the desserts area, the big man’s sentiments clearly closely resembling Minato’s own.

After paying they moved into the noisy seating area, Kris still carrying Minato in one arm and effortlessly hefting the ridiculously laden tray with the other. The twenty or so tables were large and round, capable of easily seating eight or so people, with built-in semicircular benches in lieu of free-standing chairs. Most of the tables were ringed with chatting students or other visitors. They spotted the twins sitting with their friends Garry and Walt at one of the outlying units and headed that way.

Ben and Kev were up to their usual antics, apparently. One was seated in the other’s lap, facing him, but with his head swiveled fully around so that he was looking down at his own longish, lanky back and butt, letting the other twin feed them both from a bowl of cheesy chili mac as they embraced a few times over. Garry and Walt were ensconced close by on either side, the stocky redhead and the gangly goateed brunette looking like long-suffering straight men to the identical imps. As he and Kris approached, Minato was surprised to see long, serpentine cocks shoving out of both Garry and Walt’s jeans, rising semi-flaccidly to nearly chest-height against their tee shirts. They seemed to be moving around of their own accord, like they were excited to finally be free of their owners’ pants.

“They’re not ours,” Garry gritted out impatiently, as Kris set down their overloaded tray with a grin. Garry, too, had a supply of the mini-cheeseburgers, though that and some fries was the extent of his spoils.

“I dunno what they’re fucking trying to accomplish,” Walt added, resolutely ignoring the penis wrigging against his chest as though gyrating a hello to the newcomers. He stabbed a fork into his grilled chicken caesar salad as though on a mission to perforate all lettuce. “It’s not like we’ll fucking jerk them off thinking they’re ours or anything.”

“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” the twin in back said as he fed his brother, who opened disconcertingly wide to let the spoon in. When he’d taken the food and swallowed he added, “You guys just have big, giant dicks, is all.”

“Uh huh,” Garry said, glancing down at the gently writhing cock snuggling his torso with a frown. Minoto wondered if it was doing its little dance all the way down Garry’s pants leg, and back up the leg of whichever twin it belonged to. That’s some interesting control, he thought, intrigued.

Kris finally let Minato down, and once his feet touched the floor he quickly clambered over the narrow, curved wooden seat and sat down. Kris hesitated, frowning at the immovable gap between the table and the bench, which was fixed in place at a distance better suited to those of more mortal stature.

“Uh, maybe I’ll just…” Kris began doubtfully. He lowered himself down sideways, sitting along the bench sidesaddle. The bench groaned audibly under his weight. Carefully, he drew one leg across, his massive thigh barely clearing the gap between the table and bench. “Guess the rest has to stay put,” he told Minato, indicating his cock and other leg, which remained on the outward side the bench.

Minato grinned as he turned his torso as best he could to face the others, almost at a right angle to his lower body. “Too bad you’re not rubbery,” he teased.

“Maybe we can teach you,” the front twin said happily around a mouthful of cheesy-beefy macaroni.

Kris eyed the snaky cocks writhing casually against their friends’ bellies. “You know, those are a little distracting,” he said.

“Dunno what you mean,” the back twin said blandly. “That’s totally them,” the front one added.

Walt was staring at Minato, but when their eyes met he quickly looked away, hurriedly adjusting himself under the table where his real cock presumably was. “Fucking fuckers,” he muttered, shoving a mass of chicken and savory romaine into his mouth.

Grinning, Minato turned to Kris, only to find him staring oddly at the stainless steel fork and knife he held in his hands. Minato had to admit the cutlery looked like souvenirs from a children’s fantasy kingdom in his lover’s extra-large hands. Kris shifted his weight, making the bench complain worrisomely again.

“This is weird, right?” Kris said softly, lowering his voice so only Minato could hear. He winked and added, “Though maybe not as weird as them.”

Minato’s pulse quickened. Kris filled his vision, and not just because of how big he was. “It’s perfect,” he said. “You’re perfect.”

That predatory glint was back in Kris’s eyes. “Eat fast,” he growled, low and deep enough for the vibrations to pass through Minato with a shudder. “I have things I have been wanting to do to you for a very long time.”

The cabins were arrayed in a shallow semicircle around the outer edge of the core tourist area, far enough into the woods that they felt removed from the asphalt and neon of the food service/amphitheater/parking area complex. The keys they’d been distributed let them in easily, so the locks and doors were well-maintained, and inside they were sturdy and well-appointed, with electric lamps, large windows with colorful roll-up batik blinds, proper beds (mattresses and box springs on wooden frames, with simple sheets folded carefully and ready to be deployed at the foot of each berth), and a small sink and mini-fridge by the door to the attached half-bath (the showers were in a central building). They had been meted out six students to a cabin, though the cabins themselves contained only three double beds each. Their rucksacks and overnight bags had already been brought in from the train when they’d arrived and were piled in a corner, Kris’s looking bigger than he’d remembered it being.

The big man stood just inside the door surveying the space with Minato at his side, head bent to fit under the high but not-high-enough wooden ceiling. He eyed the beds doubtfully. They didn’t look big enough for him, much less him and his lover, and he wasn’t sure the unreinforced timber used for the base would support his new weight. “I don’t know about this,” he confessed. “Maybe I should sleep outside? You know, up the hill a bit.” He’d seen a grassy area between the hills on the slope above the half-ring of cabins and thought it looked kind of nice.

“‘We,’ you mean,” his thick-chested, pretty-boy sylph gently corrected, his long golden locks sliding across his shoulder as he looked up at the giant with a kind of stern fondness. “Wherever you are, I am.” He smiled, just a slight curve of his luscious lips, and Kris’s pulse quickened instantly, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He felt his jaw slacken as he stared, overcome with awed desire. How could a man—a being—be so radiant without transmuting into an actual lightsource?

“It’s s’posed to raiin,” one of the twins singsonged, having slipped around Kris to stand on his other side, regarding the room with them. Kris looked down at them, only mildly surprised to see that they had now decided to share a single set of clothes, with both twins occupying the same dark jacket, white shirt with loosened tie, and regulation trousers. Two hands emerged from each jacket cuff, and two heads side by side from the unbuttoned neck of the shirt; though, interestingly, only one pair of brown walking shoes was visible below the pants, opening up the question of where the other twin’s feet were, or if he’d simply reshaped his lower legs without them. The process of fitting into a single outfit meant that they had pressed themselves flatter than usual, hands and heads aside, and so conservation of mass meant that they were significantly taller—tall enough that their shirt tails and a bit of very flat belly were exposed, along with several inches of doubled ankle on both sides. No sign of the snaky cocks were to be seen, though Kris didn’t believe they were ever going to be out of sight for long from now on.

“Besides, there’s an obvious solution,” the twin in back said—they really were utterly identical now, or so close to identical Kris was not going to try telling them apart. “Push all three beds together side to side, and Kris can stretch on longways!”

“What about the rest of us?” Garry deadpanned. He had followed the twins in, and they, too, were viewing their accommodations with reservations.

“Simple,” the first twin said. “We just all pile on top of Kris!”

“And cuddle in like bunnies,” the second seconded, winking up at Kris. The twins hugged themselves with their four arms, miming a good, tight snuggle. Kris shook his head, amused.

“Sleeping on top of Kris is fucking Min’s job,” Walt laughed, pushing past Garry and the twins to stomp over to the pile of bags. Their tall, gangly friend retrieved a dopp kit from his canvas duffel and turned to them with a smirk. “I’m going to go brush my teeth and fucking shave,” he announced, pointing at the bathroom, then gesturing to the rest of them. “You all sort this shit out.” Then he disappeared into the tiny restroom.

Kris huffed a laugh. “Guess we’d better sort it out, then.”

They decided moving two beds together would be enough for Kris to stretch out on, despite his offer to just let his feet plant on the floor at the foot of one of the mattresses. After pulling on the sheets for all three beds they moved two of them against each other, then with a bit of rope from Garry’s bag they tied the adjoining feet of the two beds together so they wouldn’t slip around.

“Then you and Walt can share the third bed,” one of the twins added.

Garry eyed them suspiciously. “I’m afraid to ask,” he said, “but what about you two?”

“Oh, we’ll just squeeze in with you guys,” the second twin said playfully. Clearly they enjoying messing with the pair, like they were the “straight men” to Ben and Kev’s double-act comedy.

“Or wherever we fit,” the other added, sliding his gaze up and down Kris as if looking for crevices to sneak into. Krus just rolled his eyes.

“Sounds good to me,” Walt said, emerging abruptly from the little bathroom stripped to nothing but black and green polka-dotted boxers. He flung his remaining clothes onto the assembly of bags in the corner and flopped spread-eagle onto the middle of he third bed, his long, rangy-defined body on full display.

“For Pete’s sake, Walt,” Garry said, moving over to the bed and trying to shove him out of the middle. “Were you raised in a pen with the livestock or something?”

“Five brothers,” Walt said. “Do the math.” Garry kept pushing at Walt’s lanky body, but he was apparently heavier than he looked. Possibly from the weight of sheer iron determination, Kris thought. The twins moved over to help, which got a smile out of Kris—their kind of aid was usually short on the actual “help” part.

“You guys figure out something,” he said, taking Minato’s hand. “We’re going to go find that cozy spot up the hill for a bit.”

Walt scoffed from where the others were still trying to chivvy him out of the middle of the bed. “Watch your drainage,” he called as Kris and Minato turned to go. “I don’t want to drown in that freakish big-sperm semen of yours!”

“Right?” Garry grunted. He’d climbed onto the side of the bed and was trying to move Walt from underneath like a front-loader. “One of these days I’m going to put some of those sperm in a bowl and raise them as pets.”

Kris and Minato snorted as they exited the cabin, leaving the boys behind to torment and be tormented by their buddy Walt, and started walking up the shadowy slope into the darkening woods.

As they left the cabins behind Kris felt his anticipation building, along with the churning of his massive balls and the upward swell of his uncanny, leg-sized cock. After waiting to be alone with Minato he was finally going to have the chance, and his mouth dried as hard, urgent arousal overcame him.

He tried to sound playful as they reached the open area he’d spotted before, their hands laced. “So,” he asked, “does this mean you’re finally going to be in me?”

Minato smiled slyly up at him. “Does this mean you’re finally going to be in me?” he said, and the words and the needy, rakish look on his sweet lover’s achingly pretty face made the fire within Kris blaze like a burning sun.

Kris smiled helplessly down at him, his heart pounding loudly enough to be heard through foot-thick pecs. “I don’t know which one to beg for,” he said honestly.

Minato moved toward him and began slowly pulling down his three-legged sweatpants. “Back atcha, big guy,” he said, glancing up at Kris with a wink.

Quickly getting with the program, Kris hauled off his oversized sleeveless tee with only a minimum of difficulty, then toed off his extra-large white sneaks and helped Minato free his sweats first from his actual legs, then from the now-rock-hard four-foot battering ram pushing straight out from his titanic musclebod. Like Kris’s thick nips, the broad, ruddy head was already messy and dripping from a constant outflow of gooey, slick precum.

Minato took one step back and looked his massive, sex-radiating lover over with his gymnast-defined arms crossed over his slightly disproportionate pecs and his hip arched a bit to the side. He looked like a patron in one of his favorite art galleries, though his sophisticated pose was somewhat thrown off by the very obvious double bulge of his long, seemingly always-hard cocks throwing off the lines of his snug black polo.

Kris stared back at him, panting lightly and trying to retain a level of patience despite everything in him demanding he pounce, penetrate, and pleasure.

“Look at you,” Minato purred, raking his iridescent brown eyes over his man. He made a show of kissing his fingers in a stereotypical Gallic gesture. “Très magnifique.”

Kris huffed a laugh. “Oh yeah, French me up, baby,” he teased. “Go on, say something else.”

Minato looked up from the dribbles of pre slipping down either side of Kris’s chiseled abs, his eyes darkening with desire. “How about, pour être aimé, aime,” he said, meeting his gaze.

“In other words, ‘if you want to be fucked, fuck’?” Kris joked, his enormous balls tightening at the thought. His production of thick precum instantly kicked up a notch, too. “Is that your new motto?”

“Something like that,” Minato murmured. He was having trouble holding his nonchalant pose, his tall cocks were twitching and flexing under his shirt.

“So,” Kris said in a low voice, moving forward so that his massive cockhead was mere inches from Minato’s folded arms, “are you going to get naked, too, cheri? Or do you want me to fuck your pert little ass right through those thin chinos of yours?”

Minato shuddered. Swallowing, he got out the word “Tempting” a second before abandoning all pretense of reserve and pulling his polo off with abandon, tossing it on top of Kris’s larger discarded garments. Fuck, even our clothes look hot together, Kris thought, glancing over. Minato’s ankle boots and socks followed, then his pants and underwear. When Kris looked over again he was as naked as a sculpted Adonis: the man was hard, vulnerable, and impossibly perfect, looking up at him with heated, plaintive eyes.

Every inch of his long, elegant form was sensuality made flesh. His skin was smooth and creamy fair, his face an irresistible synthesis of Japanese and Gallic allure, his enticing hair long and radiantly blond, his muscles exquisitely shaped in a wondrous maximization of the physique entirely unlike the way in which Kris’s form had been pushed to the extreme. His balls were firm plums exhibiting a strength and potency of their own, and his sleek, just-thick-enough footlong-plus cocks nuzzling together against his rippling upper abs, a heavy trail of wet behind them. And his eyes—even without the rest of it, his eyes were a fantasy, drawing him in, engulfing him in heat and need.

He doesn’t need to beg, Kris thought. His whole body is a supplication. “Lay down,” Kris whispered, nodding to the grassy slope behind him.

Without taking his eyes off Kris’s, Minato did as he was bidden, lowering himself onto the incline, knees bent and legs spread. He slid his hands behind his head and gazed up at him, wanton and ready.

Kris’s cock surged—maybe his whole body did. “Look at you,” he said, echoing Minato’s words from before. He bent and knelt over Minato, not behind him but over his torso. His balls rested heavily on his lover’s chest, and his ass—

Minato gasped, and Kris shifted his glutes against Minato’s groin. He met his lover’s eyes—they were dark, a little shocked, and full of anticipation. “Please,” Kris rasped.

Minato smiled softly, his expression full of love and passion. Reaching down, Minato grasped his own precum-slicked cocks, then levered them around and under Kris’s beach-ball glutes until they were thrusting gooily into Kris’s deep, hot crack. At Kris’s nod, Minato used his thumb to find Kris’s virgin anus, using the spurting precum to slide the digit past the ring of muscle and into the tight, ready passage beyond.

“You don’t need to prep,” Kris warned. “I can take you.”

Minato smiled. “You’re stealing my lines,” he said. In single move he withdrew his hand and pushed his cocks up, straight into the tight hole, penetrating a third of their length before stopping, eyes locked with Kris’s.

“Fuck, yeah,” Kris said, gasping. Pleasure crashed through him from the inside, a delicious fire cascading violently through his entire massive being. He almost felt like he was growing just a tiny bit larger in every way and in every dimension, remade again from the burgeoning consummation of their love. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he pleaded.

By way of answer Minato pushed his cocks deeper into him, forcing a groan out of the larger man. At the same time, he wrapped his arms around Kris’s giant prick, stroking its length with his hands and forearms and using his face and mouth to pleasure the underside of the massive shaft.

“Baby,” Kris moaned. “Oh, cheri, don’t make me cum, I want to cum inside you!”

Minato pushed deeper into Kris’s ass, slower this time, until the whole doubled length was inside him. He began rocking gently in and out, timing his sensual ministrations with Kris’s cock to harmonize with the slow penetration and withdrawal. “Unh,” Kris grunted. “Fuck, Min, I love you so m—”

Minato pushed in suddenly all the way, his strong arms giving Kris’s beast a sharp squeeze, and Kris met his eyes and broke off, shouting, “Stop, you’ll make me blow!”

“Do it, then,” Minato commanded. He let his arms fall away, freeing Kris’s cock, at the same time pulling his hard tools back as far as he could. They stared at each other, flushed and panting, both riding the edge. “Make love to me, big guy,” Minato said.

Jerkily, Kris pulled off of Minato, his cocks slapping audibly against Minato’s belly, spattering precum as Kris stood, towering over his man. He took several steps back, until his fencepost cock was positioned just behind Minato’s ass. “Hurry,” he rasped.

Minato lifted his perfect ass off of the ground, grasping his cheeks with both hands. Even before he had fully exposed his hole, Kris was pushing forward, his gushing precum spattering against the insides of Minato’s pale cleavage. The head butted against the puckered anus, then started pushing in, his lubelike pre letting him slide past the tight entrance and into Minato’s insides.

Minato had been craning forward to watch him, but now his head fell back, his arms likewise collapsing onto the grass. “Oh god,” he murmured at the stars emerging timidly in the darkening sky. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

Kris bent forward a little, stopping the push of his cock so that the slippery head was fully inside Minato, but nothing else—yet. Minato found his eyes and stared up at him as though he had just discovered some lost secret of the universe.

Kris smiled. “I think I’m more of a demigod, myself,” he said softly, and Minato grinned, looking a little delirious. “You okay?” Kris asked. “Ready for more?”

“So ready,” Minato agreed, nodding urgently. “Beyond ready. Get it in me, you beautiful Goliath!”

Kris laughed and resumed the relentless drive of his punching-bag-sized granite-hard dick deeper and deeper into his love and mate. Minato’s head rolled back again, as though the slow, grinding pleasure was testing the limits of his senses.

Kris was trying to hold back them tsunami-level orgasm fighting to overcome him, but it was too good being inside Minato’s hot, tight passage. Every inch, every foot, was making it harder to endure the sweet agony of not cumming. “Babe,” he gasped, sliding in deeper as gradually as he could manage. “Babe, I—I’m—”

“Cum in me,” Minato whined, his wild eyes finding Kris’s again. “Please, Kris, cum in me now!”

The plea and Minato’s state of utter neediness snapped something in Kris, and as he pushed in a little further the pleasure tripped his orgasm and he started blasting vast quantities of his extra-large sperm deep into Minato’s body. Immediately his belly started swelling with cum, and then a blast of high pressure sperm started spraying from Minato’s mouth. Cum was erupting out of Minato’s cocks and shooting from Kris’s nips, and as he continued exploding gallons of seed from his inhuman balls Kris couldn’t help feeling like he was in the midst of a cum-apocalypse, everything erupting of spunk until the entire world was a seething, churning ball of goo.

After what felt like fifteen minutes of steady blasting, their orgasms finally subsided. Minato smiled up at him, looking wrecked as he lay in a lapping pool of their combined spunk, and Kris’s heart pounded achingly with that warm, infinite ardor that underlay his extreme physical passion. He smiled back, then set about withdrawing from Minato, sliding his still three-quarters-hard cock free of his lover’s body with a steady, gentle pull.

Finally he was out, dropping onto his back next to Minato, the cum-soaked grass squelching under him as his giant cock flopped over his torso, the head resting on his shoulder. Minato smiled and climbed wearily on top of him, sidling under the giant dick to rest his head on Kris’s pecs. His distended spunk-belly was already a little dissipated, Kris noticed, perhaps through some combination of absorption and seeping from the smaller man’s perfect, cummy ass.

Kris let his big arms wrap loosely around his man, and Minato snuggled closer, kissing the sweaty cleft of his pecs where they dove inward to meet his sternum. “That was…” he murmured, seeming at a loss for words.

“Magnifique?” Kris suggested.

He felt Minato smile. “Oui.” He cuddled in closer, holding Kris’s massive torso lightly. “You,” he said drowsily, “you have always been my fantasy.”

Kris’s heart seemed to break, reforming into something stronger, immortal, and entirely Minato’s. “Same, cheri,” he whispered, kissing his lover’s forehead as they drifted. “Same.” And then they fell into the comforts of sleep as one, dreaming of nothing but each other and the moments like this they would share together.

Minato woke to find himself lying on his back in the sperm-damp grass, a bulky-shouldered, shirtless Kris filling his vision. Beyond him, the faintly spangled sky visible through the trees was a vivid gradient from eastern red to western midnight blue.

Kris was sporting a huge smile on his handsome visage. “Wakey wakey!” he said. He looked innocent and fresh-faced, his razor-sharp jaw, clear olive skin, and bright green-gold eyes making him look like the pure hero of many a fantasy tale, though Minato knew the real Kris was much more interesting than that. He melted, smiling helplessly up at his crush-turned-soulmate, and Kris’s smile widened even further. He bent and gave Minato a deep, ravishing kiss, then bounced to his feet.

“C’mon, time to gather up for the trip home,” he said, jerking a thumb over his wider-than-a-doorway shoulder. “We slept all night, and hey! No rain after all, so either the twins were fucking with us or the gods enjoyed the show we gave ‘em.”

Minato sat up on his elbows, taking in the glorious sight. Kris had already pulled on his three-legged sweats and challah-loaf-sized white tennies. His sleeveless tee was protruding from his back pocket—as was Minato’s black polo. He narrowed his eyes but didn’t call Krus out on deciding his dress of lack thereof, though his nuzzling, gently intertwined cocks were so hard just from this big, delicious vision standing in front of him, real and touchable and his, that Minato doubled he’d have much luck keeping them in his pants. “Could be both,” he said instead, eyeing his man. Come to think of it, there was something breathtakingly mischievous about Kris’s hot and sexy smile this morning. “What exactly are you—?” he started to ask.

“I’m going to go get our bags and stuff,” Kris broke in, eyes twinkling. “Meet you in the parking lot!” Then he turned and trotted down the hill toward the cabin. Walt, Garry, and the twins were already outside with their stuff, he noticed. He caught Garry’s eye and waved, and the others waved back. The twins had decided to dress as separate people again, though somehow they both still had two hands emerging from each sleeve. Geez, he thought, there’s stretchy, and then there’s what these guys can do.

It did seem as though they were waiting for him, so he climbed to his feet and padded over to what remained of the pile of clothes, looking himself over as he did so. The cum-belly was completely gone—in fact, his rippling abs seemed a little more chiseled and defined than he’d thought they were. He frowned, sliding a hand over his belly and feeling the ridges there. They felt steel hard, though overall he felt more limber and fluid than ever. The gift of his new body had been improved and refined. His cocks stretched and flexed against each other, loving the idea of Minato being even more irresistibly alluring to his besotted mate.

He let his hand slip up over his pecs. These, too, seemed minutely improved—firmer, rounder, and possibly… more sensitive? His casual self-caress felt almost as good as a kiss. His thumb brushed across a nipple and he felt an electric thrill, as though his nips had been rewired to give Kris another way to drive him beyond the pale with pleasure. Impulsively, he brought the thumb to his mouth, and, sure enough, he was able to lick a tiny amount of bitter, cum-like damp off the nail.

His cocks jerked and strained, feeling long and incredibly hard and very needy, and Minato shook his head, feeling his long silky hair move pleasantly across his shoulders as he did so. They were going to be in public all day. Getting through the trip home would be interesting.

His underwear was nowhere to be found. Sighing, Minato picked up his chinos. They seemed to be in remarkably good condition, and unmarked, like Kris’s sweats. Perhaps the magic that had adapted their outfits to their new size had also made them stain-resistant to an extent not normally possible at the current state of the global textile industry. Then he turned them over and noticed that maybe 6 or 8 inches from the seam along the backside had been roughly undone, leaving a gap for the very sort of insertion Kris had threatened him with the night before. The idea of Kris actually fucking him through his pants had him so hot he was instantly close to orgasm, and a bit of premature cum actually spattered the side of his torso. “That horndog,” he muttered, cheeks hot and cocks pulsing.

Shaking his head, he pulled on the pants, approving of the light draft he enjoyed from the surreptitious opening, then got his socks and boots on and hurried down the hill.

By eleven, the entire St. Kobi contingent was gathered on the train platform: one grumpy science master; twenty or so juniors and seniors happily gabbling to each other about the weekend away and what was probably happening with their favorite dramas (whether streaming or real-life); and four men who’s been transformed into extreme versions of each other’s fantasies, their oddities somehow barely noticed by their mundane kith. Strangers, too, passed them by without more than a glance, those chancing looks being sometimes indifferent, sometimes tinged with a bit of lust.

Minato was ebullient. Everything about this whole new version of his life appealed to him. Even the exhibitionism he would have shied away from days earlier felt like a revelation. He was shirtless and hard and it was awesome. His cocks had even climbed free of his waistband and were squeezing happily against his upper hip, half their length in full view of the entire world, and not only did no one bat an eye, Minato felt an unaccustomed thrill from getting away with the forbidden.

In a way, the nonissue of his exposed twosome seemed crazier than the handsome-behemoth version of Kris being unremarked on. Kris was so far beyond normal that you almost couldn’t process him, but a big hard dick sticking out of a pair of chinos, even two of them snuggling together, was nearly normal enough that someone should have cared. Evidently not, though. The most gratifying and magical part of yesterday’s transformation was his fantasy body, and Kris’s and the twins’, being utterly acceptable.

He glanced over, and the undersides of Kris’s pecs were right in his face. Without a thought he leaned forward and gave the nearest protruding nip a lick and suck, happily swallowing the resulting dollop of warm precum. He felt more than heard the growl of pleasure from deep in Kris’s throat. “Don’t get me started,” Kris warned, his tone fond and very aroused.

He spotted one of the twins on the other side of Kris’s foot-thick boulder pecs. The other appeared over his shoulder a second later. “Hey, can we have some?” the first one asked.

“So much closer than the drinking fountain,” the other added.

“I am not a drinking fountain,” Kris pronounced from above, bending forward to peer past his pecs at them. He gave a glower to the twins, then, surprisingly, to Minato, too. “That goes for all three of you,” he said sternly, though he spoiled the effect for Minato with a wink.

“Aww,” the stretchy, identical imps whined.

“Fine,” Minato said, with pretended exasperation. “Here, hold this.” He surprised Kris by reaching up and shoving their tickets and the paperback he was holding between the hairless globes of his pecs. They held there easily, kept firmly in place by the mountainous muscles. Kris raised an eyebrow at him that seemed to say, Oh really?

Minato smiled sweetly up at him. “I guess I’ll go get a bottled soda for the trip,” he said, “seeing as someone doesn’t want to offer up all that delicious pecmilk for his boyfriend.”

“No need,” Kris said in the same arch tone, dropping a hand on Minato’s shoulder and reaching into his sweats. He pulled an unopened bottle of uncarbonated grape drink from somewhere near his balls. “I got you covered, cheri,” he said. Minato frowned as he casually smeared the bottle under his nips, turning the bottle to get a more even coverage around the upper third or so. Then, with a grace that might not be expected of someone of his size and bulk, he dipped down and shoved the bottle right through the gap in Minato’s chinos and straight up his ass. In fact it slid in so easily that Kris overjudged his push and ended up ramming his hand, wrist, and some of his forearm right into Kris’s tight hole. Minato’s eyes bulged, shocked both at the unexpected action and at the jolt of ecstatic pleasure that rocketed through him.

“Oops,” Kris said with a “sorry, not sorry” grin. He pulled his hand out, wiggling his fingers inside Minato’s anus as he did so, and Minato had to suppress a gasp. Kris straightened, smiling with less than full innocence. “Now you’re all set for later.”

“Ooh, he liked that,” one of the twins said, nodding at Minato’s torso—his hard, extra-randy cocks had spattered more wayward inter-orgasm spunk across his blushing skin.

“Convenient, too,” the other twin added.

Minato sent the twins a look, but they were busy grinning each other. Kris had probably given them an idea for something for the rubbery mischief-makers to experiment with later. Instead, he turned his dark look on Kris. “It’s going to be all warm,” he complained.

“Maybe you can put a fridge up there,” one of the twins teased.

Minato didn’t reply, his eyes having snagged on Kris’s, and all at once Minato felt too full of love and lust, as though it were brimming in every cell and cavity of his literal dream body. He stared up at Kris, and Kris stared back.

“Here we go,” the twins said to each other, knowing their play was going to be interrupted for some time. “Let’s go find Walt and see if we can shove him up your butt,” one of them said. “Maybe your butt,” the other said. Their happy voices drifted into the hubbub, and Minato and Kris barely noticed.

With both hands, Kris reached down and grasped Minato gently by the flanks, lifting him until they were face to face, inches apart. “Yours,” Kris said reverently.

Minato wanted to be playful and respond, “Mine,” but just now he was too infatuated to joke. “Yours,” he repeated. Kris brought him closer and they kissed, tongues sliding deep and sinuous into each other’s mouths. Some of the crowd looked on, clapping and laughing. One or two were livefeeding the hot duo, he found out later—that was a thing that tended to happen, apparently, especially if they were hugging, or kissing, or making sweet love in full view of anyone who cared to watch.

Minato didn’t care. He heard the train coming and deepened their kiss. Maybe they’d be able to kiss all the way back to St. Kobi. Minato couldn’t wait to discover all the things their fantasies had made possible.

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