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Roommate, The (by Xyggurat)
|Phil was waiting for me back at the room after classes. He was wearing one of his old shirts. Before, the thin crimson T-shirt had been a bit baggy on him. Now it hugged the broad track of his shoulders, shrink-wrapped to the tautness of his chest, forcefully showcased the taper of his lats down to his eight-pack. His navel was bare; the shirt was pulled too high by his deltoids to conceal the two lowest abdominals or the livid head of his frequently erect cock, which was pushing up beyond his boxers. I wondered briefly if he even bothered with real pants any more.
“Take off your clothes,” he demanded. I stripped, swiftly.
He looked up at me, and I was struck by the fierce blueness of his eyes. His skin had darkened again, slightly bronzed despite his aversion to spending time in the sun. I noticed he was sporting the beginnings of a goatee. His face looked more mature than I had expected, though by no means aged. Phil’s skin was soft and faintly luminous in the afternoon light. I tried to conceal my hardening member as I thought about how he would look were he not wearing that shirt. I couldn’t succeed, as he quickly pulled it off over his head, leaving his russet golden hair in disarray. His swollen pecs were laid bare, hairless save for a downy golden dusting across their surfaces. Their nipples were hard and sun-darkened. I was instantly ready.
“I have something to show you,” Phil said, obviously pleased with himself. He stepped over to the measuring stick, straightening to the fullness of his height. Even from where I was standing, I could see what he wanted to show me: Phil was of a height with me. He walked forward until we were nose to nose, his ice blue eyes boring straight into mine. “Well, isn’t that just fucking awesome? I’m almost exactly your height,” he told me.
I nodded silently.
Phil’s brow furrowed, and his face shifted into a melodramatic pout. “You never let me have any fun, Dane. I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you pick what we compare first. I went out and got a measuring tape this morning.” He whipped out a length of blue tailor’s tape, marked with tiny white lines. “C’mon. Choose quickly.”
“Biceps,” I told him, without hesitation. I was getting tired of this mental dominance. Getting? No, I was way past getting tired. I kept thinking of what Professor McTague had said, about fighting.
I wrapped the tape around his arm, trying to keep myself from caressing the pulsing blue vein that writhed beneath its surface. I could feel my cock sounding a drumbeat in my boxers. Even though I hated Phil for this, I could not stop myself from being as he wanted me to be. Once I had secured the tape, he tightened his biceps. I was not prepared for the size of the muscle that exploded out, and I lost my grip on the tape. For a moment, I just looked at the split-headed baseball that had grown out of my formerly scrawny roommate’s arm. I reached down and readjusted myself before settling the tape around his muscle.
“Fifteen point one,” I said, my mouth dry.
I pulled the tape away, and he took it from me wordlessly. Reluctantly, I raised my arm up and allowed him to get the tape snug around it before flexing. He sounded a bit disheartened. “Fifteen point three,” he told me.
Despite my momentary gladness, I wholeheartedly resisted the urge to tell him that he should have been working out these last few weeks. Whatever I could do to stave away his capricious malice, I would. Professor McTague couldn’t possibly understand what fighting would do to me. My roommate was almost as big as I was, now. What would happen if I made him angry?
“Seven and a half,” Phil announced, breaking my train of thought. I glanced over at him. He had just finished measuring his swollen prong, and advanced toward me with the metal ruler that had become our traditional standard.
The metal was surprisingly warm against my shaft. I was instantly erect. Between the beats of my heart, I wondered how much time had gone by with Phil trying to get a good measurement. Never before had I been prone to deep thinking, but I’d also never had so much reason to be worried for the future.
“Seven and fucking five eights.” Phil shook his head, sullenly. “You’re still longer than me, and bulkier. Just a bit, though. I’m tired of this.”
“I can’t help that,” I said, and instantly regretted it.
He paused in his quiet lamentations. “Yes. Yes, you can, and you will,” he said, his tone suddenly threatening. “Stand there, and watch yourself help me out.”
As Phil’s hand groped at my cock, the ruler fell to the floor with a dull thump. A gasp escaped from my lips at the electricity of his touch, and another followed as I realized why he was rocking so furiously. Phil’s other hand was hard at work on his own member. He noticed me staring and ordered, “Whack me.”
My hand snaked out to reach his prong, and for but a moment I brushed against its scalding hot surface with my fingertips. I took a deep breath, and my hand clenched in mid-air. I didn’t realize what I was doing until then. My hand held there for a second, my arm as tight as iron, the struggle overtaking even Phil’s furious pounding of my erect penis in my mind. Slowly, shakily, I pulled my hand back away from Phil’s body and forced it back to my side. Professor McTague’s face flickered into my mind, and I silently thanked him.
There was a tense moment of realization. And then I came. I was so preoccupied by my victory that I barely noticed as my balls clung closer to my body, my penis bucked, and a wash of white fluid exploded from its engorged tip, splattering across Phil’s chest. Another wild splash struck across his arm, and a third drenched his own bobbing penis and part of his boxers. All thoughts of victory were wiped away as he shoved me backward with one arm. I was off balance already, and ended up falling hard against my bed.
“Now we’ll see who’s bigger,” he rasped. One of his hands was at furious work on his wildly lurching cock, but as he worked it the head and shaft began to extend, to thicken, until he raised his free hand to join in the work. The head still protruded beyond his twin grip like a plum.
From where I lay, I could see that he was already getting taller and broader. He wasn’t flexing, but his muscles looked a human anatomy chart, growing and pressing against the skin as they absorbed even more of his ridiculously low body fat. His pecs pushed outward, deepening the ribbed crevice between them. His nipples pointed downward. The pectorals shadowed the press of his abs, which were writhing, defined, girded at their lowest level by a pronounced wreathe of veins that traveled down to his still-expanding cock, following the path of a coiled red-golden treasure trail.
He was definitely over 5’9 now, maybe 5’10 and still growing. I had to do something about this! I pushed myself off my bed and crawled toward him, gasping my defiance. He was too busy flexing his biceps, which swelled like softballs beneath the skin of his arm. His delts expanded, lending an almost unnatural width to his shoulders. His neck was thickening, making him look even more solid. Phil had veins I had never imagined, striations that I did not know were possible. He was muscled like a wrestler well-accustomed to careful manipulation of weight, and he was still swelling.
I reached him, finally, and realized I had no idea what I could do to stop this. One of my arms leapt out and grabbed a meaty and growing thigh. I tried to dig my fingers in, but to no avail.
My heart sunk as I felt Phil’s iron fingers jab into my own inferior musculature. I looked up at him, but my view of his face was obscured by his jerking cock. The first shot hit me right in the face, and almost instantly the world began to sway around me. I felt Phil’s thigh swell up even more under my hand, but whether that was due to his orgasmic twitching, his growth, or my renewed shrinking, I had no idea.
He pulled me up, and I felt his fingers creeping over more and more of my skin as they grew and my muscles wasted further. I could barely hold my head up through the dizziness, and so it was that I saw the next scalding ribbons of jism strike me right in my shrinking abs. Phil’s cock was slightly larger than mine, which was still erect. The difference was increasing, though. Mine was clearly leveling around seven inches, and Phil’s was climbing toward eight.
Phil forced me to stand on my own two feet, holding me up with his steady and still-swelling arms. I looked up into his eyes, an inch or two above mine now. I felt the press of his hard pectorals against my body, still swelling as mine retracted. Saw his lats broaden even more. Shuddered as I felt how large his hands felt against the slenderness of my arms.
His gaze was the worst. One look at the spark of triumph shining in those sky-blue depths, and I finally gave up, let myself fall into the comforting unconsciousness I knew would not reject me. Something flashed through my mind as my awareness frayed: a pair of deep green eyes, solid, reassuring. Then it all fell away.
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