Vinny bit his lip, trying to fight the urge to cry out, to roar like some kind of animal. The voice in his head seemed to have faded again, but the adrenaline was still pumping hard and fast.
"Fuck man..." Jon panted, his hands at last dropped to his sides, "t-thanks for that."
Whether or not he'd noticed Vinny's little moment, or if he cared, Vinny didn't want to ask. Jon's sweats were reduced to a bare scrap of stained gray fabric, almost a loincloth, cutting sharply into his chiseled, remarkably broadened waist.
"D-don't mention it..." Vinny assured him, wondering if he should suggest he get rid of the last offending piece of clothing, when Jon looked down as if following his gaze.
"Aw, to hell with it..." and he tore it off, in a single stroke as if it were just a piece of tissue paper, "G-geez...strong as an ox, now."
Vinny didn't doubt his amazement at his own strength as genuine, but he felt the delivery was mostly to avoid the fact that he'd just stripped naked in front of his best friend while they were both sweaty and heaving on the floor.
And...yeah, Jon was definitely naked. And it seemed he'd changed there too. His cock was flaccid, but Vinny figured most wouldn't know that at first glance. The spray of brown-black hair that grew in a thicket around Jon's nuts, going up into that barely-there treasure trail girls (and, hey, some dudes too) would so often lustily try and catch a glimpse of during particular rough plays, had thickened, and yet the hair itself seemed richer, silkier... Not the sparse, unkempt way pubes were supposed to look.
So, apparently whatever curse or blessing they'd brought down upon themselves today included Pubis: Vidal Sassoon.
'I know, it's weird, right?' asked the voice, startling Vinny out of his...er...distraction, 'Like, I couldn't stop looking when I...um, never mind.'
This was some fucked up shit.
"What?" Jon asked him, "We're just changing in the locker room, most natural thing in the world."
"Jokes like that should be punishable by law, bro..." Vinny told him, but before he could extend the joke any further, he felt a sudden tension in all his muscles.
It was happening.
"Argh, Christ!" Without Jon to hold onto, Vinny fell to his hands and knees, chest twisting and contorting beneath his already taut jersey, "Shitshitshit...God, when does it END?"
'Almost, I promise. Just hold on a little longer. Please. I...I'm sorry I had to do this to you.'
"Liar..." he muttered under his breath, feeling every piece of him on fire.
Before his eyes, he saw his hands swell against the concrete floor. His fingers lengthening, palms widening. His arms swelled with muscle, as little tears began to open in his jersey.
Tiny, barely audible pops and cracks from his feet alerted him just before it happened that his socks were tearing too.
"My...my feet...every part of me, it just feels so..."
He felt arms wrapped around him, a surprisingly strong set of arms, holding him close as he pulsed and changed, as his body changed into something foreign, something that should have been perfect but felt so wrong...
"Hold tight to me, bro," Jon told him, and Vinny looked over his shoulder just enough to see Jon putting on one of his famous smiles for him.
His face still looked the same, whatever else had changed.
"You helped me, now I'm gonna help you."
"I-I..." you whimper, hating yourself and yet not even caring, "dammit, Jon, it hurts so much..."
"I know. Maybe I'm the only other guy in the world who does."
Slowly, with a surprising gentleness given how big his hands were now, Jon moved to the hem of Vinny's jersey, and began easing it up, and over Vinny's head.
"Easy does it now, Vin...come on, stay strong for me..."
He was talking to him gently, but like someone who didn't really know how to talk this way. Vinny knew Jon was a good guy, a good leader, but he wasn't exactly really good at the whole 'talking to people' thing. That was more his job.
But he was trying, trying for him, to calm him down.
Vinny had never loved his friend more.
"Gonna be a bit of a tight squeeze..." Jon warned him as the jersey collar was pulled up over Vinny's head.
Maybe too tight. Vinny's shoulders by now had broadened to the point that the jersey was stuck on him, smothering him. He could hear it, feel it about to burst...
"Aw, shit..." Jon cussed, and then, in one fluid motion, Vinny could see light again, as the jersey ws flung across the room to flutter down to the floor.
"Y-you could've just ripped it off..." Vinny panted, turning over onto his back to look up at him.
"And trash your number? C'mon, man, I've got a bit more respect for you than that..."
Vinny was tempted to make some kind of crack about that, but before he could, another rush went through him. But this time, for the first time, it wasn't pain, but pleasure.
"W-whoa...God! Oh God..." he moaned, an almost erotic moan. He looked up, just able to glimpse the mammoth majesty of his newly formed muscles on his exposed torso, before he looked down toward his football pants which, like his socks, were stretched taut on him.
And pulled right over, so tight it was almost torture, a considerably more swollen appendage than he ever remembered having.