“Fuck yeah bro, that was a fuckin’ awesome fuckin’ workout, ya know?”
“Hell yeah man, we fuckin’ killed it. Feel so damn pumped.”
CT and RJ threw their gym bags over their shoulders and left the gym, laughing and high fiving, both of them two happy brutes–neither of them had much fat on their bodies at all, and each of them looked like they might be on steroids, though both would attest that they never used the stuff. Their apartment was a few blocks away, and they headed that direction, though CT, as much as he tried to be happy about his workout, he didn’t actually feel that good for some reason. If anything, he felt a bit sick. He tried to push past it, just like RJ and his trainers were always telling him to do, just like he always told them, but this wasn’t just being sore after a workout–this was…something different.
As soon as they were through the door to their apartment, RJ had CT shoved up against the wall, their lips locked together, snarling at his best friend, his lover, groping his cock, but he could tell something was up with him. Usually CT was fucking ferocious after a workout like that, they’d fucking killed it! But now, he seemed distracted.
“What’s wrong bro?”
“N-Nothin’, I think. Just feel kinda weird all of a sudden. I think I need a moment,” CT said, and pushed himself away–when something brushed against RJ’s abs that shouldn’t be there–CT had sprouted a gut. Not a roid gut either, this was a flabby, sagging thing, and RJ flipped out.
“What the fuck is that man? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
CT just stared down at his body, grabbed the gut and gave it a shake–surprised at how…good it felt. No, not…good exactly. Just…just familiar. Familiar because…because it was his. His gut. It was growing bigger, and the rest of him too–his muscles dissolving as he expanded, past 300 pounds now. He could remember–he could finally fucking remember, what always seemed at the edge of his mind! He turned to Ryan to tell him, when the baseball bat slammed into his head and he crumpled to the floor.
*
“Did I kill him? Tell me I didn’t kill him brosir, please!”
“He’s going to be ok, RJ, try to stay calm.”
“But what’s wrong with him? My bro, my alpha fucking bro’s a fucking lardass all of a sudden, and you won’t tell me what the fuck is going on!”
Carl moaned. His head was throbbing from where Ryan and slammed the bat into his head. He looked up, his vision blurry, and found himself looking up at two trainers. They’d hauled him up off the floor and had him tied to a chair, and he could see one of them with a…with a needle. They were going to shoot that fucking shit into him again! He started struggling, yanking at the ropes. “Ryan! Ryan, you have to try and remember. This isn’t us, Ryan, we aren’t like these fuckers man! Please, you have to trust me, you have to get us out of here.”
“What the fuck’s he saying man?” RJ asked.
“Don’t pay him any mind, bro,” one of the trainer’s said, “About 1% of bro’s have a natural resistance to the serum–all we gotta do is give him a double dose, and everything’ll be just fine, trust me. You’re alpha bro will be back, and better than ever.”
“Really?” RJ asked, “You mean it?”
Carl fought, he screamed as the two men slipped the needle into a vein and injected him with their special serum. The effects were almost immediate, Carl’s mind losing focus, his fat melting away and becoming muscle again, but this…was worse than last time. His…bones were aching, and his head, it felt like he was in a vice, and it was crunching down everything in his skull until only the simplest thoughts were left behind. RJ’s jaw dropped as CJ reappeared in the chair, ropes ripping away as the huge, hairy beast tore them away with a roar and stood up, looking around dumbly, a foot long cock hanging between his legs, half erect. CJ snorted, and glowered at RJ. “That’s what I’s talking ‘bout. Get over here fucker, ‘n suck my fat bro cock!”
Bracken's Corner 