Chapter 18: Waking Up
The silence after the explosion was deafening. Thick. Clotted with the smell of sweat and salt and something vaguely chemical. Ethan lay sprawled on the stained mattress, Dale’s weight heavy and warm across his chest, both breathing like they’d sprinted a marathon. The molten fire that had raced through their veins, fueled by the pendants burning against their skin, had cooled to a dull, throbbing ember deep in their guts. Ethan stared at the water-stained ceiling, the flickering lamp casting monstrous, shifting shapes. His hand, sticky and trembling, rested limply on Dale’s sweat-slicked back. Dale’s forehead pressed against Ethan’s collarbone, his own hand still loosely curled around Ethan’s softening cock.
"Holy shit," Dale mumbled, his voice rough, deeper than Ethan remembered. It wasn't just fatigue. It lacked the usual hesitant cadence, the slight upward inflection at the end of sentences. It was flat. Solid. Like Brick’s.
"Yeah," Ethan breathed. His own voice startled him. It resonated lower in his chest, a rumble he felt more than heard. "Fuckin' intense." The words felt alien, yet perfectly natural on his tongue. Fuckin'. He never said that. Not like that. Not with that casual, almost bored conviction.
Dale shifted, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His long hair was plastered to his temples, his eyes wide, pupils still blown wide despite the dim light. He looked down at Ethan, then at his own hand, coated in their mingled release. A slow blink. Confusion warred with something else – a dazed satisfaction? "Did we just…?"
"Jack each other off like absolute animals?" Ethan supplied, the crude phrasing slipping out effortlessly. He felt a flush creep up his neck, but it wasn't just embarrassment. It was… ownership. "Yeah, Data. We fuckin' did." He pushed himself up too, the muscles in his shoulders and back flexing easily, supporting his weight without the old twinge of weakness. He looked down at himself. His briefs were shoved down around his thighs, his cock, still thick and heavy-looking even semi-flaccid, glistening. His thighs, thick with muscle now, were dusted with darker, coarser hair than before. The pendant lay cool against his sternum again, the frantic energy gone, leaving behind a deep, humming awareness. "Look at us."
Dale followed his gaze. He touched his own chest, tracing the new definition of his pecs, the swell of his biceps. He flexed his hand, staring at the unfamiliar strength coiled there. "Solid," he murmured, echoing Brick’s phantom praise. He wiped his sticky hand absently on the crumpled sheet beside him. "Feel… different. Like I could punch through a wall." He sounded bewildered, but the underlying tremor of fear Ethan expected was muted. Replaced by a low thrum of… capability.
"Same," Ethan said. He reached out, not thinking, and ran a finger along the hard ridge of Dale’s forearm muscle. The skin was hot, damp. Dale flinched, then went very still, his gaze locking onto Ethan’s. The air crackled again, thick with the aftermath and something new, something charged and undeniable. Ethan pulled his hand back slowly. "Sorry. Just… checking."
"Don't be," Dale said quietly. His eyes didn't leave Ethan’s face. "Feels… good. Strong." He swallowed. "You feel good too, Ein." The nickname, usually a lifeline to their old selves, sounded different now. Rougher. Possessive.
Ethan’s breath hitched. The analytical part of his brain, the part that used to calculate trajectories and ponder quantum states, was struggling. It tried to categorize: Hypnotic suggestion. Hormonal cascade. Physical metamorphosis. But it kept getting drowned out by the sheer, visceral presence of Dale beside him – the heat radiating off him, the scent of exertion and musk, the raw physicality that was both terrifying and magnetically attractive. And his own answering thrum, the deep voice in his head that wasn't a voice anymore, just him, whispering Yeah, he’s solid. Look at him. Want him.
He looked away, fumbling for his discarded glasses on the nightstand. Putting them on felt strange, like looking at the world through a lens that didn't quite fit his new perception. The messy room snapped into sharper focus – the pizza boxes, the beer cans, Dale’s laptop blinking sleepily from the floor where it had been kicked aside. Normalcy, horribly out of place.
"We sound like them," Dale stated flatly, pulling his own briefs back up with a grimace. The cotton strained against his transformed groin. "The jocks. Talking like Brick and Tank."
Ethan nodded, pulling his own briefs up. The fabric felt tight, constricting against his thickened thighs and the unfamiliar weight between his legs. "Yeah. ‘Solid’. ‘Fuckin’ intense’. ‘Animals’." He tried to summon his old voice, the higher, quicker one. "It’s… weird." It came out sounding forced. Thin. The deeper resonance felt more natural, more true.
"It’s not just talking," Dale said, standing up. He stretched, a full-body motion that made his spine crack and showcased the new power in his shoulders and back. He looked taller. More… there. Less like he was trying to fade into the wallpaper. "It’s… thinking. Feeling." He looked down at his hands again, clenching them into fists. "Before, when I… crawled over…" He trailed off, a faint blush darkening his cheeks despite the dimness. "It wasn't just the pendant. It felt… right. Like I wanted to."
Ethan stood too, mirroring Dale’s movement. His body moved with a fluidity and power that was still alien. He felt grounded. Heavy. Real. "Me too," he admitted, the words thick. "Seeing you like that… feeling you touch me…" He met Dale’s eyes again. The confusion was still there, swirling with the dazed satisfaction and that new, low-burning intensity. But beneath it all, Ethan saw recognition. A reflection of his own bewildered, undeniable want. "It wasn't just the hypnosis, was it?"
Dale shook his head slowly. "No. It… woke something up." He gestured vaguely at his own chest, then Ethan’s. "In here. And…" He glanced down between Ethan’s legs, then quickly back up, his blush deepening. "Down there. Permanently."
The word hung in the stale air. Permanently. The physical changes – the muscle, the hair, the sheer, undeniable size – weren't temporary. Neither was this shift inside. The way they moved, the way they spoke, the way they looked at each other now… charged, hungry, possessive. The nerdy hesitancy was scorched away, leaving something raw and potent simmering beneath the surface.
Ethan took a step closer. The space between them crackled. He could smell Dale’s sweat, see the pulse beating rapidly in his throat. The voice-that-was-him growled low in his mind. Take him. Show him who owns him now. He fought it down, but the impulse remained, a physical ache. "What do we do, Data?" The nickname felt like an anchor thrown into turbulent waters.
Dale didn't flinch. He held Ethan’s gaze, his own eyes dark pools reflecting the flickering lamp. A slow, unfamiliar smirk touched his lips – confident, almost challenging. It looked good on him. Dangerous. "Right now?" He shrugged, the motion showcasing the new breadth of his shoulders. "Clean up this mess. Smells like a locker room in here." He bent down, effortlessly scooping up a pile of discarded clothes with one hand. "Then…" He paused, looking back at Ethan, the smirk deepening into something predatory. "Figure out what the hell else these things," he tapped his pendant, "and whatever they woke up inside us… are gonna make us do next."
He turned towards the overflowing laundry basket, moving with a new, predatory grace. Ethan watched him, the sticky residue cooling on his own stomach, the humming awareness in his core pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The frat room felt smaller, charged with the aftershocks of what they’d done and the terrifying, exhilarating promise of what they were becoming. The path back to who they were before was gone, swallowed by sweat and muscle and a hunger neither of them could name but both felt clawing deep inside. Dale was right. This was just the beginning. The real storm was still brewing.