Goon Swaps

As is often the case, hot-headed Willie was even quicker to rage and has decided that this is all Brandon’s fault. “This is Not the place you showed me Brandon.” Drowning in an oversized flowy button-up, the sleeves fall down his pale arms as he throws them in the air. Willie’s face burns red with anger as his small form can scarcely maintain his explosive nature. Likewise, Brandon’s guilty expression tinges red with embarrassment so intense it’s physically painful.

“I- These aren’t the pictures that I was sent! I- it’s-” 

“She probably AI-Generated them gah- you ff- You dumbass!?”

“That’s? B- But that’s gotta be illegal though? Right!?” Trying to compact as much as possible, he rubs the back of his neck as his watery eyes look to Tyson, who promptly steps in to comfort him. Tearing up himself even as he tries to be the adult here and figure out their next steps, Tyson rubs his friend’s back.

“Brandon you’re not an idiot.”

Willie ignores the pair, as he rushes inside to find sinks that don’t work amongst creaking floorboards and cracked tiles, “Idiot or not, what-fucking-ever! What do we do about his mistake.”

Brandon toys with his tight necklace as he retreats into his cell-phone, as he is often wont to. Unable to focus on the hard reality before him, the programmer tunes Willie out entirely. Frantically typing away, he doesn’t even hear as Willie moans or screams at finding a note left by their landlord listing the litany of things to fix on the fridge. Dubbed their responsibility.

Suddenly feeling the lead weight of living with this couple for a year as prominently as the noose around his neck of living in an inhabitable house, Tyson sighs as he realizes he just needs to fully take charge of everything. Obviously that rent was too good to be true, now it’s time for him to start paying the real price. “Can you just hand me that list, Willie?”

Stamping over, Willie forces it into Tyson’s hands and watches as the most mature of the trio decides what their first order of business is to be in repairing their inhospitable, nigh-hostile, home. Hemming and hawing in a manner that makes him seem a tad older than he is, Tyson does his best wading into an arena he knows next to nothing about. Home Repair.

“I found a hardware store a block away,” Brandon whispers out sheepishly, looking to Tyson. Setting down the list, Tyson sighs and smiles slightly at Brandon before looking past him at the dozens of messes and issues they’ll need to deal with somehow or another. “Guess we can just walk then. I’m sure we’ll apparently be very frequent customers.”

And then they’re out the door. Tyson continues throwing together a to-do list, doing his best to surmise what tools parts they’ll need for the most urgent of jobs, despite near total ignorance. Watching him struggle, Brandon offers that they could just hire someone for this, already preparing to offer that he pays more than his share, something he certainly can’t afford. 

“It’s just we don’t know anything about this stuff right? Maybe the people in the shop can refer us to, like, some real men or-”

Having finally stilled his ire, at this Willie’s eye twitches, “Real men!? Real men. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You- You know what I mean! You’re deliberately misunderstanding me Willie. Right Tyson? Obviously that was a dig on you and me too! Tell him!”

Trying to focus on the task at hand Tyson physically inserts himself in between the pair, “Let’s try and not scream in public. Jesus Christ, you two…” Short walk done, Tyson pauses and squints up at the fix-it shop’s name: Tyson’s Tools “Oh? Wild..? Did you not notice that Brando?”

Brow furrowed, Brandon is just as surprised. He would’ve sworn it was called something else when he found it on his phone but checking back he can’t even find evidence he looked the place up. He must’ve missed it in all his stress. He doesn’t like having missed something so obvious.

Arms perpetually crossed, Willie leads the way. Pushing open the door with his back, he holds it open for his friends, “Maybe they’ll give you a discount Tyson. You really should ask.” Following behind Brandon, Willie bumps into him to try and be playful.

Having not even begun to earn cutesy aggression, the act is obviously read as a genuine shove and Brandon pushes him back, “Oh my God! Can you just stop being an asshole for a second Willie!” 

Watching with dead eyes as another spat breaks out in front of him, Tyson reflexively crumples the list in his hands. Can’t they just act their age. Now everyone in the store’s going to know they’re immature brats. Or they would? Looking around, Tyson’s surprised to find the store uncomfortably quiet. Empty. 

Looking back to the arguing not-couple, Tyson is happy to take the opportunity to step away and starts to wander through the aisles. He can get more done by himself anyway, so what if he’s never really picked up a wrench. He can figure this out. He must.

Sneaking into an aisle laden with rental tools, Tyson scratches his head as he confronts how little he knows. He’s absolutely in over his head. Huh, his head is a little itchy actually? Fingers trail through his light blonde locks, scratching with a little more intensity than he intended. Suddenly his whole scalp is prickling, almost burning. 

His hair feels thicker than it has for some time, like it did before he started dyeing it. Unbeknownst to the man trying to make his new situation work, spreading out from his roots his ever-bleached waves return to a brown-ish shade that can almost be described as blonde before surging even darker. 

Shortening into a tight crew cut, Tyson’s hair-tie falls to the floor as he simply continues scratching. Unable to focus on anything but the strange feeling of something happening to his hair follicles. Head suddenly far lighter with its lost load, he twitches his neck to reflexively shake away the long strands that shall never drape down his neck again. Feeling the prickle of his short spiky new-do as they firm up with gel he can almost remember putting on, Tyson chastises himself for losing focus.

Shaking his head one last time for good measure, his attention falls once more to the list in hand and he’s shocked at what he finds. Who on earth made a list so vague!? It’s almost useless! Chewing on his lip as he leans against the counter to rejig the equipment with knowledge that’s beginning to trickle into his head, with his free hand Tyson starts to scratch at his stomach as it begins to tighten up.

Far too similar to the annoying sensation that was just on his head, Tyson reaches beneath his shirt and feels up his sweaty belly. Shortening nails pull at a few long curls pushing onto his stomach. Scratching out ‘screwdriver’ to replace it with the actual head needed, the idea of growing a treasure trail suddenly replaces cogent thought before a far more pressing itch alights on his chest.

Not realizing that he’s beginning to sweat more than a reasonable amount, Tyson feels his white tee suction against his chest and looks down to find that it’s not from sweat alone. His chest has begun to bulge into pecs. Startled at his body changing, growing before his eyes, Tyson drops everything to gawk at his pecs pumping larger with every beat of his heart. 

Feeling up his pecs bulking larger, he can almost see as thick new tufts of hair surge forth and cover his new pecs like a tidy garden. New curls lancing forth into a garden that will only help his beautiful pecs catch more eyes.

His own eyes almost cross and a hand flies to his mouth as toned abs punch into his core beneath his heavy new pecs, thickening new happy trail carving its way up between them yearning more than anything to connect with the sweat-dripping patch decorating Tyson’s pecs. Gasping into a hand, he feels his ever-soft face scratch with stubble as a deliberately maintained mustache rubs against his rougher palm. 

On the other end, when his cock throbs amidst thicker pubes at feeling his assuredly more masculine face, Tyson can’t help but feel his heavy new cock and the throbbing balls beneath it. Trapped in boxers more than a size too small for their new mass, the pressure is almost too much for the growing man as he feels pre start to trickle enough to stain. 

And then before he can give way to the overwhelming sensation, the sound of Brandon and Willie arguing brings him falling back to lucidity. Panting slightly, Tyson can hardly believe that someone as diligent as himself was about to masturbate in his- er, the store. That is. 

Grumbling something vague in the direction of those two boys. Tyson bends down to grab the note someone must’ve dropped. Doing so produces a deep grunt from his throat. Clearing it once more when he stands, Tyson finds it rougher than it has any right to be. Dry mouth stretching back down his esophagus. 

No matter. There’s now a task before him again. Skin still dewing with sweat, Tyson does his best to ignore how his shirt strains more and more against widening shoulders and pecs still throbbing thicker. Editing the shopping list before him with a precision that would require decades of work in the field, Tyson clicks his tongue and scratches his short sweaty hair as he wonders how on Earth those two punks’ll ever get a single thing done on their place.

Rubbing his chin as shaved stubble starts to thicken into a neckbeard, he shakes off some deja vu and reasserts- Tyson doesn’t know how we’re going to get our place fixed up. To this end he starts the easy work of collecting the equipment and parts they’ll need. Doing so with ease and efficiency, grasping each heavy tool like a craftsman, in no time he’s amassed a load he should be struggling to carry. And yet, he’s not.

As the load he carries grows heavier with each new piece thrown under his arms or into a handy toolbox he’s stumbled across, so too does Tyson’s core put on more mass. Abs that only just laid themselves like bricks across his stomach begin to push out further, bulging into more of a muscle gut with every heavier step. Arms that were struggling to catch up to his prodigious pecs and new bulky traps suddenly throb larger with every new piece of added weight to body and load. 

Tears sear down his already strained tee as his torso barrels out. His treasure trail continues exploring up his stronger gut and his arms grow to a size that’ll easily eclipse his still-eyecatching pecs. And with each new tool handled, with every new bulging muscle packed onto his lengthening frame does his mind change even more.

Already struggling between two points of reference, that which recalls coming in today with his roommates and friends begins to wane more and more. The stubble on his face continues thickening as with every heaving breath produced by his thicker chest, memories from a new life begin to displace those which he thought was true.

Callouses from yardwork, woodwork, the gym, even just using a wrench as often as does, scratch against his neck as he rubs it with his fat new hands. Veins bulge larger on his arms and legs as they itch hairier, not from his still adding mass, but from the years- decades` accrued from living a life altogether different. Even his hair begins to speckle with salt as the man that only just recovered from over-bleaching begins to thin once more.

Wandering back to the front with a load of tools weighing twice as much as the heaviest thing he’s ever carried, Tyson finds himself walking past a mirror. When’d he put that in. Frowning and crossing his arms he figures Willie must’ve thrown it up, that cocky little loafer. Still, looking at his chest fur and built ass, he figures he might as well leave it there. Never hurts to inspect the goods and all.

Suddenly built like a brick shithouse, strength oozes out of every veiny chunk of muscle. Hand scratching at his sweaty beard he has a vague memory of looking more refined, a body built for ogling rather than hard work. But why’d he ever waste time on vanity like that. No, he’s a man of substance. 

He then squints at his face as a few wrinkles etch across his eyes. “What the heck?” No heed is paid to the rough, deeper baritone that echoes through the store. No, when faced with aging quicker than he swears he should, he simply can’t appreciate his dulcet new tone.

“Swear I shouldn’t look a day over uh, 35? No. No, I’m younger than that?” His mind keeps throwing ages out, each feeling less real than the last. His back aches more as his mind weighs heavier with memories from a life far longer lived. Looking down at weathered hands and his straining pecs as his chest fur grows thicker, as his hairline retreats as his muscle gut rounds out ever-so-slight more, he finds something grounding. 

Clear as day he remembers celebrating his fiftieth last year with his boys. Willie and Brandon. He doesn’t quite remember hiring them, it’s like they’ve been with him the whole time despite that being impossible. Scratching the new underside of his belly he grumbles like any heavyset older man does.  

Where are those good-for-nothin’s. Better not still be at home. Muttering to himself he at last returns to the front of the store to find neither of them. Setting the toolbox down with a loud clang he rolls his eyes. Must be helping the customer he grabbed these for. Yeah, that makes sense. In the meantime, Tyson’ll just wait here and try not to get off from looking at his reflection in Willie’s new mirror. Bulge throbbing larger with each stolen glance as he continues to fill out.

● ● ● ● ● ●

Speaking of the devils. Willie and Brandon have continued arguing for far longer than either had expected. Usually when they’re not dating they’re good as gravy, but this majorly shitty situation has both men well past their breaking points. 

After Willie ignores what Brandon’s saying for the Nth time to score another cheap dig, Brandon opts to just abandon him for now to salvage any momentary peace of mind. Whining that they all signed the lease as he wills himself to be done for now, Brandon goes off to where he thinks Tyson is. Willie just watches him go, eyebrow twitching into a scowl all the while.

“Fine! Be that way bitch! You know Ty’s on my side!” Lips pursed so tight they’re almost white, Willie stamps his foot. “Ugh!”

Standing there. Now alone. Willie finds himself even more sour without a sounding board to tear into as now the only thing to reflect on is how shitty he’s been to Brandon and Tyson. No, there's no sense to pretend he’s been scattershot, how shitty he’s been to Brandon alone.

As soon as Brandon’s out of sight,  Willie takes a few deep breaths as his best friend-cum-frequent ex meekly suggested he do a few times over. While it helps slow his mind and calm his racing heart. It does little to help Willie’s literally hot head. 

In fact, it feels like he’s still heating up. Looking down to find small sweat stains in his pale blue shirt under his arms, irritation resurfaces anew now at this shitty toolshop. Refusing to look sloppier than necessary even in this most masc of stores, Willie opts to just remove the offending garment. 

Mouth twitching into a frown as he struggles to undo each button in turn, he can’t believe how slippery his hands are from sweat. Griping to himself that his deodorant better hold up, he at last gets the shirt uncinched and lets it fall to the floor heedlessly. Doing so it becomes little more than dingy rags sold by the store. Willie doesn’t notice however, he’s far too preoccupied with his lip still twitching.

Burning even. Reaching up almost fearfully, Willie gasps in shock as he finds something on his face. A moustache? No, it can’t be. His soft fingertips feel around in surprise at the wiry hairs pushing out against his upper lip before his palm feels too the push of long tangled strands pushing out from his chin.

Wondering when, wondering how his face somehow skipped stubble straight to this scraggly facial hair combo as sweat continues to trickle through hair growing greasier by the second, he glances down at his arm to find that strangeness does not stop at his newly scratchy upper lip. Willie’s eyes trail down his wrist to find his bicep looking larger than it ought. 

Watching with interest, his upper arm twitches larger with every miniscule movement of his fingers.Gasping in shock as he sees his arm truly peak with muscle for the first time in his life, with the deep breath he discovers a byproduct of his amassing muscle and the heat of this hellish store. It’s just as he feared.

Easily overpowering his usually faultless deodorant, Willie smells musk pouring from his pits like he’s never experienced before. And yet with every breath he craves the scent more. Eventually tearing his eyes away from a bicep he wants to take a bite out of, Willie looks to his hitherto hairless pits to instead find thick, dripping strands of pit hair. Curling like a bush, thicker than his trimmed pubes, as he watches Willie sees more and more skin buried beneath the tangle as it grows denser and spreads forth like weeds overtaking a sidewalk. 

It takes everything within him not to reach in to scratch the jungle for the sole purpose of smelling his musky, stained digits afterwards. The idea sets a needy fire in his stomach, and a far more pressing one throbbing in his crotch. Desperately trying to focus on anything besides the alluring sensations overtaking his body, he quickly finds it an impossible task. 

Sweat streaming in rivulets down his heavier arms, the scritch and squelch of his sweaty pits as he tries to move, it’s just overwhelming. Willie simply can’t help it as his hands keep inching towards his crotch, clearly growing its own burgeoning bush, challenged by his pits. Stopping just short, Willie allows compromises with his Id to instead just scratch at said bush as it creeps up into a new treasure trail.

Stealing a glance at this thick trail, he’s surprised to see his undershirt catching further up his waist than it usually does, exposing an adonis belt like he’s never seen. Willie’s concerns and frown are quickly washed away as a cocky smirk etches its way onto his face. Staring needily at his pubes rising into a tapered highway, he starts to wonder why he’s wearing a shirt at all. Why’d he want to hide this figure for a second? 

Almost as if he’s willing himself larger as heat continues to rise, Willie raises his muscular arms behind his head and hears his ribs crack wider. His spine stretches longer as muscle easily fills the new real estate. Pecs immediately swell enough to stuff his shirt to its breaking point and with one hand he tears it off and throws it to the floor.

Scratching his prickling ass with one hand and pubes with his other, feet that burst free from confines without his notice leave sweaty footprints in his wake as he finds his way over to a mirror he has a vague memory of setting up so he can always check his physique. Gotta look good for customers and all. It’s what he’s here for.

Pits thickening even further as sweat trickles down the sides of his chest in rivulets, Willie takes time to inspect every new bulging muscle group. “Fucckk I look so fucking hot…” Vocal fry tinges every word as his adams apple bulges larger to convert his whiny buzz into a deep rumble. 

And yet, even as his eyes swim in washboard abs, even as his hands scratch through picturesque stubble and his mind struggles to focus as his heady musk derails his own train of thought. He’s filled with a need for more. 

Could do with some chest hair. What was it that bitch said, that he wasn’t a real man? Willie’ll show him. Scowling as a few curls begin to circle around his hard nipples and speckles the center of his pert pecs, Willie feels his attention drawn ever south as the root of those most hormonal of changes begin to overwhelm him. 

Hard as a pipe, Will bites his lip as he feels his thickening cock struggle for room, jostling against the heavy balls that must be fueling his new masculine changes. Sucking up drool snaking from his lips, as he desperately tries to adjust his similarly dripping pants Willie struggles maneuvering his thick limbs around his chest. Finally getting a meaty paw in his pants he grunts as he tries to pull at his surely stained underwear before pausing with a dumb look.

Wait, Will laughs to himself. He’s not wearing any underwear. Sticky hand venturing back into the shorts he’s free-balling in, Will adjusts and wipes the pre that stains his hand into his hairy chest before giving his hand a good sniff. Doing so he feels the new stubbly beard that has spread across his jaw like a stain, connecting sideburns, moustache and erasing his goatee to instead have a perfect beard.

Hips twitching forward as his cock throbs in tight shorts, the horny, sweaty, horny man looks around the store in search of relief. Pent up like he’s gone weeks without cumming, Will worries he might just blow his load if he makes a single wrong move. Taking another deep breath of his sweaty pits certainly doesn’t help as he moans into the open air of the store, barely keeping it in his pants as his cock keeps snaking out of his shorts. 

“Fuuuuck~ Where’s Brandon when you need him.”

Panting as he holds back from losing control, barely able to walk without humping into the air, with all the willpower the oafish man’s able to summon Will narrowly avoids an orgasm. Hearing his boss grumbling from a nearby aisle he jolts up and starts to pretend to look busy before remembering he doesn’t care. “Fuck that, lol” With a smirk and a clear lurch due to the still raging boner he wanders off into the stacks in search of Brandon to help him blow a load.

● ● ● ● ● ●

One cannot overstate how bad Brandon feels about the hefty part he played in this massive mess. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, what they’re going to do. All their stuff is sitting in a uhaul outside a building more hovel than home. 

Wondering how non-professionals can even begin to fix a broken window, Brandon stares at tools and material he can’t begin to imagine a purpose for. Picking up a ratchet he struggles to think of something, anything he can possibly do to help Tyson before just tossing it back down.

He just feels so stupid! Trying not to tear up again he turns to Tyson. Wait, he would’ve sworn he was following Tyson and yet his bos- er, friend is nowhere to be found. Frowning, brows furrowed from his anxiety, Brandon paces back and forth trying to brainstorm anything he can possibly offer to ameliorate even a shred of their situation.

It’s not long at all before the same oppressive heat that affected his friends begins to fall upon him as well. Looking up to make sure he’s not standing under a vent, Brandon wonders why on earth the toolshop even has their heater on. He was already working up a sweat on the way just from the brisk walk from their wretched home. 

Unwilling to shed his shirt like Willie did, Brandon does his best to respectfully fan it, tugging at his neckline to usher air down his thin chest. After a few drags his lips squirm as unexpectedly, this tickles. Refusing to giggle and risk attracting Willie to his location, he stifles it and looks down his shirt to find whatever’s tickling him.

His sweat immediately shifts cold as underneath his heavy, sweat-stained shirt in the center of his chest he finds a few surly strands of chest hair beginning to sprout. Now, Brandon’s never been hairless but chest hair has always eluded him, and now there’s a healthy patch beginning to spread between his two thicker nipples. To say nothing of the even lengthier swirls encircling them.

And then his mind goes to Willie. Willie always wanted him to shave, wanted him smooth. Shivering from the ticklish curls working their way up his lither stomach, Brandon frowns as he tries to push Willie from his mind. They’re not even dating right now! He doesn’t even owe that jerk anything. If he wants to grow chest hair it’s his right! And oh does he want to get hairier.

Tense beyond belief, convincing himself that his still-growing chest hair has been there for a minute, Brandon doesn’t notice as his thin body firms up under the shirt. Veins bulge and pulse down his thin arms as their sinewy fibers expand and throb larger, inching closer to filling his sleeves more with every shrug and anxious twitch. The slight pudge on his stomach rapidly tightens into limber rows of abs below the perfect foundation for pecs to burst from on his chest.

Sick of feeling trapped in his mind, totally unaware as his body continues to change beneath his notice, in order to ground himself Brandon attempts to focus on the store’s fixtures around him. Doing so brings back frustration aplenty as his real troubles simply reignite. Stamping his feet he whines about their motley crew being wholly unable to essentially rebuild a house. 

They’re absolutely useless! What is a programmer to do on a construction site!? As soon as the thought occurs it’s like his mind hits a brick wall. Brandon pauses, a programmer? That’s what he is, right? Replaying the sentiment, the idea gets less familiar with every pass. Pretty sure he’s got a CS degree? He’s good with computers for sure. He thinks?

His mind starts leaking memory like a faulty program. The handful of programming languages he made sure to at least be familiar with fade one by one. Memories of slaving over simple games and messy code burn away like flash paper as he sees sunshine breaking through a house frame he helped put up. He- He’s not a prog-? He’s never been all that good with techy stuff…

Staring at his hands before him, Brandon watches as smooth thin digits more accustomed to a keyboard begin to crack and bulge wider. Soft fingers give way to skin that seems as rough as sandpaper, and as dirty as the bottoms of his feet. 

Woozy and nearly hyperventilating, Brandon leans against the counter behind him. Feeling his back prickling with goosebumps as his body hair erupts even thicker on his small tummy. New leathery mitts catch the edge of a shelf just in time too as his legs cramp and burn with a soreness like he’s never felt. 

His shaky legs are like jelly beneath him as from top to bottom his body grows more compact. Losing a few inches, the man who was already shorter than his companions feels his lost height shift into extra mass on his limbs. Already thicker thighs bulge with power and strength as biceps finally strain his sleeves enough to tear through his shirt even as it changes into a tougher fabric more suitable for his line of work. Muscles contorting thicker, Brandon feels the straining muscles throb larger as his highest operating level continues to drop.

Mind still speeding despite his processing power absolutely tanking, Brandon tries to slow his thoughts down and focus on his changing body. Retreating into said muscled-up body is surprisingly far easier than it should be. Which should concern him. Instead as he focuses on the feeling of his more powerful arms flexing, as he smells the musky pits hidden beneath them, he feels all worry drift away. 

Why should he be upset about being bigger, being stronger? They needed someone to fix up their place didn’t they? Squinting his eyes and scratching his greasy hair, he realizes he doesn’t really remember what place he’s thinking about? Tyson’s place is fine?

Rubbing his hands down thighs more akin to pistons, feeling their thick curls scratch against his rough fingers, Brandon can’t help but grin. And then he rests his hands on his new waist, playing with the darker expanse of hair on his stomach as he rejoices in his rapidly clearing mind. 

He’s a little hungry? 

Stomach rumbling, his eyes slowly scan the floor before him and while nothing immediately catches his interest, when he sees a lunchkit with his name on it, well. What else is he to do but have a bite. And so he does. It must be his and all, he simply forgot about it!

Tearing it open to find a sandwich, his eyes are larger than his stomach as he devours it hastily before reaching in hoping there is more to find in the bag, and so there is until he’s as full as he desires. Which takes quite some time.

So distracted by hunger, consumed by taste, Brandon doesn’t notice as with every bite and swallow his muscular form changes all the more. Rapidly mass begins piling on atop his bulky muscle. Abs are swiftly hidden behind a sizable layer of fat as his pecs grow softer from healthy weight.

Patting his delectable stomach with a content smirk, he struggles not to burp as he loosens his workbelt. While his physique may have plateaued, the jungle still racing across his body makes it clear that his new fur coat has not slowed. Above his heavy ass the curls inching much higher above his waistline are caught in his belt causing him to yelp before guffawing. 

While he thought he was hairy before, fur enough to call himself a beast makes it clear that this was not the case. His face that had only ever known stubble is soon hugged by a thick, now crumb-filled, neckbeard. One that will require constant maintenance not to encroach upon his upper cheeks or even connect with his thicker eyebrows. Should the beyond-low-maintenance man ever care enough to do so. 

Below the neck thicks grow even hairier. The few chest hairs that Brandon was initially excited over are absolutely buried beneath a tidal wave of new coverage. Pouring over his shoulders and down his upper arms, yearning to connect with his hairier forearms, Brandon’s upper body is almost entirely coated in a consistent jungle of fur. 

Raising an arm to inspect pits staining through his shirt as he continues eating, Brandon recoils from the musk before laughing. As the thick, sticky curls of his pits reach out to connect with that all-consuming tangle. For half a beat something about laughing about his b.o. feels wrong, but then he shrugs the concern off with ease. 

Stink’s funny. And if it’s not funny it’s hot. 

Sitting there having forgotten what task or another Tyson asked him to do this morning, he feels his dick throb as he smells something else in the air, and hears the all too familiar sound of some horny stud stomping towards him. Turning around there’s the foggiest memory of the Willie he knew before that’s displaced by the Man before him.

Brandon can hardly think at the best of times, sitting there, eyeing Will’s heavy bulge and ravenous eyes there’s only one thing on his mind. Falling to the floor he finds even more cushion on his ass as it fills out entirely and finishes covering with curls thick enough to rival those on his head, Brandon yearns to be filled.

Looking up just in time to see Will sprint over, champing at the bit and pawing at a cock clearly throbbing and dripping down his leg, Brandon does what anyone would and falls onto his back presenting himself. Will almost goes feral as he charges down the aisle. He doesn’t remember being mad, he doesn’t remember anything at all besides his need to fuck Brandon. 

Likewise Brandon doesn’t remember a worry in the world, their wretched rental is not a problem. Nothing is. Feeling himself pushed across the floor of Tyson’s shop as Will thrusts harder with every hump, he tries to moan before Will stuffs his fist in his mouth to stop him. 

Standing above, ever-aggressive Will feels his body harden into one made for this and this alone. His beard retracts into stubble as his moustache thickens out even more, emblematic of the dom he has always yearned to be. 

Lying below, gagging on the dirty fist in his mouth, the rest of Brandon’s too-complicated memories and concerns drift away alongside his skill at anything besides helping Tyson around the shop. Carrying the strength of an apprentice, and always hungry to serve however he’s able.

And then almost as soon as they began, Will finishes up and starts to leave Brandon a cum-covered heap on the floor. Tyson doesn’t like when they’re fucking on the clock, let alone in the store. Looking down at the ecstasy in Brandon’s eyes, Will smirks and leans down to lick the sweat off his lover’s legs as he yanks the man’s pants up and pulls him to standing.

Just in time too as when Brandon wobbles to his feat, Tyson yells from the front, “Boys! What am I payin’ you for! Get up here!”

Rushing to the front Will’s first to find the new Tyson as Brandon wobbles behind with eyes almost as glazed as his ass. There they find that briefly double take as Tyson has finished changing into their senior. Into their burly bearish boss.

Hand on his muscle gut and frown clear on his face, even through the beard absolutely covering his mouth, Tyson waits for them to explain themselves despite already knowing exactly what’s afoot. Will poorly feigns cluelessness as he adjusts his package. Behind him Brandon can scarcely string two thoughts together as he recovers from being reamed so.

“Which one of you was supposed to open the store for the day?”

Will looks to Brandon who slowly looks to find the ‘Store Open’ sign pointing the wrong way. “Oh, uh oh? Sorry… It should probably be facing the other way. Right, Sir?”

Tyson sighs and goes to fix the sign before gesturing to a heavy toolbox on the table, “In any case I got a delivery to be run out if either of you are interested. Some kids down the block need to rent some tools.” 

Watching his eye-candy employee regard the box with disinterest he changes his mind, “Second thought might as well both go, I can handle the legions sure to come in today.” Will frowns as Brandon brightens up and makes for the toolbox, grunting as he heaves it out the door. 

Feeling peckish himself he tacks on one last request, “Y’know what boys take the truck ‘n get me lunch while you’re at it. Have fun, now. Don’t you fuck in the company truck!”

Slightly more into the idea now that the boss man’s told them not to, Will feels like he’s about ready to go again as he watches Brandon heave the box into the trunk. Hopping into the cabin it’s immediately filled with their musk, already heightened from their recent tryst.

Will immediately forces a fist into Brandon’s pants and before he can protest that Tyson asked them not to, he’s already forgotten what it was the problem was. And so, one hand on the wheel, the other on Brandon’s shaft Will keeps working hard as he ever has while Brandon delights in the peace of mind that’s always eluded him. 

Grumbling to himself, sure that Will’s already working hard to add more stains to their old shitbox, Tyson complains to the empty store, “One of these days those boys’re gonna have to grow up.” After making sure they didn’t leave too much of a mess in the aisle earlier he softens up shaking his head with a smirk as he collects a single cum-stained garment from the floor, hardening up elsewhere.