Joy ride

by BRK   

Tag and Lys are only pretending to gad about the universe in their grandparents’ borrowed sportscruiser, Lys rather less willingly than Tag. Then the universe takes a hand and makes it all a little more real.

Tag smiled as his passenger fidgeted anxiously in the passenger seat. The deeper they penetrated into the banned, starless reaches of sector sector Zeta-W13, the more upset his straight-laced younger brother, Lys, became. Tag wasn’t sure which was giving him the bigger rush: secretly joyriding in his grandparents’ souped-up sportscruiser, or Lys having kittens across the cockpit as they did it.

Heh, cockpit. ‘Cause Lys really is a cock. And an ass. It’s that irony thing the tutor-turtle was always talking about.

He and his brother had a rivalry, mostly consisting of Lys aggressively being the “responsible one” in the family’s eyes, particularly the all-important grandparents who ran the conglomerate and a tenth of the planet, and Tag being the “fun one.” Sometimes Tag envied their parents, who seemed to have opted out of the cutthroat position-jockeying and spent most of their time off-world these days. Most guessed correctly that Tag, by positioning himself as a hare-brained man-child, was trying to avoid the drag of what normally happened to elder siblings. The part that they didn’t get was that being the “fun one” was, in fact, fun, and fun is… fun.

These hypothetical observers, Tag was aware, tended to further assume that when he roped his upright brother into his escapades, as now, he was trying to discredit him, or win him over to the dark side, or whatever, tainting the limelight Lys earned for himself through hard work and rational behavior out of jealousy or something equally invidious. Tag never really understood that kind of tar-my-brother-with-my-own-brush reasoning, to be honest, even when he saw some of his peers seemingly doing it themselves. If the main theory about the shirking was correct in Tag’s case (which it largely was), the corollary would be for Tag to let Lys be as responsible as he liked and get himself buried up to the neck in the very burdensome future Tag was sloughing off.

One look at the video of this very moment, Tag giggling and Lys freaking out as they hurtled into unknown space, would reveal all to anyone who cared to know, and provide some insight into Tag in the bargain. Because yes, Tag was the kind of older brother who’d always derived more than a bit of soul-calming glee from the simple act of winding up his gratifyingly responsive and congenitally uptight worrywart of a sibling.

“This is so stupid!” Lys was saying. “We shouldn’t be out here. We have to abort.” Predictably, he waited a beat and lunged across to the controls in front of Tag to where the big “Abort” and “Commit” buttons were behind the control wheel. Tag slapped his hand away.

“We can’t stop now, little bro!” Tag laughed, relishing Lys’s discomfort. “We’re in deep space!”

“You know as well as I do that it’s just a projection tracking a probe until you hit ‘Commit,’” Lys gritted out, letting some anger show on top of his agitation—he hated being called ‘little bro.’ He turned in the seat to face more toward Tag, crossing his arms over his chest. “We can stop at any time. We shouldn’t even be in the car!”

“Come on, don’t be so dramatic. We’re both adults and fully licensed, as you know.”

“Not for the fucking Forbidden Wilds!” Lys shot back hotly. “And Grandma Sigma explicitly said—”

“Gramma Sig is a boring old technocat. Like you, little bro. Not that you look it as much as she does,” he added teasingly, glancing over at Lys, who actually had an inch of height and a few kilos of lean muscle on Tag, and looked like a poster-boy for his chosen sport. Fortunately, track prodigies like Lys would never had the adulation and bro-comradery of future regional-class antigrav-soccer stars like Tag. Otherwise, Lys might have been more focused on said adulation, which would be bad for Tag. In his family, Tag saw jollity and truancy as his province by right, and guarded them accordingly.

Lys pushed back his insta-dyed sweet-caramel hair—randomly full-tinting his hair was the only high jinks Tag had ever pulled him into that had actually rubbed off on his boring brother, Lys’s current caramel locks matching Tag’s shorter fudge-brown perfectly—and took a deep breath. “Unseal the doors, Tag,” in the tone of someone declaiming that the time for frivolous gaiety was over.

“Nope.”

Lys rattled the door control mechanism ineffectually. “Un. Seal. The. Doors!” he repeated, a little more hot under the collar this time.

Tag grinned, his heart humming happily at the sizzling dynamic between them. He checked his controls and peered ahead into the high-res viewscreen. “Too late, little bro. Fun has been detected!” he said, pointing at the round white dot on the screen that was becoming planet-sized at an alarming rate.

Lys gaped, then slapped a hand over his eyes, chanting under his breath. “We shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here…”

“We’re not ‘here’,” Tag said dismissively, gesturing at the surface filling the screen as they leveled and started zooming over the flat, featureless pool-cue-like landscape. “It’s just a projection from the warp probe, remember? Probe’s there, we’re not.”

“Until you hit ‘Commit’ and we’re swap-teleported to the probe’s actual location,” Lys hissed, peeking through his fingers and gasping. “Fuck, we’re in so much trouble. What the hell is that?”

“I’m not gonna hit ‘Commit’,” Tag said. “What’s wha—holy pulsar shit!”

Rapidly hurtling toward them, in the center of the flat nothingness of the chalk-white plain, was a giant stone edifice. It was like a fortress or a citadel had erupted from nowhere, all in pastel blues for some reason. They were heading straight for it.

Tag froze, just for a second, unable to react. Lys, panicking, leapt across for the “Abort” button. Instinctively, Tag tried pushing him away again, but the simulated turbulence as the probe raced along inches from the ground jostled his seat enough that he accidentally lurched forward and managed to press his hand against Lys’s… directly on top of the big, red-lit, impossible-to-miss “Commit” button.

“No!!” Lys shouted. He yanked his hand free and tried bashing “Abort” a couple times, but it was too late. A feeling like a thousand lightning bolts shot through them, and then they and the sportscruiser were on the planet surface for real—blowing right through the bronze doors of the pastel-blue citadel and into the great room beyond.

“Shitballs!” Tag shouted, yanking back on the momentum controls. They tumbled through the huge, high-ceilinged, reflective-walled hall like a Hroshiian Star Lummox on a bender. Their speed was slowing, though not quickly enough to avoid crashing through the far wall and into the small chamber beyond. It, too, had reflective walls like smooth, deep crystals, but little else seemed to be present except the solid-looking plinth in the middle of the room. Something round and faintly aglow with a moving pastel-blue pattern was mounted dramatically on top of it, the focal point of the room and the only thing in it apart from the plinth it stood on.

That looks important, Tag thought. His heart sank—it wasn’t the first time his shenanigans had resulted in a bit of property damage, which was the kind of thing that made his behavior seem more troublesome and disruptive to the rest of the clan. He yanked back furiously on the controls as the cruiser’s speed pushed it forward. The vehicle was slowed but did not actually stop until its nose butted right into the heavy, solid-looking plinth, the contact finally siphoning the last of the damaged vehicle’s momentum. The plinth shook infinitesimally, communicating the tremor up to the luminous, surface-crawling sphere sitting atop it. The sphere wiggled, rolled a little, fell to the ground, and cracked open.

They sat there a moment, stunned. As the wreckage settled, a screen lit up on the console between Tag and Lys. A still, rather severe-looking image of their grandmother appeared, with a button underneath to accept the call, and another to reject it. Lys got to the screen before Tag could, jabbing the “Reject” button so hard the screen dented. Lys burst out of the car, throwing up the gull-wing door and stomping shakily into the crystal-walled chamber, cursing quietly to himself.

Tag followed suit, just as upset. He moved around to the front of the car to review the damage with a practiced eye. They’d gotten off lightly, he decided. The front end of the cruiser was crumpled but reparable, which was more than could be said for the broken orb. The crack in its side was emitting a weird-looking yellowish smoke that seemed to have funny patterns in it. Symbols, but ancient ones. No, not ancient exactly—more like arcane. What did they call those? Runes? Sigils?

Tag moved around the plinth to stand next to Lys. His passenger seemed to be gearing up for a good yell, and the trouble with responsible ones is that they could make trouble stick. Tag took the offensive, heading him off. If he was lucky, he could drive some chagrin under his skin and balance things out a bit, fallout-wise.

“This is all your fault,” he said quickly, gesturing calmly to the mayhem around them.

Lys gaped at him. A stone fell from the wall they’d crashed through, thunking the top of the car and rolling off, leaving a small dent.

They watched this silently, then Lys rounded on him. “My fault!” he responded, more or less as Tag had expected. “My fault, you brainless attention-whore bully?”

“Bully?” Tag repeated, surprised and angry. “Bully?!”

The weird, yellow-gold smoke rising from the mysterious orb suddenly shot into both of them, right through their snug, V-necked house-lounging bodysuits. The brothers stumbled slightly on their feet. Lys shook his head.

“What was that?” Tag asked, frowning.

Lys blinked several times, looking up at him. Tag was shocked to realize Lys’s eyes had suddenly gone from light brown to a vivid orange-yellow. “What was what?” Lys asked. “And don’t try to change the subject. Why can’t I have had a good brother instead of a fuck-up like you?”

Tag felt something massive and inchoate twist inside him, like his inner soul was being reformed. He didn’t like it. The stress of the crash and Lys’s fury had him on edge. He glanced agitatedly at the crystalline walls and saw that he, too, had yellow-orange eyes. This part was wrong, this part wasn’t his fuck-up. He knew his fuck-ups and they weren’t like this. What in the nine planets—?

“Hey,” Lys hissed, slapping Tag’s chest with some force. “You listening, dickhead?”

Tag rounded on Lys, out of patience. “Yeah, I’m listening. I get it. I’m not your fraternal ideal. And what would that be like, huh?” he sneered, staring hard at Lys. “What’s your better version of me like?”

“Better!” Lys shouted defiantly. “In every way!”

“How?” Tag demanded. “Be honest. How is ‘Better Tag’ better? What’s your dream version of me? Or can you only complain and list petty faults?”

The yellow-orange eyes seemed to blaze with pent-up indignation. “Dream Tag? Dream Tag takes care of me,” Lys said. “You don’t get me in messes. You look after me. You stay close to me. Because you fucking love me.”

At some level overlaid with reality, the words smoldered between them. Tag glared at his fellow miscreant and palace-breaker, more flummoxed than he could admit. This was because, in the moment it took him to process exactly what Lys had said and all its meanings, all its hidden layers, he realized. He knew with an icy shiver up his spine that he did love Lys. Not as brother, but as someone who pined for his handsome, sweet, sexy Lys, who’d fallen for him, hard. It was a profound and inborn feeling which, he was equally and unequivocally aware, had most assuredly not taken pride of place in his heart of hearts as recently as one minute before.

The worst part was he couldn’t hold this blundering, reckless fuckery against his clueless pretty-boy brother. Because he fucking loved him. He would forgive Lys anything, even instantaneously and obliviously remolding Tag with a few rage-sputtered words into a lovesick simp who deeply and intensely felt all these things that he would not, in any universe, have willingly chosen to feel.

Tag’s stomach kicked as he became aware of his feelings for Lys settling into his mind and thoughts. He’d always “loved” Lys, of course, in that passive way you loved a kid brother who got in the way a lot and whom you occasionally found entertaining or found common cause with. But he was feeling something a lot more, now.

“What—?” Tag said softly, confused.

“You love me,” Lys insisted. “Dream Tag loves me. Deeply. P-passionately.” Lys blinked as if realizing he’d pushed his boat out farther than he’d intended.

Tag realized he was flushed and a little warm under his form-fitting clothes. He was more than usually aware than usual of Lys’s lithe, athletic physique, right there within reach. He wanted to touch it—not just to slap him on the back in brotherly bonhomie or rub his shoulders after one of his meets like had had before, but really run his hands over the hard curves of his arms, his chest, and other places, too.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered.

Lys still looked truculent, his colorful eyes vivid, even as his brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

Tag tried regaining the offensive, engaging in some good old-fashioned older-brother taunting. “Sounds like you’re into me, hot stuff,” he accused, raising a fudge-brown eyebrow. “That would explain a lot.”

Tag had known Lys liked men, and had actually caught him glancing at Tag once, when they’d had to use the group showers at a retro-softball game the year before, after Lys had turned 19. Or was it more than once? His memories seemed to be re-forming in real time. There might be more to Lys’s appreciation than he’d thought, the thought. “Sounds like you might just be way into me, in fact. Am I really your type?”

Lys stared, then his mouth slid sideways into a very cute smirk that Tag urgently wanted to kiss off him. Fuck, what is this? I like women—don’t I? But Tag knew the answer. Tag liked Lys. And from the looks of things, Lys liked Tag and always had. Or—He remembered his own yellow eyes in the crystal reflection.—Did I just do that to him? Are we both fucking with each other, and only I know it?

He eyed Lys narrowly. Naw, he was always a little into me. I just amped it up for him. “I am your type, aren’t I?”

“Not exactly,” Lys said smarmily, his eyes locked on Tag’s.

Tag’s brows lifted, too curious to be offended. “Go on, then,” he said. He stepped closer, as though daring Lys to do something about the heat that was gathering between them. “You’re describing ‘Dream Tag,’ remember?” he said cockily. “Don’t stop now.”

Lys’s smirk was still there, but there was a hunger in those yellow-orange eyes now, too. “Taller,” Lys said. “You’re taller.”

“Than?”

“Me,” Lys said, looking up into Tag’s eyes with sly appreciation. The air between them seemed to crackle with mutual desire as Lys enjoyed tilting his head up to stare smolderingly at Tag, and Tag appreciated everything about Lys from just slightly above the perspective he was used to.

Tag’s eyes narrowed, even as his blood heated up. Lys was looking at him with no confusion, as though this was their normal configuration. “Do you know what you’re doing?” Tag breathed.

“I’m turning you on,” Lys said confidently.

Tag smiled shakily. “Damn right you are,” he admitted, feeling his balls tighten and his cock swelling in his soft, accommodating bodysuit. “You’re getting pretty heated up too,” he added. “Of course, you’re always super-horny.”

Lys’s smirk was now a playful leer. “Super-horny for you,” he amended.

“Super-horny for me,” Tag agreed, and Lys closed the distance between them, pressing his limber, athletic form against Tag’s. He shivered as he felt Lys’s hard cock pressed against his hip, a sensation that jolted Tag’s half-hard dick into full tumescence in seconds. Lys’s cock was significantly larger than average, which—weirdly, from Tag’s attention-loving point of view—had always made Lys self-conscious and furtive about nudity.

Tag was proud even of his nicely thick, average-sized cock, and even prouder of what he could do with it. Holy sky dragon balls, now I want to do those things with Lys. That mouth… that ass….!

Barely an inch separated them. As one, they wrapped their arms silently around each other, their faces drawn close. Tag noticed movement in the corner of his eye and knew it was their reflections inside the crystal walls, all the Tags and Lyses coming together in a loving embrace. The two of them looked damn good together.

Tag was feeling extremely aroused, more than he could remember being, and all of his heat was aimed at the fit, lean-muscled man in his arms. Might as well keep going, he thought, his mind hazy with lust. Lys should get the version of me he wants… right?

“Go on,” he repeated, offering his own smirk. “The ideal me. Dream Tag. I want to hear it.”

“Apart from being super-horny?” Lys teased, wiggling his chocolate-brown eyebrows.

“For you,” Tag agreed, wanting to keep some focus to his suddenly desperate, nonstop desire to make love. Was Lys really unaware of what was happening to them? “What else, pretty boy?” he asked.

Gearfucks, did he just get a little better looking? Damn.

Lys licked his lips. “You… love big cocks,” he said. “Big, big cocks.”

Tag could hear his breathing, in and out. There seemed to be no other sound, though he thought the room should be echoing each other’s heartbeats for how loudly they were pounding. “Like yours?” he suggested.

“Like mine,” Lys affirmed. His cock squeezed against both their lower bellies. Tag reveled in the sensation—he did love big cocks. This was wild, Tag thought. A few oblivious words, and Lys had turned him into a size queen. He loved massive cock, the more massive the better.

Tag bit his lip, as though he had spotted a problem. “But… I like big cocks,” he said leadingly. At the hint of worry in Lys’s eyes he continued, “and your cock isn’t big… it’s huge.”

In the space between heartbeats, Lys’s wide, rigid wang was now forearm-sized and raging halfway up their torsos. Lys looked a bit scared, his latent self-consciousness about his size unknowingly having increased exponentially along with the tool in question. “You… you love huge cocks, too, Tag,” he asserted boldly, his breathing slightly ragged as he visualized the ideal version of the man holding him. “Crave them. Huge, gigantic cocks.”

Fuck yeah, I do.

Tag was losing track of this game and what was supposed to be real, too caught up in his Lys-lust and his monster-cock fixation. “You mean,” he said in a low voice, bending a little closer, “like, colossal, arm-sized cocks that top out at the shoulder and are hard all the time, with massive, heavy balls to match? Like yours?”

The cock between them suddenly was pushing their chests apart like a warm, phallic wedge. Looking down, Tag saw that the wide, plum-red cockhead had appeared past the V-neck of his black bodysuit and had started nuzzling wetly into the notch of Lys’s collarbone like it belonged there. Tag drew in a breath and the smell of Lys’s cock and precum filled his sinuses, quickly intoxicating him.

He moved his face another inch closer to Lys’s. “I do, in fact, crave them,” he affirmed. “One, in particular.”

Lys’s breath caught. “You are my Better Tag,” Lys whispered, his yellow-orange eyes full of adoration and something new, something aggressive. “You’re my Dream Tag. You,” he said, “are everything I ever wanted you to be.”

Tag gulped. Lys pushed up and kissed him. The giant, tightly squeezed dong at the center of their suddenly handsy embrace flexed madly between them as they shared their passion. Lys broke the kiss finally, gasping for air.

After a moment Lys looked around, as if vaguely remembering where they were. “We… we need a bed,” he panted, looking back up at Tag. Tag didn’t know what was going on, or how long it would last. But his love and lust for Lys was real—and his craving of Lys’s enormous cock was, if anything, even realer.

We can wangle that. Heck, we can wangle anything. “There is definitely one nearby,” Tag said confidently. “Somehow… I feel very sure that is the case.”

As soon as Tag uttered the words about there being a bed nearby, he noticed a door set in the glimmering. mirrored wall directly behind Lys. Intriguingly, the door itself showed every sign of being a very standard wooden door of the type and dimensions he was used to: its make-up appeared to be smooth, lustrous-brown premium-hard mountain loamwood, polished and decoratively beveled a hand’s-breadth in from each edge. The frame cut to an oblong a head taller than the average male and proportionately wider than doors were expected to be on neighboring worlds, for reasons that involved a long-ago thousand-year fad for taming broadbodied wallabeasts as pests back in the First Pre-Imperial age, said fad having permanently changed the broad cultural associations of the word “door” even after the wallabeasts pets were long forgotten and the overbred creatures themselves eventually exported en masse to the rockworlds of Garn.

The point wasn’t the wallabeasts. The point was that both the shape and the substance of the silent, suddenly appearing door marked it as being distinctly and incontrovertibly an object of their world, not this one. As such it was, in its own way, calmly inset into the east wall of the alien sacred chamber, more unsettlingly out of place than big honking white-steel spacecar he and his brother had rudely smashed into the room with and the wreck it had made of the south end of the chamber still microscopically settling around it.

Tag knew this anomaly suggested all sorts of interesting things about how the golden-smoke curse was using his own experience and imagery to evoke concepts like door and sexy and love. He also knew he wasn’t the right person to crunch those kinds of insights. If anyone was it would be smiling, glowing-eyed, totally power-oblivious brother now staring possessively up at him, but Tag was having too much fun being the one who knew what was going on to clue him in just yet.

Instead he nodded toward the door behind Lys. “Look,” he said, and Lys did, turning back with excitement and interest in his glowing eyes.

“It looks like one of the doors in our house,” he said, wriggling his shoulder-high erection against Tag and forcing him to suppress a moan. He tightened his arms around Lys, not wanting to give up the heart-tripping feel of him pressed into his body and the revelatory joy of pretty, cock-hardening Lys looking up at him with raw, mischievous desire.

Tag watched him closely, wondering what was going on his brain. Though unaware the two of them had gained powers from absorbing the heady yellow fumes of the mysterious sacred orb, Lys acted like he was dazed by the sudden infusion and seemed to think he was immersed in some kind of dreamscape. Thus he was unsurprised to be holding and hugging his Dream Tag, the better version of himself Lys had apparently spent a lot of time imagining. In a world where a hotter and hornier version of his brother was his for the taking, familiar-looking doors and giant, clavicle-nuzzling cocks were par for the course.

He seems completely immersed, Tag thought. If he remembers there’s a reality different from his dreamworld, will he start to question things—or just hope he doesn’t wake up anytime soon?

Aloud, he asked, “What do you think is back there behind that door, pretty boy?” Damn, I’ve got to stop saying that—I just made him better looking again!

Lys bit his lip, then grinned. “A house,” he said. “Like ours back home, only bigger and better.”

That would make sense in the dream, Tag thought, amused. Glad he didn’t say that our actual house was back there. He didn’t know whether that would have created a portal to their real house or physically moved the entire structure in the blink of an eye, foundations and all, to this unknown world deep in the Forbidden Wilds; but he didn’t want either. Right now, he was happy to be sealed off from the universe and all its expectations, a hot, horny, perfectly toned, giant-cocked body wriggling in his arms.

“Let’s go see,” he suggested. He thrust his substantial dick against Lys’s lower belly, prompting a smarmy smirk from the smaller man. “Maybe we’ll find that bed.”

“I’m sure there’s lot of beds,” Lys said, pushing up for a kiss that made Tag momentarily forget to wonder what his hot companion had planned for so many mattressy fucksurfaces.

Just as Lys was putting his hand on the palm-reader next to the door, Tag close behind, a buzzing chime sounded from the wrecked sportscruiser. They looked back, Lys hesitating over the reader.

“Ignore it,” Tag said, annoyed. If it was their grandmother again, she could wait. Lys nodded and activated the control, and the door slid silently aside.

They stepped through, looking around in amazement. It was, indeed, a version of their house back home, only grander. They were in the entrance hall, and everything was stepped up: the high ceilings were higher, the spiral crenelations in the loamwood pillars were more ornate, the rich carpeting more comfortable under their feet. As Tag looked around, he recognized some of the motifs from the alien palace they’d crashed into were deftly woven into the design, notably a capsule shape with three circles at one end that to Tag looked unmistakably like a dick with three balls. I wonder what the aliens who lived here were actually like, he thought as he ran up the grand staircase after the gleeful Lys. Were the locals slightly deviant humanoids with a cock and three balls, or was the sausage-and-three-meatballs design merely a meaningless pattern to be worked into the decor? Could be that’s a depiction of their entire being, he thought, amused, as they rounded the wide second-floor archway into the broad upper corridor. In a place like this, meeting a six-foot-long cock-slug trailing triple testicles behind it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to them.

And then Lys was throwing open the double doors and they were bursting into a huge pentagonal bedroom. Somehow the space managed to combine Lys’s room (desks and bookcases, mauve-tinted walls) with Tag’s (weight training equipment, entertainment gear, vivid abstract designs in the thick, woven rugs), though it was an escalation of each—the main difference from either being the vast bed dominating the far wall. The room was huge, much larger even than their grandparents’ rooms, but the inviting, white-sheeted bed still managed to take up a quarter of it. Enormous, gauzily shrouded windows seemed to look out on the sunny, well-tended gardens behind the family manse, filling the room with plenty of calm, natural light. The only thing that didn’t belong at all were the brass-inlaid braziers in each of the five corners, each emitting a gentle incense that seemed to stoke, in a subtle way, their already considerable arousal.

Lys ran to the edge of the bed and turned, gazing back at Tag with compelling invitation in his glowing eyes, and Tag had to stop and suck in a sharp breath. Lys was well-proportioned, his body toned from endurance sports rather than built for size and strength like Tag, and every inch of him turned Tag on; but what really made his pulse start to race was the impossible tool their combined wishes had gifted him with.

Tag had felt that massive, titanium-hard cock against his chest, but this was his first time seeing it—or rather, the obscene bulge it made in the front of Lys’s soft, body-hugging lounge-suit. The subtly ribbed fabric seemed to be cherishing the inhumanly large organ along every inch and vein, hugging it close along its entire length. The balls, too. Each was the size of a casolean juicefruit, and the suit was hugging them so close Tag wondered if it was actively massaging them at some almost-perceptible level. Say the word and they could be, he thought.

Looking over Lys’s junk encased in the illicitly snuggling body suit, Tag felt a weird twinge of envy. That should be me, he thought, moving instinctively toward Lys as though stunned by the sight of the most enticing, covetable cock in the seven galaxies. I should be squeezing that length and fondling those balls…

Frantically, the rational part of his brain tried to intervene, pulling against his locked-in course. This is insane, it whined. You’ve always wanted females. You’ve always fucked females.

No, he told himself. I crave huge, gigantic cock. I am always super-horny for Lys and his huge, spurting, unstoppable cock.

The dissonance was illusory. Both were true. He had been the Tag that loved women, passionately and often. The Tag he was now—Dream Tag, his brother had called him—willingly focused all of his intense desire and fathomless love on the firm athletic frame, too-pretty face, sweet soul, and colossal, utterly irresistible cock of the man before him.

He had gotten to Lys and was folding him once more into his arms, nuzzling his neck and preparing to haul both of them onto the big big bed, when they heard that same buzzing chime of a call coming through.

“Not grandma again,” he muttered into Lys’s neck, his hands coasting along his back both above and below.

“Nope! It’s cousin Belar,” Lys said, sounding surprised. “He’s hot, you’d like him.”

Tag looked over his shoulder to see the holo-display, positioned at the center of the room just like it would have been back home, displaying the static, rotating head of a handsome, wavy-haired, square-jawed man about their age or slightly older. The expression offered by his default image was formidable to the point of disdain. Tag, responsibility-shirker that he was, didn’t keep up with the various members of his sprawling family that had gotten sucked into the overblown consortium their clan controlled, but he sure recognized the various family traits for which his grandparents were the most prominent avatars. Arrogant brow, disapproving frown, steely glare—yep, all there.

He glanced at Lys, raising an impish brow. “I’d like him, huh? So, does that mean Belar has a cock as big as yours?”

Lys stared up at him, eyes alight literally as well as figuratively, and Tag could almost literally see him considering whether to add a hyperendowed version of his obnoxious-but-attractive cousin to his dreamscape and almost immediately answering himself, Why not? He grinned. “Even bigger!” he said. “Like, twice as wide.”

Tag nodded, remembering the sight of Lys’s long, wrist-thick bulge. “That’s a lot of meat,” he said.

“You probably couldn’t take it!” Lys said, beaming up at him.

That’s for sure, Tag thought, though the idea lingered in the shadows of his mind. “Bet he’s built.”

“His muscles are big and perfect, he makes guys hard just to look at them.”

“Cums a lot, too,” Tag said casually.

“Sure, his balls are so massive, they’re—”

“Twice as big as yours.”

“Twice as big as mine,” Lys agreed happily.

This I gotta see. Releasing the embrace, he turned to stand beside Lys, arm around his shoulder. Lys sidled in close, wrapping a strong arm around Tag’s waist. “Accept call,” he told the system, wondering if they’d be able to actually communicate with the homeworld. Well, the probe got them here, he thought, so it must be possible.

Belar’s default image flickered out, replaced with a full-body transmission of the man in question. He wasn’t standing so much as leaning—perched on the edge of a desk maybe—and the configuration put his remarkable junk in full view. Somehow their reality-shifting words had worked perfectly even across mind-numbing interstellar distances, as effective as the underspace link showing them a crystal-clear image of a handsome, divinely muscular man with a soft cock stretching out one of his pants legs to an absurd degree all the way to the knee and balls the size of gkogkonuts. Just as Lys had said, Tag tried to bone up at the sight of him, the only trouble being he was already painfully hard. Instead, he just let his big cock surge and flex against his hip, promising it action very, very soon.

Oddly, Belar looked uncomfortable with his size, shifting nervously and not at all using his proportions to intimidate or impress. He kept all of that to his face. “Where the heck are you two?” he demanded. “Did you take the sportscruiser?” He peered at them, frowning. “And why are your eyes glowing?”

“We’re just happy to see you,” Tag said. “Like you are. Happy to see us, I mean.”

“I’m not—” holo-Belar began, scowling, but Tag interrupted him.

“Man, it must be tough dealing with having a tool that big and powerful, cousin,” Tag said. “I mean, when it gets hard, like now, I’m sure it just rips through your bodysuit like parchment.”

“I don’t—” Belar sputtered.

“You’re so turned on by us,” Lys seconded, jumping in. “I can see it. You’re getting hard right now.”

The massive bulge was indeed jumping and struggling against the leg of the body suit. A few hard lurches, and suddenly the seams were ripping and Belar’s cock was swelling to massive hardness in front of his chest in a matter of seconds. There was a gasp from the transmission, somewhere out of view, and Tag belatedly realized Belar was not alone. Oops!

“N-now listen—” Belar gasped, trying to regain control of the encounter, even as his mighty balls popped free from the torn bodysuit and hung taut and low against his upper thighs.

“And of course,” Lys said, warming to a scenario he assumed was only a vivid fantasy, “once you’re hard you have to start stroking to get that cum out of you!”

Belar, unable to resist his own need, dutifully wrapped both hands around his super-wide, chest-high slab, one above and one below. Neither got even halfway around the colossal tool.

The scandalized voice gasped again. “Belar Stardancer!” it said in the frostiest of reproving tones, but Belar paid no heed. He started stroking himself diligently, eyes on his massive organ, his balls shaking lightly below. There was the faint sound of a door slamming—Belar was being left to his work.

Almost instantly spurts of cum started shooting from the enormous organ like fireworks, and Tag could tell this wasn’t even the main eruption, just preliminaries. Some of it slapped onto Belar’s aristocratic face, marking his cheek and chin. “Yeah, taste it,” Tag said, so wrapped up in the spectacle he was barely aware he was saying anything. “Your cum is delicious.”

“Makes you want to swallow all of it,” Lys put in.

Tag stared at the holographic man as he stretched his tongue out to lick his own cum off his cheek. Belar’s eyes were on the glans, knowing it would soon be the source of so much cum for him to try to guzzle down.

Tag’s vision seemed to fill with the giant organ, too. As with Lys’s thinner but equally long, steel-hard prick, he wanted to feel every inch of its hot, sensitive hardness. Hands weren’t enough, and neither were mouths.

He turned suddenly to Lys. “I want you to fuck me,” he blurted out.

Lys’s grin was almost wolfish. He stared up into Tag’s eyes, their self-pleasuring caller forgotten. His clavicle-nuzzling erection twitched and jumped alluringly in his snug bodysuit, as though the giant tool might rip itself free in emulation of their cousin with only a little more stimulation.

Lys’s eyes shone brighter than ever. “I am so fucking you in that bed.”

Words and syntax are strange things. If Tag hadn’t been sure that whatever the magic orange smoke from the cracked orb had done to them to make their desires manifest was operating on spoken utterance, confirmation came with the sudden shift from the two of them standing there to Tag lying across the very luxurious bed, face down and completely naked, with Lys straddling his legs at the knees and a very firm cockhead pressing gently at his entrance, ready to push its way into him—deeper than any cock could ever go.

Tag’s deep yearning to be filled by that enormous cock was frayed with a sudden electric terror. “Lube—we need lube—!” he burst out, craning his neck around to look at Lys, who just smiled as if Tag were being silly.

“You’re Dream Tag,” Lys said hazily. “You’re always ready for me.”

Tag squinted at him, ignoring as best he could the sense of inner slickness he could suddenly faintly perceive along the corridors of his rear passage.

“Oh god,” Belar said from behind them, “oh gearfucks, oh—mrfmrrrfff—” Tag could hear swallowing and gagging noises as their overendowed cousin made a go at choking down as much of his own abnormally copious cum as he could. Abruptly, there was a sudden, short beep of a call dropping.

“No more incoming transmissions!” Tag called quickly, and there was a different beep signaling acknowledgement. Let us be sealed off, just the two of us, he thought.

Lys cocked a brow. “You don’t want my incoming transmissions?” he asked.

Tag smiled fondly at him. “Except from Lys,” he called jokingly to the system, which accepted the command with another beep.

Grinning, Lys positioned himself, one hand around the base of his massive tool, all set to guide his blunt, steel-hard scimitar deep into Tag’s guts. “You ready?” he asked. Below, his jumbo-juicefruit-sized balls quivered, pulled up close and tight against Lys’s groin as though he might cum at any moment. Tag could almost imagine them filled with high-pressure spunk, ready to release more seed than he’d ever shot in his life.

“Wait!!” Tag gasped. At Lys’s curious look, he said, “You’re—Lys, love, aren’t you—aren’t you too big for me?” As much as I want that thing, I don’t need it impaling my lungs like a mastodonoid tusk.

Lys’s smile twisted into a lecherous grin. “Oh, you can take me,” he said. “It’ll be tight, but I know you can take every—” He pushed the head firmly against Tag’s ring, which was squeezed as tight as it could go. “—fucking—” Lys nudged against the entrance again, intruding a bit this time to tease him. “—inch. And it will be awesome.”

Tag’s eyes widened as he felt his insides rearrange. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but he knew that to the list of enlargements and enhancements Lys had unknowingly made to him, there was now added a tight, hot muscle sheath that could receive and pleasure the entire, inhuman length of Lys’s amazing cock.

Tag was shaking his head slowly. The successive internal renos were giving him a weird pang of existential nausea. If Lys changes me too much, will I still be me? I should try to put a cap on what he’s doing to me, just so I retain a sense of who I am. If that’s possible. Because everything he’s doing to me is making me horny and hot as fuck.

Lys saw his uncertainty and tried to guess the reason. “You… want to do it on your back? See it go in?” he suggested.

“Honestly, yeah,” he said. That would actually be hot.

“Okay,” Lys said. He sat back a little on his haunches, letting his rigid dick spring free of his butt-cleavage and return almost to the vertical, flinging a few drops of precum and maybe a bit of Tag’s thin, manly sheath-oils collected on the cocktip as well.

Lys slapped Tag’s meaty, soccer-boy ass and cheerfully ordered him to roll over. Tag complied, kind of liking how Lys was all assertive like this, when he thought he was inside a delirious fantasy.

Now on his back, with Lys kneeling between his legs this time, Tag looked down and couldn’t help noticing the disparity in their super-aroused, steel-hard cocks. Tag’s own tool did look bigger than he remembered it being as it lay twitching and weeping against his chiseled, sparsely furred abs, but the above-average slab still had nothing on Lys’s shoulder-kissing monolith.

Lys saw him looking and smiled, taking Tag’s cock in hand and stroking it lightly. Tag shivered with warm, ball-churning pleasure. Whether through change or circumstance, this upgraded dick felt very, very sensate to every gratification of finger and palm.

“The perfect size for sucking,” Lys mused happily, gazing down the tool he was caressing. Tag wanted to moan just at the idea. “Though, I could probably take a bit more…”

Even as Lys said this, Tag felt his cock swell a little in Lys’s hand, gaining an inch or two in length and a little less in girth. “It’s fine,” Tag said quickly. Lys looked up, surprised, and Tag added, “Like you said. Perfect.”

“I agree,” Lys purred. All at once he dove down and gobbled the rigid prick into his mouth, taking the upper two-thirds almost to his throat and leaving the lower third gripped tightly in his hand. Tag let out a rapturous groan as Lys spent exactly five seconds sucking, licking, and swirling his ecstatic glans and fat shaft before popping it out of his mouth and sitting up again, a smug look on his face.

Tag reeled from the suddenly aborted pleasure. “You teasing Fentaurian aardvark,” he said, reaching out to grab Lys by the shoulders. Lys quickly sidled back, getting the distance needed to push himself into Tag. “Aw, now you’re too far away,” he said. “I just want to touch you.”

Lys was grinning. “Oh, I’ll be closer to you soon, Dream Tag,” he said, flicking the side of his ruddy monster tool. “I just need to nail you with this thing. All the way.”

Tag was losing track of his original point, distracted by Lys’s beautiful, lightly muscled body in all its delicious lines, curves, and lickable surfaces. “Yeah, but… you deserve to be touched… you should be touched, all the time…” he murmured.

Lys beamed at him. “Oh, I’ve got that covered!” he said, as a pair of pale, strong hands appeared, sliding deftly around Lys’s lightly tanned and altogether lusciously proportioned torso. They were feeling him up exactly as Tag had said he could be.

Lys took that moment of surprise to push into him like a commander knowing just when to blitzkrieg, and all at once that enormous prick was filling him up. It was only the top third—only!—but the stars that filled him as the pleasure drove through him, more deeply and completely than he’d ever imagined, made all questions and curiosities go away.

His only remaining rational thought was: That’s not all of it. It was more cock than any man could give him, and it wasn’t enough.

His eyes met Lys’s in a flash, and he knew that this was the one thing they were totally, utterly agreed on. Tag was getting all of that dick even if the end of it had to come out of Tag’s throat, and no one in this universe or the next had a damn thing to say about it.

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