Move It (vignette) (Patreon)

Bobby looked around at the empty room, surprised by the sight.  The weathered wood floors and peeling floral wallpaper were familiar enough, as were the towering ceilings and arched doorways.  The dark shapes of picture frames, untouched for decades, peppered the sun-bleached walls like geometric acne, while the lingering stench of musty books and dusty furniture still lingered in the air.  Bobby had been surrounded by all of it for hours, there’d been no escaping the stale miasma while emptying the ancient estate, but he didn’t think he should be seeing it now.  And when he turned to his right, looking through the stately bay window at what should have been an overgrown front lawn, Bobby didn’t think he should be staring out at a star-peppered void instead.  The same view greeted him when he turned to his left and looked through the wide archway into the now-empty dining room at the back of the house, a wall of twinkling darkness waiting on the other side of the windows instead of the trees he’d seen earlier.

Nor did Bobby think he should still be dressed for work.  Looking down at himself, the dark-haired young man saw the navy “Mighty Movers” t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier, along with the same pair of black mesh shorts.  Both strained around his plump pecs, powerful arms, ample rear, and sturdy thighs the way they had earlier in the day, the way they always did, but Bobby thought he’d taken them off.  He kept thinking that he should be looking down at bare flesh, that his tanned, chiseled torso, with its wiry chocolate dusting, should be exposed.  He shouldn’t have been looking at his shorts, either, but at a pair of stuffed, crimson boxer briefs, his girthy bulge proudly on display.

He thought he should have been in bed.  He and Tom had been at the house earlier in the day, but he was certain they’d since gone out for drinks and then called it a night in their respective rooms in their shared apartment.  Some weird old guy had died, and they’d been hired to empty his weird old house of all his weird old shit.  Having done so, they’d blown off some steam like always and had gone home to compare their takes.  The more he forced his hazy thoughts in that direction, Bobby could clearly recall getting home, taking a shower, and then lounging on the couch in the very underwear he’d expected to see while he and Tom, similarly clad, congratulated themselves on the small pile of jewelry they’d acquired.

One of the main benefits of working as a mover was the way the hour of manual labor kept their athletic, early-20s physiques in shape now that varsity sports were no longer in the picture.  The other was the easy access to valuables that could easily go “missing” in the hectic moving process.  Most of the time a person wouldn’t even notice until long after Bobby and Tom were out of the picture, and on the rare occasions when they did, they never had anything close to proof.  The pair were always careful to only take from customers who seemed less than organized to begin with, and the old man’s estate had been a gold mine.  Whoever he was, he’d never had children, so it was all organized by distant relatives who’d never been in the house and had no idea what was there.  Someone had done a cursory pass to remove any obvious items of significant value, but that still left the cluttered victorian full of old books, antique fixtures, jewelry, and art that all reeked of money.  Most of it was unlike anything Tom or Bobby had ever seen before, with many of the books being written in strange languages and most of the art depicting abstract landscapes or amorphous shapes.  A more skilled pair of thieves could have moved all of it, but the former jocks contented themselves with a few pocketfuls of jewelry since rings and necklaces were easier to sell than a bizarre sculpture or an odd tome.

“What the fuck is even happening,” Bobby muttered to himself, uncertain of how long he’d been standing in the empty room to begin with.  He finally started to move towards the door but froze after a few steps, hearing the creaking of ancient floorboards above him.  He held his breath as his heart started racing, the sudden rush of fear further sharpening his hazy thoughts.  Bobby was more certain than ever that they had finished their work and had gone home and had gone to bed; none of which explained how he was suddenly back in the ominous house.  As the footsteps reached the top of the stairs and began to slowly creak down them one-by-one, the panicked brunette couldn’t decide between fight or flight and ended up standing rooted in place.  The sight of a familiar sneaker sent a rush of relief through the frozen jock even as it furthered his confusion.  “Tom?  Is that you?”

The tentative steps picked up their pace at the sound of the familiar voice, revealing a similarly dressed, sandy-haired stud as Tom trotted down the worn stairs into view.  “Bobby!  Fuck, man, am I glad to see you.  What the fuck are we doing back here?  Weren’t we just at…” he trailed off and shook his head.  “The last thing I remember is going to bed, but then all of a sudden I’m in a creepy attic?  What the hell.”

Bobby shrugged, a powerful arm inflating as he nervously ran a hand through his short, chocolate hair.  “Did you look outside?”

Tom’s eyes went wide as he turned to the window, the color briefly draining from his face before he smiled.  “Ooohhhhh, I get it now.  I’m dreaming,” he said with a sigh of relief.

“Dude, I don’t think this is a dream.  How are we having the same one,” Bobby asked.

“Easy.  We’re not.  I’m just dreaming that I’m talking to you,” Tom said, his smirk growing.  “This place was creepy as fuck.  No wonder I’m still thinking about it.”

“Why are you just assuming this is your dream?  What if I’m dreaming you up right now?”  Bobby squinted, his eyes narrowing as he stared at his friend.

Tom raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his equally prominent chest.  “Bro…what the fuck are you doing?”

Bobby kept squinting, a look of determination on his square-jawed face.  A career in modeling was never in either of their futures, but they both sported passably handsome, rugged features which, when combined with their impressive builds, never failed to turn heads.  As a flush of pink began to creep up Bobby’s cheeks his expression finally softened and he shook his head.  “I was trying to picture you in your underwear.  If it’s my dream, and I know I’m dreaming, I should be able to control it, right?”

“Hey!  Fuck you,” Tom laughed, mirroring his friend’s attempt.  After a few moments of futile staring he gave up and shrugged, suddenly less confident in his earlier declaration.  “Damn.  Didn’t work for me either.”

“See?  I told you,” Bobby grunted.  “But if this isn’t my dream, and it isn’t your dream, then whose…”

“Mine.”  Both men jumped at the seemingly sourceless, booming voice that rang around the room.  They each spun in a startled circle, neither of them able to determine who was speaking or from where.  “Welcome back,” the voice said, its tone dripping with icy cheer.

Bobby tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke.  He puffed out his pecs and did his best to look intimidating, though he wasn’t sure which way to face.  “And, uh, who are you?”

“The man whose possessions you saw fit to steal.”  There was a pause before the voice continued, the tone less harsh.  “Though I wonder if I technically count as a ‘man’ anymore in my current state?  Transcendence is such an odd experience.”

This time it was Tom who spoke.  “Okay, so…what are we doing here?  We didn’t steal anything, man,” he said, spreading his arms and looking around the room.  “And, like, aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“Ah.  Lies.”  There was a lingering pause before a low, slow chuckle drifted through the empty house.  Both men shivered as a rush of cold air suddenly wafted over each of them, the frigid draft worming its way up their nostrils and through their entire bodies before escaping in a chill gasp.  “Those are some interesting truths you’re both hiding.  Why don’t we share those instead?”

“I jerk off at least three nights a week with a pair of Bobby’s dirty underwear,” Tom blurted, his face going crimson and his eyes going wide as the words left his mouth.

“Dude!  What the hell,” Bobby said with a shocked laugh.  “I still get rock hard whenever I think about the time we made out on that dare,” he continued, the words taking an embarrassingly unexpected turn.  He’d planned on mocking his friend, not admitting to his own secret desires.

“Paints your earlier attempts at making this happen in a different light, doesn’t it,” the voice continued.

“Fuck!  What the fuck?!”  Tom yelped when his shorts and t-shirt vanished.  The brawny, boxer-clad blonde blushed, his eyes going wide when he looked over and saw Bobby’s bare bulk covered only by his stuffed boxer-briefs.  Neither of them had ever even thought about admitting to how much they enjoyed the view of the other when they casually lounged around the apartment.  As Bobby recently mentioned they’d made out before on a drunken dare, and had also jerked off together a few times, but neither of the strapping studs brought up the stolen glances of the other, and how they turned them on exponentially more than the porn they supposedly watched.

“Dude, don’t look at me like that,” Bobby spat, his rugged features equally flushed as he stared back at the blonde with equal intensity.

“I can’t help it!  I just really want to suck that dick,” Tom cried, the color draining from his face.

“Well get in line ‘cause I want to suck yours first,” Bobby barked, his hefty bulge twitching.  Tom’s boxers had started bouncing as well, causing a feedback loop between the rapidly-hardening hunks.  “What…what’s happening,” he stammered as one hand reached up to begin kneading a plump pec while the other started groping his tented underwear.

All humor was gone from the voice when it spoke again.  “We’re taking things, remember?  Oh, but wait…you didn’t take anything of mine.  So maybe I didn’t take anything from you?”

Tom gasped when his hand found its way to the aching cock that had slipped through the fly of his boxers.  Unlike Bobby, who kneaded himself through his underwear, the buff blonde openly started tugging as he stared at his friend, unable to resist the throbbing desire pulsing through him.  “I can’t stand how fucking hot you are, dude,” he moaned, a pained look on his face as he failed to force his eyes away.  “Okay…okay!  Look, we’re sorry, alright?  So we DID take a few things.  It’s not like you’re going to need them!  You’re…you’re…”

“What are you,” Bobby finished, his voice low as his hand slipped inside his boxer-briefs.  His tone grew frantic as he fished his own oozing log free and started stroking.  “Where are you?  What the fuck is this?!”

“Everything.  Everywhere,” the voice said, its tone going distant.  “Godhood takes some…getting used to.”

There was another moment of silence as the pair jerked themselves while lustily eyeing each other.  “You’re a…” Tom started before another sourceless laugh cut him off.

“I couldn’t resist the drama.  Compared to those I serve?  No.  Not even close.  Compared to you?  To what I was?  Absolutely,” the voice said.  “Thank you for helping me to find my sea legs.”

“You can have your shit back, okay?  We’ll bring it to the house or give it to whoever you want,” Bobby offered, his head spinning.  On top of his inability to repress his suddenly overwhelming desire, the knowledge that he was talking to a dead man rocked the foundations upon which his worldview had been built.  It was one thing when he’d thought the man was a simple ghost, but now it appeared that he was something else entirely.  Thinking back on the strange objects at the house, on the books and artifacts and odd markings they’d discovered under rugs, a terrifying picture was starting to form in Bobby’s brain.

“Thank you for your kind offer, but it’s far too late for that.  You’re welcome to keep the baubles…they’re worthless in the grand scheme of things.  It’s the principle we need to discuss.  What kind of precedent would I be setting if I began my ascendance by letting a pair of imbeciles steal from me?”

Tom groaned, both from the growing pressure and the growing dread.  “We didn’t…we didn’t know!  We wouldn’t have…”

“But a God needs to show mercy, yes?  A benevolent deity should be above such petty desires as revenge.  Even in my wrath, let there be kindness,” the voice continued, ignoring Tom’s protests.  “As you took from me, I take from you.  As I find my footing in this bold new existence, so shall you do the same.”

“Wait…what does that even mean?!  You can’t just…” Bobby started, breaking off in a gasp when a strange tingling broke out across his lower half.  He had just enough time to look over at Tom before his perspective began to shift, the walls seeming to stretch around him.  But it wasn’t the room that was growing, a fact that became horrifyingly clear when he heard a tearing sound from his painfully tight underwear.  Looking down, the stunned brunette wanted to scream at the sight of his thickened legs, the formerly long limbs growing shorter and wider by the moment.  It was as if they were being compressed, losing their length but none of their mass.  Lean calves became squat and rocky, thighs pressed together nearly to the knees, and once-proportional cheeks became heaping, oversized mounds.  Nor was Bobby’s cock spared, the impressive, seven-inch rod stretching and thickening like a fleshy wine bottle, its imposing size all the more noticeable as it was thrust forward by the hulking orbs below.  He looked over at Tom for help, but his stomach sank further when he discovered his friend in a similar state.  The sight of the blonde’s unaltered upper half resting on the meaty little trunks that had become his legs drove home how ridiculous his own altered frame must appear, but it did nothing to quell the lust that, if anything, had only grown stronger.  Bobby’s misproportioned body practically vibrated with desire at the sight of his friend’s bare, lopsided bulk, the tattered remains of Tom’s boxers falling away as the changes began to settle.  He opened his mouth to let out a cry, but the room began to spin before he had the chance, the darkness beyond the windows outside crashing through the glass and consuming his awareness.

Bobby jolted awake with a start, his heart racing as he stared up at a blessedly familiar ceiling.  “Ohhhhh thank god,” he sighed, rubbing his stubble-covered cheeks. “What a weird fucking…dream…” he trailed off as he shifted on the bed, the sensation of his body on the mattress feeling distinctly different than it should have.  “FUCK!  WHAT THE FUCK?!” he roared when he lifted his head and looked down at the stocky little legs outlined beneath the thin sheet.  He frantically tossed it aside, hoping that it was all still just a dream when he saw the obscene pillar of flesh that his cock had become twitching against the short, meaty pylons.  Bobby reflexively flung himself out of bed and landed in a dazed pile on the floor, not used to having to hop down out of bed, or the way  the awkward limbs moved.  “Oh fuck…oh fuck…oh fuck…” he stammered, reeling from his altered perspective as he forced himself up onto the heavy legs.  Everything shook and rubbed and fought against itself for space, but the shocked brunette was more concerned with the way his hands nearly reached the floor despite the fact that he was standing fully upright.  “This…this can’t be real…this has to be a nightmare…I can’t…oh, shit!  Tom!”

Doing his best to ignore the way everything now seemed to tower over him, Bobby lumbered from his room, blushing at the awkward waddle his new proportions forced him to adopt.  His thickened legs were so squat as to be nearly immobile, and each heavy footfall sent ripples through his new beachball bottom.  Worse, though, was the way the constant rubbing of his thighs against his heavy new balls sent darts of pleasure to his inflated cock, causing the fattened organ to go half-hard after only a few steps.

And a few steps was as far as Bobby made it before a frantic Tom burst out of his room at the other end of the hall, his stocky, simian new shape hitting the brunette like a physical force.  “Fuck!  Dude!  Look…look at us!  We’re freaks,” the blonde cried, hurrying forward as fast as his waddling gait would allow.  “How is this even possible?!  Are we…we’re still dreaming, right?”

Bobby shivered and gasped when Tom latched onto him for balance, their spasming rods brushing together.  “I don’t…I don’t think so, man.  I…I think we’re awake,” he stammered, amazed at how he instantly felt better with the other man in his arms.  Both were completely unaltered from the waist up, and Bobby’s hand absently found its way to one of Tom’s familiar pecs as they gawked at each other.

“But that’s not…I mean…we can’t be stuck like this!  What are we supposed to…to…” Tom’s sputtering dried up when he finally noticed the way Bobby had grabbed his cock and had started tugging.  “Bro…what’re you doing,” he asked, tightening his grip on the other man instead of pulling away.

“Can’t even close my hand around it,” Bobby said as he gently tugged on his friend’s organ.  A part of him knew it was odd and entirely inapropriate for the circumstnces, but a larger part of him accepted it as perfectly natural.  It was like an extension of what they’d felt in the dream, the previous barriers that kept them from acting on their hidden desires having been taken along with the inches from their legs.

“Why…why does this feel so normal,” Tom sighed, leaning his forehead against Bobby’s while the other man stroked.  He reached out and danced his fingers through the chocolate dusting on his friend’s chest before tweaking the perky little nipples, his lips finding their way to Bobby’s a moment later.  “What,” Tom asked with a bashful grin when he finally pulled away.  “You said you liked it when I kissed you.”

“I…I really do,” Bobby sputtered, his eyes wide.  He’d tried to brush it off or make a joke, but like in the dream, he’d been unable to do anything other than give voice to his sincere desires.  “I, uh…I like these, too,” he said, realizing that he’d let go of his friend’s cock and had latched onto Tom’s now-pillowy rear.

“Likewise,” the blonde purred, giving Bobby’s fattened cheeks a rough swat.  He followed it up with a drunken chuckle and leaned in for another kiss, their oozing girders wedged between them as they writhed in each other's arms.

“Shouldn’t we be…I don’t know…trying to figure this out,” Bobby breathlessly asked when Tom came up for air again.  The sensation of his friend’s lips against his own, and his ability to openly enjoy it, was like nothing he’d ever felt before.

“Why does it feel like there’s nothing TO figure out,” Tom asked, shaking his head.  “I keep having to remind myself that this isn’t…”

“I know,” Bobby interrupted.  “But we HAVE to hold onto that.  Right?  We don’t even know how tall we are anymore!”

“You mean how short we are,” Tom corrected, his drunken grin fading.  “Okay, okay.  You’re right. Let’s at least figure that part out.  Fuck, dude…what are we even going to wear?  These fat little legs aren’t fitting into…anything…what the hell,” he asked, letting out a surprised gasp when they waddled out of the hallway and into the rest of the apartment.  Amongst the familiar furniture were step stools and small little ladders, as if the pair had always been at their current height.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing,” Bobby asked, his eyes glued to Tom’s heaping rear as the blonde hopped up onto a stepladder and rummaged through a now-high drawer for a tape measure.

“Search me,” Tom shrugged.  “One thing at a time.”

Bobby nodded and leaned up against a nearby wall as his friend stretched out the tape, bracing himself for the numbers to come.  “That bad,” he asked when he saw his friend’s expression.

“4’4”,” Tom said, his voice distant as he realized those same measurements applied to him as well.  He and Bobby had always been the same height, but instead of being just under the six-foot mark, now they were just over four.

“I think this might be the least of our concerns.”  Bobby nodded over at the coffee table, pointing out a small pile of stickers and cards that were scattered on top.  Both of their jaws dropped when they waddled over and saw the glossy “Meaty Movers” stickers, and the cardstock flyers bearing both of their warped bodies clad in nothing but matching sleeves around their hefty packages.

“Oh…oh no…” Tom stammered, not wanting to believe the memories that began filtering into his overloaded brain.

Bobby said nothing as he hurried back to his room for his phone, amazed at how quickly he was adapting to his altered gait.  As with everything else the plodding steps felt more natural with each one, as if he’d had plenty of time to get used to the way his bottom-heavy frame moved.  Still, he nearly dropped his phone when he scanned the QR code and was greeted with a video of himself and Tom awkwardly shimmying for a crowd.  As the horrible highlight reel played, both of them began to remember it all as they danced, jerked, and fucked for an eager audience.  Bobby didn’t know whether he should be mortified or proud as he watched himself desperately licking around Tom’s bulbous head and sucking on the churning grapefruits that were his friend’s balls, the phantom, musky memories lighting up his tongue.  The same went when he saw himself face down, his fat cheeks parted while the other man licked his hole clean before inserting nearly his whole hand inside.  Like their mouths, they’d both become too big to fit inside each other, and most partners, but they’d become experts with fingers and toys.  And, as Bobby simultaneously watched and remembered, they had friends like Chad who were eager to help, the brawny ginger pushing Tom aside and plunging into the prone brunette.  Their unique proportions made them a hit with niche corners of the internet, and now, instead of moving other peoples’ belongings, they moved themselves.  And instead of taking from others, they were taken, again and again and again.

The two were silent as they stumbled back to Bobby’s bedroom, already knowing what they’d find when they opened his dresser.  Instead of boxer briefs and shorts and jeans, they found sleeves and thongs, with only a few pairs of custom-tailored joggers to cover the brunette’s lower half.  And even though his former t-shirts and tank-tops would have fit his unaltered torso, even those had been cropped and shortened to emphasize and accentuate his uneven new shape.  A part of Bobby was mortified at the thought of how his squat lower half would look straining against the joggers, but then he remembered that it was a moot point since he spent the majority of his time wearing as little as possible.  The same went for Tom, who was too busy drooling over the thought of Bobby wearing nothing but one of the bright little sleeves to worry about how it would feel when he did so himself.

“So…what, uh…what do we do now,” the dazed brunette finally asked, his unsatisfied lust already taking priority over the recent discovery.

Tom just grinned and wrapped a hand around Bobby’s cock again.  “Didn’t you see our website?  Now we move it.”