Nutrition was critical for muscle growth; Brad knew this was unquestionably true (notwithstanding the fact that the tape seemed to prove otherwise). So breakfast would be the first order of business.
He considered going out in just his boxers, but decided that he should at least make an effort at pretending to be his old self. Old Brad usually wore a shirt, covering up his scrawny torso. So New Brad needed a shirt too, even if his improved, muscular torso hardly needed to be covered.
Brad found a light blue tee shirt, pulled it over his head, and then tried to put his arms through the short sleeves. He wound up stuck in place, tangled in a shirt that was simply too small for his new arms and torso. Grunting in frustration, he forced his arms through the shirt, then pulled the hem down over his chest and stomach.
Nodding in satisfaction over besting the too-small garment he looked in the mirror. The shirt was so tight that the cotton stretched across his chest like spandex, hugging his pecs, so taut that even his abs were visible under the light blue cotton. Brad shrugged his shoulders; at least it was on. But the movement produced the sound of seams popping and fabric tearing as his shoulders ripped through both sleeves.
Brad couldn’t help but smile a little, watching his deltoids destroy the shirt’s sleeves. He reached over and pulled off the rest of one sleeve, then the other, heedless of the sound of additional threads popping as the seams under each arm tore part way down, exposing his upper lats.
For a moment, Brad considered trying another shirt. But most of his shirts were the same: size medium, the “medium tall” variant if possible. Previously, they had been plenty roomy; now, they would all be tight. He needed to go get some new duds. But first, breakfast!
Brad headed out of his room and down to the kitchen. As it was Sunday morning, his parents were out and about and Ethan would still be abed. Brad raided the fridge, seeking out eggs and other sources of protein, as well as some complex carbs to go along with all of it. Although he was no culinary genius, he could scramble eggs, at least. Some oatmeal, lean sausage, and black coffee completed his breakfast.
As Brad stood at the stove, Ethan stumbled into the kitchen, half asleep but lured by the siren scent of fresh-brewed coffee. His blond hair was still a bedheaded mess, his amber eyes were squinting at the bright light from the sun streaming into the kitchen through east-facing windows, and his clothing was nothing but pajama bottoms and an old undershirt. He gave a start as he saw Brad from behind. His stepbrother’s muscular back filled a light blue shirt to bursting—from the looks of the sleeves, past that point. Ethan couldn’t help but admire what he saw: a broad, v-shaped back; strong, muscled arms; an ass that filled out boxer shorts with two rounded mounds of gluteal muscle; and legs that bulged outward with swells of muscle. For a moment, Ethan wondered who this hunky fellow could be, and why he would be in the DiLaurentis kitchen, making breakfast?
“Morning,” Brad offered, as he turned away from the stove and saw Ethan standing there. “I would have made more, if I’d known that you’d be up this early.” He carried a large mound of food to the table and sat down.
Shock drained the color from Ethan’s face. He could barely believe what he saw: the breakfast hunk was his stepbrother, Brad? How was it possible?!
“All I need is coffee, right now,” Ethan mumbled, heading for the pot. He got a mug, added cream and sugar, and then poured in the hot, dark brew. He took a long sip, then another, then a third, before finally turning back to the rest of the kitchen. He studied Brad from the side, watching his stepbrother eat, taking in his sexy, muscular body.
I’m still dreaming, thought Ethan. I’m dreaming and when I wake up, Brad will be like he always was: tall and thin and fun to tease.
Ethan rummaged through the cabinets and found a box of “toaster strudel.” He pulled out a foil package, opened it, and popped the pastries into the toaster. Not long after they were piping hot and on a plate, which he carried back to the table. He sat across from Brad, staring at his stepbrother, wondering what had happened. Brad’s face was the same, but not. He was a bit older looking, like he was 20 or 21, and definitely more handsome. But that change was overshadowed by everything below Brad’s head. Ethan couldn’t help but admire the big shoulders, defined heads of muscle subtly moving beneath the skin as Brad moved his knife and fork or reached for coffee. Ethan recognized the shirt—it had never been so tight on Brad before. As Ethan nibbled on his pastry, he wondered just what had happened to make Brad go from skinny to studly overnight.
Brad winced as he saw Ethan eat the toaster strudel. It was nothing more than a sheet of empty calories! It even had icing spread across the top, not to mention the sweet filling inside! Looking down at his own plate, Brad felt reassured that his own breakfast was vastly superior—although the calories were undoubtedly higher, they came from protein, fat, and complex carbohydrates that would power him through the day and keep his muscles growing!
Brad finished his breakfast and pushed the plate aside, setting his mug of black coffee in front of him. He watched as Ethan nibbled the last corners of his pastries, then licked the crumbs and icing off of his fingers. Brad shook his head. “I don’t know how you can eat all that sweet stuff all the time,” he commented, “Once you get older, you won’t have the metabolism of a hummingbird anymore.”
Ethan paused. “You know, not that long ago you ate them too.” He took a long sip of sweet coffee. “So don’t give me that crap, muscles.”
Muscles. Brad recognized the not-so-subtle tease Ethan had just made. And he decided that for once, he wasn’t going to ignore it. Instead, he put his hands behind his head, his arms on either side, his lats flaring out below, causing his shirt to rip down the sides some more. “What was that about muscles, Ethan?” Brad purred, his biceps popping up as he tensed them.
Across the table, Ethan’s eyes widened and he let out an audible gulp. A moment later his coffee mug was up to his lips and he was chugging down the contents, trying to buy time to come up with something clever. But the sight of Brad’s biceps was making it hard to be witty—his older stepbrother had athletic, muscular arms, and the biceps in particular were beautifully shaped and considerably bigger than Ethan remembered.
Seeing Ethan get flustered put a grin on Brad’s face. “Come on, bro,” he offered, his voice teasing, “cop a feel if you like. Don’t you want to?” His hands left the back of his head but he kept his arms up and proudly flexed them, his biceps trembling slightly, straining to be as big and hard as possible.
Ethan finished the last dregs of coffee in his mug. His face was red with embarrassment; he was the one who teased Brad, not the other way around! It was one thing to joke about copping a feel, another thing to actually do it, as Brad was suggesting. Yet Ethan really did want to run his hands over Brad’s body, feel up his stepbrother’s suddenly impressive muscles. But finding the courage to actually do it was another thing.
“Maybe you’re more of a pec man?” Brad continued, more amusement in his voice. He brought down his arms and then groped his chest, his fingers sinking into the slabs of pectoral muscle, giving them a deep massage. “I hit the bench press pretty hard yesterday,” Brad continued, “Feels good to work them over now; they’re still pretty tight and swollen.” He wasn’t exaggerating about that last part; his muscles felt almost pumped, and just a touch sore, and the massage felt incredible.
“I- I need more coffee,” Ethan croaked, standing up and skittering over to the pot, positioning his body to hopefully hide the boner that was forming in his pajama bottoms. Sugar and coffee went in, but Ethan was too distracted to remember to add cream. He returned to the table, again walking in a way that hid the tent pitched over his crotch.
“I think I could use a refill too,” Brad smirked, standing up and strutting over to the pot. He set down his mug, then put his fists on his hips and flared his lats out, his back spreading into a hilly cobra hood, the sides of his shirt audibly tearing once more. He heard Ethan make a choking sound behind him; it brought a smile to Brad’s face, and he held the pose for a bit longer before dropping it to refill his mug.
Turning back, Brad set his cup on the table, but did not sit down. Instead, he walked over next to Ethan, pulled up the hems of each leg of his boxers, and flexed his quads. “What do you think, bro?” Brad asked, dropping one boxer leg and reaching down to smack one of his thighs, his hand making a meaty thud as it collided with hard muscle. “I bet my sprints are going to be incredible, with the explosive power in these wheels.”
Ethan looked over. Brad’s legs weren’t enormous but were much thicker than his long-distance-runner legs had been, and bulged with defined muscle. Ethan’s fingers twitched, eager to reach out, to stroke… He forced his hand to be still. He had to counterattack!
“You’re doing a lot of showing off today, big brother…” Ethan observed, his voice cracking a little before becoming clear again. “And I have to say, I’m liking what I’m seeing! Finally, showing off how damn sexy you are…”
Brad chuckled and stepped back, picking up his cup of black coffee and taking a few swigs. “Cat finally let go of your tongue, I see?” he teased back. Ethan had been blushing and flustered earlier but seemed to be recovering.
“Just surprised that my super sexy, previously bit-of-a-prude big bro is finally coming out of his shell,” Ethan countered, “That after all my compliments, come-ons, and innuendos, only now, finally, do you reciprocate. Up until now, I was pretty sure you’d wind up a monk!”
“I don’t think they let monks do the things that Janet and I did last night,” Brad countered, his voice smooth and confident as he reached down and adjusted his cock and balls.
“You know, monks all call each other ‘brother’ even though they’re not related by blood,” Ethan replied, openly ogling Brad’s body, looking it up and down, then focusing on the recently adjusted crotch area, “and I bet some of them do things that Janet never would.” Ethan grinned up at Brad, having fully regained some momentum. “Things you and I could do, sexy brother…” Ethan waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Brad laughed. “Not today, lil’ bro. I need to get some new clothes, hit the gym, and of course meet up with Janet again. Maybe sooner rather than later.” His grin had a lecherous cast to it when he mentioned his girlfriend.
Ethan rolled his eyes and sighed. “Exciting bod, but the rest is still vanilla, it seems.” He stood up, not bothering to hide the fact that his crotch was bulging outward lewdly. “If you ever feel adventurous, you know where I am, sexy big muscles bro…” he added, his voice sweet and faintly mocking. Then he turned and headed out of the kitchen, sashaying a bit as he headed back to his room.
Brad cleaned up the dishes and cooking utensils he’d used, then headed back to his own room. He needed to see if there might be anything else that could possibly fit a bit better than what he was wearing. If nothing else, he suspected that some gym shorts and a tank top would probably work. Still, he would need new clothes sooner rather than later. Should he shop before or after his workout though? He didn’t look forward to it either way—he hated shopping for clothes. Maybe he should bring someone along to help out.