Shadow and Form [Gay Muscle Growth Fantasy]

[helloguy]

This is my first story that I've posted. More coming soon, currently I'm planning for 5 chapters. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Invitation

Jon Tucker sat at his desk, the glow of the computer screen casting sharp lines across his pale, angular face. His sandy-brown hair was disheveled, untouched by a comb for days, and his glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose as he squinted at the screen. The clock on his monitor read 2:30 AM, but Jon wasn’t tired. The only sound in the room was the slow hum of the ceiling fan, a faint backdrop to the restless thoughts running through his mind. He scrolled through page after page—workout routines, supplements, before-and-after photos—all promising the one thing he desperately wanted: transformation.

For Jon, this wasn’t just about vanity or trying to look good. It was about taking back control over his life, his body, and his sense of self-worth. Years of being the nerdy, overlooked guy had worn him down, leaving him with a deeply ingrained image of himself as weak—both physically and emotionally. Jon’s narrow chest and thin arms were constant reminders of everything he wasn’t and everything he believed he could never be.

His apartment was a reflection of his ordered mind, every bookshelf meticulously arranged, every action figure perfectly placed. But his eyes kept drifting to the dusty gym bag tossed carelessly in the corner, a silent reminder of his ongoing battle with his own body—a battle he seemed destined to lose. The monitor reflected back a version of himself he despised—wire-thin arms, a lanky frame, a shadow of the sculpted men who filled his searches.

With a heavy sigh, Jon closed the open tabs and switched to a private browser. There was a darker side to the internet, one he had visited more times than he cared to admit. His cursor hovered over a bookmark labeled “BodyFuelX,” a site that promised the impossible with a serum claiming to rewire the body at the cellular level. Jon had dismissed it countless times before, but tonight was different. Tonight, the loneliness clung to him like a second skin, stifling and persistent. He clicked the link, and the screen flashed crimson, the words “Your Transformation Awaits” burning against the dark void, beckoning him with their impossible promise.

The product description read like a fevered dream—scientific jargon mixed with wild, outrageous claims. The price was steep, almost laughably so, but Jon felt the pull of desperation stronger than his skepticism. He placed the order, heart pounding, a reckless surge of hope rising within him. The confirmation email pinged in his inbox, sealing his decision. Jon stared at the screen, feeling a strange blend of exhilaration and shame as he clicked the “buy now” button. He held his breath, the room’s darkness pressing in on him, as a flicker of excitement and dread ran through his veins. It was a gamble, a long shot, but in that moment, the promise of change outweighed the fear of failure.

With his transaction complete, he tried to shake off the excitement. It was silly, really. He knew better than to believe in magic bullets, especially ones peddled by shady websites. To distract himself, Jon pulled up his favorite porn site, and entered a often used search, "muscle stud assplay." The idea of a beast of a man, all brawn and power, willingly giving up control and letting someone else take the lead was a tantalizing reversal of the norm. It was a secret fantasy that never failed to make him hard. He clicked on a video and leaned back in his chair, his eyes glazed over as he pulled out his cock. It was the definition of average—five inches, just enough to satisfy him, but never to turn heads. His fingers closed fully around it. The skin was darker than the rest of his body, a stark contrast to his belly, and the head had a slightly purple hue. He was, however, quite hairy below the waist, his pubes a thick, unruly bush that even in its soft state, threatened to engulf his member entirely. It was a trait that made him self-conscious, though he has learned some gay men found it appealing, so he'd left it untouched as a way to differentiate his otherwise average package.

That night, Jon barely even noticed how his cock felt as he whacked off dry and rough. He had fallen into a routine and this was how he got ready for bed: alone, jerking off for a dopamine hit, pushing away his feelings. It was the same every night and after he came, a pitiful spurt of semen landing on his stomach, he cleaned up, rolled over and fell asleep.

The next few days passed in a blur of restless anticipation. On the morning that “BodyFuelX” was set to arrive, Jon’s phone buzzed with a message from Alan Marshall, his childhood friend and the source of a secret crush that had sparked the summer they were eleven. Alan had always been ahead of the curve, hitting puberty early and transforming into something extraordinary while Jon remained small and scrawny. Now both 35, their lives had taken different paths. Alan was successful, married, and straight—living a life that seemed worlds apart from Jon’s own. Despite decades of fantasizing, Jon had always been respectful of their friendship, never making a move or letting his feelings show. He knew Alan wasn’t within his reach, and he’d long accepted that their bond would remain purely platonic, no matter how much he secretly longed for more. The text was simple: “Hey, Jon, wanna hit the gym together this weekend?”

Jon had recently confessed, after a few too many drinks, that he was interested in weightlifting, and Alan had casually promised to take him to the gym sometime. Jon never thought it would actually happen.

For most horny, lonely gay men, an invitation like this might have been thrilling, but for Jon, it was a recipe for self-loathing. Alan was everything Jon wasn’t—his body shaped by years of football, swimming, and weightlifting, sculpted into solid, well-defined muscle. Alan’s chest and shoulders were broad, his arms thick and powerful, with veins that stood out against his sun-kissed skin. His core was strong, with abs that hinted at his disciplined workout routine without being overly chiseled. Yet, despite his impressive physique, Alan was approachable, his kind personality catching people off guard. His easy smile and warm blue eyes made him the type of guy who could bench press twice his weight and then help a stranger with their groceries. It was this combination of strength and warmth that made Alan so special, and it was exactly what filled Jon with dread at the thought of standing beside him in the gym. Jon’s own pale, thin limbs seemed almost ghostly in comparison, a constant reminder of the hours he’d spent at a computer instead of building the kind of body Alan had.

But Jon’s dread was more than just about physical comparison. It was tangled up in the complicated feelings he had about his friendship with Alan. Alan had always been there for him, sticking up for Jon when others wouldn’t, making sure he was included. But sometimes, Jon couldn’t shake the suspicion that Alan’s kindness wasn’t entirely selfless. There were moments—subtle, almost imperceptible—where it felt like Alan was getting something out of their dynamic, a sense of superiority that came from being the stronger, more capable one. Maybe it was the way Alan would ruffle Jon’s hair after helping him with something physical, or the way he introduced Jon to others with a hint of pride, as if Jon were his personal project. These moments gnawed at Jon, blending his gratitude with a quiet resentment, twisting his desire to prove himself into something more desperate. It wasn’t just about wanting to be more like Alan—it was about wanting to break free from the unspoken hierarchy that had defined their friendship for so long.

At that moment, a sharp thud on the front porch shattered Jon’s thoughts, jolting him upright in his chair. His heart raced as the sound echoed through the stillness of his apartment. The delivery had arrived. He glanced at the clock—10 AM, right on time. His breath quickened as he stood, nerves tingling with anticipation. The Southern sun poured over the porch, the heat rising through the floorboards as Jon peered through the peephole, catching a glimpse of the UPS truck pulling away. He opened the door, his hand trembling slightly as he reached down and picked up the small, unassuming package.

 

[helloguy]

Chapter 2: The Vial

The cardboard box was plain, unmarked except for Jon’s name and address hastily scrawled in black ink. The shipping label had been partially torn during transit, leaving only the sender’s name—BodyFuelX—visible. Jon’s heart pounded as he turned the box over in his hands. It felt almost too light to hold anything of value. Inside, nestled within a tangle of bubble wrap, was a tiny dropper vial containing a clear, blue, viscous liquid. The simplicity of the packaging was unsettling. A single slip of paper, handwritten in rushed script, offered minimal instructions: “Use as needed. Results may vary. Discretion advised.”

Jon couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that this was all a scam. The vial looked like something out of a child’s science kit, not the key to a transformed body. The liquid’s innocent appearance made the promises it carried seem even more outlandish, and yet, there it was in his hands, daring him to believe.

But what did he have to lose? He was tired of feeling like a shadow of a man, tired of the whispers and sneers that seemed to follow him everywhere. With a mix of excitement and skepticism, he decided to give it a shot. In the kitchen, Jon uncapped the vial and squinted at its meager contents. He couldn’t believe that such a tiny amount could possibly do anything. Yet, hopeful and slightly foolish, he carefully squeezed out a single drop into his water bottle. The blue liquid swirled momentarily, coloring the water a murky shade before dissipating entirely. He twisted the cap back on and gave it a vigorous shake, watching the liquid slosh around.

He took a deep breath, trying to convince himself that he was making the right decision. He checked the measuring line on the side of the bottle. The drop had been diluted into 10 ounces of water, and remembering the instructions, he decided to drink only an ounce. The taste was strongly metallic, leaving a tingle on his tongue. It reminded him of sucking on pennies as a kid, a gross memory he hadn’t considered in decades. He waited, his heart thumping against his ribcage. For a few moments, nothing happened. Feeling foolish, he decided to sit on the couch and rest, hoping for some sign, anything, that this wasn’t just another waste of time and money.

Thirty minutes later, Jon was starting to feel like an idiot. He’d been waiting for a transformation that seemed as likely as winning the lottery. Frustrated and restless, he decided to do something productive. After slipping into some old, baggy clothes, Jon stepped outside, ready to tackle the yard work that had been piling up. His house sat on a quaint street, where towering live oaks lined the sidewalks, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze. The morning heat was already building, and Jon could feel the sweat starting to form on his back. As he prepared to get started, something else caught his eye: Mrs. Jenkins’ stone birdbath, toppled over during the storm last night. The elderly widow next door wouldn’t be able to lift it on her own, so Jon walked across the yard and squatted down to lift the heavy concrete basin.

The moment he began to lift, a strange sensation shot through his legs. It was as if an electric current had been turned on, coursing from his hamstrings up through his thighs and into his glutes. Jon gritted his teeth and hoisted the birdbath, his calves straining and his quads burning. As he lifted, his muscles swelled slightly, and a warm pleasure washed over him. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was real or all in his head. The birdbath felt lighter than it should have, his legs holding steady beneath the weight. The electric feeling grew stronger, and his body began to quiver with each contraction of his muscles. He managed to right the birdbath, setting it back onto its pedestal with a gentle thud that sent a tremor through his body.

Jon looked down at his quivering legs, a strange mix of disbelief and excitement surging through him. The faint outline of muscles that had never been there before was starting to take shape—a subtle hint of definition in his calves and thighs that seemed impossible. He swallowed hard, struggling to grasp the reality of what he was seeing. This couldn’t be from the serum—not this fast, not from such a tiny dose. But as he bent his legs slightly, watching the muscles tense and shift beneath his skin, the line between reality and fantasy began to blur. His hamstrings tightened, the tendons standing out like cords against the back of his legs, and his glutes seemed to come alive, swelling and rounding with each movement. It was as if the muscles had been lying dormant, now suddenly filling out, expanding to occupy space they’d always been meant to claim.

Jon’s gaze remained fixed on his legs, his breath shallow as he took in the changes. The transformation wasn’t dramatic, but it was undeniable. His calves, once thin and shapeless, now had a gentle curve, a hint of muscle that gave them a sturdier appearance. His thighs had filled out slightly, the skin stretching just enough to reveal a faint outline of definition that had never been there before. The change in mass was subtle—his legs weren’t bulky or overly muscular, but they looked stronger, more capable. He flexed his quads, watching the muscles ripple under the surface, and felt a strange sense of pride mixed with disbelief. It was as if his legs had been given a glimpse of what they could be, and for the first time, Jon felt a glimmer of hope that his body might finally start to align with the image he’d always longed for. The subtlety of the transformation made it all the more intriguing, as though the serum had only just begun to reveal its potential.

But how had it worked? Jon’s mind raced as he tried to piece together the logic. He thought back to the moments after he’d taken the dose, replaying every action in his mind. It suddenly struck him—his legs and glutes had been the only muscles engaged since drinking the serum. The brief exertion of lifting Mrs. Jenkins’ stone birdbath, the strain he’d felt in his thighs, the tightness in his hamstrings and glutes, must have triggered the serum’s effects. It hadn’t simply made all his muscles grow on their own; his muscles had responded to the work he’d put them through. The realization was both thrilling and terrifying. If just a small amount of effort could spark this kind of change, what would happen with a full workout?

That’s when Jon noticed the glaring difference: while his legs had gained a modest but noticeable definition, his upper body remained frustratingly scrawny. The contrast was stark. His calves and thighs, now slightly more muscular, seemed out of place beneath his still narrow chest and thin arms. The sight of his unchanged, almost frail torso only deepened the disparity, making his legs seem even more pronounced. It was as if his body had been split into two different versions of himself—one that hinted at the potential for strength, and another that remained stuck in its underdeveloped, weak state.

Without a second thought, Jon dropped to the ground and started doing pushups, feeling the familiar strain in his arms and chest as he powered through each repetition. With each push, his biceps tightened, and his triceps burned, but there was something else, something new. The serum seemed to be reacting to the effort, sending waves of electricity through his muscles. It was as if every fiber of his arms and chest were being awakened, coming alive with a kind of primal energy he’d never felt before. The pleasure grew with each pushup, a deep, resonant ache that spread from his shoulders down to his fingertips.

Breathless and drenched in sweat, Jon raced back into the house, his heart pounding not just from exertion but from the thrill of anticipation. He nearly tripped over himself as he rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The mirror above the sink caught his reflection, and he paused, staring at the man in the mirror. With a deep breath, he peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt and let it fall to the floor.

His eyes went straight to his chest. To anyone else, the differences would have seemed subtle, but Jon immediately saw that his pecs were no longer the flat, lifeless slabs they had been. There was a slight bulge, a hint of mass that hadn’t been there before. The skin over his chest felt tighter, stretched over the beginnings of muscle that was finally starting to emerge. He flexed tentatively, and to his amazement, he saw the faintest outline of definition—a shadow of what could one day be a solid, well-formed chest. Jon’s gaze traveled to his arms, which had always been so thin they looked almost brittle. His biceps, while still small, had a new roundness to them, a subtle swelling that hinted at strength. The veins that had once been faint and barely visible were now standing out slightly, a sign that blood was pumping through newly awakened muscles. His triceps, too, seemed more pronounced, giving his arms a fuller, more balanced appearance.

Shock and excitement coursed through him. The transformation wasn’t dramatic, but it was real, undeniable. Jon flexed his arms again, more deliberately this time, watching in awe as the muscles tensed and shifted under his skin. He ran his hands over his chest and arms, feeling the firmness that hadn’t been there before, the promise of more to come.

That’s when he remembered Alan’s text from earlier that morning. He quickly grabbed his phone, took another long look at his new, more toned form, and typed out a message: “Gym? How’s tomorrow?”

 

[helloguy]

Chapter 3: The Workout
Part 1

The next day, Jon woke up with a jolt of energy, his excitement bubbling up the moment his eyes opened. His mind immediately went to the workout he and Alan had planned, and instead of the usual dread he felt before the gym, a thrill ran through him. After dressing in his favorite gear, he packed his gym bag, carefully placing the water bottle infused with the serum inside. He wasn’t sure how much he’d take yet but he was tempted to go further this time.

An hour later, Jon stepped into the gym, a familiar and intimidating scent of sweat and iron hitting him as he crossed the threshold. As he made his way toward the locker room, he caught sight of Billy Ray Belcher, the gym’s massive, no-nonsense owner, chatting with a couple of regulars by the front desk. Billy Ray was an imposing figure, each muscle sculpted to perfection, exuding strength and confidence. Billy Ray’s massive muscle bound shoulders held up his loose tank top, a piece of clothing technically, but it was so stretched and worn, Billy Ray was basically shirtless. The neckline was stretched so low that his entire chest was completely exposed, two solid mounds of muscle that looked like they could crush a watermelon. His shorts barely contained his substantial package, the fabric straining against the contours of his cock and balls which looked huge, even though Jon was standing 20 feet away. The hem of his shorts rode high up his thick, muscular thighs, revealing the deep, curving indentation where they met his waist. His legs were like tree trunks, each muscle clearly defined and rippling with power, a testament to the countless hours he’d spent pushing himself to the limits.

For a moment, Jon felt the usual twinge of comparison, but then something shifted. Instead of feeling small or out of place, he felt a surge of possibility. As he looked at Billy Ray and the other big guys in the gym, a new thought crystallized in his mind: he could be them. He could be bigger. He rushed towards the locker room, more eager to lift weights than he'd ever been in his life.

Inside the locker room, Jon stowed his bag in a locker and glanced around to make sure Alan wasn't already there. He pulled out the water bottle, the murky blue liquid inside calling to him. With trembling hands, he took a long drink, gulping down three ounces of the serum—triple the amount he’d taken the day before. The taste was just as metallic, and Jon struggled to get it down. He went to the mirror and took off his shirt, his eyes scanning over his body, committing every inch to memory; the last time he’d see himself like this. Jon pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of his reflection, capturing the beginnings of his transformation. He wanted to have a visual reminder of his progress.

As he put his shirt back on, he felt a twinge of excitement, the serum already starting to pulse through his veins. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and walked out to the gym floor. Billy Ray played alt rock non-stop in the gym which would mix in with grunts and clanging weights. There were only a couple other guys here today as Jon scanned the room. And there, over by the free wight benches, was Alan, already bench pressing a weight that would have crushed Jon just days ago. The sight of him, muscles rippling and sweat beginning to darken his tee shirt, made Jon’s heart race. He felt his dick stirring in his shorts, and he knew he had to be careful not to get too aroused.

Alan looked up and spotted him, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Hey, Jon," he called out, his voice muffled by the Beastie Boys. "You ready to get swole?" If Alan only knew...

Jon's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't believe this was happening—and now that he was here, he was a bit nervous for what he knew was coming. What would Alan think? Would he be into this or totally freaked? Jon decided it didn't matter, he was finished with feeling small and defenseless. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, and walked over, feeling the serum's warmth spread into his hands and face.

Alan saw the look in Jon's eyes and paused, his hand on the barbell. "You okay, man?" he asked, his concern genuine. "You look a little...flushed."

Jon nodded, his cheeks burning. "Yeah, I'm good," his casual tone only slightly forced. "Just excited to get started."

Alan nodded, his eyes scanning the weights. "Cool," he said, reaching down to remove the heavy plates. "Let's start with something manageable." He began to strip the bar of the weight he'd just been lifting, not noticing anything different about Jon's physique yet.

"No," Jon said. "I want to try your weight just to get a baseline. What is this, 145, 150?"

Alan chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's 190, Jon. You sure you can handle that?" He didn't mean to be patronizing, but he was certain this was too much weight for his friend. He had been lifting, at least casually, for a decade by this time and only recently hit 190.

Jon took a deep breath, his heart racing as he felt the serum's heat spread through his chest. "I'll start with 140," he said, trying to sound casual. "Just to see where I'm at."

Alan nodded, his smile tightening a fraction. He didn't want to make Jon feel insecure but he knew that was way too much weight. "Alright, buddy," he said, his slight Southern drawl thick with doubt. "Let's see what you got." He loaded the bar for Jon, his strong hands moving with ease, and then stepped back, ready to spot Jon. And, Alan suspected, carry most of the weight for him.

Jon approached the bench, feeling the eyes of the other gym-goers on him. He took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. The anticipation was a thrill, his body feeling electrified. He gripped the bar, his palms sweaty but firm. He took a deep breath and lowered the bar above his chest. Surprise flickered across Alan's face as the weight rose back up effortlessly a second later. Jon's arms didn't quiver or strain at all, as he had expected. Instead, they remained steady and his muscles squeezed as he extended them. Jon lowered the bar to his chest again, the weight feeling heavy but intoxicatingly manageable, and pushed it back up. Down and up, down and up, he did this twelve times. He did begin, however, to grunt softly halfway through.

The sensation was like nothing he'd ever felt before—his muscles didn't burn with fatigue but instead swelled ever so slightly with each lift, filling him with a primal power. The metal barbell suddenly felt like an extension of his body. The room faded around him, leaving only the rhythmic clank of the weights and the sound of his own breathing. Alan's doubtful expression slowly morphed into one of awe as he watched Jon from his spot position. By the end of the set, the weight felt more than manageable, it was beginning to feel light.

As Jon set the bar down, Alan watched as something strange happened. Jon pecs, which had always been flat and formless, began to twitch, like a slight tremble. This grew until Jon's chest was rippling. It was strange and isolated only to his chest—like there were hundreds of tiny worms crawling underneath his shirt. Alan was so shocked, he didn't speak at first and by the time he tried, he was stopped silent by what he saw. Jon's pecs swelled suddenly like they had taken in a breath of air and were holding onto it. The expansion was slight but noticeable and happened in about a second. If Alan hadn't been watching it first hand, he wouldn't have believed it. The fabric of Jon's shirt pulled a bit over his chest, revealing the nascent contours of his growing muscles. At once, Alan was mesmerized and stunned. Jon couldn't help the involuntary moan that escaped his lips as this happened. It was guttural, almost animalistic, and despite their public setting, had a distinctly sexual undertone that sent a shiver down Alan's spine. Thankfully, the gym wasn't very crowded and no one seemed to notice what was happening.

"What the...?" Alan murmured, his voice trailing off as he stepped closer to Jon, his eyes locked on the unbelievable transformation.

Jon's heart was racing as he met Alan's gaze, his cheeks flushing red with a mix of excitement. Then, he felt the same pattern begin in his arms. The rippling sensation began in his biceps and spread all up and down his arms for a couple seconds. Alan stared doubly as Jon's arms suddenly thickened, the muscles swelling slightly but noticeably in a second, as if each muscle was inflating briefly like a balloon.

“What the hell, man?!” Alan blurted, his voice rising in shock. “Are you on steroids?! What was that?!” He pointed at Jon’s chest, his expression riddled with confusion, concern and (was it?) jealousy?

Jon hesitated for a moment, trying to think fast. He knew the serum was responsible, but he wasn't ready to let everyone know he wasn't working as hard as they were. He flexed his bicep nonchalantly, watching the muscle pop under his skin, still smaller than Alan’s but more defined than ever. “Nah, dude. No steroids,” Jon said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “It’s… just home workouts. I’ve been pushing harder.”

Alan’s eyes narrowed, clearly not buying it. “Home workouts don’t make your chest do that,” he said, waving his hand toward Jon’s pecs. “And I’ve been working out for years. You don’t just… grow like that. What’s really going on?”

Jon could see the disbelief etched across Alan’s face. He needed something more convincing. “Okay, okay, fine,” Jon said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “It’s not steroids. But it’s not just regular workouts either.”

Alan folded his arms, waiting. “Go on.”

“I’ve been trying this new recovery drink,” Jon said, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “It’s got this blend of, like, creatine and some other stuff… I don’t even know all the ingredients. It’s from this local place—a guy at the gym recommended it. It’s supposed to boost recovery, help your muscles swell during workouts. I think it’s just hitting me harder than most people probably.”

Alan still looked skeptical, but he seemed to be considering it. “A recovery drink? That’s it? Something you got from some guy at the gym?”

“Yeah, man,” Jon said with a nod, leaning into the lie. “It helps with blood flow or something—it makes your muscles look bigger when you work out. I’ve only been using it for a few days, but you can see the results.” Jon flexed his arm again, watching Alan’s reaction carefully.

Alan squinted at Jon for a moment longer, his expression torn between doubt and curiosity. “That sounds like some next-level bullshit, Jon,” he said, but there was a hint of amusement creeping into his voice now. “But I’ll admit… whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”

Jon grinned, relieved. “Exactly! I’ll send you the info if you want to try it.”

Alan chuckled, shaking his head slightly, still looking bewildered but less suspicious. “Nah, I think I’ll stick to my protein shakes for now. But I’ve gotta see what else this stuff does for you.” He stepped back toward the weights, his eyes scanning Jon’s body again with an air of disbelief.

“Let’s see what else you’ve got,” Alan finally said, his voice calmer now but still filled with curiosity.

Jon's voice grew deeper, more assured. "I can handle more than you think," he said, the serum seemed to also affect his confidence.

Alan added another plate to each side of the barbell, taking the weight up to 180 pounds. Jon laid back down on the bench and took a deep breath, his eyes locked on the challenge before him. He felt the serum surging in his chest as he bent his elbows and brought the barbell down. The cool metal kissed his chest before he pushed it back up with surprising ease. The barbell seemed lighter than it had before, despite the added weight. He was flush with the feeling; it felt incredible to lift so much weight. There was a deep satisfaction to it and he could feel the beginnings of a heady new power building within him.

Alan counted off the reps, his eyes flicking down to Jon's chest each time he grunted. The grunts grew deeper and more intense as Jon pushed through the set. By the time he had completed his twelfth rep and racked the bar with a clang that echoed through the gym, Jon felt ready for more. Like clock work, the growth spurt pattern resumed, his trembles evolving into waves of ripples up and down his arms. Then, as if inflating with air, his biceps and triceps swelled and bulged, stretching his sleeves to their limits. The veins grew more prominent, pulsing with power. Alan's eyes widened, and Jon could see the beginnings of arousal creep into his friend's gaze through the sheer confusion.

"Jesus," Alan breathed, his voice thick. "What are you on?"

Jon's heart raced. "It's...it's just...adrenaline probably," he managed to croak out. He knew his lie was flimsy, but he hoped the shock on Alan's face was enough to distract him from asking any more questions. As Jon sat up, the fabric of his shirt strained against his swelling chest. Then, in what seemed like slow motion, pecs began to ripple then swell again, stretching the material to its limits. Alan's gaze was glued to Jon's chest, the outline of each pec clearly growing under his shirt. "Fuck, man," Alan breathed, his voice laced with a mix of awe and lust. "You're...you're getting ripped."

With a cocky grin, Jon knew he was going further. He grabbed the barbell and added two more plates, taking the weight to 215 pounds. "Let's go big," he said, smirking slightly.

 

[helloguy]

Chapter 3: The Workout
Part 2

The metal clanked as he settled back onto the bench, the weight feeling heavier but not insurmountable. He took a deep breath and began his reps, the serum pumping through his veins like he was being tickled from the inside. Alan watched, his mouth slightly agape as Jon's arms took the weight with surprising ease. He'd seen men struggle with half that weight, and here was Jon - his puny gay friend Jon - lifting it as if it were nothing. Each time the barbell ascended, Jon's pecs flexed and seemed to expand immediately before his eyes. It was unbelievable, there was no other word for it, but Alan couldn't stop watching his friend's body change so dramatically before him.

By his sixth rep, the fabric of Jon's shirt could no longer contain his pecs. The seams suddenly gave way, tearing open to reveal the swollen mounds of muscle beneath. His skin was slick with sweat, and his nipples were hard from the friction of his shirt tearing open.

Alan gasped, "OK dude, what the fuck is going on?!"

But Jon just continued to grunt as he pushed out the second half of his set, his eyes fixed on the bar above him. As he placed the barbell back to the rack, his chest heaved with exertion, and his pecs spilled out of the shredded fabric. They were massive, each one easily the size of a small melon, the skin stretched tight and shiny. And they weren't just big; they were sculpted, leaving shadows beneath each one. His dark nipples stood at attention, erect and sensitive. They also had grown and looked like they would be the size of quarters if they were soft.

Jon stood up and stood next to Alan. As he rose, his arms began to tremble and he turned towards Alan to give him a full view. The sleeves of his shirt split open along the seams, the material giving way to the unstoppable force of his swelling biceps. They bulged, slick with sweat, and Jon felt the urge to begin flexing them. As he flexed they grew larger, the curves more dramatic, until it seemed as if his arms finally settled down. They were big. Not unfathomable for a normal guy who works out a lot, but given how Jon had looked moments ago, it was unfathomable for Alan, who stood mouth agape with a slight bulge in his pants that he hadn't noticed yet.

Alan struggled for words, but Jon wasn't about to help him. He was so turned on right now watching Alan standing there, for the first time in over 15 years of friendship, clearly impressed, and maybe even turned on by him, and Jon wanted to know what he was thinking. After a few long seconds, Alan looked up at Jon, and he spoke, his voice gruff with shock and a hint of desire. "Can I...cop a feel?" he asked, half laughing as he did, gesturing awkwardly at Jon's chest. It was the kind of question a straight man never asks another man, especially not one he's known since childhood, but here they were in some alternate reality and Alan couldn't think straight.

Jon felt the flush creeping up his neck but forced himself to stay composed. “Sure, man,” he said, keeping his tone casual. Alan’s hand hovered for a moment, hesitant, before finally making contact. The warmth of Jon’s pecs met Alan’s palm, firm and solid. Alan’s fingers pressed against the unyielding muscle, the thin layer of skin giving just slightly under his touch.

Alan’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t expected Jon to feel like this—warm, solid, almost electric under his fingertips. He’d never thought about Jon’s body in this way before, never even considered it. Jon had always been his awkward, nerdy friend, more comfortable with a book in hand than a barbell. But now… now Alan was captivated, unable to pull his hand away. The sensation of Jon’s muscles tensing beneath his touch was doing something to him. Something unfamiliar.

Am I into Jon?! Alan’s mind raced, confusion swirling. No, he told himself firmly. Other than a few very drunken (and mostly forgotten) hook ups with a frat brother in college, Alan had never even shared a bed with his guy friends. No, this had to be the shock of seeing his friend’s sudden transformation, just a weird mix of jealousy and awe. But as his hand lingered on Jon’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of power just beneath the surface, Alan couldn’t shake the strange, simmering attraction that was building in the back of his mind.

"Way to go, man," Alan said, his voice thick with disbelief. "Let's keep pushing it." He took a step back, trying to regain his composure. The gym felt smaller suddenly. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Jon's new physique, the way his muscles moved and flexed with every small gesture. They worked through the rest of their routine, Alan shifting them every few minutes to work out a new muscle group. The effects were the same each time. Jon would lift the weights with an ease that grew more and more preposterous, and then his muscles would immediately swell, turning him into a shredded beast. Alan couldn't believe what was happening and as they progressed through the workout, so did his inner conflict.

Finally, thought Alan, when they were done. He was exhausted by the workout but far more from trying to suppress his sudden flashing thoughts about how Jon must look naked now.

"You wanna hit the steam room?" Jon asked, his voice low and a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. He knew full well the effect he was having on Alan, and it was making him feel powerful in a way he never had before.

Alan hesitated, glancing around the gym. It was still basically empty, but the thought of getting naked with Jon was uncharted territory. "I, uh, I should get home," he said, his voice trailing off. But the way Jon's chest looked, the way his biceps bulged, made him want to say yes.

"Come on, man," Jon said. He decided he was just going to go for it after seeing the desire hiding behind Alan's forced neutral expression. "You've been checking out my pecs this whole all workout. You can touch 'em again in the steam room if you want."

Without being able to stop himself, Alan's eyes darted down to Jon's pecs then, quickly, back to his face. Alan felt his face flush, he knew he was blushing. "What do you mean?"

Jon grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mischief. "Just what I said. I know you couldn't stop looking. It's okay, man. We're friends, I don't care if you wanna touch my muscles." He clapped Alan on the shoulder, his newfound strength almost knocking him off-balance. "Let's go."

Alan's resistance crumbled. He nodded and Jon turned away to lead them towards the locker rooms. Alan followed, unable to tear his eyes away from Jon's new bubble butt.