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[theshift]

The Breakout

Before everything fell apart, Marcus had a life that he was proud of. He wasn’t some thug or low-life; he had his routines, his ambitions. Boxing was his escape, the one place where he felt in control. He spent hours in the gym, the sound of fists hitting heavy bags and the smell of sweat filling the air as he trained. There was something about the discipline, the focus, the rhythm of a good fight that made the chaos of the outside world fade away. He wasn’t a pro, but he was good—damn good—and he was starting to get noticed. On weekends, he’d run along the river, feeling the early morning breeze, imagining his next match. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was his, and he had a future lined up. That was before it all got ripped away—before he was framed for a crime he didn’t commit. Now, that life seemed like a distant dream, one he’d never wake up to again. The real world, the one he’d worked so hard for, felt like it had vanished forever.

Marcus had been in prison for two long months. His life had been ripped away, and now he was just another inmate waiting for judgment in a system that didn’t care.

But even worse than being locked up was dealing with Officer Nathan, the patrol officer who took sick pleasure in making Marcus’s life miserable. Nathan was cruel. Every day he found a new way to degrade Marcus. Whether it was spilling his food on the ground or shouting insults that cut deeper than the metal bars around him, Nathan loved to remind Marcus who was in control.

Today had been no different. As Marcus sat on his cot, his mind still reeling from the news of his sentencing—fifteen years—Nathan showed up at his cell with that same smirk.

“Well, well, look at you. Fifteen years, huh? Guess you’re gonna rot here for a while,” Nathan sneered, leaning against the bars. “Bet you thought you’d get off easy. But nobody cares about some low-life scum like you.”

Marcus clenched his fists, staring at the floor. He couldn’t believe it. Fifteen years for something he didn’t do. His whole life—gone. He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore Nathan’s voice.

“You know what the best part is?” Nathan continued, his voice dripping with cruelty. “You’ll be here, getting old and wasting away, while I’m out there. Free. Living my life. Makes you wonder why you even bother fighting, doesn’t it?”

Marcus’s body tensed. “I didn’t do it.”

Nathan barked out a laugh. “Sure, that’s what they all say. Keep telling yourself that, Marcus. Doesn’t change a damn thing.” He tapped the bars with his baton, a sharp clink ringing out. “You belong here. And I’m going to make sure every day feels like hell for you. Count on it.”

Marcus couldn’t take it anymore. The injustice, the humiliation—it all boiled inside him. He couldn’t live like this, not for fifteen years. His hands shook, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his heart pounded in his chest.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You look like you’re about to cry. Go ahead,” Nathan jeered. “Cry like the pathetic loser you are.”

Something snapped inside Marcus.

“You think you’re untouchable,” Marcus muttered, his voice low, trembling with rage.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Marcus slowly lifted his head, eyes burning with something darker, something Nathan had never seen before. “You think you’re better than me because you’re on that side of the bars? Because you can do whatever you want to people like me?”

Nathan chuckled, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes now. “Yeah, I do. What are you gonna do about it?”

Marcus’s lips twisted into a cold smile as he stood up, his body humming with a power he had always kept hidden, a power he had refused to use until now. His gaze locked onto Nathan, and the room seemed to thrum with a strange energy.

Nathan stepped back from the bars, suddenly on edge. “What’s your deal, man? Sit down before you do something stupid.”

But Marcus didn’t stop. His eyes were like burning coals, and a strange pressure filled the air around them. He closed his eyes, focusing inward, feeling the dark energy swirling within him like a storm, ready to be unleashed.

He had never wanted to use his gift, but this was different. This was survival.

Marcus's body felt weightless as he reached out mentally, a strange, ethereal sensation that began to rise from the depths of his chest. The connection to Nathan was immediate—a tether of energy, dark and tangible, latching onto him like invisible chains. Marcus’s mind surged toward Nathan, slipping through the cracks of his consciousness, feeling his presence as if it were a physical thing.

The shift was sudden, a jarring sensation that sent Nathan stumbling backward. His hands shot up to his head, as if he could physically block Marcus’s intrusion, but it was already too late. Marcus could feel Nathan’s mind now—panicked, scattered, full of raw terror.

“No—what are you doing?” Nathan’s voice was sharp, trembling with fear.

Marcus’s smile widened. His consciousness flooded Nathan’s mind like dark water, consuming him, pushing past every mental wall the officer tried to erect. It was a slow process, deliberate, like sinking into quicksand, inch by inch, until Nathan’s screams became muffled in the back of his own mind.

Nathan staggered back against the wall, his body twitching as Marcus took over. From the outside, it looked like Nathan was having some kind of seizure, his face contorting in shock as his limbs jerked, resisting the possession. But Marcus was relentless. He pushed deeper, feeling his own awareness settle into Nathan’s body as though slipping on a perfectly tailored suit.

Nathan's mind screamed, trapped now as a mere voice, a presence that Marcus could feel but had full control over. “Stop! Get out! You can’t do this!”

Marcus ignored him. He flexed Nathan’s fingers, feeling the strength of his new form. The once-familiar prison walls looked different through Nathan’s eyes—sharper, crisper. Marcus rolled his shoulders, testing the muscles that now responded to his command.

Inside, Nathan’s terror grew. “What are you—get out of my body!”

Marcus’s laugh, low and cruel, rumbled through Nathan’s throat. “Oh, Nathan… you’re not in charge anymore.”

With one final surge of effort, Marcus forced Nathan’s consciousness into the back of his mind, shoving him deep into a corner, trapping him in the prison of Marcus’s old body. Nathan was now locked away, his pleas for help falling on deaf ears as Marcus stood tall in his stolen skin.

Nathan, now trapped in Marcus’s body, staggered forward, horrified at the sight of his own hands—Marcus’s hands—reaching out toward him, mocking him. He tried to scream, but Marcus simply sneered. “Enjoy being on the other side of those bars. I’ll make sure to give you the same treatment you gave me.”

Marcus felt the real Nathan's panic, buried deep inside his old body, helpless and confused, as the guards dragged him away. “No! You don’t understand—I’m not Marcus! I’m Nathan! Please!”

But no one listened. To everyone else, it was just Marcus losing his mind.

Meanwhile, Marcus—now fully in control of Nathan’s body—strolled through the prison halls, relishing the newfound power. Nathan’s voice screamed in the back of his head, but Marcus simply tuned him out, reveling in the freedom and control he had never felt before.

“You’ve had your fun, Nathan,” Marcus muttered under his breath, his voice sounding strange but powerful. “Now it’s my turn.”

Nathan was trapped inside Marcus’s body, powerless, screaming silently as Marcus turned and walked down the hallway in his new form. The other guards greeted him with nods of respect, completely unaware of the switch.

As Marcus settled into Nathan's body, something unexpected surfaced from the officer's memories—Nathan was secretly into men. Hidden beneath his tough exterior and cruel demeanor was a desire he had never dared to act on, a truth he kept buried deep, afraid of what it would mean for his image as the hardened officer. And to Marcus's surprise, Nathan had even found him attractive, though he would have never admitted it. The irony was delicious.

Now, with full control of Nathan's body, Marcus realized he could have the life Nathan was too scared to embrace. He wasted no time. With Nathan’s face, his fit build, and authority, Marcus quickly began to attract attention, something Nathan had always fantasized about but never had the nerve to act on. Marcus, on the other hand, had no qualms about indulging in what Nathan had suppressed. Within days, he had hooked up with men who were drawn to his new appearance—something Nathan had always dreamed of but never had the courage to pursue. It wasn’t just about the power; it was about taking Nathan’s secret desires and living them out in ways Nathan never could.

More days passed, and Marcus, now in Nathan’s body, relished every moment of his new life. He took over Nathan’s duties, tormenting the real Nathan—trapped inside Marcus’s old body. Every time Marcus walked by, he could see the fear in his own face, the panic in Nathan’s eyes as he tried to tell the guards what had happened.

“Nobody’s listening, Nathan,” Marcus whispered one day as he passed by the cell. “They think you’ve lost it. Crazy, isn’t it?”

Nathan, trapped and powerless, screamed, banging on the bars of the cell. “Stop this! Please! I’m not Marcus! I’m not him!”

But no one believed him. To the other guards, he was just another inmate losing his mind.

Marcus continued his life as Nathan, basking in the power that came with it. He spent a week tormenting the real Nathan, letting the other guards treat him the same way Nathan had treated Marcus. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and he loved every second of it.

One day, Marcus stood in front of a mirror in Nathan’s office, staring at the reflection of Nathan’s face. A thought struck him.

“Why waste this? Why stay here as some low-life prison officer?” he murmured to himself. He grinned, running a hand over Nathan’s strong jawline. “I could do so much more.”

The next morning, Marcus handed in Nathan’s resignation. He was done with this place, with this pathetic life. He had bigger plans. He left the prison behind without a second glance, the real Nathan screaming in his own body, now doomed to serve the sentence Marcus was supposed to endure.

And Marcus? He moved to the city, reinvented himself as a model. Nathan’s looks, once wasted on cruelty, now served Marcus well. The spotlight loved him, and he embraced his new life, his new identity.

As Marcus rose to fame, Nathan remained locked in a cell, forgotten, living the nightmare he had once created for others.

And Marcus? He was finally free.

[theshift]

The Lawyer

Jordan exhaled as he packed the last of his belongings into the thin cardboard box that had been sitting on the floor of his cubicle all summer. Internships were supposed to be stepping stones toward the future, glimpses of the career you were about to embrace, but this one had turned into something far less promising. Not because the work was bad. The tasks themselves were what he expected—briefs, filings, the occasional research rabbit hole. No, it wasn’t the work.

It was Angelo.

Jordan glanced toward the office down the hall, the one with the door half-open. Inside, Angelo’s portrait hung on the wall, larger than life, showcasing the full extent of his obnoxiousness. The picture was a glossy, oversized headshot of Angelo in a suit. Eyes narrowed in a “I know better than you” expression—it was hard to imagine anyone liking the guy. But they didn’t have to imagine. They all knew.

Jordan knew it the moment he arrived at the firm for the internship. Angelo was the first to “welcome” him in his own special way.

“Coffee’s on the second floor. Better get used to making a lot of trips down there if you plan on staying,” Angelo had said without even looking up from his desk, flicking his fingers toward the door like Jordan wasn’t even there. After that, it had been a never-ending stream of condescending remarks, impossible-to-please assignments, and public humiliation. Once, during a meeting, Jordan had dared to offer a suggestion about how to streamline a client’s case documentation. Angelo had cut him off mid-sentence with a sharp laugh.

“Leave the legal advice to those of us who actually passed the bar, kid,” he’d sneered.

The rest of the room had laughed along awkwardly, but Jordan felt every word sting.

Now the summer was over, and he could almost taste the freedom of law school ahead. Almost. First, there was the matter of the conference.

Jordan’s last official task as an intern was to attend the firm’s annual legal conference with none other than Angelo himself. Three days in a plush hotel, surrounded by some of the biggest legal minds in the state, and Angelo was going to make sure it was unbearable. But this time, Jordan had a plan.

--

The conference hotel was grand, the kind of place where you could lose yourself in the luxury and forget about everything else—at least, if you weren’t sharing the experience with Angelo.

From the moment they arrived, Angelo took center stage. He boasted about his cases at the networking events, hogged the attention at panels, and made crude jokes to anyone who got close enough to hear them. By the time the second day rolled around, Jordan was already at his limit. He had a single goal in mind for the evening: put his powers to use.

That night, they were at the hotel bar, Angelo already half a bottle of whiskey in, his voice booming as he told some exaggerated story about how he had “single-handedly” saved a client from bankruptcy. Jordan smiled thinly from the stool beside him, sipping his beer, eyes flicking toward Angelo’s glass as the liquid swirled inside.

Jordan had a secret, something Angelo had no clue about. He had powers, powers he hadn’t revealed to anyone at the firm. With just a little focus, he could turn people into skin suits—empty shells of their former selves, which he could wear and control like a costume. Jordan rarely used this ability, but for Angelo, he was willing to make an exception.

Angelo drained his glass and slammed it on the bar, his face flushed with booze. “Alright, time for another round! You ready, kid?”

Jordan glanced at him. “I think you’ve had enough, Angelo. You don’t look so good.”

“Pssh. You’re just jealous I can hold my liquor. Gotta be a real man to do that.” Angelo stood, swaying slightly, but immediately waved off any offer of help.

“You sure about that?” Jordan said, getting to his feet. He placed a hand on Angelo’s shoulder, just enough to steady him and activate his power. Angelo wouldn’t notice the change yet, not until it was too late.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Angelo muttered, but there was a slight wobble in his voice. “Let’s get back to the room. I need to lay down for a minute.”

Jordan suppressed a grin. “Sure. Let’s get you back.”

--

Once inside the hotel room, Angelo collapsed onto the bed, groaning. “Must’ve been something I ate,” he mumbled, his face pale, eyes shut tight.

Jordan calmly shut the door, locking it behind him. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you out.”

Angelo tried to sit up, but something was happening. He couldn’t quite place it, a deep discomfort spreading through his skin. “What the hell…?”

His voice faltered as his limbs began to weaken, skin becoming loose and rubbery. Panic flickered in his eyes as he looked down at his arms. They were shrinking, collapsing inward like deflated balloons. “Jordan… what the… what’s happening to me?”

“You’ll be fine,” Jordan said, walking toward him. “Just relax. You’ve had a long summer.”

Angelo's protests turned into garbled noises as his body gave way, softening completely. Within moments, he was nothing more than an empty skin, a suit lying crumpled on the bed, a blank, lifeless replica of himself.

Jordan stood over the hollow Angelo and smiled. He picked up the suit, feeling the weightless form in his hands. The arrogance, the cruelty, all of it was gone. Now, Angelo was nothing but a tool. A new skin for Jordan to wear.

He slipped into the suit effortlessly, feeling the rush of taking on Angelo’s form. His body molded into the lawyer’s, the familiar muscles and sharp jawline of Angelo’s face now his own. He walked to the mirror, admiring Angelo’s physique, enjoying the reflection.

“This summer’s gonna be fun.”

Jordan sat on the bed, pulling out his phone and opening the dating app he hadn’t touched since the start of the summer. It was something Angelo would use, wasn’t it? A guy like him had no shortage of charm or people interested in the well-polished lawyer with a lifestyle to match. Jordan’s thumb hovered over the screen, the pictures and profiles passing by quickly until one caught his eye.

Max. Fit, stylish, and close by. The bio was simple: “Looking for a good time. Let’s make it memorable.” Jordan, still in Angelo’s skin, smirked. Perfect.

He swiped right, and almost immediately, there was a match.

Within minutes, Max had messaged him: “What are you up to tonight?”

Jordan typed back quickly, leaning into the persona of Angelo as much as possible: “Staying at the Marriott downtown. You should come over. I’ll get us some drinks.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t long before the reply came: “Sounds like a plan. Be there in 30.”

Jordan grinned, the rush of anticipation making his heart race. He walked over to the hotel minibar, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and pouring two glasses. As he stood there, looking around the room, it struck him how surreal this all was—inviting a stranger over while pretending to be someone else entirely. But he couldn’t deny the thrill of it. This was a side of Angelo he’d never seen but could easily imagine—flings, no strings attached, and the confidence to pull it all off effortlessly.

--

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Jordan took a breath, steadying himself, then opened the door.

Max stood there, just as sharp and attractive as his profile suggested. He smiled, his eyes scanning Jordan—or rather, Angelo—with interest. “You must be Angelo.”

Jordan nodded, stepping aside to let Max in. “That’s me. Glad you could make it.”

Max walked in, glancing around the room before his eyes landed on the drinks. “Nice setup. Fancy.”

Jordan handed him a glass. “Only the best.”

They clinked glasses, and as Max took a sip, Jordan couldn’t help but observe the whole situation. He’d never been this bold before, never felt this in control. Maybe it was Angelo’s skin giving him that extra edge, or maybe it was the freedom of pretending to be someone who didn’t have to care about the consequences.

The conversation flowed easily, Max leaning against the hotel couch as they talked about the city, work, and the places they’d traveled. Jordan kept up the act, channeling everything he knew about Angelo into his responses. Max seemed impressed, clearly taken by the confident, smooth version of Angelo Jordan had crafted.

But as the night went on, Jordan found himself relaxing more. It wasn’t just about pretending to be Angelo anymore. There was something liberating about being someone else, someone who wasn’t afraid to take risks.

As the evening wound down, Max glanced at his watch, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Well, this was fun. But I’ve got an early morning.”

Jordan nodded, feeling a mix of relief and satisfaction. “Yeah, it was. Thanks for coming by.”

Max gave him a knowing look, then made his way to the door, pausing for a moment before turning back. “Let’s do this again sometime.”

Jordan smiled. “Maybe.”

As the door closed behind Max, Jordan let out a long breath. He collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, still wrapped in Angelo’s skin. The whole encounter had gone perfectly—smooth, seamless, just like Angelo would have handled it.

--

Jordan spent the first few days in Angelo’s skin navigating the law firm as if nothing had changed. Nobody batted an eye, not the coworkers who usually fawned over Angelo nor the interns he ignored. Being Angelo wasn’t hard—he had practiced Angelo’s condescending swagger for weeks before he put the plan into motion.

At the firm, it was business as usual. Angelo had a high-profile case that Jordan now had full control over, and thanks to his experience as an intern, Jordan knew how to keep up appearances. The only difference? Jordan was a better Angelo than Angelo had ever been. He wasn’t cruel or dismissive. Instead, he was sharp, methodical, and, surprisingly, more likable.

While everyone marveled at Angelo’s sudden shift in attitude, Jordan took full advantage of his new-found power. He enjoyed the attention, the lavish dinners, and the status that Angelo’s reputation granted him.

But when he wasn’t at work, Jordan was spending time with Anthony.

They had met at a café the first week Jordan took on Angelo’s life. Anthony was charismatic, laid-back, and totally different from the people at the firm. The attraction between them was instant, but the real surprise for Jordan was how much he enjoyed their time together. Being with Anthony was easy—Anthony found “Angelo’s” sudden kindness refreshing and had no idea that the man sitting across from him was really Jordan in disguise.

The summer drifted by faster than Jordan anticipated. Angelo’s life had become his own, and he’d mastered the art of faking it. But as August rolled around and law school approached, Jordan knew his time in Angelo’s skin was coming to an end. He couldn’t keep living this double life forever.

On the final day of summer, Jordan stood in front of the mirror one last time, looking at Angelo’s face. The real Angelo would never know what had happened, but he would feel the consequences for months, maybe even years. Jordan pulled at the collar of Angelo’s suit, his heart racing slightly.

He stood in front of the mirror, staring at Angelo’s reflection—strong jawline, neatly groomed beard, sharp eyes filled with an arrogance Jordan had learned to mimic all too well. But the time had come to shed the skin he’d worn for the summer, to let go of Angelo’s life and return to his own.

Jordan took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the smooth, taut skin of Angelo’s chest. He could feel the edges of the suit, where the fabric of another man’s existence began to peel away from his own. Slowly, carefully, he tugged at the seam beneath Angelo’s ear, the skin stretching and giving way like a second layer, still warm and lifelike.

The sensation was strange—like peeling off a tight wetsuit, but more intimate, more visceral. As he pulled the suit down over his shoulders, the air of the room hit his bare skin, cool and refreshing against the sweat that had gathered underneath. Angelo’s form, muscular and defined, slowly gave way to Jordan’s slimmer, more familiar build. The difference in weight, the change in posture—it was like shedding a burden he hadn’t realized he was carrying.

The suit continued to loosen and slide off in a fluid motion, inch by inch, as Jordan tugged it down past his chest and over his hips. The arms came free, then the legs, until Angelo’s skin finally slipped away entirely, pooling at his feet like a discarded costume. Jordan stood there, breathing heavily, his own body now exposed. Angelo’s empty skin lay crumpled on the bed, lifeless and hollow, nothing more than a shell of the man who had once worn it with pride.

For a moment, Jordan stared down at the deflated suit. It looked almost pitiful now, a far cry from the powerful figure Angelo had once been. He felt a twinge of satisfaction—he had lived in Angelo’s shoes, tasted his life, and now, he was leaving him humiliated in more ways than one.

Jordan turned back to the mirror, and for the first time in weeks, his own face stared back at him—sharp cheekbones, a mess of brown hair, and wide eyes that held a mix of relief and something else. Something conflicted.

He moved to the bed, grabbing the clothes he had worn when he first arrived at the hotel. The familiar texture of his jeans and t-shirt grounded him as he slipped into them, the fabric a little too loose compared to Angelo’s tailored suit. He buttoned his jeans, tugging his shirt into place, and ran a hand through his hair, feeling a mix of emotions settle in his chest.

Once dressed, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and opened the camera. He stood in front of the mirror, tilting his head slightly and snapping a selfie. His own eyes stared back at him, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was completely happy to see himself again.

Angelo would wake up in a few minutes, confused, with no memory of the last few months.

But Jordan would remember. And for him, that was enough.

As he packed his things and prepared to leave Angelo's home for the last time, Angelo's phone buzzed. A message from Anthony, asking when they’d meet up again.

Jordan smiled to himself. Maybe his summer wasn’t over just yet.

[theshift]

The Distance

Ethan and Damian had been together for three years, but now, with work pulling them in different directions, they found themselves living in different cities. Their daily routine had shifted to frequent texts, video calls, and, most importantly, selfies. It was their way of keeping the spark alive, seeing each other's faces and bodies in playful, intimate snapshots that reminded them of what they were missing. Ethan would send his soft, understated poses, while Damian, being bolder, would send selfies with his arms flexed or behind his head, a look of pride in his eyes.

The long distance had been tough, though. No matter how many selfies they shared, Ethan found it hard not to miss the way Damian felt in his arms, his stocky build, and that familiar, rugged scent.

One day, as Ethan came home from work, he saw a package waiting at his doorstep. It was from Damian. The note inside was brief but personal: "Hope this gift helps you remember me every time you use it."

Curiosity piqued, Ethan opened the package. Inside was something unexpected—a full-body suit. But not just any suit. As he lifted it out of the box, he realized it was Damian. The suit was designed to look exactly like Damian’s body—broad shoulders, muscular arms, and even a beard that seemed too real to be synthetic. Ethan was speechless. The texture was eerily similar to Damian’s skin, the build felt right, and even the scent lingered.

Ethan chuckled to himself, already knowing what Damian had in mind. His hands shook slightly as he pulled the suit closer, feeling the weight of it. The inner lining was smooth and cool against his skin. Slowly, he stepped into it, starting with his legs. The suit stretched over his slender thighs, bulking them up as they matched Damian's muscular shape. He worked it over his hips and torso, each part of his body now transforming into a replica of Damian's stocky, powerful form.

As Ethan slid his arms into the suit, he noticed the muscles in the suit pressing against his skin, filling out the fabric. His arms were suddenly thick and toned, just like Damian’s. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and paused. It was surreal. There, staring back at him, was the image of Damian—his broad shoulders, chest, and arms. The detail in the suit was incredible, down to the faint scars and freckles that Ethan had memorized from running his hands over Damian’s body.

Then came the final step—the mask. Ethan lifted it up, hesitating for a moment before pulling it over his head. It fit snugly, but not uncomfortably. His curly hair disappeared under the mask, replaced by Damian's shorter, thick hair. The mustache Ethan once wore was now replaced with Damian's full beard. Ethan blinked, adjusting to the feeling of the suit completely enveloping him.

He turned back to the mirror. He was Damian. From the stocky, muscular build to the confident glint in his eyes. Ethan flexed his new biceps, mirroring the pose Damian often sent in his selfies—the one where he raised his arms above his head, flexing with an exaggerated, almost douchey face. He struck another pose, this time hands on his hips, chest puffed out, just as Damian would. It was bizarre, yet oddly comforting. For the first time in months, Ethan felt like Damian was right there with him.

He grabbed his phone and started snapping selfies, imitating every pose Damian had sent him over the past few months. Flexing, smirking, even that goofy pose where he held his arms behind his head, showing off his muscular frame with a cocky smile. Ethan couldn't help but laugh, sending the photos back to Damian with a simple message: "How did I do?"

Ethan stared at the last selfie he had just taken, flexing in the exact way Damian always did. It felt bizarrely natural—like he could embody Damian perfectly now that he had the suit on. As the thought sank in, an idea crept into his mind. What if he went out for the night as Damian? He’d been feeling the distance for months, missing not just Damian’s body but his presence—the way he carried himself, the easy confidence, the way his laugh could fill a room. Maybe this was his chance to feel close to him in a way he hadn’t since they’d been apart. A solo date—as Damian. Ethan looked into the mirror again, adjusting the collar of the shirt he was now wearing over the suit. The fabric clung to Damian’s muscular build, which Ethan was now wearing like a second skin. He rolled his shoulders back, mimicking Damian’s usual swagger. Ethan knew Damian's mannerisms by heart—the way he always took long strides, head slightly tilted back, a subtle grin on his face as if he were in on a private joke the world hadn’t caught onto yet. With a smirk, Ethan grabbed Damian’s favorite jacket—a leather one that added to his tough exterior—and slipped it over his shoulders. "Alright," he muttered to himself, adjusting his voice to match Damian's deep, rumbling tone. "Let’s see what this feels like." He stepped outside, the evening air cool against the suit, but he felt warm—strangely invigorated. The town felt different from this new perspective. Ethan made his way down the street toward a small bar that he and Damian had always loved, a spot they used to frequent for casual dates. He walked with a bit of Damian’s usual swagger, head held high, hands in his pockets, exuding confidence in every step. His body moved like Damian’s now, with the natural ease and slight cockiness that came from years of being in the body of someone who knew exactly how to draw attention. He arrived at the bar, and the moment he stepped inside, he noticed the glances. He hadn’t fully expected it, but people were looking. Damian had always turned heads wherever he went, and now he was the one drawing those looks. Ethan felt a jolt of excitement—being in Damian’s skin was empowering. He slid up to the bar, leaning casually against it, and gave the bartender a nod. “What can I get you?” the bartender asked, giving him the kind of glance Damian often got—one of appreciation, or maybe even slight intimidation. “Whiskey,” Ethan said, his voice deep and gruff like Damian’s. It felt strange, but thrilling, to speak like this.

As Ethan nursed his whiskey, leaning casually against the bar like Damian always did, he felt a sense of ease wash over him. For the first time since Damian had sent the suit, he wasn’t just wearing it—he was Damian. The muscles, the swagger, the attitude... It all felt right. But then the test came, a test Ethan hadn't anticipated.

“Damian?” a voice called from behind him.

Ethan stiffened, his heart skipping a beat. Slowly, he turned around, locking eyes with a tall, athletic man wearing a friendly grin. It was Tyler, one of Damian’s old friends. Ethan’s mind raced. They had met once, briefly, but Ethan doubted Tyler would recognize him now, not with the suit on. But Tyler knew Damian—his speech patterns, his mannerisms. If Ethan wasn’t convincing enough, the jig would be up in an instant.

“Hey, man!” Tyler approached, clasping Ethan on the shoulder in a familiar way. “Haven’t seen you around in a minute. Thought you moved out of town.”

Ethan forced a smirk, pulling on Damian’s casual, confident tone. “Nah, just been busy with work. You know how it is.”

Tyler laughed. “Same old Damian. You still hitting the gym every morning, huh? Don’t know how you keep this bulk on with that schedule of yours.”

Ethan flexed his arm slightly, mimicking the way Damian always responded to compliments about his build. “Gotta keep up the routine, man,” he replied with a cocky grin, trying to mirror Damian’s playful energy.

Tyler nodded approvingly and ordered a drink. The conversation continued, but Ethan was hyper-aware of every word, every gesture. He mimicked Damian’s relaxed, yet confident posture, nodding when Tyler talked about their shared gym sessions, even throwing in some gym lingo that he remembered from Damian. Ethan felt the tension rise with every interaction, but Tyler didn’t seem to notice anything off.

“So, what’re you doing here tonight, man?” Tyler asked, taking a sip of his beer. “Thought you were more of a date-night guy when you came to this place.”

Ethan swallowed, maintaining his Damian-like composure. “Ah, you know, just thought I’d fly solo tonight. Needed a break, some time to clear my head.”

Tyler gave him a knowing look. “Right, right. Well, don’t go too long without seeing your man. You’re a lucky bastard, and you know it.”

Ethan laughed, playing along, though it was a bittersweet reminder of Damian’s absence. Tyler clinked his glass against Ethan’s and the two shared a few more laughs, but soon, Tyler’s phone buzzed.

“Gotta run,” Tyler said, giving Ethan a quick pat on the back. “Good catching up, bro. Let’s hit the gym next time you’re free.”

“Yeah, man. Sounds good,” Ethan replied, waving Tyler off.

As Tyler left the bar, Ethan exhaled a long, relieved breath. He had passed. Tyler didn’t suspect a thing. He had impersonated Damian perfectly—his voice, his mannerisms, even the subtle way he moved and spoke. For a brief moment, Ethan wasn’t just wearing Damian’s skin; he was Damian in every sense of the word. It was exhilarating, nerve-wracking, and, oddly, comforting all at once.

Ethan took a sip of his whiskey, the adrenaline still rushing through him. The thrill of having to embody Damian so perfectly left him almost giddy. As he looked around the bar one last time, he realized how easy it had been. He had seamlessly slipped into Damian’s life, impersonating him so convincingly that even Damian’s friend couldn’t tell the difference.

A grin tugged at Ethan’s lips. The suit wasn’t just a way to feel close to Damian—it was a tool, a way to become him whenever Ethan wanted. The possibilities were endless, and for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel the sting of distance between them.

He sent one final selfie to Damian that night, a stoic look on his face, striking a classic Damian pose—arms up, flexing. Along with the photo, he sent a simple message: I think I’ll be putting this suit to good use babe.

[theshift]

The Deal

It all started when I moved to a new city after college. I was lucky enough to land an entry-level job in HR, but the pay was dismal. Still, it was a fresh start—leaving my family and friends behind to carve out a new life. I knew that making friends quickly would be key to adjusting to this new chapter of my life, or I'd end up feeling pretty isolated. Fortunately, I hit it off with a coworker who invited me to play basketball at a local community group, and that's where I met Marco.

He caught my eye immediately—a man in his mid-forties, tall, fit, with a commanding presence. I played it cool, waiting for my coworker to introduce us. "Marco, meet my new friend Lukas," my coworker said. "He just moved here." Marco gave me a firm handshake, grinning. "Glad to have you, Lukas. But I’ve got one question—are you any good?"

I smirked, trying to play it cool. "Well, I guess you're about to find out."

I was humbled pretty quickly. Basketball was still new to me, and it showed. But Marco didn’t seem to care. Throughout the game, I’d catch him glancing at me, more interested in me than the game itself. As the game wrapped up, he called out smugly, "All talk for someone who didn’t even score once!" Exhausted and out of my depth, I just laughed. Afterward, Marco introduced me to his wife, Serena. They had been happily married for 21 years, since right out of college. It was a bit of a bummer finding out he was married, but I was happy to have found a group to hang out with—and Marco seemed really keen to get to know me.

Our friendship grew from there. We’d meet up sometimes for basketball practice, where he’d help me improve my skills. Eventually, our meetups turned into grabbing drinks together. Marco got me into craft beer, and as the months passed, we both started to open up. He told me about his life—how he owned a medical sales business, how well it was doing, and how he had two sons in college. He spoke glowingly of his wife, saying he knew he had met his soulmate. 

I shared my own struggles—how I was excited about starting my career, but also how tough it was financially. Marco gave me advice, encouraging me whenever I needed a boost.

One day, Serena was away on a business trip for the weekend, and Marco invited me over to watch a football game. After a couple of beers, Marco turned to me and, out of nowhere, said, "You know, Lukas, I’m kind of envious of you."

I blinked, surprised. "How come?"

He took another sip of his beer before responding. "No one knows this except you now, but... I’m bisexual. And while I’m grateful for the life I have, I’ve never had the chance to explore that side of myself. I wouldn’t ever jeopardize my marriage, but sometimes I do wish I could be with men."

I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. Marco looked at me, gauging my reaction, before continuing. "I know this may sound crazy, but I trust you, and I want to ask you a favor. Hear me out before you decide, okay?"

Curiosity piqued, I nodded. "Sure, go ahead."

"What if there was a way for me to explore this side of myself without breaking up my family? If you were me, would you take it?"

I paused, considering his words. "Yeah... I guess I would."

He seemed relieved and leaned in a bit. "Okay, this is where things get... weird. I’ve never told anyone this, but I have the ability to shapeshift. And I want to switch places with you. Just for a month."

I stared at him, my mind struggling to process what I’d just heard. He wasn’t joking—his expression was dead serious. "Wait, what? How... how do you even do that?"

Marco smiled slightly, held out his hand, and said, "Let me show you."

Hesitant but intrigued, I reached out and shook his hand. Suddenly, a bright light flashed from his palm, scanning my body. He let go, rubbed his hands together, and I watched, dumbfounded, as an exact replica of my body appeared in his hands like a skin suit. 

I was speechless.

Marco chuckled at my reaction. "So... I guess you’ve seen me naked now," I joked, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened.

"Yeah... I guess I have," he laughed.

He led me upstairs and laid out his entire plan. For one month, we’d switch places. I’d live his life—run his business, spend time with his family—while he experienced life as me, exploring his bisexuality in secret. His shapeshifting ability allowed him to perfectly mimic anyone he’d scanned, down to the last detail.

"But there are a few rules," he explained. "First, you cannot sleep with my wife. Second, you have to follow the business plan I leave you—no changes. And third, spend time with my sons when they come home for winter break. I’ll help guide you through it all."

"Marco, this is... this is overwhelming. I’m not sure I can pull it off," I admitted.

"You can. I trust you. And to sweeten the deal, I’ll pay you $10,000 for the month."

Ten grand? My heart raced. With that kind of money, I could get myself out of debt and start saving. After a long pause, I finally agreed. We shook on it.

I spent the next day tying up loose ends in my life, preparing for the swap. When I returned, Marco opened another beer for me. "Okay, Lukas, any rules you want for me?"

"Yeah, a few. First, you need to go to work—don’t slack off on that. Second, check in with my friends so they don’t worry. And third, don’t ruin my reputation, okay? I still want a chance at meeting someone after this is all over."

"Got it," Marco nodded. "I’ll be respectful."

He led me upstairs again, and I watched as he scanned himself. Another skin suit appeared—this time, an exact copy of Marco. He handed it to me, the lifeless face staring back. "Now, here’s the fun part," he said. "You’re going to put it on. I'll be downstairs waiting for you."

The idea of slipping into Marco's life—literally—was still hard to grasp. As Lukas stood there in Marco's bathroom, holding the lifeless suit in his hands, the weight of what he was about to do hit him again. The room felt colder, or maybe it was just the suit, its unsettling coldness radiating through Lukas' fingers. He stared at Marco’s face—blank, eyeless, but unmistakably Marco—like it was staring back at him, waiting to be worn.

He hesitated, then, with a deep breath, he slipped one foot into the opening at the suit’s back. The texture of the suit was strange, like cool, stretched skin. His toes felt icy as they sank into the hollow mold of Marco’s feet. He adjusted his foot until it nestled into the curve of Marco's arch, and the sensation was surreal. He repeated the process with the other foot, each movement deliberate, each step pulling him deeper into the shift.

As he pulled the suit up over his legs, the sensation changed—his thighs merged with Marco’s thicker, more muscular frame. His skin prickled as the cold transformed into a warmth that began to wrap around him, like the suit was responding to him, molding itself to his body. His hands trembled when he reached Marco's waist, hesitating as he pulled it over his own. The suit was snug, unnervingly intimate as it slid over him, conforming to his body like a second skin. Lukas took a sharp breath when his own body began to feel distant, swallowed by the suit.

When it reached his chest, the suit tightened. It compressed his torso, his own wiry frame disappearing as Marco’s broader chest settled into place. He ran his fingers over Marco's pecs, feeling the unfamiliar bulk. It was his touch, but not his body. He twisted slightly, and the suit shifted seamlessly with him, no gap, no seam—only Marco.

His arms came next. Lukas felt the power in Marco’s forearms, thicker than his own, veins more prominent. He flexed his new fingers, watching in awe as they responded just like his own, but the shape was completely different—Marco’s hands, rougher, stronger, experienced.

Finally, there was the face—the final piece. Lukas hesitated for a moment, his reflection staring back at him, half Marco and half Lukas. The difference between the two was stark, like seeing a stranger staring back at him. He lifted the faceless mask of Marco and, with trembling hands, positioned it over his own. 

The sensation was like nothing he had ever felt before. The suit clung to his face, cool and slick, stretching over his features and fusing with his skin. As the mask settled, the fit was eerily perfect. His vision blurred for a moment as the world seemed to shift, and when he blinked, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore. Marco’s face looked back at him from the mirror, alive and breathing. He touched his cheek, feeling the unfamiliar roughness of Marco’s stubble beneath his fingers, and then ran his hand through Marco’s dark hair.

It was more than just a change of skin. He was Marco now—physically, at least. Lukas tilted his head, watching the reflection mimic him, then smiled. It wasn’t his smile. Marco’s grin was wider, more confident, almost cocky. Lukas admired the reflection longer than he expected, tracing the contours of Marco’s jaw, the way his shoulders filled out his new body. It felt powerful—alien and yet exhilarating.

He spoke, "Hello, I'm Marco Gonzales." The voice was deep, gruff—Marco’s voice, not his own. It reverberated in his throat, strange and foreign, yet perfectly natural coming from his lips. The reflection in the mirror and Lukas phone's camera spoke back, reinforcing the illusion.

Lukas could hardly believe it. He stared for a long time, running his hands down the length of his new body, tracing Marco’s muscles and curves like they were his own, yet so foreign. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the weight of Marco's frame making each breath feel heavier, fuller. The bulk, the strength—it was intoxicating.

Once dressed, he headed downstairs, the weight of Marco’s shoes and clothes grounding him further in this new reality. As he descended, he saw himself—his old self—lounging casually on the couch, a sight that made his stomach churn in disbelief. His own face, his voice, speaking back at him.

“Took you long enough,” Marco—his old self—said with a laugh. “What do you think?”

Lukas sat down, still in awe of the situation. “This is... unbelievable. I can’t believe how real it feels.”

Marco—wearing Lukas’ skin—grinned. “Told you it’d be something. Now, for the next month, you’ll be Marco Gonzales.”

They both sat there for a moment, the reality of the swap settling in. It wasn’t just about wearing Marco’s skin. Lukas was about to live his life—take over his work, interact with his wife, his children, and the people Marco had built his life around. And Marco would be living Lukas' life, exploring the side of himself he’d kept hidden for so long.

“Tomorrow, you’ll go to work, meet my clients, handle my business,” Marco explained, leaning forward. “And don’t worry, I’ll be guiding you every step of the way. I’ll be checking in with you, making sure everything goes smoothly.”

Lukas nodded, still feeling the weight of the transformation. “And what about Serena?”

Marco’s face grew serious. “You’ll need to act like me around her, but remember our deal—no crossing that line. You’re in my life, but you’re not me. My family is off-limits.”

Lukas swallowed hard, nodding again. “I understand.”

But as the days passed, things began to get complicated. Wearing Marco’s skin was one thing, but living his life was entirely different. The demands of his business, the constant pressure of pretending to be someone he wasn’t, started to weigh on Lukas. And then there was Serena—sharp, intuitive, and far more aware of the changes in “Marco” than Lukas anticipated. She questioned him constantly, sensing that something wasn’t quite right, and Lukas had to think quickly to keep the charade going.

Meanwhile, Marco was enjoying his time as Lukas—perhaps a little too much. He dove into the freedom of Lukas' life with reckless abandon, hitting bars, meeting men, and living without the weight of his responsibilities. And though he promised not to tarnish Lukas’ reputation, Lukas started to hear whispers, rumors about “himself” that made him question how much control Marco really had.

The month dragged on, and by the time the swap was supposed to end, both men had changed in ways they hadn’t anticipated. For Lukas, living as Marco had awakened something inside him—a sense of confidence and control he’d never felt before. And for Marco, the experience of freedom had reignited a desire for something he couldn’t fully grasp, something that his life couldn’t provide.

But when it came time to switch back, Marco wasn’t ready to let go.

[theshift]

The Reveal

The gym was crowded as usual, the steady clanking of weights and the rhythmic pounding of feet on treadmills filling the air. Travis wiped the sweat from his brow, his slender frame glistening under the fluorescent lights. He had been halfway through his final set when he felt a presence next to him, an imposing figure looming too close for comfort.

A man, mid-40s, stocky with a dad bod yet some underlying muscle definition, full beard, and an overbearing sense of arrogance in his stance. The man’s name was Austin, though Travis didn’t know that yet. He just knew that this guy had made some snide remark about his form, and Travis wasn’t the type to let something like that slide.

“Bro, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep doing it like that,” Austin muttered, an air of superiority in his voice.

“I’m fine, man,” Travis snapped back, feeling the sting of irritation.

Aaron, who had been working out nearby, immediately noticed the tension building. Aaron, tall and muscular with a physique that drew attention wherever he went, had always been protective of Travis. The two had been together for a year, and though Travis was fiercely independent, Aaron couldn’t help but step in when things escalated.

“Everything okay here?” Aaron asked calmly, his deep voice cutting through the rising tension.

Austin sneered, his gaze drifting to Aaron’s bulkier frame. “Just trying to help the guy. But if he doesn’t want it, that’s his problem.”

Aaron smiled in that way that could both disarm and intimidate. He reached out and patted Austin on the back, his large hand resting briefly against the man’s skin. “No problem. We’ve got it handled.”

The altercation dissipated, with Austin walking away with a slight huff, and Travis letting out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. They then ended their gym session with Aaron snapping a picture of the two of them to remember this moment.

---

Later that night, in the quiet of their apartment, Travis and Aaron settled into their usual post-gym routine. Aaron had been oddly quiet since the incident at the gym, and Travis could feel the weight of something unsaid between them. As they lounged on the couch, Travis finally broke the silence.

“What’s on your mind, babe?” he asked, his voice soft, curious.

Aaron looked at him, his dark eyes searching Travis’s face. There was a hesitation there, as though he was on the verge of revealing something important.

“I’ve been keeping something from you,” Aaron began, his tone serious but laced with a hint of excitement. “Something I’ve never told anyone before.”

Travis furrowed his brow. “Okay… What is it?”

Aaron stood up, walking over to the middle of the room, his muscular body moving with grace. He took a deep breath, then said, “I can shapeshift. But not just any kind of shapeshifting. I can make perfect skin suits of people I touch—like earlier today at the gym.”

Travis blinked, unsure if Aaron was serious. But Aaron’s expression was deadly serious. “Wait, like… you can become someone else?” Travis asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron nodded. “Exactly.”

Travis sat up straighter, a mix of intrigue and disbelief coursing through him. “Show me.”

Without another word, Aaron focused. His hands moved fluidly, and before Travis’s eyes, Aaron began to peel away a strange, glowing substance from his own skin, almost like a second layer. It shimmered for a brief moment, and then, in his hands, Aaron held a perfect replica of Austin’s skin.

Travis’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was as though Aaron had created an exact copy of Austin’s body—down to every single speckle of gray in his beard, his chest hair, and hairy arms.

Then, without hesitation, Aaron began to slip into the suit.

First, Aaron slid his legs into the hollow, empty legs of the Austin skin suit. The skin stretched, wrapped, and clung to Aaron’s muscular calves as he pulled it up over his thighs. There was an eerie smoothness to the way it adhered to him, as if the suit knew exactly how to mold itself around Aaron’s form.

Travis watched, mouth slightly open, as Aaron continued to pull the suit higher, sliding the hollow torso over his own chest. He tugged the arms into place, one by one, the texture of Austin’s skin stretching over Aaron’s muscled frame, conforming to every contour. Aaron’s fingers flexed as they entered the suit’s hands, the transition seamless as the suit integrated into his body.

Aaron lifted the hollow head of Austin’s skin suit, and Travis could barely breathe as he watched Aaron pull it down over his own face. The transformation was instant—Aaron’s strong jawline and features were replaced with Austin’s rugged face, complete with the full beard, sharp eyes, and subtle signs of age.

Aaron blinked, adjusting to the new skin he was wearing. When he turned to face Travis, it was like looking directly at Austin—the Austin they had seen at the gym earlier that day.

“Holy shit,” Travis whispered, his heart racing.

Aaron—no, Austin—smirked. “What do you think?” His voice had taken on the deeper, gruffer tone of Austin’s. The impression was perfect, from the posture to the way he casually scratched at the beard.

Travis stood up, circling Aaron, completely astonished. The tattoos on his arms were identical. The muscles, slightly less defined than Aaron’s, felt real under his touch.

“I—wow. This is insane,” Travis murmured.

Aaron chuckled, mimicking Austin’s earlier gruff demeanor. “You want to talk about your form again, bro?” he said, playfully mocking the gym encounter.

Travis couldn’t help but laugh. The transformation was so complete, so flawless, it was hard to believe this was the same man who had held him that morning.

Before Travis could respond, Aaron—still as Austin—pulled him into a gentle hug. It was strange at first, feeling the bulk of someone else’s body against him, but the familiarity of Aaron’s warmth was there. The touch was tender, loving.

Travis looked up at Aaron’s new face and smiled softly. “You’re unbelievable,” he whispered.

Aaron, still in Austin’s form, leaned down, brushing his lips against Travis’s. The kiss was soft, lingering, as if they were both savoring the moment. Despite the change in appearance, the affection between them was unmistakable, an intimate connection that went beyond physical form.

When they finally pulled away, Travis looked into Austin’s eyes—Aaron’s eyes—and grinned. “So, what do we do now?”

Aaron smirked, his voice still deep and gruff. “Whatever we want, babe. I can be whoever you need me to be.”

And with that, they collapsed onto the bed, holding each other close, the boundaries of identity blurring into something new and thrilling.