Twisted fates

by BRK

 A bored chaos god decides to play a little prank on two urbex buddies wandering through his former home.

Added: Apr 2022 5,006 words 6,704 views 4.8 stars (13 votes) This story was commissioned via Patreon Story Commission.


Heron drew his first breath in fifty years. It was long and painful, but as he breathed out he felt life returning to him—hesitantly, like it wasn’t sure of its welcome.

He wasn’t sure it was. He should have known, he thought sourly. Even profoundly asleep in his self-willed stasis he’d felt the slow passage of time that whole half-century, if distantly, and if anything he was more bored now than he had been when he’d sworn off this stupid world for a while and signed himself up to check in on things in another five decades, when hopefully humans were smarter, more in tune with their role in the cosmos, and, if possible, no longer quite so in love with double-knit suits and scratchy polyester.

He opened his eyes and frowned, looking around critically at his long-time abode. His once-majestic country house was now a dump. Debris littered the floors of the great room he’d ensconced himself in; phallic and/or incomprehensible graffiti covered the long walls and even bits of the high, vaulted ceiling; and plant life from the apparently now-feral sunlit gardens beyond encroached boldly through shattered windows and occasional cracks in the plaster. The smell in the room was arid and dead, like rot turned to dust. Heron shook his head. A fine and pleasant mansion this had once been. A sapphire amidst the common quartz, home to legendary parties and serene solitudes, abandoned and left to devolve unwanted like a carcass on the sun-baked Serengeti. He had a bad feeling his hopes for humanity getting smarter were going to be cruelly dashed.

Even as he was thinking this Heron heard voices. He stood quickly, regretting it. He was stiff all over. That’s what you get for turning yourself into a statue for half a century, he thought grumpily. The voices were coming this way and would be on him in seconds; and though thanks to an innate aspect of his eldritch chaos powers Heron always physically manifested as a mundane, average, appropriately-dressed male of whatever time and place he was in unless he wished to briefly appear otherwise, the fact was that Heron had just woken up after a very long nap and was really not in the mood to try explaining his presence to interloping yahoos. Deprived of the time to properly absent himself, Heron instead elected to make himself invisible to others and, picking his way gingerly through the flotsam, he positioned himself against the back wall as two strangers entered the sunlit room.

Heron eyed them curiously, half annoyed at the intrusion and half anticipating a much-needed diversion. They were young men, barely twenty, Heron judged, and dressed ridiculously in construction boots, baggy dungarees torn at the knees, matching black hooded sweatshirts with the cryptic legend URBEX DUDES WATCHABLE TV (BINGE US!), and black backwards baseball caps. Heron grimaced and looked down—indeed, he was dressed the same way. He needed a better sample size for his “appropriate attire” instinct. Spitefully, he removed the white lettering from his hooded sweatshirt, leaving it a simple black. What the heck was an “urbex,” anyway?

Both of the men were carrying powerful lights and other equipment. The way they were constantly talking as if to others, and the word TV on their sweatshirts, suggested some kind of television recorder or transmitter, though the devices were (unsurprisingly) much smaller and more compact than anything Heron was used to. Unseen, Heron observed them as they prowled around the fringes of the large, battered room, narrating what they were seeing and their sophomoric reactions to it as they went. As though whoever ended up watching these broadcasts would care about either. Perhaps they would, Heron thought, considering. They spoke as if to a large and interested audience, so presumably they had fans, or thought they did. The taller one, the one with the mop of long, curly chestnut-brown hair barely contained by his ball cap, seemed especially enamored of his own voice, cracking jokes and laughing inanely at his own attempts at humor. He seemed to be called “Todd.” Meanwhile the shorter, stocker one with the glasses and the long blond sideburns just smiled at him, encouraging his antics. Todd only ever called him “Brah.” Heron earnestly hoped that was not the poor dope’s actual name. It was fortunate it was not his role to judge humanity, or they would have received a failing grade long ago.

A slow grin spread across Heron’s face as their buffoonery unspooled. He had thought of exactly the right special gift for each of his hapless intruders. Here was the cure for his boredom, at least for a while.

Todd panned his Z6 around the abandoned great room, going for highlights now that they’d done a quick sweep of the whole room. He zoomed in for a minute on the upended broken “grampa chair” near the corner. It was the only furniture left in the room, really, other than that marble block at the far end where they’d seen that statue of the angry naked dude sitting on their first walkthrough ahead of the livestream. He focused in on the ripped-open upholstery, the exposed springs, and the yellowed page from an old magazine trapped under the armrest, then kept going. “L-O-L, this place is wrecked,” he said, then laughed at his own razz. Todd wasn’t quite as dumb as his UDWT on-screen persona, but hey, whatever got you the views. “Right, brah?” he prompted his partner.

“Heh, totally,” Ford answered distractedly from the other side of the room. He liked to do close-in detail work while Todd got the bigger picture; at the moment he was doing a close-up pan of the elaborate but faded crown molding. Finished with that, he turned toward his next intended subject, the angry statue—and froze. “Hey, Todd, wasn’t there a dude here before?” he asked worriedly.

Todd was still panning slowly across the broken windows on the right side of the room. Some of that foliage looked fierce. It almost looked like it was waving, even though there was hardly any wind that afternoon. “No dudes here but us, brah,” he said, not looking.

“No, seriously, Todd,” Ford said. “There was a statue here before, I swear. Big muscley guy, serious RBF.”

Todd frowned and swiveled to film the empty marble block as well, studying it through his camera screen. Ford was right: during the walkthrough half an hour before there had definitely been a statue sitting there of this, like, totally ripped fitness model type with wavy hair, no clothes, and a bad attitude written all over his pretty face.

Todd’s stomach twisted a little. What the heck? Statues don’t just get up and wander off. This was some seriously weird shit. But they’d been doing this a while, and he knew it was his job to make the jokes. “Brah, you just wish there were a big muscley guy sitting there,” he joshed amiably, as he filmed Ford filming the empty marble seat. “It’s cool, dude, just own it. Girlfriend or no, the commenters always say you’re gay for me—but clearly you’re just gay.”

Because any guy I touch was always gay, he heard his own voice saying from somewhere deep inside his own head. For half a second Todd was ready to freak out—where had that voice come from?—then all at once the moment vanished from his memory and, he was pretty sure, the universe, leaving nothing behind. What had he been saying? He was teasing Ford about—something.

Ford, meanwhile, had turned away from his camera (still aimed at the empty seat) and was staring at him goggle-eyed, like a moment that had vanished for everyone else hadn’t vanished for him and had somehow involved Todd saying something alarming. “Todd, dude, what did you just do?” he exclaimed, adjusting his glasses. Weirdly, he was furtively looking Todd over, like he was seeing him for the first time and was checking him out! This seemed to confirm something for Ford because he gasped, “You just turned me gay!”

Todd grinned, though he thought Ford was overdoing the faux dismay. After all, Ford was gay, and everyone knew it. It was cool, Todd knew a lot of gay guys. A lot a lot, actually. Heck, even his dad was gay. Anyway the channel worked better if he played it big and Ford was the straight man, ha ha. “Can’t make a gay dude gayer, brah,” he joked. “Oh! Maybe you feel extra-gay because you like looking at me too much!”

Because gay guys always get stuck on my extra-poky nipples, he heard his voice say in his head. Wha—? But then the moment was gone, poof, like it had never been.

Ford was gibbering. “What?! We do not!” he blurted.

“What?” Todd asked, confused. “Who’s ‘we’?” As Todd said this, though, Ford’s eyes predictably dropped to Todd’s chest where he knew there were two little bumps showing faintly but proudly through his hoodie at the bottoms of his decently thick pecs. Little sexy bumps that caught all the gay guys’ attention. Todd smirked knowingly. He panned off Ford finally and continued his survey of the room, slowly covering the left side where the smashed windows faced the overgrown but comparably tame courtyard. “Anyway,” he said conversationally, “I always see you checkin’ out the nips, brah. I don’t mind.” He hoped Ford’s boyfriend, Steve, wasn’t too jealous.

“Duuude, something spooky is going on here,” Ford warned. He had knelt down and was filming around the base of the marble seat now, as if he were looking for tiny clues inscribed into the creamy white marble. Todd caught him sneaking a look Todd’s chest. “Maybe we should high-tail it out of here,” Ford said.

Todd finished his shot and turned back to Ford. “Naw,” he said, threading his way toward him through the debris and filming him at the same time. “C’mon, let’s do the kitchen.”

Ford grimaced but stood and fell into step with him on his right as they headed for the broad archway that led into the kitchen and dining areas of the abandoned house. Near the far walls they brushed against what almost felt like the invisible shape of a guy, and Todd was jostled enough he reached out and grabbed onto what felt like some dude’s chest—it even sounded like he heard a slight grunt!—but when he aimed his light and camera that way there was nothing. He decided to write it off and kept going toward the archway, Ford beside him. “High-tail, I like that,” Todd said, still filming ahead of him as they walked. He had to add a playful jibe because that was their thing, so he added, “You just said that because you like my butt.”

Because my round hard butt literally attracts gay guys’ hands, came the sound of his own voice in his head. Todd barely had time to react to this before the moment was gone, and yep—there it was, Ford’s left hand on his glute as they ambled into the sprawling old kitchen. Out of all the gropes he got, Ford’s were the best. They stood for a minute, slowly sweeping their cameras across respective sides of the space, taking in the cabinet doors hanging off their hinges and the empty spots where the appliances had been, while Todd enjoyed Ford’s free hand firmly cupping his right ass-check.

“Todd,” Ford said carefully, still filming, “you gotta be careful what you say. You just—you just ended up with a lotta hands on your butt.”

Todd chuckled, pushing his long, curly hair behind his ear with his free hand in a habitual gesture. It was true, but that was the way things were when you had a magnetic ass like his. “Hey, I don’t mind,” he said again, zooming in on the double-basin sink.

Because gay guys are all hunky and horny and hot as fuck, he heard himself think—just before the whole idea was utterly erased. Todd heard Ford gasp faintly. “What, did you see something interesting?” Todd asked.

He glanced over at his extremely good-looking college roomie turned best friend. As always he liked the way Ford’s well-developed, classically-shaped muscles made the UDWT hoodie bulge in all the right places. Probably Ford was the main reason the hoodies sold so well in the merch store. Figuring he might as well get Ford’s hot bod in shot for a bit, he deftly turned his camera in his hand to catch the two of them chest-up. Maybe his famous nips would get in frame too, he thought happily.

Ford, meanwhile, was looking down at himself, muttering something about how this was all getting out of hand as he did so. When he looked up at Todd, his piercing hazel eyes, framed by those cute wire-frame glasses, sweet cheekbones, and perfect, vividly-dark-blond eyebrows, made Todd’s heart flutter a bit, just as they always did. If I were gay, Todd mused, I would definitely want some of that. Todd’s FWB, Steve, was one lucky guy. And also, very very hot.

“Todd, you need to stop,” Ford said emphatically, sounding very slightly panicked. Then he blinked and said, “Okay, no, first you need to say we’re all hung. Then you need to stop.” Ford’s lips quirked then, as if he knew he were being silly.

Todd laughed. “You want me to announce to the internet that you’re hung?” he repeated. He knew for a fact that his one-time roomie was just average, but hey, on the internet, no one knows your true cock size. (Because they can totally morph anything, even “live” videos, brah. Nothing you see is guaranteed real, just like his big brother showed him when he was first figuring out stuff.)

Fuck, what were they even talking about? He could only guess what was happening in the comments on this stream. They should really be monitoring them in real time during these livestreams, but the one time they’d tried it it was ridiculously distracting, so these days they just did a follow-up compilation post.

Ford nodded in answer to Todd’s question, a little trepidation in his eyes. His hand was on Todd’s butt still, and he squeezed it now a little, as if encouraging Todd to get this right.

“Okay,” Todd said, still chuckling. “If it’ll make you happy: all gay guys have ridonkulous tools.”

Because guy guys’ dicks grow a tiny bit every time they cum, Todd heard his inner voice chime in, only for the whole instant to vanish without a trace. Automatically his gaze dropped the tubular bulge in Ford’s sweats, which reached all the way to Ford’s ankle. He chuckled again. He wanted to aim his camera at it, but the last time he’d done that the video was demonetized and they’d had to edit the dick shot out and reupload.

“Shit!” Ford screamed, staring down at the monster tool snuggling the length of his right leg, not to mention the heavy-looking sack pushing out his crotch. “Not that big!”

“C’mon, I’ve seen bigger,” Todd said truthfully. “Good thing you can still walk around. Amazing you gay guys can keep even the giant ones mostly soft like that when you have to!”

Because they’re constantly turned on and otherwise they’d be hard all the time, his voice said in his head. The thought was gone a second later, but the strange flush of interest at the idea lingered even after the reason for it was forgotten.

Ford looked up at him, eyes wide, and again Todd felt that little twinge in his chest. “Take it back!” Ford pleaded. Todd thought that amusement that if he’d had lapels, Ford probably would have grabbed him by them. “I don’t want to be this big!”

“It’s not my fault you’ve got an ankle-kisser, brah,” Todd said with a smirk. Fuck, staring into those eyes and talking about dick was turning him on. They were standing close. Ford’s warm, strong hand was still firmly gripping his ass-cheek, too, and Todd was pretty sure the physical connection was part of what was intensifying this latent bi-curious attraction to his buddy. Not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to kiss Ford, right here, right on the lips, slow and deep. It would sure get them the views, but that wasn’t really why he wanted to do it.

Ford’s sexy mouth dropped open. “It is so totally your fault!” he insisted.

Todd’s grin widened. He was flattered Ford was implying he’d blown his wad so much over Todd he’d almost ended up with a floor-dragger, but he knew better. “It was practically that big when I met you,” Todd teased. “You must have been busy letting loose in high school, brah. Be careful drinking your own, brah, gay guys love drinking their own,” he joked.

Because it’s an aphrodisiac, he heard his secret inner voice say. But then it had never said anything.

“It was only just past my knee and you know it,” Ford said hotly. “Wait, how do I remember that?” He shook his head. “Look, just… take it back. Please? Say we all have ten-inchers or something.”

Todd snorted and turned belatedly turned his camera around and went back to what he had filming. “Whatever, brah,” he said, panning toward the archway into the darkened, mostly empty dining room. “You claim not to like it, but you love it.”

Because gay guys’ throats and asses can take any size dick and the huge amount of cum they produce, came the strange self-voiced addendum in his head, before flashing instantly into nonexistence.

There was a second of stunned silence. “H-holy fuckhole,” he heard Ford swear quietly at last.

The shoot. They were on a shoot.

They filmed silently for a few minutes. Then, feeling like they had done all they needed to on the first floor, Todd turned his camera back around to face the two of them, and he and Ford slipped automatically into on-camera presenter mode. “That’s it for the downstairs of the historic Horner Mansion,” Todd told their viewers. “We’re breaking for a half hour, then we’ll stream part two upstairs. See you there!”

“Bye for now!” Ford chimed in with that heart-stopping smile of his that got them so, so many adoring and/or slutty comments under every video, not to mention a lot of fairly impressive fan art.

They both busied themselves powering down their feeds and equipment. Todd slung his camera over his shoulder started checking the stats on his phone. “Dude, I’m telling you,” Ford said, turning to him with an intense look once he was fully disconnected as well, “we should get out of here. There is something seriously bananas going on here.”

“Are you kidding?” Todd asked, scrolling through the details on their stream. “We’re getting record views, brah. Comments piling up. And look at the likes already!” He held the phone up to show Ford.

His buddy’s sexy eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Views aren’t… everything,” Ford said unconvincingly after a moment.

Todd scoffed, smiling at his friend’s internet avarice warring with his strange reticence to go on. “Right, uh huh. Why don’t you go set up the static cameras on the second floor, Mr. Views-Don’t-Matter,” he said, adding with a grin, “and while you’re at it, why don’t you go fuck yourself!”

Because gay guys can split into two bodies when they’re extra-horny and need to fuck, his inner voice said, and then it was gone. Ford was gaping at him. He looked flushed, like he might be as turned on as Todd felt like he was going to be very soon.

Finally he poked Todd in the chest, exactly halfway between Todd’s famous nipples. “Fine,” he said pointedly. “But just remember it was your idea.”

Ford’s fuckbodies didn’t remerge after fucking for some reason. Maybe Ford was too horny or too on edge about something, or both. It had happened before. He still had two bods when they finally packed everything up in their backpacks and shoulder bags and headed back to Ford’s trusty red Santa Fe as dusk was starting to fall to the accompaniment of some of the loudest crickets Todd had ever heard, sawing away madly in the woods that had grown up around what was once a nice country mansion. Todd was jazzed. For one thing, the rare videos where Ford had two of his hunky bods always got epic viewcounts no matter how bashful he acted about it, and they were already way above their usual watermark on this one. Good thing they always brought extra clothes for Ford, just in case. That wasn’t the only thing he was psyched about, though.

They must be in one of their intense arousal times, Todd thought. The Fords always fucked a lot when they were like this. Sometimes for days. It was like they could not get enough of their own cum—it only seemed to turn them on more! Todd had gotten more than an eyeful of that quite a few times, and he couldn’t get over how awesome it was the way Ford could take his own giant wang and make himself so deeply crazy-happy. Todd surprised himself how much he was currently looking forward to Ford’s urgent post-shoot sex marathon.

Both Fords were pretty quiet and intense as they headed back to the car, looming easily a couple heads taller than Todd on either side of him thanks to the gay-guy twelve-pack (with two rows of abs fully exposed between hoodie and sweatpants) and the way their semi-stretchy bodies generally retained a bit of swell from being turned on. Their edgy mood wasn’t stopping them from each extending a hand down low enough to gently grab Todd’s ass cheeks as they walked, of course.

They loaded up the back of the Santa Fe in short order, but once the hatch was closed and everything squared away the Fords made no move to climb into the vehicle. Instead they stood in front of Todd, side by side, a glint on their glasses from a passing trio of fireflies drawing Todd’s attention all the way up their amazing bodies to their penetrating, beautiful eyes.

“I think I know why you did all this,” one of the Fords said. “Even if all of it got twisted somehow.”

Todd squinted at them. All of what? This urbex visit generally? Keeping it going after Ford wanted to bail? Or what? And what had gotten twisted? He was genuinely confused, but his blood felt hot and he wanted to hear what Ford had to say, so for once he said only, “Yeah?”

Both Fords were smirking slightly, though it was hard to see in the unlit dusk. “You,” the other Ford said over the crickets, “are not entirely straight.”

Todd laughed. “I’m obviously not gay, brah,” he said, gesturing to himself and his visibly not-a-gay-guy body. Though… the twelve-inch-soft dick and plum-sized balls he was sporting these days had got him wondering lately if his junk did grow just a very, very tiny bit when he came. Maybe he was a little gay? Certainly most straight guys were intrigued enough by gay-guy bodies to experiment a few times, or more than as few, or in some cases constantly throughout their lives, helplessly into gay-guy bodies despite being completely straight; but Todd was thinking he might be a bit past that particular trope.

“Maybe,” one of the Fords said, very deliberately for some reason, “it’s the case that bi and bi-curious guys can choose to be like gay guys.” “If they’re with the right guy,” the other added.

Todd nodded to them. “I totally agree,” he said, flashing them a cheesy grin. Then he heard the voice in his head again, adding, Because bi guys love even deeper than gay guys, and love unlocks the choice. Then it was gone. Todd was looking up at the Fords, and he saw a mix of hope and determination peeking through their stony expressions. Then he understood. Fans had been urging Todd to embrace his bi abilities for ages, and maybe Ford had been secretly craving the same; but somehow the right moment hadn’t come until today.

Keeping his smile, Todd closed his eyes and chose. It wasn’t much of a decision.

His stomach dropped, and for a moment he felt disconnected from his body, as though it were being refitted. Then it was over. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking the Fords right in the eyes—and they were the ones grinning. Todd felt the cool, slightly damp night air on the exposed lower part of his body, and experienced a sudden thrill as he felt the way his thick, warm, not-completely-flaccid cock wrapped sinuously around his right leg—it was too long to just let hang!

He instinctively avoided looking down, not wanting to get vertigo from suddenly being so much taller. Instead he gave the two Fords a very crooked smirk. “Nice to see you guys face to face for once,” he said.

“Likewise,” the Fords said.

Massive horniness washed through him, saturating every corner of his being—it felt like the concentrated horniness of a hundred teenagers had been poured down his throat and spread through his body, engulfing him utterly. He felt heated and needy, like that was his natural, constant state of being, and abruptly he realized he needed to will his big guy guy cock to stay mostly soft or he’d be ripping his pants open and cumming all over the Fords, over and over, possibly forever. How much could he cum? It felt like hot oceans of jizz were dammed up in his balls, waiting to firehose over his best friend’s heart-tuggingly hot bods. Or inside them. Yes. Inside them. Hot cum, inside Ford. Hot cum inside Ford…

Todd took a deep breath and spoke over the new ceaseless, subtextual mantra repeating in his mind. “We should get back to my loft,” he said decisively. “Because, Ford, brah, I cannot wait to fuck you. Both of you,” he added cockily. “At the same time.” Damn, he was already feeling ready to split—he’d have to hold it in until then. Would he make it? He had the weird feeling this was all his fault, for some reason he couldn’t put his finger on. He had done this to himself, but how could—

“Yeah. And vice versa,” one of the Fords put in, voice rough, distracting him from his circling thoughts.

Todd’s pulse quickened, and his new gay-guy flexi-butthole twitched excitedly, waiting impatiently for Ford’s enormous, soon-to-be-rock-hard phone pole of a cock. His arousal kicked up even more imagining Ford’s doing the same. “Better be careful wanting my spunk in you, it puts hair on your chest,” Todd smirked.

Because gay guy cum gradually makes you hairier, that pesky internal Todd-voice said. The moment was edited out of reality like all the others and was gone. He was staring at his tall, masculine, fuzzy-chested, ankle-hung buddy. Need was amping up inside him. How did gay guys handle being this turned on? And this was Ford. Good old Ford, who’d been on thirty-three urbex runs with him. They’d seen everything together, from the room of life-size clown dolls and the pentagram in that attic floor to the factory basement with all the Pokémon graffiti and the one time Ford’d been sure there was a crouching “shadow person” crossing at the other end of the hall, until Todd investigated and came face-to-face a large and very territorial raccoon. “Brah,” he said, almost giggling despite his mounting arousal. Then he was kissing their grins right off their faces. The kisses were tender at first but rapidly deepened, tongues pushing deep as their slightly elastic torsos started to twist around each other.

For a while they were lost in the hot haze of mutual love and lust, until Todd broke free with a gasp. He was too horny. He needed to dial it down, but couldn’t. Heh, what if there was a remote control where you could lower your horniness like the volume on a TV? Or up it? Maybe it would work on how much cum you orgasmed every time. Fuck, that was too insane(ly hot).

“Home,” he said, panting and temporarily short on vocabulary. He smirked—their glasses had steamed up. So hot. Gotta leave. Gotta cum. “Can’t fuck here,” he said. “Home!”

The three of them clambered into the Santa Fe GaySize SUV and took off, completely unaware of their fourth passenger sharing the back seat with one of the Fords: an invisible (for now, at least), conflicted, similarly dressed, and extremely randy ten-thousand-year-old chaos god with the extra-hunkified, impressively hairy gay-guy body and the very, very, very long and thick cock. Each of them done with the abandoned mansion, though for varying reasons, they peeled off down the cracked and weedy country road toward civilization and a life of feverish, passionate, and occasionally reality-shifted lovemaking none of them could have imagined—not even the horny chaos god who thought he’d seen everything.


Commenting and star-upvoting helps others find the good stuff  (Credit: Paul Atkinson)


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