"Please, let me do this. I know I can save him."

"You've said that before."

"This time is different! A new angle. I just need your approval."

"There's a reason we leave them to change their own lives. If they could just go back and change every mistake, they would never become more than they are."

"We've done this before. Jet deserves so much better, ma'am."

"I know, Azriel. I know. But you know I must contain the ripple effects myself."

"You're the Author. You can do anything. Do this for me."

"Azriel… one more chance. I give you permission. You know the rules."

"I do, ma'am. Thank you so much—I don't know how I can repay you."

"All you have to do, Azriel, is give me a good story."

Andrew Walker was tired. Tired of this pandemic, tired of sitting at home alone, tired of the same work every day, tapping away at a keyboard doing what he loved without a smidgen of human interaction besides the two parents he lived with. And he was tired of stewing in the hot shower. He just needed to sleep, to forget, so hopefully tomorrow he could wake up energised enough for another day in the drudgery he called life.

He finally brought himself to shut off the shower, watching beads of water roll down the medium-brown skin of his arm, glistening in the new fluorescent lights. Better than their old place—here he could actually see his new biceps, the muscles in his arm lean from a workout regimen he'd started over a year ago to stave off the boredom. It was a stark difference from the lanky nerd he'd been in college. He felt better. But it wasn't enough.

Drew snapped himself out of his stewing and grabbed a towel from the rack, drying himself off, aggressively rubbing the water out of his curly black hair, which had gotten longer and a bit wilder during the pandemic, and then he wrapped the towel around his waist, walking out of the bathroom and down the hall to his room, to the comfort of his bed. It was nice to actually have a hall—to have a house. He'd worked hard, he'd gotten his degree as a certified nerd, gotten a good job as a software developer and, thanks to the lower home prices at the beginning of the pandemic, finally got his family out of the inner city and into the suburbs.

He missed the hood, but he wasn't going to deny how lucky he'd gotten, how much better they had it. He just wished… wished that he didn't have to be alone. He collapsed back on his bed and barked a curse at the ceiling before shutting his eyes. "Are you out there? You even listenin'?" He groaned, the rumble in his throat growing more intense until it came out all at once like a dog would bark. "Why'd you let Jet do that to me? Huh? I could be with Julia right now…" Years of regret, wrapped up in that one lament. One night that he couldn't let go of. One chance, ruined by his college bully, who somehow had never graduated from the petty vapidities of high school and had found ways to harass Drew without breaking any rules. Jet, who had ruined Drew's chances with Julia, ruined Drew's chances with anybody, turned him into a recluse—

Andrew probably blamed inordinately much on Jet. But it had all started that night. His life could be so much better.

"What if you could change it?" boomed a deep, reverberating voice, layered like a chorus of many more men. Andrew shot up in his bed and shouted in alarm, blinking his eyes to try and clear away the sight and then scrambling to his feet, towel falling away from his waist, eyes wide and mouth open.

In front of him was… something out of a dream, three silver wheels slowly spinning inside of each other like a gyroscope, every wheel covered in eyes. The biggest wheel was as tall as a human, and in the midst of all three was a soothing golden light from which sprouted two ghostly bronze wings. "What the fuck—what are—"

"Don't be afraid," came the booming voice, sounding more human than before, more like… Morgan Freeman.

Drew's breathing accelerated, and his voice came out strained. "You come in here looking like that and expect me to not be fuckin' afraid, man?"

The wheels slowed their rolling, and Drew got the sense that the freakish creature was crossing spiritual arms. "You're very brash, and… blunt for a human who says he's afraid."

"I'm afraid alright," Drew grunted, his voice clipped, his body tense and unmoving, even though he wanted to back away. "Just always talk this way, don't matter how I feel." The strangeness of the conversation was helping to bleed away Andrew's fear, but the sight didn't help at all.

"That'll get you in trouble, Andrew. I think this'll help, though! Ah… how do I do this again?" And then the three wheels disappeared, and in their place there was a tall, grey-haired, dark-skinned man who looked suspiciously like Morgan Freeman.

"… Are you God?" Drew asked, forlornly, rubbing his forehead, and then he realised—"Shit," he hissed, bending down and picking up his towel, wrapping it around his waist.

"Are you kidding me?" asked the Freeman look-alike. "God is a woman. Look, my name is Azriel. I'm J— your guardian angel, and I'm here to help you change your life."

Andrew narrowed his eyes. "So I'm dreaming, then. Real life don't work like that, Azhhh— A— can I call you Ash?"

Azriel paused and seemed to think. "Ash… I like that." He turned to look in one of Andrew's mirrors, smiling at himself and patting his ashen hair. He turned around, still smiling. "Call me Ash, Andrew. Answering the question about dreaming is easy; you should know that. Just pinch yourself so we can get this over with, please?"

Andrew was still sceptical, but he reached over and pinched his arm, his black-painted fingernails closing around a fold of skin and digging in until he felt a sting of pain. "Alright… so, I'm not dreaming, then. Trippy as fuck. So what? What's the deal here? How's a spinny thing in a Morgan Freeman bodysuit gonna change my life?"

"You get three wishes," Ash said. "Not the way you think. You get to go back in time, to some event in your life, your mind goes into your body back then, you change some things and you come back here to a changed life. Once your first wish is done, we'll figure out what's new, send you back for a second wish, you come back, life changed, we send you back one more time for a third wish."

"Okay, now explain all that again," Andrew said, crossing his arms. "Because that was too convoluted even for me. Shit, and I'm the nerd here, I should know how this time travel shit works."

Ash worked his mouth and finally asked, "What would you change? If anything?"

"Easy. I'd go back to when this bully Jet spiked my drink with something that made me throw up all over my crush, Julia, just before I kissed her, and I'd make sure he never spiked my drink. Dance with her, kiss her, ask her out on a date. And then, what, you'd take me back?" When Ash nodded, Drew continued, "and young Drew would figure out the rest and I'll wake up married. Maybe."

"That's where the second and third wishes come in," said Ash. "To make sure it sticks. We figure out if anything went wrong and make another change."

"We?" Andrew asked. "Figure it out? Aren't you omniscient or something?"

"I'm just as much waiting for the rest of this story as you are, Andrew. Even the Author limits her knowledge of the future at times. Us angels, we just have… vaster intelligence. So I'll do most of the work for you."

"Sounds too good to be true," Drew grumbled. "And what about the ripple effects, huh? Any change I make, every kid from then on's gonna be born different. That's like fuckin' mass genocide."

"The Author controls the ripple effects and confines them," said Ash. "This isn't mechanical time travel. The butterfly effect isn't so much at play here. The universe is blind, but we aren't. People are going to stay the same, but, hopefully, we'll change your story—and those you affect—only for the better."

Andrew thought back to that moment, and the spiral that followed—he knew it wasn't all Jet's fault. If he had taken the initiative, tried to get Julia back—but Julia had kept her distance. In his humiliation he couldn't bring himself to make a change. So, if he wanted to change anything, he had to change that too: make sure someone, anyone, would tell him to get back on his feet when he fell down and fix relationships he'd broken.

But first, he had to make sure his drink wasn't spiked. There was only one moment it could have happened—thirty seconds when he was looking away from his drink, staring at Julia dancing like a queen. He just had to keep looking at his drink.

"Sounds like a plan!" said Ash, with a wide grin.

"What—you heard all that?" Drew asked, looking for all the world like a kid caught stealing from a candy store.

"Sorry. I eavesdrop too often. But I admire your self-awareness. We were right to choose you, I think. You'll make good changes." Ash paused, and seemed to struggle with himself, before adding, "If you can… try and help Jet out a little."

Drew's face grew indignant. "Help Jet? That bitch—"

"Shoo! Off to the party. Don't get distracted. Just make your changes and will yourself to come back."

Ash Freeman waved his hand in Drew's direction—and suddenly he felt like he was falling, falling, right out of his body, two words echoing in his mind: help Jet.

He landed in his body with a gasp, and he wobbled for a moment, trying to regain his bearings in the huge, disco-lit room of the house that was hosting the party he knew all too well. Bass thumped and bodies moved, and he was standing alone, holding a plastic red cup in his hand that was empty. "Fuck. I need a goddamn drink."

What time was it? He had been looking for Julia, he knew, hadn't spotted her yet. But he knew she was coming to this party, right? He wandered toward a table where he knew the beer would be, following the steps he knew he'd once taken, years and years ago, and at the table, he filled up his drink, realising as he did that this body was already tipsy. Another drink wouldn't hurt. He took a swig of it and headed off through the crowd, looking for a vantage point from which he could look at the dance floor and hopefully find his crush.

There was a counter where the house's kitchen opened up to the massive living room, where others were talking while nursing their drinks, and he slapped his drink down on the counter himself, after taking another swig. And then, like he'd forgotten his purpose here, he turned away for a brief moment—and then he spotted her.

Julia. There she was on the dance floor, a perfect specimen of beauty—tall for a girl, with blonde hair that was short-cropped at the top and faded sharply everywhere else, with a glistening septum piercing, with a flannel around a crop top and tight denim booty shorts. She broke all the conventions, halfway between butch and femme, and he loved her for it. And she danced like a dream, swaying her hips, moving her arms like she didn't care, and her sparkling green eyes met his for a few shining moments before she smiled and winked and turned.

And then Drew snapped out of it. How long had he—

He spun around, and his reflexes kicked in and he grabbed the wrist of the red-haired letterman-wearing stupid freckle-faced jock who had just dropped a pill into his drink. "Jet," he growled, and then he yanked Jet in close with strength that clearly surprised his bully. "Yeah, I've been working out. You ginger bitch. What did you put in my drink, huh? You tryna make a fool outta me in fronta my crush?"

"So fucking what?" Jet asked. "You'd do it anyway, all on your own. I'm just making it easier," he said, smugly, and in that moment all Drew wanted to do was punch his lights out.

Help Jet. Drew growled under his breath, squeezing Jet's wrist tighter so the fair-skinned jock grunted, and then he let out the growl in a bark much akin to the one he had let out on his bed minutes ago. "In the kitchen. Now."

"You can't tell me what to do, fucking wimp—hey—" Andrew was already shoving Jet toward the kitchen with strength that surprised both of them, but Drew took it in stride and kept pushing, wondering how the hell he kept the strength from his body in the future while Jet stumbled back in shock. Andrew rushed him deep enough to be out of the dance floor's sight, and then he pinned him up against the wall, staring up at the taller guy, suffused with such anger that he didn't even think of who he was provoking.

"What the hell do you want with me, Jet?" Andrew barked. "Why you been shoving me around like you're back in high school? You're supposed to graduate from that shit, not swagger around like some petty high school bitch who thinks he owns the fuckin' world because he's white. When are you gonna grow up?"

Jet finally snapped out of his stupor and shoved Andrew back hard enough that he almost fell off his feet. He stumbled back, but as soon as he regained his footing he kept scrambling backward as Jet advanced on him. But Jet didn't say anything. So Drew started to turn, trying to keep from getting pinned to the wall himself. "What is it? Do you want Julia? Huh? You like her that much? I've seen the girls you hang onto; they ain't nothing like her."

"No," Jet growled.

"Then what, you big stupid lug? Is it because I'm bi? You still hate queers? Haven't gotten with the times?"

Jet stopped in his tracks. And so did Drew. Jet looked… confused. Troubled. His eyes were narrowed, but he didn't look angry. "You're bi?" he asked, slowly.

"Don't give me that face. Like you didn't know. Just another reason for you to bully me, huh? Or what, are you queer too?" The moment the words came out of Andrew's mouth, understanding washed over him like a flood.

"Hell no, I'm not queer," Jet shouted, and then he ran for Andrew all at once and slammed him into the wall, knocking the air out of Drew's lungs, stealing it all, panting and breathing it right out of the air Drew had coughed it into. There he stood still, hands on Andrew's shoulders, and he growled and shoved him into the wall again, making Andrew curse.

And they just… stood there. Why? Andrew let his eyes roll up Jet's body, with his pecs tightly outlined under a white t-shirt, his broad shoulders under letterman, the freckles on his cheeks, his sharp jaw and pouty lips and wavy windblown red hair, and he remembered just how much he was attracted to this bully.

And when he met Jet's wide brown eyes, he realised they were looking down, down at his open button-down shirt, where his skin was showing, dark and skinny. "I'm… not fucking queer," Jet murmured.

"You just keep telling yourself that," Andrew said, his voice shaky. "Let me go."

Jet withdrew his hands slowly, and Andrew tentatively stepped to the side. When Jet didn't follow him, he started to walk away, leaving Jet staring at the wall he'd just pinned Andrew to. Good riddance. Maybe he'd learned a lesson—Help Jet.

"Why? Dammit," Drew murmured, under his breath, and at last he turned around. Jet was staring at him. "Jet," he said, quietly, and then, louder, "Jet. It's… okay to not be straight. It's okay."

"Get out," Jet rumbled. "Before I knock you out."

"Fine," Andrew growled. "But don't you forget what I said." And then he spun and strode out of the kitchen. But before he looked for Julia on the dance floor, he remembered the fateful drink – he needed to get rid of it before anyone could take it. But when he got to the counter, it was gone.

"Shit," he hissed. Some poor kid might have taken it and drunk it. Okay, so he just needed to stay here a little longer, wait for somebody to throw up, make sure the same thing that happened to him didn't happen to them. But, for now… he had a dance to give.

Andrew floated through the party, his encounter with Jet starting to fade from his mind as Julia filled his mind's eye, as he searched and searched for his beautiful crush—and there she was, twisting on the dance floor to a hard beat. He was going to make his move. He drifted through the dance floor, slipping through people, looking for… there.

And then he was in front of her, smiling, and she was smiling back, and saying in that raspy voice of hers, "C'mon, don't just stand there, get with the beat!" And they laughed and shook and jumped and danced, everything Andrew wanted, without the sick feeling he'd once had underneath the butterflies.

The music slowed down, just like he remembered, and they put their hands on each other, drifting closer, and he gave one of his awkward little smiles and said, "I like you, y'know?"

"I know," she said, and his heart beat faster. "I like you too." Their hips met, their chests pressed together, their heads twisted, and their lips met like they never, ever had, and it was right.

Andrew pulled away to look into Julia's eyes. "I wanna take you out, Julia," he said. "I been saving for it."

"That's so sweet," she said. "Of course, Andrew. Tomorrow?"

Andrew beamed. "Tomorrow. And—" his face grew serious. "Can I ask you one thing?"

"I'm listening," Julia said, looking unfazed. Her hands curled around his hips and held him as they swayed.

"If I ever… try to run away from something, from a relationship or whatever, with you or somebody else, could you just remind me… you know, to be brave?" Instantly he recoiled from his own words. Why did he say that?

"Being brave is my thing," Julia said, with a big grin. "I'll teach you all about it." She paused. "You look a little sick. Do you need a dose of bravery right now?"

"I used a hell of a lot of it up saying that," said Andrew, scratching the back of his head. "But just being with you helps." And then he heard it—the sound of a retch, coming from somewhere on the dance floor, and he could tell the direction. "Wait, Julia, I need to take care of something, I'll be right back. I'll be right back. Okay? I'm not leaving you."

"What—Andrew?" Julia called, as Andrew hurried through the crowd. He heard another retch, and another, getting louder as he got closer. And there it was, just like he expected, a guy fancied up in half a suit with glasses and a bowtie, throwing up at the feet of a mortified girl.

"Hey, hey," he said, putting his hands on the guy's shoulders. "You're okay." He turned to the girl. "It's not his fault. Some jerkass slipped something in his drink to make him throw up." She still looked like she was in some kind of shock, and then Julia bumped into him from behind, and Andrew looked between the two of them before saying, "This guy's a keeper. I bet he downed all that liquid courage just for you. It's not his fault," he repeated. "Julia, you wanna help her clean up?"

"Of course," she said. "C'mon, hun. Let's go."

Andrew and Julia both took their charges off to the bathrooms to get clean, watched each other go out on a limb for strangers they'd barely met, and Andrew felt a knot tighten between the two of them. Make it stick, huh? He figured he was doing that pretty well already.

Eventually, they hit the dance floor again, and Andrew let Julia and the music carry him away for dance after dance, the night he'd never had, the night he wished he'd had, right here, burning into his memory. But something else throbbed in his memory—Jet's face, the way Jet had looked down at his body, the confusion and anger and repressed desire in that look—and, in the corner of his eye, his knowing that Jet was there, watching him and Julia do what he had always wanted to do.

Andrew paid little attention to Jet. Drew was set with Julia. The way he felt right now, he knew he could never lose this.

When at last he wanted to give his old self some dances of his own, he excused himself from the dance floor, went to the restroom, and looked at himself in the mirror. One more change. He took all the initiative he'd mustered up during the pandemic, all his will to work out, his habit, and he called it to mind, and he said to himself, "I am going to work out. I am going to work out. I am going to work out."

The earlier, the better, right?

And then he willed himself away. His mind shot upwards, out of the party, into a stream of flickering lights and blue magic, and he stumbled into his body, yelping and falling back onto his… larger bed? In his bigger room? In front of a mirror, where he watched his body shift before his very eyes as the towel fell away. His shoulders were broadening, his biceps cording and growing thicker, his chest widening and his sides filling out, thighs and calves filling in…

He looked… full. He looked like a jock. Not just a few extra muscles, everything was bulkier, the perfect mix of lean and strong. "I look… good," he whispered. "Damn good. Guess telling myself to work out worked, huh?"

"It did!" cried Ash, appearing in front of him in full Morgan Freeman form.

Andrew yelped and scrambled up the bed before panting and leaning up and saying, "Oh, right. It's you, Ash."

"Don't sound so excited to see me," he grumbled. "Look around!"

Andrew got up with a groan, looking at his arms and then focusing on his room. It really was bigger, and there was a new door inside of it, still open to a shower that he'd apparently just come out of. Memories were slowly filtering into his head. He had a bigger house because…

He went to the window. He was on a second story? "What you said to Julia," said Ash, "changed a lot. What you did with the guy in the bowtie, too. You stopped running away from people, Andrew. You got a better job, a better place for your family." He could remember it all now—he wasn't just a software developer; he'd made friends, he'd gotten higher positions, he was getting paid more for good work. But…

"It didn't stick," he said, quietly. "I… I really thought…"

"You got to date Julia," said Ash. "But Jet…"

"Jet framed me," Drew growled. "Asked for a… a private conversation in the locker rooms, got somebody to snap pictures, made it look like I was cheating on her. With him. And I'm still alone." He stared out of the window a few seconds longer, and then he back up and sat on the bed. "You told me to help him," he murmured. "Did I?"

Ash came around slowly to the other side of the bed, where Andrew was. "I'm checking." And then, slowly, Ash sat down, too. "Not enough," he whispered.

"Not enough," Andrew scoffed. "The dude can't be helped. He clearly couldn't get over Julia."

"He died, Andrew," Ash snapped, and Drew felt a chill run down his spine. "He's not made to repress himself. Nobody is. He died in the old timeline, and he died in this one."

"How?" Drew asked, quietly. "Ain't nobody deserve that."

"You've got two more wishes, Andrew," said Ash. "You can feed two birds with one scone."

"What—"

"Angels prefer optimistic idioms," Ash said, quickly. "Look, the point is, you can make it stick with Julia and you can help Jet if you go back and confront him before the meeting he schedules with you. I've been helping you sort out your new memories without losing the old. See if there's anything that can help."

"We worked out at the same gym," Andrew said, immediately. "I don't know how it happened, but somehow our workout schedules matched up. Saw each other in the locker room all the time. It looks like… he had our 'private' conversation on a Wednesday night. That Monday night… there was, like, nobody there."

"Where should I send you, then? Monday night? A few minutes before you finish the workout?"

"Lemme think," Andrew said. "I only saw him in the locker room that night for a little bit. He ran off. Maybe didn't wanna have that 'private' conversation on a day when his buddy wasn't there."

"Can you make sure he doesn't do that?" Ash asked.

"There's only one door to the guys' rooms. I can stay there and stop him. I'll finish my workout a little earlier, and I can get ready." Andrew clenched his fist. "I fucking hate that guy."

"Do you?" Ash asked. "Do you really?"

"I mean, he—he did so much shit to me, like—but… he's hurtin', too. But that don't give him an excuse," Andrew growled.

"So help him change, Drew. Don't just say you're skipping the 'private conversation'. He'll just find another way to frame you."

"Aghhhhh, fine. I'll try. Figure out what the hell is wrong with him." Andrew didn't want to—but Ash was right. "You like that bitch way too much."

"I like everyone," said Ash, demurely. "It's my job. Ready?"

"I—wait!" cried Andrew, as Ash began to wave a hand. "Did you do something during my first wish? To make me so strong?"

Ash grinned sheepishly. "A little extra help to make sure Jet couldn't just run away from a confrontation."

"Can you do that again?" Andrew asked. "Just in case?"

"I was already going to. Don't worry. Angels come prepared." Ash smiled brightly.

Drew rolled his eyes. "Alright, I believe you. I'm ready." Ash nodded and waved a hand—and again Andrew's mind flew.

When he landed, he had just set down weights on the rack, and he stumbled forward, disoriented for a moment, before he looked around the spacious gym. It really was close to empty tonight, mostly populated by girls, except for himself and… there was Jet. Andrew found his eyes fixing on the ginger's form, his sweat-matted red hair, his determined look, the freckled muscles all over his bare torso, shifting as he lifted the weights. Jet was fucking gorgeous. Normally Andrew could cope with being bi—but when it meant he was attracted to his own fucking bully, it grated at him.

He checked his watch. They were close to the end of their workout, just like Ash had said, so Andrew started putting away the weights on the barbells, trying to be inconspicuous. He felt Jet's eyes on him, but he didn't turn. This was a game they played night after night, exchanging looks because they knew each other. Not, Andrew reminded himself, because they liked each other at all, but because when you liked guys, and when Jet and Drew both looked so good, it was hard not to look.

Or because of their complicated relationship. Kind of hard to stop looking at your bully… or bullyee. That made better sense, much better than admitting he liked how Jet's muscles shifted when they lifted a weight which he certainly did not.

He made his way to the lockers, noticing Jet packing up as well, and when he got in, he hung back, just inside the door, waiting, crossing his fingers that Jet would come through.

And there he went, passing through the opening, his form positively glistening with sweat, every part of him pristine, every freckle and every strand and clump of hair. "Sup, Jet," said Andrew, trying to sound casual, and Jet jumped.

"Huh? Drew?" he started, turning around. "You don't usually…"

"Say hi? No, not usually, since you've been tryna fuck with me for the last two years of college," Drew said, shrugging his shoulders. "But still we see each other every fuckin' night we work out. Whoop-de-do."

"Yeah, and…?" Jet asked.

"And I think you need to explain that," said Andrew, stepping closer, stripping off his tank top over his own, dark, lean body. Apparently he was still working on the whole built as fuck thing, but hey, it was where he was at in his old timeline. "You said we'd have a private conversation, right? On Wednesday?"

"It's Monday," Jet said, awkwardly, his eyes drifting down Andrew's torso.

"And your buddy ain't here," said Andrew—Jet's eyes widened—"which means we can have that private conversation in actual privacy, am I right?"

Jet shifted on his feet—and, just before he bolted, Andrew surged forward and got his hands on Jet's chest, shoving him right up to the lockers and pinning him there. God, Jet felt hot, and his pecs were the perfect mixture of firm and soft, but he resisted the urge to squeeze like a pervert. Jet looked down at his Drew's hands and then to his face, eyes wide.

"Now you're the deer in the headlights, huh, Jet?" Drew asked. "How do I keep getting you in these positions?"

"This is only the second time," Jet grumbled.

"What, you want more?" Drew asked, with a grin, and Jet's face burned. Drew's grin faded. "Why?" he asked. "I thought you said you didn't care about Julia. So what the fuck? You can't ruin my friendships. You can't ruin my career. You can't ruin anything but that. Why?"

Jet looked away.

"What is it about me?" Drew asked. "It's not because I'm bi, you didn't know that, right? You're not one of those pervs who bullies their… crush… oh, shit." Drew let go of Jet's chest and stepped backward. Jet didn't say anything, but Drew knew, right away, and it all made sense. "I can't believe… all of that shit… You were gonna try and break me up from Julia, for what? Were you even gonna tell me? No, you wouldn't, not after doing that to me. No, don't leave," Drew said, when Jet tried to dart toward the door, with a tone of near desperation in his voice that surprised even him.

"Why?" Jet asked. "You clearly don't like me back." He clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Because—because I need to figure this shit out, okay? You remember what I told you at that party? Who do you think's gonna beat you up for liking me? Me? Naw. Come back here, Jet." Drew sat down on one of the locker room's benches and gestured for Jet to come closer. Slowly, he did, until he sat down next to Drew, staring at the locker room walls. "How long?" Drew asked.

"Since I first saw you," said Jet, after a few seconds.

Drew whistled. "Long-ass time. Two years you been pinin'. Felt the same way about Julia, though. So I get it." Tentatively, Drew put his hand Jet's far shoulder. The ginger flinched, but then he settled down, and Drew rubbed it softly. "Nobody here to see us, Drew. Place is closing soon, so nobody's comin' in, either. You don' need to be afraid of shit right now. And, if it helps… I mean, you're still my bully, but I think you look pretty damn fine."

"That's not the same as a crush," Jet said, with a weak chuckle, and, with the same hesitation as Drew, he placed his hand onto Drew's thigh, squeezing it softly.

"Naw," said Drew. "It ain't. But it does mean you don't need to be afraid about it. I'm not gonna shame you. Nobody here is, Jet." Drew looked down at his own hands and a flash of surprise went through him—his nails were painted teal. "You think they ever do, when I got these—" he brandished his fingernails— "and I got this?" He waved a hand over his body. "I dunno where you came from, who told you it was wrong. But nobody here believes that. You can be yourself."

"I don't even know who that is," Jet murmured.

"Not many repressed queer guys do, either," Drew said, with a grin. "It kinda crushes the rest of you with it, y'know?"

"Yeah," Jet said. "Yeah, I do. I do a lot of pretending."

"So, stop," Drew said, laying a hand on Jet's.

"It's not that easy," Jet snapped, pulling his hand away. "After so long being this to you."

"Yeah? Well, right here, right now…" Drew walked over to the light switch in the locker rooms—and flipped it off. Light trickled in from the door to the rest of the gym, keeping them gently illuminated, and Drew came back to sit next to Jet. "Right now, you don't gotta do any pretending at all."

"You make it sound so easy," Jet said, quietly.

"What's stoppin' you?" Drew asked. "Whatever you say next, I ain't running."

"It's not what I want to say." Jet began to slide off the bench, not by standing, but lowering his knees toward the ground. "It's what I want to do." In a smooth movement, he turned around and settled onto his knees… right in front of Andrew, and his hands found Andrew's knees, gripping them, parting them, pulling them forward so Drew's crotch hung off the bench.

"Jet? What are you—"

"Take off your shorts, Drew," Jet said, quietly. "Please. Let me do this. Just this once. I have to know."

Drew worked his mouth, looking down at his bully, the man who in two days had been set to ruin his relationship with Julia for the second time in two timelines, and finally, he shut it. "Do you need this?" he mumbled.

"It'll help me. I promise. And then… I won't bully you anymore. I'll try to find something else to be. Someone other than who I am right now. Please, Drew," he murmured, looking up into Drew's eyes from below him, that innocent look that Andrew loved on Julia—but loved, suddenly, so much more on Jet. Jet leaned in, between Drew's thighs, cheeks brushing against them and nose poking into Andrew's crotch—which was hot, hard, and bulging.

"Okay," Andrew whispered, gingerly laying a hand on Jet's head, rubbing the red locks softly. "Let's do it." He rose gently from his seat and tugged down his shorts and underwear, pulling them down, down until he could kick them off. And when he rose back up, his member was at full mast, dark and throbbing, tall and looming, leaking precum in a steady stream from the tip.

"Mine's bigger," Jet said, smirking up at Andrew. "But… yours is plenty big already," he finished, with an awkward grin. "Should I…" he leaned forward, laying a gentle kiss halfway up the base, sucking slowly on the precum and pulling away with a pop. "This is… hot," Jet groaned, fishing into his shorts and pulling out his own member, which looked… huge, and yet still floppy.

"You haven't even started licking, yet," Drew said, wryly. "Just you wa—ohhhh, you're eager," he groaned, shuddering, as Jet dragged his tongue up Andrew's cock, from base to tip, tongue collecting the thick coat of precum until the liquid spilled over the sides, and then, as he hit the tip, he drew it all into his mouth and swirled it.

"It tastes amazing," Jet gasped, leaning in again to lap more frantically at Andrew's cock, tongue rolling up the base on the sides and the underbelly, reaching higher and higher, licking up precum and coaxing forth more in a steady stream that kept on feeding Jet's desire. Below he was stroking his cock in fits and starts, squeezing it and bringing it closer to full mast, and goddamn was it thick, and definitely longer than Drew's. "I can't believe I've been missing out on this, I—"

"Trust me, Jet," moaned Drew. "There's more where that came from. So much more." Jet nodded and brought his tongue's ministrations upward, lapping at the tip, swirling around it and then licking the frenulum again and again and again until precum spurted from the tip, a thick, messy rope splattering over Jet's nose and forehead—and reaching his cheeks, too.

He crossed his eyes adorably and said, "Paint me," with wide open mouth, and Andrew chuckled and gripped the base of his cock, beginning to tug on it, jerking it until rope after messy rope of precum painted Jet's face like Jackson Pollock, splatters turning into coatings that spread all over his face… and then neck, and ear, and finally matting his red hair. "No one can see, right?" Jet asked.

Drew looked to the side. "Nobody."

"Smack me with it," Jet said. Drew's mouth dropped open. "Before I change my fucking mind. Come on." Drew grinned and, with his grip on the base, swung his own fat cock right into Jet's cheek, again, again, and then the other side, splattering precum into the ground. "Some of it got in my eyes," Jet said. "Doesn't hurt. It's like my vision's gone whiter. I like it."

"Julia doesn't," Drew said, before he could stop himself.

"Yeah?" Jet asked, licking his lips and swirling the precum in his mouth. He opened his mouth again—but then he seemed to think better of whatever he had planned to say, hesitated, and said, "Can I suck it, now?"

"Of fuckin' course you can suck it. I'll fill you right up," said Drew, and then he gave a strangled moan—trying to keep it quiet—as Jet wrapped his lips around Drew's girth for the first time. "Yeah," Drew moaned. "Just like that. Bob on it." He spurted precum into Jet's mouth as Jet obliged, slowly bobbing deeper, and then Jet popped off.

"It feels so big," he groaned, "in my mouth. My lips feel it."

"As they should," Drew said, with a chuckle. "You may be… fuckin' monster hung, but I'm normal hung and that's damn good too. Wanna go deeper? Wanna try and gag on it?"

"I'll try," Jet said, eagerly, "but I'm new, so, y'know—fuck it." His lips popped over Drew's cock again, eliciting another heavy spurt of pre and an audible swallow from Jet that made Drew moan, and Jet bobbed, sinking deeper and swallowing it down, back and forth, sucking as he went, until Drew could feel it—that slot at the back of Jet's mouth. Jet shifted until Drew's thick head fit right in and started to push, letting out his first gag as he sucked and swallowed and—Drew could feel the pop, even if they couldn't hear it, of the whole head entering Jet's throat, and Jet gagged, and gagged again, slowly pushing deeper, gagging harder until he pulled off abruptly and gasped for breath.

"I love it," he panted, "but it's so hard."

"You can't take it slow," said Drew. "You gotta go for it. Far as you can, hold it there as long as you can. It trains you. And it feels good when you gag."

"Good," Jet said. "I want you to feel good." And he dove back down, bobbing and moaning and shining Drew's meat within his mouth with spit, before slotting it in and shoving himself downward in a rush, pushing past his gags and holding himself there, throat massaging Drew's girth with every gag and swallow as Jet held it down.

"Try bobbing," Drew said, and Jet did, pulling up and pushing down, but he strained to get back where he was and popped back out of his throat, panting around Drew's cock. Seconds later he tried again, going deeper, bobbing, coming up higher and higher and popping off— "Good boy," Drew groaned. "You're going nice and deep. It's cool you can't take all of me, it still feels so damn good. C'mon, baby."

Those last two words seemed to spark something for Jet, and at once he went back down on Drew's cock, as deep as he could, and the blowjob began in earnest. Jet was eager, eager and sloppy, drool and precum slipping from his lips and tears dripping from his eyes as he willingly gagged, treating this tryst like a workout that he was incredibly hot for. Jet started splattering Drew's legs with precum, shooting again and again, while Drew injected Jet directly with his pre, both of them relishing in the pleasure. More and more as time went on, Jet had to spend a few seconds without any meat in his throat before he could go back and take Drew down, but that was okay—it still felt amazing, and Andrew's moans mixed with Jet's gags and eager groans in a quiet cacophony, Andrew panting and Jet gently retching and both of them loving what neither had ever thought they should do.

"I'm close," Drew said, at last. "Real close. Do you… do you want me to facefuck you, a little? Show you how it feels when a guy takes your throat?" Drew looked down at Jet, who looked up at him, eyes sparkling, sweat glistening on his forehead, his hair matted and whitened, looking so positively beautifully ruined, and something fluttered in his heart. Shit. His cock throbbed harder.

Jet raised his thumb up, hesitating halfway and then sticking it up higher with a determined look in his eyes. "You're so damn hot, Jet. God. Let's do this. Up, baby," he said, and Jet groaned loudly, stroking his cock harder than ever as Drew stood up, manoeuvring the two of them to keep his straight shot down Jet's throat. "I know how deep you can go."

"Nnnno," Jet managed, taking his fingers and pointing them down next to his neck.

"All the way?" Jet moaned. "You serious?" Jet threw up a middle finger. "Right. You asked for it. Once I'm cumming there's no getting off this ride, okay?" Jet groaned, the precum shooting harder from his cock. "You gonna cum soon? Alright. Let's make this a big one."

Drew put his hands onto Jet's cheeks, palms picking up the pre that coated them, and he gripped his former bully's skull, starting to push deeper, and then growling and thrusting deliberately deeper, activating a string of gags and moans meant to prove that Jet still wanted this. Thrust, thrust, thrust, and Andrew forcibly claimed Jet's throat, until his crotch hit Jet's chin and Jet's lips brushed Drew's balls. "Does that mean it's gay now?" Drew asked, with a grin, and then he started to pound, letting his head fall back and moan and moan as he slapped Jet's face at the end of every long thrust, driving himself toward orgasm.

Jet got off seconds later, cum exploding from his cock in a veritable fountain, thick, long, powerful ropes of cum splattering incredibly messily over Drew's legs, Jet's chest and abdomen, the bench behind them, the floor—and, finally, Drew tumbled over his peak, pounding rapidly into Jet's face and then sheathing completely. Pleasure exploded through him like a firework, like nothing he'd ever felt with Julia, cum shooting so hard he could feel every burst, the sheer volume shocking him before the shock was drowned by pleasure. He came and came, straight down Jet's throat, violently messy load filling the ginger's stomach to the brim and starting to stretch it out, pushing at his perfect, cum-soaked abdomen and slowly rounding it, inch by slow inch—and then, finally, both their climaxes started to die down.

Andrew gradually withdrew his cock, still shooting cum in lesser and lesser volume—but more than enough to fill Jet's mouth to bulging once his head popped out of Jet's throat. And then it was out of his lips, shooting messy gushes over his face, flooding his hair, painting his face and neck whiter, washing away the cum on his chest only to replace it with Drew's own—and finally trickling to a stop. Jet's cheeks still bulged—had he not swallowed?

And then Jet shot up and kissed him. In his post-nut bliss Drew couldn't even think of resisting as Jet started shovelling cum into Drew's mouth, sharing it between them, delicious, milky, earthy flavour filling his mouth as they swapped tongue and slowly swallowed. And at last Drew snapped out of it and pulled away, mouth open wide, stained with cum in strings from the roof of his mouth to his tongue. "We just did that," Drew groaned.

"You just did this," Jet panted, a cum-soaked hand catching the back of Drew's head and tilting it down to look at the gently rounded stomach Drew had created. "It feels so good. Like a cloud in my stomach. Why?"

"The… fuck… I've never cum that much," Drew whispered. "I got close, but never enough to… shit, that means… Jet, I dunno how much sex you've had, but—like—okay, so when the sex is really good, when it's right, like, what you're meant to do, I guess? You cum more. A lot more. The more it hits your kinks, the more you cum. I guess I like fucking guys' faces more than girls," he said, sheepishly. "Or you're just more eager than Julia."

"I'm better, aren't I?" Jet asked, all at once, and then he stepped back. "I mean—sorry—"

"Let's get showered, Jet," Drew said, with a chuckle, but inwardly he was troubled. If he came this much with Jet, not Julia… no, sex wasn't the only reason to have a relationship. He'd committed to Julia. She was his first crush in college. He'd always loved her. God, he sounded so naive.

When they got in the shower, Jet kept a little bit of distance, using the shower head next to Drew's instead of joining him under his. "Start with cold, get the cum out of your hair," said Andrew. "The red hair looks good, y'know. It's pretty."

"Even when it isn't covered in cum?" Jet asked.

"Even then," Drew said, with a grin. "You… came a lot, too."

"Yeah. I… can't believe I've been missing out on this. Missing out on you." Jet's eyes met Drew's, and they pierced.

"Jet… I… I told you, I'm with Julia. It's not really an open relationship. Even if it'd be hot to have both a guy and a girl worshipping my cock at the same time… She'd get jealous if I asked." Jet opened his mouth, but Drew barrelled on. "I did this to help you figure yourself out. And yeah, it was hot, but we gotta control ourselves." He grinned weakly. "Dick and ass like that… and your body and your face and your hair and all that shit, you'll get guys to fuck, easy. I just don't want to risk things with Julia. I love her." I think. It had to be more than an infatuation.

"I get it," Jet said, sounding so disappointed that Drew felt a pang in his heart. Jet brushed back his ginger hair, and the pang turned into a flutter. Drew turned away. "Well—I don't want to bully you anymore," he said. "But I'm new to this. I need help. Do you want to… be my friend, instead?"

Drew froze. Help Jet. His former bully. But Jet was going to need some bravery to get through this process. Drew had learned it from Julia. Maybe now he could pass it to Jet. "Alright, Jet," he said, turning around and extending a hand to shake. "Let's be friends."