Hooked on Pheromones

 

 

“Oh fuck, he’s like actually hooked on it, look at him.” Trayvon gave a boisterous laugh, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. 

“It’s not funny,” Jorge tried to keep from laughing by hiding his face behind his hand. 

The two dudes were at Jorge’s family house for the summer. College was over once again and they needed somewhere to rest and recharge, No team mandated soccer practice, only fun, their time, their way. They pulled up thinking no one was home as all the cars were gone. Jorge was too tired to even call out to the house. He simply led Trayvon to his room. Neither had gotten time to wash their clothes at school before they left, having decided to just do it at Jorge’s place.

Jorge slammed his suitcase down on his bed, as Trayvon opened his, on the floor. A smell not quite repugnant, dried sweat and cologne, hit his nostrils. “Woah, that's ripe.” He fanned his nose, pretending that he didn’t enjoy the smell of pure Trayvon before opening his suitcase

“Me?” Trayvon pinched his nose, only smelling body wash and dirt, exaggerating just as much. “You need to incinerate those.”

“You serious, ese? Don’t pretend you don’t want this.” Jorge waved a jersey around in his fist. As a response he got a pair of shorts launched at his face.

“Get a whiff of those!” Trayvon shouted.

Jorge dragged the shorts off him, with intention, letting it drop off his face. A way to communicate he was indeed, smelling even if he couldn’t say it. They were athletes. What would it mean to admit they loved the way their bro smelled before and after showers? On random days stripped in their room? When they were gussied up heading out to the club? All versions were awesome. But no, they were dudes, some things couldn’t be said. Subtext was the only response

Trayvon was breathing heavily, squatted down on the floor, watching. His cock was chubbing up already. Jorge flung his shirt at Trayvon’s face. The young man just stayed there when it landed, taking in Jorge’s scent and his deodorant, still going strong, not a bad scent at all. He pulled off the shirt and threw it on the floor, fake mad. It was in his eyes. Wild. Lustful. Playful. 

“You fucker, you’re gonna love these.” Trayon threw a pair of socks. Then it was a war, the boys scrambling for clothes and jumping around the room launching at each other. Pretending like one article was going to be the one that turned the other into a scent pig. The truth was they were jocks at their core, used to all the smells, after years in locker rooms. No one scent was going to do them in. They’d built up a resistance and adoration for it all. 

They hopped on Jorge's bed, then sprinted around, digging into more of their things, to restock, more intimate articles of clothing gathered. They were so invested in each other and their game, neither heard Jorge’s younger brother excitedly coming into the room. 

Nicolas had been the only one home at the time of Jorge’ return but was busy gaming When he heard the shouting down the hall and saw his brother's car, he got ecstatic. Not typically a family prone to knocking, Nicolas rushed inside. His brother had just ducked in front of him, as Nicolas got Trayvon’s jockstrap to the face. The scent of Trayvon’s black cock and balls went straight up Nicolas’ nose to his brain.

The college bros froze. Maybe they thought he’d scream or yell.

Neither happened. Instead, Nicolas’ body pulsed. Then it pulsed again as he grew larger. His body exploded in size, demolishing his clothes. The pieces fell on the floor. His body tore through everything as muscles wove itself into him. His slides snapped at the straps. He wasn't a jock like his brother or Trayvon; therefore, he wasn't used to a highly concentrated and undiluted source. His chest puffed up, pecs hanging like Trayvon’s. The arms were next, shoulders transmitting strength from the traps. Nicolas’ height transitioned towards the college pair, standing taller in the room. Underneath the heady pouch, Nicolas' face molded itself mocking the bold and squarish nature of Trayvon’s own. Now naked clothes on the floor, Nicolas pressed the jockstrap deeper to his face.

Trayvon barked out a laugh, once Nicolas started to change. Jorge’s brother had actually got addicted to his scent. Literally succumbed in less than 3 seconds. Everything he had been pretending to give Jorge shit for, genuinely, WAS hilarious. Jorge clearly agreed, breaking out into a laugh himself.