Kris and Minato

by BRK   

Two best friends on a class trip get some help declaring their feelings for each other.

Beautiful scenery slid past the train window, vista after vista of rolling deciduous hills appearing and vanishing, verdant and full of promise under a bright and nurturing sun; but Minato didn’t see any of it. Once he would have been watching avidly, engrossed in the fluid passage of nature. The soaring, stolid oaks and maples teeming across the juddering Pennsylvania hills, some just on the turn of autumn sweetening the lush sky-reaching carpet of sunlit dark and light greens with vivid hints of orange and yellow… the fleeting appearance of tiny rustic towns, flashing their barns and tin roofs and mysterious winding roads before sliding past and disappearing, replaced and forgotten with new forests and new nooks of humanity…

Not this Minato. This Minato was just as captivated, but not by any passing trees.

Why did he have to wear a sleeveless shirt?

Minato let out a long breath, his eyes never straying from the object of his desire as he considered the urgency of his situation. Should he move his hand off the arm-rest and into his lap, or keep it where it was? His whole body was thrumming with a warm, low-key lust, like a fever that was just starting—a fever that made you ache with yearning and you felt flushed with the uncomfortable awareness of your own stupid physical infatuation. He could sense his thick, tentative tumescence hovering on the edge of full commitment, dancing around the edges of wanting to be fully hard but not there yet.

If he moved his hand he’d be better prepared to hide a putative boner should things take a turn and his erection blossomed into being, almost instantly, as his erections always did. And he was wearing his tan chinos—not the best choice for concealing a long, middle-flaring turgidity.

But then, maybe the motion would be noticed, and the reason guessed, and there would be smirks and jokes, because there were always smirks and jokes with this lot. And of course that would be how he found out. Minato would rather climb the Eiffel Tower hand over hand and keep going until he vanished into the clear blue sky before he found out that way—”that way” being via the inevitable teasing of their fun-loving, loud-mouthed, and utterly irreverent classmates from St. Korbinian’s School, the obscure upstate private pre-college boarding school that had taken in this particular motley assortment of high-achieving misfits. Entering his last year at St. Kobi, with the parallel attainment of official manhood (his eighteenth had passed a month back), had shocked him into a painful realization: being best friends with Kris was not enough. Not nearly enough.

This, in turn, spurred awareness of an equally painful corollary. He had no idea whether Kris liked dudes, at all, much less whether his feelings for Minato amounted to anything more than happy, brotastic brotherhood.

Man, he looks so good. I want to fucking eat him.

Minato was in a good position strategically to observe and agonize over his friend, occupying the forward-facing window position in a four-seater unit toward the back of the car. His present location was exactly six rows down from where Kris stood in the aisle laughing and gossipping, surrounded as was often the case by a bevy of pretty people. In this case there was their gangly, goateed buddy Walt, always with the big, wide grin; a flirty and rather pronouncedly buxom girl Minato didn’t know from the female side (St. Kobi wasn’t co-ed, exactly, but the male and female schools were right next to each other and operated in a close parallel); and the tall and lanky, peaches-and-cream O’Donoghue twins, looking liked they’d been pulled straight from a twincest manga and somehow making the uniforms they were still wearing look like the regalia of a secret mischief cult.

All of them, Minato included, were rostered with the happy contingent of juniors and seniors escaped from school grounds for an official weekend study-field trip; the destination was an array of pre-Columbian shrines deep in the Pennsylvania Appalachians, only recently been opened to the public and much the topic of conversation with the anthropologically-minded science master, Mr. Kim. Minato, however, wasn’t thinking about thousand-year-old rock formations any more than he was the passing foliage. His eyes were on Kris and his audience.

His friend was nearest to him in the group, side-on from his perspective, allowing Minato to drink his fill of some of his favorite Krisly features as the boyish athlete carried on regaling the others with whatever story he was telling them, cheerfully oblivious Minato’s nakedly prurient perusal.

There was a lot about his friend to draw the eye, and Minato took his time. His friend’s handsome, firm-jawed Roman profile, for example, was well worth lingering over for afternoons at a time. He loved everything about it, from the entrancing smile to the tiny mole high on his left cheek to the dark, carefully trimmed sideburns, underscored with just the hint of afternoon stubble broaching his smooth olive skin below. That it was his left side that was facing him meant that the tiny argent stud he kept in his left ear was exposed to view, which Minato appreciated. The ear itself was nice enough, but Minato had a thing for contrasting textures, and the humble glint of shiny silver embedded there made him want to taste that ear from shell to lobe.

Minato let his gaze sink lower, past that enticing neck with its bobbing Adam’s apple, down to his delicious, irresistibly exposed torso. Kris was tall and strong, and every part of him showed that strength in swells and curves and a palpable susurrus of energy and capability in every well-defined thew and sinew. Minato had tracked Kris’s growing athleticism for almost as long as they’d known each other with a parallel feeling of compulsion, mostly through random hints of the muscle gradually accreting under their blazer-and-tie uniforms; but this year things were different. Thanks to the greater freedom of dress afforded seniors outside of classes in their valedictory year at St. Kobi, the guys in his friend group had been dressing as they pleased as much as possible—and what seemed to please Kris was no sleeves if possible, and no shirt at all if he could get away with it.

Seeing his form and his beautiful strength made Minato hurt with a deep, organic horniness that was, somehow, not a hundred percent about sex. Minato had been feeling that half-horny, half-adoring ache a lot these last months.

Today, as it turned out, Kris was wearing one of those heather-gray sweatshirts designed to look as if it had once had sleeves like any good and proper top, only for some benevolent authority to order them removed at the last minute in the interests of public aesthetics. Minato was duly grateful. He slowly traced his eyes along the long, enticing contours of Kris’s bare upper arm, indulging himself in an ant’s-eye view of the magnificent landscape from the upper reaches downward. The hard, rounded swell of his olive-toned delt, with that intriguingly pointy V where it gave way to triceps and biceps gave way to the faintly veined expanse of his firm biceps—gently rounded in extension with the arm at rest, then suddenly bunching as Kris spoke with his hands or playfully responded to some taunt with a slap of Walt’s arm.

Minato let his wandering gaze be drawn to Kris’s chest, his own soft breathing just barely audible in his ears over the low, mechanical rumble of the train. Ironically it was the sleeveless shirts that made Minato even more aware of Kris’s firm, rounded pecs standing out subtly enough from that athletic chest to push forward the fabric of the top and create a shallow, shadowed crease between them. Any regular shirt covering such a well-muscled torso—say, their usual, long-sleeved white uniform button-downs—might make the eye flit about, looking for every suggestion of swelling mass under the thick, loose high-weave cotton. The bare provocation of those exposed arms, on the other hand, drew Minato’s attention right to the wondrous bastions of power between them: the dynamos that moved those brawny arms, commanding them, dominating them.

Kris had seemed drawn to them as well of late, if his focus on butterflies and bench presses at the gym this last year were any indication. The balance of his physique, from thighs and ass to arms and abs, had been rigorously honed and perfected in ruthless thrice-weekly workouts over the time passed since junior year—improved and refined, but not consciously bulked. His chest, by contrast, had seen a noticeable increase in both size and definition. Kris still wasn’t anything like “massive” or “swole,” but Minato thought maybe “built” would work, and if there were a word for “built with an especially nice chest” that would be an even better fit.

Kris’s attention to this area had shown itself in other ways. He’d seemed to notice nice chests on girls and guys alike. He was habitually complimenting other gym-rats in their cohort on their pecs and urging them to go shirtless, and he was just as observant with the other sex—any woman walking by with prominent breasts would earn his notice. This equal-opportunity behavior had left Minato confused but slightly hopeful. Him noticing girls’ boobs didn’t seem promising on the face of it; but if he noticed guys’ chests too, as much as or more than their faces or the rest of them, maybe Minato had a chance after all.

He’d always been more pretty than handsome. His skin was fair and his hair longish, just shy of the shoulders, and normally tinted (at the moment he sported a very dark magenta). He didn’t mind being mistaken for a girl. His body was lean, hairless thanks to his mother’s Japanese ancestry, and pleasingly fit and defined owing to a combination of his naturally high metabolism and an ingrained morning-run habit he’d picked up as a kid in Paris. He’d started trotting tirelessly with his parents through the cool, dewy sidestreets as a tyke and then kept it up on his own, the practice persisting once they’d all moved to the States as a form of life-continuity. He was proud of the softly rippling abs he’d gained through nothing more than everyday existence and a bit of self-care. He’d never worried about conforming to the obvious signs of conventional masculinity. Guys like Kris had that bit sewn up, and Minato knew who he was and who he wasn’t.

Picking up on the way Kris noticed chests, regardless of gender, had started him being more proactive about this particular quality. He’d begun adding push-ups to his morning exercises almost a year back, and over the ensuing period, with his customary diligence, he’d managed to gain enough firm, rounded mass in his still-demure but increasingly noticeable pecs (and other, associated muscles) that lately his uniform button-downs had started, somewhat triumphantly, to feel genuinely tight and uncomfortable around the shoulders and lats. Even the black polo he was wearing now was considerably more snuggly around the upper torso than he was used to.

The idea that he might have to order new uniform shorts frankly turned him on. Of course, his own pectoral improvements were nothing like the proud, massy achievements visibly causing Kris’s sleeveless tee to drape the way it did, making Minato’s mouth water just at the sight of them. Had Kris had to get new uniforms too? Fuck, that was hot.

Just as he was starting to divide his focus, allowing himself to wonder what they were all talking about, anyway (something about Bigfoot? Had he heard that right?), Kris suddenly turned away from his group with a grin and started tromping down the aisle straight toward him. Minato was saved from being caught staring by Kris turning his head at the last second and calling something over his shoulder to Walt and the twins heading the other way toward the front of the car. Forcing down his panic, Minato quickly tore his eyes away, but he had no place to send them instead. His phone was stowed in his pocket—too late to fumble it out now—so with no other options he jerked his head to the right and started staring fixedly out the window at the rolling sunlit scenery, just as though he’d been watching it the whole time in utter fascination.

He sensed Kris dropping into the aisle seat opposite him, the jock-bro’s grin so potent Minato thought he could feel it warming his skin like September sunshine. Too late, he remembered his anxiety about whether to move his hand and realized he was, embarrassingly, half-hard.

“Anything interesting out there, cheri?” Kris said, his tone affectionate and slightly teasing. “No skunk apes or anything?”

Minato looked over at him casually, as if he’d just noticed his friend had joined him. The other man was lounging in the chair in pure, relaxed contentment, his arms folded over his chest in a pleasant pile-up of manly attractions. In a cocky breach of train etiquette he’d popped his feet up onto the seat to Minato’s left, his ankles crossed and his big, new-looking sneakers waggling gently like a contented pup-tail. Minato very much wanted to grab them. What he would do with them then he wasn’t sure.

He tried forcing himself to engage in conversation. “Uh, nope, no skunk apes,” he said.

“Damn, I was sure these woods would be cryptid central,” Kris said with a smile. “Hey, after the group thing at the welcome center there’s hiking free time until dinner. Want to go get lost in the woods with me?”

“Of course,” Minato said. It’s what he would have said anyway as Kris’s best friend, even if he weren’t totally gone for him.

“Cool. The O twins are coming too.”

Minato snorted. At one point there had been two sets of identical twins, the O’Donoghues being distinguished from the Carnaby brothers through the shorthand designations “O twins” and “C twins.” But the C twins had graduated, and the O twins had coyly started pretending that the nickname had a very different origin. As part of their plan they’d become very handsy and cuddly all of a sudden, with other guys and with each other. Frequently, they were found lurking in corners where they knew they’d be caught “almost” making out. Word had spread, too, that there was currently only one bed in their dorm room—though that, too, could all be a part of the joke. A pool had developed among the other seniors as to whether they really were fucking, or were just pretending to so as mess with everyone. Either would be totally in character, and Minato figured the twins themselves were sly enough they could draw out the present level of ambiguity pretty much indefinitely, for their own amusement and everyone else’s. “That should keep things interesting.”

Kris was looking at him, his green-gold eyes locked on Minato’s. “Yeah,” Kris said with a heartbreakingly sweet lopsided smile. Suddenly Minato was hit full-force with how handsome Kris was, head to toe, right here in front of him, and the intensity of his feelings almost hurt. Somehow, some way, he would find out how Kris really felt about him, and if it was anything like what he was feeling. He just had to do it without losing his best and closest friend.

The woods were lovely, dark and deep, just like Robert Frost said, though without all the snow and the judgmental horses. Summer was gone and fall was setting up shop, but it was still a beautiful warm day, clear sky and high in the. mid-70s, perfect for showing a little skin and seeing whether a certain ravishingly pretty boy happened to notice.

Kris had known for a while now that he’d fallen hard for his best friend. Every time he saw that sweet, perfect face and those red enticing lips his heart started pounding, and all he could think about for a solid few seconds was how much he wanted to slide his fingers through Minato’s lush, cherry-Coke locks and pull him into a deep, tongue-tangling, neverending kiss. That long, sleek body stirred things in him, too, making him yearn to pull it against his own and keep it there, staring into those bright brown eyes with the long lashes that lay along his cheek whenever he looked down, suddenly unable to hold Kris’s ardent gaze.

For his part Kris was desperate to act on his feelings, but the risk was too great. Minato had never said a peep about being attracted to anyone, man, woman, or mongoose. Kris had tried. He’d worked at finagling a clue out of him a few times, but Kris’s random comments about how hot those gropey guys in the dining hall were, or how stacked the work-study redhead at the library desk was, had gotten him bupkis in response. Minato loved him and wanted to be nowhere that wasn’t near him—that much Kris knew instinctively, as sure as the sun rose in the east and the O twins loved fucking with people. There was no questioning their connection as the closest kind of friends. But—fuck, did Minato want to be with him, the way Kris wanted to be with Minato?

Fuck, now he was thinking of Minato naked.

His cock swelled automatically in his jock, nudging the fabric of his navy sweats. He’d had a full monty glimpse only once, when Minato had borrowed the showers on Kris’s floor after a rainstorm and hadn’t gotten the towel up quickly enough, and the image of that pretty, tightly defined male body had stayed with him like a Minato-shaped tattoo on the inside of his cock.

He couldn’t get enough of Minato’s look. He wanted there to be more. He wanted for Minato to be so irresistible that Kris’s own wavering and uncertainty became impossible. He wanted gobs of it, for there to be more of everything that made him want to hold him and kiss him. He wanted to drown in everything that drove him to lust after his beloved, so that there was nothing between them, ever.

What did Minato want, though? What was his fantasy? Did he have any? Would he ever tell him?

He glanced over at his friend. He looked subtly different out here in the woods, away from people. The clear, leaf-green sunlight dappled across a slight smirk on his sweet face, his silky red-tinged hair, and the black polo that showed off just a hint of the nascent muscular definition he’d been accruing recently.

Alas, he wasn’t looking at Kris, his amused gaze fixed instead on the twins walking a few paces ahead, their hands laced together.

Kris admitted to himself he had half-hoped to see him lingering over Kris’s arms or the swell of his chest again. He’d caught his best friend looking more than a few times. But Minato’s visual perusal of Kris’s strong, smooth, soccer-star physique didn’t answer as many questions as it should have. The problem was, Minato was all in for golden ratios and classic design in everything—not just the gym-honed lines of his well-built bestie. Minato had tons of books about aesthetics, Hellenistic sculpture, and whatnot packed into his little tower room, and one was usually shoved in his bookbag on any given day. Kris knew his dream was to learn the theory and practice of fluid design from the palaces of ancient Crete and the temples of Persepolis. Kris’s carefully hewn physique might be just a case study to him, like the Myronian minotaur or the Patras Antinoös.

How to get a real reaction out of him, then? He’d tried getting sexier still, but while working out more, increasing the size and swell of his arms and shoulders and especially his pecs, had got him more looks from his best friend, he still had no real concrete answers. It was erotic and frustrating all at once. He’d enjoyed the subtleties of the game, sure, but he also wanted to know. When Minato stared at him, was that lust? Or simple appreciation?

Maybe if he were bigger. Hunkier, all the lines and curves exaggerated and escalated so there was no getting away from how sexy he was. If he had beautiful, aesthetic muscles no one could ignore, maybe then Minato wouldn’t be able to hide the raw, delicious hunger he thought he saw sometimes in those beautiful brown eyes…

Fuck, my bulge is definitely showing. Being hung had its disadvantages, and a stretchy jock only hid so much. Should I try to get him to notice that, too?

His pulse quickened, his resolve balanced on a knife’s edge. He was just opening his mouth to say something when one of the twins called out abruptly. “Hey, there’s something off the trail up here!”

Without waiting for a response the lanky duo left the well-defined, beaten-earth trail and plowed into the trees, hands still intertwined, their dark uniforms looking strange and alien in the seemingly untouched sylvan landscape.

Kris peered past them curiously. They seemed to be making for a craggy jumble of tall, uneven stones a hundred feet or so into the forest. He could just make out something glittering in a sunbeam filtering through the dense, oak-leaf canopy.

Kris turned to Minato with a smile, offering his hand to his best friend. “Shall we follow suit?” he asked.

Minato smiled back, the radiance of it making Kris’s breath catch. He took Kris’s hand and immediately laced their fingers. “Absolutely!” he said.

They turned and followed the twins off the trail into the unknown, Kris half-hoping Minato wouldn’t notice he was all the way hard now in his jock, and half-hoping he would.

No sooner had they left the trail, their shoes sloshing through the first fallen leaves of autumn, than the twins, passing through the gap between two rocks standing erect like sentinels, suddenly let out a double yelp and disappeared ahead of them, swallowed by the earth. Kris and Minato broke into a run, hands still clasped, and two moments later they screamed as the world upended and the forest became a blur of green, yellow, and black.

Minato looked around himself in confusion. It was clearly the main dining hall at St. Kobi, vast and cavernous, but the dining hall was never this silent. No students bustled and shouted and laughed, no cutlery clattered, no drum of shoes sounded on smooth hard wood, filling the room with sound. The heavy oak tables were pushed aside, scarred and naked. A dreamy, vivid sunlight suffused the open space, streaming from nowhere he could see. Even the varnished wood floor seemed deceptively green and verdant, as though he were heading across a lawn he could only half see. He looked down in confusion, seeing his ankle boots, then big white sneakers next to them, then the hand he still had twined with Kris’s.

Kris was looking at their hands as well. They raised their eyes together. All the air around them was charged and expectant, like it was oversaturated with sizzling energy it was desperate to release in any way it could.

Their eyes met. Kris licked his lips. “You can let go,” he said. “If you want to.”

The energy in the air was buzzing against his skin now, seeping into him spark by invisible spark. He wondered if Kris could feel it too. He looked so sexy, his body almost glimmering with strength and power. It was magnetic and, to Minato, impossibly hot.

“What if I don’t want to?” he whispered.

Kris smiled, the smile making him more handsome with each beat of his hammering heart. His whole body seemed to swell with feeling and emotion. His arms looked more massive than ever, carved from stone and thick with masterfully sculpted brawn. His traps curved under the gray sleeveless sweatshirt, his pecs pushing out in front as if straining to get closer to him. Minato could hear his own panting breath as he stared up at this vision that was his friend, his crush, his man. He was so visibly, obviously the opposite of a pretty-boy like Minato, in so many ways; and yet he felt their connection, their unity, now more than ever.

“Yeah?” was all Kris said, but his eyes were glinting with excitement. Hope transformed him, making him more handsome, pulling harder than ever at Minato’s soul.

He wanted to laugh. Of course, it was up to him. Kris was a smart guy, a fixture on the honor roll and always being hit up at meals and in the hallways for pointers and study ideas. It wasn’t often he lived up to the stereotype of the inarticulate jock, but when he did Minato found it super-adorable.

He stared up at his towering lover, smiling in adoration at his dreamy, naked manliness. The air was teeming with light and zeal, the seeds of its fire dancing further under his skin and burning into his flesh and bones. He squeezed Kris’s meaty hand. “I don’t want to let go,” he said firmly. “I’m never letting go.”

Kris seemed to swell with excitement and exhilaration. His arms and shoulders looked positively huge, capable of crushing melons and putting holes through walls. His pecs were truly incredible in size, pushing outward at least a foot from Kris’s chest and casting actual shadows over the rippling, bricklike eight-pack below—any larger and they’d start to obscure the heart-thuddingly handsome face of his looming, brawn-packed inamorata. As if his almost blazingly bright green-gold-eyes and awed expression weren’t enough to show his feelings, Minato felt Kris’s leg-sized cock brush heavily against his other arm as it rose to a mighty, rigid arousal.

He really does want me, Minato thought, barely noticing the extremity of his own arousal. He hurried to make sure that Kris could be in no doubt he felt the same. “I love you, Kris. I want you,” he said. “I want your mouth covering mine, your pecs against my face, your cock drowning me in thick high-pressure cum.” He locked his gaze with those eyes so far above his. “I want your hand in mine and my soul locked in your heart and your cum on my lips, and I want it forever.”

He squeezed that big hand again and smiled, reaching under and around the enormous four-foot cock and stroking its side with his other hand. Kris shuddered, his dripping pecs seeming to swell even more with need and excitement, and Minato reveled in how strongly he could feel that pleasure straining under the skin of the massive stone-hard cock. “What are you feeling, K?” he pressed. “What do you want, my huge, hard, beautiful man?”

The delirium-like fantasy version of the school dining hall didn’t make any sense, what with the shifting leaf-green forest light and the thick, glimmering air teeming with eldritch energy mixed into the otherwise familiar space, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the impossibly attractive man whose hand was in his, holding his gaze as he finally confessed what they were both feeling for each other.

“I don’t want to let go,” Minato said. He seemed to fill Kris’s vision, the attractiveness of his face seeming to grow and sharpen almost to the brink of endurance. Kris knew he was raging hard now, and he always would be the moment he saw that face. Minato was the beauty of arousal literally made flesh, so irresistible that just the sight of him made his blood heat and his heart race and his cock so hard it curved up along its mighty length, as though its arousal were exponential and it was arching upward toward infinite pleasure.

The rest of Minato’s nude, demigodlike form was just as captivating, sending tremors of desire all through Kris’s huge, perfectly proportioned muscles. Everything about him pulled at Kris. Minato’s fair, exquisitely smooth skin seemed to glow with an amber perfection. Minato’s long hair was grown out, just the way he liked it, luxuriant and golden-blond against his shoulders and back. The length and thickness of Minato’s tresses seemed made to invite the threading of fingers through his flourishing sunlit mane. His sleek form was elegantly and appropriately enhanced with firmly defined muscles that suited his sylphlike grace. It was like he existed to put classical statues to shame in an inarguable demonstration of the ultimate physical ideal. His pecs swelled more than the others as if to demurely mimic the disproportion of Kris’s more massive chest. On Minato it was a matter of being gently noticeable rather than massive, though his pecs still were meaty enough for Minato to sport a long, narrow trench between his two-inch-thick pecs—enough to meet Kris’s first criterion for himself and hold a pen, maybe, Kris thought with a kind of amused awe. Or to squeeze his finger between, if he wanted. On Minato it was crazy hot, everything Kris had dreamed of and more.

And Minato, this impossibly beautiful, perfectly designed boy, wanted him. Even if he weren’t saying the words, words Kris could barely pay attention to because of how ravishingly beautiful he was, the two long, distinguished, mouth-watering cocks he had snuggling against each other, pressed upwards against his groin muscle and rigidly overlapping onto the lowest rank of his abs, told him everything. Precum welled on the two blushing, slightly overlapped cockheads, betraying Minato’s deepening lust.

Minato wanted him, needed him, and loved him. Being sure of that suddenly was almost too much. Kris’s balls tightened, so unexpectedly his cock was jerking upward and spattering precum across the floor to a distance of several feet away. He stared down at his man, panting, and all at once it was all Kris could do to hold back a blazing, gut-wrenching, Minato-drenching orgasm.

Minato was still speaking, almost as though Kris weren’t going to be stupidly distracted by the movement of those mesmerizing lips. “I want your hand in mine,” he was saying, stroking Kris’s cock with one hand and gripping his paw tightly in the other. “I want your hand in mine, and my soul locked in your heart, and your cum on my lips, and I want it forever.” Those wondrous, startlingly brown eyes caught him, impaling his heart. “What do you want, K? What do you want?”

“You,” Kris gasped, and then he was cumming, his enormous cock blasting his hot, heavy, cement-thick pearl-white cum all over everything. Minato was grinning and laughing, already coated with his unstoppable jizz, the sperm so big and thick you could almost see them wriggling in the gushing flow. Then Minato threw his head back, and at first Kris thought he was just trying to avoid drowning in the deluge—but as he squeezed Kris’s hand even more fiercely he realized Minato was cumming too, adding his own little eruption to Kris’s epic cum-Vesuvius. Minato’s climax only intensified Kris’s orgasm, and he started cumming even harder, letting out a long, euphoric yell of utter, feverish pleasure.

Minato blinked. They were standing in the forest, nothing but nature around them. Birds chirped distantly overhead. Wind whiffled through the leafy branches. There was no sign of the dining hall, or of the jumble of rocks the twins had found. Just tall oaks and maples and hickories basking in the breezy afternoon sunlight, the last faint echo of flickering magic energy ebbing away before he even knew it was gone.

He was hugging someone, his arms wrapped around a very male-feeling, well-muscled form. Kris—it had to be Kris. Except… instead of his head brushing against Kris’s, or lying comfortably in the nook of his shoulder, his cheek was pressed against taut fabric, and under it was—abs? Something heavy was brushing against the crown of his head, or maybe it was two somethings. The hell—?

Gooey, tentative arousal rippled through him, letting him know a full-force version was in reserve, ready to overtake him. He felt in command of his need, able to control it, though not to diminish it in any way. His libido was insane. If he willed it, he thought, he could fuck and fuck and fuck until—

“Minato?” Kris’s voice rumbled from somewhere above him. “Is that you?”

Minato tried looking up, but saw only massive mounds just above his head. His jaw fell. Releasing his embrace he took two steps back, until Kris’s amazingly handsome face appeared from beyond his ridiculous, foot-thick pecs.

“Kris?” he said weakly. He cast his gaze up and down his best friend’s form, and it all came back to him. Kris was as he had been in the vision, or dream, or whatever it was, from the hyper-muscled seven- or eight-foot scale to the leg-sized cock currently lying dormant and flaccid, the head nuzzling the laces of Kris’s sexy sneakers. Even weirder than that, Kris was still wearing the clothes they had come here in, only they were perfectly adapted to this new body: the sleeveless gray muscle shirt was big enough to contain Kris’s enormous pecs, with a bit of straining, and the navy sweats were not only swollen to multi-X size, there was a literal third leg to the sweats that was clearly meant to contain Kris’s big, bulky, not-quite floor-dragging figurative third leg of a cock.

He met Kris’s gaze, and suddenly the bigger man’s eyes bugged. “You’re too beautiful—I’m going to get hard—!” he choked. The third leg twitched, starting to fill out and thicken even more, already bigger around than either of Kris’s real lower limbs.

“Control it!” he urged. “You can control it!”

“I want you so bad, though!” Kris confessed, and though his giant cock kept twitching it didn’t start rising. Not yet.

Minato laughed. “You nutball, you just came like fifty gallons and you’re already superhorny?” Of course, Minato was aware of his own arousal, his heavy cocks pressing against his fly, wanting to straighten out. The fabric of his thin chinos felt unexpectedly tight across the curve of his larger-than-before basket, mirroring a tightness in the back, and he realized he might have gotten a roundness upgrade to his firm, pert ass to match his improved pecs.

He’d have to ask Kris later what his backside looked like now. That would be a fun conversation. “You’re such a lustmonster,” he said.

Grinning crookedly, Kris knelt down so their faces were closer, his third leg lying thick and alert in the thin layer of fallen leaves. “Like you’re not,” he said roughly, his expression equal parts fond and carnal. His voice was deeper now, rumbling somewhere in Minato’s heavy, plum-sized balls. “Pretty and horny—the perfect combination.”

A glint caught Minato’s eye—the unassuming silver stud was still there in Kris’s left ear. Minato smiled. Kris might have changed his shape and mass, but he was still his man.

Kris lifted a big hand and threaded it gently through the long, thick, luxurious golden hair Minato had now. “Can I kiss you, cheri?” he asked shyly.

“If you ever don’t kiss me,” Minato said solemnly, “I will find a way to use my prettiness against you.” Kris smiled, and then their mouths were joined together. It was a sweet first kiss, slow and gentle, though they were flushed with heat as they broke apart.

Weirdly, the sound of their making out seemed to continue, the unmistakable smacking of lips and accompanying low moans emanating from somewhere close by. They looked around in confusion. Kris rose and took a few steps, peering over a drift of leaves and brush to look behind one of the larger oaks.

He glanced back at Minato, his dark brows raised. Curious, Minato followed, taking Kris’s hand. When he saw what was beyond the tree, he let out a gasp.

It was the O’Donoghue twins, Ben and Kevin, lying on the ground and very literally wrapped around each other. Everything about them seemed stretchy and malleable like taffy, from their long, long legs interlaced almost to the point of braiding, to the way their heads had twisted around as they made out with what looked like tireless passion, each noggin now almost at right angles to their respective shoulders, with the necks stretching and bending to a J-like shape to accommodate the new position. Their arms were wrapped fiercely around each other, hands and wrists stretching past the cuffs of their uniform-jacket sleeves to cinch the hold even tighter.

A gush of arousal washed through Minato at the sight. He thought the stretchy, extra-tall twins were incredibly hot, and obviously they did, too. They must have confessed their love and lust, he thought, just like Kris and Minato had, and the magic had worked on the twins’ physical desires as it had theirs. If the pair weren’t fucking before, they would be now!

Shit, I bet their tongues are stretchy, too. His cocks thickened with interest as the thought took hold. Flushed, he looked quickly up at his mountainous, enormously-chested boyfriend. They shared a grin, then Minato cleared his throat theatrically. “Anybody got a bucket of water we can toss on these lovebirds?” he said in a loud voice.

The twins started, looking up in surprise—and then alarm as the sight of Kris and Minato forced them into a sudden, unexpected orgasm. Even as they were shuddering with the instant climax, though, they were laughing, looking between the two of them with matching mischievous expressions.

Kris and Minato exchanged another look as the twins slowly untangled themselves and got to their feet, their mouths kiss-bruised and their crotches wet with cum, their eyes still roving Kris and Minato’s new forms. Minato belatedly remembered they’d all be going back to the others; and then would come the train, and the trip back, and the school with all the eyes, and hands, and cocks.

Were they freaks now? Had their clothing just adjusted, or had they “always” been like this? Were they so hot now no one could keep their hands off them? Something told him that however fun it would be finding out, the answers to these questions wouldn’t all be quite what he wanted or expected them to be.

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