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Speech500

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  1. I'm glad you returned to this story. It was one of my favourites. This is how I imagine Lewis
  2. Who is the guy in the middle of that picture?
  3. Speech500

    Smitten

    Obviously the only fault in the story is Chris's resolution. I think the way you switched back and forth between the two stories was an interesting concept and with some refinement it could be amazing. Overall I really enjoyed this story. The characters are compelling, it has a good arch, and a happy ending. It's sexy in parts and emotionally affecting in others. Well done.
  4. I really am trying so damn hard to enjoy this story. It's why I keep coming back - out of the hope that it will go somewhere fulfilling - either Trevor gets a growth spurt or Seth falls in love with him or... something other than a never-ending series of humiliating scenarios. Seth is *such* a cunt. He's a dick. An asshole. I hate him with a passion. He doesn't just adore himself, he makes himself feel bigger by belittling the others around him. And as someone who was once in the position of the little guy, he knows how it feels and has no excuse. I want to believe he still sees Trevor as a genuine friend, but his actions show otherwise. It even states in this chapter that he sees Trevor as a tool by which to demonstrate his own growth - and that shows, because it's all Seth ever does around Trevor. Maybe the author is trying to show some parallel with Seth growing bigger externally but becoming less and less of a man inside, but I'm not getting that sense. And I'm starting to hate Trevor for allowing himself to be so cruelly mocked, for never standing up for himself. Literally every encounter with Seth results in Seth being a spiteful bully and Trevor never decides to cut that shithead out of his life. It's hard to sympathise with Trevor when he is allowing this abuse to happen. Brooke is the only redeemable character here. She is the ONLY character who I can sympathise with. I'm too invested in these characters to stop, but at the same time, it's so sad seeing what they've all turned into.
  5. Love this story. Everything you write is great.
  6. I've said this like three times now, but this is my favourite story going on and I'd love for you to return to
  7. Thank you all for the kind reviews. I'm glad the ending didn't leave anyone too unsatisfied. This story ended up at over 60,000 words, which puts it at novella-length, so I'm glad it pleased some of the people on this site.
  8. There it is, all finished up. Look, I'm going to be honest with you. I'm kind of burning out on this story. I had a whole other conflict planned with a replica superpower from China, and the events of this chapter were going to stretch across a dozen chapters or more. But the story felt like it was starting to drag, I want to write different stories, I want to focus more on my own bodybuilding training, and I have Navy Basic starting in March, which will completely rule out anything like this. I didn't want to leave this story hanging. So while the ending may feel rushed, I hope you forgive me. I can't overstate how much I appreciate all of the feedback that this story has received. It's been so overwhelmingly positive. It has made me feel better about myself, about my writing, and I feel like I've made multiple friends along the way.
  9. Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, the final chapter. Chapter 29 The next month passed in a blur of sleepy mornings, good food, and laughter, as Dean and I travelled the world. We visited all the standard places, mostly at my insistence: Venice, the Grand Canyon, Paris, Hong Kong, the Pyramids of Giza, the Taj Majal, Rio, Angkor Wat. But Dean always had somewhere new hidden up his sleeve. A midnight flight to see the Northern Lights above Greenland, an ancient ruined city he had found in the deserts of Saudi Arabia, once part of the Frankincense trail. In the otherwise impenetrable jungles of the Congo, I saw wild gorillas gathered in enormous packs, unlike anything you could ever find on TV. I marvelled at Roman ruins in Lybia, made impossible to reach by the civil war. Once he took me to watch a volcano erupt in Indonesia. His senses had picked up the activity long before any seismology equipment did, so we were able to watch it first-hand. Dean took pride in making my face light up in wonder and awe. I was all too happy to oblige. Wherever we went, we had the most incredible sex. Sex in the shower, sex on the grass, sex hovering in mid-air (now that was a strange one), sex in palaces and sex in mud, on islands, in caves. I came on every continent. Give me a year or two and I’ll have every country ticked off my list. Dean’s superhero project went on the backburner. At first we said it was just until the media died down around his abilities. But we both knew that the moment he stepped onto another crime scene, all the speculation and politics would burst back into life. I’d always been better with computers than Dean. And I found fan sites, conspiracy theories, petitions for Dean to assassinate certain world leaders, horrible homemade experiments which people believed would replicate his powers. And I found a lot of porn people had drawn and written about him. I decided that he didn’t really need to see any of these things. I was worried about what the governments of the world would do to manipulate him into acting on their behalf. I knew it was only inevitable that they would make another attempt to steal the secret of his power. He never said it, but I think he had stopped because he was too scared of leaving me again. We got married in summer. Just the two of us. We’d gotten this far almost entirely alone, and that’s how we wanted to end it. But we had each other, that’s all we ever needed. There were elaborate plans for the ceremony – Dean wanted a big church, tuxedos, a horse drawn carriage, doves. He wanted me to feel like I’d just stepped into a fairytale. Little did he know I’d been living one since the day we met. I wanted it done quick. A shotgun wedding in Vegas. I didn’t care about the pageantry – our relationship was never about that. I wanted him. I wanted to be Jake Lawson and I didn’t want to wait for the damn doves to have a free slot in their schedule. We argued about it. I won. I always win our arguments. While I stay rational and calm, his stubbornness soon gives into emotion and it’s all downhill from there. Then I start kissing him to calm down, he takes hold of me, and the sound of shouting and screaming is replaced by the sound of… well… screaming. The good kind. The marriage was every bit as absurd as I’d hoped it would be. I was drunk out of my mind. Our priest was an excellent Abraham Lincoln impersonator. And Cher was our witness. Was it a man under all that makeup, or a woman? I don’t know, but Cher showed a shine to Dean regardless. When she got a bit too touch-feely with his biceps, I had to take her aside and lay down the law. Back off, bitch. He’s mine. I may have slapped Cher. Luckily she was wearing so much rouge that it would be impossible to see if I left a bruise. I like to think I did. I returned to find a cheesy smirk on Dean’s face which could only mean he’d heard it all go down. He held me extra close for the rest of the evening. Even while I was vomiting up a pint of Jack Daniels into one of the Bellagio toilets. It was a night of highs and lows. Dean helped out the government a time or two. He would always insist on including me in the calls with Victor Delaney, and then with the man who replaced him as Home Secretary. At first the Minister sneered at the idea of ‘Mister Langley’ listening into such precious secrets. Dean could barely hold back his anger as he snarled out that I was, in fact, Mister Lawson now. Once it clicked in Delaney’s head that Dean almost always followed my suggestions on how to proceed, he became a lot more polite. Sometimes it seemed like he was talking more to me than Dean. There was a hostage situation in Egypt, an earthquake in Brazil, a forest fire in America. Once he called up to report an imminent terrorist threat in London – but the government didn’t know who would execute it, where they were hiding, where they would strike, and when. This was the kind of problem that only Dean could fix. It helped that we both had a painful history with terrorism – I didn’t need to persuade him to agree. In exchange for his service, the government provided us a cushy home in Central London. It had tall ceilings (which Dean enjoyed), a beautiful kitchen (which I enjoyed) and the largest bed I’d ever seen (which we both enjoyed many times). I was put under permanent protection by the secret services, though they were careful to stay out of sight. And I picked up my old job working for Jolene at the café. Life was starting to come together. We were together. We were happy. Then I had my first heart malfunction. It was like the breath had been knocked out of me, and I collapsed to the floor. I felt a pinching pain in my chest, and the tips of my fingers started to tingle. Dean was there in a second, cradling me, checking me with that x-ray vision of his. Whatever he saw, it scared him. I don’t know whether the government had put in a word for us at the hospital, or whether they were all just terrified of keeping Dean waiting, but we were whisked along at a breakneck pace. Dean refused to put me down the whole time, even when I assured him that I was feeling better. I was put through a number of scans, fluids were taken, pictures snapped of my brain and heart. I just wanted to go home. The smell of antiseptic, the bright sterile lights – it was all getting to me. Then we were sat down in a quiet room, where a man in horn-rimmed glasses told me that I had a very rare heart condition. He told me I had two months to live. And then we were silent. We were silent all the way home, and we didn’t speak for the rest of the day. What was there to say? What do you do when your life comes crashing down around you? When the future that once stretched out so far and beautiful suddenly ends, just like that? No time to tie up loose ends, no climactic moment. And beyond that lies… what? The afterlife? I hope not – if I’m being judged, I’m going straight to hell for slapping Cher. And where does that leave Dean? He offered to force the entire world to dedicate its medical expertise to tackling my condition. I know he was being serious, but I laughed, and turned him down. Honestly, I was scared. Not just for myself, but for him. I’ve seen how he acts when I’m taken away. He becomes an obsessive, unstoppable terminator, destroying anything and killing anyone who gets in his way, until he has me back. But when I die, there will be no reunion. That’s it. I’m gone. I can’t say how Dean will take it. I know it won’t be good. If he turns violent, there could be nothing stopping him from tearing the world apart. So I hatched a plan. Dean seemed to think that with my diagnosis, everything changed. I insisted that it didn’t. We would carry on as we always had. I could still travel, and make love, and cook. The last thing I wanted was to spend my final days tied up in bubble wrap. I had two months to live. I was determined to live them. We paid a visit to Kat in Bristol when I’m said I wanted a chance to see her before… Before I go. That was only part of the reason. While we were there, I encouraged Dean to speak with Brad. Maybe foster some kind of tentative friendship. I would be gone soon. Dean would need a friend in his life, maybe someone to look up to. I believe Brad can fulfil that role. He has experience in combat, in morally difficult situations, he knows what it’s like to intimidate everyone around him with his sheer size. Those are things I can’t relate to. Of course, both he and Kat took a while to get over the fact that my (already gigantic) boyfriend appeared many inches taller and hundreds of pounds heavier than he was the last time they saw him. He made Brad look like a runt. If that annoyed Brad, Dean’s charming personality soon won him over. Considering their first meeting involved one of them being shot and the other being choked, they set that aside with surprising ease. I suppose that makes sense, considering the lives these guys led. As an expert in Krav Maga, Muay Thai, Boxing, and currently working as an MMA instructor, Brad’s skills were astonishing. Once he demonstrated a few moves, Dean was eager to learn. While he was distracted, Kat helped me with my plan. I had left something important here, long ago, and it was time to collect. She could barely keep the tears out of her eyes as we talked about all the good times we had shared. But this was goodbye. Two months later, and here I am. A withered husk of myself. My body slowly dying, but I like to think my spirit has never been stronger. Stood in the kitchen, struggling to lift a pen, wincing with pain as I scrawl out the words, I lay out the final step of my grand plan. I write a letter. At first I stare down at the lines and nothing comes to mind. There’s just too much to say. And so much of what I feel can never be put into words. But I soon get a rhythm going, and it all comes flooding out. Dean, My goofball. My indestructible, unstoppable, charming, protective, handsome, tall, loving, compassionate, intelligent, charismatic, muscular, beautiful goofball. I love you. I love you more than any words will ever be able to express. But I’ll do my best anyway. As a tear hits the page, some of the letters begin to smear. When you came striding into the kitchens of the Shard and into my life, covered in fire, half naked, looking for all the world like a superhero, I wouldn’t have guessed I was looking at my husband-to-be. I thought that was the end for me, not the beginning. But I never knew what it was like to live, to be happy, until I met you. I loved you from the day you left that note under my pillow, I just didn’t know it. And every day after, I fell for you a little more. I fell for the way you hold me close, the way you bury your nose in my hair as we sleep, the way you cross your arms and frown when you think I’m unhappy, the way you’re always trying to make me smile. I fell for that little grin that only you can do. I fell for your laugh, your deep voice that always makes me feel safe. The way you gobble up my pastries like they’re the greatest thing on earth. The way you let me win every argument, and apologise even though you haven’t done anything wrong. Thank you. Thank you so, so much. I’m not scared to die. One day with you is all I ever needed. I got so many wonderful, incredible days. And all I had to do was speak to a lonely boy who was sat on his own in a school playground a long, long time ago. Can you believe that? Time and time again, you have rescued me. I’d have died a dozen times by now, if not for you. The man who saved me. But we can’t always win. Not every story has a happy ending. And when my heart stops, I will be thinking of you. This is the end of my story, but I can’t say where yours will go. What I do know is that you have a difficult task ahead, and I won’t be around to help. But I have no doubt that you can do it. I trust you. Dean Lawson, it’s time to save yourself. Jake. I read the letter to myself, my heart flickering weakly in my chest like a candle burning out. I don’t have long now. But before I close the envelope, I reach into my pocket and pull out something and slip it inside. When I die, Dean will need to decide if his life goes on, and if so, what form it takes. He has never had that choice before. Such an important choice could be a burden, but it is also a gift. My final gift to him. He has struggled so long for control. Of his life. Of his emotions. Well here it is. I take a final look at the three red pills at the bottom of the envelope, then seal it shut. Dean appears in the doorway, just back from fighting some tsunami off the coast of Ecuador. His chest glistens in the light. He looks as hard and powerful as the first time I saw him. "Hey baby. You okay? I thought we could take a nap together." "Sure." I say, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I push myself up from the table on shaking legs, and Dean is instantly by my side, supporting me as I make my way to the bedroom. My heart skips a beat, and Dean stares at my chest. "I'm fine." I say. He rolls his eyes. We lie down together in our usual positions, and for the final time, I fall asleep in the arms of the man I love. THE END
  10. Your comments always bring up interesting questions. Dean's power is finite, but it's so large that it would be pointless to put a number on it because he can do anything that he wants to do. E.g It doesn't matter if you can lift 1000 tons or 1000000, you can still crush a rock just the same. Dean's power grows as he does, and he can feel that change, but it won't really affect his ability, because there's nothing that can push him even close to his limit. Does that make sense? And I haven't forgotten about the pills.
  11. Who doesn't love some good, old fashioned growth? Chapter 28 I’m stirred awake by a very unusual sensation. Dean and I are in our usual positions. His arms are wrapped tightly around me, one curling over my side and the other resting under my head. Our legs are entwined. His nose is buried in my hair. But he feels strange. It’s like he’s moving… but he isn’t. At first I wonder if I’m dreaming. I feel the fingers of his right arm sliding ever so slowly further down my back, and yet his upper arms stay perfectly still. Under my touch, his rippling obliques seem to move, but Dean’s position hasn’t changed. I open my eyes and stare. Every part of him is shifting. My nose is buried in the crevice between his pecs, and I can feel that space growing wider and deeper. It’s like every time he takes a breath, pushing his chest out, his body holds onto the size. And it finally clicks in my head. I realise what’s going on. He’s going through one of his growth spurts, right here, right now. To confirm my theory, I place my hand gently over one of his abs and let out a silent gasp as it swells, millimetre by millimetre, to take up more of the space beneath my palm. As quietly as I can, careful not to wake him up, I look down the bed and see his feet extending further off the edge of the bed. His arms balloon out as if they have an insane pump, the veins becoming more pronounced. The striations on his chest get follow suit as the two iron slabs gain new width. I can feel his legs squeezing into mine as his powerful quads start filling out, taking up more space. The gap between his arms, previously just enough to be confortable, is now oppressively tight. And I start to worry. What if he expands so much that I’m crushed? There’s no way I could ever free myself from this grip. How much did Dean grow last time? Three inches, wasn’t it? Six eight to six eleven. I can already tell that this is something different. It couldn’t have been so extreme last time. “Dean.” I whisper. “Dean, wake up.” When he remains asleep, I start pounding on his chest until my hands are bruised. My voice raises until I’m shouting. Dean doesn’t stir. Now I can’t feel my legs any more. There’s no circulation. My ribs strain against his passive strength. It’s getting hard to breathe. Just as I start to think I might die here, the growth comes to a stop. And Dean opens his eyes. “Morning baby… woah, are you okay?” My body is released, and I hunch over, wheezing. “What happened?” He holds me upright with a huge hand on my shoulder. There’s an expression of guilt plastered on his face. “You…” I let out a harsh cough that hurts the back of my throat. There are pins and needles running down my legs as blood rushes back in. “You grew.” “Again?” Now he looks around, examining himself. “I do feel different. You look a lot smaller. And I feel really… strong. Like, a lot more than usual. And I usually feel pretty strong anyway, so that’s saying something.” “Why didn’t you wake up until it finished?” “I don’t know.” A confused frown tugs at his lips. “I guess my body forced me to sleep through it. I’ve always been alone when I’ve grown, so I assumed it was too subtle to notice. I’m sorry for hurting you. Are you okay?” His eyes trail over my body, probably searching for bruises with x-ray vision. “I’m fine.” He rolls his eyes. I know that’s become my trademark phrase by this point. “There was nothing subtle about what just happened, Dean.” I take his hand and press mine against it. The difference is striking. His were always significantly bigger, but now my entire hand can be contained within his palm. His fingers are as thick as two of mine side by side. The back of his hand is webbed with veins, and his knuckles are big, hard lumps. I’ve never seen a hand look so strong in my life. I don’t realise the full extent of the change until we both stand up. In the time I’ve known Dean, I’ve gone from staring straight forward at the middle of his pecs, to just below the nipple, and now I find myself looking at his abs. Not even the top row, the second ones down. Yesterday, he could stand comfortably, now his head almost touches the ceiling. I didn’t think it was possible for his muscles to grow larger or more defined without becoming grotesque, and yet the body before me is both more muscular and inexplicably more beautiful than before. Every muscle has swelled, pressing the veins and capillaries to the surface. The ridges between his abs and pecs and quads have become sharper. Somehow he’s become more defined. The striations are so visible that even standing still, his physique is alive with motion, twitching, jumping, dancing. Every inch of him conveys a single word, loud and clear: power. Raw, uncontrollable, unstoppable strength. I find a tape measure and start dragging a chair toward him, but it immediately becomes clear that it won’t be enough. So I jam the end of the tape between two of the toes on Dean’s monumental right foot. He bends down to take me by the hips. This is the first time he’s ever needed to bend to do that, and I also noticed that for the first time, his hands are able to completely circle my hips. He lifts me like I weigh less than a feather until my head is the same height as his. I fight off the feeling of vertigo from being so high, stunned that this is going to become Dean’s new normal. It’s so far to the ground, and yet he fills every inch of that space. “Please don’t be above seven feet, please don’t be above seven feet, please don’t be above seven feet…” “Dean, I don’t want to freak you out, but you’re probably past that.” The dismay on his face confirms my statement. I really don’t know why he has such a problem with the seven feet mark. Last time he was so relieved to be five eleven, as if the one inch difference was everything in the world. The tape doesn’t have much length left in it when I get to it above his head. “You’re not going to believe this, Dean…” “What is it?” Now he sounds really worried. “Seven foot-“ “Shit. “Seven.” Dean’s eyes grow wide with dread. “What?” “That’s what it says. You’ve grown eight inches.” “No, that can’t be right.” He starts to stutter, tripping over his words. “I can’t be seven seven. I’ve never grown that much before. And I’m at the end of puberty, so it should be stopping, right?” I can only shrug. It’s not like Dean follows the usual rules of biology. “A lot of guys have a second growth spurt in their early twenties. Though… never this extreme. You know, you were eleven inches taller than me when we met. Now you’re twenty-two inches taller. The height difference has exactly doubled.” “Fuck. No, there must be a mistake. I can’t be a freak.” “How do you think I feel? I need a step ladder to kiss my boyfriend. And you know how much I love jumping up on your back when you’re not looking. I’m the only guy on earth who gets to demand impromptu piggy back rides from a god and I sure as hell can’t do that now.” “Check again, Jake. I can’t be-“ “Dean. I checked.” He collapses onto the bed, still holding me. I feel my heart rush into my throat for a moment as I plummet through the air. It’s a long distance to fall. His abs move with each breath, flexing and unflexing, and my body moves with them. “Seven foot seven… I can’t believe it. This is the worst day of my life.” I give him a light slap on the cheek. “Oh, stop moaning.” “You don’t get it. People will look at me like I’m a monster.” He really can be so dramatic sometimes. “A lot of them already do that, Dean. Even when I met you, you were the size of a Mr Olympia winner, and half a foot taller than most of them. You were never exactly subtle. And anyone who speaks to you for more than five seconds will realise you’re just a sweet, goofy, normal guy. You have a reassuring voice, a kind face, and bright eyes. And if they don’t bother to look past the abs, fuck them. Who cares what they think?” He takes a long time to respond. I cross my arms on top of his pecs and rest my head between them, waiting for him to figure this out. “What do you think?” “I think you’re perfect.” “No, I mean really.” “I’m not just saying that. You’re what every man on earth wants to be. Every male ideal brought to life. Handsome, cute, muscular, tall, rugged. I definitely don't think you're a monster.” “You don’t?” He eyes me warily. “Hell no! Between you and me, it’s kind of hot how big you are now. Don’t you remember the last time you grew happened? I practically leapt onto your dick.” As I say this, his mouth falls open. “So you honestly think I look better now?” “Miles better.” The caution gives way to a cocky smile. “What about when I do this?” He flexes an arm, causing the biggest, roundest, hardest bicep I’ve ever seen to spring to life. My breath catches in my throat. I reach out and wrap my hand as far as I can around his bicep and feel warm, rippling stone. And it doesn’t just feel like the most solid muscle in history. It is. There has never been a physique as impenetrably hard. “Your pulse has picked up, Jake. I guess that means you approve?” Now he starts bouncing his pecs, and that smile gives way to a full blown smirk. His eyes shine when I wipe away the saliva from the corner of my mouth. “Maybe being a big guy isn’t too bad.” He lies back and lets me explore his new body. The dense new mountains of his sculpted back, traps bigger than my delts. I can’t help taking a picture of our feet together. If you said it was a photo of a grown man next to a five year old child, most people would believe it. As I worship every inch of him, I quickly discover that something else has grown too. “Holy shit, Dean. There’s an anaconda down your pants.” He pulls back the elastic of his boxer briefs and takes a deep breath. His eyebrows rise in shock. “Wow.” “You have my permission to fuck me with that thing, but if I survive, I’m nicknaming you ‘Vlad the Impaler’ forever after. Be warned.” The joke makes Dean laugh, vibrating the whole bed, but frankly, I’m not sure how sex is going to work with a penis that big. And if he keeps growing… “I’m gonna’ need a lot of lube. And maybe some ibuprofen.” Dean’s cock twitches at my touch, and rapidly starts to harden. “That can be arranged.”
  12. I think this is a good point which I hadn't considered in my comment. I kind of imagined this chapter setting up a big/small couple in Seth and Trevor. But both people in this equation want to be dominant. There's very little difference between Trevor 'finding peace' in his inadequacy, and simply being psychologically broken by it. His size, and his desire for size, are such a core part of who he is as a character that it's hard to see him accepting and enjoying the position of a submissive, smaller partner without basically abandoning his dreams through sheer hopelessness. It would be a hard thing to write, if the author chooses to go that route. So I'm interested to see how it unfolds. As much as I would love to see this chapter as a lead up to Trevor's big growth spurt, you're probably right.
  13. This story continues to give me very mixed feelings. The quality of your writing and the number of extremely arousing moments keeps me coming back. Seth gets hotter and hotter, and I found him incredibly attractive in this chapter. But I'm never quite sure what to think about the humiliation aspect. It's good to see Seth becoming such a giant, but there was a point in this chapter (as there usually is) where he became outright malicious, specifically here: And here. And it suddenly became really hard to enjoy Seth's growth because I didn't sympathise with him at all. He's such an asshole. A monumental dickwad. And because we're seeing the story from Trevor's point of view, we feel the mockery directed at him, and the insecurity and bitterness he feels. We don't really feel the satisfaction Seth feels because he's not our protagonist. If anything, he's the villain. I've said before where I'd like this series to go - I think it would be cool if Trevor took all the remaining Elongro, or got a hold of a new and improved version, and became a giant like Seth. They could both have learned from their experiences and go on being huge alpha friends together. And to be honest, chapters 3 - 5 read like the beginning of a story about growth and role reversal, where our protagonist is just about to have his shock growth and turn the tables. So I go into every chapter waiting for the big twist and would be very satisfied when it happened. But that's because I don't like the humiliation aspect. However I noticed how you've introduced Trevor having erotic thoughts about Seth, and Seth getting excited by Trevor's interest. So it might be satisfying if they ended up together. I think if that happened, Trevor and Seth would become 'on the same side' rather than rivals. And if this caused Seth to take a more protective stance towards Trevor rather than constantly belittling him, I personally think that would make a good ending. But that's just based on what I find attractive, which is big, protective, sweet guys. But regardless, based on this chapter, it does seem like the story is heading in the direction of a tiny Trevor being with a huge Seth. And if you manage to resolve Trevor's insecurities about it in a good way, then that could be really hot. Everyone loves a couple with dramatic size and height differences. Any reaction on my part, even if it's just bitterness about poor Trevor, should be taken as a testament to your writing. Hell, the fact that your story has led to such strong and divisive opinions shows that you've managed to get people seriously invested in these characters. Ultimately, write what makes you hot. It's your story and if people like it, great. But it belongs to no one else but you. I'll read it regardless just to find out how it goes. I can't promise I will enjoy every part of it, but it's not your responsibility to cater to everyone's interests. The diversity of tastes which you can find on this forum is what makes it great. I wouldn't change my story (The Man Who Saved Me) to cater to someone who enjoys humiliation, and if you enjoy humiliation, you shouldn't change this story to cater for me. I'm sorry if my past comments came across as negative or critical. But I will continue to give my thoughts. Partly because I do love your writing and I want you to know that. Partly because feedback, even not-entirely-positive feedback is really useful. In writing my story, I've had people speculate on what will happen, and they brought up ideas that I never thought of. And those ideas made it into the story, and improved it. Also if anyone is curious, this is how I picture Seth.
  14. Just a little one today, it's pretty lighthearted and fun. Chapter 27 JAKE I wake up to see Dean staring at me. He has my hand between his, and his eyes are focussed on the little ring. He looks so happy. “Hey.” I whisper, my voice still rough. “Hey.” He whispers back. “What’s a place you’ve always wanted to see?” “Hmm? I don’t know if I could narrow it down.” “Do it for me.” I stretch my arms, running my fingertips along the soft linen, onto the smooth, hard skin of Dean’s chest. With my lips pursed, I look from the rock-hewn ceiling into his eyes. Eyes so blue, so much like the sea that I can’t imagine ever fearing the water again. “Italy. Some sleepy little town with ancient cracked churches and mountains in the distance, where you can hear groaning Vespers on every street corner, sip wine and eat fresh pasta by the water’s edge, and the buildings have those little crooked green shutters, you know the ones.” I sigh. “I’ve always wanted to go somewhere like that. But life always seems to get in the way.” Dean pulls me close, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Then let’s go.” “What? Now? Just like that?” “Why not? I want to take you somewhere nice.” He says, massaging the slender muscles in my back. “I know just the place.” “Okay. Sure, let’s do it.” I sit up to start packing, but Dean tells me not to bother. He says that if I need anything while I’m there, he’ll come back for it. I sometimes forget how he lives in such a different world. Distance and time mean nothing to him. If he wants to go somewhere, he goes. If he wants to do something, he does it. So as soon as we’re dressed, he picks me up and off we go. I want it on the record that I hate high-speed flying. Even when Dean does his best to shelter me, it’s cold and loud and unpleasant. Whenever we land I always need help standing because I’m so dizzy and my legs are shaking up a storm. This time is no different. However, what I see takes my breath away. “Welcome to Pitigliano.” Dean says. It’s exactly like what I always imagined. Quiet, peaceful, beautiful yet understated, ancient and yet alive. The houses are carved from cream-coloured rock, and there are ruined aqueducts and churches and shrines, little cafes and grocery shops.It’s not a large town, but it would take me days to explore every winding alleyway, every hidden courtyard. It really is like stepping into a dream. “This is incredible...” “It was nothing. But I’m glad you’re happy.” He says with a carefree smile. “I am.” I twist the ring on my finger until the butterflies stop fluttering in my stomach. “I expected Italy to be so… touristy.” He nods. “It is. I chose a place not many people visit. So what do you want to do first?” I fight off the urge to drag Dean around, pointing at everything and going ‘ooo’. He wouldn’t let me drag him anywhere so there’s no point trying. Instead, we explore Pitigliano on foot. Dean keeps a firm arm around my shoulder and I tuck myself into his side and listen to the birds, the Italian grandmas nattering about their sons. I feel the wind on my skin, warm and dry. We stop for pizza at a family-owned restaurant and the chef isn’t subtle in marvelling at Dean’s size. I don’t need to be Italian to figure out the word for ‘giant hulking fucker’. One thing that concerns me at first is how rural Italians feel about seeing two men together, hugging in public, passionately kissing up against the walls of old cathedrals. Maybe they’re really disgusted by it. But I suppose it doesn’t matter. If anyone has a problem with us, they keep quiet. One look at Dean is enough to ensure that – it doesn’t take much intelligence to figure out that annoying the seven-foot bodybuilder is a bad idea. But they wouldn’t worry if they knew him like I do. Even though I’ve witnessed what he’s capable of, it’s hard not to look at Dean and see a big harmless teddy bear who just wants to cuddle. That is, until Dean talks me into trying an espresso. I very clearly state that I hate espressos in all their forms, but he insists the taste different in Italy. When I spit the thing out, washing my mouth out with water, he laughs so loud that half the town hear it. We rent a room and decide to stay the night. I mention to Dean that he might have to fly home to pick up pyjamas. He tells me that everyone in Italy sleeps naked. I suspect that’s another lie but I like the sound of it too much to call his bluff. The room is sparsely decorated, but comes with a large west-facing window and more importantly, a double bed. I’ll never forget the feeling of Dean sliding into me as he cradles my body in his super strong hands, filling me up until I gasp, while the sun sinks below the horizon in a flush of orange and red. I’ll never forget the way he holds me close, kisses the bruises his fingers left on my skin as he ravaged me. His deep, resonant growls and grunts. Utterly dominating and supremely confident. He touches me like he owns me, like I'm his. I suppose now I am. Afterward, I touch a certain spot on Dean’s side and he flinches back. “What was that?” I ask. “Nothing.” A slow smile creeps into life across my face. “Are you ticklish?” “…No!” Now he’s glaring at me. “You’re ticklish!” I dive for him, eager to test my theory. “Jake.” Dean instantly clamps his huge hands around mine and holds them up above my head. I let out a pained yelp. As quickly as he grabbed me, he lets go, apologising profusely, checking me over for injuries. I lean into his chest, the look of distress giving way to a devious grin as my fingers find his sides. Dean bursts into laughter, twisting and turning at the sensation. Within seconds, he has me pinned down again. His eyes are narrowed. “You tricked me! I thought I hurt you!” “It worked, didn’t it? I can’t believe you’re ticklish!” “Didn’t your parents ever warn you about messing around with super powered killing machines?” “Oh, stop it.” I laugh. “What a drama queen.” “You’re going to pay for that.” And true to his word, he starts vigorously tickling me, my feet, my sides, under my arms. I struggle to breathe through the laughter, and beg for him to stop. He only grins wider. I try to push him off me, but I might as well lift a truck. “Swear you’ll never do that again.” He says. I shake my head, and another round of tickling commences. “Swear it.” Now his fingers are moving faster than I can see. It’s overwhelming. “Fine!” Dean pauses. “Go on…” “I swear I won’t tickle you…” “Good.” “…Until you least expect it.” He sighs loudly, pulling me close while clamping my arms at my side. “I guess that’ll have to do. I’d keep tickling, but I have a feeling the owners of this place are going to call the cops if you keep screaming for me to stop.” I close my eyes, snuggling into him, breathing in his musky scent. “As if they could do anything.” "I guess not." Dean snorts. “They might kick us out... but the chances of them successfully taking you away from me are zero." “So we've pissed off half the town by screaming, laughing, and fucking. Where are we going tomorrow?”
  15. I think it's time for a departure from all the anger and conflict which has set the tone for quite a while now. Here's something a bit lighter. Chapter 26 The house is empty. Jake is nowhere to be found. I close my eyes and listen, separating out the sounds of the birds and their heartbeats, the squirrels scrambling up trees, insects clicking and chirping and scampering, the pump of water through the veins of leaves. And once all the other sounds have faded to the background, I catch a stifled sob about a quarter of a mile away. I find Jake curled up at the edge of the stream where the water is deepest, his shirt and trousers and shoes piled up behind him. His teeth are chattering. Small drops of water speckle his legs. I sit down behind him, pulling his little body into mine, letting my heat seep into him. “I tried.” He whispers, pushing pebbles around with a finger. “To swim? But you hate open water.” “That’s why I tried.” “Oh.” As he gradually stops shivering, I plant a gentle kiss on the top of his head. “How did it go?” “Not well…” A tear slips down his cheek. “I’m such a coward.” “Don’t say that!” I bark, before lifting him to his feet. “Why don’t we try again? Together?” Without waiting for an answer, I throw off my clothes so that all I’m wearing are boxer shorts. Jake’s reaction is instant and hilarious. His eyes go wide, running over my striated pecs and abs, my teardrop thighs, diamond calves, up to the rippling cords in my arms. I subtly flex each muscle as he looks at it, causing his mouth to drop open. I never really cared about being so big and shredded until I met Jake. But the way he looks at me is something I want to enjoy every day. “Baby, my eyes are up here.” Jake clears his throat as a blush creeps up his neck. Fuck, he’s cute. He peers uncertainly into my face, then turns to watch the water bubble and churn. He swallows. Once. Twice. “Okay.” I hold his hand from behind as he approaches the bank, tentatively dips his big toe, jumps back in fright, then goes to dip it again. While he can’t see me, I warm the water in one of the deep pools upstream with heat vision, so that it feels less like a bitter Canadian mountain river and more a Caribbean shore. Jake holds his breath, then plunges his whole foot under. “You’re doing great!” I say, guiding him forward. “Now the other one.” Jake follows through. Sure, he’s being looked after by an indestructible, unstoppable super human, and sure, the water only comes up to his ankles, but I’ve never been so proud. He shoots me an infectious smile. “This isn’t so bad. I think I want to go deeper.” Before each step, he breathes deeply in and out, feeling his place, adjusting to it, then squeezes my fingers as hard as he can and moves one leg hesitantly forward. I congratulate and encourage him the whole time, tell him how proud I am, how well he’s doing. And gradually the water moves up over his knees, then his waist. He starts shaking as it reaches his chest from the adrenaline pumping through his system. When he steps off a small ledge where the stream is deep enough that he can’t stand but I can, I grab him firmly by the waist and hold his head above the water, guiding him in how to kick with his legs and flap his arms to stay afloat. At first he looks so ridiculous that I can’t help laughing, but he soon nails the technique. “I’m going to let go now, okay?” “WHAT?” He shrieks, clinging onto my shoulders for dear life. He squeezes so hard that if I weren’t more dense than diamond, it might hurt. Now I’m trying not to laugh again. “You’ll be fine. You know how to swim. If there are any problems, I’ll be right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.” “Promise?” “Promise.” He nods and lets go of me. Slowly, so softly that I doubt he even feels it, I loosen my hold until it’s barely there at all. I keep my hands just an inch away from his waist, ready to lock on in a nanosecond if he needs me. Jake starts bobbing, splashing his arms, kicking hard with his legs. At first he nearly goes under a couple of times, but then he gets into a rhythm. “Dean! I’m doing it! I’m swimming!” He smiles so wide that he accidentally swallows some water and has to cough it up. “You sure are!” I’m almost as excited about this as he is. “That’s a perfect doggy paddle.” “I can’t believe- oh-“ As his technique falters, his mouth and nose submerge. I take hold of his hips again and bring him to my muscular chest for a deep, passionate kiss. My fingertips run down his back and feel him shiver in ecstasy. Jake clings to my neck, squeezing my hard traps, pulling at my hair. I love it when he does that, and growl in appreciation. When Jake is forced to break away to take a breath, I ask “You ready to try diving?” The confidence from earlier dissipates, and I begin to worry I pushed him too far. “I don’t know…” “You don’t have to.” “I want to.” He insists. “I just don’t know if I can… You keep me safe, right?” I shrug my wide shoulders. “I’ve taken a bullet to the face to protect you, Jake. Many bullets, actually. I’m not going to let you drown in a mountain stream that barely comes up to my chest.” “Oh… right.” He says. It takes a little while to psych him up, but he eventually lowers his head under for a split second, then rises up again with deep, gasping breaths. “Fuck, that’s cold!” Shit. I never noticed the warm water flowing away. I quickly heat it up again. Not only did Jake manage to swim, he did it in water cold enough to give him hypothermia within a few minutes. I push his wet hair out of his eyes and say “You did it, man!” “Yep. Now let’s get the fuck out of here!” As he speaks, his arms tighten around my neck, and I take that as my cue. We lift out of the water, back toward the valley. I can feel Jake shivering and speed up. Within seconds, I have him wrapped in a towel and toasty warm, with some hot chocolate in front of him. “How are you managing here?” I ask as he settles behind the screen of my computer. The first thing I did after bringing him home and fucking his brains out was set up all the amenities it was missing – proper plumbing, gas connections for the oven and heating (I never needed to use it), and most importantly to Jake, a stable internet connection. I had to find a cell tower, but that wasn’t a problem. There were loads of them just lying around in the American Midwest. Hopefully it wasn’t spotted flying north. “I love this place.” Jake motions to the room around us. “It’s beautiful and weird in the best way. I’m going to enjoy living here until we find a more permanent solution.” My head snaps to him. “What?” “Well I can’t live here forever…” He says with a rise of his slender shoulders, as if it’s obvious. When he spots me scowl, he smiles sweetly. “Dean, I know this is your home, but it can’t be mine.” “Why not?” “Because the nearest supermarket is at least two hundred miles away.” I cross my rippling arms and frown. “I can get whatever you need.” “And what about a job?” “You can get one of those anywhere on Earth. I’ll drop you off in the morning and pick you up after.” “And friends? What about those?” “We could…” I fall silent. “Dean, I can’t rely on you for every little thing.” He sighs, rises from his chair, and hugs me. His little nose slots into the groove between my abs. “I need to be able to live my own life. We’ve been over this. I know that after everything that’s happened, it’s tempting to just lock me in a tower like a Disney princess, where no one but you can ever reach me. And honestly, for a little while, I might like that. The world has turned out to be a lot scarier than I thought. But it can’t be forever.” He’s right. God damn it. I hate it when he’s right. Why does it have to happen so often? “But we can be forever, right? You and me?” I’m not used to sounding nervous. But if Jake can swim, if he can put his faith in me, it's fitting that I take a dive of my own. And give all the power to him. He seems to pick up on it too. “Of course. Why would you…” “Just checking.” I mutter, before plucking something from one of the shelves covered in mementos from my youth. As soon as Jake sees it, his eyes begin to brim with tears. I open the box and take out a little ring. It’s not gold or silver, and there are no diamonds. That all seemed so normal. So pedestrian. We’re not normal and we never will be, if I have anything to say about it. The ring is made up of three horizontal bands fused together, each a different colour. Grey, black, and red. "I've never been good at speeches, so prepare your best fake swoon." I get down on one knee, which is a little awkward since I’m still taller than him. “I remember telling you about how I travelled through space. You never said it, but I could tell you were sad that you’d never see what I saw. I wanted to take you with me. I couldn’t figure out how…” I swallow. My throat is thick and it’s hard to speak. “So I made this. I used three stones. One from the surface of Mercury, one from Venus, and one from Mars.” Now there are tears streaming down Jake’s cheeks. I can feel myself welling up too, but manage to keep a lid on it. “I love you so much, Jake. I never realised how much until I thought I’d lost you. And I never want to go another day like that. I don’t care if I’m selfish, I want to keep you all to myself for the rest of my life.” He nods along, mouthing the next words to me, aching for me to say them. I don’t plan to disappoint. “Jake Langley, marry me.” He leaps into my arms, crying into my neck, almost causing me to drop the ring. He kisses me over and over, with more passion and fire than ever before. I give as good as I get, plucking him from the ground and squeezing him hard enough to hurt. I frame his delicate face in my big clumsy hands and look into those eyes, starstruck that I ever had a chance to find someone like this. Someone who loves me for who I am, my incredible strengths, my incredible weaknesses and everything in between. He accepts it all. He makes everything I do seem worth it. And I truly think he makes me a better man. The man I want to be. “So… is that a yes or what? Don’t leave me hanging here.” Jake laughs through the tears. He takes the ring and holds it up to admire it, before slipping it on his finger. A perfect fit. “Jake Lawson…” An adorable smile lights up his face. “I could get used to that.”
  16. I do completely understand anyone who decides they just want a good wank and that this story takes too much effort to get to those parts.
  17. Chapter 25 “How was the meeting, Victor?” Calls Marianne Delaney as her husband sweeps through the front door. Their home is beautiful and, by Central London standards, incredibly spacious. But when a politician’s home is being paid for by the public, and that same politician gets to decide how much is spent, they always go for the best. “I’ll manage, Darling. I thought Home Secretary would be a cushy job. But since that bloody super human turned up, I haven’t had a moment’s rest. If the cabinet doesn’t stop pissing itself, we’ll be drowning by next week.” He flops onto the sofa, his fingers pressed into his eyes, as Marianne places a steaming cup of tea on the table near his arm. Strong, with two sugars, just how he likes it. “What’s the fuss? He seems like a good man to me. Fighting crime, saving people. He’s done more to clean up this city in a month than you’ve done in three years.” She lets out a laugh, patting Victor on the shoulder to let him know she’s only joking. “You might not be such a fan if you saw what he did to a few dozen SAS guys the other day.” He shakes his head, shivering slightly. “I only saw pictures, but that was enough to keep me awake for days.” “Why would he do that?” “It doesn’t matter, Darling.” He scoffs. “But if he can slaughter the most highly trained soldiers in the world like cattle, what do you think he could do to us?” Just then, a faint ringing sound comes from upstairs. “That will be the secret phone.” Marianne notes. “Go on, Victor. It might be important.” With a groan, Victor lumbers to his feet, clicking his back twice in the process. He lifts his mug and starts making his way through the house. “What does those shitstains want this time? If this isn’t Princess bloody Kate offering to suck me off, I’m resigning.” “I heard that!” Marianne calls. “Sorry Darling.” Victor steps into his dark study and slams the door behind him. He slides the lock into place with the palm of his hand. “What is it?” He growls, bringing the phone to his ear. “Yes. Fine. I don’t care, Henry. Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow? Good night, Henry. No. Does it matter? I said good night!” The phone clangs as he slams it awkwardly into its holder. “Who was that?” I ask, my voice deep and unsettlingly calm. Gasping, his face turning pale, Victor spins around to find me waiting in his leather desk chair. He dives for the door, but I move faster than the human eye can follow. Before he can even touch the lock, I have a firm grasp on the collar of his suit and lift him clear off the ground. “Bad idea.” My arm is rock hard and totally still. He doesn’t struggle as I cross the room and dump him roughly in his chair. “You… How did you get in here?” “Through the front door.” I stand to my full height, forcing him to look up into my eyes as he takes in all seven foot of me. Nothing but muscle and raw, living power. “You and I are going to have a little chat, Victor.” “I don’t know what you want, but I can’t give it to you.” He shrinks in on himself as I approach. I watch microscopic beads of sweat seep from his skin and smile. “Did you read that news story about how half of the mountains in Antarctica spontaneously collapsed?” As I speak, I casually swipe up the stainless steel ‘World’s Best Dad’ trophy from Victor’s desk and crush it in one hand. The metal screeches and groans as I mould and stretch and fold it over itself like play-doh, my powerful fingers digging in and pulling, then pressing back again. “Scientists couldn’t explain it. But they were looking for a natural event. That wasn’t natural. It was what happened when someone pissed me off.” Victor’s gaze is transfixed on the metal as it warps and fuses. I squeeze it hard, causing it to glow, and his eyes widen. He’s too stunned to speak, so I talk for him. “I understand why you did what you did. You saw my power and thought you could harness it for your own ends, right? It makes sense. But do you know where you slipped up?” He cautiously shakes his head. I can hear his heart thundering in his chest. Good. “You had no idea the power you were trying to control. Either through ignorance or pride, you underestimated me. It’s an easy mistake to make. So why don’t I fill you in?” I slap the remains of the trophy down on the desk with a bang that sends cracks streaking over the wood. Victor flinches, then reaches out to take it. But he isn’t expecting the metal to be hot. One touch and he whips his hand away, hissing. “My power is infinite, Victor. It has no limit. I’m strong enough to shatter the Earth’s crust with a single punch. I can move so incomprehensibly fast that we’d need to rewrite the laws of physics to explain it. Point every nuclear missile on earth at me, have them all go off at once, and the most it would do is ruffle my hair. I can survive a supernova – I know, I checked. And before you start trying to find other ways of killing me, I can’t be poisoned, starved, burned, frozen, drowned, cut, asphyxiated, or crushed; I have no weakness.” “Oh god.” He mutters to himself as he trembles. “My reflexes are so rapid that I could write a fucking sonnet in the time between a trigger being pulled and the bullet leaving the barrel. And I can shoot rays from my eyes hotter than the heart of a neutron star.” To demonstrate my point, I squint, bathing the Home Secretary in a harsh red light. “Take every physical attribute, every sense, every human ability, multiply them by the largest number you can imagine. And then double it. That’s me.” I take a step closer. Victor takes a deep breath and holds it. “You exist because I allow it. And you will die the instant I revoke that privilege.” “Please.” He begs. “We don’t want to be your enemy. We just-“ “That’s a lie.” My anger gets the better of me, and my words come out as a thick snarl. I take a moment to calm myself. “Victor, I can hear a butterfly’s wings beat from a continent away, and I can look through two walls, at the individual subatomic particles that make up the atoms in your wife’s skin. There is nothing you can hide from me. No secret meetings, no confidential files, nothing.” Now Victor freezes. His mouth makes a small ‘o’. “What did you hear?” He tentatively asks. “From the COBRA meeting?” “Everything.” “So why are you telling me all of this?” “Because I think you’re a smart man. Smart men make logical choices. And once you know what I am, the only logical choice is to stay the fuck out of my business.” I drive a fist through the desk like it’s made of toilet paper, causing a loud crunch to fill the room. “I know you had the love of my life kidnapped and tortured. That was stupid, minister. There will be consequences. I won’t lie, I considered just flattening Parliament and everyone in it, but my boyfriend has been trying to help me get over my violent tendencies. It scares him when I hurt people, and hate scaring him. So you’re safe.” I let that hang in the air. “For now.” “W- what are you going to do?” “You’ll see.” Now he looks up at me. I can see fear. But not same fear I felt watching Jake scream as his toe was chopped off with wire cutters. So I decide to push it further. “It should go without saying that if anyone so much as thinks about hurting, abducting, or manipulating Jake to get to me, I’ll lose all the progress I’ve made at this whole peace and love thing. You don’t want that, minister. Do you?” Victor emphatically shakes his head. “I didn’t think so. When Jake’s with me, nothing can get to him. But I can’t be there all the time. Westminster has resources I don’t have. GCHQ, MI5, MI6. Use them. Monitor and eliminate any possible threat to Jake.” Now I squat on the balls of my feet, lowing myself to Victor’s level, moving my face just an inch away from his. “If you fail, I’ll come for you. And your family. And your friends. I will kill anyone who has ever so much as thought about you and I won’t stop until every memory of you, ever trace of your existence has been purged from the face of the earth. Am I understood?” At first he’s too terrified to respond, but then he catches himself, and nods. “Good. Don’t disturb my life again. I know you politicians like causing trouble, starting wars. Well this isn’t a war. Calling it that implies you can win.” I stand and start making my way to the door. To my surprise, Victor calls meekly after me. “If we need you, will you help us?” This man has more balls than I thought. “I will never work for you. But if there’s a real threat that puts civilians at risk, I’ll hear you out. I might decide to intervene. I might not. That’s all I’m offering.” “Thank you.” I tear open the door, causing the heavy duty lock to buckle and fall to the floor. Then in the blink of an eye, I’m gone. Victor leans on the wreckage of his desk for a full ten minutes, his head in his hands, as his heart rate returns to normal levels. His hands find the statue. It's cooler now. He can feel the large finger prints left in the metal. “Good lord…” His eyes catch on the secret phone. It takes him a few tries to dial the right number, as he fails to suppress his shaking. Finally he gets it right. “Prime Minister? It’s Victor.”
  18. This is a short chapter, and it comes a little late, but I will (hopefully) be posting two more in the coming hours. Chapter 24 DEAN From high over in the stratosphere, one by one, I watch them all file in. A meeting has been called in Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, informally known as Cobra. When the government needs to convene at short notice to plan a response in times of emergency, this is where they gather. Meetings have been made public knowledge in the past, but just as often they are kept secret. Today’s assembly appears to be the latter. Unfortunately for them, it’s impossible to keep a secret from me. The moment Jake told me the government were behind this, I won. They lost. They just don't know it yet. Around this table are a number of people I recognise, and a few I don’t. The Prime Minister, of course. On one side, the Foreign secretary, who represents the UK in international affairs and assumes responsibility for the Secret Intelligence Service - MI6. On the other side of the PM is the Home Secretary, representative of the Security Service – MI5. Among them also are the directors and executives of GCHQ, the UK’s cyber-intelligence unit, the Secretary for Defence, an SAS officer (one of the kidnappers who wasn’t at the factory when I arrived), the Mayor of London, and a woman from the CIA. They take their seats under the dim light of a lamp that won’t stop buzzing, completely confident that their soundproofing, signal blockers and armed guards will keep away any unwanted ears. That’s cute. The PM flicks to a page in his file, adjusts his glasses, and begins to read. “I have called this meeting to calculate and plan a response to the unsettling developments of the last few days.” He coughs. “We recently became aware of the presence of a genetically enhanced man living in Greater London. Our sources identified him as Dean Lawson, but were unable to learn of his origins, the extent of his abilities, or what his plans were. Due to the potential threat posed by such an individual, the intelligence services began thoroughly monitoring Mr Lawson, as well as anyone he regularly interacted with – especially his apparent partner, Jake Langley.” At the mention of Jake, I focus on the page in front of the Prime Minister, and find a small but detailed profile complete with a picture of him in his Shard pastry chef uniform. “Motion sensing cameras at the Treble Wharf facility in Suffolk identified Langley and Lawson entering the ruined building. The facility was once part of a Cold War project to create superhumans for military use, until the building was destroyed in the early 2000s, killing everyone inside. Since then all information about Treble Wharf has been designated classified and the site has been quarantined. A recovery team was dispatched to comb through the wreckage, but found that all evidence had been destroyed, with the exception of a bottle of pills which could temporarily reduce or eliminate these enhancements.” I feel my muscles tense. What the fuck? How could something like that exist? The idea of the government holding a tool which could take away my powers… I can’t allow it. Did I really miss them when I cleared out the building? I was certain I had destroyed everything. “In late May, with the help of Langley, Lawson began a crime-fighting campaign, using his power to stop crimes, and anonymously sending the evidence to the relevant law enforcement. While this may have been positive, and indicated that Lawson wanted to work within the confines of the law, we were concerned that Lawson would turn on big businesses, political allies, and influential figures whom he perceived as criminal. The video footage was carefully analysed in order to gain a rudimentary understanding of his abilities, which we believe to be enormous. It was decided by myself, the Home Secretary, Foreign Secretary, and Secretary for Defence, that that he could not be left to operate independently. Lawson was to be contained, destroyed, controlled, or relieved of his power.” He says, before closing his file and nodding to the man across from him. The Secretary for Defence is a small, squat man whose waistcoat strains to wrap around his prodigious gut. He looks somewhat like a beaver, complete with long white whiskers poking from his nose. “Any attempting to apprehend or destroy the target poses incredible risks. Working in conjunction with MI5, we sought a solution which bypassed confrontation with Mr Lawson.” His voice comes out as a shrill, nasal squeak. “That solution was an SAS raid in which Jake Langley was captured from his flat in Central London and moved to a secret location in Bristol. Several violent crimes were staged throughout the city in order to draw away Lawson’s attention from the scene. We aimed for a simple hostage situation. Exploit Lawson’s relationship with Langley to coerce him into working on our behalf. This plan succeeded briefly…” A long, silent pause. Say it, asshole. I snarl to myself. Say it. Tell them how you failed. “…until Lawson tracked down the location, freed Langley, and violently massacred the Special Forces operatives at the scene. The pills from Treble Wharf were taken, among other classified information, which may lead Lawson to recognise our part in the operation. If this happens, his instability could pose an even greater threat.” My righteous indignation gives way to confusion. The pills were taken? Did Jake steal them, or did someone else come along? That must be it. Why wouldn’t Jake tell me if he found something like that? The Secretary for Defence places five files on the table with quiet deliberation. “I have set aside a number of possible response options. The first and simplest is a total denial of all responsibility. If Lawson approaches us, we simply pretend nothing happened. No knowledge of the events can be shared with anyone whatsoever, all paperwork is destroyed. Based on Lawson’s usual compliance with the law, plausible deniability may be enough to persuade him.” Good luck with that, asshole. “The second option is a heartfelt apology for our actions, and a reasoned plea for cooperation. We have wide ranging security powers which could be used to protect those close to Mr Lawson in exchange for his future compliance. He might even be persuaded to allow blood samples to be taken so that others with his power can be created, as long as he is given oversight of the project.” Hmm. I like the part about the apology, and protecting Jake. But they’re insane if they think even a drop of my blood is going anywhere. Besides, nothing can pierce my skin. Their only real tool was the pills and they’re gone. “Thirdly, we could deflect responsibility onto a foreign power or terrorist organisation. Or we could perform another abduction of Mr Langley, though this would be difficult as his location is currently unknown.” I clench my teeth so hard that it produces heat. If they even think about it, their little room and everything around it will be reduced to a crater faster than the time it takes for an atom to split. Now the minister pauses. “…Or a direct, all-out attack on Lawson himself, using the most powerful weaponry available.” Just try it, asshole. Give me a reason to break you. The GCHQ representative has remained silent throughout the discussion, but now clears his throat to draw the attention of the table to him. He taps his fingers on the polished mahogany in a haphazard rhythm. “Pardon my bluntness, but aren’t these responses a little… crude? I would like to propose an alternative. Manipulation. Seed stories into the media which force Mister Lawson into a negative light. False testimonies, political condemnation, accusations of extrajudicial killings and unlawful behaviour, perhaps even fund a Hollywood horror film about a superhero who turns evil and starts to kill everyone. Mister Lawson wants morally simple and clean. He wants to satisfy his ego by becoming a hero. All we need to do is complicate matters. Make him doubt himself, his convictions, and create the impression that changing the world does more harm than good. Make him give up.” This is received with a number of positive murmurs. “I like this idea, but I think it would be a waste of Lawson’s potential. This man is a living WMD. We can’t expect him to become an accountant.” The Foreign Minister announces, a shrewd smile creeping across his angular face. “What if use those same tools - media, Hollywood, and political discourse – to the opposite effect. Encourage Lawson. Ingrain him with such conviction that he acts without hesitation or thought. Then we fabricate criminal activity around certain targets that this government cannot reach. We would need to tip him off, but planting undercover agents shouldn’t be hard. Think about it. A foreign head of state threatens to embargo British finance? Make him out to be a paedophile and Lawson will take care of him for us.” Now that’s a suggestion that the room can get behind. The men and women around the table express their agreement with clear enthusiasm, already planning out how to turn me into a puppet under their sway. How to control me. Because any power that isn’t under their complete authority is a threat, because they’re the only ones who can be trusted with strength. But now I know their game. These politicians will never control me. A part of me rises to the surface – the part Jake always warns me about. It whispers seductively from the back of my mind. I resist as well as I can, but it’s very persuasive. These fat cats don’t respect me. Appealing to their laws and customs was the wrong idea. It made them see me as weak. But I’m not weak, I’m stronger than anyone and anything in existence. And it’s about damn time these assholes recognised it. It’s time they felt a little fear.
  19. I like how this is going. Please keep it up!
  20. As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I don't really see this story going anywhere film-related. It works for some of the people on this forum because it's made for this demographic, but it has neither the quality nor the mass market appeal that would make a good film. Plus let's be honest, this story is heavily inspired by Superman, so it's not like I've come up with anything original.
  21. Thank you for the lovely comment! I'm happy to hear that people find it immersive and feel invested in the characters. By the way, all of your questions will be answered.
  22. This is, to me, the hottest story on this site. Purely in terms of turning me on, this story does it more than any other. Which is pretty incredible, considering the sheer number of stories trying to do that. So keep it up.
  23. This one took me a little while to get through, but it's longer than average. Chapter 23 Three little words: ‘41 Haversham Road’. I put down the phone, take a deep breath, and check myself over in the mirror. What I see is a marked improvement over the way I looked in that Starbucks bathroom, but that’s not saying much. The blood is gone, and my hair has been washed, my teeth brushed, my face rinsed. But there’s no hiding the pallid complexion or the bags beneath my eyes. It seems like only moments have passed before I hear a knock on the door. Through the translucent glass, a large shadow is visible. I’m sure he’s watching me right now. Part of me wants to let him stew, maybe text him that I changed my mind. But I can’t do that. He’s here and if I know Dean Lawson, he’s not leaving without me. I open the door and look up into that beautiful face. He really is flawless, so unlike me. I can tell he pushed a hasty comb through his soft hair, which is the most he ever needs to do. My stomach flutters at the sight of him. No matter what he does to upset me, I will never be able to look at him without awakening the butterflies in my belly. Each breath pushes his slab-like pecs up against the fabric of his shirt, threatening to tear the seams. It's not even particularly tight, and yet I can trace the powerful mounds of muscle under the fabric. His neck, traps, delts, and triceps cause it to rise and sink as it struggles to wrap around shoulders broader than any human should be. And yet it falls loose around his core. His wandering eyes linger on my foot before returning to my face. Dean has never been a hard man to read and his thoughts are usually clear on his face. But for once, I’m stumped. He looks at me with an expression I don’t understand. A strange combination of anxiety, concern, despair, fear, desperation, anger, pride, hope, and joy – I never knew someone could appear to feel so many things at once. “Hi.” I say, barely louder than a whisper. Without a word, Dean steps closer and wraps his arms around me, firm but gentle, plucking me from the ground so that my head rests in the crook of his neck and his nose is in my hair, where I can feel the warmth of his body seeping through me, hear his racing heart. Where I feel safe. I run my hands over his body, registering the raised veins that criss-cross every inch of him with the tips of my fingers. I feel the striations ripple under my touch. “I’m sorry, Jake.” He mutters. “I never should have lost control, I never should have freaked out and flown away, I never should have left you to deal with the mess I made all by yourself in the middle of the night, while you were hurt, and I know you probably hate me and just want me to leave you alone, but…” He takes a breath. There’s a slight quaver to his voice. “I’m really glad you’re okay.” “I don’t hate you, Dean.” I reply as a tear rolls down my cheek. His hold tightens in response. He doesn’t say anything else. There will be plenty to talk about later, but right now, I just want my muscle-bound boyfriend to cradle me protectively against his chest. And that’s what he wants too. Dean stands in the hallway of Kat’s house, swaying lightly from foot to foot, his large fingers exploring my hair as I breathe in the scent of his skin. It might last five minutes or five hours, but it’s not long enough. For the first time since all this began, I feel warm. Really warm, right to my core. And when Dean eventually moves to put me down, it’s with a long, sad sigh. Afterward he seems determined to keep in physical contact, either by holding my hand, or touching my shoulder, kissing my neck – whenever he has a chance to touch me, he does. And I revel in every second of it. “I understand why you lost control, and I know you were angry. So was I. And if our positions had been switched, I’d probably go berserk too. But what happened to those men… It can’t happen again.” Dean’s eyes grow sad. He stares at his feet as he nods. “It won’t. I swear.” “I’m sure you mean that. But do you really think you can make guarantees?” I think back to the man I saw tearing through my kidnappers like butter. “It was like you became someone else.” “What do you mean?” “I know you, Dean. That wasn’t you. There’s something dark hidden in here.” I poke his granite pecs. “It comes out when you’re scared of losing me. I don’t know if it’s just a fight or flight thing, or if it’s a multiple personality disorder, or maybe we’re dealing with some real Jekyll and Hyde shit, but when you came back to yourself, I don’t think you had any idea what had happened.” Dean remains silent for a long time, seemingly deep in thought. He opens his mouth to speak more than once, before shutting it again. Then finally, he whispers. “I’ll try to stop it. It’s not a guarantee, but I’ll try. I never want you to look at me the way you did in that factory. Never again.” “I’ll be with you every step of the way, okay? We’ll figure it out together.” And God help the world if we don’t. I lean forward, fully intending to meet Dean’s lips in a kiss that has my fingers curling and my stomach doing flips. But as usual, Kat interrupts. “Is that him? Oh shit, he’s a big one.” As she speaks, my frown grows deeper, and Dean can’t help cracking up. I'd slap him if he wasn't so hard. “I mean, he looked big in the video, but… wow. Good taste, Jake! Very good taste.” The laughter suddenly stops. Dean narrows his eyes at me. “Video?” I try to hand-wave the subject away. “We can talk about it after lasagne. Don’t worry, it’s nothing big.” “Jake, I know you’re lying. I can spot every micro-expression you make.” My chin is raised between his thumb and forefinger until I’m forced to meet his steely gaze. “So we can talk about it now.” I try to back away, but find myself trapped by muscular arms. The pressure on my back is light but firm and totally unyielding. Dean wants to keep me here until I spill the beans, which means I’m not going anywhere. “You’re on the news.” I say with a grimace. “Some people saw a car crash into you and put the whole thing online. It spread all over, and then the police started talking.” He smacks his forehead hard enough to shatter stone. “The school kids…” “Look, it’s not that bad. Sure, a few politicians are calling for a manhunt to bring you in, but-“ “A manhunt?” He visibly pales at the word. “We knew this would happen, Dean. We have options. You have options. I’ve already gone over the whole thing. But I don’t want to spend tonight thinking about the rest of the world. I just got you back.” Dean eventually relents. “Fine. But we’re sorting this whole thing out first thing tomorrow.” I open my mouth to speak, but am once again cut off by Kat. She sweeps into the hallway to tell us the lasagne is done, and we should eat it now while it’s hot. Yes, there is enough for everyone. I start stuffing my face just to give myself a reason not to speak. Across the table, Dean eyes me with a curious smile pulling at his lips. “What is it?” “Nothing.” “You’re not the only one who can spot a liar, Lawson.” I accidentally spit out a piece of mince on the word ‘spot’, causing Kat to burst into laughter. “There’s…” Dean shifts awkwardly, now nervous all of a sudden. “There’s something I need to get.” “Right now?” What could be so important that he needs leave in the middle of dinner? Dean is usually so open with me, the fact that he left out what he’s getting is suspicious in itself. “Yeah. Right now. I’ll be back as quick as I can.” There’s a blast of wind, and he’s gone. “I thought it would be a blur, like on Smallville.” Kat says, shaking her head in astonishment. “But it’s not even that. It’s too fast to be a blur. He’s there, then he’s not.” “I keep telling him it’s rude to spontaneously disappear in the middle of a conversation.” “Do you ever get used to that?” Kat asks. “No. It’s crazy, isn’t it? He’s shown me what he can do – or at least, a fraction of it. I don’t think I could really imagine the full extent of his power. But after what I saw, it boggles my mind that anyone would choose to mess with him. I guess they just didn’t know. His power is terrifying. The things he’s done with it, even more so. But at the same time, he’s so damn irresistible. I never thought it was possible to love someone in such a profound way. It sounds contradictory, I know. But it’s true.” Kat nods along as if she’s heard it all before. “You know, the ancient Greeks had a word for something which is in equal parts terrifying and irresistible.” They called it τέρας – or teras.” “I wish we had a word like that.” “We do. The English translation of teras…” She fixes me with a shrewd stare, “is ‘monster’.” “Dean isn’t a-“ “There’s no shame in it, Jake. We all have monsters of one kind or another. It just so happens that your monster comes with abs. But Dean is a monster all the same.” She lowers her voice, as if that could stop Dean from overhearing her. Most likely, he isn’t listening, but if he was, he’d hear the blood pulsing in her capillaries, her breath, the slide of her eyes as they move inside their sockets. He hears everything he wants to hear. “The question is how you deal with a monster. You can embrace it, the good and the bad, but monsters are uncontrollable. They’re volatile. That’s a dangerous choice. You can defeat it – not really an option in your case. Or you can control it.” “I can’t control him. Only he can do that.” “He can only do it when you make him. For whatever reason – maybe having you near is calming or something. But you told me that when he comes back from the brink, it’s never by his own volition. It’s by yours.” “You’re giving me too much credit.” “Or maybe I’m totally right.” “Let’s say you were. What if it isn’t enough?” We hear the front door open and close. At first I think it’s Dean, but then I hear a voice I don’t recognise. It’s deeper, rougher, harsher. “Baby, I’m back!” Kat springs into action, racing through the house. “Brad!” She screams, leaping into his arms, kissing him so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t lose any teeth. “You said you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow!” “Disappointed?” “Of course not!” She leans in to whisper-shout in his ear. “Just means I don’t have time to clean out Ann Summers.” This makes him grin devilishly, squeezing her ass in his large hands. “We’ll make time for that, don’t worry.” I’d heard about Brad through friends of friends. At 6’6” and 250lbs, Bradley Hastings is an ex-Royal Marine, and a force to be reckoned with. I don’t know what he does now, but he clearly hasn’t let himself go. If anything, leaving the forces must have given him a chance to take up some serious steroids, which give him the veined, hulking look that I love so much about Dean. But Bradley has a very different face that speaks of a different life. Where Dean’s skin is smooth, Brad’s is weathered. Dean’s eyes shine with innocence and excitement and Brad’s are dark and analytical. Brad has scars, many scars, and a nose which has clearly been broken in a few places. Dean doesn’t have so much as a freckle. So it’s with a certain shyness that I poke my head around the corner and wave hello. His eyes immediately flicker to me. “Who’s your little friend?” “Oh, that’s Jake. Gay guy from uni. He’s been going through a rough patch, so I let him stay over until he gets sorted. Is that okay?” She sets to work on wooing Brad over while he effortlessly holds her weight cradled in his arms. “Come on, baby. He’ll probably be gone tomorrow.” I stand awkwardly as Brad eyes me up and down. I feel like I’m being interrogated even though he hasn’t said a word to me. But I can guess what he’s thinking. These limp arms, the weak frame, plain face, short stature. I’m no threat. “And you’re sure he’s gay? One hundred percent?” “Of course.” “So he hasn’t tried to do anything with you?” I feel those dark eyes boring into me. “Nothing at all?” “Nothing.” After a few tense seconds, Brad sighs and kisses Kat on the cheek. “Fine. Just tonight.” Then his eyes seem to catch on the shoes by the door. A pair of knock off Jimmy Choos, my one remaining black work shoe, and two colossal brown boots, so big that all three of the others could fit inside them. The boots make Brad’s own shoes look childish by comparison. He glares at them, then me, then Kat. She tries to calm him, to explain that Dean isn’t some lover, but it’s too late. He’s already put her down, drawn the handgun tucked into his jeans, and has stormed halfway through the house before Kat has a chance to call after him. “Where is the bastard? I’ll fucking kill him.” Brad roars. “Baby, it’s not-“ “Be quiet, Kat. I’ll deal with you later.” He looks at her with heartbroken betrayal. Against my better judgement, I speak up. “It’s not what you think.” “If you don’t want me to blow your fucking head off, you’ll shut the fuck up.” Brad snarls at me. Just then, Dean returns. “What’s going on? I heard shouting.” He steps into the kitchen to find the three of us stood silent, as Brad points his gun at my face. The moment Dean appears, the gun pivots to him. Judging by Brad’s expression, even he’s shocked at quite how imposing Dean’s sheer size can be. I doubt he’s used to feeling small. Dean’s eyes begin to glow, his muscles flex, fists clench, jaw tight. I place a hand on his iron arm and shake my head. In response, he starts taking deep breaths in an attempt to settle down. Gradually, mercifully, the signs of fight-or-flight begin to fade. The beast is in his cage, for now. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to put that down.” Dean says, subtly stepping in front of me to act as a shield. This only enrages Brad more. “You come into my fucking house, fuck my girl, and tell me to put down my motherfucking gun? Fuck you!” Now his voice is shaking with fury. I try to shift around Dean to get a look at the action, but a thick arm pushes me back into his shadow. The muscles of Dean's back push through his shirt. Bang. My breath freezes in my throat. I see the bullet land on the kitchen floor between Dean’s feet, crumped up like it had been squeezed in a hydraulic press. Bang, bang, bang, bang. Four more shots, four more bullets. Two of them fall the ground, but two ricochet off Dean’s impenetrable skin. One buries itself in the wall on my right, while the other smashes through a window. “Baby, please!” Kat blubbers through her tears. This needs to stop now. Brad could seriously hurt someone. I give Dean’s back a light push, whispering “Go.” He takes the hint. In a flutter of motion, he’s no longer stood in front of me. He’s behind Brad. In one hand, he holds Brad’s gun, while the other arm is curled around his neck. Dean flexes his bicep, cutting off Brad’s air. Any attempts to shift the rock-hard muscles in his forearms are futile. Dean contains him easily. You’d think he was holding a 10 year old boy, not an ex-special forces bodybuilder. His forearms writhe and flex like columns of snakes. “Listen closely little guy, because I’m only saying this once.” I can hear the growing anger underlying Dean’s voice, but he still keeps his cool. “I didn’t fuck your girl. I’m Jake’s boyfriend, and I came here to bring him home. Stop acting like such a bitch, and we’ll be fine. But if you do anything else to risk Jake’s safety, I will take you out. Got it?” When Brad refuses to answer, Dean flexes tighter. “Are we clear?” “Clear.” Brad rasps. Dean looks to me, and when I nod, he releases Brad. The man falls to the floor as he desperately tries to pull air into his lungs. As I watch him struggle, it occurs to me that even though Dean subdued him, it was at my direction. He calmed at my touch, grabbed Brad when I told him to act, and let go only when I let him know that he should. I might have been able to reach Dean during a moment of anger before, but I’ve never been in control. Is this what he meant when he said he would try to change? We both know I’m the rational one, sure, and leaning on me to make decisions will prevent things from getting out of hand. But Dean never goes nuclear when I’m around. He goes nuclear when I’m taken out of the picture – either kidnapped, or hurt. That’s when he needs to be in control. When he won’t have anyone else to rely on but himself. I suppose what matters is that he’s trying. We can work out the method later. Without warning, Brad’s fist flies toward Dean’s face. Dean turns in a split second, gently catching the hand mid-air and pushing back, sending Brad sprawling on the floor. “I could’ve let you break your hand, you know. You’re welcome.” Dean scoops me up in one arm, running the fingers of his free hand down my face. “You okay?” “You handled that really well, Dean. I’m proud of you.” I pull him into a deep, slow kiss. Watching that encounter gave me hope. Just a little. Even though I could have been injured, Dean managed to hold back his wrath long enough to eliminate the danger without anyone getting hurt. There’s still a long way to go, but it’s a start. “Ready to go home?” He says, securing his hold on me. Without thinking, I cuddle into his chest. “I kinda’ destroyed your flat, so we’ll have to make do with my place.” “You what?” Oh god. I make a silent prayer that my cookbooks survived. “So we’re going to the crazy house in Canada?” “Yeah. Sorry.” “Is… that the one with the double bed?” I smirk as we emerge into the dark, wet streets and rise through the sky. “King sized, baby.” Now Dean is smiling too. “Then I’m sure we’ll manage.”
  24. Maybe it's just catering to a humiliation fetish that I don't have, but if this is going to be the direction the rest of the story takes, I'm not sure it's for me. It was hot when we were seeing an arrogant Trevor get taken down a peg by Seth's growth, but now it's just a constant series of scenarios where we see Trevor mocked for his size and weakness, getting more and more bitter each time. And since Trevor is our protagonist, not Seth, it's just... really sad. Seth's arrogance is gradually turning him into the villain of this story. It was easy to support him at the beginning but now he's just a bit of an asshole. I've been saying this for a while, but I would love for Trevor to take the last two Elongro himself and grow colossal, far bigger than Seth - but since he's now experienced what it's like to be small, he isn't cocky any more.
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