Nick (Sequel to JP)

The Next Chapter


By luvyalots

Brionna sped down Arlington Boulevard, her latest boy-toy eyeing her from the passenger seat. She looked over at him provocatively. Geez, he was already on the verge of drooling. He was cute – yet another model at Jansen’s agency – and had a nice body, but he was rather small-endowed and not very good in bed; she had barely felt anything when he fucked her. But then again, after sleeping with JP Maloney, most guys she had been with paled in comparison.

Suddenly, Brionna saw flashing lights in her rearview mirror. Shit, they were getting pulled over. She wasn’t speeding that much, was she? She parked off onto the shoulder as the state trooper pulled up behind her. Her date look scared out of his mind, his eyes as wide as saucers, but Brionna was cool and collected. She had gotten pulled over many times; she knew how to handle cops. Quickly, she un-buttoned her blouse halfway – just enough so that her ample cleavage was obvious and stuck out her chest slightly. Then, putting on her best man-killer face, she rolled down her window…to see a female cop standing there, waiting and grinning glibly. Shit!

“Hi, officer,” Brionna sweetly greeted her, trying to hide her irritation. “Was I speeding?” The cop peered down at her, obviously seeing right through her visage.

“Actually,” the officer drawled, “you were going 15 over…” She smirked. “May I see your license and registration please?” And she smiled and tilted her head in a way that made Brionna swear she was being mocked. She frowned and nodded for her boyfriend to comply. Fumbling nervously, he opened the glove compartment…just as a bag of white powder fell out. Brionna’s mouth dropped open as the boy froze stiff. “Step out of the vehicle please, ma’am, both of you,” the cop ordered, her voice with much more authority now. The game was over.

“But, but it’s not mine,” Brionna protested. Well, actually it was, but she could have sworn she had stuffed it way in the back. It shouldn’t have fallen out so easily.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” the trooper rolled her eyes, guiding Brionna up against the side of the car. The other officer – a man, but that didn’t matter now – held her there as the female cop reached in to confiscate the drugs. She shook her head, “Yep.”

“You are under arrest for the possession of illegal substances,” the male officer told her as he took out his handcuffs and read her her rights. “You have the right to remain silent…” But Brionna wasn’t listening. She stared at her boyfriend who was now being hand-cuffed by the woman, a look of complete fear on his face. Brionna could only answer back with one of sheer shock. This cannot be happening, she thought. Just then, she happened to glance across the street. Parked on the opposite side of the road was a familiar figure leaning against his car, his arms folded in front of his chest – Dave Malcolm, Ryan Maloney’s roommate from Virginia Tech! Brionna narrowed her eyes at him. He had something to do with this, she knew. He was just standing there, watching…watching the downfall of Brionna Duncan.

“How’d you do on that math test?” Nick asked Billy as they walked out of the school.

“Alright,” Billy answered, “a B+, but I could have done better.” Nick smiled and wrapped his muscled arm around his friend’s broad shoulders.

“See,” he grinned, “you’re getting to be like me now. You wanna get A’s in everything.” Billy beamed at the compliment. He knew Nick was extremely smart – almost a genius – and he’d give anything to be like him. “Where are you headed?” Nick asked. Billy blushed.

“I need more creatine,” he said. “I’m going to CVS. You wanna come with me?”

“Dude,” Nick laughed, “of course. You need to get bigger for football, right?” Billy nodded. “Man, show me them guns!” Eagerly, the larger boy rolled up his sleeve and flexed his right arm in his friend’s face. Nick just shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Jesus, they have to be pushing 18 inches!” Billy shrugged.

“I think they’re 17-something,” he guessed, though he knew that was still impressive for a 13-year-old. None of the other boys in the middle school were as big as he was.

“You know,” Nick went on, “if you continue taking those supplements and work out really hard this summer, you’ll be as ripped as I am…but at your size.” And with that, he lifted his own arms and flexed his rock-hard mountains of muscle. “BAM! Almost 16 inches of cold, hard steel!” Billy marveled at his best friend’s biceps – how they rose to sharp peaks, how every cut and every fiber could clearly be seen. Nick laughed at his own cockiness, the twinkle in his eyes telling Billy he was just fooling around. But that’s what jocks can do; they can say whatever they want.

The two muscle-stud eighth-graders made their way down the street to the CVS and headed directly for the vitamin and supplement aisle. Billy knew exactly what he wanted; he no longer needed guidance from Tyler. Nick helped him pack the shopping basket with bottles of protein powders and creatine and whey. He was going to get huge over the summer so he needed to stock up. Billy watched Nick’s arms bulge as he easily lifted the heavy basket like it was nothing. Man, he said to himself, my arms will look that shredded one day. As they walked toward the checkout, they passed by the other vitamins. Billy stopped and began looking through the bottles. Quickly realizing his friend was not behind him, Nick turned around.

“What you looking over there for?” he asked, shifting the basket to his other arm. Billy shrugged.

“I was looking for some kind of vitamin,” he answered. “It fell out of Ian’s bag this morning and I was wondering what it was since it obviously helped him get big.” Nick gave him a weird look.

“Do you still have it with you?” He put down the basket and stepped closer to Billy.

“Yeah, I do.” Fishing into his backpack, he pulled out the bottle that he had picked up off the floor by Ian’s locker and handed it to Nick. A look of shock came over his face as he read the label. “What is it?”

“Holy shit!” Nick exclaimed. “I never thought he’d actually do this stuff!”

“What?” Billy sputtered, wondering what he could be talking about.

“Do you know what this is?” Billy shook his head. “It’s steroids!” Nick held the bottle in his hands as if it were poison. Billy may not have been very smart, but he knew that steroids were bad for you, despite giving you a lot of muscle – Tyler had warned him about them. And now Ian was taking steroids? No wonder he got so big so fast. “Did he tell you how he got them?” Nick whispered.

“No,” Billy answered. “It just fell out of his bag. He doesn’t know I have them.” Nick shoved the bottle into his backpack, picked up the basket of supplements and turned back toward the checkout counter. Billy rushed up behind him. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to talk to him,” he said. “He shouldn’t be taking them.”

Ryan burst into Jansen’s office and stared the man down. Jansen was on the phone and barely flinched when the teen behemoth came toward him and leaned on his desk, his massive triceps stretching the fabric on the shirt he was wearing.

“Can I call you back in a moment, Jack?” the man said into the phone, holding up his finger to Ryan, telling him to wait. “One of my models just walked into my office…alright then, goodbye.” As soon as he hung up, he leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Well, where have you been Ryan? You’ve been missing photo shoots left and right.” Ryan was giving him the look that always intimidated his adversaries, but his boss seemed impervious to it. “If you’re going to be away for a few weeks, you should tell someone.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” Ryan started, his voice booming, but as smoothly as velvet. “I’m handing in my letter of resignation from the agency.” And he tossed the typed letter on Jansen’s desk. Jansen fell forward again, picked up the piece of paper and scanned the page. Meanwhile, Ryan stood up straight and stepped back – his huge arms folded – waiting for the reaction.

“You do realize,” Jansen finally looked up, a slight look of surprise on his face, “that you have a bright future in modeling. You have the potential to go international.”

“Really,” Ryan interrupted, tired of his boss’ constant patronizing. “Then you don’t mind me quitting.” He cocked his head to one side and peered down at the man with fierce green eyes. Jansen looked up to meet them.

“I don’t understand.” Ryan stepped toward him again and leaned over him menacingly.

“I know what you did to get me kicked off the Virginia Tech football team,” he stated simply, but there was obvious disdain in his voice. Jansen jerked his head back and laughed nervously.

“Oh, you know I could have had nothing to do with that,” he immediately replied. “You are one of my most sought-after models. Everyone wants you. Why would I ever want to jeopardize you as a client?” Ryan leaned closer.

“Because you always get what you want,” he seethed. “You had Brionna plant drugs in my stuff. You wanted me to solely work for you. Well,” – and he pointed to the letter – “you no longer are getting want you want.” Jansen shook his head.

“Ryan, you sure are bold, coming in here and accusing me of such ridiculous schemes,” he began, a hint of defensiveness in his words. “But you must remember: I will do anything to keep you my client.” His tone was drier, almost bitter. Ryan stood up and flexed his jaw.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” he said, taking a manila envelope out of the back of his pants and plopping it down onto the desk. “Open it.” Jansen looked up at him, puzzled. Slowly, he opened the flap and pulled out what was inside. “Do you remember that girl who used to work here – that 16-year-old girl?” Ryan explained coolly. “Apparently, I’m not the only one with a habit.” He shook his head sarcastically. “I don’t think these pictures of the two of you will be looked at kindly by the police.” Ryan leaned in and shot him his famous look of death. “Judging by these photos, it doesn’t look like you have a bright future in modeling.” Jansen locked his jaw as he placed the photos silently on his desk. He was stunned, he didn’t know what to say, Ryan could see it in his eyes. The man picked up the letter and looked up at his former client, his face showing a fraction of the confidence it had only a few moments before. Ryan smirked.

“Say goodbye to the girls for me,” he added before turning to leave the room.

“Ian?” Nick called through the front door after no one answered. He has to be home, he thought. The faint sound of music came from somewhere and, craning his neck to listen, Nick followed it into the backyard. What he saw nearly stopped him in his tracks.

Ian was working out on a weight machine wearing only his gym shorts. The chilly February weather didn’t seem to bother him as he performed a perfect set of deadlifts with – holy shit! – 375 pounds! That was near Nick’s max…and Ian was repping with it! His face was frozen in concentration, every muscle bursting with sheer power. The steroids had worked well for Ian – almost too well. His muscles were big, heavy and thick, bulging out of his paper-thin skin. His engorged veins pulsed with blood and the muscle fibers twitched as if having minds of their own. His striated shoulders popped and flexed with the slightest movement, his biceps quivered insanely, his pecs rippled with strength. Ian Antoncelli had simply become a 175-pound, 14-year-old muscle beast!

But that’s when Nick realized he had cheated. He had accomplished this body through drugs – and dangerous ones at that.

“Ian!” Nick yelled over the music. Ian immediately stopped lifting, looked over at his former best friend. Smirking, he dropped the heavy barbell, letting it clunk loudly to the ground.

“Hey, Nick,” he said, sauntering toward him, “you like my new stuff. My parents got it for me as a late birthday present.” He grinned proudly, puffing out his huge chest, knowing that he was bigger than his rival. “They love seeing me get big, man!” Nick narrowed his eyes at the boy.

“You gotta stop doing this, Ian,” he remarked.

“Stop doin’ what?” Ian scoffed. “Leaving you in the dust while I get bigger and bigger?” Nick clenched his jaw and felt his fists begin to ball up. No, he told himself, I have to keep my cool. Ian was already turning away, bending down to pick up a dumbbell that was lying next to the bench. The huge muscles in his back arched impressively as he did, but Nick wasn’t looking at his physique anymore. He took the bottle of steroid pills out of his pocket and plopped them down on the bench, square in front of Ian’s face. Ian froze for a split moment, his eyes focused on the bottle…and he stood up and smirked again.

“What, you want some, too?” he sniggered. Nick grabbed Ian’s shoulder and forced him to look at him. “What the fuck?”

“Ian, do you realize what you are doing to yourself?” he blurted. Ian just laughed.

“Hellz yeah!” he gloated. “I’m getting’ huge and ripped.” He instantly went into a double biceps pose, his arms two vascular, peaked mountains of rock. “175 pounds, 16-inch arms, 45-inch chest,” he spat out, squeezing his pecs together as he watched they ripple. “And it’s all fuckin’ muscle, dude!”

Nick had had enough of this display. “You’re going to kill yourself,” he boomed, his voice on the verge of cracking. “Don’t you know how dangerous that shit is?” Ian’s eyes suddenly became enraged with fire and he sneered at Nick.

“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do!” he bellowed. “You’re nothing compared to me!”

“Listen to yourself,” Nick pleaded. “You’re crazy!”

“Shut up!” Ian screamed, grabbing Nick by the shoulders and pushing him hard against the side of the house. Nick felt the wind knocked out of him for a second, but then he came to as Ian had him pinned to the wall by his wrists, his forearms bulging with a snake-like network of thick veins. “Get the fuck away from me!” Ian roared, his eyes wild with rage. He threw Nick to the ground with such force, he almost didn’t realize it was happening until it was done.

Nick looked up just in time to see Ian’s leg coming toward him. His wrestling instincts kicking in, Nick grabbed Ian’s shin, his massively ripped thighs shaking heavily – holy crap, he could even see the veins in his legs – and collapsed Ian to the ground next to him. Instantly, Nick pounced on top of the boy, wrestling his flailing limbs to the grass with as much strength as he could muster.

“I don’t care how big you are,” he heard himself say, though he didn’t remember thinking it, “I can still take you down like when we were little!” Ian grinned evilly.

“You’re just a jealous little prick,” he spat. “You just keep thinking that while I get bigger and stronger…so big, I’ll be bigger than you and Billy combined.” Nick leaned into Ian’s face and peered stone-coldly at him.

“Bring it,” he hissed. And with that, he gave him one last shove against the ground, stood up and left the backyard, hearing the sounds of Ian’s laughter in his head.

Ryan slammed the door behind him as he entered the house. He couldn’t believe he just did that. He couldn’t believe he just blackmailed his former boss…but what else was he going to do? There was no way he was going to put that part of his life behind him without stooping to Jansen’s level. He had made so many mistakes in the past that he had to sacrifice what little dignity he had left to erase them.

His mouth dry, Ryan headed into the kitchen for a drink. He opened the fridge – looking past a half a dozen cans of beer – and reached for a water bottle. There were a lot of things he was determined to change…and drinking was one of them. After taking a huge gulp, he made his way to the den. JP was sprawled out on the couch watching TV; their eyes met as Ryan walked into the room and plopped down onto the loveseat.

“How’d he take it?” JP asked, concerned. Ryan shrugged.

“He took it,” he replied bluntly. He looked over at his little brother – his 220-pound little brother – as he sat there quietly. He didn’t have to do this, Ryan thought to himself. He didn’t have to help him fix his life…but he was. He wasn’t ready to tell him yet, but he was lucky to have a brother like JP. He knew he’d always be there for him.

Meanwhile in another part of town, Brian Jones helped the movers lug the heavy workout equipment off of the truck. He was a barrel of a man – and the movers weren’t small either – but it was tough work. One of the movers wiped the sweat off his brow as he finished setting down a lat machine.

“Jesus,” he remarked, “you must really be into working out. You have tons of stuff here.”

Mr. Jones laughed. “Actually, I’m not the one who uses it.” The movers looked at him oddly and he smiled. “It’s actually my son’s stuff.”

“Really? Good for him!” the other mover added. “Kids these days should keep themselves in shape!”

“Hell, my son doesn’t just keep in shape,” Mr. Jones went on, “he strives to be the best.”

“How so?”

“He’s gonna be a star football player,” he announced proudly, a broad smile stretching across his face.

“Is that so?” the first mover asked. “What school does he play for?” Mr. Jones looked at the man, knowing where the conversation was going.

“School? He’s not in college,” he beamed. “Hell, he’s not even in high school yet. My boy’s still in eighth grade.”

“Wait,” the second mover stammered, “an eighth grader uses all this equipment?” Mr. Jones nodded. “Well, he must be a pretty big kid.” Just then, a broad, heavily-muscled boy rode by on his bike and halted directly in front of the men.

“Right on cue,” Mr. Jones grinned. “Hey, son!”

“Hey, dad!” the boy answered back, hopping athletically off the bike. The movers were stunned silent. Never in their lives had they seen a kid so amazing. His deeply-tanned skin glistened with sweat, his drop-dead gorgeous eyes shone in the sunlight and his flawlessly-featured face smiled brightly at them. But it was his body that made them speechless. His insanely broad shoulders – which were capped with a thick layer of muscle – tapered dramatically down to his impossibly narrow hips, on which his shorts hung low. His pecs protruded out prominently, making him appear thick and meaty and his arms were two giant hams hanging heavily at his sides, pushed away from his chest by a pair of flaring, wing-like lats. His abs were ridiculous shredded, every fiber clearly visible and his legs were etched as if out of marble, the muscles in his gigantic, tree-trunk thighs shifting as he sway back and forth.

“I was trying out that jogging path down the street,” he told his father, his deep voice booming through the air. “It’s not bad.” He looked around at the furniture that littered the driveway. “You guys need help lifting anything?” The movers stood silent, unmoving, as Mr. Jones continued to beam.

“Gentlemen,” he proclaimed, wrapping a beefy arm around his son’s wide shoulders, “meet the next great American athlete, Brandon Jones.” •

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