Primal attraction

by Mikeytron

 Two dedicated hardgainers have been noticing each other at the gym. Their paths finally cross, and they begin to change– subtly at first, but it won’t stay that way.

Added: Jan 2022 Updated: 19 Feb 2022 11,984 words 12,011 views 4.8 stars (49 votes)

J

Jonas was nearly done with his pull day. He was standing at the cable station, finishing off with some high rep pullovers, nice and controlled, squeezing his lats with each rep, making them burn. Really chasing down that pain, dwelling in it. Between reps he took a glance at the mirror to his left. He was big, but not as big as he wanted. His t-shirt draped where it should drape and bulged where it should bulge, his ass and legs looked thick in his sweatpants, but he was nowhere near satisfied.

With each rep his face contorted, his eyes fierce, his teeth bared. Another rep. Pause, hold the squeeze. The pain intensified. He grunted, the air rasping in his throat. Another rep. Squeeze harder. The pain ramped up. More. Burning. He snarled. Another. The weight paused, halfway through the range of motion. Jonas pushed harder, harder. Shaking. The weight did not move. Only then did he surrender.

Even as his lats screamed for mercy, he resisted the urge to let the weight drop. No drama queen slamming down of the stack, no. Instead, he returned the weight slowly to its starting position, feeling his scorched lat muscle slowly lengthen, stretching as it did, until the stack gently touched down. Only then did he release his grip and stand. His lats throbbed, feeling molten, a delta wing of fire struggling to erupt from his flesh. Tectonic plates of muscle pulling apart.

Then he saw him, through the red haze of the post-set. Him. Moving through the sea of empty elliptical machines, weaving around the casuals. Heading toward the dumbbells. Jonas had no idea of his name, but he’d been noticing him for months. He was quiet, self-contained. Shorter than him. Cropped dark hair that looked coarse to the touch. Hairy forearms. Muscular. Hard. Not the rubbery, bulgy musculature of genetically gifted young guys. The ones whose muscles inflate like they’ve been attached to an air compressor the moment a needle pokes their asscheek for the first time. Not like them. No, this guy had what some call “muscle maturity.” He looked dense, hard. He was in his early thirties, to judge by the face, about the same age as Jonas. He wasn’t the biggest guy in the room, neither of them were. Yet there was something magnetic about him. Jonas tried not to stare, but his eyes invariably drifted toward the familiar stranger like a compass needle finding north.

The mystery man brought a ferocity to his workouts. But he wasn’t reckless. He wasn’t heaving iron around, letting momentum do the work for him. No, he was focused. Brutal. Intense. Finding failure, set after set, like an efficient predator bringing down its prey. Nothing for show, all of it lethal. No wonder he looked harder than concrete. Damn, his ass looked incredible in those sweatpants, too. Steel orbs under cotton.

Jonas looked at his watch. Shook his head. He was 30 seconds late to start his next set. He silently chastised himself as he grabbed the ropes and assumed the position, squaring his lats, preparing to annihilate them once again. He’d never get on this stranger’s level, letting himself get lost in daydreams like that.


He’s here again, Devon thought to himself as he made his way to the dumbbells, watching the tall, hairy, muscular guy as he finished a set of cable pullovers and stood up straight, his arms propped up by the pump in his lats. There was something aristocratic about his features. Gaze direct, assertive. Short brown hair with a subtle wave in it. Roman nose, hawk-like, jutting as if to challenge the world. Full, dark beard, pointed. He resembled a proud and ancient warrior prince somehow transported into a suburban gym, doing a bad job of blending in with the account managers fighting off their spare tires and the spoiled rich kids chasing tiktok clout.

Devon closed his palms around two 40s, stepped back to the bench, and set about his work, finishing his push day with a tri-set of incline flies, squeeze press, and pushups to failure. By the time he got to the pushups, his pecs were so incinerated that he could barely manage two or three before faceplanting on the floor, groaning. He knew he was making a spectacle of himself. He didn’t care, all that mattered was growth. It was all worth it if it brought him even a millimeter closer to his goal. Almost no one else at this gym pushed themselves like this. They didn’t know what real work was like. Real struggle. They wouldn’t know failure if it bit them on the ass.

Almost no one else pushed themselves like this– almost. But he did. The stranger. Whatever his name was. Still lying face down on the floor, Devon chuckled to himself and briefly closed his eyes.

Devon always had this ability. He stopped trying to explain it to people a long time ago. Everyone just thought he was crazy, or that he was onto some kind of crystal new-age bullshit. And yeah, it did seem supernatural. He had to admit it sounded crazy to put it into words. Yet, it was true, for as long as he could remember. He carried a sense of the people around him, like an inner radar. The other people in the gym were dim points of light in his inner awareness.

Except him. He was a hot coal in Devon’s mind. Even as Devon brought himself to failure again, breath heaving, spittle from the rictus of his mouth flecking the rubber floor under him, he could tell without looking. The guy had moved about twenty feet away, was continuing to move. Probably heading to the locker room. Painfully pulling himself to his feet, his pecs throbbing, sweat pasting his t-shirt to his body, Devon glanced, although after all these years he had no need to prove his strange little ability to himself. Yep. His gym crush was walking away, his broad V of a back looking fantastic in his sweaty t-shirt, his head held high, proud.

Track him. The thought came unbidden.

No, I have two more sets, and I will not stalk a stranger just because I think he’s hot.

HUNT HIM DOWN.

Devon growled in his mind. Shut up. No. Two more sets.

Everyone argues with themselves, right? Of course they do.

Devon was determined. He had no particular genetic gift for bodybuilding. His body’s response to steroids wasn’t what he’d hoped. He had no control over these factors. So he was determined that any factor he could control, he would. No one would work harder than him. No one would be more dedicated than him. He would build his body into the kind of freakish musculature he’d jacked off to since his preteens. If he had to spit in god’s eye to do it, so be it.

His hands closed around the dumbbells and he started his next tri-set. The handsome stranger still burned like a signal flare in his awareness, brighter than all the other little humans in the gym put together. Every time Devon saw him, his psychic sense of him seemed to grow stronger. He was at his locker. He was taking off his clothes. He was heading into the showers. Flickers, visions, glimpses of what the other man was doing.

Claim him. The unbidden voice again.

Devon collapsed to the floor a third time, his pecs on the verge of cramping, feeling like they might rip off the bone. He laughed into the musty rubber floor, laughed at that hungry inner voice. That had been his last set.

Okay, he replied.

The voice didn’t answer, but Devon could hear it growl. It sounded happy.


Jonas wrapped the towel around his waist and padded back toward his locker, enjoying the sensation of fresh scrubbed skin, of open pores. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, felt the strange duelling sensations of pride and dissatisfaction. He was a hunk. He was hairy, muscular, handsome. Absolute wet dream, really. Could log onto Scruff and fill his nocturnal calendar for the next month, no problem. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to be a freak. He’d grown up gorging his brain on pictures of Jean Pierre Fux, Ronnie Coleman, Markus Ruhl, Jay Cutler, Kai Greene, Roelly Winklaar. Comic books and superhero cartoons of men too large to ever exist in real life. Bane, Venom. Photoshops and stories on the internet, N, Atomic Muscle, Ad Man, The G, consumed clandestine after his parents had gone to bed, browser history and semen both hastily wiped clean after every fevered session.

He’d been working hard at it for over a decade now, and he had come pretty far. His totally unimpressive skinny-fat body was a distant memory. But he also hadn’t blown up the way he always hoped he would. He was a hardgainer. He had to work twice as hard, for twice as long, to get half the results that some of the gifted youngsters around him got. He tried not to let it get him down. You play the hand of cards you’re dealt, he told himself. That which cannot be changed must be accepted. Things can always be worse. You do your best and you take pride in that. Enjoy the process.

He continued to the lockers, and that’s when his breath caught and his heart rate spiked.

He was here. The guy. The one he kept noticing. Gym crush. And he was at his locker. His shirt was in the process of being pulled off. Jonas couldn’t control himself. He stared. Blatantly. The guy’s face was obscured by his half-off shirt. No one else was here. It was a moment for Jonas to drink his fill, to devour that tight midsection with his ravenous eyes. Hairy, but not so hairy that the abs were obscured. The pecs coming into view, symmetrical, rounded, very nicely formed. Chiseled.

Get a grip! Jonas’s brain initiated emergency procedures, long honed from a fear of accidentally offending some homophobic meathead. The chances of this guy being gay were low, the chances that he’d appreciate being drooled over like this even lower. Jonas quickly feigned an interest in anything other than his gym crush. Busied himself with his own locker, just three down.

“You were killing it out there,” the guy said.

Jonas kept an iron grip on himself. Stay cool. “Thanks man, you too. I see you in here all the time and you always bring it.”

The guy chuckled. “Thanks, that means a lot. There’s plenty of wannabes and jokers around here, but not you. You know how to work.”

Jonas’s therapist popped into his mind, a session from years ago, addressing his inability to accept compliments. Just say thank you and continue the conversation. “Uh. Thank you. That’s reassuring to hear.” No, cut it off there. Move the conversation forward. But nothing was coming to mind. Jonas continued to get dressed, hastily pulling his underwear on to reduce the amount of time he was naked.

“Well… see you around,” the guy said, hefting his backpack and heading toward the exit.

Fuck. “Okay, have a good day.” Fuck.

The guy gone, Jonas’s pace dropped from a studied average to a snail’s. He sat on the bench, half-clothed, his bag between his feet, and did nothing for almost a minute. That had felt like an opportunity, and he bungled it.

But then. The sound of someone else coming in. Jonas sat up straight, began fussing with his bag again. Eager to appear normal.

It was his gym crush coming back. Jonas’s heart flopped around his chest. The crush grinned. Hand extended. Jonas looked down, confused. A slip of paper in it.

“Text me sometime,” the guy said, turning and leaving before Jonas could react in any way.

Left wordless, Jonas unfolded the paper. On it was a phone number and a single word. His name.

Devon.

He didn’t text him.

Jonas created a new contact on his phone: Devon Gym Crush. Added the number. And then he did nothing else. He thought about it. He considered various opening salvos. “Hey”—no, how boring, nothing of substance to reply to. Plus Devon would have no way to identify who was even texting him—Jonas had Devon’s number, but not the other way around. “Hey, it’s the guy from the gym, you gave me your number, my name’s Jonas.” Ugh. Awful. No.

And so days went by. Jonas felt like his phone had become vaguely radioactive. He couldn’t pick it up without feeling the apprehension, the guilt, leaving this guy hanging. Why would you ghost your crush when your crush gave you his number? Jonas had no good answer for it, yet here he was.

They didn’t cross paths at the gym. Jonas found himself scanning the facility every time he worked out, hoping to spot him. Devon. He’d inhale deeply through his nose, as if he could track him by scent. Particles of him lingering in the air. Foolish idea. Yet the weight room felt marked by him, somehow. Even when they didn’t cross paths, it felt like some aspect of their beings commingled in the air, somehow.

Then, about a week after getting his number, Jonas spotted him. In a tank top. Hairy muscular arms bared. Flexing and shifting as he performed rep after rep of hammer curls, staring into the mirror with an intensity that anyone else would find frightening. Jonas found it frightening, too, but that was part of why he was so drawn to it.

His heart racing, he fished out his phone, opened the Devon Gym Crush contact, and texted him: “Your arms are looking huge”

Devon finished the set, put the dumbbells on the floor. He picked up his phone, opened it. He smiled, but he didn’t seem surprised at all. He looked up, but he didn’t search the gym. He didn’t seem confused at all. Instead, his eyes found Jonas immediately, like he knew where to look, even though they had to be at least seventy-five feet apart. He smirked. Jonas gulped. Then, he flexed. Unashamed double bicep. Grinning at him like it was a dare.

“Fuck.” Jonas heard himself mutter involuntarily. Under his breath. Devon, too far away to have heard, visibly chuckled, dropped the flex, and did something on his phone. The text only took a second to arrive.

“Sure, but how about we get dinner first”


Sushi. Fish and rice. Perfect post-workout food. Perfect bodybuilder food. The conversation started slow. Jonas once again felt like he was blowing his opportunity. He couldn’t stop looking at Devon but his brain was letting him down, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Then he felt the foot under the table. Pressing on top of his. Deliberate pressure, not enough to hurt, but enough to let him know it was no accident. Devon had slipped his shoe off, and Jonas could feel his toes flexing and exploring Jonas’s instep. Devon held his gaze. Inched his foot forward.

“You’re huge,” Jonas heard himself breathe. Brainless cliché line.

“No, I’m not,” Devon answered. “I want to be, though.” He pushed a little harder on Jonas’s foot, like it was the gas pedal of a car.

“How… how big are we talking?”

“There’s no such thing as too big. I would love to be a freak. But I’ve got to work twice as hard for half the results that some of these lucky assholes get. So I know it won’t happen for me. Not like how I dream of it. But I’ll fight like hell for the scraps I can get.”

Jonas’s heart hammered. “Me too man. Everything you just said. I want to be… I want to be utterly massive, I’ve worked so hard, but I… I just don’t think it’s gonna happen. But I can’t not do it, you know? I have to give it my all. Something is better than nothing.” He almost gasped. Devon’s other foot was now gently rubbing up and down the bottom of Jonas’s other leg. Jonas’s cock throbbed, hard. He’d never once felt this turned on by someone touching his damn ankle, yet here he was.

“I know exactly what you mean. I feel like we have a lot in common.”

The waiter came with a second round of sashimi and hand rolls, refilled the green tea. Devon did not break eye contact with Jonas, did not break the circuit between their bodies, the electric charge growing as it looped back and forth between the two men.

“You wanna be a freak. Maybe you’re a freak already,” Jonas ventured after the waiter retreated, struggling to control his voice.

Devon paused with his chopsticks, a piece of salmon halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“In the gym. You’re an animal. A beast. You’ve got the heart and the mind of a beast already. You’ve got something none of those other casuals could ever have. Yeah, it would be sweet to grow muscle easy like those guys, but they’ll never have a heart full of hellfire and determination, will they?”

Devon gave an enigmatic smile. “You might be right. I could say the same about you. I’ve seen you in the gym. You’re a demon yourself. It’s a shame all that intensity doesn’t perfectly convert to mass, right?”

Jonas’s cock ached. “We’d be 400 pounds, easy,” he rasped. He never talked like this with anyone, he always kept these thoughts private.

“More,” Devon growled. “We’d outgrow the damn gym.” Jonas whimpered, his untouched cock bucking in his pants, on the verge of bursting. Devon smiled gently. “Let’s finish our sushi before we cause a commotion,” he said, slowly retreating his feet from Jonas. “Or a mess.”

Jonas shivered, feeling the sudden absence, the circuit of two charged bodies broken. But yes, Devon was right. He nodded and picked up his chopsticks. Muscle needs fuel.


Time to be brave, Jonas. That voice he heard, sometimes. His own thoughts, probably. But it always came like the voice of another, some second watcher in his head who occasionally spoke to him.

“Do you… my apartment is just a couple blocks away. Do you want to pop in for a nightcap?”

Devon grinned. “A nightcap? It’s 4 o’clock.”

Jonas felt his stomach flop. “Oh, sorry, I–”

Devon smacked his shoulder. “Yes, you idiot, I want to come up to your apartment. To see your etchings, or whatever flimsy corndog excuse you want to use.”

Jonas found himself breathing slow and deep as they walked the blocks. Like he wanted to inhale Devon. He couldn’t even smell him. Could he? The way the shorter man walked. The way he held his head erect. The way his jean jacket hugged his shoulders, gave him this rough appeal. His thighs and ass pulling tight the fabric of his pants. The bit of chest hair poking out the collar of his t-shirt. Thoughts burst into Jonas’s mind: want to taste him want to taste his skin, want to drink him drink him in, want to hold him down hold him down, want to want to want to want to rip him apart rip him apart rip him apart rip him apart. Thoughts that couldn’t be his, could they? Just thoughts that came from… somewhere.

In the elevator, impatient. Two muscular bodies, two hearts, two pairs of lungs, two tongues, two dicks, two assholes, two minds, magnetized to each other, the borders between them slowly dissolving. Both men suppressing the urge to pant, like they’d just sprinted. A mousy young woman getting off on the seventh floor. The doors opened. She left. The doors closed. Just them.

Jonas’s hand on Devon’s ass. Devon inched backwards, into it. Both men breathing heavy, now. Jonas’s lips involuntarily parting to softly moan. A wet spot visible where the head of his cock pressed against his jeans. He ached. They both ached.

The doors opened. No one waiting, thank god. Down the hall. Jonas fumbled with the keys while Devon pressed his denim-clad body against Jonas’s back. He could feel Devon’s throbbing cock between his thighs, just under his butt. Jonas was struggling with the lock. Devon growled impatiently and thrust his hips once, pushing Jonas against the still-locked door. “Open up,” he said, low, insistent, his voice… different somehow. Deeper, raspier. Desperate with want yet commanding.

Jonas finally unlocked the door and they tumbled inside. He expected it to be like other hookups—an awkward minute of taking off shoes and coats, a quick vapid bit of chatter about how nice the apartment was, then a sensibly paced shifting of gears into kissing, removing clothes, foreplay, then fairly standard anal sex, then a polite disentangling, then he’d leave.

Jonas could be really stupid, sometimes.

The door slammed behind them and Devon immediately picked Jonas up. Just… grabbed him and lifted him into the air. Jonas’s legs instinctively closed around Devon’s waist. Devon had never been here before, didn’t even know the layout—but these modern apartments are all pretty similar. He carried Jonas down the hall into the bedroom like he’d been here a hundred times before, tossed him on the bed, then leapt on top of him, snarling, a predator attacking.

Jonas found himself snarling back, catching Devon’s wrists in his hands. Muscles straining as they fought for dominance. Growling, Devon leaned in as if to rip out Jonas’s throat with his teeth. For a moment Jonas thought perhaps he would. His eyes burned with ferocity. His brows were drawn together.

Instead, he kissed Jonas, hard. Fervent. As if he had been starving and the kiss nourished him, somehow. Jonas found himself kissing back. Their faces next to each other. Their hot breath on each other’s face. Beards rubbing, making skin flush. Still fully clothed, hips bucking. Devon snarled and began kissing Jonas’s neck, inhaling his scent deep from a micrometer away. Jonas was under this fierce bestial man, but he held Devon’s wrists in an iron grip, holding him just inches separate from crushing him, or devouring him. What did Devon want? Did he want Jonas to go limp? To surrender? Was he supposed to play the submissive role here?

Then Devon pulled back slightly. Their faces still close, he met Jonas’s gaze. They panted. Their eyes locked. Jonas felt some force shooting through him, some power flowing, like a circuit joining their two bodies, like at the restaurant but more powerful, joining them at the dick this time, invisible energy arcing across the gap between their eyes. Eye to eye, cock to cock, looping.

Then Devon spoke. Or something else used Devon’s body to speak. “Fight back.” It was guttural, a voice formed by a throat and a mouth unused to human sounds. It lodged in Jonas’s mind. Fight back. He doesn’t want prey. And I don’t want to be prey. This has never been predator and prey. This has been an equal match. He singled me out because I’m the only one on his level. He’s the only one on my level. Two apex predators. Fight back.

Power and certainty surged through Jonas’s body. His strong hands still clasping Devon’s wrists, Jonas flexed, pushed, his muscles straining. They flipped. He was on top now, Devon below him, teeth bared, eyebrows knit, eyes burning. Jonas made a sound he’d never made before, something like a roar, but lower. It rasped his throat. He could feel Devon’s force. Could feel his power. Could sense how very closely it matched his own. It was impossible to tell who was the more potent animal, who was the more fearsome beast. Both men were growling and snarling and rasping, nipping at each other, rubbing their faces against each other, scenting each other, claiming each other.

Even as this was happening, Jonas could somehow see something different. A void, dark. Two wildly pulsing lights, twin pulsars, in the void. He reached out with his mind. A spike protruded from one of the pulsing lights. He pulled on the other light, drawing a similar spike out from it. Even as his body was struggling with all its might against Devon’s body, he drew the two spikes of light together, connecting them.

Pure light filled the void and both men gasped and seized as if dumped in ice water with no warning. Their cocks reached overload. Devon and Jonas yelped and moaned as orgasm overtook them without warning, wrestling on the bed, snarling and gasping and kissing and flexing, hips uncontrollably bucking erratically against each other.

When it was over, Jonas flopped over on the bed next to Devon. He tried to bring his mind back to the void, the two pulsing lights. He remembered it clearly. But he could no longer see it. Just a memory of some unexpected hallucination. They both stared at the ceiling. Unable to speak for minutes. Totally unresponsive. The entire world shrunk away, existence reduced to two bodies and the small space between them.

Finally, minutes later, coming back to his senses, it was Jonas who spoke first. His normal civilized voice almost alien in his throat, alien in his ears. He could feel fatigue gathering around him, could feel himself begin to drift away into unconsciousness, even as his words skittered across the surface of the scene like pebbles across ice.

“What the fuck was that?”


What the fuck did he just do. Devon lay on the unfamiliar bed. He felt stoned. It had never been like this. This bed, this whole room, it smelled like Jonas. The scent he’d picked up in the gym all these months. The scent he’d enjoyed while playing footsies over sushi. It was overwhelming, here. It made him feel high.

But then! The… whatever it was. Jonas had done something, something to do with… Devon didn’t have words for it. The whole being aware of people as points of light… thing that he had. Jonas had gone into that space and pulled on him, reached out to him, they’d touched, somehow. Their lights had fucking touched and exploded. What the fuck had he done? What the fuck was he?

Devon turned his head to the left, looking at him. He was asleep. The fearsome face, just ten minutes ago knitted into a snarling rictus mere inches from Devon’s own, was now fully relaxed. Peaceful, beautiful. Devon felt emotion surging within him. No, not just within him. Through him, into Jonas, and back to him again, amplified. What was it about this guy? Some kind of feedback loop. Together they made some sort of circuit of sex, or emotion, or souls, or magic, or something.

His civilized brain slowly asserted itself. Best not to leave a big cum stain on your first visit. Devon groaned quietly and tried to get up without waking Jonas. Off to fetch a towel. It was then he realized it. Felt it. Or rather, felt the absence of it.

He hadn’t cum.

He’d certainly orgasmed, there was no denying it. They both had, very memorably. But there was no fluid evidence. They hadn’t penetrated each other, they’d simply—or not so simply—engaged in vigorous… rubbing, wrestling with each other for dominance in a struggle neither could win. Devon definitely knew he’d cum. Jonas certainly had too, right down to the cliché power nap following it.

Yet it was true for both of them. They hadn’t spilled a drop. There was no evidence of any ejaculation.

This is very weird, Devon thought. He’d had a few dry orgasms in his time, but usually they came at the end of a long day with many prior cumshots, so his poor balls simply didn’t have anything left to give. That wasn’t the case here. He’d been pent up and dying for release for hours.

Don’t think about it too much, the voice came. Devon nodded. Don’t think about it too much. Yes.

Jonas stirred. Devon grinned at him, feeling kind of conspiratorial, boyish. “Welcome back, big guy,” he said.

Jonas blinked, dazed, as if surprised to find himself in his own bedroom. “What happened… what did you do to me…” Devon chuckled and leaned in for a kiss, which Jonas enthusiastically obliged. “That was incredible,” he breathed as they broke apart again.

“It sure was.”

“We should get cleaned up,” Jonas said, his own practical side asserting itself in turn.

“Yeah… about that.” Devon gestured at his dry crotch, then at Jonas’s. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem today.”

Jonas looked confused. He followed Devon’s gestures, looked closely at both of them, felt around the bed for wet spots. Nothing. “Huh! That’s weird!”

“Sure is.”

“Well… do you want a shower anyway?”

Devon smiled. “Sure, why not.”

He followed Jonas into the bathroom. Fuck, the guy’s back was wide. Devon must have never had a chance to fully appreciate it before. Thick lats tapering down to his waist. And his glutes and legs! So big, so hairy, his thigh sweep so pronounced. “You’re like a damn satyr,” Devon heard himself breathe. Jonas glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

In the bathroom, the water already running, clouds of hot steam starting to fill the room, Jonas stopped, turned, and looked at the mirror over the sink. “Hey. Wait. Look at us.”

Devon stopped, then, and did as Jonas suggested. This mirror… this lighting… both must be exceptionally good. Both of them looked huge. More muscular than before. Thicker, wider, hairier, bulgier. It was the best Devon had ever seen himself look, and Jonas looked incredible beside him. “Damn, man, you’ve got a really good mirror.”

Jonas was strangely quiet. It took him a moment too long to answer, and in that moment the mirror began to fog from the shower, slowly obscuring the two muscular men from sight. “Yeah… yeah, it’s a pretty good mirror.” He sounded uncertain. The moment passed. “Now get in here, stud, I wanna rub you down.”

The dam broke that day, and everyone knows what comes after a dam breaks: a flood. That’s how the weeks after felt for both men. They were carried helplessly by the torrent of what they’d unleashed, drowning in each other and in what they became when they were together. They shifted their schedules to workout at the same time, sometimes trading off sets, sometimes spotting each other, sometimes working separately, engaged in silent competitions across the gym floor, no one else aware of the challenging looks passing between them. One flexing for the other if they caught him staring. They felt high on each other’s presence, high on masculinity, high on muscles, high on sex.

It must have unlocked something in them, as they both began growing at a pace neither had the pleasure of experiencing before. Both of them put on more than 10 pounds in the first month, all of it raw beef, no fluff. If anything they both seemed leaner, more defined, than before.

Their bodies felt magnetized to each other. Any time they were in public, they kept it to light touches, hands only briefly lingering. But it was an effort to do that. The moment they got alone, they would rip into each other, hungry carnivores finally being fed. The first encounter was merely an introduction, testing the water. They snarled and growled as they tumbled, equal forces straining against each other. One might temporarily yield, but only so that minutes later he would apply renewed force, temporarily gaining the upper hand he had previously surrendered. They were athletic, animalistic, primal. It should have been exhausting but it was the opposite.

Every time, as orgasm approached, Jonas had the same hallucinatory experience. The pulsing lights, larger and brighter each time, their spikes growing toward each other with the barest encouragement now. And as they touched, as they created a bridge, a conduit, both he and Devon would explode into the most intense orgasms either man had felt, bodies shaking, brains melting, thought evaporating. Jonas always passed out immediately after. And every time, no matter how hard they came, neither of them actually, well, came. Their dicks would spasm like they were ejaculating, but no fluid ever emerged.

They kept pushing each other to grow. More muscle. Bigger. Both of them were obsessed. No such thing as too big. Jonas would wake up after ten minutes or so, and then they’d get intimate, caressing each other, flexing for each other, speaking in low insistent voices about how much huger they wanted the other to become. Their fantasies scoffed in the face of biology and physics. You’re gonna get too musclebound to feed yourself. You’re gonna weigh more than a ton and I’m gonna force you to grow even bigger. You’re gonna be too big to walk. You’re gonna fill the room. You’re gonna get so huge the floor’s going to buckle under your weight. I’m gonna have to lift you up with a crane, put you on a flatbed, and take you out to the truckstop to weigh you. Your head’s gonna be swallowed up by your traps and your pecs. The only thing you’ll be able to see is your own muscle. You’re gonna be bigger than a house. You’re going to be a fucking FREAK.

And they grew. By the end of the second month, both of them were up more than 20 pounds from when they had met, and both were already lean and muscular men back then. They still weren’t the biggest guys in their gym, but they were a lot closer to claiming that title now.

Their thoughts only got hazier as the deluge of muscle and primal sex carried them further away from where and who they had been. Both had been trying to grow like this for years. Neither had experienced a growth spurt anything like this before. Yet any attempt to analyze what was happening felt… slippery in the mind. The voice each of them sometimes heard in their heads. Don’t think about it. Just accept that it’s happening.

Another month passed, another dozen pounds of muscle on each of their bodies. A fourth month, and they were each almost fifty pounds heavier. Real bodybuilders, now. Getting stared at in public. Yet the daze only grew stronger. Their ability to think critically about what was happening to them grew blunter and blunter. If they were in the gym, they were focused on their lifts. If they were together, they were focused on each other. If they were apart, they were focused on the next time they’d be together. And on eating. Their appetites were ravenous, now, seemingly impossible to sate. Yet this, too, eluded any deeper consideration. Don’t think about it. Just accept that it’s happening.

One Sunday afternoon found them lying in bed together during the afterglow. Devon was idly feathering light touches along Jonas’s bicep. They’d measured it at 20” earlier that day. The two men stared into each other’s eyes, wordless, silent, unmoving. They fell into this sometimes, this eye-locked mutual stare. No thoughts, just pure communion. The borders between them indistinct, blurring.

Jonas’s hand was on Devon’s chest, idly playing with his hair. Devon was only moderately furry when they first got together. Jonas assumed he must have shaved down some weeks before their first hookup, and his hair just hadn’t fully regrown. It was really quite thick. Devon was quite the furball, it was turning out.

Devon had never shaved his body in his life, but Jonas had no way of knowing that.

“God you’re beautiful,” Devon breathed. He raised his hand to Jonas’s face and traced his ear. Pointed. Elfin. Or maybe lupine. “I love your ears. They’re so wolfy.”

A tiny frown flickered across Jonas’s face. “Wolfy?”

“Yeah, they’re pointed. Come on, you haven’t noticed?”

Jonas frowned. “My ears are normal.”

Devon chuckled. “If you say so. I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.” He leaned in then, and they kissed. Jonas let the moment pass.

But when Devon left, later that night, Jonas went to the mirror. Somehow he looked past the shirtless super-heavyweight torso in the mirror, the heavy hanging pecs, the extruding globes of his deltoids, the deeply ridged abdominals. Instead, he turned his head to the right, and then to the left. He felt a chill run through him.

His ears had changed. They used to be normal. Now there was no question. They were pointed like an elf’s ears.

Or a wolf’s.


Now it was six months since they first hooked up.

Devon’s manager asked him to come by the office. Devon had no reason to suspect anything was amiss, yet he felt somewhat apprehensive as he approached the door. He let his vision slip to that other space for a flicker, seeing the sickly little ember of light that was his manager. Most people were like this, pitiful guttering sparks. He was at his desk. Playing solitaire on his computer, waiting for Devon. His ass a little numb from sitting for so long. Devon brought his mind back to the physical world, straightened his shoulders, and opened the door.

“Ah, Devon, thank you for joining me.”

“No prob, Bob.” The guy insisted on everyone calling him Bob, and he liked that fakey friendly style of speaking. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Well, there’s really no easy way to say it. It’s about your… professional appearance. Or lack of it, lately.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not public facing, I know, but we have a culture at this company and we expect people to meet a certain standard in their presentation.”

“What do you mean? I’ve been here three years and this is the first time anyone’s mentioned a problem like this.”

Bob awkwardly shifted in his chair. “Look, Devon, I… I’m just going to be blunt. The Incredible Hulk look is making some of your coworkers uncomfortable.”

Devon felt truly puzzled. “Huh?”

“I mean, look at you, son. It’s not my place to ask, but it’s clear you’ve hit the steroids or something hard in the last couple of months. You’ve just… inflated. I mean, you’re about to split that shirt wide open if you stretch. And your pants are almost obscene. They might as well be spandex. No one here wants to be able to tell your religion just by looking at you.”

Devon truly felt bowled over. It was like his manager was chastising him for speaking exclusively in Mandarin, or some other impossible thing. “These are the same clothes I always wear to work…” he began, stupidly.

“Yeah, but six months ago you were half the size you are now, man! We pay you well enough, go get some bigger clothes!”

Awareness barrelled in on Devon like rocks tumbling down a mountain. His arms in sleeves like sausage casings. His thighs about to blow his slacks wide open. Sitting weirdly high in the chair, his glutes like an extra-thick extra-firm cushion. His chest pulling the buttons of his shirt apart. Holy fuck. Bob was right. How long had it been like this?

“Look, I can tell I’ve upset you, there’s no reason to get angry or anything, I’m just telling you this so you can address it before it becomes a real problem,” Bob said. Devon realized the man was scared. He was scared of him!

“No, no, I’m not upset, I’m just… taken by surprise. I didn’t realize. Truly.”

Bob looked dubious but let it go. “OK, well, now you know. That’s all. You can get on with your work. Just stop by the mall on your way home or something. Good talk.” Devon stood, feeling his pants stretch and tighten with every move. He turned and headed for the door, aware of his musclebound waddle with each step, when he heard Bob’s voice again. “Oh, Devon… there’s one more thing.”

Devon turned, feeling the rotational momentum in the bulbous meat of his ass and pecs. Fuck. What’s happened to me? His cock helplessly stiffening in his stranglingly-tight pants, no way for him to hide it. “Yes?”

“Maybe save the Halloween contacts for the weekend or something? They’re really not office appropriate. I’m sure you understand.”

Halloween contacts…? “Yes, Mr. Peterson. I mean Bob. Yes, Bob.”

The muscles around Mr. Peterson’s mouth pulled his lips into the shape of a smile. “Thanks, Devon. Have a good rest of your day.”

Devon turned quickly, hoping to hide his growing erection before it became too blatant, and rushed out of the room as best he could, feeling the floor subtly thud with each heavy step, his thighs rubbing against each other even with an exaggerated wide-set gait. His whole body felt alien. Inflated. Heavy.

Devon hurried to the nearest bathroom, his dick painfully hard now, throbbing against the tortured fabric of his pants. Thankfully no one else was in there. He walked– no, waddled– toward the mirror. Fuck, he was gigantic. How much did he weigh now? The number floated into his head. Every morning he stepped on the scale out of sheer habit and somehow, for months now, the ever-rising number hadn’t registered consciously with him. But now he remembered doing it that very morning. He remembered the number, blazing red and digital. 257 pounds. At 5’8”? That can’t be right. It simply can’t be. He untucked his tortured shirt and raised it to see a row of hair-covered abs in the mirror. It wasn’t fat. Not at all. And holy fuck. When did he get so hairy?!

He gripped the edge of the sink so hard he expected to see marks in the ceramic. He was breathing fast and heavy as six months of haze cleared from his mind. His massive muscles clenched, flexed, bulged, veins and tendons standing out stark. He failed to hear the pop and rip of fabric as his tortured clothes gave up their fight to contain him, failed to note the cool air on his newly bared skin. He squinted his eyes shut, hoping to gather his wits, to calm down. Instead, he saw all the thousands of people in the city around him, fucking insignificant specks. And one blinding brilliant light, about 15 miles away, pulling at him.

His eyes flew open and a sliver of terror pierced his heart, which hammered at his ribcage. Halloween contacts…? Devon leaned in closer, breathing hard, looked his reflection dead in the eye. His breath caught.

Two golden irises stared back at him. A wolf’s eyes.


Later that same day

Jonas closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The acrid scent of the gym flooded his nostrils. The smell seemed stronger and stronger as weeks went by. Maybe they needed to hire new janitorial staff. But it wasn’t just stronger. He could notice new details, nuances to it. Like putting on glasses for the first time and seeing each individual leaf on a tree whereas before it had just been a fuzzy green shape. He could smell dozens of individual people. He could smell Devon. He wasn’t here, but months of sweat had marked the room with his scent permanently. The scent was spiky. Jonas inhaled it greedily.

Speaking of Devon, he should have been here twenty minutes ago. It wasn’t like him to be late, and if he was, he’d text. Jonas looked at his phone, in case he missed the rumble of a notification. He was still “Devon Gym Crush” in his contacts. Weeks of overheated sexting punctuated by practical matters and the occasional late night get to know you chat, exchanging bits of life stories. Then the message Jonas had sent five minutes ago.Hey, at the gym, you didn’t forget we’re on for push day, did you? Marked as delivered, not marked as read.

Anxiety grumbled like distant thunder in Jonas’s mind. Maybe something had happened. Car accident? Death in the family? Hard to say. Devon hadn’t really mentioned his family at all, Jonas realized. Did he have a support network? Friends to fall back on in case of a crisis? Go to him, the voice in his head said. How? I don’t know where he is, Jonas answered. The voice provided no further clarification, it just growled in frustration at Jonas’s reticence. Annoyed that it was stuck behind these eyes, in this body it had no command over.

I said how, damn you. If you’re so certain, just tell me where he is and I’ll go to him right now. I’m not going to stake out his apartment and his office like some kind of stalker.

Jonas had never spoken to the voice like this before. Instead he treated it as a form of intrusive thought, thoughts that were ultimately his own. The voice had become stronger, lately. More vocal, more demanding, and Jonas realized he had begun to think of it as a different entity, some kind of fearsome being inside his own head. Not his thoughts, at all. Maybe it was past time he started speaking to it.

But the voice was silent for several moments before an answer finally came: Not yet.

Fine then, Jonas growled back at it. Might as well do his workout anyway. Devon would text or call when he was able to.

It took everything Jonas had to get into the correct headspace. His anxiety about Devon’s whereabouts and wellbeing, the frustration he felt after arguing with the voice in his head, it kept threatening to derail him. But his iron discipline could not be bent or broken. And when you give your body the choice to lift the weight or die, it lifts the motherfucking weight.

Within an hour he was drenched in sweat, his too-small tanktop clinging to his bulging muscles. He stood in front of the mirror doing dumbbell lateral raises, his veiny, hairy basketball delts looking fit to pop. He was 268 pounds of ripped muscle, yet he seemed not to consciously register how meteoric his growth had been these last six months. Instead, he stared his reflection down like it was the enemy. A rival alpha challenging his authority. He snarled, the dumbbells no longer fully elevating with each rep. He kept pushing. Half reps. Quarter reps. Lift it, damn you! Little pulses that made his delts feel like they’d burst, spew molten testosterone over the dumbbell rack. His rictus intensified. Thoughts were not words, now, they were pure violence and aggression, demanding the dumbbells move just one more inch. Again. Again. Again. Each inhale rasped, each exhale growled. Finally, he was done. He let the weights down carefully, then he leaned on the rack and gasped for his life, the red fog that had filled his mind slowly dissipating.

When he raised his head to look in the mirror, a serious bodybuilder looked back at him, a bead of sweat growing fat on the tip of his nose, ready to drop, skin on his tortured chest and shoulders marred with stretchmarks where every day it failed, just a bit more, to hold all of him. He hoped he’d fucking split open one of these days soon. He wanted to see that. To see the trickle of blood where his swelling muscles just overwhelmed his skin. He looked huge.

He grinned at his reflection, feeling feral. And that’s when he saw them. They made him stop short. The sight of them cut through the mental fog that shrouded him for months, now. The reality of what he was, what he had become, what he was becoming, barrelled in on him when he saw them.

His fangs.

Jonas tried to act normal. He stood, waiting for the bus, feeling the eyes on him. Bodies like his drew attention. He knew that. He’d spent his whole life giving the kind of stares he now received. His eyes helplessly magnetized to muscle. And now it was him, his body the magnet, standing on the sidewalk, waiting for a bus, enormous, the mere fact of his existence creating an impromptu freak show.

He didn’t know this city yet. It was unfamiliar territory. He was still learning the bus routes. It had only been eight days since he fled here.

He felt awful about that.

It had been a dream come true, the last few months. He’d connected with another freak, and somehow, like it was a stupid wish-fulfillment story, they’d both started to explode with muscle, more than sixty pounds of it in less than half a year. So why had he freaked out? Why did he run away?

He knew why.

He felt a growl rise in his throat, and he tamped it down. He was trying to repress that bestial impulse, if he could help it. It had grown far too powerful, he couldn’t afford to cede to it another inch of territory. He clenched his fists and felt his claws– fuck, he always forgot he had claws, now– digging into his palm. The hair on the back of his hands and neck practically bristling, prickling, his skin dancing with hot pinpricks. No. Calm down. Keep it together.

He wore aviators, not to emphasize the tough bodybuilder look but to hide his unnatural green-yellow eyes. He suppressed his natural instinct to smile, knowing his prominent canines would draw attention, make people uncomfortable. The effect was intimidating: a massive hairy bodybuilder, unsmiling, eyes hidden, obviously on edge, one moment of weakness away from blowing his lid.

Fuck, he wanted to rip this stupid corporate uniform off his body and run wild. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils. There. He caught the scent before he turned to look. A cute college boy, 5’10”, maybe a buck seventy five. Soft skin. Nice round butt. Cute little dick, Jonas could just tell. Uncut. Drowsy, rolled out of bed just ten minutes ago. You can tell so much from just a scrap of someone’s scent. Jonas closed his eyes, felt himself breathing harder, his pulse racing. He wanted to rip his clothes off and pounce on this fucking little twink and rip him apart. That would wake him up for sure. NO. Jonas was almost shaking with the effort of repressing the hunting instinct.

“Excuse me, sir, are you okay?” The voice was like a bucket of ice water over his head. Jonas snapped back from the brink. He realized he was sweating hard, his shirt stained at the pits and the small of his back. He turned to look. A nice older lady, maybe sixty or so. Wondering if the roided up freak at the bus stop was having some kind of medical episode. Fuck, what’s becoming of me, he thought helplessly.

“I’m so sorry for worrying you, I’m fine, I just get lost in thought sometimes.” He smiled to put her at ease, forgetting why he was trying not to smile.

She stifled a little gasp and took a quick step back. “Oh, well… I just wanted to make sure.” Without any further interaction, she made her way to the far end of the little crowd that had gathered to wait for the bus, as far from Jonas as she could manage. He could feel the glances from the others shift. What had been lust or fear, just a few minutes ago, was now disapproval and scorn. And still fear. He always smelled that acrid and unmistakable scent wafting off people, of late.

I miss Devon. The thought, unbidden. He couldn’t tell if it was his thought, or if it was a thought from the… other voice. Maybe both. Because he did miss Devon, a lot.

It hurt.

I didn’t have a choice. We were both… transforming into something inhuman. I had to get away, to save both of us. I left him a letter. What else could I do? If we saw each other again I wouldn’t have left at all. And god knows what we would be by then? I’m barely hanging on as it is. One more day, one more hour, we might have gone past the point of no return.

Jonas’s dick stirred rebelliously at the last thought. Who knows what they’d become? After another ten days? 285 pounds? 295 pounds? Would they have swollen past the big 300? Fangs and claws and golden eyes and fur, what else? A tail? Horns? A forked tongue? Digitigrade legs? Venomous spines? Fuck knows.

He did the right thing. He had to believe it. It hurt too much to consider if it had been a mistake. Devon had to understand. As it was right now, they couldn’t exist in the world without drawing comment and attention, but at least they could exist in the world, still, after some fashion. At least they were still… plausibly human, if you didn’t look too close.

He fished his phone out of his pocket. Opened up his text messages with Devon. The most recent message was still the one he’d sent eight days ago, right before he’d come to his senses and decided to bolt. “Hey, at the gym. You didn’t forget we’re on for push day, did you?”

The text was still marked as delivered, but not as read. Devon hadn’t posted anything on social media, either. It was almost like he’d disappeared. Jonas felt his heart lurching. He’ll be fine. And if he’s not fine he’ll have to figure it out on his own.

The bus arrived. Jonas waited for everyone else to get on first, then eased himself up the stairs, showed his pass, and angled his way through the crowd. He could feel the people edge away from him as he manoeuvred his bulk. They were scared of him.

It’s right that they’re scared. The voice. His only real companion, now. Deer can smell a wolf and know to keep away.


Jonas had fled town with no warning and no plan. Now he was in an unfamiliar city, hundreds of miles away. No friends, no family, no job, no references. He’d put a hotel room on his credit card and began a desperate search for some form of employment and some place to stay. Lucky for him, his massive build and intimidating aura made him a natural choice for a security company.

He was guarding an office block downtown, at the main entrance, which opened on a fairly large corporate plaza, fountain, little amphitheatre, about twelve hundred feet wide. It was a nice enough day, sunny. People in the plaza, walking across it, sitting by the fountain, workers having lunch. Jonas struggled to focus on his job and not become distracted by the people milling around him, like so many fat stupid chickens. Maybe a quarter of them were at least somewhat fuckable. No. Stop that. He was a muscular monolith. He’d never had a job like this before. He didn’t know how to do much else other than look intimidating, but so far that’s all the job required of him. Luckily he was good at that, now.

He was shadowing someone for his first two weeks on the job, but that guy had ducked out to have his lunch. So, for a half hour, Jonas was alone at the door.

That’s when he smelled him. The spiky odour, distinct, aggressive. Faint but growing stronger. He hadn’t smelled it since that day in the gym, the day when he’d first noticed his fangs.

Devon was somewhere upwind. Sloppy mistake, Jonas thought reflexively. Unless it’s not a mistake, the voice in his head countered. Maybe he wants you to know he’s coming. Jonas could almost feel the voice chuckling darkly.

His pulse racing, Jonas stepped away from the door of the building and scanned the bustling plaza. There. His feet faltered and his mouth hung open as he caught his first glimpse of Devon in nine days.

He was twelve hundred feet away, on the far side of the plaza. There were dozens of people between him and Jonas. But there was no mistaking it. No mistaking him. He was… enormous. Whatever process Jonas had paused in himself… Devon had clearly failed to do the same. His clothes simply didn’t fit. Hairy mounds of muscle pushed through ripped fabric. He was taller, somehow, most of the crowd only coming up to his shoulders. The hair on his head was jagged, like it had grown in uneven spurts. His beard bristled. I’m downwind. He hasn’t scented me yet.

Jonas’s vision blacked out for a split-second. The two glowing lights, on the field of black– no, hundreds of tiny pinpricks of light, merest fractions– but the two big lights, pulsating, violently flashing. Agitated. A golden thread connecting them. Sparking. Incandescent. Jonas’s vision rushed back to his physical eyes, and across the vast square his gaze met Devon’s. Somehow, across the large open distance, with hundreds of human voices filling the air, Jonas heard the snarl as Devon broke into a sprint, heading right for him.

Jonas had no time to think. Only to react. Stand your ground and fight him! Fight him right here, among these pitiful tamed monkeys! the voice spat, but Jonas did no such thing. Devon looked to be well over 400 pounds and fully feral. That was a fight Jonas would lose. Jonas had to escape, that was his only option.

None of these were thoughts he had. There weren’t any thoughts, other than the voice echoing its unheeded command in his panicking head. There was merely action: run.

Legs pumping, Jonas made a break for it. Weaving around the slow and stupid crowd, his instincts quick, his senses heightened. He could hear Devon behind him, snarling, slavering. He could smell him, strong, the scent almost pricking his nose.

Jonas didn’t know the city well, but he knew there was a ravine system. The bus that took him to work crossed it on a bridge. He headed that way, ignoring walk signs, dodging cars with his supernatural agility. The cacophony of honks and startled yelling washing over him like a river over a stone. Devon’s growls piercing him; for all Jonas’s speed, Devon was faster. He was getting closer.

There. A treeline. A steep embankment. Jonas hurtled down. Surely any normal human would break their ankle, if not their neck. But he rushed down the steep ravine with confidence, using his hands and feet, hoping the closeness of the trees would give him some advantage, hoping that Devon, so much larger, would have more trouble navigating their dense trunks.

The sound was like a boulder rolling down the hill behind him. Against his instincts, Jonas glanced over his shoulder.

Devon was enormous. Closer, now, he could see delts mounded up around his head, big as basketballs, maybe bigger. Covered in dark fur, but so lean the striations were clearly visible as he tore his way through the trees, big clawed hands knocking spindly trunks to the side. His mouth was still passably human, but just barely, and it was open, huge fangs, tongue lolling. His eyes burned like heated gold.

Jonas turned to run again, but didn’t get far. He felt lines of burning pain as Devon tackled him, clawed hands raking his back. The smell of him was overwhelming.

Unbidden, Jonas saw the two wildly pulsing lights in the other space once again. This time, they were almost fusing. Their protruding points overlapping, growing into each other. Approaching some kind of critical core meltdown.

He felt his body changing. “No,” he tried to say, hearing how thick and distorted the word was in his mouth, how he had to work to make it intelligible as his jaw rearranged itself, lengthened.

Devon had him pinned down, was ripping off his clothes with his fucking mouth, his teeth nipping and tearing Jonas’s flesh, minor wounds. It wasn’t his intention to kill him. Only to violently rid him of the last vestiges of civilization.

“Stop,” Jonas pleaded, barely able to form the word, straining with all his might. It was futile. Devon was much, much stronger. Devon had given in long ago, he hadn’t resisted it like Jonas had, and it gave him so much more power.

It was like their first meeting in the sushi restaurant, months ago, only a thousand times more potent, far less tame. Jonas could feel a flood of potent sexual energy enter his body from Devon, could feel a similar flood leaving his body, pouring back. Devon was growing before his eyes, his muscles swelling, the remains of his clothes ripping away, his feet destroying his shoes, his face distorting, becoming more and more bestial, mouth lengthening into a muzzle.

And Jonas was growing, too. Pressed into the forest floor, pinned down, unable to move, he felt himself flex involuntarily, hard, over and over, almost convulsing as the transformation took him, faster and more violent than what was happening to Devon, catching him up. The sickening crack of bones breaking and reforming, rearranging. He howled in fear, agony, and ecstasy, and it was like no sound he had heard before.

Their cocks were both rigid, like metal rods left in the sun, hot to the touch. Inching larger and larger. When they brushed against each other, the jolt of energy was almost too much, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. And each time it happened, even more muscle piled onto their bestial frames, so much muscle they looked distorted, monstrous. Their cocks both surged, thicker, longer, their forms jolting and jerking further and further away from their human starting points.

The voice in Jonas’s head, triumphant. YES! Jonas whimpered. Scared. WANT.. Scared! Trust. Can’t. TRUST! Can’t!

Then Devon lowered his wolf’s face to Jonas’s, pressing it against his. Jonas felt Devon’s hot, wet breath on his skin. And this time, the voice Jonas heard in his head was both the other voice and Devon’s, in unison. Trust, it said.

And with that, Jonas finally let go, and language was gone.

Devon was the first to wake up. The sun streaming low from the east. It was very early morning. His memories of the last week were increasingly jagged fragments as the currents of his transformation grew stronger, faster, but he remembered he’d finally tracked Jonas down around noontime yesterday, and now it was clearly morning. Moments and snippits of the afternoon, evening, and night they’d spent crashed in on him. Rolling around, fighting, struggling, struggling desperately, yes. But also playing. Also cuddling, napping, curling up in each other. Waking up to fight more, harder. And with every burst of sexual energy, every redirected orgasm, they grew larger, freakier, less human, more… whatever it was they were becoming.

Devon smacked his mouth; it was dry, he wanted water. They were in a forest. The trees around them were at crazy angles, the earth churned up and destroyed. It was almost as if the pair lay at the epicenter of an explosion.

Devon looked down at himself. He was… halfway back to normal. He looked… plausibly human. He couldn’t see past his pecs, blanketed in black fur. He pushed his palm against the ground and rose into a sitting position. He felt his soft cock trail along the earth, much much longer than it had been. He rose to his full height. He was taller, yet his frame struggled to find space for all the muscle that had been packed on. He stood awkwardly, legs forcibly splayed apart, arms unable to be lowered. If he hadn’t grown taller, he would have been just about immobile from the sheer amount of muscle mass his body had slabbed on. How tall was he? 6’5”? 6’6”? How much did he weigh? Impossible to guess.

He remembered his body changing. He remembered Jonas’s body changing. They had both turned into something not remotely human. A little different from each other, too. As if the beast inside each of them was a unique expression of who they truly were.

He looked down at Jonas, sprawled on the ground. Now he was… mostly human-looking, too. Far too muscular to be real, shockingly hairy, genitals of a monstrous size, fuck, maybe close to seven feet tall…

God, he was beautiful. Devon inhaled deeply over and over, drinking his fill of Jonas’s scent. He forgave him for running. Devon had considered running, too. But it was just too powerful, and giving in felt far too good. In fact, it was incredible that Jonas had resisted as well as he had, for as long as he had. The strength of will in him…

Devon knelt down by Jonas and put his huge rough paw of a hand on his forehead. He noticed his nails were still long, pointed, amber-coloured. Still claws. But his touch was gentle.

Jonas stirred. His handsome face framed by intensely thick traps. Absolutely no neck to speak of. He opened his eyes. His gaze had been noble, direct, back when his eyes were a typical human colour. Now that they were burnished gold, the effect was tripled. His broken aviator sunglasses lay a few feet to one side. They looked so small, like a child’s sunglasses. No hiding those eyes now.

“Devon,” Jonas murmured dreamily, his voice rumbling, deep. Then, unexpectedly, his face started to crumple. “I’m so sorry I ran away from you. From us. I was scared.”

“Shh shh.” Devon leaned in and kissed the tear that had just started to trickle down Jonas’s face. “I forgive you. I was scared too. The only difference is I surrendered before you did. I have no idea how you managed to resist it. Fucking stubborn, I guess?”

Jonas sniffled and laughed shakily. Devon grinned and moved south a little, their mouths meeting. They kissed, softly at first, reconciling. Then the kiss intensified, Jonas wrapped his arms and legs around Devon’s body and drew him down. Their cocks hardened, jostling for position as their overmuscled torsos met and ground against each other like tectonic plates.

Devon gasped. “It’s happening again,” he moaned, breaking the kiss just long enough to get the words out before resuming with twice as much ardour.

Jonas made a sound that began as agreement and morphed into a belly-deep growl. They were both growing, transforming. Devouring each other. Hungrier and hungrier. The feedback loop of energy between their bodies, feeding each other, pushing each other, making each other change, grow.

Devon finally broke free, pushed back with a gasp. He stepped back and looked at Jonas. Their eyes met and they were silent, regarding each other in wonder, their cocks straining toward each other.

They both made the largest bodybuilders look anemic. Five hundred pounds? Six hundred? More? They were so tall that guessing was almost pointless. Fuck, they might be pushing a thousand pounds. Cocks bobbing, glistening, perhaps thirty inches long, heads the size of ripe melons. Bristling with hair. Golden eyes. Jutting jaws. Prominent fangs. Enlarged hands and feet. Claws instead of fingernails.

But they were still much, much closer to human than what they had become during the previous day.

After a long moment, Jonas seemed to consider something, or remember something. His fierce bushy eyebrows quirked and then knitted together. “Turn around,” he instructed. Devon did, surprised at the little thrill he felt following Jonas’s order.

“Well, I’ll be,” Jonas whistled, reaching out and gently tugging Devon’s tail, very much like a wolf’s tail. “I don’t think I’ve got one of these.”

“How much do you remember… last night?”

“Not much, to be honest. You were so aggressive, the changes were so fast and extreme, it was kind of overwhelming.”

“I remember… maybe half of it. And, well. We looked a lot different, then. We might pass for… no, we can’t pass. But at least we’re somewhat human-shaped right now. Last night, not at all. Our faces were different. Our bodies were different. We were… total beasts.”

“Like, a werewolf?”

“Me, sure. I think I was like a werewolf. You… kind of, but different.” Devon leaned in and brushed his hand against Jonas’s forehead and temple. Smooth unbroken skin. “You had horns.”

“Do you think it’ll happen again?,” Jonas breathed, feeling his body light up as Devon stroked his head. He quivered.

“You know the answer to that as well as I do,” Devon smiled. Already he could feel the circuit of energy between them, humming, ready to unleash. Knowing that, when it inevitably did, the transformation would take hold again, no stopping it.

Jonas raised his hand to draw Devon back down to him, eager for them to be beasts together again, to push the transformation even further than it had gone last night, huger, more monstrous. Then he paused. “We can’t go back, though, can we.”

“No,” Devon answered simply, honestly. “But would you want to go back?”

“…No.”

Devon grinned, Jonas returned the grin, and the two creatures drew their bodies together, not knowing what their final forms might be, but eager, now, to discover them.

 

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