Chapter 5: Chapter 5
The silence Miriam left behind was a physical thing, thick and charged, broken only by the sound of her car fading down the street. Andy turned from the window, his body humming with a restless energy that had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with the new current running under his skin. Steve was already on the phone, his deep voice a low murmur in the quiet house.
“Yes, Dr. Armitage. Steve Harrison. I need to come in today.” A pause. “It’s urgent. Concerning the treatment.” Another pause, his eyes locking with Andy’s across the room. “Two o’clock is perfect. Thank you.”
He hung up. “2 PM this afternoon,” Steve announced, a triumphant glint in his eye.
Andy closed the distance between them in two strides. The air seemed to crackle. “And what do you want to do until then?” he asked, his voice dropping. His gaze raked over Steve, the intention clear as daylight.
Steve chuckled, a rich, warm sound. “I want to fuck you as much as inhumanly possible,” he said plainly, his hand coming up to squeeze Andy’s bicep. “But there are some things I need to do first. Clothes, for one. For both of us.”
Andy’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of hesitation. “Steve, I don’t… I mean, I can’t really—”
“Oh, it’s all my treat,” Steve interrupted, waving away the unspoken worry. “Until we can figure out what we’re going to do with ourselves. It’s you and me against the world, kid.” He grinned, and Andy felt a surge of affection so strong it momentarily dimmed the sexual thrum.
Andy hugged him, a brief, hard squeeze. “Thanks.”
“This is the upside to being an accountant,” Steve said as they pulled apart, heading for the stairs. “I’ve saved a lot of money. Partly from the sale of my old house, but I was always so nervous about spending it.” He shrugged, a new, easy confidence in the motion. “Now? With these new lives? I feel like we’ll never be without. No point in worrying.”
They dressed in their old clothes—Andy in baggy athletic shorts and a faded tee, Steve in khakis and a polo that strained across his shoulders and chest. The fabric, once comfortable, now felt like a cheap disguise. The polo clung awkwardly to Steve’s thickened torso; the khakis were tight across his powerful thighs and fat, pert ass. Andy’s tee stretched across his broad back, the shorts riding up his sculpted legs.
“We look ridiculous,” Andy said, catching their reflection in the hallway mirror. Two potent, vital men stuffed into the shells of their former selves.
“Time to fix that,” Steve replied.
Steve’s car, a sensible sedan, felt like a tin can around them. They drove to the upscale mall across town, a place Steve had previously only entered to pay property taxes at the government office next door.
The next two hours were a revelation. In the cool, perfumed air of high-end boutiques, they shed their old skins. They tried on slim-cut trousers that showcased Steve’s tapered waist and powerful legs, soft henleys that clung to Andy’s chest and shoulders. They bought jeans that looked painted on, lightweight jackets that suggested rather than concealed the musculature beneath. Steve purchased a pair of expensive boots; Andy found sneakers that looked like they were designed for a superhero. They chose fabrics that felt good against their hyper-sensitive skin—soft cottons, smooth technical blends.
In the changing room of a store that sold avant-garde streetwear, Andy stood in a pair of black jeans so tight they left nothing to the imagination. “Do we just… give this to anyone?” he asked quietly, running a hand over his own flat stomach through the thin fabric of a new grey tank top.
Steve, examining the drape of a charcoal linen shirt over his own frame in the mirror, met his eyes in the reflection. “We should be careful.”
“I know,” Andy said. “But I keep thinking… it shouldn’t be for people who already have it all, you know? Not for the hot, lucky ones. It should be for people who got dealt a rough hand. Someone who needs a fresh start, in every way.”
Steve nodded slowly, the idea resonating with a deep, instinctual part of him. The awareness within hummed its approval. Propagation. Selective, meaningful propagation. “We’ll know,” he said simply. “We’ll know when we see them.”
Arms laden with bags, they deposited the loot in the car trunk. The mundane act felt surreal, the shiny purchases a stark contrast to the primordial reality thrumming inside them. As they walked back towards the mall entrance for one last sweep, Andy stopped. He was staring at a narrow storefront nestled between a cell phone repair kiosk and a vacant lot.
The sign above the door read “PAGE TURNERS & PLASTIC LEGENDS.” A stylized graphic of a comic book hero flexing, his bicep forming the ‘P’ in “Plastic.”
Andy grinned. “Can we look in there?”
Steve followed his gaze, then looked at Andy’s hopeful face. He felt a swell of possessiveness, of a desire to grant every wish. “Sky’s the limit, kid. Let’s go.”
A bell jingled as they pushed through the glass door. The air inside was cool and carried the specific smell of ink, paper, and plastic—the smell of preserved fantasies. Shelves were packed with comic books in protective sleeves. Glass cases displayed meticulously posed action figures. On the walls hung replica shields, helmets, and weapons from films, rendered in polished metal and detailed paint.
“Hey there! Welcome in!”
The voice came from behind a cluttered counter. The man who stood up was in his late thirties. He had a genuinely warm smile that reached his eyes, which were a lively hazel behind thick glasses. His personality seemed to fill the space, friendly and keen. But his body told a different story. A faded t-shirt for an obscure sci-fi show tented over a soft, expansive belly. His khakis were stained near the pockets. He had a receding hairline of greasy, curly brown hair, and patchy, unkempt facial hair that failed to cohere into a beard. He moved with a slight wheeze, his body seeming to resist him.
“Just browsing, or looking for something specific?” the man asked, his eyes flickering between them with undisguised interest. The interest wasn’t sexual, not at first. It was the look of a fan seeing two walking pieces of art that had stepped out of his favorite medium.
“Just browsing,” Steve said, his voice easy. He began to peruse a rack of graphic novels, his sheer presence making the space seem smaller.
Andy drifted towards the prop replicas. “These are incredible,” he said, his hand hovering over a detailed replica of a baton from a popular cyberpunk franchise.
“That’s a limited run,” the man said, quickly coming around the counter. His name tag, slightly crooked, read ‘Eddie.’ “Cold-cast porcelain and hand-painted. The weight is perfect.” He unlocked the case with a key from his belt loop, his movements eager. As he lifted the baton out, his sleeve rode up, revealing a soft, pale forearm. He handed it to Andy.
Andy took it, feeling the heft. His fingers, calloused and strong, wrapped around the grip. He flexed his bicep unconsciously, making the prop look like a natural extension of his body.
Eddie stared, his mouth slightly agape. “You… you make that look real,” he stammered, then blushed. “I mean, of course it’s real, it’s a prop, but you know…”
Steve moved closer, standing beside Andy. Their combined presence in the narrow aisle was overwhelming. Eddie took a half-step back, his eyes widening. The pleasant shopkeeper demeanor began to melt away, replaced by something more fundamental: awe. He was looking at them not as customers, but as phenomena.
“You have an amazing collection, Eddie,” Steve said, his tone intimate, commanding attention.
“Th-thanks,” Eddie breathed. He couldn’t seem to look away from them. His gaze darted from Steve’s broad chest, visible through the open buttons of his new shirt, to Andy’s defined arms, to their faces—hands clean and strong, jaws set with a vitality Eddie could only dream of. A faint sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead.
“Show us more,” Andy suggested, his voice a low invitation. He replaced the baton, his fingers brushing Eddie’s as he did so.
A jolt went through Eddie. He flinched, then stared at his hand as if it were foreign. “Y-yeah. Over here. We have some original art panels…”
As he led them deeper into the shop, towards a back corner lined with framed artwork, the atmosphere changed. The store was empty save for them. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly. And with every passing minute, the scent emanating from Steve and Andy seemed to intensify. It wasn’t just cologne or sweat; it was a musk that was clean yet deeply animal, spicy and sweet, carrying the promise of strength, of virility, of a life fully lived. It filled the small space, pressing in on Eddie from all sides.
He became their earnest guide, showing them rare first editions, talking about print runs and artists with a passion that was endearing. But his sentences grew fragmented. He’d lose his train of thought, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the corded vein running down Steve’s neck, or the way Andy’s new jeans cupped his ass perfectly.
They had him cornered now, in the back by a life-sized cardboard standee of a space marine. Shelves of collectible figurines boxed them in on one side. The air was thick with their scent. Eddie leaned against a display case for support, his breathing shallower.
“You okay, Eddie?” Andy asked, taking a step closer. He was inches away now.
Eddie looked up at him, his hazel eyes swimming with confusion and a deep, gnawing want. “I… I don’t know. You guys are just… you’re incredible. Like you walked out of one of these books.” His voice was a whisper.
Steve and Andy shared a look over Eddie’s head, a silent, electric confirmation passing between them. The hum in Steve’s chest vibrated with a quiet intensity, a harmonic recognition. This was the one. Someone with good bones, a kind face, a life lived behind glass cases, who’d missed out on human luck.
“Do you get a lunch break, Eddie?” Steve asked, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to vibrate in the cramped space.
Eddie nodded, swallowing hard. “I was just about to close for an hour when you showed up.”
“Go lock up,” Steve added, his tone leaving no room for disagreement, only a warm invitation. “We’d like to hang out with you for a bit, if you don’t mind?”
Eddie nodded eagerly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He tried to be cool, to saunter, but his limbs betrayed him, the awe making him clumsy. He stumbled slightly on a box as he hurried to the front, fumbling with the deadbolt and flipping the sign on the door to ‘Back in 1 Hour’.
As the lock clicked shut, Steve turned to Andy. The fluorescent buzz was the only sound. “We offer,” Steve murmured, the plan solidifying as he spoke. “We explain. We let him choose.”
“He’ll choose,” Andy said, his certainty not arrogance but a deep, instinctual knowing. He glanced toward the front where Eddie was now pacing, a silhouette against the sunlit glass. “Look at him. He’s already starving for it.”
Eddie returned, hovering near the graphic novel rack, his hands shoved deep in his stained pockets. He radiated a jittery, hopeful energy.
“Is there somewhere we can sit for a bit?” Andy asked, gesturing towards the back. “There’s something we want to talk to you about.”
Eddie led them past a bead curtain into a dim stockroom. Cardboard boxes were stacked to the ceiling. In a cleared space stood a flimsy plastic table and four mismatched chairs. They sat. The plastic creaked under their new weight. Eddie was sweating, a faint, sour tang cutting through the dusty air. He looked from Steve to Andy and back, his expression one of bewildered enchantment, like a kid meeting his favourite actors.
Andy started. “We’ve been looking for someone. Someone just like you, Eddie.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “We have an offer for you. It doesn’t cost anything. There are no medical procedures.”
Eddie blinked. “What kind of offer?”
Andy pulled out his phone, swiped, and handed it over. The screen showed a selfie from a week ago. Andy in a gym mirror, his body thicker, softer. Light, sparse hair on a chest that seemed slightly swollen. His skin had a dull, inflamed look, shadows under his eyes.
Then Andy stood up. In one smooth motion, he pulled his tight grey tank top over his head and dropped it on the table. His physique was a brutal contrast to the photo: carved marble, skin glowing with health, the hair on his chest now a dark, masculine spray.
Eddie’s mouth fell open. He stared at the phone, then at Andy’s torso, then back again. “How?”
Steve took his turn. He found a photo on his own phone, a hospital selfie from three days prior. Pale, bloated from treatment, hairless and weak. He handed the phone to Eddie, then stood and removed his charcoal linen shirt. The man revealed was a different species: powerful, broad-shouldered, a dense pelt of dark hair over defined muscle.
“What is this?” Eddie whispered, his voice cracking. “Some… some kind of Ozempic? I don’t like pharmaceuticals, man.”
Steve sat back down, his massive frame making the chair protest. “I don’t know exactly what it is,” he admitted, his gaze steady and honest. “I got it from an experimental cancer treatment. But I’ve never felt better. Never looked better.” He paused, letting the next words land with their full, carnal weight. “Never had this much sex.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. The last part clicked into place, his nervousness tinged with a raw, desperate curiosity. “Sex?”
They talked. Eddie, encouraged by their focused, non-judgmental attention, revealed fragments of his life. The loneliness. The years spent here, among plastic legends, while his own body felt like a failed project. “I’m… I’m still a virgin,” he finally confessed, the words rushing out in a pained sigh. “No confidence. Who’d want to see this naked?” He gestured vaguely at his soft, slumped form.
“You can think about it,” Steve said, his voice gentle. “We can leave our number. You can call us. No pressure.”
Andy nodded. “It’s your choice, always.”
“How long does it take?” Eddie asked, his eyes darting between their powerful forms. “What’s the recovery?”
“It will be all over within the hour,” Andy reassured him, his tone leaving no doubt. “You’ll walk out of here a different man.”
Eddie sat very still, the only sound his quick, shallow breaths. He looked again at the photos of their former selves, then at the living, breathing miracles before him. The longing in his eyes hardened into a decision. He took a big, shuddering breath, his shoulders squaring with a resolve he’d probably never felt before. “Fuck it,” he said, the words firm. “Let’s do it.”
Steve stood. He reached out his hand. Eddie took it, his palm damp and soft. Steve pulled him up and towards him in one powerful motion, sweeping Eddie into his arms. Eddie gasped, his soft body colliding with Steve’s hard chest. Andy stood and moved behind him, sandwiching Eddie between their solid, heat-radiating forms.
The stale smell of Eddie’s unwashed clothes and anxious sweat tried to push through, but it was quickly overwhelmed, dampened by the clean, potent musk that poured from Steve and Andy’s skin. It was the scent of sun on stone, of deep forest, of pure, unadulterated vitality. Steve leaned down, his bearded face close to Eddie’s. A flicker of old-world concern—is this right? are we monsters?—flashed through him. It was instantly silenced by that new, serene voice in his mind, a biological imperative purring its certainty.
This is the way. This is the gift.
Steve captured Eddie’s mouth with his own.
Eddie stiffened for a half-second, a final instinctual resistance, then melted. His lips were chapped, hesitant. Steve’s were firm, commanding. He pressed, and Eddie’s mouth opened on a soft sigh.
Steve’s tongue slid inside.
It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but of purpose. Steve’s salivary glands activated, a deliberate, conscious trigger. The fluid that flooded his mouth wasn't mere spit. It was viscous, warm, carrying the faint, electric tang of ozone and musk. He fed it to Eddie, his tongue moving slowly, thoroughly, coating the inside of Eddie’s mouth, swiping over his teeth, his palate.
Eddie moaned, a muffled, needy sound. His hands came up to clutch at Steve’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the hard muscle. He started to kiss back, timidly at first, then with growing hunger. His tongue touched Steve’s, and the transfer intensified. Andy, pressed tight against Eddie’s back, nuzzled into the sweaty junction of his neck, inhaling the stale scent that was already beginning to change, to sweeten, his lips marking Eddie's skin with firm, possessive smacks.
Steve felt the shift. Eddie’s initial passive acceptance became an active craving. The larger man’s body softened further against him, then tightened with a new kind of tension—not fear, but a deep, cellular yearning. Eddie began sucking on Steve’s tongue, desperate for more of the transformative fluid. His hips, trapped between them, gave an involuntary jerk.
Steve broke the kiss with a wet sound. Eddie whimpered at the loss, his eyes glazed, lips slick and parted. A thin strand of milky saliva connected their mouths.
“My turn,” Andy whispered into Eddie’s ear, his voice low and thrilling. He turned Eddie’s face towards him and claimed his mouth. Andy’s kiss was different—younger, more fervent, just as deliberate. His own saliva, slightly thinner but equally charged, flowed freely. Eddie drank from him, a man dying of thirst finding an oasis. His hands left Steve to grab at Andy’s bare shoulders, his touch gaining a strange, newfound strength.
Steve took over from Andy, kissing any exposed flesh he could find. He pressed his lips to the sweaty curve of Eddie’s neck, the hollow behind his ear, the sharp line of his jaw. Wanting more, wanting contact with skin, he pulled at the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt, tugging it up. Eddie’s arms went limp, allowing Steve to pull it off over his head. The shirt fell to the dusty stockroom floor.
Steve worried this move might make Eddie feel too self-conscious, laying his softness bare. But Eddie barely seemed to notice, lost in the hungry exploration of Andy’s mouth. Andy continued his sensual work, feeding the man as much saliva as he wanted, Eddie’s usual greed for food replaced by a ravenous greed for the transformative fluids.
Steve looked at Eddie’s body from behind. He saw the random hairs, moles, and acne scattered across pallid skin, the folds of patchy dry skin where fat met flesh. He felt a sharp empathy for the man, and a dark delight coiling inside him—a delight he could also feel humming through Andy—at what their gift would do for Eddie.
Steve started to kiss down Eddie’s spine, his bearded mouth tracing each knob of vertebrae. Eddie shivered, a full-body tremor, but did not move from Andy’s mouth. His whimpers, once light and needy, deepened into resonant, chesty moans that vibrated against Andy’s tongue.
As Steve reached the base of Eddie’s spine, he reached around and unfastened his pants. The button popped, the zipper grated down. He let them fall to the floor around Eddie’s ankles, greeted by a flat, pale, spotty ass, a landscape of folds and soft, misshapen flesh.
Steve could not ignore the smell—not as clean as a person should be, the distinct musk of shit and neglect. But he knew what to do. He unfastened his own pants and pushed them down, releasing his hardening cock with a sigh of relief. He reached behind him, fingers finding his own asshole, and started to push out with his internal muscles. A large, clear glob of his anal lubricant, slick and cool, pooled into his waiting palm.
He smeared this thick fluid between Eddie’s butt cheeks, working it over the skin. Eddie stiffened and tensed slightly at the unfamiliar touch, until the lube reached his hole. Then he started to shake with pleasure, a loud groan escaping his occupied mouth. Andy was holding him around the waist, keeping him upright. Steve placed his palms on Eddie’s butt cheeks to keep him stable, spreading him open.
Seeing his own anal lube do its work, the unclean smell instantly gone, replaced by a clean, ozonic scent, Steve pulled Eddie’s cheeks apart. He saw a perfectly clean, pink hole, tight but beginning to pulse with a slow, eager rhythm. Steve leaned in and started to eat Eddie’s hole out. He kissed the rim, licked it with broad strokes, teasing him open before spearing his tongue inside. His tongue, now so skilled and knowing, pushed deep, feeding his charged saliva directly into Eddie’s ass. He and Andy were filling Eddie up from both ends.
Soon, Eddie’s voice was trying to be heard through Andy’s oral attentions. Muffled, desperate words formed against Andy’s lips. Andy pulled back, a string of spit connecting them.
“Please,” Eddie begged, his voice cracked and raw. “Please fuck me. I need it. I don’t know why, I swear I’m not gay, but please fuck me.”
Steve and Andy grinned at each other over Eddie’s heaving shoulder, a shared, feral understanding passing between them.
Eddie’s hand found its way behind him, fumbling blindly until his fingers brushed against Steve’s cock. His hand closed around it, his grip unsure due to the staggering size of it. He gasped, his head twisting to try and see. “Oh my god,” he breathed, his eyes wide. “How is that going to fit…?”
Steve shushed him softly, nuzzling his neck. Andy, still holding Eddie’s waist, leaned close to his ear. “Don’t worry,” Andy murmured, his voice a low promise. “It will all work out fine. Your body knows what it needs now.”
Andy dipped down, taking one of Eddie’s large, pink nipples into his mouth. He sucked hard, his tongue flicking the bud. Eddie’s eyes rolled back into his head, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. His free hand moved to his own small, half-hard penis, stroking it clumsily.
Steve took this as a green light. He drooled onto his own cock, slicking it, mixing his spit with the pre-cum that had already started to gently flow. He positioned the broad, flared head against Eddie’s twitching hole. He pushed.
Eddie’s groans became deeper, more primal, a raw sound of stretch and surrender. The resistance was real, a tight, clenching ring of muscle fighting then yielding, millimetre by millimetre. Steve’s cock, somehow, adapted as it had with Andy. It didn’t force; it persuaded, the flesh seeming to mould and compress just enough to not push Eddie beyond his human limitations. It was a slow, inexorable invasion.
Andy stood, releasing Eddie’s nipple from his mouth with a pop, and locked eyes with Steve. Both men knew what to do now.
As Steve fucked Eddie, he began a slow, deep rhythm, sheathing his entire massive length into the soft, willing man. Andy bent Eddie forward, his own cock thick and demanding. He guided it to Eddie’s lips.
“Suck,” Andy commanded, his voice gentle but absolute.
Eddie obeyed without hesitation, opening his mouth to take Andy in, his mouth working to accommodate this second impossible girth, barely managing to keep the head in his mouth, but desperately swallowing the copious amounts of precum he found there. He was stuffed at both ends, a conduit between them.
Seeing Eddie's broad back stretching between them, Steve and Andy both opened their mouths and allowed the saliva to flow from them, watching it pool on Eddie's back. They began to massage it into every inch of exposed flesh, smothering Eddie's skin in the silky smooth fluids, watching it both coat and absorb.
As they drenched Eddie in their infused juices, Steve’s thrusts grew more powerful, each drive punching a choked grunt from Eddie that vibrated around Andy’s cock.
The stockroom air grew thick with the sounds of their sex: the wet slap of Steve’s balls against Eddie’s ass, the choked gurgles from Eddie’s throat, Steve and Andy’s own guttural praises. Steve could feel a familiar pressure building in his core, a vast reservoir preparing to empty. He fucked harder, faster, his fingers digging into Eddie’s hips.
“Gonna fill you up,” Steve growled, his voice rough.
Eddie moaned around Andy’s cock, a sound of pure, desperate assent.
Andy’s breath hitched. “Me too. Take it. Take all of it.”
Steve’s orgasm erupted first. It wasn’t a spurt, but a torrent. Thick, hot jets of seed pumped deep into Eddie’s bowels, flooding him. Eddie’s body convulsed, his own small cock pulsing and dribbling a pathetic, human release onto the floor.
The sensation of being filled triggered Andy. He pulled his cock from Eddie’s mouth with a slick pop and with a few rough strokes in his fist, came across Eddie’s face, painting stripes of white over his glasses, his cheeks, his open, gasping mouth.
Slowly the three men collapsed to the floor, Andy and Steve entangling Eddie in their limbs, as they let the process of conversion take them all into unconsciousness.