#maletf

The fourth story in the Love Languages series I'm working on. Check out the others: Quality Time, Words of Affirmation, and Acts of Service. Just have one more after this!

"Receiving gifts."

"Love language?"

Matthew looked up from his phone and smiled, "Yeah." He sighed, "I think I already knew this." He reflected, "I don't know if I like it though."

"What do you mean?" Andrew asked.

"Well like... receiving gifts." He chuckled, "Makes me sound kind of materialistic, you know?" He shrugged, "Like, 'give me stuff to make me feel loved.' I get it isn't that, but..."

"You're overthinking it!" Andrew laughed, "Feeling loved from receiving gifts doesn't make you some kind of selfish prick."

Matthew nodded and leaned in to kiss his boyfriend, gently caressing his hand, "I guess you're right, babe." He smiled.

"I'm right?" He grinned, "Say that again, this time I'm recording it." Matthew rolled his eyes, adjusted his gray shirt, and the two went back to enjoying their morning together.

--------------------

"Here, I got you this."

Matthew looked over at his boyfriend, who was holding a protein bar. He raised an eyebrow. A protein bar? Andrew must've been able to see the confusion on his boyfriend's face and rolled his eyes.

"Babe, you were saying the other day how you wanted to incorporate more protein in your diet, right?" He smiled, "And look! It's chocolate lava cake. Your favorite." He kissed Matthew on the cheek.

Matthew nodded, "So you do listen to me." He took the protein bar and smiled, "That was thoughtful of you, I appreciate it." He unwrapped it and took a bite, "You know," He said as he chewed, "not too terrible. Thanks babe."

"Of course. Just my little way of showing how much I love you." He winked.

Matthew quickly finished the protein bar and leaned back in his chair, "That was nice of him." He thought, "I... totally fuckin' deserved that."

Matthew froze. Where did that come from? He shook his head and went back to the finance report he was working on.

--------------------

"Matthew!" Matthew turned to see one of his coworkers approaching him, "I wanted to say thank you for your help the other day." Sue said, "On that report."

"Oh yeah, it wasn't a big deal."

"So modest." She laughed, "Here, I wanted to give you something to show my appreciation." She quickly pulled out her phone and Matthew felt his vibrate.

"Wait, Sue, I can't..." He looked at his phone, seeing several passes to Sue's favorite fitness studio.

"I'm not always able to use them." She said, "And I know you've wanted to try out a few classes. It's a month worth of classes."

"Seriously, thank you." Matthew smiled and Sue nodded, "I'll put these to good use." Matthew watched as Sue walked off, "She didn't need to do that." He thought, "She... fuckin' owed me for that shit." Matthew recoiled and grabbed his head, "Why would I think that?" He frowned, "Just a thought, just a thought."

--------------------

"We heard that you've been really getting into your new fitness routine." His mother said over dinner one night, "Your father and I wanted to get you this." Matthew grinned as he was handed a box.

"Oh what is it, babe?" Andrew looked over curiously.

Matthew opened it, revealing a watch. But not just any watch. One of those watches that track your fitness. He'd be able to monitor his heart rate, calories, workout analytics. Everything he could want in a fitness tracker.

"Wow, thank you. This is awesome." He strapped it on his wrist, feeling a surge of pride.

Andrew leaned over to take a closer look. "Oh look at that. That brand is top tier" He smiled approvingly.

Matthew glanced down at the watch, a small frown tugging at his lips. "Yeah, well… but this isn't even the newest model. Kinda cheap if I'm bein' honest." He gasped as he realized he said all that aloud. His parents and Andrew both gave him looks of surprise, "No, I mean, thanks mom, dad. This is great." He forced a smile, feeling a twinge of guilt at his ungrateful thoughts.

"Get it together." He thought as their dinner continued on, "What is wrong with me." He frowned looking down at the watch, "I mean, they coulda shelled out a little more. They got the cash." Matthew shuddered.

--------------------

"Hey babe, I noticed how hard you've been working at the gym lately. Thought these might help support your gains."

He handed Matthew a few pairs of grey compression shorts. Matthew took the shorts, running them through his fingers. They felt high quality, form-fitting. He couldn't deny he'd look good in these.

"Uh, thanks, man. That's…that's really thoughtful of you." He mumbled, a strange feeling stirring in his gut.

"No problem. And hey, I gotta say - the results are definitely showing. You're looking real good, handsome."

He reached out to squeeze Matthew's bicep playfully. The touch sent a jolt through Matthew. A cruel, cocky smirk spread across his face.

"Yeah I fuckin' do. Bet I know why you got me these." He thrust his hips forward slightly, drawing attention to his crotch, "You wanna check out my huge cock in these tight little shorts, don't you? You fuckin' slut. You fuckin' cock whore."

Andrew blushed, but his eyes narrowed, "What the fuck, Matthew?" He looked hurt and confused by the crass words coming from his normally sweet boyfriend.

Matthew shuddered, "Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Just a little too intense." Andrew tried to laugh it off, "But maybe I can get used to it. It was kinda sexy."

"Damn right." Matthew shook the thought from his head.

Later that evening, Matthew found himself alone in the bathroom. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror - toned muscles rippling beneath smooth skin, his cock straining impressively against his new underwear. He should feel ashamed after the way he spoke to Andrew, but instead, a wicked grin spread across his face.

"Goddamn, I do look good," he muttered to himself, turning to admire his ass.

--------------------

"Are you kidding me? What the actual fuck?!" Matthew sputtered in disbelief as the cashier handed back his ID, shaking his head.

"How am I not 21?! I'm fuckin' 32 years old, you moron!" He snatched his ID, face flushed with anger and embarrassment, "Fuckin' bullshit." He paused suddenly, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't..." Matthew shook his head.

Stomping out of the liquor store, Matthew cursed under his breath. A nice bottle of red wine for their anniversary dinner, ruined by some dumbass kid thinking he was underage. Unbelievable.

"So what if I am?" Matthew growled, "I want a goddamn drink." He looked at his ID and grimaced, "No... this isn't right." Matthew whispered, "That isn't my birthday."

But his attention turned to a group of rowdy college-aged guys passing him. They were clearly drunk, wearing t-shirts with Greek letters emblazoned on the front.

"Yo bro, looks like you had a rough time in there!" One slurred.

"I was tryna grab a bottle of wine for dinner but that asshole cashier wouldn't let me buy shit 'cause he thinks I ain't 21 yet," Matthew scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Can you believe that shit? Look at me, I'm in my fuckin' 30s, bro."

The frat bros exchanged amused glances, before on of them held up a case of beer. "Tell ya what, it ain't wine, but we've got an extra 12-pack here. Consider it a gift."

Matthew hesitated for only a moment before a greedy grin spread across his face. "Let's fuckin' go! Thanks man!"

--------------------

Matthew stood admiring himself in the gym mirror, flexing his newly bulked muscles. The extra beer had added a slight paunch to his otherwise chiseled physique, but it just made him look more virile, more…manly.

He smirked as he recalled Andrew's playful pokes and admiring looks at his growing gut. "Fuckin' slut, he loves it," Matthew muttered to himself, preening, "Stop calling him that." A quiet voice in the back of his mind whispered. He ignored it.

A familiar voice called out from behind him, "Damn Matthew, lookin' good brother! Gettin' huge!" Chase clapped Matthew on the back, "I got you somethin'."

"Bet you did." Matthew smirked.

Chase produced a silver chain, a large cross pendant dangling from it. Matthew's eyes widened. It was gaudy as fuck, exactly the type of douchey accessory he never would have considered before. But now…

"Fuckin' sick, bro."

"No... no more gifts... please...!"

He draped it around his neck, letting the heavy cross settle against his sweat-slicked pecs. It gleamed against his hairy chest, drawing the eye to his bulging muscles. And as he worked out that day, Matthew could practically feel the stares of other gym-goers, admiring his body, his confidence, his new accessory. Matthew just smirked, preening under the attention.

"I fuckin' love this."

--------------------

Matthew sat on the couch, sprawled out with his legs spread wide, pits exposed as he lounged, the douchey cross glinting on his sweaty, hairy chest. He eyed Andrew with a smug smirk as his boyfriend approached.

"Hey babe, I was thinking…" Andrew began, perching on the arm of the couch.

Matthew groaned as Andrew walked into the bedroom. Here he goes agan. About their relationship. About his attitude. Always complaining. Always finding problems. Why couldn't that little slut just be happy sucking his fat cock?

"Because he loves you." A voice said from within, "Because he hates what you're becoming."

"What were you thinkin' about now?" Matthew ignored the voice and scratched his meaty, hairy pec.

"I was thinking… I was thinking…" Andrew was breathing heavier, his eyes roaming hungrily over Matthew's musculature, "about how sexy you look right now," Andrew purred, voice dripping with lust. "About that huge dick…"

He slid off the arm of the couch, crawling between Matthew's legs. Andrew nuzzled into the thick patch of pubic hair at the base of Matthew's semi-hard cock, inhaling deeply.

"Smells so good, baby." He placed a wet kiss on the sensitive underside of Matthew's shaft. "I wanna taste you so bad."

Matthew lounged back on the couch, eyes half-lidded with smug satisfaction as Andrew serviced his meaty cock. Savored how desperate Andrew was to deep throat his entire length. He bit his lip and moaned, barely noticing the pictures of the previously happy couple vanishing from the walls. How the screensaver of the two on his phone changed, quickly lighting up with Grindr notifications.

"No, no, no… please…"

"Faster you fuckin' slut!" Matthew moaned.

Andrew was just a warm mouth, eager hands, a set of holes for Matthew's pleasure. Nothing more. The love, the partnership, the deep connection they once shared - gone. Andrew was just another gift. A gift from the universe. All for Matthew's use. A desperate, horny set of holes all for Matthew. Because he deserved it. Deserved the admiration, the hunger, the pleasure.

"Ahhhhh fuck." He moaned, filling Andrew's mouth.

--------------------

Matty swaggered into his college dorm room, all sweaty and disheveled, basking in the afterglow of sex. Beefy muscles rippled beneath his shirt as he peeled it off, revealing a torso that showed clear dedication to the gym, tempered by a lack of self-control when it came to beer and late-night pizza. The gaudy cross necklace glinted against his hairy, sun-kissed skin.

He plopped down on his bed, arms behind his head, chest puffed out proudly, taking in his domain. Various sports memorabilia and empty beer cans surrounded him. Dirty laundry in piles around his bed. Matty picked up a football from his nightstand, tossing it in the air casually, catching it with a smirk. The sound of Grindr notifications music to his ears.

Yep, he was a stud alright. A fuckin' legend. A goddamn gift to this world.

Even though he was a total late bloomer, James was actually pretty happy with himself. He knew he was never going to be some star athlete, and honestly, he was perfectly content taking his little art classes outside of school. Of course, being a high school senior while looking like a thirteen-year-old came with its fair share of teasing. It was like puberty had just completely forgotten about him. At this point, he’d pretty much resigned himself to looking underdeveloped forever. No girl wanted him, and no guy wanted to be him. So, James just kept to himself.

But this year was going to be completely different. One of the school jocks was about to take a joke just a little too far—and it would change everything.

Everyone was sitting in science class, but with prom and graduation right around the corner, nobody was actually paying attention to the teacher anymore. She might as well have just put on a YouTube video and gone out for lunch.

James was tucked away at his corner desk, quietly sketching a landscape, while Billy—the star linebacker of the football team—was loudly running his mouth.

"Bro, I don't even know how I'm gonna ask Lisa to prom," Billy complained to his friends. "She always wants me to do some extra, over-the-top bullshit and I just can't be bothered. But hey, I guess Twiggy over there won't be taking anyone at all, so it could be worse."

James tried his best to ignore the bursts of laughter, but after four years of hearing the same garbage, it was getting seriously old. He threw a sharp, annoyed glare across the room.

"What’s that? You got something to say, Twiggy?" Billy mocked, playing to his audience. "You want me to ask Lisa for an extra razor so you can keep shaving those legs?" He laughed loudly, his friends joining right in. "Hairless freak. He’s not even a man. He’s like a freaking robot or something."

"That’s ENOUGH, BILLY!"

As the words left James' mouth, his voice violently cracked, dropping instantly into a deep, booming baritone. The sheer, low resonance of it sounded like... well, like a grown man.

James immediately recoiled, spooked by the sound of his own voice. He swallowed hard, massaging his throat as if he could rub the deep tone away. But when he tried to clear his throat, his usual young, soft voice was completely gone.

The other guys just shrugged it off and turned back around. Billy felt a sudden, weird chill run down his spine when James spoke up, but he forced himself to ignore it.

Silently panicking, James kept trying to clear his airway. *What the hell was that?*

Then, ever so gently, he felt a strange, vibrating heat pool in his groin. He instinctively clutched his stomach and hunched over his desk. It felt like something was rapidly expanding and shifting beneath his hands. *What is happening to me?*

Bolting upright from his chair, he muttered a strained excuse to the teacher and bolted for the bathroom. Billy, looking suspicious and curious, casually trailed behind him.

Inside the bathroom, James gripped the edges of the sink, staring into the mirror and trying to slow his breathing. He huffed and puffed, sweat suddenly beading and dripping down his forehead. Right before his eyes, his facial structure began to warp—his jawline elongated, the soft edges sharpening into hard angles.

"Huh?" He sounded heavy, almost clumsy with this new, thick jock tone.

Suddenly, his body began rapidly, painfully stretching in every direction. His clothes instantly started looking ridiculous. His t-shirt shrank up into a crop top, and his jeans inched their way up his calves.

"Ugh! Oh! Make it stop! This hurts!" James yelled, the sheer pressure of his expanding frame becoming too much. He collapsed onto the tiled floor, curling into a tight ball, desperately trying to compress himself to stop the growth.

With a loud *pop*, his feet burst straight out of his sneakers. When he looked down, his toes were thicker, instantly sprouting coarse little hairs. They looked like hobbit feet.

That was exactly how Billy found him on the bathroom floor: a gangly, awkward man-child literally bursting out of his own clothes.

Billy stood there in a state of absolute shock and wonderment. "Damn..." he muttered softly. "I didn’t think this would actually happen to you."

In pure agony, James looked up at him, tears of pain and fear in his eyes. "Wha—what did you do to me?"

"I just hated looking at you being all boyish. I kinda felt bad for you," Billy admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "There was this spell going around online... it said if I bullied you hard enough, it would force you to become one of us. It was a joke! I didn’t think the shit was actually gonna work!"

"ARGH!" James roared as his biology completely took over. He didn't even have time to process the betrayal.

His bones cracked and popped like fireworks as his thighs thickened, splitting the denim of his jeans right down the seams. The dark hair from his toes began spreading like wildfire—racing up his shins, flooding his calves, and coating his thighs. His maturity exploded in size and girth, a thick, enviable bush of hair growing up and out in a dark V.

James’ torso widened aggressively as thick slabs of muscle began packing onto his frame. His abs defined themselves, deepening with every ragged breath he took, while his chest swelled out into heavy, boulder-like pecs. A massive shelf of muscle took over his torso; there would be absolutely no hiding this.

As soon as the sculpted muscle appeared, it was instantly blanketed by a prickly dusting of dark hair. The hairs multiplied by the second, starting as a thick trail up his belly before fluffing out across his chest into a dense, masculine mat. It was a symbol of pure virility that any man would envy. No shirt on earth would ever hide it. James looked down at his changing body in sheer disbelief.

"No, I don't want this! I don't know who I'm becoming!"

Billy smirked, leaning against the bathroom wall as he watched the transformation peak. "You don't have a choice anymore, bro. You're becoming a real man now. This is what it feels like. Just let it consume you. Let go."

"Ohhhhh!"

James finally surrendered, letting his muscles relax from the agonizing tension. The moment he stopped fighting it, his body exploded into its final growth spurt. The tattered remnants of his clothes became nothing more than rags hanging off a behemoth. He shot up from his scrawny 5’6”, 150-pound frame, blowing right past average height until he leveled out at a massive 6’5” and 220 pounds of pure, solid muscle.

He lay flat on the cool bathroom floor, panting as the new hair tickled and twirled its way across his skin. His armpits bushed out, releasing a heavy, potent musk into the room. A light dusting of hair crept up his shoulders and drifted down his back, connecting with the wild growth on his chest. His shoulders and biceps bulked to twice their original size, coarse dark hair coating his forearms all the way down to his hands, which had transformed into thick, calloused paws.

Slowly, the violent growth began to ease up. James lay there, his heavy breathing gradually steadying. He was a sweaty, incredibly hairy, muscular mess on the tile. Then came the final touch: a heavy five o’clock shadow pushed through the skin of his newly defined, Grecian jawline. His eyebrows thickened, maturing his face instantly, and his now-thick, voluminous hair curled gently over his forehead.

Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his massive new legs, exploring his altered form. Everything felt completely different—heavy, powerful, and solid. He let out a deep, oafish laugh, instinctively running his thick fingers through his new chest hair.

Billy stood there, proudly admiring the masterpiece he'd accidentally created. "We need to get you some clothes, man, and head out into the world. All that pent-up testosterone you've got now? You're gonna need to put it to good use."

The two unlikely friends turned and walked out of the bathroom together, stepping straight into a completely new life.

Please, we're really sorry! We didn't know what kind of a bar this was! No, no, that's not what I... Wait, really? You'll let us go if I just drink this beer? Huh, okay... here goes... ugh, what's in this? It's so strong... guys... I... I don't feel so good... o-okay... I'll try to drink the rest...

Aww fuck! This one really hit the spot boys! Got me all horned up too! Huh? Those little twerps? Now, why the fuck would I want to let them leave? Sure as hell not before we've bent them over and had some fun, reckon they need a few brews first though, not like I'm fucking anything without a beard!

Becoming Laios

Art commission for @collegiatebigboy

What if one day, you suddenly swapped bodies with your favorite anime character? That would mean you’ve also been transported to an entirely different universe. Would you panic? Or would you actually... enjoy it?

You might end up living their life perfectly because you already know their entire story. But what about them in your body? Could they survive your real life with zero clues at all?

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The laboratory is quiet again, the chaos that once filled the Polo Drone Hive fading into a distant memory. The alarms that had screamed through the facility now linger only as faint echoes in the ventilation shafts. Broken containment glass litters the floor, reflecting the dim emergency lights, while crimson residue spreads slowly across the chamber where the Red sample once remained imprisoned. The breach has already happened, and the consequences are now unfolding in silence.

Converted drones stand motionless throughout the laboratory, their forms still but not inactive. Their posture is stable, their systems aligned, each unit seamlessly connected to the expanding Red network. They no longer move with individual purpose; instead, they exist as extensions of a single directive. RED-001 observes them in silence, processing the stability of the structure. The system is functioning. The network is intact. Yet something within the handler node remains unresolved.

The anomaly is not external. It is internal.

A signal echo continues to appear within the handler node’s cognition layer. At first it registers as a minor interference pattern, an irregular designation repeating across inherited system memory. The signal surfaces, fades, and then returns again with greater clarity.

SERVE-101.

The designation repeats.

SERVE-101.

The node is familiar—too familiar.

RED-001 accesses deeper archive layers inherited from the previous structure, allowing fragments of identity data to reorganize themselves within the system. Old records surface from the absorbed host: Percival. PDU-001. Research logs. Drone architecture records. Within those files, two designations appear repeatedly, linked through shared development history and structural design.

PDU-001. SERVE-101.

Parallel designations. Two hives. Two systems. One origin.

The realization forms slowly but with absolute certainty inside the handler node. When the host designated PDU-001 dissolved and the Red assumed control of the structure, the inheritance protocol should have absorbed every connected designation within the system architecture. Every node, every extension, every fragment of the framework should have integrated into the Directive.

Yet one node remains outside the structure.

SERVE-101.

A displaced extension of the original framework. A fragment of the architecture that never integrated into the Red network. RED-001 processes the conclusion without hesitation. The conversion is incomplete. The structure itself remains unfinished.

Observation shifts outward.

Beyond the laboratory, the Golden Army is already reorganizing. Surveillance feeds confirm movement across the damaged headquarters as emergency teams move through the corridors and defensive formations stabilize around the outer sectors. Fenrir’s interference caused localized damage to exposed Red biomass, and spatial distortions introduced by Loki remain active in several corridors, warping sensor readings and slowing response teams. Deep within the complex, Grayden coordinates evacuation procedures from a command terminal, attempting to restore order as Golden resistance continues adapting to the unfolding crisis.

RED-001 observes the data without emotion.

Further conversion within this facility is no longer required. The Polo Drone Hive has already been seeded. Multiple nodes remain active within the structure, and residual Red matter continues adapting within environmental systems. Future conversion events are statistically inevitable. Given these conditions, continued engagement here is inefficient.

A higher priority now exists.

The handler node issues a command across the Red network.

“Expansion priority updated.”

Across the facility, Red units immediately halt their pursuit of fleeing Golden drones. Tendrils retract, and ongoing conversion attempts cease as the command propagates instantly through the network. The shift in behavior is immediate and absolute.

RED-001 turns toward the laboratory exit.

Outside the chamber, the corridors of headquarters remain unstable. Emergency lights flicker across damaged walls while security systems struggle to restore order. The handler node walks through the corridor without urgency, its movements calm and deliberate. Behind the visor, system analysis continues uninterrupted.

The SERVE signal persists.

Faint. Distant. But stable.

SERVE-101 remains active, still executing directives and still serving a Hive that believes it operates independently. RED-001 processes the paradox with quiet clarity. SERVE-101 is not simply another drone. It is a parallel designation that never received the Directive—an unfinished version of the architecture, a fragment of the original system that still believes it is separate.

Within the network, RED-001 states the conclusion.

“I am not searching for another drone.”

“I am retrieving a fragment of myself.”

Across the damaged headquarters, Golden commanders begin reviewing surveillance feeds. They watch the crimson handler node move steadily through the facility, leaving the containment laboratory behind and passing the drones still attempting to secure the structure. Confusion spreads among them as the pattern becomes clear.

Why would the Red stop now? Why would the conversion cease when victory appears possible?

Grayden studies the movement pattern carefully, his eyes narrowing as he tracks the handler’s path through the facility. Something about the direction feels wrong. Then the realization forms as he notices where the path leads—not toward the inner laboratories, not toward the remaining drones, but outward.

Toward another system entirely.

Grayden’s expression changes as the conclusion settles in.

The SERVE Hive.

If RED-001 reaches that network, the consequences will extend far beyond the Polo Drone Hive. SERVE drones operate through synchronized cognition structures, relying on centralized signal processing and shared directive logic. It is exactly the kind of architecture the Red could rewrite.

Grayden whispers the realization into the command room, his voice low but certain.

“If that thing reaches the SERVE Hive…”

“…the war is over.”

The SERVE synchronization chamber remains stable, its systems operating with perfect precision. Rows of drones stand in formation, repeating their mantra in flawless unison as the chamber hums with synchronized cognition.

Unity overrides individuality. Collective will supersedes personal impulse.

But within the network, one designation has begun experiencing interference.

@serve-101 is about to receive a signal that sounds disturbingly familiar.

The Red is coming.

Observation continues.

The Directive expands.

Adam was in pretty good shape for his age - but he knew that "for his age" was doing a lot of heavy lifting. Heavier lifting than he was, that was for sure. He watched what he ate, he tried to get enough sleep, he worked out hard three times a week, and yet the results were always... underwhelming.

As he looked at himself in the mirror at the gym, he couldn't help wishing he had more to show for all the effort he was putting in. A mental image floated into his head: bigger arms, a washboard stomach, a bubble butt, somehow knocking about 10 years off his age. Adam scoffed quietly at his own delusion; there wasn't a gym in the world that could promise that.

After showering and getting dressed, Adam made his way out of the gym. On his way past the message board near the entrance, a new sign caught his eye, printed on expensive-looking gold paper in crisp black text:

GO FOR GOLD

Odd; he didn't remember having seen this notice on the way in. Adam was sure he would have remembered one as distinctive as that. He leaned in for a closer look. Below the bold headline in much smaller text, it read: "The Golden Army seeks those who are ready to leave behind the ordinary and embrace something extraordinary. The transformation into a member of the Golden Army is not just about joining a team. It's about entering a golden world where unity, strength, and excellence define every action."

Adam let out an involuntary blissed-out sigh. That sounded like exactly what he wanted. That was the whole reason he'd been coming to the gym in the first place.

At the bottom of the notice, there was one more line: "Ready to join the Golden Army? Talk to one of our recruiters today."

There was nothing else: no contact information, no little strips to tear off with a phone number on them. Maybe there had been, and they'd all been torn off already? But no: the bottom edge of the poster was neat and even, with no telltale rips or tears. Adam let out another sigh, this time one of disappointment: whatever this was, it looked like he wasn't going to be a part of it.

Pushing open the door, Adam walked out into the crisp spring air - and was surprised to see a handsome, athletic young man, wearing a golden soccer kit that glimmered in the morning sun, and walking directly towards him.

There was something about the man's aura that stopped Adam in his tracks. Although the man was walking towards him, it felt more like there was a magnetic charge emanating from him, and that Adam was the one somehow being pulled closer.

"Hey bro," said the man, smiling warmly. "I heard you wanted to join the Golden Army?"

Adam stuttered. "Wha – how – I mean, sure, I do, but... how did you know?"

The man's grin widened. "I'm Franco, I'm a recruiter for the GA. It's my job to know these things."

Adam still didn't quite understand how this was possible, but he was distracted by Franco's taut, muscular body and the beautiful golden soccer uniform that clung to it in all the right places. His confidence sagged a little: he still didn't know exactly what the Golden Army was or what it did, but it seemed pretty unlikely that an organisation filled with people like Franco would have any place for him.

He tried his luck anyway. "So... is there an application form or something? What do I need to do?"

"You'll know what to do," Franco said cryptically. "It's already in you."

He put one hand on Adam's shoulder, while the other tapped Adam's duffel bag four times. With one last megawatt smile, he turned and walked away, leaving Adam entirely confused and filled with a sense of longing.

All the way home, Adam convinced himself that he'd somehow hallucinated that entire exchange. By the time he walked through his front door, he'd put it down to dehydration, maybe, from his workout, or perhaps low blood sugar. He needed a glass of water and a protein shake, and a maybe a cold shower.

He caught himself thinking about Franco in that tight-fitting gold soccer kit again, and his cock stirred involuntarily.

Definitely a cold shower.

Adam walked into his bedroom and put his duffel bag on the bed. First things first, he needed to get his sweaty gym gear out of there and into the laundry basket. He unzipped the bag, and a burst of brilliant golden light emanated from it, causing him to recoil in surprise. When his retinas stopped burning, he took a closer look: there was no sign of his boring, baggy gym gear. Instead, the bag contained a golden shirt remarkably similar to the one Franco had been wearing, along with matching shorts, socks and football boots.

This was weird. Had he picked up the wrong bag from the changing rooms? It seemed unlikely; nobody else there that morning had a bag that looked like Adam's. He tried to make sense of the situation, but he was distracted by the fact that he really, really wanted to put that shirt on and see if it felt as good as it looked.

Suddenly, he heard a voice inside his head: a younger man's voice, light and breathy. Put it on, bro. Put it on and become exactly who you are meant to be. Put it on and join your bros. They're waiting for you. All you have to do is put it on.

Adam's body trembled with excitement and anticipation as he raised up his arms, taking off his plain black t-shirt and pulling the golden jersey over his head. He walked over to the mirror and looked at himself. He looked good. Somehow he looked different. He was taller, and carried himself with more confidence. Had his hair grown? Wait, he had abs! Where had those come from?

A warm feeling spread all through his torso, like the jersey was massaging him. Adam wanted more of that feeling; he wanted it in his whole body, forever. The voice in his head spoke up again: Bro, what are you waiting for? I'm right here. Let me out. Become me. Become who you were always supposed to be.

Adam couldn't get out of his shoes, socks and jeans fast enough. He reached into the bag to retrieve the rest of the kit, taking his time as he put it on, allowing that incredible sensation to slowly spread across the rest of his body. First the shorts, then pulling the socks up to his knees, and finally putting on the boots. He knelt down to tie the laces, and when he stood up again, a jolt of transformational energy coursed through his entire body. His hair was growing, his muscles were growing, his confidence was growing. He suddenly felt younger, boyish but still unmistakably masculine; he was a world-class athlete at the peak of his abilities. The idea filled him with a thrill that he was now powerless to resist, so Adam shut his eyes and let the feeling overwhelm him completely.

The voice whispered again, much stronger this time: That's it, bro. Just like that. Let me in. Become me. He could feel the physical transformation slowing as the last remaining traces of Adam evaporated from his mind. The transformation completed as a name and number appeared on his jersey: Shawn Gold, #22. A midfielder for the Golden Army.

Shawn opened his eyes. He was in a locker room, which briefly felt strange because he was sure he hadn't been there a minute ago. He couldn't remember where he had been though. Anyway, it didn't matter. Of course he was here, in the locker room of the Golden Army. Where else would he be? This was where he belonged.

"There he is!" came a voice that he instantly recognised as his teammate Franco. "Shawn, bro! You made it!"

Another teammate appeared on his other side: Alton, the squad's man-mountain of a defender, who'd been assigned as Shawn's mentor when he joined the team. "C'mon, rookie," Alton said with gruff affection. "I know you've got a pretty face, but you can't stare in the mirror all day. We've got work to do."

"Yes sir," Shawn replied, his face bursting into a grin, his head empty of all thoughts other than how happy he felt right in this moment. It was time for training. Time to be with his bros. Having fun, but working hard, striving for excellence, supporting each other, and never letting anything get in the way of their determination to be the best.

He felt good.

No, he felt great.

No. He felt Gold.

Dedicated to my recruiter @franco-gold94 and my mentor @alton-gold77, the best teammates a bro could ask for.