The Romans, and the Greeks

It wasn’t that the trip to the art museum was entirely boring. There was some really cool stuff in here, Roman and Max agreed. They were super into the room that had the sculptures that looked like balloon animals. The issue was that seeing all the interesting stuff took roughly fifteen minutes, which left them five hours to kill.

“Five…hours…” Roman grumbled dramatically, dragging his feet behind him like he was on invisible crutches. “I’m not gonna make it, man. Tell…tell Livi…I always thought she was hot as hell.”

“Man, I would, but I’m definitely gonna die of boredom too,” Max replied. “At least there’s food right?”

“I guess. Mmm yum, museum food,” Roman snorted. He pushed the mushroom fringe of his bangs out to the side even though he was fully aware it would flop right back over his eyes, which it did. “When do we have to meet the group? Like 40, 45 minutes from now?”

“Yeah, for the tour.”

“I can’t believe they’re letting us run wild here. Someone’s gonna break something.”

Max looked witheringly at Roman, who was grinning from ear to ear. “You mean YOU’RE going to try to break something.”

“I never try, it’s not my fault that I’m clumsy.” It was a running joke at school that Roman’s hands and feet didn’t match the rest of his body, at least not yet. He and Max were the same average height, yet Roman’s feet were four sizes bigger, and he tripped over them constantly.

Roman and Max were best buddies. Equals. Instead of a leader/follower dynamic, they were competitors; willful young men who didn’t take anything seriously except for their own opinions. They’d been friends since middle school, after a knockdown, dragout fight over a loose basketball, quite counterproductive since they were on the same team. But they both thought it was hilarious, and after that, they were almost always together, picking the same classes and ensuring they had the same lunchtime.

Their first jaunt was through a textiles exhibition, which they thought might be cool because it could be about texting, like some kind of digital art. It turned out textiles were fabrics, which was intensely uninteresting. “It’s…rugs,” Roman deadpanned, looking around the room. “Rugs and blankets. Dope.”

“Dude, you know who’d like this stuff? My mom,” Max said, which was the most damning assessment possible, and made them both laugh until a massive security guard glared at them. That was their cue to go, and as they headed out of the exhibition, Max’s phone vibrated. “Miller says he’s hiding out in some movie room. I think I’ll pass.”

“Nah, if I watch something I will definitely fall asleep, and then you’d both leave me there and I’d wake up seven hours later, and the museum would be closed, and I’d never be able to leave and that would be my life.”

“That makes complete sense, you’re exactly right,” Max said. “Hey look, Greek stuff.”

“I prefer Roman stuff.”

“God, shut UP,” Max groaned, giving Roman a shove that roused a “Hey!” from another huge guard nearby.

“Ah man, we gotta go in here,” Roman said, pointing to an exhibit entrance framed by multicolor stripes painted elegantly on the walls. “Rainbow Rebellion: Queer Coding Throughout the Ages,” he read out loud before turning serious. “I think this will be really good for you, to see the art of your people.”

“You’re the one everyone says is gay,” Max shot back.

“Literally no one says that, perv.” Roman was walking in. Max held back and then rolled his eyes and caught up, looking over his shoulder to make sure no classmates were around. The exhibition wasn’t big, only two rooms, and it was a departure from the others in that it had all styles of art. There was a painting from the 1800s of two young men on a beach, sitting side by side; nearby was a photograph of two muscle guys in leather and chains. Both Roman and Max ignored it, too embarrassed to commentate.

“This is, uh, really gay, man,” Max whispered with an evil smile on his face. “I just want you to know, if you have something to tell me, I’m your friend…”

Roman knew where he was going and cut him off. “Only one of us got a boner in the locker room after swimming, and it wasn’t me,” he sang, flouncing off in an exaggerated caricature of a walk before Max could punch him in the arm. 

They ended up by a large Grecian urn that didn’t seem gay at all. It depicted a side profile from the shoulders up of a bearded man embracing a feminine counterpart. That is, until Max and Roman looked at the other side of the urn and saw the same two figures in full, now plainly obvious that they were two extremely muscular men. It looked almost like they were wrestling at first glance. One man was sitting on top of the other, and that’s when they realized…they were fucking. The man on the ground had his dick in the man on top’s ass. Each man flexed a bulging arm, which formed the handles of the jar.

“Aw, GROSS,” Max tittered, as both boys cramped with laughter. “That’s…is that how they do it? Damn, dude. What the…groooossss.”

Roman’s entire face was curled up in laughter. “I can’t believe they’re just leaving this out here for people to see. This is education! Where’s one with girls touching each other, I’ll be all about that.”

“Dare you to touch it,” Max said evilly, pointing to one of the handles. “No guards around. Touch that guy’s big freaky gross bodybuilder arm.”

“No way! I’m not getting near that homo urn. These things have invisible guards and shit! What if the alarm goes off?”

“Then we bolt. Besides, if they didn’t want you to touch it, they’d have it under glass,” Max reasoned. Roman frowned. Max had a point. It was lousy but valid. He hesitated for a moment, then stretched out his index finger like ET, and gently poked the urn in the least homoerotic area he could muster. Max scoffed at his feeble attempt. “That doesn’t count!”

“Of course it does, I touched it.”

“Yeah, barely.”

“Well it’s more than you did!”

“You have to hold it. Caress that freaky bicep like the repressed homosexual you are.”

“Well maybe YOU should do it. I dare you!”

They looked at each other. “Fine. We’ll do it at the same time,” Max said, eyes darting around.

“Fine,” Roman grunted. They stood on opposite sides of the urn, raised their palms, and nodded at each other. Then, their hands darted forward and each of them grasped one of the handles. They locked eyes for a brief moment, daring the other to let go first. Eventually, the approaching squeak of rubber soles on marble flooring forced them to abandon the urn. Max and Roman scurried away laughing like the schoolboys they were.

Roman came to a sudden halt as his outsized feet tangled with each other. He managed to retain his balance long enough to avoid face planting and, instead, landed on one of the museum benches. Max stopped beside him with a grin. “Need a hand there, dumbass?”

“Shut up…” Roman grumbled but accepted the helping hand from his friend. Max threw an arm over Roman’s shoulder and pulled him close. Roman grinned, feeling a weird swoop in his chest. He looked at his friend’s grinning face. He hadn’t noticed how pretty Max’s eyes were before. As green as the greenest grass. But he stared a little too long.

“Ro? Ro! You’re weirding me out…”

“Huh?” Roman shook his head out of his stupor and shoved Max away. That was weird. Why did he do that? Why did his heart flutter like that? Max’s gay taunts were getting into his head. At least he knew he wasn’t gay. So why did he still feel weird? Roman looked down and froze. “Dude, block me for a second,” he said as he positioned himself facing a wall. Max did as he was asked, spreading his shoulders to obstruct as much of Roman as he could. The seams of his t-shirt undulated over the small flex. “Okay, all good,” Roman said, trotting away.

“What was that about?” Max looked back over his shoulder at the place Roman had just stood.

“Nothin’.”

“No, really, were you…” Max’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have a boner and you needed to fix yourself?”

“Don’t be gay, man.”

“You DO have a boner!” Max hooted. “Not so cool now, huh babe? Not gonna rag on me for that one I got in the locker room anymore.”

“I just saw myself in the glass and I got so turned on by my reflection,” Roman snarked. “And don’t call me ‘babe,’ that actually IS gay.”

“Did I? Shit, that slipped out. Sorry man.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Roman said as he turned and walked further into the exhibit. “C'mon, there’s gotta be lesbian chicks somewhere in this place.”

After passing several homoerotic paintings, each of them awkwardly averting their gaze as best as they could, they finally came across a Romantic Era painting of two women sat hand in hand, fine silk draped over their bodies in a manner that left their breasts exposed. The boys jabbed each other in the ribs. “Duuuude, titties!” Roman uttered under his breath.

“I knew this exhibit wouldn’t be a bust! If they had naked dudes, then they were gonna have naked chicks. It’s equality!” Max stared at the women and sighed. “It doesn’t hit the same as the straight stuff though, knowing they’re not into guys.”

“They’re drawings, man. They’re not into anyone.”

“You know what I mean!” Max stepped closer in admiration. “Although I suppose that doesn’t stop you from appreciating the finer details. Look at how they hold hands, desperate to be together. But they sit in separate seats that face away from each other, knowing their love would never be permitted. The red silk represents their passion, and drapes over their naked bodies in such a way that it never connects the two, symbolizing their forbidden love…” Max felt an ache in his heart, as if he had felt that same isolation before.

Roman snorted loudly. “When did you become such an art nerd?”

“Huh?”

“That whole love analysis bullshit. It’s just naked ladies covered with silk. Unless there’s something you want to share with the class.”

“Shut up,” Max replied, punching his friend in the shoulder. “I was just, uh… Reading the info plaque out loud, see?” He pointed to the small white description box next to the painting and, sure enough, his exact words were printed for everyone to read.

“Whatever… We should get out of this exhibit before we catch gay fever. I hear it’s incurable.”

However, they only took a few steps before stopping again. Roman followed Max’s gaze to a more recent photograph - presumably, since it was in color - though it still looked vintage. The description said it was from the ‘80s. It was an artsy photograph of a topless woman from the back, her long, flowing hair covering her shoulders and hiding her breasts. She was staring into a mirror, but her reflection was of a similarly topless man with short hair, stubble, and a swirl of chest hair across his defined pecs. Roman scratched his head. “What do you suppose this means?”

Max shrugged. “Duh, the reflection is who she really is on the inside. Or he, I guess…”

Roman nodded in response. “I can relate to that. I’d rather be a man than a woman any day.”

“Noooo, really?” Max said sarcastically. “Tell me more…”

“No homo, but men are better. We get to be huge and hairy, we don’t get periods, we get big, swinging dicks and-”

“Dude. Stop. I was being sarcastic!”

“You’re just upset ‘cause you’re a smooth baby boy instead of a man.”

Max rolled his eyes and retorted, “Yeah, right. I don’t want to be a furball like you. Chest hair’s been out of style for decades.”

Roman raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “What do you mean, I’m not…” Roman began to say as he brought a hand up to his t-shirt collar. But he froze as his fingers brushed against an abundance of hairs. He pulled on one and winced as it plucked out of his skin. “Whoa, what the fuck! When did I get chest hair!?”

Max shrugged. “I dunno, this morning? I thought you were making a statement or something.”

“But it doesn’t just appear right? And If anyone’s making a statement, it’s you and your big boobs.”

“I don’t have boobs!” Max said as he slapped a hand to his chest, encountering a large rack of solid muscle. He looked down at the rounded chest that stretched his shirt and blocked his lower body from view. He cried out even louder. “Woah! They’re not boobs…they’re…they’re…pecs… I have pecs! But they can’t be real, muscles like these don’t just grow overnight!” He thumped his hand against them. They felt solid as granite.

“Yeah, sure. They’re as fake as my chest hair…” Roman said, scratching his fur with a disgusted face. “There’s something weird going on here…”

Max stared at Roman, his eyes drawn to his hairy chest. The way it swooped out from his V-neck and spread up towards his neck. The way it grew dense between the concaves of his defined pecs. Without thinking, Max reached a hand out and started to stroke it through Roman’s fur. “Oh, wow…”

Roman whacked Max’s hand away and stepped back in horror. “Woah, what the fuck man!?”

“Huh?” Max groaned with a goofy expression. He shook his head and realised his hand was outstretched to Roman. “What the…”

“Why the fuck were you stroking my chest?”

“Was I…?” His eyes widened. “I… I don’t know! I was wondering what it felt like and just…”

“Well get your own chest hair then! Ugh… The minute I get home, I’m shaving it all off.”

“NO!” Max cried out in horror before suddenly switching to a more mocking tone. “I mean, noooo… I don’t want any body hair, gross! But it suits you, it makes you look more mature. I bet Livi would be gaga over it. I doubt anyone else in class has any yet.”

“Well I guess it’s manly… But how would you like it if I just grabbed your pecs without warning?” He quickly reached out with both hands and grasped Max’s pecs, giving them a grope. “Huh? You like that, boy?” He growled in a husky tone, stepping closer until their heads almost touched. Roman stared down at Max’s face, then leaned in and…

Roman pushed Max away and stumbled backwards himself. They turned their backs on each other. Max stammered “I’m just gonna go over here…. Ooooh, a statue, neat…” He shuffled off towards the larger-than-life marble statue of a nude man and immediately regretted pointing it out.

“Uh… Yeah… Me too…” Roman mumbled as he walked off in the opposite direction, straight towards a series of drawings of buff, hairy men dressed in leather gear.

Both of them peeked over their shoulders at the same time at each other, their eyes catching before they looked away again. Max stared up at the statue in faux curiosity, finding it hard to ignore the cock and balls aimed directly at his face. He wished he’d returned to the silk draped ladies instead. But there was something admirable about the statue’s smooth, muscular body. He thought it was a perfect example of the ideal male form often desired in Renaissance era Florence. It could even have been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself, whose rumored homosexual tendacies were still heavily debated today. Curious, Max looked down at the description box to find it followed his thoughts almost verbatim. Strange…

Roman fidgeted while he looked at the S&M portraits, rubbing his arms anxiously. He didn’t remember his arm hair being so dark and so abundant. But he also didn’t remember having chest hair, and look where that left him. At least the men in the portraits were also hairy. He was happy that one of the men had a lot of chest hair, like him. His fingers wandered up to his collar again and scratched at his pelt, but this time they ran into something small and plastic, and he looked down to see he was wearing a tight polo shirt. The collar was fully open to show off his hairy chest, but only for a moment before Roman buttoned it up and scurried over to Max. “Was I wearing a polo earlier?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know you owned anything more formal than flannel,” Max replied with a grin. He was just glad to have an excuse not to gawk at stone genitals anymore. But as Roman crossed the room, his clumsiness befell him. He tripped over his feet and fell forwards with a cry. Unfortunately, Max happened to turn at precisely the right moment. Roman instinctively grabbed onto Max’s shoulders as he fell face-first into Max’s pillow-like chest. There was a moment of horror as both teens processed what had happened. It was Max who first came to his senses. “Get your fucking face off of me, you freak!” He shoved Roman away, who stumbled back but managed to retain his balance to stop himself landing on his ass. Max wiped at his exposed skin and grimaced. “Eww, you drooled on me!”

“No I didn’t,” Roman cried before wiping the excess saliva from his chin. “I-I didn’t mean to! You know what I’m like, I trip over everything!”

“I don’t care. It’s weird enough that I got muscle tits out of nowhere. I don’t need you motorboating me like some chick!”

“I’m telling you, I just tripped! I don’t want anything to do with your freaky, nasty, juicy, suckable…” Roman caught himself and cleared his throat. “I mean… I bet you’d do the same if I had gazongas like those!”

“No! I would never… Why would I… ” Max stuttered as he almost salivated at the thought. He could practically imagine Roman with a pair of squeezable pecs, entirely coated with that lucious pelt of black hair he had grown. His wet dream suddenly turned to reality as Roman’s pecs bumped themselves outward and burst all the buttons off his shirt. Both boys leapt in surprise, and Max noticed Roman’s chest hair fluff up, a few strands leaping from his collar and attaching to his chin. Soft peach fuzz poked out above Roman’s shocked mouth. “You’re…” Max whispered, once again reaching out to touch Max, this time on the face. “You’re…getting whiskers…” He cupped his hand around Roman’s smooth cheek and ran his thumb over his friend’s fuzzy mustache. The hairs were too wispy to make any noise, but they were there.

Roman’s head went slack against Max’s touch, and Max yanked his hand away. “Dude, don’t NUZZLE me, I was just…”

“I didn’t nuzzle you!” Roman insisted. “I’m just confused why you keep frickin’ touching me, that’s all.”

“I think we need to really get out of here, something weird’s happening,” Max said, grabbing Roman and pulling him toward the door. They darted out past the huge guard, down the nearby hall and away from all the LGBT imagery. It felt better out here - safer.

Until…

“Dude!” Roman lifted up his hand. Max’s was holding it. Their fingers were interlocked. They hadn’t even realized.

“Shit!” Max wrenched his hand away at the same time Roman did, and suddenly the world spun. Both boys sprouted six inches in seconds, limbs stretching out of their jeans and seams straining to hold. And if that wasn’t dramatic enough, a thick patch of blond hair burst out of Max’s hairline, spilling over his forehead in contrast to the brown locks around it. “Um…um…” Max stammered, looking down at Roman’s hairy ankles exposed above his socks. “I think we need to get help or something, th-this is really bad…”

“No! We can’t!” Roman rumbled, and then he caught his throat. “My voice!”

Max backed away in fear as Roman sputtered out deep, husky syllables. “Something’s happening to us,” Max whined, and he felt a fire building in his chest that made him wince - he had to stretch - his spine arched and his already-big chest rocketed forward, ripping through the front of his t-shirt as his pecs hardened into the enormous, smooth chest of a pro class bodybuilder. Horrified, he tried to fold his arms over his exposed nipples, but his arms wouldn’t reach, so instead he just cupped his pecs, his hands looking petite on top of the two mountains of muscle.

Roman’s boner was aching at the scene. He put his hands over his crotch like a fig leaf and shuffled his weight from side to side, groaning. “No, no, I’m not…gay…” he grunted, too mesmerized by how the striations in Max’s chest rippled like the surface of a lake to stop himself from talking in a low, resonant bass. “Bathroom,” he said, taking off for the door set in the wall.

Max followed as quick as he could, bashing through the swinging door and glancing around to make sure he and Roman were alone. Roman was at the counter, staring wide-eyed at the mirror - and the patches of whiskers that were all over his face. None of them connected, making an incomplete pattern on his cheeks and chin.

“Jesus…” Max mumbled, looking at his own monster pecs standing out in front of him like a fireplace mantel. The rip in his t-shirt had mended, somewhat; now it was silky white fabric with an undone button in the center, as if someone had cut up a dress shirt and sewed just one part of it into a t-shirt. Max tugged on the sides to make sure his nipples were covered, though they still protruded through the fabric. “It’s gonna be okay, man,” he whimpered.

Roman whirled around. “No it isn’t! Look at us!” He shoved his fingers into Max’s cleavage, the muscles so thick that Max barely felt the touch. “Listen to me!” His rich voice echoed off the tile walls. “I sound like a guy on the radio or something.”

“I’m just trying to be positive, okay?” Max muttered, swatting Roman’s hand away. “Don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“I’m sorry babe, I’m just-” Roman swatted his hand over his mouth, then pulled it away again when he felt all the bristly hair. “I didn’t mean to say that-”

“I know,” Max groaned, leaning against the counter. “At least it’s maybe stopped…”

“Do we WANT it to stop like this? We look like weirdos! We-” Roman’s head whipped to the door just as they heard a hand hit it on the other side and the hinges creak. Both boys darted into the nearest stall, having to stand chest-to-chest to fit inside. As footsteps of another occupant echoed through the bathroom, Roman locked the stall shut and hoped no one noticed there were two pairs of feet visible under the door.

Max was trembling like a leaf, his back flat against the stall wall. “We’re gonna change more,” he squeaked in terror, voice barely audible. “We always start changing when we get too close-nnngh-” His face contorted in pain. “Ahh…”

Roman would’ve run away, but he had nowhere he could go, so he put his hands around Max’s waist and pulled him tight to comfort him. Max’s features were twitching as he did his best to hold in his fear, but each spasm was doing something to him…Roman could see Max’s cheekbones pushing out under his eyes, then noticed the slack skin around Max’s jaw was suddenly tight over the bone, and the bone was becoming stronger and more angular…

“What is it?” Max whispered, seeing Roman’s giant eyes staring at him. “Is it my face?”

Roman just nodded, watching Max’s lips plump up, his eyebrows reshape, his chin grow outward into a perfect square. Their breaths mixed together as Roman reached up and traced his fingers over Max’s jutting cheekbones and superhero jawline. “I don’t…recognize you…” he said, holding Max’s head in his hands, and again noticing that Max’s eyes were now a piercing, almost unnatural shade of green.

And then they both knew it was happening again - Roman felt a surge of heat, and Max saw all the whiskers on his friend’s face stand on end at once, like static shock - and with a whip of his head and an audible puff of air, suddenly Roman was sporting a full, beautiful beard, every bristle in place, not a patch missing. Max stared at it in wonder, until Roman buried his head in Max’s shirt just so that he wouldn’t be able to look. Max put his arms around Roman and held him tight, his head on his friend’s shoulder until they heard the footsteps and the door, and the bathroom was empty again.

They burst out of the stall and ran to the mirror. Roman shook his head, hoping the momentum would somehow make the hairs fly off of his face. “No, no, no! I don’t want a beard! Not yet! I’m gonna look like a freak at school! How the hell did it grow trimmed? Look at my neck! My neck’s shaved! Like, the cheeks are lined up and everything!”

“It looks really good, at least,” Max offered before falling into silence, staring at his panicking friend. He didn’t want to admit it but Roman was looking sort of hot? The full beard made him look a decade older than he was but that only made him hotter. He cringed, he couldn’t be attracted to his best friend, especially not now!

And then he looked at himself. “N-no…” he gasped, and Roman turned his head too and realized Max was somewhere under the perfect face looking in the mirror. Max was frozen in place, one hand caressing the razor-sharp bone of his jawline.

“You look like a sculpture,” Roman said. “Like, your face is too perfect to be real. It looks like someone made it.”

“They’re not gonna let me back on the bus,” Max whispered, still unable to look away from how beautiful he was. His hands glided over poreless tan skin. “I can’t look. I gotta stop.”

“You sound like Narcissus.”

“Who the hell is…never mind.” Max said, wrenching his hands off his face and moving them to Roman’s cheeks, where he felt the soft black hairs underneath his palm. Roman muttered, "Hey, get off…” but made no attempt to stop the handsome man from stroking his beard.

Max looked up and saw Roman’s messy hair. He brushed it back lovingly, until he noticed that Roman’s hairline was being eroded as his hand slid further back, the tug of his palm causing more hairs to break loose until Roman had a distinctive widow’s peak. Max jerked his hand away, afraid to cause more damage.

Roman reciprocated the gesture, brushing back Max’s hair as new blond curls erupted underneath his hand and bounced down to Max’s earlobes. He smiled and said, “Your hair looks ridiculous.”

Max chuckled, his laughter shrill as a violin. “So does yours.” The two men laughed as they delicately held the other’s chin. Without thinking, Max leant forward, slowly inching his way towards his friend’s furry mouth. But before their lips could touch, both their eyes snapped open wide with horror. They leapt apart once more, as Max exaggeratedly wiped his face clean. “Ugh! Gross! Keep your sweaty, hairy body to yourself!”

“Me? You should keep your gay cooties away from me!“ Roman cried out like an immature brat, contrasting with the deep, husky tone of his voice. He wiped his forehead, wincing as he felt less hair than he was used to, alongside a coating of sweat. He lifted up his polo shirt to wipe his face clear.. As he lowered the fabric, he looked to Max whose eyes were transfixed to his hair-coated, brawny torso, his arms slowly lifting upwards. "Dude, what did I just say!?” Roman yanked his shirt back down and stepped further back.

Max groaned as he realised what was happening and stomped his feet in frustration. “I can’t help it! It’s like my arms are doing their own thing.” He forced his hands down to his side, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth as he stood stoic. He mumbled under his breath. “I’m in control…I’m in control…” Roman watched in awe as Max’s steady arms got longer, his forearms thickening, his biceps swelling and triceps expanding. Max finally stopped clenching and released his breath with a sigh. “OK, I think I got control back…” He shook his arms and rubbed them to prove it to himself, only to pause as he felt the swollen, hard muscle under his skin. “Aw man! Why??” he grumbled, kicking at the floor.

Roman backed away from Max, who did the same until they were at opposite ends of the bathroom. “Every time we get near each other, we change!” Roman yelled.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed!” The sarcasm was heavy in Max’s voice. “What do you think we should do?”

“We have to split up! You go east to the impressionist gallery, I’ll go west to the modernist gallery.”

“What? How do you even know the layout of this place?”

“I don’t know, just do it! Maybe if we stay apart long enough, we’ll turn back to normal.”

Max turned towards the door and paused, looking over his shoulder to Roman. He couldn’t leave his friend behind in this state. He should be comforting him, cozying up to him, embracing and adoring his burly, hairy body, getting down and pleasuring his massive… Max whacked the side of his head. He had to stop thinking like this, he wasn’t gay! It was this horrid curse that had taken over them. He forced himself through the bathroom door, and heard Roman follow a few seconds later.

Then he turned his head over his shoulder to make sure he was going in the right direction, just in time to see Roman lunge at him. His hairy friend wrapped him in a bear hug. “Really tight,” Max gasped.

“Good luck, we’re gonna fix this,” Roman said, his voice deeper and richer than ever. “But I’m gonna miss these.” He bent down and kissed the exposed middle of Max’s pecs, and Max twitched from the tickle of Roman’s beard on his chest. Max was about to say something when strands of white shot out through his t-shirt like shooting stars, spreading up to extend the dress shirt portion to the entire upper half of his torso, with a high collar emerging around his neck and open buttons materializing down the middle. Now, the top half of his shirt was a luxurious, brilliant white dress shirt, and the bottom half over his stomach remained his old t-shirt.

“Get out of here before you do more damage,” Max said, pushing Roman away and watching him run toward the west wing of the museum. He swore Roman’s butt was getting bigger. They needed to stop changing, they had to, but a part of Max was curious how big Roman would get…it was so bizarre to peek into the future and see Roman’s body wrapped in manly hair, and that perfect beard. Roman had it rougher than Max, because he still looked like himself except for how hairy and tall he was. Max looked completely different, and no one was going to know…it was him…

A grin spread over Max’s face, his teeth shifting into perfect alignment, each one bleached white as snow. No one knew he was himself! He didn’t have to worry about his schoolmates recognizing him! He needed to change back but at least people weren’t going to think he looked weird for the time being, aside from his duotone hair. In fact, he could see women and men looking at him, sizing him up. He looked at a scruffy guy next to him, and it dawned on Max that he was way better looking than this schlub. He’d never thought of himself as handsome before. But he was handsome now. More handsome than anyone else around him. “This is so crazy,” he said excitedly under his breath, going back to poking his fingers into the hard bone of his jawline. He looked at every man who walked by, comparing his looks to theirs, and he won every time. He was hot. He was…hunky. It was a dumb word, but it was the best one he could think of to describe himself.

He didn’t want to change back.

He knew he needed to - he had to, for Roman, his buddy - but it broke his heart. Every time he felt the solid steel of his bone structure, he couldn’t believe it was his own. And he swore he felt his shirt getting tighter, but that was impossible, because Roman wasn’t nearby.

Two older women - the well-dressed types Max associated with museums - looked at him as they walked by, blush rising to their cheeks. He flashed his perfect movie star smile at them, and heaved his giant pecs out through the open buttons of his shirt, which splayed so far apart they nearly bared his nipples again. “Afternoon, young ladies,” he said, in a smooth, elegant baritone.

They giggled like schoolgirls as they passed, and Max got such a kick out of it. He fussed with his collar to make sure it was standing up properly - he hated when collars lay flat, it looked so…unrefined - then walked on, hoping something would trigger an idea of how to change back into himself.

——–

While Max continued his trek through the east wing, Roman passed through the west wing of the gallery at a hasty pace. His hand kept rising to his face to stroke the beard he’d grown. He didn’t particularly like the reminder that his whole body was rapidly changing but he couldn’t help it. Combing his fingers through the hairs brought a calmness to his mind, something he needed in this uncertain environment. Though his bicep would brush against his chest whenever he raised his arm, which made him anxious…he wasn’t as jacked as Max, but he was certainly bigger and stronger.

His thoughts wandered back to Max who was hopefully marching off in the opposite direction. He hoped his friend was getting better. But he did have a sick curiosity, how much bigger could Max get? He already had a body that was so perfect, it put the art in the museum to shame. Roman was tempted to turn back and take a peek but he couldn’t! He couldn’t risk either of them changing any further than they already had.

Besides, Roman had it easy. It was poor Max who had it rough. His whole facial structure had rearranged itself entirely. He was practically a stranger now. A beautiful, hunky stranger whose magnificent visage could have been sculpted by the gods themselves… Roman groaned at the thought, even if it was objectively true. At least Roman still had a semblance to himself underneath all the hair and muscle. All he really had to do was shave everything off and he’d be right as rain. But the thought of possibly shaving any part of his body made his gut turn. He hated to admit it but he’d grown attached to his bountiful body hair and voluminous beard, even if it was premature for his age. Then again, could he still claim he was his age? With his whole body maturing at such a rapid pace, he couldn’t possibly be a teenager any longer. He was a man.

Roman grinned at the thought. He was a real man’s man now. Nobody would look at him and think he was some rowdy teen up to no good. Nobody would dare presume he was too young to drive, to vote, even to drink. Sure he wasn’t a muscle god sent from the heavens like Max, but he was still a muscular man. His pecs were large, furry slabs of beef and his waist was thick and solid as a tree trunk. And when you threw his healthy coating of fur into the mix? He growled sensually under his breath as he continued to stroke his beard. He looked around the room and observed the patrons, nobody could compare to his manliness. He was macho. He was…bearish. It was an odd choice of word, but nothing else better suited him.

Roman found himself back in the balloon animal exhibit. To think that wasn’t even an hour ago. It was empty aside for some college students who were stifling their laughs as they took selfies with a tall model of a balloon horse. He rolled his eyes as they positioned the camera angle to make it look like the tail was the horse’s cock, one of them gripping a hand out in-between. Roman knew he would have done the same if he were with Max. Hell, they tried climbing on one before a security guard scared them off. But now, he saw it as immature antics that were beneath him. They may be whimsical and playful but they were valuable works of art! Roman’s sudden maturity was a cause for surprise. Mature was the last thing anyone would ever call him given his class clown tendencies. But that was when he was still a kid. Was this what growing up was like? He left the college kids to their antics, his head buzzing with conflict.

In some part of Roman’s mind, there was resistance. He didn’t want to change back. He knew it was ridiculous, he couldn’t force his best friend to stay stuck in an unfamiliar stranger’s body. But he couldn’t deny it any longer. He liked his march into adulthood, and the ultra-masculine appearance that came with it. He felt like he was getting manlier by the minute. But he couldn’t be, because he was as far away from Max as he could get. Max… The Adonis himself. What he wouldn’t give to be adoring that man’s perfect body right now, smooching those luscious lips and gripping that juicy ass of his as he bent over and…

Roman’s thoughts were interrupted as he bumped his knee into a circular bench and almost took a tumble. A young woman snickered as he recomposed himself. He shot an icy look which caused her to stop. In the middle of the bench was a large metallic structure with cranks and pulleys, an interactive exhibit to keep the kids amused. Normally he’d pull on the levers and see if he could get the spinning wheel to dislodge, but he felt no desire to interact at all. In fact, Roman was more interested in its reflective surface, leaning in close to examine his reflection.

He looked similar to how he did in the bathroom, which was a good sign. Although his hairline did seem to rest higher, now having receded far back to rest atop his scalp, while his remaining hair was shorter than his usual messy mop. And his beard seemed longer, its dark mass close to hiding his neck from view. He noticed several specks of white within the black of his beard and brushed his thumb against a persistent gray patch beneath his lip. He didn’t remember those. Maybe he was still changing…

Before he could ponder any further, he heard a voice from behind him. “Roman! Is that you?”

Roman gulped. He’d been caught! How anyone recognized him was anyone’s guess, but it was time to face the music… He turned on the spot, only to encounter a huge, handsome old man that he’d never met before. But he was familiar with the face, which was plastered all over the museum. It was Arthur Owens, the art museum’s founder. How did he know who he was? He didn’t even know what to say to the man, and was distracted by Arthur’s thick white hair and broad shoulders. Mr. Owens was an attractive man. In the end, Roman meekly muttered, “Uh, hi there sir…”

“Sir?” The old man chuckled and slapped his belly, and Roman wondered if the dress shirt’s bulging buttons would burst. “We’ve been over this before, there’s no need for pleasantries! Call me Arthur, like everyone else.”

“OK, Arthur…” Roman mumbled, a little apprehensive. He tried to force some confidence into himself, straightening his back and pushing out his chest. His waist tapered further outwards until his torso was rectangular. “So what do you need me for?”

“Well we have a bit of a predicament down in the archives. It appears somebody misfiled the location of that beautiful mosaic of Dionysus surrounded by vine leaves and now we can’t find it.”

Roman blushed. “I’m not sure how I would be able to help… I was just going to the modernist gallery to-”

“I’m certain that anything you had planned in the modernist gallery can wait. This is an urgent matter! Nobody knows the archives like you do.”

In fact, Roman knew nothing of the archives. Arthur must have mistaken him for someone else. But he didn’t want to disappoint the old man, and it was an opportunity to see what works of art the museum didn’t have on display. He felt honored that he could even catch a glimpse of what lies inside. He sighed and nodded his head. “You’re right, sir…” The old man arched an eyebrow. “I mean, Arthur… I’ll get right on it.”

Arthur tapped him on the shoulder. “That’s a good boy. Oh and can you remind your friend about that little tour of his?”

“My friend?”

“You know, the handsome one, looks like a statue come to life. He has that unusual name…”

“You mean Max…?”

“That’s it! Maximilian! You’re a lucky man to land a guy like him!”

Roman nodded, not quite understanding the situation. He’d always known Max as, well, Max. He didn’t know that he had a longer name. But with a name like Maximilian, he understood why he’d want to keep that under wraps. Arthur said his farewell leaving Roman alone. With slight reluctance, he got out his phone and typed out a text to Max. But then he froze, and he felt his heartbeat pick up.

“My hands…”

Seeing them made him realize just how much he’d changed. He had big, thick, muscular hands covered in dark hair. His palms were like bricks. Roman stood frozen as he looked at them. An hour prior, being inside his brain was like being on a rollercoaster. Constant unpredictable activity. Now, he felt grounded and still, weighted to the earth.

Although there was still a surge of panic when he felt his chest press into his shirt, and it dawned on him what was going to happen… “N-no-” His pecs surged outward, ripping his polo shirt down the center from the collar, as his beefy pecs expanded into big boulders shrouded in manly hair. Beneath them, Roman’s belt buckle burst off and he cried out in pain as his stomach thickened into a hard, powerful trunk that stuck out further than his monster chest and hung over the top of his pants.

Roman sent the text with one hand - “I just got sent to the archives, where are you” - and held his pants up with the other, shuffling toward a white door set in the wall that most visitors wouldn’t even notice. It opened for him with a beep and he lunged through just as his butt swelled and widened, the seat of his pants stressed to the limit by a new, masculine, meaty ass.

The door slammed shut behind him and Roman fell against the wall with relief, his huge tits heaving up and down in front of him. “Why is this happening,” he groaned as he tried to adjust his pants. He felt so big. It was bizarre. His entire body was square and broad, and he felt as wide as the concrete stairs he was walking down. He watched his ripped polo shirt twist and change over his body, the fabric softening, the sleeves extending down his furry arms and forming cuffs at his wrists. The pointed ends of his shirt slipped underneath his extended waist and tucked tightly into his pants, somehow accentuating the curve of his stomach. A point collar popped up around his neck and completed his new bright blue dress shirt, the buttons dangerously snug over his lifter’s belly. The top couple buttons were left undone because his chest was simply that large, so Roman could see the deep crevice between his pecs and all the hair covering them. His pants were changed too - roomy tan slacks that contained his ass and pushed his stomach out further. They were adult clothes, but they fit his brawn well, and he had to admit that he liked how they made him feel. He wondered if Max looked as good as he did.

Of course Max did, Roman thought with an eye roll. Max would look good in a trash bag.

Being in the basement with its small corridors and cramped rooms was a world of difference from the cavernous, open spaces of art galleries. Roman grew quickly aware of how much space he took up. He liked it. He felt so big and strong.

“Oh hi, Dr. Roman!” chirped a young blonde lady as she walked by. “Didn’t recognize you without your glasses!”

“My glasses?”

Plop! The world sharpened into focus as Roman felt a weight on his nose. He reached up and gingerly slid his new eyeglasses off his face. They were black frames, thick-rimmed. Like Superman’s in his Clark Kent persona. Roman pushed them back up with his finger and scratched his furry cheeks. He hoped they looked good. They were likely to, because he was a handsome man. In fact, Roman assumed they lent a scholarly touch to his otherwise harsh, masculine features.

What concerned him, as his fingers traced over his face again, was the creases and crags he felt in his skin. Not the acne scars of his youth - the beard covered those, if he still had them - but something more dignified. Hopefully they made him look…seasoned, not old. “A daddy,” he chuckled under his breath. He rested a hand on the powerful curve of his belly and that word echoed in his head. At least he looked the part he had to play until he changed back. There were worse things than being a mature, commanding, hot daddy. Like poor Max. Roman hoped his buddy wasn’t too panicked.

———-

Max’s phone buzzed against his thigh, but he ignored it. Whoever wanted his attention could wait, he had more pressing matters at hand. Such as the trio of ladies who admired him from afar. They whispered amongst themselves, each one glancing toward him with a shy giggle. Max turned around and threw his right arm upwards, flexing his bicep with a boastful grin. He threw a cheeky wink in their direction. The three of them blushed, giggling even harder as they shuffled away from him. Max loved the attention. He thrived off it. It fed his ego.

But even with his newfound confidence and charm, Max did wonder how Roman was getting along. It felt like anytime he thought about his situation or of Roman, something would happen to him. But it was hard not to think of his poor friend. He could picture him now, his huge, brawny body covered with unsightly hair. His receding hairline and thick beard. That glorious, furry, mountain of a man. He wanted to shove his face into the manly pecs and stroke that rock solid belly so bad. He felt his own pecs push outwards a bit further, testing the limits of his dress shirt, their cleavage bared to the world. His ass bounced as he walked, the movement making it firmer and rounder. Even thinking of Roman was detrimental to his existence as Max the teenager. He focused on the art around him to take things off his mind.

Max’s eyes darted to a painting to his right. It depicted a beautiful woman in a flowing pink dress gracefully sat on a swing hanging from a tree branch, her dainty foot in midair. A carefree moment in time that encapsulated the decadence of French aristocracy. The painting was beautiful, but it didn’t quite compare to his own beauty. Max smiled to himself, new dimples indented themselves within his cheeks. He moved onto the next painting, a gorgeous sunset over a busy seaport. The warm golden hues of the sun blending with the blues and purples of the fading afternoon sky evoked a serene feeling. It truly was stunning, but not as stunning as himself. He pulled a smug grin, his eyebrows preening themselves and reshaping into delicate, dark blond lines. He moved onto another portrait. It depicted a beautiful young man gazing at his reflection in a pool of water. The youthful man was captivated by his own beauty, something Max could relate to. But the man in the painting wasn’t that beautiful, not like himself. He ruffled his blond locks a little. He couldn’t take it any longer, he had to see his perfect visage again!

Max darted forward until he spotted an exhibit case containing a small collection of metal plates, shiny enough to act as a mirror. Max stopped in front of it and smiled. He was beautiful. His jawline was immaculate, his golden, sun-kissed skin was free of blemishes and marks, as smooth and immaculate as the finest marble. His hair was voluminous, loose blond curls that framed his sculpted features perfectly. A shake of his head sent more curls busting out of his scalp and spilling in a perfect swoop over his forehead. He brushed a curl out of his eyesight with a seductive growl. God, he was a hunk! He could stare at his reflection all day. He felt like, in another lifetime, he’d done just that, posing and preening to his heart’s content. But he couldn’t do that today. He pried his eyes away with an irritated pout. There would be more time to bathe in his own beauty later. He had to move on before anything else happened to him.

Luckily, he was standing just outside of the impressionists gallery. Monet, Renoir, Cézanne. They were all featured in this circular room. As he approached a particularly poignant painting of a boy with a woven basket getting a treat for his dog, Max briefly wondered whether Roman had reached his gallery. Maybe he should send him a text message, just to be sure…

“Excuse me, sir?” Max ignored the voice as he gazed upon the painting in thought. “Sir!” He turned around and flinched, it was Ms. Hudson, his art teacher! But she didn’t recognize him… Of course she didn’t, he was an unfamiliar stranger now.

Max flashed his winning smile. “How may I help you, ma'am?”

Ms. Hudson blushed slightly. “Are you the expert who will be guiding our tour?”

“Tour?” Max looked beyond his teacher and, sure enough, all his classmates were gathered behind her, chatting amongst themselves. Well most of them. Miller wasn’t there, and it felt like a couple others weren’t either. And, of course, Roman was missing. He wondered how he was coping without him. He was really starting to miss his handsome daddy… Wait, daddy?

Before he could question himself, Ms. Hudson sighed, a little flustered. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just, the woman at the front desk said we would get a special guest speaker to guide my class. She said to look for the unrealistically handsome man, which I thought was an odd descriptor. But then I saw you enter the room and, well…” She blushed. Max felt a little sick, his teacher was flirting with him! Gross! In another life, he may have considered returning her affection. She was a beautiful woman after all. But he knew his heart was destined for another.

“No, no. Don’t be embarrassed. I’ll give you the finest tour this museum has to offer.” He stood up tall, adding a couple extra inches to his height, and strutted to the center of the room.

Ms. Hudson clapped her hands together and said, in a voice Max found distastefully loud for a museum, “Alright class! Please give your attention to our guide for today! Mister… Uhm…” She waved her hand for Max to continue.

“Oooh, Mister is far too formal. Hi everyone, I’m Max…Uh…” He paused, he couldn’t give his real name! “Mill…Uhm…Maximilian! My name is Maximilian and it is my humble pleasure to be your guide around this wonderful museum.” He knew his friends…they’d need a reason to respect him. Shit, what would be something they’d respect? “I have a…Masters in art history…but you don’t care about that. Just care that I really know my stuff and I promise not to bore you.” He saw the teenagers - who now all seemed so damn short - break into wry grins, and he knew he was in.

Max paused as he bathed in the attention he was receiving. All eyes were on him. Every single person in the room was enraptured by his stunning looks and golden voice, even the visitors who weren’t a part of his tour. Max almost opened with a “my eyes are up here” joke when he saw half the teens looking at the exposed center of his chest, but he decided against it.

"So today, we’ve started off in the impressionists gallery. Impressionism was an art movement born in the 19th century, characterized by its bold, rapid style of visible brush strokes and use of bright colors.” He wasn’t sure if what he was saying was true, but the crowd was hanging onto his every word. He turned until he spotted a painting he was familiar with. “This is one of Monet’s Water Lilies, part of a set of approximately 250 paintings that were inspired by the flower garden at his home in Giverny. As you can probably tell, this particular piece was painted in his later life while he suffered from cataracts. I mean, even I could paint a pond better than that…” His lighthearted response elicited a chorus of chuckles, and he grinned. “Yes, it’s an unrecognizable mess of colors, but you can still feel the passion in every brush stroke. It’s admirable, in a way.”

Max moved to the back of the group so that he didn’t block their view of the piece. He gave them a few moments to take pictures - “No flash,” he corrected one of them - and analyze the canvas. It provided an opportunity for his jeans to swirl around his legs and morph into expensive, tailored trousers, with a leather belt that held his dress shirt tightly tucked. He tugged on his cuffs as they became more formal - the French style, with silver cufflinks - and his sneakers clacked across the hardwood floor as they shifted into a pair of polished brogues. His elegant clothes hugged every muscular curve of his body - his long legs and narrow waist that tapered up into a doublewide back and massive, bulging chest. Even at rest, his biceps pushed against the tight sleeves of his shirt, their etched details making folds in the fabric. He was as curated as any artwork, a masterpiece of masculine beauty, and the gleam in his green eyes said that he knew it.

He showed his friends the collection of Renoirs, then lamented that the museum didn’t have any Degas pieces - his favorite impressionist artist. As he led the group to the next room, he heard two teenage boys in hushed conversation behind him.

“Do you think he’s gay?”
“Nah, man, look at the muscles.”
“Gay guys get super jacked, though. It’s like a sex thing.”
“His clothes are pretty gay, I guess.”

Max snorted and almost turned around. He wanted to correct them that wearing stylish clothes did not automatically make one gay, though he had to admit that he’d never seen a straight guy wear a dress shirt half open. But what was he going to do? NOT show off his chest? Spending so much time focused on the body and face of another man was, in fact, quite gay of them, but Max didn’t point that out either. Mostly, he wanted to reveal that he was goofy Max, their buddy. He could just imagine their faces, but it was more likely he’d look like a crazy weirdo, so he held his tongue.

They were still talking about him, though, and Max wondered what exactly he’d done to broadcast his budding homosexuality. The clothes, the perfect grooming, the expertise in art…okay, it was kind of gay. Even more was the fact that every time the boys said that word, Max was hit with a fantasy of sex with Roman. Roman’s thick beard bristling against Max’s cheek as he lavished him with kisses. Roman’s big hairy chest dripping sweat onto Max’s sculpted pecs, and that boulder ass of his up in the air, waiting for a…

“No,” Max said aloud, under his breath. He didn’t want to fuck Roman. Roman was his bro! Friends didn’t have sex with each other, even if they were both fully grown men who embodied every fantasy the other had.

That was when it hit Max - had he…become exactly the kind of man Roman wanted? Roman’s new form pushed every button of Max’s, certainly; buttons Max didn’t even know he had. He wanted to live inside Roman, fuck him forever. But Roman was supposed to be young, not a mature muscle daddy, and Max felt a pang of guilt if it was truly his fault that Roman was stuck in a body he didn’t want. Mostly, Max felt aroused, to the point that sweat popped out across his brow, and notes of expensive cologne floated out from his chest and neck, activated by his pheromones. As he whipped out a lacy handkerchief to dab his forehead, and smelled his floral, woodsy scent, it made sense to him why his peers thought he was a gay man. That didn’t stop him from shooting a disapproving look at the two boys, just so that they knew he knew they were talking about him.

Even more eyes were trained on Max’s chest as he turned around to address his class; not only was it even broader than before, but his thoughts of Roman had hardened his nipples and pushed them against his silky shirt. Max felt his phone buzz against his thigh once again, but he couldn’t take a look now. He needed to focus and get back on track, so he walked them through the gallery piece by piece, wondering if his ever-deepening knowledge of the art world was enveloping him in an irreversible way.

——–

Roman shoved his phone in his pocket with a grumble. It was bad enough that the two of them had to separate to keep this transformation under control, the least Max could do was reply to his texts and let him know he was OK. Their great idea of keeping apart wasn’t even working anyway. Roman was still changing, his swollen belly getting rounder, his mountainous pecs getting beefier, each pushing his dress shirt to its limits. Even now, he could feel the telltale itch of new hairs bristling over his ass cheeks and tickling across his back.

At the very least, it was exciting to be inside the archives. It was almost as big at the museum itself. They couldn’t display everything in their collection at the same time. Roman had already come across a rarely displayed Botticelli and an intriguing Hokusai wood print. But no mosaic of Dionysus.

This was his first time in the archives, he wasn’t quite sure where he should start his search. but the longer he stayed in the basement, the more familiar he became with his surroundings. He entered his office once more - he knew it was his because his name was on the window. Well, almost his name. He lingered in the doorway as he observed the golden script. Dr. A. Roman. For one thing, he wasn’t a doctor. Why would a doctor be working in an art museum? Secondly, Roman wasn’t his surname. He wasn’t quite sure what the A referenced. Maybe another degree of some sort? Or maybe it was literal. He was a Roman doctor… Roman sneered at his own poor attempt at humor, a tired joke he felt he’d heard countless times. He was long past trying to make light of the situation. It was time to be serious, everyone was counting on him. As if on cue, he heard a chipper voice behind him.

“How are you getting along, Dr. Roman?”

Roman scratched his head, frowning as a few hairs scattered down past his vision. At the rate it was falling out, he’d be lucky if he had any hair left. He wiped the stray hairs off of his shirt and turned to his assistant. “No luck so far. You say it was misfiled under the Tang Dynasty by mistake?”

The young, blond woman clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Well we were transporting the pieces from our previous exhibit around the same time and thought it may have gotten lost in the switcharound. I found this on a desk in the loading bay and followed the trail,” she said as she produced a sheet of paper. “But honestly, your handwriting can be atrocious when you’re in a rush. It led us nowhere." 

Roman frowned as he snatched the form from his assistant’s hand. He recognized the scrawled writing on the paper as his own. She had a point, he couldn’t tell if he’d written 'Tang Dynasty Music Box’ or 'That Dionysus Mosaic Box’. Presumably the former, hence the confusion. This was a conundrum indeed. He stroked his beard in thought, tugging white hairs into existence across his cheeks and chin. His fingers lingered on the tip of his whiskers, creating a sizable gray patch that threatened to overtake the bottom half of his beard. "And you’re sure you thoroughly searched the Greek collection? It may have been misfiled in the reports but everything should find its way back to where it belongs eventually.”

“It was the first place we searched. But I could send someone to double check.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” he grunted. As his assistant left, he called out to her, “And remind them to wear gloves! I’ve been seeing a lot of lax behavior recently. Remember, we’re dealing with fragile pieces here!” Roman sat down at his desk and removed his own pair of gloves, then logged into the archive database. Everything was digital, of course. But there were still analogue copies as back-up. All he had to do was compare the database to the folders and see if he could spot any inconsistencies between the two. But where to start…

Roman glanced down to the untidy papers covering his desk. There was a mock-up of the updated guide map that required his approval. The front had a promotion for the upcoming exhibition he was working on - Ancient Greece: The Original Influencer. It promised to detail the Greek myths and legends that inspired some of the greatest works of art in the museum’s collection. Which gave him an idea. The archives generally grouped things by geographic location, followed by era, then artist. But some pieces were categorized by art medium, or even by the featured subject. It was only a hunch, but Roman thought he might just know where to look.

He pulled himself up from his desk with a grunt, feeling a dull ache in his back. Sitting at a desk for too long wasn’t good for a man of his age, though he’d hate to learn what that age was… Roman pressed his hands against his lower back and arched backwards with a satisfied groan, stretching out the kinks and broadening his torso. He walked over to a series of cabinets and identified the box of folders he’d need to compare. He sighed, of course they were at the very top. He stretched up for the box, his belly pressed into the cabinet, but just couldn’t quite reach it.

“Max would be able to reach it…” Roman mumbled idly, before regretting his stray thought. He swung his arms back down and gritted his teeth as his calves arched and stretched to give him a few extra inches of height. His torso grew ever more thicker, his pecs shoving themselves outwards in a fruitless attempt to overtake the size of his burgeoning belly. His shirt couldn’t take much more. A series of pings sounded as his shirt buttons broke free and bounced off the metal cabinet. Roman moaned in frustration as his stomach bounced free of its fabric confines and spilled over his pants. Roman scratched at his solid musclegut, feeling the dense forest of hairs coating it, before his shirt refitted itself, the fabric flapping across his expanded bulk and the buttons reattaching themselves. “How many more times is that gonna happen,” he wondered aloud before once again reaching up for his files and effortlessly grabbing the box.

Roman returned to his desk and sat down. He had to clear his mind, stop any stray thoughts from messing with him. He pulled out his first file and scanned the contents for inconsistencies, comparing it to the database on his computer. Nothing unusual. He grabbed the next folder and repeated the process. His body seemed to work on autopilot, getting absorbed into the monotonous workload. It wasn’t until a familiar name jolted him out of his stupor. He glanced to his side to see a pile of checked folders taller than the stack he had remaining. He’d heard of the phrase 'lost in your work’ but he’d never quite understood it until now.

Trying to shake off the eerie feeling of enjoying paperwork, his eyes fell back onto the name of a painting. Portrait of Maximilian I. Curious, Roman flicked through the pages until he found a scan of the painting. He winced at the sight of the dull, old man in the portrait. It was nothing like his Maximilian… His living sculpture, his hunky Adonis. Roman drummed his fingers on the table, beating more calluses and hairs onto his meaty mitts, then feverishly reached for his phone again. Still no response. Max hadn’t even opened his messages.

Roman slumped back in his chair with a sigh. What if Max had forgotten about him? He was essentially a stranger at this point, maybe in this reality they’d never met. Roman clutched at his chest and groaned sadly. He knew he should try and ignore his growing affection but he just couldn’t shake it. It didn’t help that he was the one who suggested they split up. Maybe if he’d kept his mouth shut, they’d both be together and happy. He didn’t want to be in the archives searching for a lost treasure. He didn’t want to be in the modernist gallery, studying the works of Hirst and Picasso. He just wanted to be in the warm embrace of his best friend. He wanted to hold Max close to his body, to feel Max’s smooth, supple skin against his lips, Max’s dainty hands against his waist. How he longed to feel Max’s hard cock teasing his ass before thrusting inside and filling him completely.

Roman felt a tight pain. There wasn’t just passion in his daydreams. He was in love. He loved Max with all his heart, and the notion that Max may not love him back? It made Roman feel sick to the stomach. Max embodied everything he’d ever want in a man. Not just physically but emotionally and intellectually.

“Ugh, my brain,” Roman groaned, removing his glasses to rub his eyes before resting his head in his hands. He could feel his belly in his lap and his pecs resting on the table, his dress shirt tight around their mass. He never used to dress like this, like a businessman. But Max always dressed well and radiated so much confidence, and he’d influenced Roman greatly, even if he was younger. “We’re the same age,” Roman grunted to himself. Stupid spell or whatever. They’d never gone shopping for clothes together, never gone to Max’s favorite stores and picked out their lushest fabrics and had shirts and trousers made for Roman. Which made Roman a bit sad, because those were great memories. When Roman had gone back for his fittings and came out of the dressing room with his new clothes on, Max’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. He’d said Roman looked so handsome.

But now, he wasn’t responding, and they were both still transforming anyway, and Roman couldn’t shake the fear that Max had forgotten him. He slumped back in his seat, sulking, and thinking about how Max would tell him to be positive, because Max was always positive. Roman was the serious one. No, they were both class clowns…best friends. Roman didn’t want to lose his best friend. Why had they ever split up…it set his teeth on edge just thinking about it.  What was he going to do without Max? Bury himself in his work and accept a new reality as a somber, stoic, lonely man? Max could have anyone he so desired, so why would he want a stuffy, middle aged man like Roman?

He growled and slammed a fist on his desk. No! He had to stop thinking of himself like this, he had to stop the self-pity. He wasn’t some average schmo, he was quite the catch himself! He was handsome and muscular, not to mention financially stable. He still turned plenty of heads wherever he went. It was true, he could get any man he wanted - and though Roman realized that he was now thinking as a fully formed gay man, he couldn’t stop doing so - but he didn’t want any man. He wanted Max. If he was going to be gay, that was who he was going to be gay with.

“Please respond,” he typed into his phone. He hated how needy it sounded, but it was the truth. He typed ‘I love you,’ but couldn’t make himself send it. What kind of impact would a statement like that have? So he changed it to ‘Daddy misses you,’ then reconsidered and kept it simple: “I miss you.”

He set his phone face down on the desk and fondled his crotch. Just sending a text to Max boned him up. No one blew him like that stud could. Max was an artist with his mouth. The two Maxes were at war with each other in Roman’s mind. He could see the stupid goofball who would try to trip him in the hall at school, but he also saw the sexy, sleek stud with the perfect face, and the view of those bounteous blond curls buried between his legs.

Roman went so far as to unzip his fly, but then he stopped. He was scared to jerk off. Not because of the consequences if he got caught, but because he was afraid if he did, he’d cum away his memories of Max. It was a bizarre fear, but the events of the last hour rationalized it. He had to wait for Max. Had to at least look at him, even if he was a stranger now.

And then, within the currents of his rapidly maturing mind, a thought came to Roman. He turned to his computer and flipped his glasses back onto his face, then began searching through the database for urns.

———-

Max swooped through the museum in an elegant manner, bringing history and art alive with his in-depth knowledge and flamboyant narrative. His audience was eating up his every word. He’d also managed to attain some fresh faces who were transfixed by his abundant energy. He didn’t mind the extra company, the more the merrier! They entered the sculpture gallery. It was a spacious room filled with statues of every kind and from every era.

Max guided his tour group to the center of the room, next to a smooth marble plinth. “So here’s an interesting story. This very gallery is where I used to live!” He pointed towards the block amongst gasps and giggles. “This is where I used to stand until the love and adoration of all you lovely visitors brought me to life!”

He hopped onto the plinth, in actuality a stone bench, and the adoring crowd took pictures - without flash like he had taught them - as he ran through a series of his best poses. He laughed and said, “I’m kidding, of course! There isn’t a sculptor alive who could accurately reflect my beauty. But if you want to see a real living statue, we currently have a live art installation in the grand rotunda. See the mighty Hercules come to life!”

Max was having the time of his life. He wondered why he ever worried about changing in the first place. He continued to lead his group, periodically pausing to point out an important piece with an interesting history, until he came to a halt in front of an unassuming bust. It was of a handsome man with a short beard and curly hair. He looked like an important leader, but the eyes betrayed a sense of sorrow. Max almost reached out to touch the bust’s face but slapped his hand down quickly. He cleared his throat. “Here, we have a bust of Antoninus Pius.  He was one of the Five Good Emperors of the Roman Empire.” Max paused and uttered under his breath. “Roman…”

He wondered how Roman was coping with it all. He’d gotten the short end of the stick, after all. The last he saw or heard of him was back when they agreed to separate. In a way, Max hoped that maybe Roman would reconsider, that the handsome bear would burst into the gallery and proclaim his undying affection in front of everyone. Then they would finally embrace to widespread applause, Whitney Houston would play over the speakers, and flower petals would rain down from above… Okay, that was a little unrealistic. But he still wished they hadn’t split up. At least Max had the excuse of leading a tour around the museum. What was Roman doing?

“Excuse me, Maxie?”

“Huh?” Max was suddenly aware of the dozens of eyes watching him. “Oh, yes. Antoninus Pius. This is an exceptional example of Roman’s butt - bust!” He blushed as a few giggles erupted from the crowd and he, once again, had a flash of memory of Roman’s furry ass cheeks. He cleared his throat and continued. “A Roman bust that has been remarkably preserved, still retaining the majority of its facial features such as its nose and ears.”

He stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry everyone. I know this is highly unprofessional of me. It’s just this bust reminds me of a very good friend of mine, when he was a little younger than he is now…” Max gulped. How old was he now? How old was Roman now? They had both grown so much in so little time.

“We were together, for a while. And something happened to us… We started changing, becoming entirely different people. It was all happening so fast, we were frightened… In the end, we agreed that we should split up and keep our distance in case we changed any further… But what if we were changing for the better? I really miss him…”

“Aw, you poor thing! Going through a rough break-up and still working through the pain.”

“Why, when I split up with my husband, I didn’t leave the house for a month!”

“I told you he was gay! Now pay up…”

Max wanted to cut in and let them know he was talking literally. He was literally changing, and it was literally happening too fast. He had to let them know he wasn’t going through a break-up. But the heartbreak in his chest begged to differ. Why did they agree to split up? Why didn’t they just embrace things? Didn’t Roman love him? Roman could have anyone he so desired, so why would he want a vain himbo like Max?

Max pounded his fist against his bulging thigh. No! He loved being a pretty boy, but he was more than just that. He was educated and cosmopolitan, and he brought fun everywhere he went. He could have anyone he wanted, he knew that. But he wanted Roman. Roman had a powerful, commanding presence that calmed Max, made him stay in the moment. And he was so hot. Such a man. His muscles, and his beard, and his deep voice that rumbled in Max’s ear when they made love. Max had never met someone who turned heads just as much as he himself did, but wherever Roman went, people noticed him. His ruggedness was the perfect counterpoint to Max’s beauty.

They were meant to be together.

And now they weren’t.

Max wanted to cry, and even that made him miss Roman, because he wanted Roman to kiss the tears away and tell him everything would be alright, because with Roman everything was always alright. Max could remember that clumsy, crude kid who never stopped running in the hallways even though he tripped over his feet every single time, but he could also see a gorgeous muscle bear in a custom dress shirt and designer glasses, with the most perfect beard Max had ever seen. Roman had become the kind of man who would look down on his younger self with stern disapproval and demand better.

“Ms. Hudson?” Max turned around and addressed his teacher as if he was a student. The woman looked up at him. “Do you remember Roman?”

“Dr. Roman?” When Max just stared at her, his chiseled features slack with confusion, she hastily added, “The archivist?”

“Yes!” A triumphant laugh bubbled out of Max, as if he’d just discovered gravity. He grabbed his teacher’s shoulders. “Yes! The archivist! Dr. Roman! He’s a doctor!” He laughed again, and Ms. Hudson stared in confusion, unsure if she should laugh too. Max shook his head in disbelief, giggling to himself. “Roman’s a doctor…”

“He…has a doctorate, right? I don’t think he’s a medical doctor-”

“Right, yes, of course, a doctorate,” Max coughed, and he could envision the door to Roman’s office. In his memory, he was standing on the other side of it, and he had a bag with two gourmet cupcakes in it. And then he knocked and looked in, and there was Roman - DOCTOR Roman - graying and gorgeous and such a fucking MAN, in a white shirt that showed enough of his chest hair to give Max a boner. And Max had walked in, and whispered happy birthday, because Roman hated a big fuss over his birthday, but Roman was excited to see him because work was stressful that day, and Max had fed pieces of the cupcake to Roman and kissed the crumbs out of his beard. He could see Roman’s furry face beaming up at him, and taste the icing in Roman’s mouth when their tongues interlocked.

And then Max realized he was still standing with his hands on his teacher’s shoulders, and once again, everyone was staring at him, and starting to think that he was more of a weirdo than he’d let on. “How’d you all like to go down to the archives with me?” Max said to break the tension.

Unsurprisingly, the adults all seemed interested, and the teens did not.

“Most people never get to see them,” Max tacked on, and he saw the skeptical looks on the students’ faces lighten. “C’mon, I won’t tell if you don’t.” He strutted off and the class followed. Max was beaming ear to ear, fussing with his hair, making sure his shirt was tucked and his collar was standing up. His muscles were pumping up with excitement, making him look more fantastic than ever, an artist’s depiction of ideal man. Come hell or high water, he was going to see Roman, and he was going to tell him they were meant to be together. He was ready to be an adult. He was ready to be gay. He would do whatever was needed to be with his friend…no, his lover. Maybe even his husband.

———-

Roman walked down the halls of the archives with an air of gravitas and poise. He was usually so clumsy, he could trip on air. But now that he was older and far more beefier than he used to be, he had learned to slow down and pay more attention to his surroundings. He’d become surprisingly agile for a man of his size, waltzing through the cluttered environment with ease.

But Roman was on a mission. He may have figured out where the lost mosaic had turned up. He remembered that despite the artwork depicting the Greek goddess of wine, it wasn’t actually from Greece at all. It was part of a Spanish portico that was inspired by the Greek gods, hence why it was going into his exhibit. He hoped that his intuition was correct. The quicker he found this mosaic, the quicker he could return to the main gallery and find Max.

Roman tapped in the keycode and entered the archives for Mediterranean artwork. He shivered as he entered the climate controlled room, it was colder than the hallways. He felt his chest hair flutter in the air conditioned space. Roman strode down the narrow aisles until he reached the section composed of Spanish art. As his eyes scrolled across the many shelves, he broke into a smug grin. There it was, the crate that contained the mosaic of Dionysus.

Roman reached up and felt something on top. It was a sheet of paper in his own handwriting, a memo to have it moved to the room that prepared artwork for exhibition. It was dated a week ago, it must have slipped his mind somehow. Then again, considering he was a lean, scrappy teenager who only worried about girls and video games a week ago, it technically wasn’t entirely his fault. Roman studied his handwriting with interest. It hadn’t changed a bit, aside from his messy signature at least. He could tell he’d written Roman as his surname, which felt right the more he thought about it. He stared at the illegible first name, trying to make it out. Andrew? Aaron? Aiden? But it didn’t matter, he always did prefer Roman to his forename. It felt more scholarly.

As he gripped onto the crate to get it down, Roman hesitated. He was certainly strong enough to lift and carry it without a problem. But he had to be careful, he couldn’t just drag it out and open it all willy nilly. Even if he ensured the optimal conditions throughout the archives, he couldn’t dare risk damaging the mosaic by accident. He’d let Sally know so she could call off the search and gather the interns to assist him.

Roman pulled out his phone - still no response from Max, he noted with a sigh - and found Ms. Stone’s number. How he had a museum archivist’s phone number on speed dial was anyone’s guess, but Roman had given up on trying to make sense of his situation. As more memories of his life as a forty-something museum curator smothered any remaining link to his old life as a high school teenager, Roman knew that he’d passed the point of no return. As far as he was concerned, this was his life now. And if his impromptu research into the matter proved correct, his fate was written the moment he touched that urn. At the time, it felt like a curse. But it seemed to have become a blessing in disguise. Hopefully Max felt the same way…

Roman held his phone up to his ear and Ms. Stone answered on the third dial tone. At least somebody was answering him, he thought bitterly.

“Hi Adrian, find anything?”

“Adrian?” He asked, a little perplexed.

Sally sighed. “Sorry, Dr. Roman…” Roman grunted in response. That was more like it. He preferred formality in the work environment. “Have you located the… Hang on…” He heard an unusual amount of chatter coming from her end of the line. Was she not inside the archives? Before he could question her, he heard her call out to someone. “Excuse me, sir? Sir! You cannot bring a tour group down here, it’s restricted access!”

Roman stood up, eyes wide. Who was trying to bring WHAT into the archives? Without formal, advance permission or even running the idea by him first?? There were rare, fragile and priceless items down in the archives! You couldn’t have just anyone lollygagging around like some sort of open house! He growled under his breath, until he heard the reply. “Don’t you worry, ma'am. They’re Arthur Owens approved! Why that man would do anything to keep me around…”

Roman almost dropped his phone in surprise. That voice, sweet and angelic… Could it really be? Without even thinking, he abruptly hung up and abandoned his post. The mosaic would have to wait. There was someone that he had to meet.

——–

Max was feeling increasingly guilty about leading a group of squirrely teenagers down to the precious museum archives. He had to see Roman, but he also was a nationally renowned art history expert, and he couldn’t bear the thought of anything getting damaged. After talking his way in, he formulated a plan that would keep the group separated from any actual art - he could walk them down the center hallway but not go into any rooms, and only explain what was behind each door. With his gallant charm, he was sure he could still maintain their attention.

The kids were babbling away as they filed down the hall, and Max hung behind them to be sure every single one was out of any forbidden areas. He was grateful to be so tall - it made it easy to see over their heads, and he got a kick out of saying their names when he told them to stay away from the doors. It got them shaken up that he knew them, because they didn’t realize he was their buddy Max.

He turned around to make sure everyone was out of the front area, and that’s when he heard it: that gruff, deep voice around the corner.

“He’s gone?” Roman sounded devastated. It made Max’s heart ache.

“Should I have stopped him?”, the female voice asked.

“Of course,” Roman snipped, but then the tone softened. “It’s not your fault. I was just hoping he’d remember me.”

Max stepped into the doorframe, fully aware that he filled every inch of it. The surge of pride caused by that was overshadowed when he saw how Roman looked now. It shocked Max - Roman was a different person entirely. A middle-aged hulk. If he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders, they certainly looked like they could shoulder it.

Max stared at him in awe. The deep creases on Roman’s face made him look so wise and mature. His beard was pure perfection. His clothes were tight in all the right places, emphasizing his masculine, square shape. He was the most beautiful thing Max had ever seen. Imagining Roman was one thing, but seeing him in the flesh…this imposing titan of a man standing in the place of the boy he’d once been…it finally drove home to Max the astonishing transformation they’d both undergone.

He tried to say something. Roman was wiping his eyeglasses on his shirt, his face twisted into a scowl, and Max knew he couldn’t see shit without his glasses. He’d have to announce himself. But Max, for once, was speechless. So he stood still and waited for Roman to put his glasses on, itemizing every perfect detail of Roman’s body…his meaty ass; his huge, hairy chest; his delicious belly.

And then Roman slid his glasses back onto his nose, and looked up. His face lit up, his mouth fell open, the sight of Max had taken his breath away. He tended to have that kind of power over people. But this was Roman’s first time seeing him since they separated. If Roman’s transformation into a mature beefcake was surprising, Max’s own transformation into a god among men had to be equally as shocking to his friend.

Roman thought that he’d missed Max again, destined to never encounter his love, until he saw the golden hunk in the doorway, the fluorescent lights bathed him in an almost ethereal glow. Roman was stunned. The sharp contours of Max’s symmetrical face could have been sculpted by angels. His huge, muscular body and tanned skin would have put Hercules to shame. Even his clothes were expertly tailored to accentuate his impressive physique. He had to be the most handsome man on the planet, and he was standing there waiting for him. It was almost like a dream.

“Max?” Roman rubbed at his eyes, confident it was a mirage. He slipped his glasses off and back on, and sure enough, there was his blond adonis. Max nodded with a smile. “Max!” Roman hollered with an ecstatic cry. He bounded up to Max and grabbed him by the biceps. Roman gazed up into his partner’s kind eyes, like shimmering pools of the purest spring water, and broke into a crooked grin. There was so much he wanted to say, but Roman couldn’t find the words. Eventually, he managed to blurt out, “You got tall…”

“I guess…” Max said with a sheepish grin before poking Roman’s belly. “You got fat.”

“That means more of me to love.” The two men shared a laugh before Roman wrapped his arms tight around Max’s waist and pulled himself close. He buried his bristly face deep in Max’s chest and stifled a sob. Max smiled warmly and leant down to kiss his partner softly on his forehead. Roman gazed back up, his beard tickling the tip of Max’s chin, and confessed, "I’ve missed you so much… I was worried you’d forgotten about me! You haven’t even checked your friggin’ phone!”

Max chuckled. “I was a little busy giving these lovely folks a tour of the museum.” He swept a hand towards the gabble of curious teens and adults who watched on as their tour guide had stopped everything to cozy up to the museum archivist. “Besides, how could I forget you? You mean the world to me! In fact, I thought you’d given up on me as you never came back…”

“I could never give up on you. I would be lost without you. In fact, I was lost. I’ve been stuck down here trying to track down a misplaced art piece.” Roman turned to Sally, who was watching on with bewilderment. “That reminds me. Ms. Stone, I found the mosaic. Aisle 46 in the Mediterranean archive. Would you be so kind as to arrange for Walker and Nadir to transfer it to the appropriate archive while I reconcile with my husband?”

“Uh, of course Dr. Roman… I’ll get right on it.” Sally walked away, feeling like she’d stumbled into a Hallmark flick.

Roman turned back around to see Max with the biggest, goofiest grin on his face. “What?”

“Husband?” Max said, and he raised up his left hand to show a wedding band encircling his ring finger. “Are we…we’re…”

Roman looked down at his own ring. “…Married…”

Max broke into a bigger grin and joked, “I’m married to another guy, that’s so gay.”

“The gayest. And I’m proud to be a gay man.” Roman had been struggling with the notion that he was growing more attracted to men throughout the day, but now it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He loved men more than he loved his job, and there wasn’t a man alive that he loved more than the youthful man before him.

Meanwhile, Max knew he wasn’t gay, but he wasn’t straight either. Male, female, non-binary, Max appreciated beauty in all its forms, and there was no-one more beautiful to him than the distinguished man stood before him. He lowered his hands to Roman’s waist, feeling his brawny belly with a soft smile, but then he turned serious. “We’re ready, right? To be married.”

“Are you worried?”

“Not about you, because you’re a grown-up. But I don’t feel like one. I still feel like a class clown while you’ve matured without me. I just don’t want to mess anything up because I’m immature-”

“You’re not immature. You have two Master’s degrees. You’ve given lectures and speeches at the finest institutions across the globe. You’re every part an adult that I am,” Roman said, stroking Max’s chest between his open buttons. “You’re exuberant, that’s one of the things I love about you. You keep me young, even though I’ve lost my youth.”

Max reached up to stroke Roman’s soft beard, now more salt than pepper. He brushed a thumb across Roman’s crows feet, like cracks in his weathered skin, and smiled. He was an older man but that wasn’t a bad thing. “What you may have lost in youth, you’ve more than gained in maturity and wisdom,” Max purred. “You keep me grounded, remind me that I’m more than my good looks. I love you for that. And also this sexy pelt of yours.”

Roman playfully growled and leaned up into Max’s ear. “Do you think you can get away from the group? I need you. I’m throbbing for you. Please.”

“But what if we change more?”

“We’ve already changed regardless of whether we’ve been together or apart. And honestly, has it really been that bad? Do you want to give this up?“

"Not really, no… I love who I am, who I’ve become. I love who you’ve become as well. But what about our family, our friends?”

“You’ve been with the class all afternoon. Do they still know us? The old us?” Max thought back. Ms. Hudson hadn’t mentioned any missing students, usually she was vigilant about attendance. But they weren’t the only ones missing. There was…was…he couldn’t remember their names, why couldn’t he remember? Roman reached down and grasped Max’s hands tenderly. His eyes were pleading for affection. “We can’t fight it any longer. Maximilian…please…”

Max leaned down and touched his nose against Roman’s, then kissed him hard, tongues interlocked. The scratch of Roman’s beard and the warmth of his skin made Max’s heart flutter. He wanted this man so badly. More than anything. He wrapped one arm around Roman’s back, pulling him closer, his other hand slipped into Roman’s shirt to grope his hair coated pecs. Max groaned as Roman reciprocated, feeling the man’s calloused fingers squeeze his chest and tweak his nipples.

It wasn’t until several gasps and a forceful cough brought the men back to reality. Max reluctantly broke free of Roman’s lips and turned to see a furious Ms. Hudson with her arms crossed. A wave of whispers and snickers swept across the curious teenagers. "Excuse me? Do you think this is an appropriate time for that?”

“I’m sorry ma'am,” Max replied with a flash of his award winning smile. He bat his eyelids and leant against the wall, putting his irresistible charm into overdrive. “You see,” he purred. “This man is the head archivist, and also my husband.” Husband, he thought with glee. The word just rolled off the tongue. Husband. They were husbands!

But Ms. Hudson was unamused. “Yes, I’m well acquainted with Adrian.” She looked over Max’s shoulder with a strained smile. “It’s lovely to meet you again, Dr. Roman.”

Roman blushed. “Always a pleasure. Although I would have preferred it to be under different circumstances…” He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to dab at his sweaty forehead, sweatier than usual now that his thick hair had thinned considerably.

Ms. Hudson squinted at the two men suspiciously, then asked, “I suppose you’re the man that Maximilian poured his broken heart over? The one who dumped him after you drifted apart?” There was a wave of chatter as the group put together the roman bust with Dr. Roman.

“Is that what he told you?” Roman let out a laugh that shook his belly. “I’m sorry, you may have noticed my husband has a flair for the dramatics. We had a small falling out earlier today but it’s water under the bridge now. I suppose that’s why he led your tour into the archives, which he really shouldn’t have done…”

Max blushed. “I may have been overzealous in my attempt to make out…make UP with you.”

Roman sighed and turned his attention to their onlookers, defaulting to professional mode. “I’m afraid we’re a little busy preparing for our upcoming exhibit to accommodate such a passionate group of art lovers at such short notice. I’m sure if you have a word with my assistant, she can arrange a proper tour in the future for anyone interested.”

As if called upon, Sally turned the corner with a clipboard in her hand. “Dr. Roman, I hope I’m not interrupting your marital situation but-”

“Ah! Ms. Stone, just in time,” Roman declared a little too cheerfully. “Would you be so kind as to guide our guests to the nearest exit, I need to have a stern word with Maximilian in private. Also, I believe a few of our guests would like to arrange a proper tour of the archives, if you could help them find a time that best suits us.”

“Me?” Sally gasped. “But we have to prepare the Dionysus mosaic for transport. Arthur wants it in position ASAP!”

Roman swooped an arm around Sally and leaned in close. “Come on, Sally. I need this! I’ll take the blame and any wrath from Arthur. Please…”

Sally huffed before jabbing Roman in the chest with her pen. “OK… But you owe me, Adrian!” She shook off the man’s grip and stepped up to the tour group with a fake smile. “Hi everyone, I’m Sally Stone and I’ll be concluding your tour of the Owens Museum of Art. If you’d like to follow me, I can lead you back to the main atrium and arrange for any further tours of our wonderful museum, whether it be of the archives or for our upcoming exhibition.”

Sally led the tour group back the way they came, with a few stops here and there so people could get a selfie with Max. As the last young woman snapped a shot of herself in Max’s boulder-like arms and rejoined the group, the two men sighed and fell into each other’s arms. Finally, they were alone.

Roman took Max by the hand and led him down the hallway, around the corner. They burst into Roman’s office, mouths interlocked, hands groping each other and unbuttoning their shirts. Roman pushed Max onto the sofa and turned back to lock the door before sliding his shirt off of his burly build in one graceful swoop. Max glanced up at Roman’s manly body with lust, desperate to bury his face in that hairy belly of his. But something else caught his eye. He playfully cooed, “I didn’t take you for a tattoo guy.”

Roman’s eyes darted to his arms. On his left tricep was a tattoo of a bear paw streaked with the colors of the pride flag. On his bicep was a stylised rendition of the Great Wave Off Kanagawa. The colors had faded with time but still managed to stand out underneath the black hairs that covered them. He grinned as he rubbed his arm. “I got them in my twenties when I was a tad more rebellious.” He paused for a moment in thought. He never got to experience his twenties. Or even his thirties. Not properly, anyway. All he had were the memories… Not wanting to kill the mood, Roman turned his attention to his right bicep and flexed it with a grin. “This, however, was your idea of an anniversary gift.” It was a Van Gogh-esque golden rose encircled with Max’s and Roman’s signatures. Unlike his other tattoos, it was fresh and vibrant. Roman was proud of it but one thing did bug him. “I thought you’d get the same and then you chickened out.”

“Technically, I only agreed to design the tattoo. You were the one desperate to cover up that crude Homer Simpson tattoo,” Max said with a smirk. Roman blushed at the memory, the follies of his youth. Max pulled him in closer, stroking his tattooed bicep. “Besides, I can’t damage my perfect skin like that.”

Roman laughed and crouched down to give Max another sensual kiss. He continued to give a series of smooches down Max’s chest, his beard tickling Max’s sensitive bronze skin until he reached his belly button. Max giggled like a school girl and jovially pushed Roman aside, who smirked and reached down to his belt buckle, tugging down his pants. “I’ve been waiting all day for this…” he growled as he kicked them aside and proudly stood before his man.

Max looked up at his hairy husband, drooling at the sight of the big package bulging out his underwear. Then he glanced at the locked door and said, “You think we should be doing this now?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Roman replied with a cheeky wink as memories of office romance flashed through his mind. “I can’t wait any longer. I need you inside me.”

Max stood up to unbutton the rest of his shirt, then leaned his head against Roman’s. “I’m scared, Ro,” he whispered. “I want to but I’m scared. Help me be brave.”

Roman helped Max slide the shirt off, mostly as an excuse to feel his husband’s muscles - they were so stunning - large, smooth, powerful, like a prized stallion. “We won’t split up again. We’re gonna see this through and we’re gonna see it through together. I’m going to take care of you.” He ran his rough hands over Max’s perfect skin, massaging the huge shoulders and powerful neck until he cupped Max’s chiseled jaw in his palms. “I’m right here. I love you. You’re safe.”

“I love you too. You were throwing pepperoni at me during lunch yesterday, remember that? And now…” He scratched Roman’s beard, then groped his husband’s hairy chest. “Now…my god…” A cloud came over Max’s face. “Someone else was next to you, laughing…I can’t remember his name, but he was in our class. He got off the bus with us today but he wasn’t ever in my tour group. He’s…oh my god.”

“What?”

“I bet he turned into Arthur.”

“Arthur who…you mean Arthur OWENS? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious, have you seen that man? That’s a body like ours, and the way he dresses and carries himself…I think he just happened. I think so much is happening in this building.” As Max thought it through, Roman was unbuckling his belt for him, working his formal trousers down his muscled thighs. Max finally kicked them off as he leaned back into the couch, and then Roman pulled on his designer underwear, exposing a beautiful cock surrounded by golden curls. The sight of it washed away their former conversation topic.

“Oh…” Roman sighed with lust, looking at it like he looked at a new masterpiece arriving in the museum, and treating it with the same care. “You’re such a man.”

“I’m so big,” Max grinned, looking down at his phallus. It was thick and tan, pointing straight up, nine inches hard. His egg-sized balls hung symmetrical beneath it, and Roman fondled them playfully, making Max’s gorgeous dick twitch with excitement. “I’m gonna fuck you.”

“You sure are,” Roman grinned as he slid out of his own underwear, his heavy horse dick flopping out amidst a bush of silver and black.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Max growled, working himself up. “We’re men…we’re perfect men, and we gotta fuck.” He stroked himself in front of Roman. “What the fuck happened to us, Ro…”

“We changed for each other,” Roman said, standing back up, his immense body heaving with so much muscle that he momentarily struggled. “We were born for each other. Made for each other. From the moment we met, this was destiny. I was always meant to be your husband. Your…your…mate.” His tone turned stern. “So you gonna give your destined Daddy what he wants, or what?”

Roman hadn’t factored in what an agile, fit man Max had become. It happened in a flash - Max was on his feet, a giant blur of tan skin and blond hair, and suddenly Roman was forced over the couch and his world exploded into a kaleidoscope of color. Max’s muscles weren’t just for show, he was strong as an ox. Roman heard a guttural groan that signified immense pleasure, and it took him several moments to realize it had come from him. The dick was so good it felt like an out of body experience. He’d been begging for it, but now that it was happening, he couldn’t believe Max was inside of him…it made things feel so real. Even if they changed back - which Roman hoped didn’t happen - they were now bonded forever. They’d been one body.

Max couldn’t believe it himself. One moment he was gazing into his lover’s eyes, listening to his gruff, sensual voice reassure him about their destiny. The next, he had jumped to his feet and flipped his husband over, spreading his beefy ass cheeks and sliding his own full nine inches in-between. He held onto Roman’s thick waist for support, exerting all of his energy into pounding that sweet ass. For a moment, Max feared he might be too rough. Then Roman would moan in ecstacy and Max would thrust just a little harder, knowing he was fucking his daddy perfectly. He’d never felt so alive, so liberated. Any latent doubt was washed away. He wanted to live in this moment forever, embracing the man he loved.

Max reached over to pull Roman up and held him close, desperate to feel his hairy back against his glistening, powerful torso. His hands wandered across Roman’s brawny muscle, trickling through the bounty of black and silver hairs across his expansive chest. Roman moaned as his husband’s supple fingers danced across his skin, his sinewy arms holding him so tenderly. He reached up to grab Max by the back of his head, pulling him even closer until their mouths interlocked, their tongues dancing with each other. Their breaths synchronised, their bodies tensed up. In a single moment, the men groaned as they climaxed together. Max’s grip tightened on Roman’s pecs as his thrusts grew erratic, pumping his thick ass with his semen, his very essence. Roman clenched onto Max’s biceps as his thick spunk shot across his belly and splattered onto his furniture. They both fell forward, slumping onto the sofa with bliss, their sweaty bodies sticking to the leather.

“I love you so much, Ro.”

“I love you too, Maxie.”

Max kept his mighty arms wrapped tight around Roman’s broad torso, nuzzling his clefted chin into Roman’s soft beard. They laid together for a while, Max spooning Roman and casually brushing his fingers through Roman’s chest hair. Eventually, Max asked. “Hey, that whole destiny spiel you gave before I screwed your brains out. What was that about?”

“Huh?” Roman stirred in Max’s grip. “Oh, it was about that urn in the LGBT exhibit. I did some research and discovered something interesting. They say that when grasped by two people, it would help them become the other’s fantasy partner, almost like they were destined for each other. Which explains how you ended up as the perfect man. Beauty, brains and brawn.”

Max laughed and squeezed Roman tight. “Well duh, I figured that out hours ago! You’re everything I ever dreamed of in a man. Mature, intelligent, masculine as fuck. I suppose you always want what you can’t have. I’m a smooth man, you’re hirsute. I can’t grow facial hair, you have that gorgeous beard. You’re the ruggedness to my beauty.”

“I suppose I can blame you for my thinning hair then?”

“What can I say? There’s nothing manlier than male pattern baldness. At least you’ve still got enough on top to play with.” He reached up to stroke a hand through Roman’s hair, tracing a finger around the small bald spot at the back of his scalp.

Roman frowned. “Not if you keep that up, I won’t. I’m already this close to shaving my head.”

“Aw, but then you wouldn’t be my fluffy bear. I think you’d look real handsome with a Hippocratic wreath.”

“It would make me look more mature, that’s for sure. Then again, I’ll probably be in my fifties by the time that happens. I’d just look my age.” Roman shuddered. “That’s not something I’m ready to think about right now…”

Max chortled. “Are you having a mid-life crisis right now?”

“No, of course not! Or maybe? I don’t know…” Roman held onto Max’s hands, noticing the difference between his smooth, manicured fingers compared to his own roughened, hairy mitts. “I’m happy to be an older man, especially knowing I’m the man of your dreams. But then I realise you’re as old as our parents and I’m even older than that and I just…” Roman sighed and pulled Max’s arms closer, wishing to sink into his warm, heartfelt grasp. “I guess I assumed that when we finally embraced it all, we’d completely become Adrian and Maximilian Roman the hunky, married art experts so I wouldn’t have to think about that kind of stuff…”

“You thought we’d forget who we used to be. But we didn’t,” Max murmured, as much to himself as to his husband. “We still remember when we were young.”

“We do. It feels like a normal memory to me, even though I know it was…yesterday, right?”

“Yes.” Max chuckled and rested his head on Roman’s. “Magic is strange.”

“I was such a stupid, silly boy,” Roman said. “It’s a wonder I had any friends at all.”

“Oh, stop it. You were a kid. And I liked you. I’d say we have a pretty good thing going.” Max stretched his long arm out and retrieved his and Roman’s shirts off the ground. “We should probably get dressed.”

“Probably.” Roman played with Max’s penis, stroking it. “What a shame you can’t walk around with this masterpiece out for all to see.”

“They’ll just have to look at the rest of me.” Max cockily bobbed his pecs up and down. “I always make sure they get a nice view of these bad boys.”

“Yes, your cleavage is legendary,” Roman deadpanned.

“You love it.”

“I do.” Roman rolled over and put his face between Max’s pectorals - licking them, kissing them. Max grinned and stroked Roman’s head, then guided his chin upward. Their heads rested together, allowing them to look each other in the eyes and kiss over and over; quick, sweet pecks with smiles following each one. Finally, they rolled upwards, still stealing short kisses as they dressed each other.

Then, they stood before each other, clothed again, resplendent. Roman looked Max directly in the eyes - piercing, intense - but his speech faltered. “Despite…” He opened his mouth and closed it, then found the words. “Despite us having all the knowledge we need now to operate in our lives…and despite me now talking like this and sounding like this,” he smiled, putting some grit into his low voice, “this is going to take so much time to process.” He grabbed Max’s hands and held them. “So we’re going to process it all together, and we’re going to talk about it as much as we need, because that’s the healthy way. We’re true partners. Okay?”

“Okay,” Max nodded, then added with a grin, “Dad.”

“I’m serious!”

“I know, I know. You’re right. We have a lot to talk about.” Max squeezed Roman’s hands back. “But for now, let’s just get out of here. I want to walk behind you and see that ass in those pants.”

As Roman closed his office door, Max stopped. “Do you hear that?” He asked. It was a rapid tapping noise that was closing in on them.

A cute little boy with a shock of blond hair jumped around the corner and bounded down the hallway. “ROOOMAAAAAN!!” he yelled as he sprinted toward the large man. Instead of fearing the rambunctious kid barreling towards him, however, Roman knelt down to one knee and opened his arms wide. The kid ran straight into him and laughed as he bounced off of Roman’s belly. Roman laughed too, even though he almost fell back from the impact. Max looked on, perplexed. Should he know who this kid was?

“Hey there little man!” Roman said as the boy gave him a big hug. Roman squeezed the kid back with a grin. “What are you doing down here all alone? You shouldn’t wander off like that.”

“I’m not alone,” the boy said. “Grandpa said he was coming to see you and I raced him down here!”

“I’ve told you before, you shouldn’t run like that down here. You could trip and hurt yourself. Not to mention the artwork you could damage…”

“Aw, you’re boring!”

“I know, but someone has to be.”

Roman held out his arm to Max, who helped him up to his feet with a grunt. Max then dragged Roman aside and asked in a low voice, “Hey, is there something we should talk about? Who is this kid?”

Roman cocked his head, now the confused one. “Hang on, have you seriously never met Arthur?”

Before Max could reply, there was a booming, jovial voice from behind. “Well now, I came down here looking for a Roman, but it appears I’ve found two of them. What luck!” They turned to see Arthur Owens sauntering down the hallway, a smile on his face. “Maximilian, my boy! It’s so good to see you again,” he bellowed, shaking Max’s hand with a surprising amount of strength for a man who was double his age. “It feels like years since I last saw that beautiful face of yours.”

“Arthur, you charmer,” Max grinned. “I saw you this morning, but it sure doesn’t hurt to see your lovely self again.”

The boy suddenly jumped between the two men. "Grandpa! I found A. Roman before you did! I win!”

"You sure did, buddy!” he cheered as the fair haired boy jumped into his arms, and clamoured into his strong grip.

Max’s eyes grew wide as he connected the dots. “Hold on, you’re both Arthur? That’s adorable!” Since Max was only a freelance consultant for the museum, he wasn’t as familiar with Arthur’s family compared to Roman, who worked full time in the archives. Aside from Caroline, the museum director, Max hadn’t formally met anyone else until now.

Arthur smiled and ruffled mini-Arthur’s hair with pride. “Yeah, this little nipper’s my grandson. He wants to be like his namesake when he gets big and strong, don’t you champ?”

“Uh-huh! I wanna be a museum man when I grow up!”

“Well you’ll have to do a lot of growing up if you want to get as big as your grandpa!”

Arthur chuckled, his belly bouncing as he slapped a hand against it. “Don’t you worry 'bout that. Us Owens are known for our size!” His smile slipped a little as he turned his attention to Roman. “Pleasantries aside, I need to talk to Adrian about our upcoming exhibit.”

Roman rubbed the back of his neck and grumbled, “I found the mosaic, and Ms. Stone arranged for the interns to transport it.”

Arthur placed a comforting hand on Roman’s shoulder to assure him he wasn’t upset. “I know, Sally told me all about this afternoon’s mishaps,” he chuckled with a knowing waggle of his eyebrows. “However, your interns aren’t insured to transport such a fragile piece without assistance, and Caroline wants it in place before the media event this Saturday. You know what my daughter’s like, she wants everything done by yesterday.”

Before Roman could respond, Max cut in. “Arthur, could it possibly wait 'til tomorrow? It’s date night. I got us reservations to Charme. You know how difficult that is? I had to book three months in advance.”

“Hmm…well I really do need it moved immediately…” sighed Arthur, trying to resist Max’s natural charisma. But Max pouted his lip and shimmered his eyes, a puppy dog expression that would make any mutt proud, and Arthur cracked. “I suppose it can wait… But I want you here first thing tomorrow morning, Adrian!”

“I’ll be there,” Roman replied with a firm nod. “You have my word.”

“Now I’d better get Junior here back to his father,” Arthur said as he put his grandson back on the floor.

“Oh! I wanna race again!”

Roman threw a disapproving glance, but Arthur laughed. “Only if you give me a head-start this time,” he chuckled. “See you bright and early Adrian. And give him a good time tonight, Maximilian. He deserves it!”.

Max grinned and gave Roman a cheeky squeeze on the ass. “Will do, Arthur!”

Arthur Jr. bobbed on his feet until Arthur turned the corner. Then he gave Roman a big hug around his knees, and Roman ruffled his hair. “Tell your parents I said hi.”

“OK!” Arthur let go and waved his little hands at Roman and Max. “Bye Mister Romans!” he cried before turning away and chasing after his grandpa.

Roman watched as Arthur’s grandson waddled away. “He’s a little cutie, ain’t he?” he said to Max with a big, dumb grin on his face.

“He sure is,” Max nodded with a smile of his own. He rested his head against Roman’s. “I have bad news.”

“Mm?”

“I think seeing you with him flipped my biological clock on. You were such a dad. I loved it.”

Roman turned to Max and gazed into his deep green eyes with a smirk. “Let’s talk about that later,” he said, and he gave his husband a kiss.

——–

“And that’s how Pop and I became a couple,” Max finished. He smiled with satisfaction, ran a hand through his still thick blond hair, and crossed his massive arms over his chest. The years had only made it bigger.

Across from him sat two young men with looks of pure horror frozen on their faces. The older, a tall, broad-shouldered jock with a cleft chin and bouncy golden curls, finally said, “You could’ve left all the sex stuff out.”

“Babe, I don’t think they’re buying it,” Max said over his shoulder.

His husband, Dr. Adrian Roman, a huge slab of muscle with a beautiful silver beard and a cropped wreath of equally silver hair, came in holding a cup of coffee and chuckling. “I told you they wouldn’t.” He bent down and kissed Max, then stroked his stubbled cheek. “Takes me back to when you couldn’t grow a beard.”

“Yes, it was patchy as hell,” Max grinned. “Those gaps finally filled in…at age 50. It took ‘em long enough! Now I could probably even grow a beard like yours.”

“’Could’ being the key word in that sentence.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to hide these cheekbones,” Max replied with a grin.

“And I’d hate to lose the title of best beard in this household.” Roman replied, nuzzling his bristly chin into Max’s shoulder, who squirmed and giggled.

The two teens cringed at their dads’ open display of affection. “Ugh, you guys promised no making out at the breakfast table!” the younger of their two sons moaned. He was dark-haired and robust, his jaw beginning to square with manhood and his voice crackling with impending change. He was going to be an impressive man, his fathers could tell. “So…just to get this straight…you’re telling us that you two were the same age and in high school together, and then you went on a field trip and touched a magic pot thingy, and not only did it make you both older, it made Pop thirteen years older than Dad and turned you guys gay? And each of you became the other’s ideal man?”

“That’s pretty much it, yeah,” Max nodded with a grin. His dashing smile had only grown more powerful with age.

“So were Jason and I born because you guys touched a fertility idol?” The older son snarked, gesturing toward his younger brother.

“No, Apollo, you were born because Dad and I wanted children more than anything,” Roman said sternly, as he rubbed Max’s rippling upper back. The muscles there were thicker now - mature, bulkier - but Max maintained a lean waist and flat stomach even as he filled out with age. The sight of him still took Roman’s breath away every single day. And he got to keep all his hair, Roman noted with annoyance.

“I was kidding,” Apollo said quickly.

“I know. I just don’t want either of you ever thinking you were some kind of surprise or mistake.”

“Is that…even possible with two men?” Apollo laughed, his hearty tenor a replica of Max’s.

“Hey Pop?” Jason said.

Roman looked down at his younger son. It was fascinating to look at Jason, his biological child, and see a younger version of his own face - a face he himself hadn’t had at that age. “Mm?” He took another sip of coffee.

“It’s the weekend, so can I have my sugar cereal?”

So that was it. The big reveal after all this time, and Jason was just thinking about Froot Loops with Marshmallows. Roman had to laugh. “Yes, you can have one bowl. Thank you for asking.” He saw Max looking up at him, so he looked down. Max’s eyebrows were raised. “What?” Max cocked his head. “Whaaaat? Ugh, fine. Okay, Jason, you can have two bowls.”

“THANKSPOPANDDAD.” It came out as one quick word as Jason shot to the kitchen.

“He’s a growing boy, he needs to eat more,” Max said, rubbing Roman’s hand that rested on his shoulder. “So he can get big and strong like his older brother.”

Across the dining room table, Apollo grinned widely. He was becoming so handsome, his fathers noted. Their only worry was that he was definitely aware of it, too. “So…you guys really believe that. That you got turned into each other’s ideal partner,” he said.

“It’s not belief, it’s a fact,” Roman said. “We’ll take you to the museum sometime, so you can see the urn. It’s under glass now, of course. I did that the very same day.”

“Well what about that old guy, the museum founder. Is he dead now?”

“No!” Roman cried, almost spilling his coffee in the process. “Arthur’s still alive and kicking to this day, and he’s still pretty involved with the museum. At this point, I don’t think I can retire until he retires.”

“Was he one of your classmates? Did anyone else change like you two?”

Max sighed. “We never found out. If Arthur was a student like us, he didn’t get to keep his memories. It’s probably for the best really, given how old he would have become… As for anyone else, it’s possible. I’ve had my suspicions over the years.”

“You know this makes you sound like crazy people, right?”

“Maybe we are crazy,” Max said, widening his eyes. “Sorry,” he laughed when Roman squeezed his shoulder in correction. “I know it sounds like lunacy. You don’t have to believe it. But it is the truth. And I’m glad it happened, because you three are the best things in my life. The very, very best things in my life. Okay?”

Apollo did not look convinced, but he nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna need, uh, some more time with this one.”

“Of course. Do you want a bowl of ‘sugar cereal’ too?”

“Um, Dad, it’s wrestling season, no, I cannot have that,” Apollo said firmly, but his longing glance toward the kitchen betrayed him. “Even though I really want it.”

“Let’s get you a nice big apple then,” Max said with a smile, standing up. Apollo stood too, and Max walked to his son, brushing those familiar curls out of the way so he could see his boy’s bright green eyes. “You’re taller, buddy,” Max said. “You’re getting so big.”

Apollo smiled Max’s smile back to him. His father cupped his face in his big hands.

“You’re the age Pop and I were when we changed, and I just have to say, even if you don’t believe it, just be careful…” Max started to say, and he trailed off when he saw Apollo’s eyes cloud with worry. He pivoted slightly. “Don’t grow up too fast. Don’t go places you shouldn’t. Be a good boy, because good boys grow into good men. And don’t touch any Greek artifacts, because I love you more than anything and I can’t live without you. Okay?”

“Jesus, Dad-”

“OKAY?”

“Okaaay. I love you too.”

Max kissed his son on the forehead, then guided him toward the kitchen to join his younger brother. As Apollo walked away, Roman sidled up to Max, and they put their arms around each other.

“It was worth it, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

 

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