Chapter 6: Viral Consequences
The gym door shut with a soft, final click, sealing the humid, groaning darkness inside. Out in the parking lot, the night air was cool, but it did nothing to soothe the heat radiating from Brian’s skin. He felt like a furnace, a dense, walking reactor of unnatural growth. The concrete seemed to tilt under his feet, the painted lines swimming.
Beside him, Marcus took a deep, ragged breath.“Christ. Can you feel it? It’s like… fucking electricity.”
Brian could. It crackled under his skin, a restless, prickling energy that demanded an outlet. The hunger had banked, but not gone out. It was a low, smoldering coal in his gut, waiting for a new draft of oxygen. He flexed his hands, watching the tendons in his forearm dance like cables. His shirt was ruined, stretched into a frayed web across his back. He tore it off, letting the scraps fall. The cool air on his bare, massively-ridged torso was a brief relief.
“We can’t go back in there,” Marcus said, nodding toward the gym. His voice was hoarse from roaring. “They’re tapped. Empty. Like squeezed-out tubes.”
“Then we go,” Brian said, his own voice deeper, a resonant rumble that felt permanent.
They moved towards their cars, their footsteps unnaturally loud in the silent lot. That’s when Brian saw the flicker of light—the glow of a phone screen—from inside a beat-up blue pickup truck parked in the far corner, under a broken lamp.He stopped. Marcus followed his gaze.
The screen’s light illuminated a young face, pale and staring.It was the kid. The one from the leg press. The one who had filmed the first video on the gym floor. He was watching them, his eyes huge, the phone held up like a protective talisman.Recording.
A slow, ugly smile spread across Marcus’s face. “He’s not done watching.”
“He wants a sequel,” Brian murmured, the coal in his gut flaring.
They changed direction, not towards their cars, but towards the truck. Their movement was synchronized, a predator’s flanking maneuver. The kid saw them coming. He fumbled with the phone, trying to lock it, to put it down, to start the engine. The old pickup’s starter groaned once, then died.
Brian reached the driver’s side door before the kid could try again. He didn’t open it. He simply curled his fingers under the window frame and pulled. The metal shrieked in protest, bending inward, the glass popping from the seal with a brittle crack. He reached in, his arm a thick pillar of muscle, and wrapped his hand around the kid’s throat.
He didn’t squeeze.Just held him. The kid gasped, frozen, his Adam's apple bobbing against Brian’s palm.
“You like your videos?” Brian asked, his face close to the shattered window. The kid’s breath smelled of stale energy drinks and fear.
“I… I deleted it,” the kid squeaked, lying terribly.
Brian’s other hand snatched the phone from the kid’s limp grip. With a casual flex of his fingers, the screen shattered, then the casing cracked. He dropped the useless plastic onto the pavement. “Liar.”
Marcus had opened the passenger door. He slid in, his bulk filling the cab, making the old springs groan. He reached over, his hand rough, and popped the kid’s seatbelt. “Out.”
Brian released the kid’s throat and pulled the door open. The kid tumbled out, landing on unsteady feet on the asphalt. He was maybe nineteen, lean from gym work but soft compared to the monstrosities before him. He wore thin running shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He was already hard, a blatant, shameful tent in his shorts.
“You’re the one who started this,” Marcus said, climbing out of the truck. He loomed over the kid. “With your little phone. You wanted to see. So see.”
Marcus grabbed the kid’s shirt at the collar and yanked. The fabric tore like paper, revealing a smooth, hairless chest. The kid shuddered, his nipples pebbling in the cool air.
Brian’s hand went to the waistband of the kid’s shorts. He didn’t bother with the tie. He just gripped and pulled down, the cheap material ripping at the seams, puddling around the kid’s ankles. The kid’s cock sprang free, fully erect, leaking a silvery string of pre-cum onto his own stomach.
“Please,” the kid whimpered, his eyes darting between them. He made no move to cover himself.
“Please what?” Brian growled. He pushed the kid back against the cold, ridged metal of the truck’s door. “You’re still recording. In your head. You wanna be in the movie this time?”
The kid nodded, a frantic, jerky motion. His breath came in short pants. “I want it. I want… what you have.”
“You can’t handle what we have,” Marcus said, coming up behind him. He ran his hands over the kid’s slim shoulders, down his back, then gripped the soft, pale globes of his ass. He squeezed, hard. The kid yelped. “But we can give you a taste.”
Marcus spat into his own palm, a thick, glistening wad. He slicked it over his cock, which was already fat and ready, the head dark and ruddy in the dim light. He used his other hand to spread the kid’s cheeks. The kid tensed, his whole body going rigid.
“Breathe out,” Marcus whispered, his voice harsh against the kid’s ear. Then he pushed.The kid screamed. A sharp, truncated sound that echoed off the concrete walls of the gym. It was a sound of pure, tearing invasion. Marcus didn’t stop. He pushed forward, an inexorable, slow press, until he was fully sheathed, his hips flush against the kid’s ass. The kid sobbed, scrabbling at the truck’s door with his fingernails.
“Fuck,” Marcus groaned, his head falling back. “Tight. Virgin tight.”
Brian watched, his own cock throbbing against the confines of his shorts. He unbuckled himself, freeing his erection. He stepped forward, the tip brushing against the kid’s wet stomach. “Open your mouth.”
Tears streamed down the kid’s face, but he obeyed, parting his lips. Brian guided himself in, filling the kid’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat. The kid gagged, his body convulsing around Marcus’s invasion. The dual violation was complete. He was pinned, stuffed at both ends, a living sheath for their hunger.
Brian began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that fucked the kid’s face. At the same time, Marcus pulled back and slammed home, setting a brutal counter-beat. The kid’s body was their meeting point, the nexus where their thrusts collided. His muffled screams became a continuous, choked gargle.
The world narrowed to the slap of skin on skin, the wet, messy sounds of penetration, the kid’s ragged, strangled breaths. Brian looked down, watching his own thick length disappear between the kid’s stretched lips. He saw the terror in the kid’s eyes, but beneath it, a dark, drowning pleasure. The kid’s own cock bounced, neglected and drooling, with every slam of Marcus’s hips.
“You feel it yet?” Marcus grunted, his hands gripping the kid’s hips hard enough to bruise. “You feel what’s inside you?”
The kid managed a weak nod around Brian’s girth. He did feel it. Not just the staggering fullness, but the heat. A seeping, alien warmth was spreading from their points of entry, radiating through his veins. It was the same fire Frank had felt. It started in his core, a low burn that quickly built into an inferno.
A spasm racked the kid’s body. His back arched violently between them. A guttural sound, unlike any human noise, ripped from his throat. His shoulders, previously narrow and sloping, seemed to bunch, to swell under the skin. Delicate trapezius muscles thickened into corded ropes. The change was faster this time, more violent, as if his youth and desperation accelerated the process.
“Look at that,” Brian mumbled, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. He could see the transformation happening in real time. The kid’s biceps swelled, tearing the remnants of his sleeves. The bones in his face seemed to subtly shift, his jaw becoming squarer, heavier. His cries deepened in pitch.
Marcus laughed, a ragged, joyous sound. “He’s getting it. He’s getting the gift!”
The kid was no longer just taking it. He was pushing back, meeting Marcus’s thrusts with a clumsy, newfound strength. His hands, which had been helplessly splayed against the truck, now clenched into fists. He began to suck on Brian’s cock with a desperate, hungry fervor, his tongue working furiously.
Brian felt the familiar, irresistible pressure building in his balls. The sight of the kid changing, because of him, because of what was being pumped into him, pushed him over the edge. “Gonna fill your fucking stomach,” he growled.
His orgasm was a volcanic eruption. He jammed himself as deep into the kid’s throat as he could and let go, jets of thick cum firing down the kid’s gullet. The kid swallowed convulsively, desperately, each gulp accompanied by a violent shudder through his frame.
The effect was immediate and grotesque. The kid’s neck thickened. His collarbones spread, his pectorals inflating like grotesque balloons, lacking definition but swelling with raw, eager mass. He vomited, a spurt of white, but he kept sucking, kept swallowing, hungry for more.
Marcus, seeing it, roared his own release. He buried himself to the root and pumped his seed deep into the kid’s ass. The kid’s rectum clenched and fluttered, drawing every last drop from him. The kid’s entire body seemed to inflate then. His lats flared, his spine cracked audibly, adding half an inch of height. His quadriceps bulged, tearing the last of his ruined shorts.
Brian pulled out, his cock slick with spit. Marcus withdrew, leaving the kid gaping and dripping. They stepped back, panting, watching their handiwork.
The kid slumped against the truck, then slowly pushed himself upright. He was no longer a kid. He was a hulking, misshapen parody of them. One arm was dramatically larger than the other. One calf was a knot of muscle, the other merely enlarged. He was a lumpy, unbalanced giant, his new muscles resembling tumorous growths more than earned anatomy. He looked down at his own body, his face a mask of awe and horror.
He flexed his right arm, a massive, veined peak rising. A slow, broken smile spread across his wet, bruised lips. “I feel it,” he rasped, his new voice a discordant baritone. “I feel… strong.”
He turned his head, his eyes landing on the glowing windows of a 24-hour diner across the street. A few late-night patrons were visible inside, shadows moving behind the glass.
A deep, unnatural hunger flashed in his eyes. The same hunger.
Without a word, the kid—the creature he’d become—shambled forward, leaving his torn clothes in a pile. He moved with a lopsided, purposeful gait, headed towards the diner’s light.
Brian and Marcus exchanged a look. There was no need to speak. The chain was no longer theirs to control. The infection had its own momentum now. They followed, falling into step behind their lurching creation, their shadows merging into one colossal, moving darkness as they crossed the threshold of light from the streetlamps, heading toward the new, unsuspecting feed.