Jackson slammed the door behind him.
“Bro. You absolute—absolute—hoe.”
Troy didn’t even look up from his phone, pursing his lips. “You could've knocked, asshole.
"You left the door cracked. That's basically an invitation."
"To barge in like you own this place?" Troy scoffed. "By the way, "hoe" could mean a lotta things. You’re gonna have to narrow it down.”
“Oh, I’ll narrow it down,” Jackson snapped, tossing his backpack to the floor. “I'm not here to muck about. I'm here to watch the newest post on CurvyConfessionz69. Imagine my surprise when that bouncing, buttery little ass turned out to be your new side hustle.
Troy cocked his eyebrow, amused. Given his online habits, how did it take this long for Jackson, of all people, to figure this out?
"I saw the ad, man. The ad. ‘Butt so juicy you’ll beg for a taste’? With your ass in fucking fishnets? Fishnets?”
Troy let out a low whistle. “You were really scrolling, huh? Deep into the suggested page.”
“I was looking for a recipe video!”
Troy rolled his eyes. "...You subscribed?"
Jackson shrugged his shoulders. "I found the video. I watched it through. And then I subscribed. For research."
"Oh, you mean for stroking your ego while stroking something else."
"Guilty. But let’s be honest—how does it feel knowing your best friend got off to your Latina model ass?"
"It feels like I should be charging you extra."
"Troy. Dude. You’re halfway to being my dream gir-."
"And you’re halfway to being on the floor if you finish that sentence."
"Aw, come on. Don't be like that. I’m impressed. Really. That jiggle could cause a car crash. I almost wrecked myself when I realized it was you . . . I could recognize that ass anywhere!"
Troy shifted in his seat with a soft grunt, his hoodie bunching up a little at the waist as he adjusted his posture. The hem tugged just enough to reveal the dramatic curve of his lower back—the place where the Fusion Wave had drawn its invisible line.
From the waist up, he still looked like Troy: lean and toned with a light dusting of chest hair under the hoodie, masculine hands with calloused fingers from pickup basketball, and a square jaw that hadn’t quite learned how to smile sincerely since the Wave - save for his off-camera glee whenever he shook his new behind in front of his camera. His expression was the same blend of sarcasm and half-buried insecurity that it had always been.
But below that waistband… everything changed.
The sweatpants, tight and clinging like they were made of memory foam and sin, hugged a set of hips that no mirror could ever prepare him for. Wide, feminine, soft as butter under the clingy fabric. And his ass—his infamous ass—moved with a life of its own. It wasn’t just big. It was gravity-defying, round and firm, with that impossible bounce that came standard with the original owner's DNA. It jiggled when he crossed his legs. It swayed when he leaned. It shifted when he breathed.
And when he stood?
It was the reason why Jackson had been begging for an "experimental" night together for the last fifteen months.
Troy rose up in one smooth motion, tugging the hem of his hoodie down with both hands before giving his chest a quick brush—dislodging a few forgotten cracker crumbs that had stuck to the fabric. The movement made the hoodie tighten briefly around his waist, accentuating the dramatic V of his upper body tapering into that exaggerated hourglass curve.
Behind him, his sweatpants stretched, caught for a half-second in the crease of his cheeks before popping free with the gentlest bounce. His bubble butt gave a thick, languid jiggle that would’ve made an Instagram model weep with envy—and for a moment, even Troy looked annoyed at it, as though his body was showing off behind his back.
And his legs—long, smooth, sinfully sculpted like they’d been airbrushed into existence—shifted in place with dainty precision. His feet, elegant and arched with perfect little toes still painted a glossy lavender from a bet he lost, barely seemed to touch the carpet. They hovered, soft and delicate, like the floor was lucky to have them.
Troy ran a hand through his hair, taking a short lap around the room, and muttered to himself.
“Goddamn Wave turned me into a walking thirst trap.”
He wasn’t wrong - as Jackson's tented shorts demonstrated.
Jackson, red-faced, cleared his throat as he turned to pace the room. “So, you’ve been shaking your Fusion Wave girl-donated dumptruck online for money and just didn’t think to mention it?”
“I didn’t think you needed that kind of trauma.”
“You’re literally monetizing that thing. My trauma deserves a cut.”
Troy grinned, finally setting his phone down. “What’s the matter, Jack? Mad because I have the legs of a Miss Universe contestant and the ass of a Brazilian influencer?”
“You don’t even know her name,” Jackson said, exasperated. “You don’t know whose legs those are. Plus, don't you wonder what she might be doing with your old cock?”
“Nope.” Troy leaned back on the couch. “I don't really mind anymore. Her calves are immaculate, her feet are adorable, and her thighs save lives - and get me enough Franklins to pay for this dorm. You should be thanking her.”
Jackson paused, rubbed his temples, then looked at Troy with new, devilish energy. “You know what? I am gonna thank her. Through you.”
Troy blinked. “That sounds vaguely like a threat.”
“Oh, it is a threat. You’ve been catfishing the whole damn internet with your cheek-clapping side hustle, and now I’ve got receipts. Literal screen recordings.”
“...You screen recorded my ass?”
“Yes I screen recorded your ass! For evidence! For leverage!”
Troy crossed his arms, cautiously intrigued. “Leverage for what, exactly?”
Jackson stepped closer, smug as hell. “One night. With me.”
Troy raised an eyebrow. “Excuse you?”
“You heard me. One night. I want the cheeks. Your cheeks. Preferably in that cherry-red lace thing from the Friday post.”
“You need to see a priest. Plus, there are a million asses recorded by a million people each day - screen recording is pointless.”
“I need you to stop pretending you’re not a little curious.”
Troy bit his lip, glancing down at his own curvy hips, now very self-aware of the way they sat, bulging, in his sweatpants. He shifted. The jiggle was unforgiving.
"Yeah, well, the Wave gave me curves, not a craving for dick. Sorry to ruin your fantasy."
"Okay, sure, sure, you're basically a lesbian. No homo. But... hypothetically—"
"Hypothetically?"
"If someone happened to have compromising screenshots of your entire anatomy and clothing used in your videos. And someone else happened to care a whole lot about his face not being linked to his peachy-porn empire..."
"You slimy, manipulative little shit."
"Not denying it." Jackson rubbed his hands together, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. "So what, you wanna play house with your best bro? Just once?"
“Okay,” Troy muttered.
Jackson blinked. “Wait—what?”
“I said okay. One night. Just one. But.” Troy held up a finger. “You’re giving me a strap-on.”
Jackson stared, stunned. “You… want to peg me?”
“No,” Troy said. “I just want you to earn it. You’re blackmailing me with my own cheeks, Jack. You’re gonna get those cheeks, alright—but not without putting in some effort.”
Jackson blinked again, mouth slightly open.
"If I’m getting blackmailed into your weird power fantasy, I’m taking some control. It’s my ass on the line, literally."
"That's . . . actually hotter than I expected."
“And,” Troy added, “if you finish too fast, I’m tweeting the screen recordings with your face edited in as my biggest tipper.”
Jackson stammered, before Troy, strutting over on the balls of his dainty tan feet, pressed a button on his "private" camera. His horny friend had been too busy ogling his ass when he had stood up to brush off the crumbs - and had entirely failed to notice that he had taken the opportunity to record the entire conversation. "Plus, this is some pretty incriminating footage, you know. I think you could get in some serious trouble for this . . ."
Jackson scowled, slapping his hands to his face. “You are the worst!”
Troy winked. “And yet, you want me anyway. Go buy it. Tonight. Pink, with glitter. The biggest one you can find. I want you to suffer."
"You're evil."
"I'm merciful."
Jackson sighed. At least his friend was granting his wish. Plus, there had to be a reason why Troy hadn't sought back his old penis - and why he had made no attempt at all to get back in touch with the original owner of this wonderful ass. Maybe he'd finally get to find out . . .
"You know, this might be the start of something beautiful."
"No. This is the start of *you* limping home tomorrow morning. Bring lube."