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Public Relations


Maximilian

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  • 6 months later...

Thanks, handsomegrad, and I will.

My apologies for the delay to everyone who was reading. I know how frustrating it can be. I actually have the next chapter written but because we're amping up towards a finale I want to have more done so I can release the last few chapters on a more reliable schedule. Rest assured Public Relations WILL get finished.

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  • 5 months later...

Part 13: Mahtab

 

It was a grey, overcast morning and the hotel room was dark. But the sun peeked out from its cloud cover and moved slowly across Mahtab’s face. When it reached her eyes she squinted and awoke groggily with a moan. She sat upright in the chair, rubbing her aching neck, and glanced over at Russell, playing on his phone in the desk chair on the other side of the room. Adam was asleep on the bed, full clothed and on top of the covers.

“Still nothing,” said Russell quietly, shaking his head.

“Fuck…” Mahtab whispered. She glanced at Adam. One hand was on his chest, rising and falling at a slow, measured rhythm. “You sure he didn't warn him somehow?”

Russell nodded. “You still got his phone right?”

Mahtab checked her pocket and felt Adam's iphone right where she had left it. “Yeah…”

“So what now?” Russell asked.

Mahtab sighed. “I dunno. See if Adrian has anything?” She paused. “We should keep an eye on Adam, though. For leverage if nothing else.”

“What if…” Russell glanced at Adam and set his phone down, leaning toward her and lowering his voice further. “What if whoever's actually responsible has gotten him, too?”

“Just as we're staking him out?” asked Mahtab. “Coincidence much?”

“You said it yourself, Matty,” Russell countered. “Him coming to Toronto was the perfect chance to confront him. If someone else had been after him…”

“But who?” Mahtab shook her head, and hoisted herself out of the chair, stretching. “All the most likely suspects are missing already. Unless you want to start looking at the Circle again.”

“Look, it could be anyone,” Russell spread his hands. “One of our own, one of theirs… even a hedge mage. Or another organization is trying to weaken both of us before they let us know they're here.” He sighed and stood up. “I'm gonna see what Adrian has. If he’s still got a read on Cassidy it may lead us to whoever's been doing this, one way or another.”

Mahtab nodded. “Okay. I'll stay with Adam, see what he has to say. But take Adrian with you if you're going to check it out, all right?”

“I'll be fine.”

“Suit or no suit you're not invincible,” Mahtab quietly reminded him. “Just be careful.”

Russell rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah. I'll be in touch, okay?”

Mahtab nodded as he made his way out the door. “See ya.”

He grabbed a cold slice of pizza from the box on the desk and left, shutting the door behind him. Mahtab turned back to look at Adam sleeping on the bed. She sighed.

“Fuck.”


 
***

Tyson hit the snooze button on his alarm and turned onto his back. His big, broad, V-shaped back. He took a deep breath, feeling his heavy chest rise and fall, and ran a hand from his pecs down to his abs. Well, he thought to himself, I guess it wasn't a dream…

Continuing down his body, his hand found its way around his cock - erect as usual at this time of the morning - and he gave it a lazy stroke.

Oh wow…

He had to sit up on his elbows to see over his pecs, and smiled at what he saw. It seemed that his muscles weren't the only part of him that had been upgraded. His schlong had grown from its usual six inches to a thick ten, at least. His testicles had fared similarly, bloated to the size of tennis balls.

“Fuckin’ A,” he mumbled aloud, and lowered himself back down to lie on his back as he began to stroke himself.

One hand pumped his cock while the other slid over his torso, tracing ridged abs, his pronounced obliques, and his big furry pecs, lingering on his nipples. His cock was primed and ready to go, already leaking pre just a few strokes in.

Tyson closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to the night before. As alarmingly weird as it had been, it had been so hot to watch. Not just the transformations themselves but the looks on everyone's faces - shocked, disbelieving, ecstatic, thrilled. It defied all explanation but by the end of it he didn't care. Either he was crazy and it wasn't happening at all, or it was happening and it was fucking amazing. He remembered again feeling the leather straps of his harness constricting around his bulging body, how the sound of it popping off was one of the sexiest things he'd ever heard. That, evidently, was enough to push him over, and with a loud, sultry grunt, his big balls pushed a big fountain of cum out of his big dick and he gasped and moaned and writhed on his mattress, feeling every bulging muscle through his whole body tense. When finally his cock was spent, he went limp on the bed, idly wiping his jizz-soaked hand on his covers, and dozed happily for another twenty minutes until his alarm went off again. He checked his phone. Text message from Carlos:

Mandatory staff meeting 12pm sharp. BE THERE

Gee, Tyson smiled. Wonder what that could be about.

Tyson got up, his big flaccid dick flopping between his thick thighs, and made his way over to his bathroom. The tiny mirror over his sink was too small to get much of a complete picture of himself but he checked himself out one section at a time, flexing muscles he hadn't even realized existed. He was carved out of marble. He was huge and shredded. God it felt so good. He'd never given being this big any serious consideration, but now that he had this size he was almost amazed he had never tried to get there on his own. He had no trouble getting guys as it was; now he felt like he'd never sleep alone again.

With some awkward maneuvering he squeezed into his standing shower and cleaned himself off, noting at one point that he'd be going through a lot more bodywash from here on in. Having favoured tight-fitting clothes his wardrobe options were fairly limited. He ended up going with a bright turquoise tank top that had once hung loose off his shoulders that he now had to squeeze himself into, and a similarly tight pair of large athletic shorts he wore to play basketball. He slipped into a pair of sandals, threw on his charcoal Puma ball cap and Oakley shades, and swaggered out the door. The second he got outside he saw how grey it was and hung his shades off his collar, where they nestled in his pec cleavage.

People were staring at him on the streetcar. Some he recognized as familiar faces from his commute, probably trying to figure out whether it was him or not. Others were strangers who apparently just liked to look at him. It became a routine after a few stops; he'd catch people with their gaze locked on him and they'd bashfully avert their eyes, and then he'd grin.

Tyson overshot Church Street so he could get a green tea frappucino and a bagel at the Starbucks on Yonge. He munched and sipped as he walked across Wellesley Street, still with plenty of time to spare.

“Uhmm… Tyson?” came a voice from behind him, and he turned with his mouth full of bagel. It was a short guy of average build, with long black hair and a matching big bushy beard. Tyson wasn't sure who he was until he recognized the Guided By Voices band shirt.

“Darcy? Is that you?”

The guy grinned broadly, stroking his beard. “Yeah man.” He gave a laugh and fell in step next to him. “Last night, right?”

Darcy was the occasional DJ at the Black Eagle, who had until now sported a bright red swoop and no facial hair whatsoever.

“I always assumed you were a redhead,” Tyson noted.

Darcy laughed. “Hah! Yeah. No, man. Been dying it for years.” He took a lock of his hair between his fingers. “Cut off the ends this morning. It looked retarded,” he confessed, then slapped Tyson on the back. “Shit, dude. You got huge!”

Tyson felt himself blush a bit. “Yeah… well it was a very… strange shift last night.”

“Fuck, man, tell me about it,” Darcy nodded. “Hey check this out.” He lifted the shirt to reveal a rug of dark dense body hair covering his chest and belly. “I was fuckin bare as a newborn before last night,” he announced with pride.

Tyson took another sip of his frap. “Looks good on you, man,” he nodded.

Darcy scoffed. “Yeah, so does the, like, hundred pounds of Schwarzenegger on you, man.”

Tyson smirked. “Heh. Thanks,” he said, shoving the last of his bagel in his mouth. He stole a glance at Darcy’s crotch, noting with a chuckle that he was sporting a big bulge.

“This is so trippy, man,” Darcy remarked. “I've never been able to grow decent facial hair and now I look like… like an extra from Vikings or something. Hey!” he smacked Tyson's arm. “Gay marriage in the States!”

Tyson shrugged. “Yeah. Was gonna happen sooner later.”

“Maybe,” Darcy conceded. “Still, though. Exciting times.”

They entered the bar at ten minutes to noon, but pretty much everyone was there already. The room looked like a circus side show. Everyone was either gigantically tall, swollen with muscle, hugely fat or excessively hairy - all except Simon, who had had the night off and was staring around in bewildered shock. Chairs and barstools were arranged in a crooked circle, and a cardboard pot of Tim Hortons coffee was on a table next to an open box of timbits. Tyson and Darcy poured themselves cups and munched timbits while the last of the employees filed in. Tyson broke off from Darcy and sat next to Paul, who was wearing the same extra-large staff shirt he had taken to go home. Paul greeted him with a nod but said nothing, looking annoyed.

Pretty much everyone was poorly dressed in worn out gym clothes or old clothing they didn't care about stretching out or ripping. Paul, who famously detested sandals, was wearing an old pair of too-small flipflops, which Tyson noted with a chuckle.

“Hey,” Tyson nudged him and grinned. “What's your shoe size now?”

Paul just looked at him. “I don't wanna talk about it.”

Tyson shrugged and sipped his coffee.

They waited til quarter after when they seemed to decide that anyone who hadn't arrived wasn't going to.

When the cops had shown up Tyson’s instincts suggested to him his buzz was about to be killed, and he left as quickly and quietly as a guy his size could. In the chaos he had missed out on a few of his colleagues’ changes, among them the co-owner, Carlos. As he heard the heavy stomps coming up from the private rooms in the basement, Tyson assumed it was Daniel, but then saw him already standing by the bar. Daniel had decided - or perhaps had been forced - to forego wearing a shirt altogether, revealing the hugely muscled torso last night's antics had afforded him. Daniel had been hulked out into a giant swole freak, his vascular muscles snaking with veins even when he was relaxed. His neck had essentially disappeared beneath bulging traps that led right into massively thick shoulders and arms. He'd had to walk sideways through most doorways. So if Daniel was there, who was coming up the stairs, rattling the bottles behind the bar with every thudding step?

Tyson gaped as he watched Carlos squeeze his bulk through the door with a bemused grin on his face. Carlos, who had formerly been shorter than Tyson and of a similar lean physique, had been rendered all but unrecognizable. He stood at least seven feet tall, and everything about him had gone from average to gargantuan. A huge belly stuck out nearly a foot in front of him, and his big thick arms were covered by a layer of fat that did little to soften the powerful muscles beneath it. In place of his neatly trimmed goatee was a huge bushy beard, and in place of his buzzcut was a thick mane of hair he had tied back into a tail that reached halfway down his back. While everyone else had apparently struggled to cobble together an outfit that would fit their new dimensions, it almost looked like Carlos had been prepared for this day, wearing a thin white muscle shirt under a black leather vest, tucked into dark blue jeans topped by a leather belt clasped with an ornate belt buckle of a goat's head overtop a pentagram. What really sold the whole piece was his thick leather boots ornamented with thin steel chains and spiked buckles. Where the hell had he found boots like that to fit his huge feet in the, what, six or seven hours since he had gone up a few sizes?

Carlos was a pretty friendly, laidback guy, and his newfound gigantism hadn't dampened his attitude. With Daniel flanking him from behind, he sidled up onto a barstool, one boot resting flat on the floor. His ample package was plain to see as he sat down, and Tyson did a quick sweep of the room, noting that every man there - regardless of whatever other transformation he had undergone - had also been upgraded in the dick department.

Carlos smiled with a note of bemusement. “First I just want to update you guys on Jorge. He’s fine, he got released from the ER and he’s sleeping at home. Second I want to thank everyone for coming out on such short notice,” he said with a bemused smile and a nod. “And I'll cut right to the chase. Obviously last night was… a bit of an event.”

“A bit of an event?” came the incredulous query from Dennis, the barback who had gone from five-foot-eleven twig to six-foot-six bear. “Man I gained a hundred and fifty pounds in thirty seconds.”

“Yeah,” Carlos agreed. “Well obviously a lot of us went through some significant changes.”

“Okay seriously,” the patio bartender Rosharon held up her hand. “Does anyone have any notion what the fuck actually happened? Cuz this?” she gestured to her breasts which had blown up a few sizes, “makes no fuckin sense at all.”

“Look, I don't know,” Carlos admitted, and was about to say something else when Paul cut him off.

“That's not bloody good enough. This is impossible to explain!” Paul gestured around the whole room. “What am I supposed to tell people?”

“All right hold on,” Carlos raised his hands defensively, “this is actually what I wanted to talk about. CP24 aired a piece on it this morning. They seem to think it's a hoax.”

“Yeah so do the fuckin’ cops,” said Rosharon. “They were talkin’ about public mischief charges.”

“Okay look,” said Carlos, “I've already spoken to my lawyer and we're gonna handle that. In the meantime though I need everyone to give no comment if you're approached by the media or the police.”

“What if we get subpoenaed?”

Carlos briefly pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “Jesus christ Rosharon they're not gonna subpoena you for public mischief.”

“Have you tried getting in touch with that cop that's always coming in?” asked Darcy. “Whatsisname… Vince something? He could vouch for us, right? At least confirm we aren't just making it all up.”

“How’s that gonna go?” spat Paul. “‘Yeah no guys it's cool all these guys just spontaneously grew for no reason.’”

“Vince is at L A pride and will be back in a week or so, I think,” said Carlos. “When he is I'll reach out to him but for now…”

“So what are we supposed to do about all the customers we had?” asked Paul. “How are you gonna get them not to say anything?”

“Obviously there's nothing we can do about them,” Carlos conceded. “Which is why it's so important we keep a unified front on a media blackout, all right? At least for the next few days.” He adjusted himself and brightened. “Now otherwise, I think we need to see the opportunity we had here. I know it was strange but I think we can all agree…” Carlos gestured to them gathered around the room. “This isn't such a bad thing.”

“Are you bloody kidding me?” asked Paul incredulously. “Carlos we have absolutely zero idea how or why this happened. What if we all end up getting cancer or something?”

“Aside from Jorge’s panic attack the paramedics said everyone checked out fine,” said Carlos, “and I realize thay doesn't cover everything but I mean, has anyone had any adverse effects? Me, I feel great.”

“Adverse effects?” asked Paul, and began counting off on his fingers. “I'm too big for my bed, my entire wardrobe is rubbish…”

“These bitches gon’ give me back problems before long, I'll tell you that,” Rosharon mumbled.

“But c'mon, man,” said Darcy. “You gotta admit this is pretty fuckin cool, right?”

“Pretty cool?!” Paul shouted at him. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Doesn't anyone care HOW this happened? Doesn't anyone care that this is bloody impossible?”

“Magic,” Daniel suggested with a nonchalant shrug of his mighty shoulders.

“Magic,” Paul repeated dryly, “that's the explanation we're goin’ with: magic.”

“What else you got, sonny boy?” asked Daniel archly. “Look around. The short boys get tall. The skinny boys get big. The big boys get bigger.” - here he gestured to himself - “An’ I wager all your little tonkys got a nice growth spurt too, ah?” he tried to fold his arms over his chest but his huge biceps clashed with his giant pecs so he settled for putting his hands on his hips. “You got another word for wishes comin’ true, now?”

Tyson raised an eyebrow. What the hell are tonkys?

“Hey, I didn't wish for this,” said Paul.

“Oh come on,” Carlos protested. “You're honestly telling me you never wanted to be taller?”

Paul went to say something and then threw up his hands, sighed, and smoldered moodily in silence.

“Okay,” Carlos said with a nod. “We don't know how it happened but it did. It's Pride Friday and the Internet is goin nuts over this thing. Tonight is gonna be a total shitshow, and I need all hands on deck. Even if you weren't scheduled. I've gone ahead and cancelled dirty bingo and we're not gonna open til six. And as far as your rubbish wardrobe goes, Paul, I've dipped into some discretionary funds and everyone is getting two hundred bucks so you can buy some new threads for the new you.”

Tyson smiled. “Sweet.”

Carlos continued. “I know two hundred bucks doesn't go too far but it's the best we can do for now. I know this is weird,” he chuckled with a nod. “It’s a goddamn mind-fuck. But we’re a family here and we got your backs. We'll have time to try and figure all this out later but we're primed to have one of our biggest weekends in history if we play our cards right.” He rose up off the stool, the floorboards creaking as he shifted his weight. “That's about it, then. If you can make it tonight let me know, and I'll see you all back here around five.”

Everyone went past the bar to pick up their cash and then exited in single file, as only a handful of them could fit through the halls at the same time. Tyson said goodbye to Darcy and Simon and jogged to catch up with Paul, who was sulkily walking down the sidewalk.

“Hey man,” he greeted. Paul responded with a halfhearted nod but didn't say anything, fishing a cigarette out of his pack. He offered the open pack to Tyson who slid out his own. “You… you seemed pretty angry in there,” Tyson noted as Paul lit his cigarette. “Everything okay?”

Paul glanced at Tyson as he handed him the lighter, looking over his big beefy body, and shook his head. “It's just so fuckin’ weird.”

Tyson lit his cigarette and handed back the lighter. “No argument there, man.”

“I just…” Paul sighed. “I like to think I have some control over my life, and if something can just come along and… do THIS to me? I mean what else could happen?”

“There's not some part of you that's happy about it though?” asked Tyson.

“Oh well sure. The inner teenager in me is losing his shit,” Paul admitted. “But like, when I was younger I always wanted to be taller, and even in my twenties I was like, holdin’ out for a late growth spurt. But when it didn't come, I accepted it and came to terms with just bein’ a little guy. An’ now…”

“You're a tall guy,” Tyson finished with a shrug. “Could be worse.”

“Okay fine, but what if we all suddenly go back to normal?” said Paul.

Tyson frowned. That hadn't occurred to him. “Why would that happen?”

“Why would ANY of this happen, that's my bloody point,” Paul explained. “If I can spontaneously grow a foot and half taller, waking up one morning to find I'm back to five-foot-four wouldn't particularly surprise me.” He paused. “An’ even thinking about it now, I don't want that to happen. Which means I never really came to terms with being a little guy in the first place. An’ if I have to do it again…” he shook his head dejectedly and took a drag from his cigarette.

“You're overthinking this,” said Tyson. “If you don't know what's gonna happen you're just gonna drive yourself crazy guessing. I feel like you gave me that advice yesterday.”

“Well,” Paul rolled his eyes. “Yesterday was a very different day.”

Tyson nodded, and they walked together in silence until they finished their smokes.

“Hey,” Tyson nudged Paul. “Wanna go shopping?”

Paul shrugged. “Yeah all right.”

 

***

Brent stepped out of the shower to find a text waiting for him from Nate. It upset him a bit that he got so excited just to see the notice.

You're falling too hard for this guy, he mentally reminded himself. You're just a summer fling to him.

He resisted the temptation to pick up the phone right away, deciding instead to take his time toweling off and getting dressed. He'd really been looking forward to Pride this year. It was his first one in Toronto and his first one with a boyfriend - or, not-boyfriend, or whatever the hell was going on with Nate. But it was Friday and they still hadn't seen each other. Maybe Pride just wasn't Nate’s thing, or maybe he had legitimately become suddenly swamped with things he had to get done, but in Brent’s experience if you wanted to do something you made the time to do it, or at least explained yourself with more detail than “I'm too busy.”

When he finally decided he had exercised an appropriate amount of restraint, Brent picked up the phone and checked the message. There were two.

I wanna c u

U home? Is ayush there

Ayush was out for the day at some kind of panel at U of T, and had invited Brent to join him and his friends at Crew's and Tangos after dinner. He had given a wishy-washy, non-committal response; holding out, he later realized, for Nate to make plans with him.

No Ayush is out U can come over, Brent sent back, and soon Nate replied:

K omw

He did a hurried survey of the house and a rudimentary tidying of his room. He laboured over what he should be in the middle of when Nate showed up, and settled on playing Far Cry 4. He'd just finished losing an Outpost match when he heard a knock on the front door.

Brent did a quick mental inventory of his outfit. Hemp shorts, boxer-briefs, and his Patriots jersey. Just another day lazing around at home. What did he care if the guy he was totally into showed up at his door? Not much, was the message he hoped he was sending.

He opened his door staring into the bare chest of some guy who was taller than the doorframe.

“Uhhhhhh,” said Brent.

“Sup, man?” the lanky body ducked under the frame, forcing Brent back a step. Who the hell was this guy? Was some gang of giants about to do a home invasion on him? How did - holy shit…

“Nate?!” he shrieked.

He was at least seven feet tall, probably with an inch or two to spare. He smirked down at Brent. “Somethin’ wrong, man?” he chuckled.

“What… what the hell happened to you?” Bren sputtered.

Nate shrugged nonchalantly. “Same thing that happened to you.”

Brent was lost. “What?!”

“That night at the Black Eagle?” Nate grinned.

Brent's eyes somehow got even wider. How could he know? How could anyone know? He hadn't said a thing to a single person about it.

“S’all right, man. Don' sweat it,” Nate slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I learned how to do it too.”

“This… how… this doesn't make any sense!” Brent protested.

Nate shut the door behind him. “S’only gon’ get worse, brah…” he laughed, his impish eyes twinkling.

Brent suddenly felt a strange electric jolt in the pit of his stomach. It was the origin point of a swirling liquid warmth that pumped through his veins and quickly flowed through his whole body. He felt a bit lightheaded. “What… ooooh,” he moaned, staggering back a step as he felt his jersey sliding across his body. It felt like that night at the Eagle but so much more intense.

Brent felt his pecs getting heavy with pure muscle, his shoulders widening and swelling with brawn up his neck, thickening up against the collar of his jersey, his biceps blowing up like balloons of meat. Soon the once-loose jersey was hugging tight to every contour of his expanding frame. The shorts which had been pretty snug on his already-thick thighs stretched to their limit around his inflating butt.

Brent was overwhelmed by the sweet feeling of warmth and weight pumping through his body. His eyes fluttered in ecstasy and he felt his cock twitching with excitement. His rational thoughts were being smothered by a serotonin fog of bliss but as he looked down at himself and saw how huge he was getting he groaned. “No… no this is too much! What’ll…”

His expansion seemed to subside. “Naw man don’ worry ‘bout it. You'll be back to your old self in a few hours,” Nate assured him with a smarmy wink. “S’just enjoy ourselves, aright? C’mere.” Nate took a step towards him and leaned down, lifting Brent's chin so their lips met in a kiss. Nate's long arms reached down and his hand cupped Brent's balls before sliding over his thigh and clutching his ass. Despite Nate leaning down, Brent had to stand on the balls of his feet to reach him.

Nate released Brent from their kiss, standing again to his full, intimidating height. He chuckled. “Bet you don’ reach up to kiss anyone too often. Mmm…” he ran his hands from Brent's neck over his shoulders and down his arms. “Flex for me, big boy…”

Brent raised his arm slowly, looking at it as if it was someone else’s, but feeling the push and pull of all the new muscles blown up under his skin. He made a fist and flexed, watching his bicep ball up and feeling the sleeve of his jersey tight around it. Nate ran his hand over its peak, first as a gentle caress then with a firm squeeze. To feel his hand against it was utter bliss. All that size resisting his grip, tight and hard and huge and hot. Brent felt so powerful, stronger than ever before. He puffed out his chest, felt the mesh fabric of the jersey taut across them, and envisioned Tyler seeing him like this. His imagination turned Tyler into a cartoon, jaw dropping down to the floor while his eyes bugged out of their sockets. Brent smirked to himself.

Nate meanwhile was hard from not only watching Brent transform, but his telepathy allowed him to virtually experience it. Every sensation and thought that passed through Brent's conscious mind moaned its way over Nate's. It was all he could do to keep from creaming himself, and the peak of the tent in his sweat  shorts was dark with a growing stain of pre.

Nate shook his head. “Aright, gotta get ya to the bedroom.” He clapped Brent on the shoulders and pushed hjm in the direction of his bedroom.

Brent felt heavy and thick as he trounced down the hallways, his bulging muscles rubbing against each other as we walked. His thighs were so big he couldn't walk normally, and staggered in front of Nate as he pushed him towards his room. “No it's… it's fine… Ayush won't be back for…”

“Naw man, jus’ gettin’ you comfortable,” Nate explained with a chuckle, “cuz ‘fore long you gon’ be too big to fit through the doorway.”

Brent gasped. “Wait, what?”

Nate pushed him into his bedroom and he wavered to stay upright. Nate massaged his shoulders briefly with a moan, leaned down to peck him on the cheek, then circled around, pulling him around to the foot of his bedframe. It only took a nudge to push top-heavy Brent onto the mattress.

Brent sat up with a giggle. “Jesus… Nate how big can you make people?”

Nate’s grin widened. “Haven’ tested my limits yet, man. Sky's the limit s’far as I know.” To demonstrate, Nate stretched taller right before his eyes, his body growing in proportion, the cigarette pack, lighter, and wallet in his shorts bulging prominently in his pockets, along with his growing package. He averted his eyes upwards, taking a step to his right to avoid hitting the light fixture. “Or in this case the ceilin,” he added with a laugh. He grunted, adjusting his balls through his shorts, pulling the head of his cock out of the top of his waistband, dripping with a thick sheen of pre.

“Christ man, you're huge!” Brent exclaimed, looking up and down Nate's body. He dwarfed the room around him, made Brent's desk, chair, and bookcase all seem like miniature movie props.

“Damn right,” Nate agreed with a smug nod. “Think you like me now, jus’ wait man.” With a grunt, Nate bobbed his cock up and down, and Brent watched mesmerized as it stretched larger, lengthening up Nate's abs and fattening up nice and thick. His balls grew big and heavy, further weighing down his shorts.

“Ah… mmmm,” Nate grunted again, then sighed. “Whoo! 'At's always a rush.”

Nate wormed his way out of his shorts until they were down around his ankles, and kicked them away, knocking his head against the light overhead with a blush and a chuckle.

“Nate you gotta be pushing eight feet tall!” Brent shouted. “This is unreal!”

Nate gave his huge hard cock a playful wag and stepped closer to the bed. “Naw man, s’all real,” he thrust his hips a little and his dick bobbed up and down. He nodded at it. “Touch it.”

Brent put his meaty hands around the thick cock, feeling the heat coming off it, feeling the stickiness of his pre. “Fuck…”

“Mmmm,” Nate moaned as Brent began to stroke the two-foot length of his shaft. “Yeah, man. We can do whatever we want now,” he cooed, running his hand from the crown of Brent's head down his burly neck to his huge shoulders. “Can make you as huge as you want, man. You deserve it…”

“Can you make me as tall as you?” Brent looked up at him.

“Nuh-uh,” Nate winked and shook his head. “Tonight I get to be the tall guy. An’ you…” - Brent felt that same kinetic warmth through his body and his jersey shifted across his skin - “...you get to be the big swole fuckin’ beast.”

Again his body began to swell, already huge muscles bulging with even greater size. His felt his shorts straining against him until they burst, and he looked down in amazement as he watched the fabric tear away, revealing thighs that were getting massive with hard, heavy meat. The boxers underneath were still holding out but he didn't put much faith in them lasting long either. It was phenomenal. He was actually outgrowing his clothes.

His jersey was beginning to succumb as well as his chest blew up with bulging muscle and his biceps inflated with brawn. He felt his traps stretching out the collar, his lats straining the back. Finally it began to give way, the tiny holes in the mesh stretching larger and larger until finally they opened up across his chest and back.

“Oh god,” he moaned as his expanding body continued to rip the jersey apart. His muscles were growing larger than he'd ever seen on anyone before. The sounds coming from his body were almost hotter than the feel of it - skin and tendons stretching like rubber, muscles squelching against each other as they fought for space, bones popping as they thickened and lengthened to support the increasing weight of his frame. He clenched his pecs and they rose up against his chin. He flexed his arms and his biceps blew up to the size of watermelons . He flared out his lats and they obliterated what little remained of his jersey.

“How much do I weigh?” Brent asked with a gasp.

Nate laughed. “Fuck if I know, man,” he licked his lips. “Mmm… you're so goddamn hot, bro.” He leaned forward, putting his hands on Brent's shoulders, his ridiculous cock thrusting against the deep tight valley between Brent's pecs. Brent tried to reach forward to take it in his hand, but found with amazement his arms had actually become too thick to bend all the way. Nate laughed at his struggle. “Don' worry ‘bout me, man. These puppies -” he reached down and pinched each of Brent's nipples “- are doin all the work for you.”

And Brent was only getting bigger. His growing arms forced his hands further from in front of him as his pecs surged forward and enveloped Nate's dick. Nate began to slowly buck his hips, and Brent felt his big thick cock sliding up and down between his pecs, unable to help but smile as Nate winced every time he flexed them.

He could barely believe it. He was getting too huge to even move. He tried to stay upright but his giant thighs were growing into his lap, forcing his torso slowly onto its back. He could hear his bedframe whining in protest under his endlessly increasing mass.

It was a strange contradiction to feel so empowered with strength and yet nearly immobilized by the giant muscles that were granting it to him. It didn't matter, though. Every time he attempted to sort out the logistics of his impossible size a jolt of pleasure would hit him, hit reset on his thought process, and he'd have to start over. Before long he simply abandoned the effort, letting sensation and bliss ooze into every corner of his mind. Nothing else mattered, just the feel of the throbbing cock lodged in his chest and the strength and size blossoming inside his body.

Sweat dripped off Nate onto Brent's chest and abs. Nate’s breath was coming in heavy gasps accented with grunts and moans and mumbled cries of “Aww yeah.”

Nate shuddered, groaned, and Brent felt a flood of hot cum gushing between his pecs. His continental shelf of a chest blocked his view he could feel the spunk oozing out from his sternum and down his abs.

Nate braced himself on Brent's pecs and lowered let his head bob down, taking a moment to swallow a few breaths before he raised his grinning face, leaned forward across his chest and kissed him on the lips. Brent tried to reach forward to hug him close but his gargantuan arms wouldn't permit it.
Nate stood up, his cock slurping out from between Brent's pecs, flopping against Nate's thighs as he went flaccid. “This s’ gon’ be so awesome man. Fuck. Can’ wait ‘til next season. We’re gon’ be so huge all the guys’ll be shittin’ emselves the second they see you strut out on the field. Tyler's head’s gon’ fuckin’ explode, man.”

Brent closed his eyes as he felt his hard cock getting warmer and warmer til it was like it had become white hot. He shuddered and moaned as it began to expand, inflating bigger with every throbbing heartbeat. His balls groaned as his sack stretched larger, pressing against his thighs. He felt Nate's hands clasp around his shaft. He assumed Nate had bent over but when he opened his eyes he gasped in shock. Nate was still standing at his full height, and Brent's dick was already well past the four foot mark and still rising, still inflating thicker, throbbing veins getting fatter, pre issuing freely from the tip.

“Oh my fucking god!” Brent cried.

“YOU'RE a fuckin’ god, man,” Nate murmured as he ran his hands down either side of Brent's shaft. “Fuckin’ look at you, man. Wide as a fuckin’ truck.”

The cock was still inching higher, bloating thicker, getting heavier on his crotch. “How…” Brent sucked in a lung full of air, “how big are you gonna… oooooooh.”

Brent's query trailed off into a moan as he watched his cock surge another two feet taller before his eyes, and as it rose past Nate's head Brent realized with awestruck bewilderment that his own cock had gotten as long as Brent was tall. A tremor of pleasure quaked through his body as his pre-soaked tip pressed up against the ceiling. Make that: longER.

Nate took a step forward and threw his arms around Brent's tremendous shaft, pressing his body against the underside of his cock, moaning and licking pre from the head. Brent shuddered and tried to reach up to stroke it but his cartoonishly swollen muscles prevented him from doing anything but grab clumpfuls of blanket from beneath him.

“Holy fuck!” Brent coughed. It was amazing. It was beyond amazing. Every inch of his huge sweaty body and monstrous tree-trunk of a cock was alive, hot and electric. As Nate continued to work his shaft, jostling Brent's beachball-sized testicles with his knees, bringing him closer and closer to climax, Brent's reality outside that moment disappeared in a flood of blood cum and sweat. He had always been here, in this moment, gigantically swole and titanically hung, being serviced by an eight foot plus giant. York, the Fox, the Lions, his friends, his family, Far Cry 4 still on the main menu in the other room - it all melted away; had never been. The world ended beyond the door to his bedroom. This bed, this body, this cock, this man. That was all that was.

His huge balls convulsed and he felt a geyser of cum bubbling up his pillar of a cock until it erupted out the tip, spraying  back off thr ceiling and raining downon him with the force of a pressure washer.

Nate was getting a similar onslaught, but had the disadvantage of being on his feet and at proportions he was unaccustomed to. He shielded his eyes and staggered back a couple steps, bumping his head on light fixture again before falling on his ass with a crash that shook the room and knocked a couple of books off their shelves.

Brent's orgasm seemed to last for days. A torrential stream of jizz kept blasting out of his giant cock until finally he was spent, and he let his head fall back with a grunt, feeling the cum oozing across his body and dripping down in thick gobs from the ceiling. Nate climbed back to his feet, giggling maniacally and dripping with semen. He was still laughing as he climbed on top of Brent, the bedframe creaking in protest, his hands and knees slipping across the thick layer of cum. He settled face down on top of Brent, his long legs straddling the gargantuan cock that teetered unevenly as it slowly went soft, his pecs over Brent's face, rising and falling with every breath.

“Aww fuck,” Nate squealed impishly, his own cock humping lazily against Brent's abs. “Fun, huh?”

Brent could barely move he was so overblown with muscle, and his room was covered in a pool of cum he couldn't even begin to think about cleaning up. But he felt so good there, lying there with Nate, bigger than anything. All he could do was laugh back at him.

“Heh. Yeah.”


 
***

“Absolutely not.” Mahtab crossed her arms, firmly shaking her head.

“Mahtab,” Adam growled. “This is getting ridiculous. Give me. My fucking. Phone.”

“No,” she shrugged like it would settle the matter. “There's a lot of balls in the air here. I can't let you contact Cassidy.”

Adam took a deep breath. “Mahtab…”

“You think it's a coincidence we come to confront him and he never shows up?” she asked archly.

“If by confront you mean fucking ambush,” Adam retorted.

Mahtab rolled her eyes. “Don't be so dramatic.”

“I'm…” Adam sputtered incredulously. “You come in here and accuse my husband of kidnapping - or worse - and I’M being fucking DRAMATIC?!” his voice rose to a shout. He was about to scream something else at her but fumed inwardly for a moment, before laying his hands open in front of him. “Look, either your ambush - which it fucking WAS - failed, or it didn't and Cassidy never came home last night for some other reason. Do you not get this?” Adam pointed at himself. “MY FUCKING HUSBAND DIDN'T COME HOME LAST NIGHT!”

“Jesus christ, will you keep it down?” Mahtab hissed. “If Cassidy tries to contact you I'll let you know. But he hasn't responded to any of the texts I'm sending from your phone. What makes you think he'll reply with you at the keyboard?”

“Call him,” Adam barked.
Another shake of her head. “Absolutely not.”

Adam lunged for her jacket and she clamped her hand down on her pocket. He tried to pry her hand off and she grabbed at his wrist, trying to wrench it away. They grappled for a few seconds more before she twisted out of his grip, hopping a few steps away and holding out her hand to ward him off.

“Fuck you, man,” Mahtab glared at him. “You think this only goes one way? If Cassidy's on to us then we're all in danger, and Russell is out there right now. No way I am hanging him out to dry.”

“Mahtab, seriously,” he massaged his forehead, “you have completely lost your fucking mind. I mean…” he cut off as he lunged at her again, this time fending off her hand with his left and jabbing into her pocket with the right. He ripped his iphone away, tearing her pocket and knocking her own cell phone to the floor.

“You dick!” Mahtab cried, and jumped to grab it back out of his hand, but Adam held it out of reach. When she persisted, he put his free hand on her face and shoved her away. She stumbled backward, tripping over the armchair and slamming her shoulder into the desk. “Fuck,” she swore, wincing as she grabbed the edge of the desk and pulled herself to her feet.

Adam glanced at her, a brief look of concern flashing across his face before he scowled, and hastily dialed on his phone, putting it up to his ear.

“Adam…” Mahtab warned grimly, taking a step towards him. He pulled away and held his hand up. She sighed, picking up her phone. “You ripped my jacket you asshole.”

Adam turned his palm around and flipped her off. “Bill me,” he spat. He stood glaring at her until he pulled the phone away from his face with a dejected sigh. “Just goes to voicemail.”

Mahtab strode over to him. “Was it worth it, you dumb fuck?” she asked, and punched him in the jaw with her right, injured arm. He reeled back, swatting at her, as she winced and turned away, clutching at her shoulder as pain crackled down her arm.

They stood there nursing their bruises, glowering at each other until finally Adam shoved his phone into his jeans. “Alright; fuck this and fuck you.” He grabbed his keys and wallet from off the bed. “I'm going to look for him.”

Mahtab laughed. “Oh my god. Fucking where, you retard? You have any idea where he is?”

“No but I'm not gonna stay here with you in this goddamn hotel while he's out there somewhere not answering his phone,” Adam replied.

“Well I'm coming with you,” Mahtab insisted. “Until I see Cassidy I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

“Good!” Adam spat. “I'm really looking forward to seeing the look on your face when you realize what a vindictive cunt you are.”

Mahtab rolled her eyes and walked over to the door, holding her arm out. “After you, Captain Class-Act.”

Adam gave her a sour glare but walked to the doorway. “You're too kind.” He heaved a sigh and turned to face her. “Look. We're both pissed and might be talking a lot of shit right now, so I wanna make something clear.” He nodded. “If I find out that you've been lying to me and that you took Cassidy, or hurt him in any way, I will fucking murder you.” He paused. “Understood?”

Mahtab brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and returned his gaze with a subtle shake of her head. “Crystal clear.”

“All right,” Adam walked out the door. “Let's go.”


 
***

“Okay,” Adrian warbled through Russell's phone speaker, “I think I got him.”

“You think?” Russell asked, turning off of Danforth and slowing his car to a crawl down a narrow residential street.

“Yeah. I THINK,” Adrian curtly replied. “Look I told you; something happened downtown. He… it's different. But I'm pretty sure this is him.”

Russell sighed. “Where?”

“I'm still zeroing in…” said Adrian. “Somewhere in the Beaches.”

“You think Cassidy is trying to hide from you?” asked Russell.

“I'm… not sure,” Adrian stammered over the phone. “That's not what it feels like. I've never seen anything like this before.”

Russell rolled his eyes. “So I'm just driving around hoping I run into him?”

“I'm working on it!” Adrian replied peevishly.

Russell kept the line open but drove wordlessly towards the Beaches, his phone obnoxiously beeping periodically to remind him it was low on power. The grey skies were darkening prematurely, and Russell resolved that if Adrian didn't get a break soon - preferably something more substantial than a gut feeling - he was going to give up and reconvene with Mahtab to plan their next move.

The more he thought about it, though, the worse he felt. Mahtab insisted that things had changed; that they didn't know Adam or Cassidy anymore. And maybe they didn't. Cassidy had always been a bit of an unknown quantity, an unpredictable liability, but that was only because he was cavalier, not malicious. Russell couldn't believe what Mahtab kept trying to convince him. Cassidy didn't want to hurt anyone - and if he ever did, Adam wouldn't stand for it.

In Russell's experience, people changed glacially, at tiptoeing steps at a time. That Cassidy had gone from well-meaning if reckless to insidious, plotting, and malevolent in such a short span of time just rang false to Russell. Maybe he was just being naive.

He sighed. Magic had been supposed to make their lives easier, and now it felt like a constant headache.

“Whoa…” came Adrian through the phone. “Okay, I definitely found something.”

“Don't keep me in suspense, man,” Russell chimed.

“There's a dead zone on Broadway Drive,” said Adrian. “It's a house.”

A “dead zone” was Adrian’s term for an area that had been warded to prevent a scryer like him to see what was going on inside. The craft to maintain it wasn't too elaborate and many of the Coven had taken such precautions once things had started becoming tense with the Circle - Russell included. Cassidy had woven one around his own house in Caledon. Though it kept a curious scryer from seeing what was going on inside, it made it obvious that someone was trying to hide something.

“Anyone we know?” asked Russell.

“Don't think so,” Adrian replied. “Cassidy's trail is spotty but it leads to that area… it could be a coincidence.”

“Yeah it COULD be,” Russell shook his head. “What's the address?”

“I'm gonna pack up and meet you there,” Adrian announced. “I'll be at the corner of Woodbine and Queen in…”

“No,” said Russell firmly. “You stay there and keep an eye on the area. If Cassidy is on the move again we have to know.”

“Russell I don't like this, there's something… there's something strange about this one. I don't like it. Wait for me and we'll go in together.”

“No,” Russell repeated. “Stay there and keep your eyes out.”

“Russell…”

“Adrian we don't have time for this,” Russell shouted at his phone. “We played our hand. If Cassidy goes off the grid we might lose him for good, and then we're all in danger. Give me the address. Tell Mahtab and she can back me up.”

“Mahtab’s not gonna slip anywhere near a dead zone,” Adrian pointed out.

Russell rolled his eyes. “Then she can back me up the old fashioned way. Adrian. Tell me where I need to go right fucking now.”

Adrian paused, and let out an extended sigh. “You got a pen handy?”

“I don't need one,” Russell shook his head. “Shoot.”


 
***

Rodrigo sat in the middle of the birdcage while Phil and Blake snored quietly against opposite walls. The trouble that came with trying to breathe at this size, coupled with the blurring divide between night and day, made it difficult to maintain normal waking hours, but Rodrigo tried hard to fight the sleep that threatened to overtake him. Mostly the trouble was that he was so bored. There was nothing to read, no Internet to surf, no Netflix to binge, no music, no Xbox, no porn. The Master insisted they work out - he didn't want his toys going soft - and had arranged a crude set of weight fashioned from bolts and wingnuts, ball bearings, and thick rubber bands that smelled like broccoli. This helped to pass the time but anything that was physically exerting couldn't last too long at four inches tall. Even masturbating had him breathing too heavy and left him on the verge of fainting if he ever managed to get himself to completion.

If the guys had been awake, Rodrigo would've sung to himself. Cesar had been in a band that did Spanish covers of the Doors. Singing “Jinetes sobre la tempestad” always afforded Rodrigo a sliver of comfort, and his gringo cellmates seemed to enjoy the familiar rhythm. Now he did sit-ups to perk himself back up whenever he felt himself begin to doze, but he could only manage five or six before he saw stars and had to stop.

He heard fumbling around the door; more than usual. Rodrigo closed his eyes, praying the Master wasn't drunk. When he was drunk he was paranoid, unpredictable, impossible to assuage. He evidently liked Phil and Blake more than many of his earlier cellmates. They had lasted far longer than some of their predecessors, and the Master hadn't brought home anyone new since Blake. But if he was drunk, all bets were off. Rodrigo felt like even his own life was in danger.

But the metallic clatter at the door continued. Rodrigo pulled himself to his feet and approached the wall of the cage, sliding his arms through the bars and leaning against them. What was going on? It had been over a minute now. As chaotic as his internment here had been, there was a level of routine to it. Something felt strange and different, and Rodrigo felt a cold fear sucking his chest in.

Finally the lock turned with a loud clack, and the door swung in a few inches, hanging there a moment before a figure appeared in the doorway and entered with trepidation, taking small quiet steps and glancing around, as if afraid he was being watched. Rodrigo squinted into the darkness, trying to make out any details. It wasn't the tall, burly silhouette of the Master, but a shorter, skinnier figure. Was the Master being robbed? Rodrigo spent a few seconds guessing what a stranger might do if he found them, before he began to discern some familiar features.

“Russell?” he whispered in disbelief, then raised his hands to his mouth and shouted. “Russell!”

Phil started awake with a gasp. “Whuzzuh… what's going on?”

Russell's ears perked and he glanced bewildered around the room. Rodrigo frantically grabbed one of the bolt-and-nut weights off the floor and clanged it against the bars. This roused Blake, who sat up groggily.

Russell looked straight at the cage as Rodrigo clanged the weight again. Russell searched the wall for a lightswitch, and when he found it the fluorescent lights overhead flickered on. Rodrigo was briefly blinded but saw a shudder of motion in the terrarium and caught a glimpse of Penny's furry legs disappearing into the foliage.

Russell approached the birdcage, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. It was so nice to see any face other than the Master's Rodrigo nearly burst into tears. Phil had backed up to the far side of the cage. “Who the fuck is that?” he hissed.

“Holy shit…” Russell whispered. “Roddy? Holy shit…” he glanced around. “What the hell is this place? Who did this to you?”

“Roddy what's going on?” Blake asked quietly.

“Where's the Master?” Phil blurted.

“Who are these guys?” asked Russell.

“Russell…” saying his name; talking to anyone from his old life… Rodrigo felt suddenly like a person again. Everything was going to be all right. They were going to be free. But he shook his head. “Russell there's no time, you gotta get out of here.”

“What?!” Blake shouted. “No! Dude, get US the fuck out of here!”

“No,” Rodrigo was adamant. “He'll be back any minute. He might be in the house right now.”

“Who?” asked Russell.

Rodrigo shook his head. “I don't know who he is but he's more powerful than anything I've ever seen before.”

“I'm not leaving without you,” said Russell, reaching to undo the clasp.

“The Master's going to fucking kill him,” Phil mumbled darkly.

“What the fuck, Phil?” Blake demanded.

“Russell, no!” Rodrigo banged his hands against the bars. “Go get help! Come back with the rest of the Coven.”

“I'm not leaving you!” said Russell again.

“Russell I'm telling you: you cannot handle this guy. Get out. Right now.”

He came out of nowhere. Materialized out of thin air. The Master appeared behind Russell with a hammer in an upraised hand. Rodrigo's eyes went wide and he tried to shout but already the hammer was falling.

The Master struck at the back of Russell's head, and with a loud, electrical crack it deflected off the energy field Russell had learned to surround his body with. He called it his suit. The impact was absorbed by the suit but its force propelled him forward, and Russell stumbled with a loud “Fuck!”, bracing himself against the table. The birdcage rattled and its occupants were thrown to the floor.

The Master looked dumbfounded at the hammer, then struck again as Russell turned to face him, landing the hammer soundly on his jaw. Rodrigo could see the energy disperse across the suit - a white electric ripple coating Russell's body like a second skin.

Russell was prepared that time and barely flinched, swatting the hammer aside and delivering a swift punch to the Master - a left to the jaw, a right to the nose. The second jab sent the Master back a step with a grunt of pain.

Russell rose to his full height, hopped away from the work table, and raised his fists in a practiced boxer's stance, light on his feet and waiting for an opening to strike.

The Master held the hammer out defensively in front of him, his other hand going to his nose and finding blood dribbling down his face. “Oh you're… you fucking trash nigger asshole,” he licked blood from his upper lip. “You're fucking dead.”

Russell prepared for another assault but the Master just stood there. He spat blood on the cement floor and tossed the hammer away with a loud clatter. Russell glanced at the hammer in the floor, then gasped sharply as he felt a strange, unnameable pull tugging at his insides. His clothes began to shift over his body, and he felt suddenly lightheaded.

“No…” Rodrigo gaped. “No no no no no!” he slammed his hands on the bars and felt hot tears welling in his eyes. “Master no! PLEASE!”

Russell looked in bewildered horror at his hands as his body began to contract. His sleeves slid down his arms as they shrank, his collar sank down his chest. He fumbled to grab at his pants as they fell off his hips but his now-billowing shirt got in the way, and he tripped over his shoes which were becoming three, four, five sizes too big for him and more. He swore and fell forward, finding himself swimming in his tent of a shirt, even the weight of it overpowering his quickly-diminishing body.

The Master looked on, arms folded across his thick chest, a smug, victorious smile on his face. “You dumb fucking shit. You thought you could beat ME? Hurt ME? KILL ME?!”

“Master!” Rodrigo banged his fist on the bars. “Master he doesn't know! Master PLEASE don't!”

Russell fought his way out from under his shirt, and staggered to his feet. He looked up at the cavernous room, dizzy and disoriented, silently praying this was a vivid nightmare. The Master took a step towards him and the tremor he sent across the floor nearly threw Russell back on his knees.

“You fucking stupid, tiny asshole,” the Master continued, ignoring Rodrigo's pleas. “You can't kill me. I can do anything. You dumb fucks think you're so fuckin great. I'm so far beyond you. You're just pathetic. Fucking pathetic.”

He took another step towards Russell. Russell tried to back away but tripped over a fold in his shirt, falling back on his ass, gasping for breath. The Master closed the gap, towering over him like a skyscraper.

“This is what happens,” the Master barked. “This is what you get when you try to take on fucking GOD.” He raised his workbooted foot aloft and held it there over Russell, its gargantuan shadow enveloping him.

Blake had started to hyperventilate, and crouched low in the corner, closing his eyes covering his ears and shaking his head back and forth.

“No! Master don't! Just put him in here with us!” Rodrigo rattled the bars of the birdcage, his voice getting hoarse. “Master please don't do this!”

“Kill him, Master,” Phil had appeared next to Rodrigo at the bars, a strange, fanatical look in his face. “Show him how small he is. Show him how powerful you are.”

“Phil shut the fuck up!” Rodrigo shrieked, pushing him away.

“I might be persuaded to change my mind,” the Master grumbled, steadying himself on the workbench as he continued to hold his foot aloft. “I might spare you. Forgive your transgression.” He wiped blood from his lip with his hand and sniffed. “If you plead your case. Beg for your life. Show me you know that you belong to me now.”

Russell opened his mouth to speak but he could barely breathe, and only managed a strangled squeak.

The Master spat again. “Stupid fucking roach,” he grumbled, and the boot fell with a wet, sickening crunch.

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Holy shit a new chapter!! I've been waiting so long for this, especially the scene with Brent growing. Hopefully he retains some of that new size! Hopefully we'll get more soon!

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:o That last scene! 

Really can't wait to see where everything is building too. So many different storylines, but so much sexy, scary, and fun going on.

 

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  • 1 month later...

Part 14: Hugo

 

His world was dark and cold. He felt constricted, strangled, as if buried under a mound of soil. Panic had subsided into an otherworldly calm. He couldn't see or hear, but there was a certain degree of perception he couldn't completely explain. He had a strange series of… he wouldn't exactly call them sensations, but he concluded that he was being moved; was moving; had moved. How, by what, and where to, he couldn't say.

It was clear that although his body was now beyond his means to manipulate, his mind appeared to be intact. He couldn't really perceive time accurately, but he was sure it was passing.
You have power here, he assured himself. There must be some way to use it.

There were others who had managed to separate their body and mind, project their thoughts elsewhere; observe, even communicate with people halfway across the world. But this was never something he had learned to do, and he doubted he could teach it to himself with nothing to go on.

Except… it wasn't nothing, was it? Something had touched him that night at WAYLA. Some entity had drilled into his mind and he had felt its presence. It had been confusing and unclear at the time but in retrospect - perhaps freed from the distractions of his biology - he understood what had happened. He had been overwhelmed by his memories, relived two years of ordeals and triumphs all at once.

He swam through the darkness back to that moment. Was it… yes. There was someone else there. A thin, delicate thread connected them to each other. He reached out. Took careful hold of it, grasped it tight, and pulled. If Will had any substance here; if Thought and Memory were no longer abstract in this bodiless void, then he focused them and all other forces he could muster on a single, simple idea. He pushed it away from him. He didn’t know if it would work, but it was all he could do to try. Cassidy called out:

I need your help.

 

***

Brent dozed lazily through the afternoon while Nate wet-vacced up the mess. Nate fed him pizza pockets and beer after he had the place mostly cleaned up, and afterwards Brent drifted in and out of naps. He would awake to mild alarm at being barely able to move, but then would settle into revelling at his size. He felt so heavy, so thick, and it was all he could do to keep his gargantuan cock from getting hard again, not wanting to burden Nate with another sea of jizz to clean up.

They began to shrink back to normal in the evening. The process was much more subtle. As his overblown muscles began to deflate he felt his limbs aching, probably just from lying still for so long. He rose to his feet when he decided he had returned to normal, but a big thick cock flopping against his knees suggested he still had a bit of a ways to go.

He lumbered out of his room and down the hall, finding Nate almost back to his usual height lying across the couch playing with his phone, wearing the shorts he'd arrived in and a borrowed shirt of Brent's. Nate looked up and his face blossomed into a wide smile. “Hey man! How you feelin?”

Brent shrugged. “A little out of it,” he mumbled. He leaned back and stretched with a loud yawn. “But feelin’ good. Amazing, actually.” He shook his head, massaging his neck. “I still can’t believe this actually happened.” He looked down at his body. Even diminished, his muscles were still pretty thick. “Is STILL happening!” he added with a chuckle.

Nate sat upright. “Yeah. S’pretty wild.” He nodded. He glanced down at his phone, then back up at Brent. “‘Know you wanted to hang out more with Pride an’ shit, but I’s out learnin’ how ‘a do this.”

Brent plopped down on the couch next to Nate. His flaccid dick had receded up his thigh and he figured he was nearly back to his normal size. “How DID you learn all this?”
Nate grinned. “Sorry man, can’ really tell.”

“So… that night at the Black Eagle. You knew? Did you know the whole time?”

Nate paused. “I…” he hesitated. “Guy I learned it from s’the same guy who pumped you up,” he admitted. “Serious though, man. S’all I can say.”

“But like… he told you?” Brent pressed. “Is this someone who knows me?” He paused. “It’s not Luke or Jayson, is it?”

“I put it together,” Nate mumbled. “S’all m’gonna say, brah. Period.”

Brent nodded, leaning back. “This is nuts.”

“THESE‘re nuts,” Nate reached over and tickled Brent's balls. Brent giggled and swatted him away.

“It's just… wow… y'know?”

Nate rolled his eyes. “Fuck, bro, will you get over it ‘lready?”

“Come on, man, this is a big deal!” Brent protested. “Magic? It's fucking world-changing.”

“Nah man, s’not,” Nate shook his head. “Jus’ cuz you didn’ know ‘bout it doesn’ mean s’never there, right?” He shrugged. “Sides, you did know ‘bout it. What ya think ‘at was at th’ Eagle?”

Brent raised his eyebrows. “Yeah good point.” He paused a moment. “Hey. Do you know Mahtab Nilan… uhh, Nil… I can never remember her last name. It's long and Indian.”

“Huh?” Nate looked at him. “Who?”

“Mahtab. She… well we hung out a lot first semester. She's at York too. And she told me… well she started telling me about this group she was a part of, and how they were like… doing magic. Like real magic and I was… like at first I thought it was just a prank or something but when it… like she seriously believed it. I just thought she was legit psycho. So after the Christmas break I just kinda cut her off. I didn't want to deal with her. After the Eagle…” he dropped his gaze. “I wanted to say sorry but I didn't know, like, what would happen, y'know? And I just had been like, ‘don't tell anyone about it.’ Especially after the drug test and all that shit with Tyler and Farhan.”

“I’unno man… thi’ shit’s all…” Nate shook his head vigorously. “Naw man fuck all ‘at. No mopin’, got me?” The finger he pointed in Brent’s face was stern, but the smile behind it was impish as ever. “Didn’ come here t’hang wi’ a downer all day. S’exciting. Get excited, y’fuckin dumbass.”

Brent's smile returned. “Sorry. You're right. This IS exciting.”

“‘Can make it permanent too, bro,” said Nate, putting his arm around Brent and rubbing his shoulder. “Big s’you want. Twenny-four-seven.”

“Yeah?” Brent raised an eyebrow. “Jesus…”

“Yeah, man. Gon’ get some shit sorted out an’en YOU might be the short one,” Nate winked.

Brent's brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“Think I'd go t’all the trouble an’ not use this on me?” Nate chuckled and shook his head. “Always knew I’s destined for bigger things.”

“Wait… seriously?” Brent turned to him. “What'll you tell people?”

“I’unno,” Nate shrugged. “Who gives a shit?”

“Well like…” Brent stammered, “how big are we talking about?”

“Stop worryin’, man!” Nate chided laboriously, squeezing his shoulder. “S’gonna be great. Ev’thing’s gon’ be fine.” He leaned his head on Brent's shoulder. “Jus’ got… gotta…” he voice drawled off.

Brent felt Nate's grip on his shoulder go limp. “Nate?” he shook him by the knee. “What is it?”

Nate sat upright, then stood. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable and confused. “I… jus’ hol’ on a sec.”

Nate darted to the washroom. Brent sat forward as Nate shut the door behind him. “Nate? What the hell? Are you okay?”

“S’fine!” Nate called through the door.

Brent stood up, confused and not really sure what to do. He stood close to the door and held his breath, listening for anything from within, but there was only silence.

He exhaled and plodded back to his room, the potential crisis making him suddenly and acutely aware of his nudity. He returned in boxers and a thin white undershirt, and was briefly relieved when he saw Nate emerge from the bathroom. But when he saw his face, Brent began to worry again. Nate wasn't smiling. He seemed pale and stressed and maybe even… afraid.

“Nate?”

Nate turned to him, and for a brief fraction of a moment he looked back at Brent with a strange longing, fear, and helplessness. But it was just a flash, like an errant frame on a movie reel. His grin returned, he shrugged, rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Sorry man, I jus’ forgot some’in,” he chuckled. “I act’ly gotta split.” He reached out and pulled Brent's neck down, craning up to kiss him. It was a short, affectionate kiss - not his usual sloppy tongue-thrash. And as their lips parted, Nate held Brent's head close and pressed their foreheads against each other.

It was nice, but it was weird. Brent could see that something had changed. The fluffy cartoon clouds of excitement for the future seemed to have suddenly turned into a lingering putrid smoke of doubt that they even had a future. Brent knew it had happened. He knew it. But as Nate drew away from him he giggled and smirked bashfully like he always did. Nate was trying to make Brent think that change hadn't occurred; Brent was too scared and confused to just call out the bullshit. They might as well had BOTH been mind-readers.

“Nate…” Brent took a faltering step forward as Nate slipped into his shoes. “I… you know if there's ever something wrong that I'm… I'd have your back. I'd want to help. I…” he stammered. “Like, you get that, right?”

Another brief break in the facade. The smile twitched, betraying its deceit, his eyes trembled with uncharted depths of understanding and… maybe regret. Depths Brent hadn't realized Nate possessed.

And just like before, it fell away into the practiced casual, easy-going charm he always exhibited. He cupped one hand at the side of his mouth, called out “Gayyyyyy!” and disappeared out the door.

 

***

As Nate rounded the corner and Brent's house dropped out of view, his brow furrowed, his grin hardened into a frown. He glanced around for somewhere he could focus. He'd tried in the bathroom but Brent was too distracting. He needed something nice and serene.

There was an old folks’ home at the intersection. In the middle of a sparsely populated parking lot was a small island of thin yellowing sod inhabited by a gangly red maple sapling and a cracked cement garbage bin. It'd do. He jogged over to it, sat down with his back against the garbage bin, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The sky was still mostly overcast but even through his eyelids he could see the light of the sun shifting behind the clouds. A cicada was keening nearby. The sounds of motors and horns and reverberating bass beats from Finch Steet rattled like stones in a dryer, and there was a distant echo of playground noise; an incoherent rabble of childish shrieks and shouts. This was better. This could work. Nate pulled himself out of all that and listened for what he had heard before.

Yes, there it was. Someone had tried to present an idea. But it was all crumpled up like a wad of paper. He had to peel it apart very carefully, lest it slip through his fingers and he lose it again. Whoever had sent this had no clue what they were doing.

Nate had been reading thoughts for a while, and had arrived at a number of insights. First and most importantly: every human mind was unique. While there was overlap in shared experiences everyone generally had their own set of interpretations, associations, and representations for even very basic and simple ideas. Reading surface thoughts, probing memories, and digging through someone’s knowledge was one thing. It was like looking through a library or a computer database - albeit without the help of a card catalogue or logically nested folders - but once you found what you were looking for, you were set. But someone was trying to send him an idea or an instruction, and it was so loaded with subtext and abstractions that it essentially had to be decoded.

When it had hit him, he immediately felt a rush of adrenaline, which - coming on while lazily dozing next to Brent - had confused and alarmed him. He felt like he was being attacked. Even now he found this concept cloaked with desperation and dripping with panic. Whatever was going on, it was dangerous, maybe even deadly.

Things began to align themselves in a way Nate found recognizable. He realized it had come from Cassidy, but the particulars were still muddled. He tried to follow the line back and… everything sort of exploded, beyond even a scope that Cassidy understood. Cassidy had unwittingly provided Nate with what amounted to a phone line in an otherwise locked room; a room in which Cassidy was not alone. It all unloaded on Nate so fast he was immediately flooded with memories and emotions and experiences. His heart started to race, stars speckled the inside of his eyelids, there was a tenebrous pitch rising in his ears, and pain lanced through his brain from every direction at once.

Nate pulled himself out with a gasp and after a momentary reprieve, a sharp ache seeped into his head. He held the bridge of his nose and cringed, waiting for it to pass, too distracted by agony to sort out everything he had seen. But as the eye-popping migraine subsided into a dull, mild hangover headache, it all became very clear.

Nate had never wanted this kind of thing. Drama and danger. His preferred genre of adventure was whimsical jaunt, not harrowing quests. Lives on the line? What kind of masochist wants to deal with that shit? Nate had a burly, growth-hungry beefcake a literal five minute walk from where he sat. A beefcake that LIKED him. Liked him a lot. He could go back there, he knew. He could just ignore all this bullshit and let nature take its course. He didn't know these people; what did he care? This didn't involve him. He didn't owe any of these people the time of day. He owed something to Brent. He owed it to Brent to stay alive, and not risk his life for a bunch of strangers… Right…?

A mixed blessing of being a telepath was that more often than not you had a better idea of what kind of person one was than they did themselves. He'd always thought that skill had given him some insight into what kind of person he was: someone who didn't get involved if he didn't have an angle. He could go back to Brent, never mention any of it, and no one could ever give him any shit over it. He could leave all those people to whatever fate had in store for them. He could. That was an option. It was a decision he could make. It didn't matter that he was their only hope. It didn't matter that if he didn't try to help them, nobody else would.

Fuck.

Nate stood up and dusted off his shorts. He was just wasting time trying to convince himself. In reality, he already knew that he was about to do something incredibly heroic.
He kicked dejectedly at the grass. “Aww, maaaaaan…”

 

***

Just as Adam and Mahtab were retreating down the alleyway, Nate was walking up the street behind them. Everyone around him was buzzed and horny, so he had closed off his senses to them. There wasn't much point to scanning anyone; he had a pretty complete picture of what was going on. He wasn't there on recon anyway. He wasn't familiar with many of the active players, and how they might react to his involvement was just a guess. He'd decided he needed to get some backup that was more predictable.

Even with the cloud cover it was still light out but the Black Eagle already had a line. Nate sighed and sidled up at the back, eavesdropping on a trio of twentysomething bears and cubs in front of him.

“... but dude, look at the fuckin bouncer!” The larger of the bears was saying. “He was big but never THAT big.”

“Lookit, jus’ cuz it's a good hoax don't make it any less a hoax,” countered a blonde bearded guy who looked like he had just started bulking up. “I saw a thing on Facebook that said it's a publicity stunt for Magic Mike.”

“I dunno, man, that's pretty thorough,” replied a shorter tanned cub. “Like there's a bunch of Youtube vids, all from different accounts… and if they're fake I've never seen anything like that before.”

“So what,” the blonde dropped his shoulders. “What, it's all real? Bunch o’ guys - at the fuckin Eagle - spontaneously turn into bodybuilders an’ pornstars an’ supermodels? For no reason? Got any ‘splanation for that?”

“Hey man, I'm not sayin’ I can explain it,” the cub shrugged his thick shoulders. “But… well yeah. Look at that bouncer. How do YOU explain it?”

Nate turned away, suppressing a chuckle, before realizing he'd been standing there for five minutes and the line hadn't moved. A quick read of Daniel - the freakishly overmuscled bouncer who was attracting so much attention - revealed that they were keeping their numbers low until more staff showed up. Until then, no one else was getting in before people inside left. Nate was surprised Daniel was thinking so clearly with all these guys flirting with him - feeling his arms and chest; asking for selfies with him; or just staring at him with shameless lust.
The second bouncer, Hugo, was a bit peevish. While Daniel had had this job for years and was a loyal friend to the owner, Hugo only came in every now and then, and only did it so he could pick up guys at the bar. Hugo had already been in good shape, and the previous night Nate had grown him nearly a foot taller to a respectable six-foot-four, which he seemed happy with but was upset at all the attention Daniel was getting.

Christ, Nate thought to himself. I make this guy taller overnight and he still finds something to bitch about.

Still, it gave Nate a decent idea on how to kill two birds with one stone.

“Off the stairs,” Daniel grumbled softly at the next couple of guys in line - two middle aged bears with tasseled leather jackets hanging open over their otherwise bare chests.

The one in the cowboy hat took a step back. “I tell ya, man. Wasn't sure I believed it. Didn’ think you could get any bigger.”

“Hmm,” Daniel acknowledged mirthlessly, and turned his gaze to the rest of the line.

Hugo rolled his eyes. It had been like this all night. All these guys fawning over Daniel, whose stoic, joyless responses only seemed to drive them even crazier for him. That, and Daniel hadn't bothered to buy a new shirt and showed up for his shift bare-chested.

Meanwhile no one even bothered to bat an eye at Hugo. Sure, he'd gotten considerably taller but he worked there so sporadically no one had retained a mental “before” image to compare him to. The dark-eyed blonde leaned against the wall with a sigh. He had imagined the life of a Church Street bouncer would be much more glamorous - though as the thought occurred to him now it seemed a bit silly.

He was probably just exhausted. All the excitement from the night before had made for a restless sleep, not to mention a couple rails of coke. The novelty of all that weirdness was more than enough to keep him happy.

But he felt something strange beyond that. He'd been so high last night it had been difficult so sort out one from the other. But he was stone sober, and there was a strange tautness in his guts that went far deeper than the run-of-the-mill anxiety he sometimes experienced at this job. He furrowed his brow. It felt familiar. Was it happening again?

He got his answer as his clothes began to get extra snug around his frame. He looked down and saw his chest puffing out under his shirt. He spread his arms, glancing back and forth between them. “Uhh...Daniel?”

“Mmm,” Daniel replied, nodding slowly as he looked out at the crowd, attempting (not for the first time) to fold his arms across his chest before realizing his arms were too big and settling for resting them on his hips.

One of the leather clad cowboys was the first to notice, his eyes bugging out and his mouth hanging open. He pointed, trying to get his friend’s attention but apparently at a loss for words. Daniel turned to see what had him so agitated, and his eyes shot wide open. “Muddasic!” he exclaimed, reaching for his walkie. He had a little trouble finding an angle that would get it close to his mouth. “Code green! We gotta code green out front. I'll be needin some support out here on the double!”

Hugo was already starting to feel the shirt straining to contain him. His feet were getting cramped in the converse hi-tops he had had to buy today to make up for his feet jumping three sizes last night. And it looked like he'd be making another trip tomorrow. He looked to Daniel for some help but Daniel had his hands full containing the line, which had begun to notice Hugo’s ongoing gains and were swarming the velvet rope to get a better look.

Hugo was so wrapped up in his muscles bulging bigger that it wasn't until the cuffs of his jeans started riding up his swelling calves that he realized he was getting taller again as well. He couldn't be too far from seven feet.

Two out of three guys in the gathering crowd had their phones out taking videos, and the clamour of disbelief was becoming deafening. “Take it off!” he heard someone yell.

His collar was nearly strangling his neck and he was pretty sure a seam had split over one shoulder. “I don't think I can!” Hugo shouted back with a grin.

“Show off your guns!” someone else called, and a chorus of hoots and cheers followed. Daniel’s gigantic frame was a literal wall at the base of the stairs, but he seemed to be struggling to keep people from climbing over him.

Hugo, basking in the attention, raised both arms up, clenched his fists, and flexed. Immediately another wave of growth radiated through his body. His sleeves popped open as his biceps ballooned to the size of bowling balls. His shirt split right down the middle, revealing his hairless, gargantuan pecs atop a cut, bulging eight-pack. The seams of his jeans popped, yielding to his expanding buttocks and thighs thick as columns, all as he felt himself getting bigger everywhere. EVERYwhere. He opened his mouth and gasped as the fly of his jeans blew open and his inflating dick forced the zipper apart.

The door opened and Carl and Darcy emerged, each holding a beach towel. They rushed down the stairs and both immediately took a step back as they looked up at Hugo.

The growth seemed to have ended, and Hugo panted for breath as he looked down at himself, his destroyed jeans sliding down his legs. His T-shirt had become a miniscule vest, his new shoes had split open, and his CK underwear was barely holding on around his thick bubble butt and strangled cock and balls. The crowd cheered, and camera flashes sparkled through the street. He felt like he was headlining a rock concert. He had to be almost 8 feet tall, built like a mac truck, and only a quickly diminishing sense of modesty kept him from reaching down right there and jacking off his huge cock in front of all his adoring fans.

“Do I…” Darcy tentatively raised his towel. “Should I cover him up?”

“Nah,” Carlos sighed. “He's into it.” He brushed past a passerby who had skipped the line and was trying to get at Hugo, arranging himself opposite Daniel on the sidewalk.

The crowd was losing their minds. People were roiling against Daniel trying to shout at Hugo.

“Take it off!”

“Do a lat spread!”

“Show us your cock!”

“Beefier!”

“Are you on Grindr?”

“Beefier!”

Somehow the crowd had latched onto it, and were chanting “Beef-i-er! Beef-i-er!” over and over in unison.

Hugo chuckled, spreading his hands helplessly. “I don't think it works that way, guys,” he said apologetically, pleased at the lower octave rumbling out of his throat.

“Uhh…” Darcy had to intone loudly to be heard over the crowd. “Hugo? It might…”

Hugo felt his face bristling, and put a hand up to feel a short but full and even beard covering his formerly clean-shaven face.

The sensation seemed to be travelling down his body, and he watched a carpet of thick blonde fur unfurl down his chest, narrowing into a thinner trail as it loped through his abs. But just as it crawled under his tight undies and into his pubes - which he felt getting bushier - his newly acquired eight-pack disappeared under a generous layer of fat.

“Whoa,” Hugo’s eyed widened at the belly ballooning into view from under his thick furry pecs. He put both hands on it and felt it expanding under his palms. It was soft but sturdy, and he gave it a few experimental bounces as it settled into a sizeable musclegut. Another splash of warmth burst outward from his belly. His pecs jutted out further, his arms thickened even more, his ass swelled against the wall, sliding up as he grew yet a few more inches taller, and finally his cock and balls grew too big for his underwear to handle, and they split open, spilling out his half-hard, two-foot chubby manhood, and allowing his softball ball-sized testicles to hang free.

A flurry of camera flashes urged Daniel to check in on Hugo, and the big man’s stoicism faltered into awe as he looked up at Hugo’s gigantic frame, larger than not only anyone’s gains from the previous night but larger than anyone Daniel had ever heard of. His moment of reverie was enough for one of the cowboys to push past Daniel and charge Hugo. Darcy moved to cover up Hugo with his beach towel but the burly cowboy shoved him into the stairwell and pressed up against Hugo’s round gut, his head not even coming up to his chest.

“I'll do anything you want. Please. Let me do anything. Please.”

Him getting through opened the floodgates, and soon the sidewalk was filled with guys pleading for Hugo’s attention.

“Fuck,” Carlos was forced to back away, and surveyed the mounting chaos outside of his bar; at Daniel struggling to get guys off the steps while simultaneously trying to stop others from joining in.

“Hey… hey guys come on,” Hugo warned. “I don't want to hurt anybody…”

“Hurt me!” a big, thick, fully decked-out leather daddy shouted up at him. “I've been looking for a man who could for years!”

Even light nudges were sending guys sprawling backward against the crowd. Hugo realized that if he wasn't careful he could easily kill someone.

“Fuck!” Carlos swore as someone shoved him away.

Oh shit, Hugo thought. Am I gonna be like this forever?

Multiple men were pressing against him, hands groping everywhere. Hugo didn't know what to do. And then someone got a hold of his cock.

Hugo was completely unprepared for the sensations his new genitals came equipped with. Suddenly his anxieties dissolved. He wasn't worried about tomorrow. He wasn't worried about an hour from then. All that he knew was the now. And right now someone had their thick, sweaty hands running up and down his shaft, and was slowly pressing a tongue into his urethra. He couldn't even see who it was, there were so many guys all over him - squeezing his huge arms, craning their necks to kiss and suck on his hard nipples, running their fingers through the hair on his big hard belly. He didn't care that he was huge and naked on a well lit street with dozens of people watching and filming him. Hadn't he always been? This had become his past present and future.

“FUCK!” Carlos shouted, setting his jaw and shaking his head. He cupped his hands over his mouth and commanded Darcy: “Call the cops!”

“Fuck,” Darcy observed, and turned to clamber up the stairs.

“Yeah. Fuck.” Carlos agreed.

Hugo was breathing hard, his chest heaving with every moan. Someone was working his balls now. Someone was licking his feet. Hugo’s hands fumbled limp through them like he was feeling his way through a dark room, until one short otter in a spiked collar and elaborate harness grabbed his hand and started sucking on his sausage-sized fingers. He felt someone trying to get as his asshole but his butt was pressed up against the wall, so he thrust his hips forward and leaned back with his shoulders. His flash-harem adjusted quickly, and immediately he had one pair of hands on each testicle, and after finding his gigantic ass too thick to rim, the denim-clad bear stuck his two middle fingers in Hugo’s asshole.

Why is everyone in love with me? thought Hugo. Why am I so much bigger and stronger than everyone else? Why am I so huge and powerful? Why am I being worshipped?

I must be God.

His newly-minted cult did nothing to discourage this theory. Further away there were panicked shouts, frantic conversations, a dull white noise of chatter. His immediate vicinity was awash with the sounds of pleasure. Moans, groans, gasps, slurps, kisses; the odd whispered promise of servitude to him. Every inch of him felt amazing, and there were just so many inches.

Giving up on attempting to deflate the situation, Carlos lumbered off the sidewalk through the gathering crowd. Maybe it… maybe it wasn’t so bad…? But as he got to the middle of Church Street and turned around, that small hope dissolved. Hugo stood two feet - at least - taller than the alcove leading up into the Black Eagle. Huge, nude, and being pleasured by a crowd of leather and denim daddies. He could see where this was going, and with at least thirty cameras filming the whole thing he couldn't imagine this not making the news. And while he appreciated the publicity, Carlos had a feeling this time would end up being more trouble than it was worth.

Hugo felt sweat dripping down his body, greedily licked off by a dozen eager tongues. “Oh fuck,” he groaned into the air, looking up at the darkening twilit sky. He felt a strange sensation in his crotch; a familiar bubbling, but less like a pot on the stove than a volcano. He clenched his ass reflexively, and whoever had their hand up there sucked their teeth as they found it trapped between two cheeks of solid brawn.

“I’m,” Hugo gasped. “I’m…” his voice trailed off. He felt that building pressure move from his groin at an aching crawl up his pulsing, iron-hard shaft. The hands stroking it seemed to sense this, increasing their pace and becoming more florid in their massage. None of them had ever given a hand job to a schlong they could share with multiple people, and evidently this new opportunity was bringing out a heretofore untapped creative side. Further and further he felt the pressure extend down his dick, over and over amazed at just how much cock he had. Finally it reached his head, and exploded.

Carlos threw both hands to his face in shock, disbelief, and the thought “what the hell am I supposed to do about this” as Hugo’s twenty-six inch cock hosed down the crowd of ravenous adorers in front of him. The cowboy who had his tongue up his slit was bowled over onto his ass, a thick layer of jizz covering his face. As he fell away the torrent sprayed forth and struck Daniel in the back with such force he staggered forward to retain his footing. The remaining worshippers giggled like children playing in a sprinkler as they were splashed with Hugo’s hot cum. While for some, getting covered in a nine-foot tall giant’s semen pulled them out of the moment, for others it only drew them deeper. Men licked Hugo’s spunk off each other, rubbed it on their skin like it was lotion, shook it from their hair as if they had just taken a shower. Finally the geyser extinguished and Hugo leaned back, panting heavily as his chest heaved. He massaged his belly as he waited to catch his breath, dull post-coital fireworks still popping through his brain.

Carlos glanced around at the onlookers on Church Street in an attempt to read their expressions. Equal parts confusion, disgust, arousal, and fascination. A generous puddle of jizm had amassed on the sidewalk.

“Daniel!” he barked. “We need to get him off the street! Now!”

“You outta your mind, man?” Daniel retorted. “No way dat boy fittin’ into the bar!”

Carlos clenched his teeth. “That’s why I said ‘off the street.’ Come on!”

 

***

Tyson drew up the bottle of tequila a foot and a half from the bar, letting the liquor splash as he filled five neatly arranged shot glasses. He expertly spun the bottle in his hand before depositing it back on the shelf behind him. He slid a slice of lemon into each glass and slammed a salt shaker next to them, spreading his arms as he leaned on the bar like he was presenting a piece of art. “That’ll be thirty, please,” he said, adding a wink for good measure.

The fiftysomething waifish diva flitted his heavily mascaraed eyes and slid two twenties across the bar, letting his hand linger on the bills so that when Tyson went to pick them up, the diva ran his fingers over the back of his hand. “Keep the change, gorgeous,” he cooed with a (probably fake) southwestern American accent, and delicately picked up all five shots at once, disappearing into the crowd.

Paul, who had finally started to enjoy himself, stifled a laugh. “Good lord, you are such a bloody trollop,” he chuckled. Paul always got more British when he was on M.

Tyson, meanwhile, had decided to play the night sober. He had a lot more mass and had reasoned that he didn’t know his limits anymore. He had resolved to test them in a controlled environment, but maybe after the weekend. He was happy with that decision because he was making a goddamn killing. Tyson was a natural charmer to begin with. Suddenly being one of the beefiest guys in the room had upped his game to another level, and he was raking in tips he could scarcely believe.

To Paul, he just spread his arms with a grin. “Don’t hate the player, man.”

Paul cackled loudly - even though it hadn’t been that funny a joke - and turned to the newest patron approaching the bar. “What can I get you mate?”

The short fit buzzed white kid pointed across the bar. “Need t’talk at Tyson.” Tyson glanced over, immediately recognizing him as the guy who had almost fainted a couple nights earlier. And he’d been in just the previous night, as well, right before all the chaos broke out.

Paul shot his co-worker an impressed smirk, and the two maneuvered around each other - which had been much easier yesterday - and switched spots.

Tyson motioned his hand in front of his chest. “If you want to ask about… all this, I don’t really…”

The kid shook his head. “No. S’not about that.” He leaned forward. “Aight, look. Tyson, you gotta come wi’ me. Righ’ now.”

Tyson paused, but his look of concern quickly melted into a bashful smile. “Look man, I'm flattered and… like, I mean you're a pretty cute guy I wouldn't even be against it it's just, y'know, I'm working and I can't just…”

“No. No, I…” the kid interjected, shaking his head. He seemed to lose his place for a moment, and then sighed, leaning further across the bar. “It's Blake.”

The colour drained from Tyson’s face. “How… who…”

“Blake,” the kid reiterated with more force. “Th’same Blake. S’in trouble, man. ‘M tryin t’help him but I need your help, Tyson. An’ we gotta go righ’ fuckin’ now.”

Tyson stared blankly at him, stood up from the bar and looked around for a moment, before leaning back down. “Who the fuck even are you?” he asked with exasperation.

“Nate,” he replied quickly. He put a hand to his chest. “I'm Nate, you're Tyson, ‘e’s Blake.” he softly pounded his fist on the bar. “‘Can ‘splain everythin, but we runnin’ outa time. We gotta go now, man. Righ’ now.”

Tyson had been having a weird couple of nights. There had to be a point where he put his foot down and said enough is enough, not get wrapped up in some more bullshit. But if it was true… if Blake hadn't been seen since the night they were together, and was in trouble, then maybe it had something to do with Tyson.

“Jus’ gotta trus’ me, man,” Nate shrugged. “Make up your mind, though. S’if you ain’ comin’ I gotta go on my own.”

Tyson stood up again. He took a deep breath and glanced back at Nate, who was tapping an imaginary wristwatch.

“Shit,” Tyson whispered under his breath, and slid over next to Paul. “Paul I gotta take care of something. I gotta go.”

Paul made a face. “Dude,” he protested, gesturing to the crowded bar.

“It's an emergency,” Tyson pleaded.

“Yeah an emergency shag,” Paul shot back with a roll of his eyes.

“C'mon man you know I wouldn't do this to you if it wasn't a big deal,” said Tyson, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Paul shrugged the hand off but condeded with a sigh. “What'll I tell Carlos?”

“Let me worry about that,” Tyson replied, already shimmying away. He swivelled out from behind the bar and slapped Nate on the shoulder. “Let's go.”

As he led Nate out of the stairwell leading into the bar, Tyson was surprised to find Darcy hosing off the steps, with no sign of Daniel or Hugo.

“Darcy?” Tyson raised his eyebrow, looking at the pile of torn clothes and men covered in jizz. “What the hell happened?”

Darcy was about to answer when Nate grabbed Tyson’s wrist. “‘Ll tell you all abou’it on th’way.” He took off at a run still holding onto Tyson, who nearly toppled over, still unused to being so top-heavy. Nate dragged him through the crowd until finally they broke through and hurried down the street.

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Amazing chapter, one of the best of the whole story so far! I think "burly, growth-hungry beefcake" is my new favorite phrase. And that scene with Hugo!!

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Part 15: Adrian

 

The Master pulled his boot away and the sight turned Rodrigo's stomach. A crimson mess of gore stained Russell's crumpled shirt on the floor.

“No…” he whimpered. “You didn't have to… he was only…”

“You!” the Master shoved a meaty finger in Rodrigo's face and the tiny man stumbled backward with a start. “I knew you were going to be a problem eventually. I should've just added you to my gallery. Those clueless fucking douchebags can't save you, you pathetic little shit! They come at me they'll end up just like this shitstain.”

“You're a fucking psycho!” Rodrigo suddenly exploded. “You need to turn people into toys just so you can… I don't even know! Feel like a big tough guy?”

The Master shook his head in disbelief. “Oh you are fucking dead, roach…”

“What difference does it make? When's it ever going to be enough for you you fucking pathetic loser! Can't even get a guy to come home with you unless you can fit him in your hand!”

“Roddy, stop! Please!” Blake begged from the corner.

“You're so fucking stupid,” Rodrigo went on. “No one notices? No one cares?” Rodrigo pointed at the pile of clothing. “He cared. His friends care. And when they come looking for him… god are you fucked.”

“No one's coming for him,” the Master growled. “No one's coming for any of you, you dumb fucking bugs. Fuck…” he bent down and scooped up the pile of clothing, tossing the articles one by one in the garbage bin by the door. “I've protected you. Fed you. Cleaned up your piss and shit. And all I ever get from you is fucking grief. You think anyone out there gives a shit about some nobody ‘spic from buttfuck nowhere?” He returned to the cage, grabbed the water bottle from its side, and yanked it off, pouring the water out with a loud splatter onto the cement floor before tossing the empty bottle in the garbage. “Good fucking luck, dumbass.”

“Master please!” Phil ran up to the bars. “Don't leave me! You know I'd never…”

“Shut up!” shouted the Master. He reached out and unhooked the door of the cage. Rodrigo's eyes widened and he scrambled to the far side. But the Master reached inside and grabbed Phil around his waist, pulling him out and roughly depositing him in the front pocket of his shirt.

Phil fumbled around to right himself. “Oh THANK you, Master! I…”

“I said shut the fuck up!” the Master shouted again, and Phil clamped his hands on his ears, wincing.

“Still looks a bit crowded in there,” said the Master, a crooked grin on his round face. He thrust his hand through the opening. Blake tried to dart to the other side but the Master's hand moved quickly, knocking Rodrigo to the floor as it did, and grabbed Blake by the leg. He pulled him to the ground, dragged him into the middle of the cage, then gripped him around the waist.

“No!” Blake cried. “Please just leave me alone!”

“If you say so,” said the Master as he pulled Blake clear of the opening. He turned, slid the door of the terrarium open, and dropped Blake inside.

“No!” Rodrigo scrambled to his feet and rushed to the bars. “Please! Master I'm… I'm sorry! I didn't know what I was saying! Blake wanted me to stop! He respects you!”

“Blake?” asked the Master as the terrarium door slid closed with a snap. “Who the fuck is Blake?”

“Master I'm sorry!” Rodrigo pleaded. “I didn't mean it! Please take him out of there, I'll do whatever you want!”

“All I want you to do is starve to fuckin death,” said the Master with a shrug. He turned and walked towards the door. “And it looks like that's pretty in the bag.”

He flicked off the light and slammed the door behind him.

Rodrigo raced to the side that faced the terrarium, already dizzy from the stress of the last few minutes, praying that Blake could at least hold out until help came. When had Penny been fed last? His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness and he couldn't see much of anything.

“Roddy?” he weakly heard the quavering voice of Blake through the glass.

“Be quiet!” Roddy hissed.

“Where is she?”

“Blake shut up, seriously!” said Roddy. “I can't see her. Don't say anything and don't move!”

Would it help? Would it at least delay her? He had to believe someone would come for Russell. If Blake could hold out long enough, he might be saved. But how long? After all this time living inches away from her, Rodrigo still had little idea what Penny was capable of. He didn't really know how she hunted, or how often she needed to feed.

He didn't know much of anything about tarantulas.

 

***

Adrian’s heart skipped a beat.

He could never really tell what that meant. His pursuits had been problematic from the start. He'd wanted to be able to see everything - to KNOW everything, but it had always been an issue trying to sort out what his spellcraft was telling him, and what his imagination was piecing together.

Adrian had tried to supplement his magic with technology. He was fairly proud of his progress, though his innovations had been unsung by the majority of his peers. He had hoped his talents would award him favour with Harry; maybe gain him access to more resources, but only Russell and Mahtab seemed to take note of his value, and their involving him in their clandestine investigation had been more of a compliment to Adrian than the two of them likely realized.

Adrian didn't know any details. His powers never laid it all out for him. All he ever got were feelings. Strange, instinctual spikes in his subconscious that were difficult to describe to others. And his instincts were telling him that something bad had happened. Something horrible, awful, and evil. And it had something to do with Russell. WHAT it had to do with Russell, he couldn't articulate. But the general feeling of unease he had had the whole day had intensified, and Adrian knew there had to be something more to it than just his imagination playing tricks on him.

Adrian stared at Google Maps application he had modded. At the black square on Boardwalk Drive; the dead zone he had sent Russell into. Something had gone wrong.

Adrian picked up his phone and dialled Russell. It went straight to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message.

Russell had said his phone was dying… maybe it was nothing to worry about. But that's not what Adrian’s gut was telling him. He called Liam.

“Hey Adrian,” Liam greeted. “How's it goin’?”

“Not good,” Adrian replied. “I think Russell's in trouble. Can you pick me up?”

Liam stuttered a bit. “Of… yeah, of course. Is… what's going on? What happened?”

“I don't know,” said Adrian. “I just got a bad feeling.”

 

***

The Master reached into his pocket and pulled out Phil, depositing him nonchalantly on the kitchen counter. Phil climbed to his feet. He wanted to express his gratitude for sparing him; reiterate his devotion to the living god, but he was wary of the Master's warning to keep quiet, so he stood still and watched in silence.

The Master tore a square of paper towel from a roll hanging off the underside of a cupboard, wiping blood from his nose as he moved into the living room. He stood there a moment, looking around the room.

“Fuck,” he swore quietly to himself. “Fuckin dicks.”

“What's wrong, Master?” Phil ventured. “What can I do to help?”

The Master rolled his eyes. “He's right. They're gonna come after him. I have to leave.”

“Take me with you, Master!” Phil pleaded.

The Master turned to look at Phil, and a slow, fiendish grin crept onto his face. “No.”

“But Master, I-”

“You've served me well, insect,” said the Master as he approached the counter. “Now is your chance to show me just how grateful to me you are. Prove yourself and I will show you power you've never imagined.”

Phil felt giddy with joy. “Anything, Master.”

“He's right. People are gonna come looking for them,” the Master pointed with his thumb at the door to the garage. “But you're going to be here waiting for them.” His grin widened. “And you're going to kill them all.”

 

***

Mahtab stood in the crowded club with her arms crossed across her chest, scowling at Adam as he leaned across the bar, showing the servers a picture of Cassidy on his phone. This was the fourth bar on Church Street they had been into, and she'd already gotten hit on twice; once by a lesbian and once by a guy who thought she was in drag. Normally she was liberal-minded enough to not let any of that bother her, but she'd been irritated all day and it was not helping. Finally he turned, scowling into empty space as opposed to making eye contact with her, and stormed past her on his way out of the bar.

Mahtab wriggled through the crowd and followed him outside, where he stood awkwardly in the middle of the street - closed for Pride - with his hands on his hips and his shoulders hunched, staring at the pavement. Mahtab walked up beside him, swivelling to face him, her hands in her jacket pockets, one fiddling with the fraying threads from the rip Adam had inflicted earlier. Adam stood up straight, craning his neck, grunting as he stretched his back.

“He hasn't seen him,” he mumbled.

“That's getting progressively less shocking with every bar,” Mahtab retorted. She glanced around. “Look the crowd’s starting to pick up. Pretty soon there'll be way too many people here.”

“You go then,” Adam spat. “I'll stay here and actually…”

“Adam - Christ - listen to me,” Mahtab waved a hand across his face. “I need to find Cassidy. We're on the same side here. We both want the same thing.” She folded her arms and sucked her teeth. “For the moment anyway.”

“Then help me,” Adam waved his arms. “Don't just…”

“I AM helping you you fucking doofus,” Mahtab hissed. “You're just too hopped up on adrenaline to give a shit. You just want to feel like you're doing something as opposed to something USEFUL.”

“Hey, this is the only plan I got!”

“Are you kidding me? This is barely even a plan.” Mahtab sighed. “Let's assume you're right and the idea was to stay away from YOU, he wouldn't go to the first place you'd go looking for him. His parents live in Toronto, right?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “He wouldn't just show up there.”

“Well he had to spend the night somewhere,” Mahtab shrugged. “Let's at least rule them out. We'll call them. You got their number?”

“How am I supposed to call them without tipping them off?” asked Adam impatiently. “If he's not there and they know he's missing they'll lose their shit. They're lawyers. They're fucking nuts.”

Mahtab rolled her eyes. “You can be such a fucking retard sometimes I can't even believe it.” She pulled out her phone. “Give me their number.”

Adam just looked at her for a moment before sighing and pulling out his phone. She held out her hand and he shook his head. “Just look. We’re not doing all that again.”

Mahtab snorted a derisive chuckle but didn’t touch his phone. She put hers to her ear and held up her finger for silence.

“... Hi there, my name’s Shannon Ginsberg I’m calling from the office of York University alumni… affairs. I’d like to speak to Cassidy Hamilton, please?... Oh! Well of course I’m so sorry!” She pursed her lips and shook her head at Adam. “Uh huh?... Y-... Yes please; go ahead… uh huh… ok great. We’ll update our information; sorry to bother you… Uh huh? Ok great, thanks… Yes, you too… Uh huh, I will thanks.” She turned to Adam and rolled her eyes. “Ok great take care now!” She quickly hung up the phone.

“Shannon Ginsberg?” Adam crossed his arms and arched his eyebrow.

She shrugged, and glanced at her phone. “Oh shit! I missed a call from Adrian!” she exclaimed, quickly dialling again and holding the phone to her ear, sticking a finger in the other.
“Hey, Mahtab?” asked Adrian from the other end of the line.

“Yeah Adrian what's up? Have you heard from Russell?” Mahtab made her way to an empty driveway to get away from the crowd, and Adam followed.

“No but…” Adrian hesitated. “His phone was dying… I… I went out to find him. Liam’s with me. We… we found Russell's car.”

“Where are you?” asked Mahtab.

“Boardwalk Drive. Around Queen and Woodbine. Russell was going to check it out. Cassidy’s trail ended here but it's… it's really weird, Mahtab. Something’s wrong I… I'm kind of… I just have a really bad feeling.”

Mahtab nodded, suddenly feeling a cold heavy lump in her stomach. “I'll be there in just a second. I'm bringing Adam.”

“You can't slip here, Maddy, it's a dead zone!” Adrian protested.

“I'll figure it out, just wait for me!” Mahtab hung up and shoved her phone back in her pocket. She grabbed Adam by the elbow and pulled him down the alley. “Come on.”

Adam yanked his arm up out of her grip. “I'm coming. Jeez!”

“You're going to feel a little winded,” Mahtab explained. “You didn't eat much today right? That's good; sometimes people crap themselves their first time.”

“I'll be sure to clench,” Adam quipped.

“Don't get distracted, either,” Mahtab continued. “It’s… it's difficult to describe but… you'll know what I am, or like, you'll know what's me. I'll be holding on to you so it should all be fine but try to stay focused on me.”

“Or… what?” asked Adam, dubious.

“Well I don't know, no one's ever fallen out of a slip on me before but I'm not exactly itching to find out,” she sighed. “Like I don't have enough shit to deal with today.” They rounded a corner and found a trio of dumpsters stinking of rancid urine.

She stopped Adam, waited for someone to pass them, then turned and grabbed him by both shoulders.

“All right,” she nodded. “On three we both need to jump at the same time. It's way easier.”

“So like; one two three jump or…”

Mahtab rolled her eyes. “One two jump, Adam. That's what ‘on three’ means.”

Adam nodded. “Okay… can we do one two three jump? I feel like I'm gonna screw it up.”

Mahtab threw up her arms. “I… fine whatever.”

She clamped back down on his shoulders. “All right. One, two, three…”

And they jumped.

 

***

“...and this slow cooker has literally changed our lives,” Wes spread his arms to the ceiling, his wine glass dangerously close to spilling.

Jamie nodded. “Oh yeah.”

“And I have to say I mean,” Wes paused and smiled mischievously. “I know it's not the best thing for you, but Grant and I have been putting bacon into everything lately. We just started experimenting with bacon and it just took right off!” he laughed, sipping his wine.

Jamie shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah. Bacon.”

“Honestly, whatever the recipe is, you should add bacon,” Wes assured him. “You won't ever regret it. Do you do much cooking yourself?”

Jamie tapped his foot. “Hm? Yeah all the time.”

Wes put his hand on his chest and shook his head emphatically, “I just think it's so rewarding and it’s, y'know, I think it's important as just, like, a life skill? And so many people just don't know their way around the kitchen these days, I just…”

The bathroom door in front of Jamie opened and Drew slid out. “Hey babe,” he greeted Jamie with a smile. Jamie, however, was already on the move, ushering Drew back inside and following him in, closing the door behind them both. Drew regarded him quizzically. “What the hell was that?”

“This is for your own good,” Jamie assured him as he unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock in front of the toilet. “Wes is looking for anyone to talk at. About fucking… like he's a terrible cook, right?” he asked as he started urinating.

Drew leaned against the closed door, taking out his phone. “He's actually gotten worse.”

“I'm like; there's only one recipe for guacamole. I don't need to see yours. And what big secret ingredient could you possibly…”

“It's bacon bits,” said Drew idly. “I can't imagine it's very good.” He sighed with defeat. “Ryan bailed.”

“Called it,” said Jamie.

Drew put his phone back in his pocket. “Congrats, you win!” he waved his hands with dramatic sarcasm. “Have you heard from Adam at all?”

Jamie shook his head. “No. He never even got back to me about last night.”

Drew sighed, moving in behind Jamie as he peed, rubbing his shoulders through his shirt. “When do you want to do that ecstasy?”

Jamie shook the last dribbles of piss from his tool. “I was gonna wait til we get down there. Or like… are we TTCing down or what?”

“Stan was gonna get an uber,” Drew shrugged. “Which… I guess yeah, I don't wanna be lovin’ out on the way down.” He released Jamie's shoulders as Jamie zipped up and sidestepped to the sink.

“Man. Frank’s already blasted, eh?” Jamie noted.

Drew nodded in agreement. “And he smells like a fuckin grow-op.”

“Let's be in the middle of talking when we leave so Wes won't ambush us,” Jamie suggested.

Drew snapped his finger and pointed at him. “Good plan. What do we talk about?”

The bathroom door opened and Drew exited finishing a sentence. “...just be so cheesey if they killed Jon Snow and then immediately bring him back.”

Jamie followed. “But Melisandre is like right there!”

“I don't give a shit,” Drew shook his head adamantly. “If he's back in season six I am off the show for good.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Oh please. You said that when they killed Roz.”

Wes had paused in the bathroom doorway, to the annoyance of Stan who was next in line.

“Are you guys talking about Game of…?”

“In or out, Wes. C’mon man.”

They entered the living room of Stan’s condo and Thanh, draped over the arm of the couch and leaning against his boyfriend Elliot, wagged a finger at them. “One to a stall, ladies,” he chided, followed up by one of his trademark, deep-throated chuckles.

“Whatever, Thanh,” Drew countered. “Everyone knows you two have been sneaking handies when you think nobody's looking. News flash: they ARE.”

“Lies!” Elliot shook his fist in the air. “Liza Minnelli!”

Hasan, on the other side of Elliot, leaned forward and waved his hand. “Guys, Jamie's getting uncomfortable. Quick we gotta butch it up!” he curled his lip with a growl and flexed his arm. “Grrr! Hockey jargon! Car engines!”

Thanh joined in though he sounded more like a pirate. “Grr! Home repair!”

“Entourage!” Elliot chimed in.

Jamie pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the screen. “Christ, they should give you idiots a sitcom.” He jostled his phone. “Sorry just a sec,” he added, and turned away to walk into the foyer.

“Oh great now he's a sadsack,” Hasan gestured to Jamie.

Drew rolled his eyes. “You guys gonna be this bitchy all night?”

Thanh nodded matter-of-factly. “It'll probably get worse.”

Jamie leaned against the wall and put his phone to his ear. “Hey Adam, we were just-”

“Look I don't have a lot of time,” came a harsh, whispered voice over the line. Jamie barely recognized it as Adam. “Jamie…” he said, then after a pause. “Jamie I'm in trouble. I need your help.”

“Adam?” Jamie stood up off the wall, lowering his voice. “What's wrong? What's going on?”

“I can't get into it right now,” Jamie whispered. “It's Cassidy. And… some of the people we used to work with. I don't…” there was a windy rustling over the line. “I need you to come to me. I'm in the Beaches, but…” he took a couple of heavy breaths. “I don't know what's gonna happen. They're like… they're dangerous.”

“Do you…” Jamie asked quietly and slowly. “Should I call the cops?”

“No,” Adam answered quickly. “No cops, not yet. Just be careful and keep your distance until I can… shit. Look I gotta go. I'll text you the address. Can you come?”

“Yeah,” said Jamie with a nod, and the other end hung up.

Jamie shoved his phone into his pocket as he searched for his shoes in the pile at the foyer, an excuse to leave already taking form in his head until he realized…

Drew. Drew would want to go with him. Drew would see through the bullshit he fed Thanh and the others.

They had agreed: no more secrets, no more lies. The last one had nearly ruined them. But he couldn't let Drew tag along into this. Jamie had no idea what was going on, but Adam sounded afraid, and Adam had never been afraid of anything. He was Jamie's friend, not Drew’s. He was Jamie's responsibility, not Drew’s, and Jamie wasn't going to let Drew put himself in harm’s way for the sake of someone he had met two nights ago.

Jamie found his shoes and stood up, exhaling slowly, trying to calm himself down. He relaxed his shoulders, rehearsed a couple of casual hand gestures; nonchalant facial expressions. He took another deep breath, and sauntered back into the room.

Jamie walked up next to Drew and put a hand on his shoulder. “You're gonna hate me.”

Drew turned to him with a sigh. “What.”

“That was JC. There's some disaster at work. I gotta bail.” He shrugged powerlessly. “I'm really sorry.”

“It's like eight-thirty on a Friday!” Drew protested.

“The client’s in Tokyo and it's nine-thirty AM there. They're just seeing a presentation. They're freaking out.”

“Well…” Drew’s shoulders drooped with dismay. “You're just a contractor. Can't they get someone else to handle this? Come on man, it's Pride!”

“I know, and I'm sorry, but I gotta take care of this.” Jamie felt his voice quaver a bit, so he leaned in and kissed Drew on the cheek. “Sorry.” He gave a quick wave to the room. “See you around guys,” he called, and went back to the door.

He was dismayed to see Drew following him. “Tokyo’s AHEAD of us, Jamie. It's Saturday morning there!” he complained as Jamie put on his shoes. “Can't they wait til Monday?”

Jamie hadn't realized that. “Look, I don't know the details. But it's red alert and all hands on deck. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you.” Done tying his laces, he stood up and gave Drew a kiss. Drew wrapped his arms around Jamie, and made a quick goodbye peck into a long and sensual one. Jamie thought he was going to break. He withdrew, forcing a smile. “I'll text you later,” he chirped, and quickly exited the apartment.

Drew heaved a disappointed sigh and turned back to the party.

 

***

Adam quietly slipped his phone into his pocket and loudly faked a cough, wetting his mouth with spit. He stood up and wiped it off again. “Sorry,” he croaked hoarsely.

“God, Adam,” Mahtab spat, “You have any organs left?”

“I'm sorry that fucking teleporting doesn't agree with me,” he fired back.

“Whatever. Let's go,” she shoved her hands in her pockets and smoldered down the sidewalk.

Liam and Adrian were waiting awkwardly on the corner of Boardwalk Drive, a residential side street, populated by a row of nearly identical houses. Adrian spotted the two as they approached and waved his hand needlessly, as the street was otherwise deserted.

Mahtab gave them a nod as they met. “Hey,” she muttered.

Adam drew up beside her. “Hey guys.”

Adrian hadn't changed much since he saw him last. Rail thin, straight black hair down to his shoulders, small black spacers in both ears. It looked like his arm has acquired a few more tattoos but Adam couldn't really remember.

“Adam,” he greeted him with a note of uncertainty. “Been a while.”

Adam shrugged. “Yeah.”

“No sign of Russell, huh,” Mahtab noted, glancing at Russell’s car parked across the street.

Adrian pointed. “It's up here,” he started up the sidewalk, and Mahtab fell in beside him. He started discussing his tracking spell, and the difficulty he'd had with the dead zone. Adam hung back, quickly entering the address in a text message and sending it before anyone could notice. But it looked like Liam saw him putting the phone away.

“How's… how was hanging out with Maddy?” he asked quietly.

Adam sighed. “It's been a stressful day for both of us.”

“Yeah,” said Liam. “You know how she is. She's just worried. And now with Russell…”

“Honestly, Liam?” Adam raised his hand to cut him off. “I'm past giving a shit. I'm here to find Cass and then I'm not dealing with any of this ever again.”

“C'mon man don't be like that…” Liam protested.

Adam bit his lip. “Seriously? Everything was fine until this bullshit came back into our lives. And even if we prove Cass has nothing to do with all this garbage, it's not like Maddy’s gonna apologize for being such a psycho. I'm done. For good.”

Liam looked down at the sidewalk, saying nothing.

Mahtab led them up the walkway to the house, a nondescript two-storey, distinguished from its neighbours only by its clay-brown colour. Adrian glanced around to see if anyone was watching while Mahtab glanced in the windows. “I can’t see anything,” she reported quietly.

Adam stepped up onto the narrow cement slab that served as a porch. He stood in front of the door for a moment, and turned the handle. Unlocked. The door swung inward with a soft creak.

“Is that a good sign or a bad sign?” Liam whispered.

They all crowded around the doorway and peered inside. All the lights were off and all the curtains drawn, but even then it seemed unusually dark, and it was hard to see. Adam could make out a dark doorway on the left, a staircase, and an open room on the right with an outline of furniture. He took the initiative and stepped inside. He paused once he crossed the threshold, listening carefully, hearing only silence. He took another slow step within, and heard the others follow behind him.

Hidden in the shadows at the top of the stairs, Phil watched the four, silhouettes in the light of the doorway, creep into the house. His lips curled into an unseen smile.

The time had come to prove himself.

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