Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Andy’s head descended, his breath a hot wash over Steve’s groin. Steve’s cock lay against his thigh, heavy and thick even in its softened state, a fat, dark length against his oil-smeared skin. Andy’s tongue, broad and wet, slid out and painted a slow, worshipful stripe from the base of Steve’s balls all the way up the underside of his shaft to the broad, flared head.
A jolt of electricity, sharp and sweet, shot up Steve’s spine. His cock twitched, thickening visibly.
Andy didn’t hesitate. He opened his mouth and took the head inside, his lips forming a tight, warm seal. He began to suck, gently at first, his tongue massaging the sensitive slit. Steve groaned, his hands gripping the cold granite edge of the counter. The sensation was immediate and profound, a direct line of pleasure that seemed to bypass his nerves and hook straight into his brainstem. He could feel the familiar, alive thrum returning to his flesh, the post-orgasmic lethargy burning away under Andy’s hungry mouth.
His cock swelled rapidly, filling Andy’s mouth in seconds. Andy’s eyes, fixed on Steve’s, widened slightly. He pulled back, lips popping free, to stare at the monster he was trying to accommodate. It wasn’t just long; the girth was staggering, a thick, veined column of flesh that looked capable of splitting him open.
“Fuck,” Andy breathed, a string of saliva, already thicker and creamier than normal, connecting his lip to Steve’s glistening crown.
He dove back in with a determined focus. He worked the head, sucking hard, his cheeks hollowing. His saliva glands seemed to kick into overdrive. It wasn’t the clear, watery spit from before. It was a viscous, creamy fluid that welled up in his mouth, coating Steve’s cock in a slick, pearlescent sheen. It tasted faintly sweet, musky, alive. As Andy worked, more of it seeped from the corners of his mouth, dripping down Steve’s shaft to pool in his coarse pubic hair, where it was slowly, visibly absorbed, leaving the skin there glowing and taut.
Steve could only watch, mesmerized, as Andy struggled to take more. He saw the strain in the young man’s jaw, the way his lips were stretched to their limit around the incredible girth. Andy pulled off again, panting, his mouth slick and wet.
“Relax,” Steve murmured, his voice a hoarse rasp. “It might be too much for you.”
Andy nodded, swallowing. But he wasn't about to give up. He took a deliberate, deep breath through his nose, his body visibly loosening. When he took Steve back into his mouth this time, he moved slower. He focused not on forcing it, but on allowing it. He let his jaw go slack, his throat open. He pushed forward, millimetre by millimetre.
A soft, wet, popping sensation echoed in Steve’s skull as Andy’s lips slid past a previously impossible point. Andy’s eyes fluttered closed in concentration, then shock, then dawning wonder. He didn’t gag. His breathing, though loud through his nostrils, remained steady. He took another inch, then another. His mouth wasn’t just stretching; it was accommodating. The creamy saliva flooded out, an effortless lubricant that let the massive cock slide deeper.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve whispered, his head falling back against the cabinet behind him. The feeling was indescribable. Hot, wet, silken pressure encircling his most sensitive part, a pressure that grew tighter and more consuming with every inch Andy swallowed. He could feel the head of his cock nudging the back of Andy’s throat, then sliding past it with a smooth, wet glide. Andy’s throat opened for him, a muscular, rippling sleeve that welcomed him deeper.
Andy was lost in the mechanics of it, a fervent obsession taking hold. He wanted to know his new limits. He pushed, relaxing his oesophageal muscles in a way he’d never known possible. He felt his throat expanding, reshaping itself around the invading flesh. His tongue, underneath the monstrous weight, writhed and pressed against the veined underside, exploring every ridge and pulse. He got six inches in. Then seven. His nose was close to Steve’s thick, oily pubic hair, the scent of musk and their shared essence overwhelming.
He didn’t stop. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and pushed further. His lips met the tight, hairless skin of Steve’s groin. He had taken the entire shaft. The weight of Steve’s heavy, full balls rested against his chin.
Andy held there, his body trembling not with strain, but with transcendent triumph. He was full in a way that felt more profound than any fuck. He swallowed, and the convulsion of his throat sent shockwaves of pleasure through Steve, who cried out, his hips jerking minutely.
Then Andy did something impossible. He moved his tongue. It slid, sinuous and strong, around the base of Steve’s cock, under his balls, lifting and cradling the entire sac. He could feel each testicle, each thick cord, with intimate, shocking clarity. He laved them with his tongue, the motion sending Steve into a spasming, delirious fit. Steve’s hands flew to Andy’s head, his fingers tangling in the blond hair, not to guide, but to anchor himself against the onslaught of sensation.
After a long, breathless moment, Andy slowly released the pressure in his throat. He drew back, his lips sliding up the shaft with a wet, slurping sound until just the head remained in his mouth. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes blazing with a feverish light, and plunged forward again, taking it all back down in one smooth, deep-throating motion.
This time, Steve took control. His grip on Andy’s head tightened. He began to move his hips, sliding his cock in and out of that incredible, yielding throat. It was a slow, deep fucking at first, each withdrawal leaving Andy’s lips stretched obscenely around the glistening crown before he drove back in, burying himself to the hilt.
The sound was filth incarnate: a rhythmic, wet, gulping choke that was not a choke at all, but the sound of a throat being perfectly, blissfully used. Andy’s creamy saliva overflowed with every thrust, coating Steve’s balls, his groin, his thighs. It dripped onto the kitchen floor and was absorbed by their skin on contact, a constant cycle of lubrication and renewal.
Andy was in ecstasy. His own cock, untouched, jerked and leaked a constant, thin stream of pre-cum that painted the floor beneath him. His asshole, pressed against the cool cabinet door, pulsed and fluttered, weeping its own slick fluid that trickled down his thigh. He felt lit up from within, every nerve ending singing. The sensation in his throat wasn’t just the pressure of being filled; it was a direct, pleasurable feedback, as if he had a second set of sex organs there, each thrust milking a dizzying wave of satisfaction through his entire body.
Steve’s pace increased, his thrusts becoming harder, more frantic. The granite countertop creaked under his weight. “Gonna cum,” he growled, the words torn from him. “Gonna flood that fucking throat.”
Andy just moaned, a deep, vibrating hum of permission that Steve felt along his entire length. He slammed home one last time, holding Andy’s head flush against his groin, and let go.
His orgasm wasn’t a burst, but a sustained eruption. Thick, rope after rope of seed pumped directly into Andy’s stomach. Andy swallowed reflexively, his throat working around the pulsing cock, drinking down what he could. But the volume was too much, too fast. Spurts of hot, white cum backwashed out of his stretched lips, cascading over Steve’s balls and shaft, painting Andy’s chin, his neck, his chest. It dripped and splattered, some of it arcing back to land on Steve’s own heaving abdomen.
It seemed to go on forever, a seemingly endless reservoir being tapped. Finally, with a last few weak pulses, Steve stilled, his body shuddering with the aftershocks. He gently pulled out.
His cock, slick and spent, slipped from Andy’s mouth with a soft, wet pop. Andy slumped forward, catching himself on his hands, coughing once—a thin, creamy mixture of saliva and cum splattering the floor—before he took a huge, gasping breath. He looked wrecked, gloriously used, his face a glistening mask.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Then Steve slid off the counter, his legs shaky. He crouched before Andy, his eyes wide with awe and clinical curiosity. “Open,” he said, his voice ragged.
Andy, dazed, complied, opening his mouth wide.
Steve gently held Andy’s jaw, tilting his head toward the dim kitchen light. He peered inside. The throat was pink, slightly flushed, but otherwise normal. No tears, no extraordinary stretching visible. It looked like any other throat.
“It’s… it’s normal,” Steve whispered, running a thumb over Andy’s swollen bottom lip. “How? How did it feel?”
Andy swallowed, licking his lips clean of the residual fluids. “Full,” he said, his voice hoarse but clear. “So fucking full. It was weird, man. Like my body just… knew what to do. It didn’t fight it. It wanted it. It felt…” He searched for the word, his eyes hazy with remembered pleasure. “Natural. Like I was made for it.”
Steve sat back on his heels, his mind racing. The oil, the separation panic, the adaptive saliva, now this. “Whatever has happened to us… it’s not just changing how we look. It’s changing how we function. What the hell else can we do?”
A slow, wicked grin spread across Andy’s shiny face. He shifted on the floor, turning to present his ass, still glistening with its own lubricant. “Only one way to find out,” he said, his tone playful but his eyes serious. “Stick your tongue in me and see what happens.”
The challenge hung in the air. Steve felt a corresponding shift in his own body, a low, interested hum from that new place behind his eyes. He nodded, a smile touching his own lips. “Switch.”
They moved with a newfound, unspoken synchronicity. Andy hauled himself up, his muscles moving with fluid power, and hoisted himself onto the counter. He turned, getting on his hands and knees, his ass presented over the edge—a perfect, round, muscular globe, the cleft between them slick and inviting, the pink pucker visibly pulsing.
Steve knelt on the kitchen floor. The hard tile would have been agony for his old knees, a minute of pressure sending shooting pains. Now, he felt nothing but firm support. He settled in, his face inches from Andy’s hole. The scent was potent, musky and clean, with that underlying sweet tang. He watched, fascinated, as the tiny muscle clenched and relaxed, clenching and relaxing, winking at him as if beckoning.
He focused on his tongue. He thought about it extending, probing, entering. As he did, he felt a strange, migratory tension at the root of his tongue. It didn’t hurt. It felt eager. He leaned in and gave a slow, broad lick from Andy’s taint all the way up to the top of his cleft.
Andy shuddered, a soft groan escaping him. “Fuck yes.”
Steve did it again, slower this time, savoring the taste—salty skin, that clean musk, and the distinct, addictive flavor of Andy’s own unique lubricant. He nuzzled closer, his beard scratching the sensitive skin, and then pressed his mouth fully against the pucker, kissing it softly.
Andy pushed back against his face with a needy whimper.
Steve’s tongue pressed against the tight ring. He felt his own tongue firm up, the tip becoming more pointed, more agile. It pushed in. Not just the tip, but a solid inch of it, sliding into a incredible, velvety heat with shocking ease.
“Oh god,” Andy moaned, his head dropping, his back arching. “Yesss… more.”
Steve obeyed. He focused on the feeling of pushing deeper. His tongue seemed to respond to his will, thickening slightly at the base to provide more leverage, elongating as he pressed forward. Two inches. Three. He was inside Andy up to what felt like the midpoint of his tongue, fucking him with slow, probing thrusts. Andy’s hole gripped him tightly, milking his tongue, and Steve realized with a jolt that he could taste him from the inside—a deeper, richer, more complex flavour that was purely, essentially Andy.
He felt a building pressure in his own jaw, a stretching sensation that was more strange than painful. He pushed further.
Four inches of his tongue were buried in Andy’s ass.
He could feel the ridges of Andy’s inner channel, the subtle curves, the incredible heat. He could twist his tongue, explore, caress from within. Andy was babbling, a stream of filthy, grateful praise, his body shaking. Steve began to move his head, fucking Andy with his tongue in earnest, the wet, squelching sounds loud in the quiet kitchen. Andy’s own fluids leaked out around the invading muscle, mixing with Steve’s now-thickened saliva, creating a slick mess that dripped down Steve’s chin.
He withdrew, his tongue sliding out with a lewd, wet sound. It retracted back into his mouth, feeling utterly normal. He ran it over his lips, tasting Andy, tasting their mixed essences.
Andy collapsed onto his side on the counter, panting, a blissed-out smile on his face. “Okay,” he breathed. “So that’s a thing we can do.”
Steve stayed on his knees, looking up at the wrecked, beautiful young man above him. The implications swirled in his head, vast and terrifying and exhilarating. This wasn’t just better sex. This was a fundamental rewrite of their physical capabilities, all channeled toward one brutal, beautiful purpose: connection, consumption, propagation.
“The doctor,” Steve said, his voice low. “We need to see him. Not for answers about the food. For answers about this.”
Andy nodded slowly, his grin fading into something more thoughtful, more serious. He reached down, his hand finding Steve’s hair, stroking it gently. “Tomorrow. First thing.” He looked down at his own body, then at Steve’s, their forms gleaming in the low kitchen light, stronger, more vital, more other by the hour. “But tonight… we should probably test the limits. You know. For science.”
A slow smile spread across Steve’s face. The hum in his chest was back, a satisfied, predatory purr. He climbed to his feet, his body humming with restored energy, every sense heightened. He looked at Andy, sprawled on the counter, and felt not just desire, but a deep, possessive certainty. This was theirs now. This change. This power.
“For science,” Steve agreed, his hands settling on Andy’s hips, pulling him closer to the edge.
Steve’s hands tightened on Andy’s hips, but Andy slid off the counter with a fluid, purposeful grace, landing softly on bare feet. He didn’t head for the spare room. He pulled Steve by the wrist, his grip like forged iron, through the dark dining room and into the cool, open space of the living room. The streetlamp outside cast long, geometric shadows from the window panes across the carpet.
“We don’t need a bed,” Andy said, his voice a low rumble in the dimness. His eyes gleamed, catching the faint light like an animal’s. “Don’t need lamps. I can see everything. Can’t you?”
Steve paused, realizing it was true. The darkness was no longer an absence, but a spectrum of deep greys and sharp contrasts. He could see the individual fibres of the carpet, the dust motes hanging in the still air. His body hummed with a constant, warm energy, indifferent to the night’s chill. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I can.”
Andy grinned, a flash of white teeth. “Then let’s really see what these bodies can do.”
He sank to the floor, pulling Steve down with him. They faced each other on the thick carpet, their knees brushing. The silence was profound, broken only by their steady breathing. An understanding passed between them, wordless, a shared need to explore every possible connection. Steve’s gaze dropped to Andy’s cock, thick and heavy against his thigh, already weeping a bead of clear fluid that shimmered in the low light.
“My turn,” Steve murmured, the statement simple and full of intent.
He leaned forward, closing the space. The first touch of his lips to Andy’s crown was experimental, a soft kiss. Andy’s pre-cum tasted clean, faintly metallic, like rainwater on copper. Steve opened his mouth, taking the broad head inside. He remembered the impossible stretch of Andy's throat, the way his body had simply… allowed. He focused on that memory, on the sensation of yielding.
He willed his own throat to open.
A subtle loosening traveled down his neck, a conscious relaxing of muscles he’d never controlled before. He pushed forward, taking more of Andy’s impressive girth. His jaw ached for a second—a familiar, human limitation—then the sensation melted into a strange, warm flexibility. His mouth stretched, accommodating the width. He went deeper, his nose pressing into the coarse blonde hair at Andy’s base.
“Fucking hell, Steve,” Andy gasped, his hands finding Steve’s head.
Steve hollowed his cheeks and sucked, and that’s when the change started within him. The clear saliva pooling under his tongue thickened, turning milky and slick. It flooded his mouth, coating Andy’s cock in a glossy, revitalizing sheath. He could feel it happening, a biological shift as deliberate as a swallow. With each draw, the fluid became richer, more viscous, carrying that intoxicating, life-infused tang.
Meanwhile, Andy moved. He nudged Steve backwards, guiding him to lie on his back on the carpet. Steve went willingly, his mouth never losing its seal, suckling at Andy’s cock with a growing, hungry rhythm. Andy knelt over Steve’s face, then pivoted with a wrestler’s flexibility, pulling Steve's legs towards him, bending Steve nearly in half and lowering himself until his own mouth was poised over Steve’s straining hole.
Andy didn’t hesitate. He planted his hands on Steve’s thick thighs, spread them wider, and buried his face between Steve’s cheeks. His tongue, remembering Steve's newfound ability, didn’t just lick. It pointed, it thickened, it pressed insistently against Steve’s entrance. Steve moaned around the cock in his throat, the vibration earning a sharp buck of Andy’s hips.
With a soft, wet pop, Andy’s tongue breached him. It wasn’t just the tip. It delved inward, an agile, probing invasion that sought depth. Steve’s body sang with the dual sensation—the fullness in his throat, the incredible, intimate penetration from behind. His own lubricant, which had been clear and slick, began to change in response to Andy’s sensual invasion. It turned opaque, a pearlescent emulsion that seeped freely from his hole, making Andy’s tongue-slides effortless.
They found a rhythm, a perfect, contorted symmetry of giving and receiving. Steve focused on the cock in his mouth, his throat relaxing further until Andy’s entire length slid in and out with a smooth, gulping precision. Andy, in turn, fucked Steve with his tongue, twisting and thrusting it deep, lapping at the flood of creamy fluid Steve’s body now produced.
The room filled with the sounds of them: wet, sloppy, animalistic. Guttural moans were swallowed by flesh. Their bodies began to move in a synchronized, rocking cadence. Steve’s hips pushed up against Andy’s mouth; Andy’s thrust down into Steve’s throat. It was a closed circuit of pleasure, a feedback loop of shared sensation. Steve could feel Andy’s delight through the cock in his mouth, a thrumming satisfaction that echoed his own.
“Your throat,” Andy grunted, pulling his mouth away for a ragged breath, his tongue glistening with Steve’s essence. “It’s sucking me in, holy fuck…” He dove back in, his tongue spearing deeper than before.
Steve pulled off Andy’s cock with a gasp, a string of milky saliva connecting his lips to the slick head. “Your tongue… feels like you’re in my guts,” he panted. “Don’t stop.”
They repositioned slightly, their bodies folding together with an instinctual, gymnastic ease that should have been impossible. Andy lowered his torso, lining his cock up with Steve’s waiting, slicked mouth. At the same time, he raised Steve's hips, bringing his face back to Steve’s dripping entrance. The 69 position was achieved, but it was deeper, more consuming than any human version. Steve took Andy back into his throat in one smooth motion. Andy’s tongue plunged back inside Steve with equal hunger.
Now they were truly locked. Andy fucked Steve’s face with slow, deep rolls of his hips, his cock pistoning into that wet, willing heat. Simultaneously, his tongue mimicked the motions, fucking Steve’s hole with the same relentless pace. Steve, for his part, sucked and swallowed, his hands gripping Andy’s powerful ass, pulling him deeper onto his face while he pushed his own hips back onto that probing, magical tongue.
Fluids flowed freely. Andy’s pre-cum, thick and sweet, pumped down Steve’s throat in steady pulses. Steve’ own ass produced a continuous stream of the milky lubricant, which Andy drank greedily, swallowing between lunging thrusts of his tongue. It overflowed, dripping in thick strands down Steve’s taint, onto his balls, pooling on his stomach and creating a slick between their two bodies. They were connected by a web of glistening fluid—saliva, pre-cum, mystical slick—that coated their skin, soaked into their hair, sealed them together in a slick, fragrant bond.
The pleasure wasn’t localized. It blossomed from both points of contact, radiating through their cores in warm, golden waves. Steve felt it travel up his spine, fan out across his shoulders, settle in a buzzing hum in his chest. He could feel a corresponding echo of it in Andy, a shared frequency of bliss that vibrated between their connected bodies.
“Gonna cum!” Andy’s warning was a muffled roar against Steve’s flesh. His hips stuttered, his thrusts becoming shallow, frantic jerks.
Steve answered by clamping his throat muscles, milking him, and pushing his ass back desperately onto Andy’s face. The permission was absolute.
Andy’s climax tore through him. Steve felt the first thick jet hit the back of his throat, hotter than blood. He swallowed convulsively, but the volume was overwhelming. It flooded his mouth, flowed over his face, leaked from the corners of his stretched lips. The taste was primal, rich, and bursting with that familiar, energizing charge. Andy’s body shuddered violently above him, each pulse of his release seeming to sap a tiny bit of Steve’s energy while supercharging Andy’s own.
As the last tremors subsided, Andy withdrew his softening cock from Steve’s spent mouth with a wet, sucking sound. He didn’t pause. He shifted his weight, his body moving with a predatory certainty. He manhandled Steve onto his hands and knees on the soaked carpet. Steve went willingly, his body buzzing with a depleted, needy ache.
Andy’s tongue, now slick with his own saliva and Steve’s fluids, pressed against Steve’s hole once, twice, then pushed in deep, preparing him. “Need to fill you,” Andy growled, his voice raw. “Need to.”
He positioned himself, the broad head of his re-hardening cock nudging Steve’s well-used entrance.He pushed. The stretch was magnificent, a burning fullness that made Steve cry out into the carpet. Andy sheathed himself to the hilt in one relentless drive, their bodies slapping together.
Andy set a punishing pace, each thrust a claim. He fucked with the unleashed power of his new body, his balls slapping against Steve’s taint. Steve pushed back, meeting every drive, his own cock swinging heavily, painfully hard. The sensation was different now—deeper, more consuming, as if Andy’s cock was seeking not just pleasure, but a specific, internal target.
“Yes, fuck, right there!” Steve babbled, his fists clenching in the carpet. “Breed me, Andy. Do it!”
The words triggered something. Andy’s rhythm became erratic, frantic. He slammed home and held, his body rigid. Steve felt the hot, internal flood as Andy came again, a second, seemingly impossible load pumping deep into his bowels. This orgasm was different. It felt less like an expulsion and more like an injection—a direct, potent transfer of that crackling, vital energy. Steve’s own climax ripped through him in response, a silent, dry convulsion that left him shuddering, his own essence pulled inward, mixing with Andy’s inside him.
They collapsed together onto the damp carpet, a tangled, breathless heap. For minutes, there was only the sound of their slowing heartbeats. The weird, staticky dissonance from the kitchen was gone, replaced by a profound, resonant harmony. Steve felt Andy’s spent cock slip from him, followed by a trickle of warm fluid. He didn’t feel soiled. He felt replenished.
Andy rolled onto his back, staring at the shadowed ceiling. “I feel… electric,” he whispered, awe in his voice. He flexed his hand, watching the muscle and tendon play under his skin in the near-dark. “Like I could run through a wall.”
Steve pushed himself up on one elbow. Fatigue was a foreign concept. His body hummed, every cell vibrating with potential energy. The viscous fluids drying on their skin seemed to be absorbed, leaving a faint, healthy sheen. “We should test it,” Steve said, the idea forming as he spoke. “Not just… this. Everything.”
Andy sat up swiftly, his eyes gleaming. “The run. The one you always said you’d start when you felt better.”
A ghost of Steve’s old life—the sedentary accountant, the weak convalescent—flickered and died. He nodded. “Now.”
They moved through the dark house like phantoms. Upstairs, in Andy’s room, Steve tried to pull on his old sweatpants. The waistband strained, the fabric threatening to split over his thickened thighs and ass. Andy tossed him a pair of loose basketball shorts and a large t-shirt from his own drawer. They hung on Steve differently, showcasing the breadth of his shoulders, the taper of his new torso.
Back downstairs, they laced up sneakers. The night air was cool when Andy opened the front door. They stepped onto the driveway, the gravel crunching underfoot.
They started at a slow jog, a rhythm that had once left Steve wheezing after a block. His lungs pulled in the cool air effortlessly. His legs pistoned, smooth and powerful. Andy kept pace beside him, his breath even.
“Faster?” Andy asked, a challenge in his voice.
They increased their speed. The suburban streets blurred past, dark houses with sleeping windows. Their footfalls became a swift, syncopated drumbeat on the pavement. They weren’t jogging. They were sprinting. The wind roared in their ears, but their breathing remained controlled, deep, and easy. They pushed each other, wordlessly, Andy surging ahead, Steve matching him, then overtaking. They hit the edge of town, the streetlights fading, and kept going, their bodies cutting through the night like blades.
They ran for what felt like miles, onto a dirt path through a tract of preserved woodland, their night-keen eyes picking the way. They stopped only when they burst from the tree line and found themselves at the edge of a wide, still lake, its surface a perfect mirror for the star-dusted sky.
They weren’t even winded.
Steve looked at his hands, turning them over in the faint light. He felt the power coiled in his legs, the steady, unstressed thunder of his heart. “This isn’t possible,” he breathed, but the evidence was in the clean air filling his lungs, in the steady thrum of vitality in his veins.
Andy stared out at the water, then at Steve. His expression was a mix of triumph and deep, unsettling wonder. Without a word, he closed the distance between them. His hands came up to cradle Steve’s face, and he kissed him.
It was not a kiss of passion, but of communion. Their mouths opened, and their tongues met, not in a fight for dominance, but in a slow, sinuous exploration. Steve felt his own tongue lengthen slightly, twisting around Andy’s. A clear, clean fluid—different from the milky sexual lubricants—flowed freely between them, a cool, energizing current. As they drank from each other, Steve felt the last vestiges of any fatigue vanish. A sharp, pleasant tightness returned to his groin; his balls felt heavy, full, primed. He could feel the same stirring in Andy, a mirrored readiness that travelled through their connected mouths, a silent, somatic conversation.
They broke apart, their foreheads resting together. The first faint hint of dawn tinged the eastern sky with pale grey.
“We should get back,” Andy whispered. “Before Mom worries.”
Steve nodded. They turned from the lake, two figures thrumming with stolen, impossible life, and began to run back toward a world that could never understand what they were becoming.