Chapter 16: So Horny
The stale beer smell hit first. Then the crunch of discarded pizza crusts underfoot. Ethan shoved the frat bedroom door closed behind them, the cheap wood rattling in its frame. The single lamp cast long, distorted shadows across Mauler’s discarded jersey on the floor and a poster of some rugby legend mid-tackle, frozen in aggressive glory. Exhaustion weighed Ethan down like wet cement, every muscle humming with the day’s brutal drills. He just wanted to collapse onto his narrow bed and dissolve.
Dale didn’t head for his bed. He stood rigidly in the center of the cramped room, back to Ethan. His breathing was ragged, too quick. His shoulders, noticeably broader beneath his damp t-shirt, were bunched tight. The thin fabric of his worn shorts strained across his backside, clinging unnaturally.
"God, it won't… stop," Dale muttered, his voice unnervingly deep, scraping the words out. He shifted his weight, a stiff, awkward movement. His hands hovered near his hips, clenching and unclenching.
Ethan dumped his towel on a pile of laundry. "What? The soreness?" He tried to keep his tone light, ignoring the sympathetic throb in his own body, the phantom echo of Brick’s approving rumble whenever he’d executed a drill perfectly. Strong. Like you were born to it. He pushed the invasive thought away.
"No. This." Dale gestured sharply downwards, still not turning. The movement emphasized the blatant, uncomfortable bulge tenting the front of his shorts. It was obscenely prominent now. "Since the showers. It’s… it’s like it’s not mine anymore. Doesn't listen." Panic edged his words.
Ethan’s gaze snagged on the outline, a hot flush creeping up his own neck. He remembered the sight in the shower stall – Dale’s thick arousal under the spray, his own traitorous response. Built for action. The intrusive thought, carrying Brick’s inflection, sent a jolt directly south.
Just rip 'em off. Free the beast. The new voice, a guttural whisper that felt like it originated in Dale’s own skull, overlapped with his thought. Dale flinched, grabbing his temples with both hands. "Shut up," he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Data?" Ethan took a hesitant step forward. The air felt thick, charged. "You… you okay?"
Dale shuddered. "It's loud. Louder." He dropped his hands, his chest heaving. Sweat beaded on his forehead, glistening in the lamplight. His t-shirt clung to the new definition across his chest and shoulders. "It… it feels… too big. Constricted." He tugged futilely at the waistband of his shorts. The fabric bit into his skin, emphasizing the trapped thickness beneath. Tight. Need air. The voice wasn't just in Dale’s head anymore; Ethan could feel its insistence vibrating in the small room.
Yeah, let it breathe. Show Einstein what you're packin'. Brick’s phantom chuckle seemed to coil around them. Ethan swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He shouldn't stare. But he couldn't look away. The sheer, physical demand radiating from Dale was magnetic, terrifying.
"Maybe… maybe just sit down?" Ethan suggested weakly, his voice sounding thin compared to the new depths Dale’s possessed. He gestured towards Dale’s bed, a chaotic nest of sheets and tech manuals.
Dale shook his head violently. "Can't." His voice cracked. "Hurts. Like… like a cramp that won't quit." He paced two stiff steps, the bulge bouncing aggressively against the confining fabric with each movement. He stopped by his desk, leaning heavily on it, knuckles white. His reflection in the dark computer monitor showed a face etched with confusion and a primal kind of desperation. The long hair plastered to his neck.
Off. Now. Stop fuckin' around. The command ripped through Dale. He straightened abruptly. With a jerky, almost violent motion, he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and yanked it over his head. It caught briefly on the frames of his glasses before he tossed it aside. His bare torso was a revelation – lean muscle layered over his previously lanky frame, a dusting of dark hair across his pecs, the pendant resting against his sternum like a brand. He stood taller, his breathing easing slightly with the newfound freedom, but the problem below remained, starkly outlined against the thin shorts.
Ethan’s breath hitched. The analytical part of his brain cataloged the changes: defined pectorals, the ripple of abdominal muscles he hadn’t possessed a week ago. But the rest of him was transfixed by the raw vulnerability and the undeniable, urgent bulge. A confusing mix of concern and a heat that felt disturbingly like envy churned in his gut. Look at him. Solid.
Dale’s hands went to the waistband of his shorts. He hesitated, trembling. Shame warred with the insistent, deepening need. Do it. Be proud.
"Data, maybe don't—" Ethan started, but it was too late.
With a grunt, half frustration, half surrender, Dale shoved the shorts down his hips and kicked them off. They landed near an overflowing trash can. He stood there in only his dark grey briefs, bathed in the dim lamplight. The change was impossible to ignore. The briefs were stretched taut, the fabric straining to contain the significant, aroused thickness beneath. The outline was clear, heavy, and undeniably more. Sweat slicked his newly defined thighs. He kept his eyes fixed on the wall opposite, jaw clenched, radiating a mixture of profound embarrassment and a potent, unsettling arousal.
The room shrunk. Ethan could hear his own pulse thudding in his ears. He should look away. Give Dale privacy. But he was rooted. The sight triggered a visceral memory of the shower stall, the shared shame, Brick’s predatory approval. His own body responded, a familiar, heavy ache blooming that made him shift uncomfortably. Good equipment.
Dale finally turned his head, meeting Ethan’s gaze. The fogged glasses couldn’t hide the raw confusion, the flicker of fear, and beneath it, a startling intensity – a reflection of Ethan’s own turmoil. "See?" Dale’s voice was a low, resonant rumble. "It won't… go down. It's like it's got its own mind. Like they put something in it." He looked down at himself, a tremor running through him. "How am I supposed to… live like this?"
Ethan had no answer. Only the suffocating heat of the room, the faint scent of male sweat and laundry detergent, the hypnotic throb of the pendant against his own chest, and the overwhelming presence of Dale, half-naked and painfully aroused, radiating a confused, magnetic energy. The urge to step closer, to touch, to understand the impossible heat radiating off him, warred with a paralyzing fear of the alien thoughts crowding his own mind. He took a shaky breath, the sound loud in the sudden, heavy silence. The dim light seemed to pulse, casting Dale’s transformed body in stark relief, an unanswered question hanging thickly between them. Ethan’s hand twitched at his side.