#muscle wondering how tf this kid got so many gains

[poppy5991]

You guys, it’s important to remember that in the background of everything happening during the war in MHA is the muscle villain somewhere in a jail cell having a hilarious existential crisis bc Deku who broke all his own bones in their first match demolished him in .2 seconds when they met again

[chubbyheroesworthyheroes]

Hello, if your prompts are still open - could I request Ike with Cow TF, please? Um, and 'content with WG'.

Traveling to different lands after the wars in Tellius had been a mixed bag. 

On the whole, it was a relief to get away on his own, be the master of his own life for once. He’d discovered so many new places, and met just as many people. Of course, he’d come across the same issues that had been prevalent back in Tellius; discrimination, war, enslavement of others. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away from it all, and while he did what he could as a traveling mercenary to help those that needed it, he didn’t get himself as invested in things as back home.

While traveling on foot through a stretch of land that put him in mind of Crimea -- all rolling, green hills and farmland -- Ike found himself seeking shelter from a sudden storm. Cold rain pelted him from above, soaking him through to the bone as he jogged along muddy roads in search of somewhere to hunker down for the night. He was out deep in the country here, having stopped at the last village days before. Before the storm hit, Ike had walked by some farms, but figured that he’d find something if he kept pressing on instead of going back.

After a soggy scramble up the muddy road and into a lush field, Ike did eventually come across what looked like a farm. There were no candles or a fire going when he looked in one of the windows, and the whole place looked sort of abandoned, so he didn’t bother knocking on the door; simply going inside, finding it unlocked, and calling out once to make sure there really wasn’t anyone else in the old place. The dark house creaked and groaned as he slowly walked through it, trying not to bump into too many things as he tried to find a bedroom in the inky blackness. Eventually, he stumbles across a room with a still decent mattress, and hunkers down there for the night; shedding off his wet clothes and trying to get himself warmed up.

Waking up, it was still drizzling in the morning, but it wasn’t enough to deter Ike from exploring the place he’d taken shelter in. It was a homey little cottage, and though it certainly appeared to be abandoned for quite some time, it was still in pretty decent shape. Dusty and unused, but Ike had certainly made due with far worse. 

Glancing out one of the rain speckled windows, Ike was surprised to see a small herd of cows milling about in the field by the farm. It was hard to tell if they were supposed to be here, or if they’d just wandered in through the busted fence. Figuring it might be wise to wait and see if the weather clears up, Ike decides to check out these cows. If they were living here, and there was no one around to look after them, he could at least take over until he had to get on the road again. After all, there were other little farms around here that he could bring the small group of cattle to once he had to go. 

Jogging through the light mist of rain along the overgrown path to the field, the cows barely even batted an eye at his presence. They meandered about, tails flicking, as they ripped grass up from the ground and chewed lazily. They all looked to be dairy cows, Ike observed, noticing that they all seemed to be in need of a good milking. Clearly, whoever had run this farm previously hadn’t left anyone in charge to look after it when they left. 

Well, he couldn’t just leave them here like this…

Glancing around, and having to walk back to the dreary little barn a ways off to rummage around, Ike managed to find a pail to use. He’d helped to milk cows before, back when he was still too young to join in the company’s mercenary work, but it would take him a bit to get through all of the cows on his own. 

At least the animals were docile, and behaved well for him while he got to work, milking them for the better part of the drizzly day. After finishing with that, and getting the ridiculous amount of milk stored away properly, Ike rooted around for any dry wood he could use for a fire in the hearth, grabbing some fruit from the trees edging the fence as he headed back towards the little cottage.

Drying himself off and warming up in front of the fire, Ike made a meal of the fruit he’d picked, some salted meat he still had in his pack, and washed it all down with the fresh milk from the cows in the field. The fruit was mild, but the milk was surprisingly sweet -- the taste was so good, creamy and full, that Ike easily drank through a gallon of the stuff in just that sitting. It wasn’t the most substantial meal, but the milk helped to make him feel full where he was lacking in actual food. 

In fact, it made him feel so full and content, that Ike found himself dozing in front of the fire, the drizzling rain outside helping to further lull him into sleep.

He didn’t rouse again until the following morning, waking up just a little stiff from the floor, but otherwise feeling quite refreshed. The sun was out already, and he could hear the cows lowing out in their field. Just as he’d done the day before, he went out to take care of them. With the weather now favorable again, he could head out to one of the farm’s he’d passed before this one and see if they could take on the herd of cows. After all, he should be getting on the road again. After making sure that the cows were all good, he heads back down the road he’d traveled up several days past, trekking along until he comes across another little farm. Explaining the situation, the old man that ran the place said that he could take the cows, but that he’d need some time to expand his own fenced in field for them.

Agreeing to take care of the cows until the old man comes for them, Ike tromps back through the mud to what was looking to be where he’d be staying for a week or so.

It wasn’t bad, really. Sure, it was a delay in his travels, but the old man was paying him for the work he was doing, and the quiet, calm company of the animals was something Ike rather enjoyed. Besides, the break from fighting for his pay was also a bit of a relief. It was a pleasant, honest way to live, and it reminded him of how life used to be back home in Crimea.

With the cows producing that sweet, heavy milk of theirs every day -- and the old farmer down the road sending him food and other supplies every other day -- Ike was doing far better meal-wise than his first night on the abandoned farm. In fact, with the only real work he was doing being related to the cows, he spent quite a lot of his time simply out in the fields with them, eating. Hefty slabs of meat, chunks of cheese and bread, the fruits from the trees and even some vegetables -- all of it always washed down with the sweet, cold milk from the cows. They’d mill about the lush field as he ate, chewing grass and cud, softly calling to one another in such a way that Ike found calming and weirdly familiar -- as if he could almost understand what they were communicating to each other. The mercenary would often doze in the shade of a tree after eating and drinking his fill, blue eyes drifting close against the spackle of sunlight trying to break through the leaves.

The days rolled on at a lazy pace, blurring together after a while. 

It never even struck him that something might not be right here.

Ike had genuinely lost track of time at one point, waking up groggily one morning and getting ready to deal with the day, only to realize that his...clothes are fitting rather tightly now. Sure enough, blinking away the sleep in his eyes and inspecting himself, he realizes that he’s...put on a bit of weight. Not a large amount of weight, really; it’s enough to make him look more thickset than just muscular, a generous layer of padding that he’d never allowed to happen before on account of his work and the fact that the Greil Mercenaries had never been in the lap of luxury. Some part of him thought it was a little strange that he’d gained this much noticeable weight in such a short amount of time, but the mellow bellowing of the cows distracted him from that train of thought.

He simply shrugged, forgoing the now restrictive shirt and just pulled on the tight but still workable pants. It was warm enough out to go without the shirt, and it wasn’t like there was anybody but the cows to be bothered about it anyway. 

Ike couldn’t help absentmindedly touching the extra fluff, though. It was so strange to him, as he’d never really been overweight before -- the closest he’d come to having this sort of softness was simply the chubbiness one had as a kid. He’d always been stocky and well built, but his body had never had this give to it. It was hard not to get lost in the unfamiliar sensation of having the pads of his fingers sinking in a little bit until they hit the harder muscle underneath the chub on his abdomen.

He went about his work as usual, though his hands continued their absentminded wandering over his chubby gut as he did so.

Settling down in the shade of his favorite tree, midday meal brought out with him to enjoy in the company of the cows, Ike relaxed. He could get used to living like this, quite honestly. Wolfing down the food he’d brought in record time, he lets the soft sounds of the cows in the field put him to sleep for a nap.

As he sleeps, he has the most bizarre dream. He’s still out in the field with the cows, only...the cows aren’t cows -- well, they are, but they looked human as well. If he didn’t know any better, he would have almost likened them to Laguz. They spoke in drawling voices, lazily chatting to him about how wonderful it was to live like them. Everything they needed was provided for in the field, and they could spend the entire day simply eating, drinking and lazing in the sun. The only thing they’d been missing in their little paradise was a big, strong bull to look after the herd. 

They crowd around him eagerly in the dream, all massive tits and wide hips, both make and female among the group. They want to feed him, have him drink from their swollen breasts -- show him how wonderful life would be if he stayed with them in the field.

Ike woke up with a gasp, startled to see that the cows had come to lay by him as he slept. 

He does his best to step around them and not disturb them, hustling back to the cottage -- completely unaware to the changes that were starting to ramp up within his body.

Ike occupies himself as best he can for the rest of the night, feeling a building headache coming on as he tends to his up-until-now neglected weapons and armor. He didn’t have a use for it right now, but he felt the need to get back into old habits, try to clear his head from all the strangeness that had been happening recently. It was late in the night when he eventually clambered into bed, his pounding head making it a little difficult to get to sleep, but passing out after some tossing and turning. 

The old bed creaks and groans as the night wears on, Ike slumbering on deeply even as his weight steadily climbs. His entire body thickens up, then starts to pudge out; any trace of muscle on his body glossed over with a heaping amount of fat. Arms bulge now with fat rather than the muscles that so many had admired him for, meaty pecs squishing into one another as he rolls onto his side in his sleep. His face rounds out, double chin and chubby cheeks softening his normally stoic face. His toned ass spreads out in back of him, thick and chunky, his thighs following suit -- tearing through the already worn seams of his pants, absolutely wrecking the garment. What had simply looked like a slightly overindulged gut earlier in the day bloated out drastically, belly bulging out doughily and really testing the limits of the bed’s frame. What had once been easily passed off as just a little chubby could now only be described as blatantly fat; heavy rolls and curves of plush belly and love handles taking up as much space as they damn well pleased.

Ike’s bolstering weight wasn’t the only massive change taking place, though. 

Scowling in his sleep, Ike grunts as the pain in his head reaches a peak -- two, sturdy-looking nubs pushing out at his temples. They continue to push out, growing longer and thicker as they curve out slightly. Pristine white horns take form, sharply pointed at their ends and several feet in length. A tail is next to come in, snaking out from his tail bone and flopping lazily on the round cheeks of his ass. The ears are next; his normal, rounded ones elongating until they round out slightly to achieve that bovine shape. Chubby fingers and toes grow stiff, darkening to look almost like hooves. Snorting, his face starts to change as well; broadening out into the wide muzzle of a cow, a golden bull’s nose ring appearing in place as well. A short layer of stiff fur starts to grow in, too, a pale shade of blue with darker splotches and spots the same hue as his hair. 

Ears flicking as sun hits his face, Ike is further stirred by the gentle but insistent tug of the ring planted through his wide nose. He grunts and snorts at the new sensation, rolling about in the straining bed until he manages to get his feet under himself. He huffs and puffs at the amount of energy it took to simply right himself and sit up, thick fingers scratching lazily at his protruding gut. Blue eyes blink dully at the old farmer from down the rode looping a lead through the ring at his nose, smacking him on the flank -- causing the tightly packed blubber of his thigh to wobble from the action -- and tug again to get the nose ring in order to get the huge bull-man to move. 

“C’mon now, boy, can’t leave the cows to themselves for too long,” the farmer chides, leading the still sleep-addled Ike out of the cottage and to the vibrant field. Floorboards creak as Ike staggers through the abode, his incredibly wide frame just knocking into furniture and just managing to squeeze out through the door.

Ike tries to mumble out a question, but his mind felt so slow and hazy, and all that came out of his mouth was a deep, low bellow.

Some part of him feels like he should be alarmed by all of this, but the majority of his fuzzy brain just tells him that this is always how it’s been. He’s always lived here on this farm, protecting the herd and making sure that the cows’ milk never goes to waste. After all, someone has to drink it when there are no calves around, and the herd is so productive that there’s always so much leftover after the farmer sells what he can.

As soon as they were in the field -- which is once again fully fenced in, unlike how it had been just the other day -- Ike was let off the rope lead. The old farmer shoved something sweet and chewy into the bull-hybrid’s mouth, keeping him occupied as the man circled around him, getting a good look at all the changes that had finally kicked in. “Took long enough,” the man muttered to himself, rough hands grabbing at the flabby belly in front of him, giving the sides of it a good squeeze before hefting it up and letting it drop, wobbling thunderously. “Not a bad start, but a happy bull is a fat bull in my book, and you could do with a bit more happy. Nothin’ to worry about, though. You look after the cows, and they’ll take care of their stud -- besides, my wife’s raised enough cattle in her day to know just how to get meat on their bones.”

The man pats Ike’s furry stomach, chuckling at the way the soft flesh indents with the action, before leaving him to his own devices in the field. Ike stands there for a moment, trying to puzzle everything out, tail swishing behind him as his thoughts turn over in his head laboriously. He’s brought out of his slow train of thought by the welcoming moos of the herd, the cows excited to have a bull they could dote on. They compliment his wicked looking horns, and cute ears. Hemming and hawing about how he’s so small, and that they’ll have to get him looking like a real bull right away! They pet his fur, and brush up against him; meaty sides squishing into his own. Lowing and mooing softly among each other, they laugh as they coax the dazed male into laying down in the sun-warmed grass. Stiff fingers run through his hair, while others massage at his broad shoulders or press testingly into the plush rolls of fat on his midsection.

Ike rallies his scattered brain, and tries to ask the bunch of bovine-people what’s going on, but all that comes out is a bewildered moo -- which is rather quickly muffled by the massive swell of boobflesh and thick nipple being shoved into his open muzzle, one of the cows giggling as he struggles for a moment against the abrupt flow of heavy, sweet milk flooding his mouth. Ike snorts loudly, trying not to choke as he swallows down as much of the warm milk as he can, dribbles leaking from the corners of his mouth at the sheer volume. With the pleasant warmth of the sun on him, the idle chatter and touch of the cows around him and the steadily growing weight of his gut from the milk he’s suckling down, Ike easily slips into a lazy daze of repetitive actions. 

Breathe deeply, swallow. Lick and suck until the breast smooshed against his broad muzzle is pulled away and replaced by another overflowing teat. His eyes drift shut not long in to the routine, large ears flicking at the occasional noise that is not from one of his cows. He slowly drinks his way through the herd, earning pleasured sounds from the overburdened dairy cows as their milk is drained, one after another, into Ike’s fat belly. 

His stomach only seems to get fatter as they urge him to keep drinking from them, first bloating up from simply filling up with the warm cream, but then visibly pudging out further as more and more was forced into his overfilled middle. Even reclined, the mass of it started to overtake his lap; short fur thinning out as it bulged further and further out, pink skin becoming visible underneath in small patches like stretchmarks. The cows mooed softly, encouraging, rubbing and squishing at the growing expanse of bull flesh as the day wore on. 

Not quite sleeping but far from aware, Ike even got in on fondling himself as he drank and grew fatter. Fat fingers grabbed at his thick sides, a moaning moo bubbling up around the milky tit he was sucking on as he felt the sheer size and heft of himself. Stubby digits dug in to doughy sides and love handles, still powerful arms giving his entire middle a shake -- hearing the weighty slosh of frothy cream in his stomach as his blubbery gut wobbled and shook. 

It felt so damn good! Ike could recall anything that had ever felt as good as this, even if he couldn’t really think very clearly on anything but the next milk tap to get his muzzle around. He’d stay in the field all day with his dairy cows, if he could, but nighttime meant that the farmer came back to herd them all into the barn for the night. It took quite some time for Ike to stir, and even longer for the old man to get the milk drunk bull up onto his feet and shifting his fat ass into gear. His content lull was almost broken when Ike felt the tug at his nose ring again, but the promise of a warm bed and a filling meal from the farmer’s wife got him lumbering into step with the rest of the fat cows. 

This surely was the sort of life to look forward to.

[jasperrollswrites]

Finer Things

This is...something special.

@aardvarkia​ has been something of an inspiration of mine - there was a period back in mid-2015 when I first discovered his initial Bear Cap story on CYOC and spent the next week and a half or so obsessively re-reading it. It’s still one of my absolute favourite TF stories today. I always felt like I couldn’t quite match up, however - before, I’ve struggled with making stories go past 8 pages.

So, imagine my surprise when he contacts me saying he liked one of my earlier stories and is willing to commission me for something. To be honest, it got me a little panicked, and I found it hard to even start. But as with most things I’m afraid of doing, once I did get started, I found it easier than I thought...and ended up writing my longest story so far.

This is a bit different from my usual thing, more archetype than character TF, but really I’m game to do more of this kind of thing - I think not having to make the subject align with a rigid set of character traits leaves a lot more room for creativity.

So with that out of the way, please enjoy this story of a life-changing trip to the West End of London! (Side-note: that watch costs nearly £7,000. kid’s lucky he didn’t actually pay for it.) (Extra side-note: this one’s also pretty NSFW so if that isn’t your thing then maybe skip a bit towards the end)

——————— 

Prologue

Being a parent can be tough in a lot of ways. Parents want to pass on something of what they’ve learned and raise their kids the right way, but kids can be difficult - some kids especially so. No matter what they try, how they phrase it, no matter what values they try to instill, some kids just never take on the lessons their parents want to impart. They wonder where they might have gone wrong, but sometimes, it really isn’t the parents fault. Sometimes the kid is just a little shit.

Garrett Parsons could, if you were feeling unfair, perhaps be described as one of those kinds of kids. It wasn’t like he’d lacked any opportunities. He grew up in a upper-middle class family - parents who were happy to work hard to achieve the finer things in life. His older siblings had gone on to do respectable things with their lives, getting their own houses, paying their own way. His parents had spent just as much time on him as a little kid as they had on his sister, Katherine and his brother, Barry, although maybe Garrett didn’t see it that way.

Maybe it was the friends he’d ended up with throughout school, maybe it was perceived pressure from the relative success of his siblings, maybe it was just something about being the youngest of three. Maybe it was all of those things, or none of them. Finding the reason for this kind of thing is always hard, but the ultimate fact of it was, whatever upper-middle class values his family had tried to instill in him, it was like absolutely none of it took.

Where his siblings and extended family had all gone to college to further their education, Garrett got out of school as early as possible and never went back, much to his parents consternation. Where his family appreciated fine restaurant dining, Garrett went to bars and pubs as early as he could - the more of a dive the place was, the better, it seemed. Where his family enjoyed high-quality HBO drama, he spent his time watching the soap opera of pro-wrestling. His family tried to broaden their music tastes - Garrett had only time for hard metal, sneering at anything that wasn’t played at 120+ decibels and practically shook the house. Perhaps the lens of pop culture is a limiting view, but the simple fact was, now at 18, Garrett rejected almost everything his family appreciated.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t tried to bridge the gap. After all, that was what this whole vacation was about.

The family was from Massachusetts, but for their summer vacation, they’d gone outside of America for once and taken a trip to London, England for two weeks. Garrett and his parents had travelled separately from his siblings, so they’d met up with Katherine (hair dyed blonde recently) and Barry (trying and failing to grow a beard) at Heathrow on the first day. They’d gone to a restaurant Katherine had recommended - she made a habit of making sure she knew about what was hip and cool back home, so of course she would do prior research for England. Everyone else seemed to have enjoyed it, but Garrett considered it all very pretentious. The food was too artsy, the waiters were stuck up, with their poncy British accents...No-one agreed with him, but it had been awhile since he’d found common ground with anyone in his family.

They were spending their week at a pretty high class hotel, which wasn’t something Garrett was about to complain about - it had a big underground pool. He’d tried to stay out of family activities, but he’d skipped too many for his parents liking, so today he was being dragged to a West End show - although Garrett had almost stopped them from going when his mother had found out he hadn’t bothered to bring any smart clothes. It had turned into a shouting match, his mother’s curly red hair shaking about as she wondered what she was going to do about Garrett, telling him she’d informed him of this months in advance, while his father scratched the top of his bald head, staying out of it, having given up on trying do anything about Garrett about 2 years ago.

Garrett, for his part, couldn’t understand what the big deal was. They were just going to see some crappy musical. Who cared what he was wearing? They’d all be looking at the stage, why would they care about some guy wearing a grey hoodie and some jeans? Big whoop, what an embarrassment. So what? It wasn’t like he made much of an impression anyway. He was only about 5 ft 4, he’d never put any time into working out, and his relatively fast metabolism kept him thin, for now, so it was hardly like he was noticable to anyone. He just looked like anyone else. Mom had been yelling something about expectations or etiquette or something, but it all just bounced off Garrett at this point.

In the end they’d dragged him along anyway, even though Garrett would’ve much preferred staying in the hotel. He’d even offered to stay if he was such an embarrassment, but his Mom had said it would be a waste of the money they’d spent on getting a ticket for him. God, it wasn’t like he had asked her to buy one. With that, Garrett had elected to tune out for the rest of the day. He didn’t care about his family, he didn’t care about this crappy show, he didn’t care about any of it. They could nag him all they wanted, he wasn’t going to say anything. All he wanted was to leave and go back to the pub back home.

That would probably be why he never understood what happened when they got into the theater. There’d been some kind of mistake or something, but Garrett had, as previously mentioned, tuned out. They’d mixed up the seats or something, or...they’d probably offended Mom somehow, she got offended by everything if it wasn’t up to snuff.

“We’re very sorry, Mrs. Parsons”, some young, clean cut staff member was saying, in a simpering, sort of wimpy English accent, “but they’re the only seats we have left.”

“I paid specifically for these 5 seats! T-7 to T-11!” Mom said in a shrill tone, her Boston accent a stark contrast to the English surround her. “Look, it’s on the receipt!” She was digging into her handbag now, finding the receipt out of the billions she seemed to keep a hold of. Garrett watched impassively, scratching at his shoulder length brown hair as the two went back and forth - seemed like they’d miscounted and only four seats were free. He stuck his hands into his pockets, his blue denim jeans hanging low on his thin waist - if he hadn’t been wearing his hoodie, you’d be seeing his pants

As they were talking, another staff member was coming over. He was pretty smartly dressed, even for theater staff - a freshly cleaned and pressed black dinner suit with a black tie. He was looking to be approaching his mid-50s, but he didn’t look bad for it - a handsome face, not unlike Sean Connery with a buzzcut. His hair was grey, but it only complemented his look, in combination with the well looked after beard. He was clearly something of a bodybuilder - the suit hid his muscles somewhat, but it was hard to miss that this guy was big in every way. He seemed to be approaching 7 feet tall, with all the muscle he’d gained.

“Hello, Mr. Parsons, Mrs. Parsons,” the man said, in a calm, deep voice. Unlike his colleague, his English accent was smoother, more confident. “I’m the senior manager here, Jeremiah Carter. I’ve already been informed of the situation, and I think I’ve worked out something of a solution.” Garrett raised an eyebrow. Senior manager? He looked more like a club bouncer.

Garrett’s mom suddenly seemed quite taken with Mr. Carter. “Oh, well, what is it?” she asked, the shrillness gone from her voice almost immediately.

“Well, Mrs. Parsons,” Jeremiah began, “Unfortunately it’s not a perfect solution, as due to the planning mixup we can’t get a full set of five seats side-to-side for your family. We do have five seats, but one of them will be separate from the others. It’s a private seat - it was previously reserved, but the person who reserved had to back out at the last moment. It’s quite an excellent seat, really, you’ll get a great view of the production, but it would be separate from the other seats.”

“So...someone will have to sit on their own?” Katherine said.

“Like I said, it’s not perfect, but, as a form of compensation, your meal after the show will be on the house.” Jeremiah offered.

“Oooh...that sounds great!” Mom said. “Although, yes, someone would have to sit on their own…”

There was a moment of silence, as the family pondered what to do, but to Garrett it seemed obvious.

“I’ll take the empty seat, you all want to sit together, so…” he said.

“Oh, Garrett, well...I don’t know, we…” Barry said, umm-ing and ahh-ing.

“It’s fine. I’ll take it.” Garrett said, with resignation in his voice. “Just show me where it is.” It wasn’t like he cared anyway. It was just another way besides the clothes that he was separated from his family. At least he’d get a nicer seat. The younger staff member they’d been talking with before looked at Garrett a bit funny, like he thought Garrett didn’t deserve it.

“If that’s fine with you, Mr. Parsons?” Jeremiah asked. “The show is starting soon so I would advise you to be quick.”

“Hey, we’re getting a free meal, aren’t we?” Garrett’s dad replied good-naturedly. “You won’t catch me complaining.” The rest of the family seemed to nod in unison, almost like they were happy to be rid of Garrett for a couple of hours.

“Excellent!” Jeremiah said. He turned to the younger staff member. “Ellis, show the Parsons to their seats, and I’ll take, uh...Garrett, was it?” He looked back at Garrett. Garrett was silent for a second, then nodded. “I’ll take Garrett to the booth.”

“Come talk to us at the intermission,” Katherine said, as the young man took the rest of the family away. Garrett made a noncommittal grunt.

“Well, if you’d like to come with me…” Jeremiah said, leading the way.

The two men walked up some steps, Garrett following behind the mountain of muscle that was Jeremiah. Things were awkwardly quiet for a good half a minute, until Jeremiah spoke up.

“You don’t want to be here, do you, Garrett?” he said. It was a question, but he said it like he already knew the answer.

“How would you know?” Garrett said, somewhat rudely.

“Mm...the clothes. The attitude. You were very eager to take this seat. Almost like you don’t want to be with your family.”

“Why do you care?” Garrett said, angrier now. Who the fuck did this guy think he was, acting all buddy buddy?

“It doesn’t seem like that long ago that I was like that. I didn’t appreciate my family.” Jeremiah said, wistfulness in his voice. “You shouldn’t let those connections slip. Wait too long, and before you know it, they’ll be gone, and you’ll be left with a lot of regrets.”

“Fuck off.” Garrett responded.

“Mmhm. Well, here’s your seat, Garrett.” Jeremiah said, as they came to a door. He opened it, revealing a little balcony with a single, red plush seat with a golden frame. Garrett stepped in, and sat on the seat - it was very comfortable, perhaps the most comfortable chair he’d ever sat on in his life.

“I hope you enjoy the show.” Jeremiah said, and stepped back into the hallway, closing the door. Alone again, he rubbed his hands together, to generate a little bit of heat, and looked at the small sign to the left of the door, unseen by Garrett. It was blank at the moment, but before long, little letters wrote themselves in.

Reserved for Rupert Carter

Producer

Jeremiah blinked. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe it was a coincidence. Too late now. He walked away, a little bit of doubt in his mind.

Act I

Garrett wasn’t sure whether the single seat he’d been given was a good thing or a bad thing. One the one hand, he didn’t have to listen to his parents nagging at him about how he wasn’t appreciating the...culture or whatever. On the other hand, it was somehow even more boring up in this private balcony seat. He looked down at the audience below, to try and see if he could spot his family, but quickly gave up on it. It wasn’t like he really cared. The only thing he really gave a shit about right now was getting out of this stuffy theater as soon as possible.

The lights went down, and as they did, Garrett had pulled out his phone. He’d already decided he didn’t really care to watch this. He wasn’t even sure what they’d gone out to see, since he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d heard something about a musical, something about 50/60s America or something like that. It was already enough for him to decide it wasn’t worth his time. Musicals never had any good music, it was all...poppy, Glee shit, and the fact it was about history made it worse. Nothing interesting happened in the past, it was all boring civil rights marches, shit that got buried decades ago but people kept bringing up, like it meant anything these days. Not to mention the fact that they were in England - he bet none of these idiots could even speak a good American accent, let alone sing in one.

Garrett tapped the Twitter app, having to tap it a couple of times for it to register, due to the crack going diagonally across the screen. He wanted to see if he could catch up with what his friends back home were doing, but the signal inside the theatre was crappy - only one bar showing up, so it was taking ages to load anything, and he was just stuck looking at a grey screen with the infuriating little spinning wheel.

Tweets aren’t loading right now. Please tap to retry. Garrett rolled his eyes. Well, he might as well look at the show while he waited. At least it was something to watch. Some fat girl was on-stage, with the most obvious wig he’d ever seen on her head. He had to admit the stage looked pretty good - the backdrop looked convincingly like a street, and the thing they were doing with the rising light to make it look like the sun was coming up was pretty neat, but...that song was grating. It was something about Baltimore, and she kept holding the note...god it was annoying. As far as Garrett was concerned, the fat lady had sung, so the show was already over.

He looked back down at his phone to see if Twitter had elected to load yet. It had, but...something was wrong.

He didn’t know...any of these people. Where were all his friends? It was a bunch of weird, gay shit, bodybuilders, and people talking about theater shows, and crap. Had he somehow been signed into the wrong account? He went to check his profile, but before he could, his right hand suddenly seized up with pain, and he dropped the phone, leaving it to clack loudly on the wooden floor of the little balcony.

“Shit”, he hissed to himself, half because of the pain, half because he hoped he hadn’t cracked the screen even more now. Where the hell had that come from? He held his hand, pain still shooting through it, leaving his hand paralyzed, his fingers curled tightly, but still open. He looked down at it - had he suddenly been hit with carpal tunnel or something? He was trying to rationalise it, but as he held his hand, it was quickly becoming clear that this was something altogether different.

He could feel his right hand...growing. It was the only way to describe it. He had placed his left hand over the back of the right, holding on around the wrist, but the fingers on his left hand were being pushed further apart, struggling to grip his right as the palm was expanding. He heard some muffled cracks, feeling the bones his hands and knuckles pop as his fingers got thicker. He brought his left hand away, as the pain subsided, checking to confirm that he wasn’t just imagining this, holding it next to his right.

The difference was impossible to miss. His right hand was almost double the size of his left, but it wasn’t just the size that was different. The skin on his right hand had changed, looking rougher, more wrinkled...older. Not horrendously old, but like...the hand of someone at least 25 years older than him. He moved his right hand, almost a little afraid of it, like it was an alien. With his thickened index finger, he gingerly brought it to the back of his left hand. Once again, the difference was impossible to miss - the skin on his left hand felt young and smooth, while the feeling of his right hand was more weathered. Older, but well looked after. He turned his hands over, and curled his fingers, looking at his fingernails - the ones on his left hand were grubby, while the fingernails on his right looked much cleaner, and clipped too. The difference was like night and day.

Garrett was at a loss for what to do. He was afraid of what had just happened to his hand - it seemed like something he should go get someone qualified in first-aid about, but what was he supposed to say? His hand spazzed out and then suddenly it was like 50 years old? They’d think he was making some kind of joke until he showed them. He rapidly opened and closed his fingers, then shook his hand, and looked back at the stage, stony-faced. He was...he was...hallucinating, or something. He’d skipped breakfast and they hadn’t had lunch yet. He was hungry, so he was imagining things. Just ignore it. He clamped both hands to the armrests of the chair - then remembered he’d dropped his phone. Still looking at the stage as best he could, he reached down, making sure to use his left hand, and reached around blindly for the phone, finding it by feel and coming back up again.

He looked down at the phone, trying to angle his view so that he couldn’t see his right hand out of the corner of his eye, and checked Twitter again. The same shit as before - accounts for West End shows, celebrity actors, and...unnerving amounts of muscular men in very little clothing. He scrolled a bit, but couldn’t see any of his friends. Either he was hacked, or signed into the wrong account. He checked the profile - it was the second one. The username was @real_ru_carter. Garrett had no idea who this was supposed to be, or how he had ended up signing into this guy’s account - judging by the checkmark and the amount of notifications he was getting, he was someone notable. If things had been different, Garrett might have tried to mess around with this account, but he was freaked out enough by the...hallucination he’d had, so he just wanted to get rid of it.

He shut off the phone, and jammed it into his pocket. He might as well watch the show anyway. His family would probably be interrogating him about what had happened during the intermission, and if he’d just said he’d been on his phone the whole show it’d probably grounds for another shouting ma--

His line of thought was cut off by the feeling of another pop, the sound of bones cracking again - and his sleeve feeling tighter. Garrett looked up from the phone, and stared at the stage again, not wanting to look at what was happening. The show was still going on - the fat girl was now whining to a fat guy in drag, begging to audition for something. He tried to focus really hard on the show, trying not to notice the feeling of the right sleeve of his hoodie getting tighter and tighter. Now it wasn’t just on the sleeve, it was all along the arm it was getting tighter. It felt like his hoodie was starting to struggle holding his arm. No! Don’t think about it! It’s not...it’s not happening. Just pay attention to the show. What was happening? The fat girl, Tracy, she wanted to be on some dancing show. Her accent was pretty okay, actually, although it seemed like the guy in drag wasn’t even trying. Maybe it was part of the joke.

There was a loud rip, and Garrett felt the sleeve of his hoodie come apart over his wrist. He looked down without thinking, and nearly screamed.

It was happening to his arms now! His wrist had caught up to his clenched fist, becoming appropriately thicker to support it, but the real change was in his forearm. The ripped sleeve had ridden up exposing it a little bit of the arm - and it was a lot bigger. His forearm had pumped up with frankly terrifying muscle, once again, practically double the size that it had been before. He could see veins pushing against the skin, and judging by the way his hoodie was outlining the rest of his arm, his skin was struggling to hold the sudden growth of muscle in.

Garrett ran his eyes up his arm, and finally saw what was happening that he had been taking so much effort to ignore. He’d been holding his arms close to his body, but that was becoming harder and harder, as his tricep began pumping up too, his hoodie getting tighter around his shoulder. He could feel it practically pulsing, racing to catch up with the rest of his arm, as the muscles beneath the skin tore up and reformed, quickly becoming stronger with every minute that passed. It was a slow process, but it was one that Garrett was finding it a little difficult to look away from.

Hallucination. Trick of the light. It was dark in the theater, he couldn’t see properly. He must just be making a mistake. Nevermind the fact he could physically feel his arm pumping up, the shoulder of his hoodie practically ready to explode, unable to contain what was growing beneath it. Nevermind facts, full stop. Garrett was firmly in “deny reality” mode, even as his sense of reality was being challenged. He tore his eyes away and looked rigidly at the stage again. Just focus on the show. What was happening now? Tracy was, fawning over some young, attractive dancer whose name Garrett had missed - was it something with an L? Lance? Larry? No, with a face like that it was something more snappy.

“Link Larkin,” Tracy said. “So near, yet so gorgeous.” Link, that was it. Garrett was surprised his guess was that close, given that he had never given a shit about a musical before now. The actor playing Link bumped into Tracy, and Tracy practically immediately launched into a slowly rising ballad about bells and marriage and dating. Garrett tried to force himself to enjoy the song, although he was having a little difficulty - melody was nice enough but...god, it was so sappy and sugary. If he wasn’t having a spontaneous growth he was desperately trying to ignore, he’d be gagging.

But before he could think much more about how he felt about the song (and a stray thought about why no-one had done a death metal musical - man, that would actually rock), his train of thought was once again interrupted as he felt a searing pain blast through his shoulder, like someone had stabbed a spear through it. His entire upper body felt scorching hot. The pain was going right behind his right shoulder blade, and all over his chest. He leant forwards, and looked down, as the feeling of warmth spread across to encompass his entire chest...then it too started growing.

Garrett leaned back, his breaths short and sharp, as his chest began to inflate before his eyes. The same feeling of muscle tearing up and reforming, becoming stronger every time was repeating, only it was across the breast of his body. He’d never worked out, and his chest had been flat, almost a little fat, but that fat was definitely gone now, as it was pushing out into bold, muscular pectorals. The zip of his hoodie came down, unzipping to reveal the white shirt he’d been wearing underneath, which was getting stretched just as much as the sleeve of his hoodie - he was surprised neither had torn completely. There was, however, a slight tear that was growing larger, as the collar of the shirt opened up to accommodate his gigantic pecs. The hoodie zip was pulled down by unseen force, until it was resting just beneath his chest.

The tear that had opened up his shirt exposed the pecs to the air of the theater slightly - it was hardly risqué, but Garrett rarely ever showed this much skin, even in summer, and he felt exposed regardless. He was just glad no-one was in a position to see what was happening to him. He looked down at his chest - he couldn’t even see his lower body over the shelf he’d gained. If this was really happening, he had pecs that even someone like Kurt Angle might be jealous of. He slowly raised his right hand, forgetting for the moment what had happened to it, and reached up to feel one of the melons he’d just grown.

“Hooohhllyy fuuuhuuuck…” Garrett let out raggedly, trying very hard not to moan too loud. It was...so sensitive. He’d barely rubbed his thumb over his nipple, which he could feel pushing hard against his shirt, and a rush of heat had run straight to his groin. He could feel his pants straining a little bit, his cock getting stiffer already. He was half lustful, half embarrassed. Why was he so horny all of a sudden? Then he squeezed the pec with his thick hand, and he was immediately at full attention. As fast as possible, he slammed his hand back onto the armrest. He felt like he was going to explode if he played with his chest anymore.

It wasn’t real. God, it felt real though. Maybe it was a dream? Was he dreaming? He must be, this...this didn’t happen in real life. People didn’t just grow muscles out of nowhere. They might in something like Captain America, but they didn’t in the real world...and even then, in Captain America, Steve Rogers was going through some kind of experimental procedure, so it made sense. As far as Garrett could tell, he’d just walked into this balcony booth and then his right arm and chest had exploded with muscle. It didn’t make any sense. It had to be a dream, or something.

Just focus on the show. Just focus on the show. It’s not real, whatever this is isn’t actually happening. Tracy was surrounded by a group of African-American kids, who were teaching her to dance. “Not bad for a white girl,” one of them said.

The one who was standing with Tracy (Seaweed was his name, Garrett’s mind told him, even though he hadn’t actually been paying to when the character had been introduced) turned and responded to the other guy. “There ain’t no black and white up in here. Detention is a rainbow experience.” He did a little shuffle and step.

“What’s that step?” Tracy asked.

“Oh, this?” Seaweed replied. “I call this one ‘Peyton Place After Midnight’. I use it to attract the opposite sex.” The audience laughed at the joke, and Garrett found himself laughing with them. It was corny, which he usually hated, but it felt earnest, and he could appreciate that to some extent. He tried not to think too hard about how he must look like some sort of half-muscled freak, or how he could swear his collar was simultaneously getting wider and rising up, as his neck muscles were getting thicker. He tried to pretend he couldn’t feel the process that had happened along his right arm happening in reverse along his left arm - the shoulder bulging in size, the biceps and triceps pulsing outwards, his left hand seizing up like his right had earlier, as the forearm doubled in size, and the palm of his hand became broader, thicker, digits growing, knuckles popping.

It wasn’t...happening...it was...definitely not happening, at all, and it was just a dream, even if it felt incredibly real and...felt…

...good…

Because that was how it felt. If he looked past all the fear, and the worry, and the flat-out denial, what was happening to him felt...really good. It was a feeling that had been niggling in his mind since he had groped his pec before and immediately popped a boner. If he let it, he felt like he would be...intoxicated by how good his new muscles felt. His nipples rubbed against his shirt, keeping him semi-hard even as he had tried to calm himself down.

But at his core, Garrett was still a nervous, if bratty kid, kept in an extended adolescence by his refusal to grow up - and so the fear and denial and worry was overpowering the lust by a good measure. He kept his hands tightly gripping the armrest, his overly muscular arms hewing close to his body as he could manage, and he stared straight at the stage, just trying to focus on the show and the songs. And to his surprise, that particular element seemed to be getting easier and easier. A good while earlier, he would’ve been faking gagging noises and probably trying to heckle the cast, but he’d been distracted by the growth...and in his eagerness to ignore that growth, he’d found himself beginning to be wrapped up by the show.

He was genuinely appreciating the poppy tunes now, as Tracy’s mother Edna got a makeover to a melody about embracing the present day. He tried to breathe slower, calming himself down, as he tried not to notice how he could feel his back growing with more muscle, his deltoids and the muscles around his shoulder blades packing on the strength. As Tracy and Amber got into a spat over dodgeball, and Penny and Seaweed found a connection, hampered by their parents narrow-minded views, Garrett was genuinely beginning to feel touched by the themes - and his spine made a couple of uncomfortable pops, as it extended, and the young man began to grow in height as well as muscle, jumping spontaneously up to 6 feet tall.

And as Tracy rallied the kids at the record shop to protest the segregation of the Corny Collins Show, and it all turned to tragedy as Velma called the police, the protest was broken up, and Tracy and all her friends were sent to jail, Garrett felt genuine disbelief and concern for the characters. He didn’t know how it had happened, but this show had taken him, and he didn’t even know its name.

“We’re here to dance!” Seaweed yelled.

“We’re here to stay!” Edna followed up.

Link turned to Tracy. “Tracy, this was beautiful.” He said, and Garrett could feel the love between them finally sparking, the dream man Tracy had wanted all this time.

“Big, blonde, and beautiful lead the way!” Motormouth Maybelle belted out, the most incredible singing voice Garrett had heard in ages.

“No-one’s getting on TV today!” The whole cast sang in ensemble, and the song ended. The audience burst into applause, and Garrett found himself clapping along with them, his larger hands making his claps even louder, making his own ears ring a bit. He smiled. This show was great! Why had he never taken musicals seriously?

And then the curtain was lowering, and the lights were going up, and Garrett’s clapping slowed as he wondered what was happening. They were ending on a cliffhanger? What?

No, no, wait. It was the intermission. Oh, fuck. It was the intermission. He looked down at himself, at his body in the new light, unable to see his lower torso over his pecs. The show would be back, but like it or not, Garrett was going to have to deal with a reality he couldn’t deny - and how the hell he was going to explain it to his family.

Intermission

As Garrett left the booth, his first thought was to get a look at himself. He needed to get in front of a mirror, see what had happened to himself, because he was hardly able to tell. He had tried very, very hard to ignore everything that had been happening to himself. All he could really see of himself was his arms and chest, and he had no idea if anything else had happened. He headed back out towards the lobby, hoping to find a bathroom, trying to go as fast as he possibly could, which was something of a difficult feat, unused to his new muscles as he was. Every article of clothing on him felt tight, restricting him. He was surprised his grey hoodie hadn’t been torn to shreds, given how much more of him it had to cover; it felt like if he were to flex, the whole thing would burst off him, including his shirt.

He re-entered the lobby, where other audience members were congregating. He scanned the room - easier than before, thanks to his increased height - looking for a bathroom, somewhere he could get a good look at himself. He spotted the sign, and began making his way towards it. The lobby was packed with people, and Garrett struggled to get around them.

“‘Scuse me...sorry...just need to...get through…” Garrett mumbled apologies as he crossed the lobby floor, and people were willing to give him a wide berth, but the lobby was so packed it was hard for him to make his way through. He could’ve easily just shoved past them, especially with what he’d gained, but...well, he’d just be making a scene, being so rude. As a result, he was only about a quarter of a way towards his destination when he heard the familiar voice of his sister.

“Garrett! Over here!” Garrett turned, and saw Katherine waving at him. He looked anxiously towards the sign over the bathroom, then back at Katherine. She was smiling and beckoning to him - Garrett wondered how she’d even recognized him, but she didn’t seem to have any kind of reaction the fact that he’d gained a whole bunch of muscle over the course of the last hour or so. He really needed to take a look at what had happened to him, but...she was...like, his sister. He changed direction, making his way over to her.

“Everyone’s in the restaurant, it’s too crowded out here.” Katherine said as Garrett came over. She took his larger hand in her own and began to lead him towards the restaurant. She didn’t seem to have anything to say about the fact that his hand was practically twice her size - she was more interested in talking about the show. “Did you enjoy it? It’s amazing so far.”

“Uh, yeah...it was...good.” Garrett was at a loss for words. Had she not noticed what had happened to him? They walked into the restaurant part of the theater, and Katherine lead Garrett over to a corner seat where the rest of his family was waiting. He could maybe Katherine’s ignorance down to being something of an airhead, but surely they’d have to notice...but no, as they came over, all that happened was his family smiling like nothing was wrong.

“Garrett!” his mom said excitedly. “You enjoying your special seat? The show’s been so good so far!” Garrett looked down at his family, quiet for a moment, expecting someone to say something. Barry must have at least some comment about his changed body, but they just sat, expectantly awaiting his answer.

“Uh...it’s...good.” He said slowly.

“Well, come on, pull up a seat”, his dad said. “Though I dunno if you’ll fit on the bench with us!”, he said, laughing at his own joke. The others giggled along. Was that a comment about his growth? But...he was saying it like it was just something normal. Like he hadn’t been about a foot shorter the last time they’d seen him. Garrett looked behind him, and grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table, pulling it over and sitting at the table. He felt awkward.

“So, good is all you have to say?” Katherine asked. “Come on, you gotta have something more than that, Garrert.”

“We...I mean, I guess...what did you just say?” Garrett responded. He felt his shirt shift a little underneath his hoodie, but he paid it little mind.

Katherine looked at him, a little bemused. “Uhh...I said your name?”

“Yeah, but...you said it weird.”

“Uh...Garrert. Seems about right to me. Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, Garrert”, Barry followed up, “You seem kinda off. Everything alright?”

“I…” Garrett was a loss. Was some sort of joke being played on him? He didn’t know whether to push the issue or not. For the moment, he decided against it, because he was realizing he did have a bit more to say about the show than just ‘good’.

“No, uh, I’m fine. But, yeah, the...the show. Yeah, I didn’t think I’d like it, but uh...I mean. You, you know how I am, right?” Garrett said. “Not a big fan of all that...poppy stuff.”

“Are you kidding me, Garrert?” Katherine said, skeptically. “You don’t have to pretend around us, you know that.”

“What?” Garrert replied. He nervously fiddled with his jeans absentmindedly - jeans that were starting to become darker as he did so.

“We all know you love this kind of thing.” Barry smirked.

“Wha...what are you talking about?”

“Are you sure you’re okay, honey?” his mum asked. “Did you forget? It was your idea to bring us here.”

Garrert’s head felt fuzzy, and he put a thickened hand to his temple. “No...I...hate this kind of thing, why would I…” Did he hate this? He’d enjoyed the show, but...he could’ve sworn he couldn’t stand show tunes or anything like that. He liked harder stuff, like...like...like what? He’d listened to metal bands, hadn’t he? But he couldn’t remember any of their names, or any of their songs. He stood up, feeling a little like he was about faint. “I...I think I need to go to the bathroom for a minute.” he said.

“You want me to come with, Garpert?” his dad said. “You’re lookin’ kinda pale there.”

Garrert leant on the chair for support. “No, I...what?”

“Huh?”

“You said my name wrong.”

“Garpert, I would be the last person to say your name wrong. I should come with you.” he stood up to help him.

Garrert pushed himself away from the table, stumbling a bit. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be fine, Steven. Just need a moment to myself.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Go...go enjoy the show, it’ll be starting up in a minute again.” His voice sounded croaky. He tried to clear his throat again.

“Well...if you’re sure.” his dad said, and looked back at his mum. She looked up at him, a look of concern on her face.

“Let us know if it’s something serious, Garpert.” she said.

“It’ll be fine.” Garrert said, stumbling away. He looked around the restaurant - there was a bathroom in here too, closer than the one in the lobby. He made his way inside. his head spinning, and made it into the men’s room.

The room was sparkling clean, as it should be. Garpert made his way over to a sink, and started running the cold water. He splashed some on his face, and looked up in the mirror.

“...oh my.” he croaked out.

His perspective, being unable, unwilling to properly take a look at himself in the booth had meant he hadn’t really taken in how much he’d changed. He really looked like some kind of bodybuilder. Or, kind of did. His arms were big and pumped, up and so was his chest and his neck, and his torso a bit too, but it was like he was...half done. He was undeniably bigger in almost every part of his body, but it was like his lower half hadn’t quite caught up to his top half just yet.

And for another thing, his clothes looked different. Not...hugely, but he could’ve sworn this hoodie was more of a light grey when he’d put it on this morning. It was darker, slate grey colour now, and it looked kind of comical as it struggled to stay on him. His jeans were darker too - they’d been a light blue earlier, now they were a deeper darker blue, and...had he put on a belt this morning? He didn’t remember doing so, but there was one there - a black leather belt, that looked kind of out of place on the jeans.

He felt like there was something in his throat, and he coughed again - and it turned into a coughing fit. An almost violent hacking noise came out of his throat, as his neck muscles thickened further with each cough, until finally it came to a stop. He rubbed his neck, shocked by how bad that fit had been.

“Shit...what the bloody hell is happening to me?” he asked his reflection. It didn’t cross his mind that his voice had changed. It had gotten deeper, and had lost the low vowels associated with his home in Massachusetts. It was clearer, plummier, hewing closing to Britain than Boston. But Garpert had different problems on his mind, as he thought over the conversation he’d just had with his family - in particular, the end, when he’d been telling his father he’d be okay.

He’d said Steven. He’d called his father by his first name. He’d never done that before, but it had just slipped out as naturally as he might call Katherine or Barry by their names. Steven hadn’t seemed to have a problem with it...but...why would he? Why was Garpert worrying about this kind of thing?

He looked down at his wrist, where his hoodie had split open around the sleeve, but nothing was there. He raised an eyebrow. It felt like something should be there. He rubbed his wrist, and dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone, not noticing that the screen had fixed itself while in his pocket. He checked the time.

“Oh, shit, the second act!” he cried. He was running late. He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and checked himself in the mirror, and pulled his hair back, trying to smooth it down. Streaks of grey followed behind where he touched his hair with his fingers, the brown colour draining from it completely, while the longer strands of hair fell off his head, although this didn’t seem to concern him a whole lot. He gave himself a little grin, and headed out of the bathroom.

Rushing quickly through the restaurant, he noticed that the Parsons had already left. It must be starting up again. He picked up the pace. He didn’t want to miss the rest of this show.

Act II

Edna and Wilbur were singing their duet as Garpert came back into the theater, settling back into his balcony seat. He didn’t know why, but he felt this strange sense of...release, or relief, or something. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he felt like he’d been...stressed. Very stressed, or upset about something, but now he wasn’t. All he could think that was bothering him was that he’d missed the first scene, but it wasn’t like it was a big problem. He only had himself to blame for that - been too busy making sure he looked good.

He couldn’t seem to stop messing with his hair though, even though he wasn’t looking in a mirror any more. He wished he’d brought a comb of some sort, but his fingers would have to do, rough as they were. With every brush of his hands, his hair was losing its colour, and getting shorter. Some of the longer clumps of hair were simply falling off his head, rolling off his shoulders and falling to the floor by the chair, while other parts actually receded into his scalp. It was like he was giving himself a haircut with only his hands, but with the added change of his hair turning grey as he did so.

“Oh, come on, Garpert” he chastised himself quietly, stopping himself from adjusting his hair any further. “You look fine.” He set his hands down in his lap, determined to just enjoy the show as they moved onto the next scene, with Link coming to see Tracy in jail. He smiled warmly to himself as the pair began a duet, and the smile spread throughout his face - crow’s feet formed around his eyes, the corners of his mouth pushed into dimples as his cheeks filled out a little bit.

His clothes weren’t quite done changing, either. For the past half an hour or so, the shirt he wore underneath his hoodie had clung tightly to his chest, struggling to hold in his pecs, the collar having been ripped open already, but it was finally adjusting to suit Garpert’s changed needs. The fabric was losing some of its softness, as the cotton converted to polyester. The formerly ripped fabric was fixing itself, the torn edges folding back and becoming straight as little buttons bloomed out on the right side. The shirt continued to split down the middle, going all the way to the bottom, but buttons appeared out of nowhere to hold it together. Feeling constrained, he reached up and undid another button, exposing his pecs just a little bit more. He felt his cock harden in his jeans a little more at the thought of it. God, he really was the most, wasn’t he?

Meanwhile, the collar of the shirt was coming back up, reaching up around his neck, before it folded over into a formal collar, for a tie or bowtie. His hoodie wasn’t far behind in its own adjustments either. The grey colour continued to darken, becoming a solid black, while the zip continued its journey of rolling down by itself, before finally, the hoodie came apart. Now it was growing to fit him, his torn sleeves fixing themselves as the material became thinner. He felt a familiar weight, as a silver watch with a gold stripe down the middle of the band appeared on his right wrist. Meanwhile, a gold ring appeared on the ring finger of his left hand.

The teeth of the zip sunk into the hoodie, disappearing, and to replace them, two shiny black buttons appeared in their stead, on the lower part of the hoodie. The upper part, however, was folding over on itself, becoming the lapels of a suit jacket. The hood part of the hoodie shrunk away, getting tighter around Garpert’s neck, melding with the lapels to become the collar, and within moments, it was like he’d never been wearing a hoodie in the first place. It was, and always had been, a tailored suit jacket. It wasn’t quite tailored to fit him, being slightly too large, but there was no need to worry about that, since he was going to be fitting into it shortly.

As his shirt and jacket finished forming, his abs finally began to catch up to the rest of his body. The little bit of puppy fat he had before was sticking around, although he was starting to gain some serious muscle under there, a good 20 years worth of crunches and stretches making for some hardened abdominal muscles. But the fat was gaining a bit too - not too much, but it was beginning to look like he hadn’t been quite as strict about whatever exercising regime as he should have been to get those abs. His stomach was pushing out into a ball gut to compliment his pecs. A rock hard gut, one with muscle behind it, certainly, but he could doing a bit more to be trim.

Garpert ran a hand over his gut, and smiled a little to himself once more. It may not be strictly good for him, but he did quite like how it looked on him in the mirror. Plus, there was a certain appeal in the contrast. He scratched his head, a few more hairs receding and turning grey, as his hairstyle became a buzzcut, a far-cry from the shoulder length, uncombed hair he’d had before. Wait a minute. What did he mean by contrast?

The thought of contrast had come to him automatically, but now he actually considered it, he wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Contrast with what? With whom? His head buzzed again, and he began to feel dizzy like he did in the restaurant. He felt like he was forgetting something, something very important. Contrast...contrast…shit, maybe he should have let Steven help him. He clearly wasn’t well. Today of all days, after all the effort they’d gone to to get them seats, and now he was...what?

What was happening? He hadn’t...put anything into this process, had he? He was pretty sure he couldn’t have cared less about this whole thing, but now...now there was this distinct memory of looking at a computer screen, selecting seats in the theater. Special seats, for Steven Parsons, and his wife, Amelia, and their kids as well. Katherine, Barry, and...oh, fuck. Didn’t they have another kid? They must have, because he remembered...he remembered there weren’t enough seats when they got here. Amelia had gotten into a tizz about it. He wouldn’t forget that kind of thing, she always had a habit of making a scene, that was why they’d...they’d what?

As Garpert had a silent mental breakdown, his body was building up, the changes not slowed as the show went on. His spine made a few more pops, getting him a few inches higher, and that height was increased as his gluteal muscles started to swell, and his hips widened, better suited to supporting his rotund belly. His butt had been nothing to write home about before, but now it was becoming rounder, more like a proper booty. Garpert rested his buzzing head in his right hand, as he reached down with his left, feeling his growing buttocks. It was like with his pecs again, as after a couple of strokes, he felt himself getting harder once more. But that wasn’t all it was doing. As his cock strained against his pants - pants that were converting from denim to polyester, turning black - it was, impossibly growing in length. It had been below average before, something of a private point of perturbation for him, but now it was snaking down his left pant leg, reaching down along his thighs. Garpert got the feeling his body was telling him he needed something, and he was finding it hard to deny.

He thought about the embarrassment if anyone were to catch him doing something so crude...and it only seemed to make things worse, as his legs thickened with muscle, beginning to ache, like he’d been running a marathon. God, he shouldn’t, it would only confirm Jeremiah’s jokes about being obsessed with himself. But his head was hurting so bad, and for some reason, he had this inescapable feeling, that all he needed was to indulge this base pleasure, and things would be okay. It wasn’t like anyone could see him. All he had to do was keep a straight face.

He felt a little bad about doing this during “I Know Where I’ve Been”, Motormouth Maybelle’s soulful gospel-esque tune - it was one of the replacement actresses tonight, and she had a powerful voice - but Garpert needed this. Besides, no-one had to know. He reached down to his fly, the gold metal button changing to a black plastic one as he undid it, and pulled down the zip. Fishing into his white briefs (hadn’t he put on boxers today?), he pulled out the lengthy shaft, enjoying the feeling of his foreskin. It was bizarre, it felt like a completely new sensation, but he didn’t know why that would be. They didn’t do circumcisions in England unless you were Jewish, so why would he think he was...oh for god’s sake, his head was already buzzing enough without him getting confused over his own cock. Just indulge.

He started slow, leaning back in his chair, slowly pumping with his right as he raised his left up, as far as he could manage without it being immediately obvious what he was doing, and rubbed his thumb over the part of his jacket under which his nipple rested.

“Oh my”, he breathed out huskily. It was electric, the feeling it gave him, and he felt his cock twitch a little as it grew a little bit longer, even as it was clasped in his paw of a hand. The physical impossibility of everything that had happened to him and was still happening to him did not seem to concern Garpert a whole lot. Instead, he reached back down, and pulled his testicles free from his briefs, letting them feel the air. He smiled to himself as he felt their size - big as oranges, Jeremiah had said before, although Garpert thought that was a bit of an over-estimation.

And despite it making no real medical sense at all, it seemed like Garpert’s intuition about getting himself off relieving his stress was coming true. His head was starting to ache less, but maybe that was because it was reforming. His soft jaw was hardening, becoming larger, the bones pushing out as it became firmly square set, a much more masculine jawline than he’d ever had before. His skin was wrinkling, becoming older, a bit tougher, as the tone of his pale skin began to darken, becoming fuller, turning to a sunkissed bronze, the kind of tan you only got if you spent a couple of weeks in the Canary Islands. That had been an amazing holiday. The first he’d taken with Jerry.

He moaned quietly, audible only to himself - a repressed childhood meant that Garpert had perfected the art of silent masturbation, and even when he was in the throes of something more passionate, he was never particularly loud. He brought his free hand up to the left side of his face, and stroked his fingers along his chin - and as he did, little grey hairs sprung out of his jawline, forming a tight, well groomed beard. He split his fingers up, one running over his upper lip, and the hairs followed behind, creating a goatee to compliment the beard that flowed up the right side of his chin. He brought his hand back down, running it over his chest once more, down his open shirt, popping another button open. Like with his chin, where his hand had touched, a furry carpet of silver hairs was spreading across his chest now, as his pecs pumped out just a little bit more.

Everything about Garpert’s face was becoming more and more masculine, his brow furrowing, his nose becoming longer, and a little bit bigger on his face. He blinked a couple of times, and his brown eyes were suddenly pear green, the thing that Jerry had said had attracted him in the first place. He was pumping faster now, making little noises to himself. He knew in a couple of seconds it would be over. He kind of wanted to draw it out a bit more, but he couldn’t just jerk off for the rest of the show. He could feel it coming up, his balls churned, his cock tensed up--

As quick as he could, Gupert brought his free hand down and covered his pulsing cock with both hands, as he involuntarily let out quite a loud moan; not loud enough to be heard over the music, but certainly loud for him. It felt like he hadn’t done this in ages - he could feel cum hitting the palms of his hands, but it just kept going, some of it squeezing between his fingers and hitting the floor. He was too caught up in the lust to be worried about it, but it felt like the longest, most pleasurable orgasm he’d ever had in his life. His eyes rolled backwards as more ropes of cum spurted between his fingers, his hands almost completely coated in the stuff. Unable to hold it in, he opened up his hands, his right lazily stroking his pulsing shaft, as a couple of other shots of pearly white cum shot up into the air, before falling back and landing on his suit and shirt. After another couple of seconds, Gupert was left with his cock dribbling cum onto the floor, and himself leaned back in the chair, breathing heavily.

The buzzing was gone, and Gupert was coming back to his senses...and realizing what exactly it was he’d just done.

“Oh...bollocks.” he said to himself. Why had he done that? Now he was going to have to clean this up. If Jerry came up now he’d never hear the end of it. He raised his right hand. He wanted to get the packet of mini tissues he kept in his left breast pocket, to clean himself up, but his hand was soaked - he’d just get even more on his suit than there already was...there was only one course of action he could think of at the moment. He brought his hand close to his face, and began licking the cum off. It was crude, as was most of what he’d just done, but he couldn’t deny he enjoyed the taste of himself quite a bit. Jerry was right, he really was a narcissist.

It gave him time to catch up with the show at least. He’d been going at it for a bit. Amber was just getting to the end of her song about Tracy. Gupert smiled - the actress was doing an excellent job of making Amber perfectly hateable as she sang her childish song about Tracy having cooties. His hand was mostly clean now, and he reached into his pocket to grab the little packet of mini-tissues, already opened, like he’d used a few. He pulled some out, and began wiping himself down - first his left hand, then his genitals, and then his suit. He was going through quite a few tissues cleaning it all up. He looked down at the floor - yep, some down there too. He was glad he’d covered himself up at first, he might have ended up shooting over the balcony. He shuffled off the chair, using a couple of tissues to clean up what lay on the floor, before bunching the tissues. The balcony thankfully had a little bin installed - Gupert had requested it - so he dumped the whole thing in there, before settling back into his chair.

Ah, at least he was in time for the finale. It was the best part of the show. Tracy was coming in, interrupting Amber’s set.

“Right on schedule!” Corny yelled, showboating perfectly. “I mean, uh, I know nothing about this complex plan. Ladies and gentleman, I give you the never to be counted out Tracy Turnblad!”

The music struck up, and Gupert was already tapping his feet, smiling again as he got back into the show. There were so many good songs in this musical, but for Gupert’s money, “You Can’t Stop the Beat” was the undoubtable champion of them all. As he tapped his feet to the beat of the music, and it swelled as the musical headed towards its climax, the converse trainers on his feet were finally changing to match the suit that adorned his muscular body. His feet were growing in them, becoming longer and wider, and the trainers were increasing in size to match. The light blue colour deepened as the long white laces began to wind back into themselves, shrinking both in length and width. They darkened too, becoming pure black, like his shoes were, the material hardening, becoming more rigid. The tongue of the shoe was receding as well, becoming shorter as it slid under where the laces bound the shoe up. The cuffs lowered, and the socks covering his became a more comfortable black cotton. Little dots marked the seams of the shoes, building into a floral-esque pattern. The trainers were long gone, leaving a pair of formal dress shoes in their place

The audience was clapping to the music now, and so was Rupert, doing a little dance in his seat as he sang along to the music - “‘Cause you can’t stop the motion of the ocean or the sun in the sky, you can wonder if you wanna but I never ask why” the words came to him naturally, like he’d known them all his life. Well, no, about a decade and a half of his life, really, the musical had only been made in 2002, but that hardly mattered - the music was moving through him, and he sang with his heart.

“‘Cause the world keeps spinnin’ round and round

And my heart’s keeping time to the speed of sound”

Rupert heard the door open behind him, but he didn’t care if anyone was watching. Now the Von Tussles were finally getting in on the dancing, as the rest of the cast convinced them, and the final chorus began.

“‘Cause you can’t stop the motion of the ocean, or the rain from above

They can try to stop the paradise we’re dreaming of

But they cannot stop the rhythm of two hearts in love to staaaayyy

‘Cause you can’t stop the beat!”

The song finished with a bang, and the audience burst into applause as the curtain fell, Rupert along with them.

“Enjoying yourself, hun?” a smooth, deep voice said from behind him, a voice he knew well, as someone else’s hand reached down over his shoulder and touched one of his pecs.

Rupert looked up to see the warm face of Jeremiah looking down at him, as the curtain came back up and the cast bowed to the audience. “Jerry! Where’ve you been?” he asked. “You missed the whole thing!”

“I had some things to take care of. Boring manager stuff.” Jeremiah said. “Besides, we’ve seen Hairspray a thousand times before, Rupert.”

“That doesn’t make it any less good.” Rupert said.

“True.” Jerry admitted. “That stuff's done with anyway. I’m pretty much free now.”

“Good, because I want you to come to dinner with the Parsons.” Rupert said. He stood up, his eyes coming up to Jerry’s neck. Rupert was tall, but Jerry was always taller - they made quite a pair anyway. This was the contrast he was talking about - Jerry had always kept strictly to his regular gym visits, pumping the iron daily, while Rupert had let himself swell a little, but neither of them minded too much. They looked cute together as far as they were concerned.

“I know, I know.” Jerry replied. “I’ve sorted everything out with the restaurant staff - that was the manager stuff if you really wanted to know.”

“I didn’t, but thanks anyway.” Rupert replied, and stood on his tip toes a little to give Jerry a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to--” he was cut off from explaining whatever he was going to do by Jerry wrapping a muscular arm around Rupert’s back, taking the back of Rupert’s head in his other hand, and giving him a full kiss on the lips, the tongue poking through. Rupert was surprised at first, but gave into it, letting their tongues dance together, sliding over each other as they enjoyed it. There was a small feeling in the back of Rupert’s head - a feeling like he’d never done this before, or hadn’t done it in a while, or...what was he talking about? They did this every day. It was hardly new. They slowly pulled away, and Rupert let himself rest a little in Jerry’s arms. “What was that for?” he asked.

“Just felt like letting my husband know I loved him.” Jerry smiled. “Him and his sexy voice.”

“Are you still banging that drum? Whatever. He loves you too.” Rupert smiled back, and gave him another peck on the cheek. “I’m going to go meet up with the Parsons. Meet us in the restaurant?”

Jerry uncoiled his arms, letting Rupert go free. “Sure hun. See you in a minute.” He turned, as Rupert walked past him, leaving the little balcony seat. Left alone, he walked over to the edge of the balcony, and looked down at the audience, spotting the American family he’d barely known a couple of hours ago leaving their seats, talking with each other excitedly. He smiled to himself. The whole thing had turned out better than he’d expected.

Epilogue

“Oh Jerry, it’s hardly a new thing.” Steven was saying. “Even back when we was working over in Boston, Rupert couldn’t stop lookin’ at himself.”

“I did always say Culture Beat was talking about me when they wrote Mr. Vain.” Rupert said, and the table laughed good-naturedly - he’d made the joke a hundred times before, but they were all old friends by this point. Repeating a joke, a story or two, was forgivable.

“So”, Katherine said, as the group stopped laughing. “What’s up after Hairspray?” she asked.

“Oh, well, we’ll be doing Hairspray for a couple more weeks”, Rupert began, “then Kinky Boots next. We haven’t quite decided on what’ll be after that, I do need to talk to the directors about it. I’ve heard whispers that they want to do something original next, which is an exciting prospect, but that’s...ooh, that’s a long time off if it’s true.”

“We’ll be wanting to take a holiday of our own before that.” Jerry added. “We’ve all been working hard.” The Parsons nodded along with the sentiment, agreeing. As Amelia began launching into a list of places she’d like to go visit, Jerry sat back, watching Rupert smile and nod along as he listened.

It had been an unexpected outcome, to say the least. He’d only done this kind of thing twice before, and both times, those involved had gone on to lead very separate lives, so when he’d seen his own surname appear on the door, it had been a shock. He didn’t know what it was that had decided he should have a husband, but now he had one, and he found he couldn’t be happier. Perhaps he should feel some guilt - he’d essentially stolen a son from their family, but they seemed so much happier for it. He had been able to tell from the moment he saw them that the  young man from before had been something of a stain on their lives - rude, hateful, and a disappointment all around. They had been making a desperate, last ditch attempt to connect to the boy, and Jerry had wanted to help, in his own way. He just hadn’t expected it to help in quite the way it had, but he found that he didn’t mind. He knew that was part of the trick, but he didn’t care.

And Rupert, for his part, seemed so much happier too. Gone was the uncouth, American boy, and in his place was a polite, older but still handsome man, as English as English could be. It was a gain, for everyone. A great friend, a loving husband, a good man, loved by many. It was funny, really. All you needed to do was learn to appreciate the finer things in life, and the world seemed so much brighter.