Just Desserts: A Good Show (Patreon)

“What do you deserve,” the bartender asked, the Grey Goose surging an angry purple behind him.  Vince was too caught off guard by the strange query to notice the quick flash.  He’d expected to order a drink, not be handed an existential crisis.  He had no way of knowing the vodka had been cursed by an angry, drunken warlock, and that his life was about to take a very interesting turn.  

“Ooof...that’s a loaded question,” the dark haired man laughed.  He shook his head and spread his calloused hands on the bar as he leaned back, an eyebrow arching behind his glasses.  For a moment he was afraid the bartender knew why they were really there.  The fit young man had been trying his best to act casual, but in the back of his mind he wondered if it was obvious that the two of them didn’t belong.  He and Brant were as straight as they came, only spending the night at a bustling gay bar because they’d lost a bet with their frat brothers.

It hadn’t been Vince’s idea.  He didn’t even learn about it until after he’d been roped in by Brant like always, ending up yet again as collateral damage in the arrogant pretty-boy’s wake.  The smug jock kept trying to insist that Vince should be flattered, that the shy stud should take it as a compliment that Brant thought the two of them were the best looking in the house.  With Vince’s athletic build, olive skin, and raven hair, his sharp, brooding features were a perfect contrast to Brant’s lantern-jawed, All-American muscle.  The boisterous brunette was a chiseled Adonis, his smooth, tanned skin acting as an alternative to the dark, wiry coating that dusted Vince’s lean, tapering build.  While explaining, not apologizing for, the unfortunate outcome, Brant only said that it didn’t make sense.  There was no way Mack and Tommy, who had great bodies but subpar faces, Brant said, should have scored before the two of them at the Beta Phi sorority party.  Yet score they had, leaving Vince with no choice but to suffer the fate Brant had intended for the other two.

Performing at an Amateur Strip night was only a mild embarrassment for the arrogant hunk, yet Vince was mortified.  No amount of insight into his superior looks could help the modest jock overcome his dread at the thought of getting up on stage and baring all in front of a crowd.  Brant would be fine; he loved the attention no matter what.  He’d act embarrassed, but when it was all said and done he’d get off on the applause just the same.  Not so for Vince, who already wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.  He knew the videos they had to provide as proof would make it onto the internet seconds after the others got their hands on them, meaning his embarrassment was only just beginning.  The dark-haired hunk was starting to regret the years he’d spent enabling his friend’s thoughtless behavior, but now it was too late.

“The fuck it is,” Brant chimed in, his thick arms flexing as he leaned forward on his elbows next to Vince.  “Two shots, please.  Grey Goose if you have it.”  The primped and polished hunk displayed none of his friend’s reluctance, not caring whether the bartender knew why they were there or not.  He turned his attention back to his friend, an annoyed look on his face.  “Quit being such a pussy about this, bro.  I don’t get how we could’ve lost either, but a bet’s a bet.”  He flashed a smug grin and reached over to tousle Vince’s short hair, flexing his prominent pecs in the process.  “You’re just looking at it the wrong way.  Letting people bask in our hotness IS what we deserve.  Okay, yeah, it’s a little weird that they’re all dudes, but fuck it.  Give ‘em what they want and have some fun.  What’s wrong with that?  If I deserve anything, it’s people who appreciate my beauty,” Brant cooed with a dramatic toss of his hair.  He pursed his lips and batted his eyelashes in an exaggerated manner before downing the vodka shot and continuing his lecture.  “And you deserve to lighten the fuck up, dude.  You’re smokin’ hot, man, and you need to own that shit.  These guys are lucky to be here tonight...so just go with the flow and have some fun,” Brant said, doing his best impression of the many coaches they’d had over the years.  “Say it.  Say you deserve it,” he barked.

Vince rolled his eyes and laughed, his anger already fading in the face of Brant’s charming onslaught.  “Fine.  I deserve it,” he sighed before throwing back his shot.  He winced and stuck out his burning tongue, a shiver running through him.  “So how long do we have to wait until we can get this over with?”

Brant shrugged and slid off his stool.  “Fuck if I know.  Does anything ever start on time in a bar?”  He nodded over to the bustling back end, where a large cluster of men milled around a dance floor in front of the stage.  Some were writhing and squirming in time with the music, but most stood in small groups with drinks in their hands.  “Let’s go check out the competition.”

Vince reluctantly followed, noting the number of heads that began to turn in their direction as they wove through the crowd.  Leering eyes attached to men of all shapes and sizes lingered hungrily on them as they passed, and while he was sure that Brant loved every second of it, Vince was surprised to find himself smiling.  Normally such overt objectification would have made him nervous, especially from a group of men, but instead of retreating he leaned into it.  Using it as an excuse to flex his arms more than anything else, Vince waited until a few more eyes were on him before reaching up to remove his glasses.  He told himself it was because he didn’t want them to get knocked free in the dense throng, and not that he knew he looked better without them.  The small wire frames gave him a boyish charm, but it suddenly occurred to him that they mitigated his razor cheeks, prominent nose, and manicured stubble.  They didn’t amplify his brooding, sleepy eyes; they hid them.

Oblivious to his friend’s shifting perspective, Brant basked in the attention just as Vince knew he would.  “I think they like me,” the smug hunk called over his shoulder as yet another group turned in his direction.

“Yeah, well, no one’s perfect,” Vince laughed, giving Brant’s firm bubble a rough squeeze.

“Hey now, save it for the stage...damn!”  Brant did a double-take when he looked back and saw Vince’s unobstructed face.  He’d seen his friend without his glasses plenty of times, but he’d never appreciated just how handsome the other man actually was.  “Fuck it.  If we’re going to start early…” Feeling an unusual rush of insecurity and a need to compensate, Brant reached down and slowly peeled out of his t-shirt, much to the joy of the equally bare-chested men around him.  He grinned back at the lusty faces as he tucked his shirt into his jeans, his smug swell of pride faltering when he looked down at himself.  He first thought it was just a trick of the flashing lights, but as Brant blinked down at his exposed torso it suddenly didn’t seem as large as it should.  He was still fit and cut, but his pecs weren’t as prominent, and even his meaty arms appeared to have withdrawn slightly.  “Uh...this is going to sound like a weird question, but do I…” He broke off in a gasp, his fears confirmed when he looked back up at Vince.  Instead of standing eye level with the other man like he should, he instead found his stunned gaze landing on his friend’s soft, full lips.  An odd fluttering erupted in his stomach as he blinked at Vince’s increasingly-stunning features.  A refinement was taking place that merely removing his glasses couldn’t account for.

“Do you have a good idea?  Fuck yeah, dude,” Vince laughed, seemingly oblivious to Brant’s plight as he casually shucked his own shirt.  Instead of tucking it into the back of his pants he whirled it above his head and whipped it into the crowd.  There was a small voice in the back of his brain that kept insisting he should be embarrassed, but all he felt was relief at having his furry, sculpted chest unrestrained.  His legs itched for a similar freedom from the constricting jeans, and already Vince doubted whether they’d make it with him up onto the stage.  It was an odd thought for the normally-modest jock, just as odd as the look Brant was giving him.  “What?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost, bud,” he said, running a hand over his plump pecs as his voice took on an unusually laidback tone.

Brant didn’t know what to say.  He really was looking at a ghost - the ghost of his missing bulk that appeared to have taken up residence on Vince’s broadened frame.  His friend was noticeably larger, sporting a fresh layer of precision-sculpted muscle that caused his pecs to pop and his arms to bulge.  Brant wasn’t used to feeling smaller than the other man, a sensation that was only amplified as he stared with fresh fascination at Vince’s wiry carpet.  The raven-haired stud radiated masculinity in a way that caused Brant to view his own smooth frame with growing disdain.

It was while he gawked at the shredded obliques leading down to Vince’s straining jeans that he realized the strange events were still unfolding.  Though his friend’s pants had grown tight, his own fitted denim was starting to hang loose.  Brant’s heart pounded in his reduced chest when he finally tore his eyes away from the olive-hued hunk and looked down at a body he no longer recognized.  Where just moments before he’d still had most of his former size, now it had nearly all vanished.  Instead of a chiseled, tapering hunk he was thin and lean, looking like he spent more time on cardio than on lifting.  But, as he stared, even that began to change.  Brant could feel a pins-and-needle tingling erupt from head to toe while the roadmap of definition covering his changing body began to fade.  It was subtle at first, but there was no mistaking the difference as his once-proud pecs settled into a pair of flat, barely present mounds, and his washboard abs became a soft, supple stomach.

“What the fuck?!  What the fuck is this?!” Brant shrieked, noting the higher tone to his voice as he raised his shriveled arms.  The massive biceps and horseshoe triceps were gone, replaced by a pair of small, toned limbs attached to a set of lithe, shrunken shoulders.

“It’s a party!” Vince yelled over the music.  He wrapped one of his enlarged hands fully around Brant’s tiny new wrist and raised his friend’s arm toward the ceiling, while the other spun the shrunken man around and clamped onto his softened stomach.  “Come on, bud, just relax,” he purred, holding his friend tight and rolling his hips in time with the music.

Brant’s head was spinning.  The sensation of Vince’s towering, shredded frame pressing against his back was overwhelming.  The glimpse he’d just had of his friend before being spun around was impossible.  Vince was perfect.  His shoulders were almost impossibly broad, making his tight, tapering waist seem all the more so as his powerful arms hung at either side.  The dark-haired man had always been fit, but Brant knew Vince’s legs hadn’t been that large when they’d arrived, and the bulge he felt digging against his own bouncier cheeks seemed absolutely massive.  While he’d somehow dwindled his friend had inflated, becoming a smoldering Adonis that sent confusing throbs to his twitching cock.  Brant didn’t know why he was going along with any of it.  He didn’t know why his shrunken arms were still waving in the air or why he pressed back with his softened globes.  He just knew he didn’t want to stop.

“Let’s take a selfie!”

The now-twinkish brunette’s eyes went wide, both from the image of his altered face on the screen and the unexpected appearance of Vince’s hand in his pants.  Just as Brant was taking in his softened jaw, pouty lips, button nose, and bright eyes, his friend’s hand slipped into the large gap between his waist and the now-oversized jeans.  The former jock knew his once-girthy package had shrunk just as much as the rest of him as soon as his friend squeezed, but Brant was more focused on his unfamiliar new face.  While Vince had become a caricature of masculinity, the brunette’s boy-next-door looks had softened into an androgynous mask that was more pretty than handsome.  He whimpered when his oversized jeans finally lost their grip and landed at his ankles, giving him, and everyone else, a view of his slender, supple new thighs.  The briefs that should have been straining around his muscular lower half, the pouch filled to capacity, now draped down one hip, exposing part of a plump, bouncing globe.  The once-firm mounds were still large and round, but now there was nothing solid about them as they shook and rippled with the slightest motion.

The shrunken jock looked around at the faces glued to the both of them, wondering why he was still writhing in Vince’s grip.  Instead of pulling away and fleeing in terror he just ground his hips against his friend’s wide palm, his cock surging just as much from the attention as from the other man’s hand.  Brant’s words at the bar came back to him, how he deserved to have people appreciate his beauty, and it suddenly all made a kind of horrible, impossible sense.

On cue, Vince repeated another chunk of their conversation.  The gorgeous stud didn’t seem nearly as bothered by any of this as he should, but Brant knew that made sense, too.  Vince deserved to lighten up.  “Let’s give ‘em what they want,” the now-bigger man purred, nibbling at Brant’s ear.

There was a rush of air before he could respond, and the new little twink found his rigid, three-inch rod on display.  For just a moment Brant was horrified at his petite balls and the loss of over four inches in length, along with a considerable amount of width.  Then he saw the same thirsty look on everyone’s face and felt the bolts of bliss shooting up his spine at the way Vince’s hardening bulge dug into his jiggling valley.  After that, nothing else seemed to matter.  Brant didn’t mind that instead of 6’2” he was 5’7” at most.  He didn’t mind that he’d gone from ripped and firm to soft and curvy.  He didn’t mind that his fat log was now a short little poker, or that his All American face was now a dainty mask.  He was pretty, and he deserved to let that beauty show.

His friend also deserved a good time.  Brant spun in Vince’s grip, leaning in to run his tongue along the cresting ridges of the other man’s inflated pecs while he fumbled with the straining denim.  He swallowed the dark-haired hunk’s sigh of relief when Vince lifted his chin with a massive hand to plant a long kiss just as he undid the fly and pulled them down.

“Aawwwww...fuck yeah, bro,” Vince grinned, folding his muscled arms behind his head while Brant dropped to his knees and pulled the tented boxer briefs free.  There was an audible slap as his nine-inch club sprung against the kneeling twink’s face, causing an eruption of cheers and applause from the men around them.  Vince and Brant just smiled at each other before the former jock went to work, swallowing as much of the olive-skinned stud as he could.

There was a part of Brant that was surprised at how natural it all felt, and that he was even doing any of this in the first place, but mostly he focused on how much he loved the sensation of Vince’s hairy, muscled cakes flexing against his tiny new hands.  Far from revolting, the feeling of the other man’s bulbous head hitting the back of his throat drove him wild.  The slurping twink wanted nothing more than to have Vince’s copious explosion all over his pretty new face, but he knew that’s not what they were there for.  It wasn’t what the crowd really wanted.

Vince felt the same way.  After a few minutes he guided Brant’s head free and pulled the other man to his feet before flinging him over a broad shoulder.  There was another loud slap as he reached up and gave the brunette’s ample rear a swat, his own leaking girder bobbing before them while he climbed up onto the stage.  The thunderous applause drowned out Brant’s howl of bliss when Vince set him down and plunged inside, though there were plenty to go around.  The former stud felt another brief flash of humiliation at the sound of his cracking shrieks echoing around the packed club, but just like he screamed, he didn’t want Vince to stop.  The other man’s thick log lit him up in a way he’d never experienced, causing what remained of Brant’s old self to lose its hold.  Based on his friend’s actions he guessed the old Vince had thrown in the towel long ago, leaving only the twisted versions they’d become.  They were still a pair of college frat boys, but instead of being a jock Brant only got fucked by them, much to his enjoyment, while Vince was the envy of every guy on campus.  So envious were his peers that they didn’t mind the dark-haired hunk’s almost permanent lack of clothes anymore than they minded how he frequently had his way with them.  Plenty of otherwise straight jocks were all too eager to let Vince take a crack at their asses or put their mouths to use, and the laidback stud loved every second of it.  He didn’t lord his superior looks over other guys; he genuinely enjoyed providing access to anyone who was interested, like an excited puppy who just liked the attention.

It was the last flash of recognition Brant would have.  When his tiny little cock sprayed a few moments later, it took the memory of his former life with it.  As far as he was concerned, it was just another average night at the bar.  He sighed when Vince began to slow his pumping and shook his head, pressing his leaking cheeks back against the other man.  “Uh-uh...keep going,” he panted, jerking his head towards the cheering crowd.  “They deserve a good show.”