Chapter 12: Aroused and Possessed
Ethan surfaced from the unnatural, pendant-induced sleep like a diver breaching through thick oil. His head felt stuffed with cotton, but beneath it, a low hum vibrated in his bones. Not Brick's cold logic. Not Mauler's grating growl. This was… different. Fainter, but closer. Personal. The voice that murmured in his mind was deep, resonant… familiar. It sounded like his own new baritone.
Look at him, man… sleeping. So… defined now. The thought echoed, smooth and low, laced with an unnerving appreciation. Ethan’s gaze snapped to the other mattress. Dale lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes. In the dim glow of the single desk lamp, Ethan saw the stark changes the shadows couldn’t hide. Dale’s chest rose and fell steadily, the thin t-shirt stretched tighter than before, hinting at new muscle across the shoulders and pecs. The faint trail of hair on his stomach seemed darker, thicker, leading down…
Get a grip, Finch, the internal voice – his voice – chided, but the tone was amused, hungry. Check out the lines on those arms. Never knew Data cleaned up so… damn well.
Across the room, Dale stirred. His arm moved from his eyes, blinking rapidly as if disoriented. His gaze found Ethan’s. In the silence, thick with the scent of stale pizza and old beer, Ethan saw his own confusion mirrored, then overlaid with something else. Dale’s new, deeper voice echoed silently in the space between them, but this time, it wasn't just in Dale’s own head. Ethan heard it, clear as a bell inside his skull: Einstein… fuck. His jawline… that new shadow… hot.
Ethan’s breath hitched. The shared mental space felt violated, intimate, terrifyingly exposed.
Yeah, Ethan’s internal voice purred back, independent of his will. Looks so much stronger. So much… manlier. The words vibrated with a possessive heat that sent a jolt straight to Ethan’s groin.
His chest, Dale’s internal voice responded, raw and wanting. Want to touch… feel that new muscle… that hair…
Do it, commanded Ethan’s internal voice, thick with desire. Touch him.
Simultaneously, as if pulled by unseen strings, both boys sat up. The thin mattresses creaked. The air crackled, thick with an electric charge that had nothing to do with the flickering lamp. They moved towards each other across the short space, their movements jerky yet purposeful, like sleepwalkers driven by a shared dream.
Their eyes locked. Ethan saw Dale’s pupils blown wide, reflecting the dim light and a helpless, burgeoning need that mirrored his own. Dale saw the same wildfire ignited in Ethan’s gaze, beneath the thick lenses. They met in the middle of the floor, knees almost touching.
Kiss him, Dale’s inner voice growled, a sound Ethan felt resonate in his own chest.
Now, Ethan’s inner voice agreed, the command leaving no room for hesitation.
Ethan leaned in. Dale met him halfway. Their lips crashed together. Not tentative, not questioning. Hard. Hungry. Possessive. It was like kissing a stranger and the most familiar person in the world simultaneously. Ethan’s new baritone groan vibrated against Dale’s mouth, matched by Dale’s deeper rumble.
Their hands moved as if independent entities. Ethan’s fingers, clumsy with a strength he didn’t recognize, slid under Dale’s t-shirt, skimming the hard plane of his stomach. Coarse hair caught against his fingertips, a startling new texture. He felt the firm swell of Dale’s pectoral muscle, tensing beneath his palm. So hard, his internal voice marveled. So fucking hot.
Dale’s long fingers, trembling slightly but with surprising force, fumbled with the hem of Ethan’s shirt, pushing it up. His touch traced the unfamiliar definition on Ethan’s abdomen, the dark trail leading down, the subtle ridges Ethan hadn’t fully processed himself. Perfect, Dale’s voice sighed inside Ethan’s mind. Feels incredible… so sexy.
They pressed closer, the kiss deepening, tongues clashing. Ethan felt the heat radiating from Dale’s larger frame, the solidity of his chest against his own, the undeniable evidence of Dale’s arousal pressing against him through thin pajamas. His own body responded violently, the need a physical ache sharper than anything he’d felt earlier. The voices in their heads were a chorus now, their own deeper voices overlapping, a feedback loop of raw lust and possessive admiration. Mine. So good. More. Touch me there. Feel how much I want you.
It lasted only seconds. Five?Ten? A lifetime compressed into a heartbeat.
Then, like a circuit overloaded, it snapped.
Ethan wrenched his head back, gasping for air that tasted of Dale and stale beer and violation. Dale stumbled backwards, colliding with the edge of his mattress, eyes wide with dawning horror, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Silence slammed down, heavier than before. The only sounds were their ragged, uneven breaths, unnaturally deep in the quiet room. The internal voices had vanished, leaving a hollow, echoing void and the thunder of their own hearts. Ethan stared at his hand, still tingling from the feel of Dale’s chest hair. Dale looked at his own fingers as if they were alien creatures.
"What…" Ethan started, his voice cracking on the deep register. "What the hell was that?"
"Did we…?" Dale whispered back, the horror in his low voice palpable. He touched his lips, then his chest where Ethan’s hand had been. "That… those voices… they were us. Sounding like… like this." He gestured vaguely at his throat.
"They made us do that," Ethan breathed, the sticky dampness in his briefs a humiliating testament to the lingering, uncontrollable arousal. His body still thrummed with the phantom sensations – the pressure of Dale’s lips, the scrape of his stubble, the hard muscle beneath his fingertips. It felt terrifyingly good and utterly sickening. "The pendants… they hijacked our thoughts. Made us… feel things." He couldn’t meet Dale’s eyes. "Think things."
Dale nodded jerkily, his face pale even in the gloom. He pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them, trying to shield himself. But the movement only emphasized the new breadth of his shoulders. "They’re not just changing our bodies," he rasped. "They’re changing… what we want. Who we want."
The unspoken implication hung heavy: Each other.
The heat hadn't subsided. If anything, the abrupt severing of the connection, the raw memory of touch and taste, had amplified it. Ethan felt a desperate, throbbing need coiling low in his gut, an echo of the previous night’s forced climax but sharper, more personal, laced now with the phantom sensation of Dale’s mouth.
He looked at Dale, saw the flush high on his cheekbones, the way his knuckles were white where he gripped his knees, the subtle shift of his hips. Dale’s gaze flickered down Ethan’s body, then away, a flash of shame and hunger warring in his eyes.
Neither spoke. The silence stretched, thick with unspeakable tension and an unbearable physical demand. The posters on the wall – grinning cheerleaders, slogans about 'Bros Before Hoes' – seemed like a cruel joke.
Ethan turned abruptly, scrambling back onto his own thin mattress. He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, pulling the thin blanket up to his chin. His body felt like a live wire. He could still smell Dale on his skin. The ache was insistent, demanding relief. Behind him, he heard the rustle of Dale’s sheets, the creak of the mattress as Dale also turned away.
No words were exchanged. None were needed. The shared horror was absolute. But beneath the terror and the violation, an unavoidable biological imperative screamed for attention. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, the unfamiliar deep sound of his own ragged breathing loud in his ears. He pressed his face into the scratchy pillow.
His hand, trembling, slid beneath the blanket. Dale’s muffled, deep gasp from the other side of the room told him they had both reached the same, solitary, desperate conclusion. The night pressed in, heavy and dark, filled only with the frantic, hidden rhythm of two friends wrestling with bodies and desires that were no longer fully their own.