You couldn’t even begin to count the number of booths at this year’s San Diego Comic-Con. With thousands and thousands of exhibitors from all across the nation (and globe) it was the epicenter of nerd culture for four, bustling days.
Chances are, you might have missed the booth nestled in the back, cramped behind two discount t-shirt vendors. They weren’t “selling” anything, per-sea, no exclusive items or signed autographs. They were, however, giving away free pins, which turned out to be pretty popular amongst passers-by.
One of these passers-by was none other than Daniel Shaw. This was Daniel’s first time, you see, and he was determined to make the very best of his experience at the convention. He had dressed up in his favorite Batman t-shirt, gotten wristbands to practically every signing, stood in line for dozens of panels, and grabbed every free item imaginable. So when he saw the bowl of pins sitting unattended at the small, lonely booth in the back, he was sure to take several.
What he didn’t check to see, however, were the words printed on the front of each pin:
WELCOME TO THE CHANGING ROOM
“Who’s next?”
For all the hustle and bustle, the crowds and chaos, signings were Chris Hemsworth’s favorite part of the convention. There was something about the raw energy of the room that made him feel alive, a simple pleasure in getting to see the look on a fan’s face as he handed them back their autograph.
He took a deep breath, smiling as he turned back to his co-stars. All of them looked miserable.
“Someone looks cheerful,” Tom Hiddleston said, forcing a smile as he scribbled his name for a sprightly young girl in a Wonder Woman outfit.
“What’s there not to be cheerful about?” Hemsworth said, smile unforced, “this is the most exciting part!”
“The only thing I’m excited for is that margarita waiting for me back at the Marriot.” He sighed, taking the poster from the next guy in line, a young man with a Batman t-shirt and dozens assorted pins tacked onto the front. “Batman, huh?”
Daniel could only nod. He was speechless.
“I think you might be at the wrong booth.” Hiddleston cackled.
Hemsworth only smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with a little cross-over now and then. What’s your name?”
“D-Daniel.”
“Daniel. Alright then, why don’t you say we make a deal? I’ll write you a personal note in exchange for one of those pins you’ve got there.”
Daniel didn’t hesitate. Before Chris could finish talking, Daniel was already removing one of the pins and handing it over.
Chris beamed. “See,” he leaned over to Tom, “told you this could be fun.” He wrote on Daniel’s poster:
Daniel my man,
Love your passion and your generosity. Maybe an Avengers shirt next time though ;)
-Chris Hemsworth
The young man could only smile and nod as he stumbled away from the signing booth. Only after he had left did Hemsworth take a look down at the pin he had given him.
“Hey Tom,” he said, “every heard of something called ‘The Changing Room?’” But Tom wasn’t even listening. Chris shrugged, smiled, and pinned it onto the front of his jacket.
This was turning out to be the greatest day of Daniel’s relatively uneventful life. But then why was he feeling so sick?
It was a strange feeling. Not nausea, or aches. It was as if his stomach was expanding, as if his body was suddenly disproportionate to the rest of his being. He lumbered out of the convention center, looking frantically around for some place to sit down. A bench? A lawn chair? Anything. He needed to rest.
Just then, he spotted a nice patch of uninhabited grass outside a tent. Bingo, he though to himself, and proceeded to rush over.
BAM.
The collision struck Daniel off guard. He felt himself fall backwards as a couple of pins tumbled off of his t-shirt. His vision blurred, and out of the corner of his ear, he heard someone say:
“Dammit. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
The face of the man was obscured by the sun shining behind his head, but Daniel could make out the shape of his body. He was huge, a towering mass of pure muscle, and at the very sight of him, Daniel felt a rush of heat down towards his dick.
No, that’s impossible. I’m not gay… am I?
“Here,” the man said, extending a sweaty, muscled arm down to help the young man up. Daniel gripped it tight, feeling an electric energy pass through his nerves at the older man’s touch. “Are you alright?”
Daniel nodded, dazed. As he stumbled to his feet, he saw a face that was handsomely chiseled, peppered with brown facial hair, and achingly familiar.
“That’s a nice shirt you have,” the man said, pointing down to the Batman logo. He had a beautiful British accent, one which only seemed to increase his familiarity. Yet Daniel still couldn’t put a finger on where he had seen him before.
“T-thanks.” Daniel’s stomach lurched. Something was definitely wrong, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurl in front of such a gorgeous man. “Excuse me…”
Before he knew it, Daniel was back sprinting across the lawn. The man looked down. “HEY!” he yelled after, “you dropped some of your pins!” But Daniel was already out of earshot.
Henry Cavil reached down to assess the damage. The encounter had proven to him two things. First, he was unrecognizable with his new facial hair, which meant he could probably mozy around the convention as much as he liked. But it had also proven that he needed to be more careful. Neither his publicist nor his agent knew he was attending the convention this year, and to be actually spotted there would be a PR nightmare.
He picked up the first pin that caught his eye. On the front read the words: “WELCOME TO THE CHANGING ROOM.” While Henry had no idea what this meant, he figured the more swag he had on, the less chance there was that someone would recognize him.
He placed the pin—and the others Daniel had dropped—onto his green shirt, and walked over to the convention center. If only he had some way of going incognito, of REALLY changing his appearance so that no one would recognize him. Now that would be something…
“Chris… are you okay?”
The last person had just gone through the signing line, and Tom could tell something was wrong with Chris. His smile had faded almost completely, and he was starting to look pale and sickly.
“Chris?” he asked again. But the security men were already beginning to usher them off stage.
Chris was the first to go, shoving past Tom and his other co-stars. It had begun as a tickle in his stomach. An incessant internal itching that had grown over the coarse of the signing into an insatiable urge. What that urge was, he couldn’t be certain. All he knew is that he needed to get back to his hotel room before he threw up. Or worse…
Daniel could barely walk. His body was aching like never before, his insides swirling and his mind reeling. He had no idea where he was walking; only that he needed to get somewhere private before he exploded.
But that wasn’t the worst part. With every attractive man he passed, he felt his libido spike. And this wasn’t like passing hot girls on the sidewalk. Daniel was having to hide his boner with every step. His dick was growing harder and harder in his jeans, and if he didn’t find a spot to relieve himself fast, the people around him were in for one hell of a show.
Finally, he spotted an open door. A service closet, or hallway. Whatever. It was private, and it was open. Daniel slipped inside and closed the door.
“GOD” he screamed, collapsing onto the floor. The second nobody was watching, his body completely let loose. His muscles spazed. His vision blurred. Daniel thought he was having a seizure.
Then, it stopped.
Was that it? Was it over? Then, he felt a rumbling. It started slow, then grew in speed and intensity. At first, he thought it was coming from his stomach again, but as he looked down at his forearm, he realized: it was coming from his muscles.
Am I… growing?
He had seen it in cartoons before: someone takes a super syrum, and the room watches in astonishment and horror as the hero’s muscles writhe like angry snakes. Their body bulking up in vicious pulses, their frame expanding and their arms ballooning.
But this wasn’t a cartoon. Daniel was actually growing.
It started at his hands. He felt them grow heavy and large, like someone had strapped weights onto them. They fell comically onto the concrete floor as the veins in his forearms continued to bulge, making room for his increasingly toned muscles.
“What is happening to me??” As if his body could hear the question, the growth shot up to his biceps. The sleeves of his Batman t-shirt rode up as the muscles on his arm swelled. He flexed, instinctively. Damn, he thought, that feels good.
For a moment or two, Daniel forgot what was happening to his body. He had never been able to flex his muscles like that. As he watched the boulder in his bicep rise and fall with each consecutive pump, he thought about all the hot guys he’d passed on the street. All the nice ass he was going to get tonight once his signing was finished. Assuming his wife didn’t find out.
Wait… what wife? What signing? These were somebody else’s thoughts, and Daniel wasn’t keen on finding out who’s.
He stood up. Just as he did, another wave hit, jutting his chest forward. Daniel fell back onto his hands, panting. He looked down to see his chest inflating with each heavy breath. His shoulders pushed out and the bones in his back cracked as the frame of his torso expanded rapidly, muscles bulging from every corner. He felt his thighs touch at the base of his balls, his calfs tighten and contract.
And his feet. Daniel stood up to feel them, stand on them. They were an entire size larger, pressed against his sneakers. But they weren’t sneakers anymore. Instead, the white rubber on his shoes was turning a deeper shade of tan, the laces growing dark and leathery. Daniel could never afford those shoes, and yet he distinctly remembered shopping for them. He even remembered being stopped by a fan at the store and signing an autograph for them.
He thought about all the autographs he was going to sign today. He wasn’t even scheduled to show up for the Marvel panel, so he thought he might make it a pleasant surprise.
The pain was beginning to subside, the growth in his muscles slowing. Instead, Daniel felt a curious itching across his face. He ran his large, meaty hand through his stubble. Funny, Chris thought, I guess I forgot to shave that. It didn’t matter; his scruff only made him more attractive.
No, I’ve never had scruff. I couldn’t even grow a mustache. THIS ISN’T MY BODY!
But Daniel was already starting to bleed away as the final muscle on Chris’ body started to grow. He felt it push down the zipper of his jeans, stretch through the fabric of his underwear.
He dropped his pants. All 9 inches of cock flung out into the cool service room air. The second he caught a glimpse of it, he came. All over the concrete floor. Ropes and ropes of hot celebrity spunk painting the ground and the walls.
By the time all was said and done, Chris Pratt was on the verge of passing out. He hadn’t cum like that since he and Hemsworth had secretly fucked on the Infinity War set a few months back. As he pulled up his pants and walked to the door on the opposite side, he wondered if Chris would be down for a second round. He knew he was doing a signing at the convention this year, and he secretly hoped they might run into each other again before the convention was out.
Chris opened the door. There was a flash of cameras and a barrage of voices. Screaming his name, begging for autographs.
But he was used to this. This was just another day in the life of Chris Pratt. He smiled that cockey smile and struck a pose, hiding the boner still subsiding in his jeans.
One of the photographers called out. “That’s a cool shirt you got on there! Where did you get it?”
“Thanks!” Chris said, glancing down at his Batman t-shirt. But then he realized: he had no idea where it came from. “Let’s just call it a peace offering from Henry Cavil,” he lied.
This drew scattered laughs from the crowd. Someone else asked, “can we expect a crossover anytime soon?”
Chris just smiled. “Hey man, you never know.”
Henry had never felt so self conscious before in his life. He’d only been in the convention center for ten minutes, and he was already drawing strange stares from everyone he passed. Did they recognize him? Was the beard enough?
A pit settled in his stomach. He fiddled with the tiny pin he’d taken from the young man. He needed to get out soon, or face a serious stampede.
But what Henry didn’t realize is that people weren’t staring at his face. They were staring at his muscles, which were growing larger and larger with every passing step…
Chris Hemsworth burst into his hotel room. “Water,” he hissed, “need… water.”
He had already drunken three full bottles on the brisk walk back to the Marriot, and yet it was the only thing he could think of. Water. Water. Water.
He threw open the mini fridge. Nothing. Had he drunken all of them before? He didn’t know. He started to rummage through his suit case, throwing clothes everywhere across the room. Jeans, wet suits, workout garb.
I didn’t pack all of this! he thought to himself. This was the bag of someone who was in the middle of training for a movie, and he had wrapped filming on Thormonths ago.
But just as he was about to go out and check to see if he was in the right room, he saw it: a plastic water bottle, blue tape around the side with the words: “JASON’S WATER: PAWS OFF” crudely scribbled on top.
Definitely NOT my bag. But it didn’t matter. There were still a couple of sips left inside. He unscrewed the top and emptied what was left into his mouth.
It wasn’t even close to enough. He ran into the bathroom and proceeded to fill up the bottle with cool water from the sink. He must have drunk about three whole bottles before he finally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
Something didn’t feel right. His hair seemed darker than usual, and there was what looked to be a scar forming on his left eyebrow. He felt it, cautiously, his fingers running through the crevice with something close to familiarity.
His phone buzzed. Chris jumped. He sauntered over to the bedside table where he had left it, feeling larger and more bloated than usual. Perhaps it was all the water, he thought as he looked down at the text.
It was from someone named Ben, and he had typed: Hey, did you heard from Henry? Is he coming to visit today?
Ben? Henry? The names sounded as foreign as they did familiar. Chris shook his head and dropped the phone down. He needed to take his mind off of all this nonsense. Maybe go for a swim in the pool? Take a quick trip to the beach? No, it would draw too much attention.
But he needed more water. He needed to be surrounded by it, consumed by it. It was the only thing that could make him feel like himself again.
He walked back inside the bathroom and turned on the shower. It would have to do for now.
As Chris painstakingly removed each item of clothing, he was finding they were all fitting tighter around his body. His pants were a chore to get off his gargantuan legs, and his white t-shirt ripped clean down the back as he tried to take it off.
“Dammit,” he grumbled in a deep voice. He had to get ripped for the last Thor movie, but not that ripped.
Once he was properly naked, Chris stepped under the stream of hot water. The calming effect was instant and euphoric. He closed his eyes and let the steam envelop his muscles, soak his skin, and wet his hair.
He had no idea how long he had been standing there before he started to feel his body. Chris prided himself on his muscles, but under the constant flow of hot water, they felt colossal.
He ran his hands through every crevice, feeling the heat radiate from the cleavage between his pecs, the canyons inside his abs, the gutters pointing down to his…
“Fuuuuuck…”
He moaned. A deep, guttural moan. That couldn’t have possibly been his voice. But he didn’t care. All he could focus on was stroking his monster of a cock. With his free hand, he scratched at his thick bushy beard, and ran a hand through his long, luscious hair.
Wait a second, he thought, I had to cut my hair. That can’t be right. He grabbed a lock of it and tugged. It was his hair alright. But that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. When Chris opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a large tribal tattoo on his left arm. It flexed and flared as he gripped his dick even harder.
“What the fuck?” he said in an accent that was far from Australian. He reached to turn off the water with his other hand, and that’s when he noticed a deep tan color riding up his arm. His skin was darkening, becoming harder, tougher over his now obscenely large muscles.
Jason stumbled back. His mind was reeling with questions he didn’t know the answers to. He was remembering things he never experienced; growing up in Hawaii, being cast in the new Justice League movie. He even remembered how he had gotten that scar.
But it was impossible. His name wasn’t Jason, it was Chris. Chris… what was it again?
He felt his body tense. He had forgotten that he was still stroking his dick. Now, he was on the verge of an explosive orgasm.
“Fuck… fuck… FUCK!” Everything stopped. His body quivered, just before releasing a tidal wave of spunk out of his big Somoan cock. It continued to flow like a broken water mane, rushing down the drain and joining the boiling hot water running off the super star’s body.
He turned the shower off, panting hard and fast. He hadn’t cum like that since he and Henry had secretly fucked on the Justice League set a few months back. And wasn’t he supposed to be here? Maybe he would be down for round two…
Jason Momoa stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and starting the long, laborious process of drying off his vast expanse of a body. He stopped every now and then to check himself out in the mirror, to flex his muscles and give a wink to his reflection. He might have just cum, be he was already horny as fuck again, and he couldn’t stop thinking about all the delicious ass he was going to get tonight once the convention was over.
When he was done, he sauntered back into the room and picked out some nice, well-fitting clothes. He had one more signing in about a half hour. But after that, he was home free. He grabbed his empty water bottle from the counter, filled it up, and stepped outside.
“Tom!” Chris said, reaching over to hug his friend. Tom smiled, putting down his margarita to embrace Pratt. It had been a while since the two had talked, and because it was still early in the afternoon, they basically had the bar to themselves. “
“How’s it going?” Hiddleston said, “I didn’t expect you to come?”
Chris smirked, remembering his episode in the back hallway a few minutes ago. “Yeah man,” he said, “it was a spur of the moment thing. You haven’t seen Chris anywhere, have you?”
“Which one?” Tom smiled, taking a sip.
“Oh ‘haha,’” he gave him a playful shove.
Tom nodded to the elevator. “He’s back up in his room. He wasn’t feeling too good after the signing.”
“Well, maybe I can make him feel better,” Chris winked. Tom rolled his eyes. He knew about the Chris-on-Chris action that went on behind the scenes. Everyone did, and yet nobody talked about it. It was Marvel’s best-kept secret.
Just as Chris was turning away, Tom noticed something funny. “Hey,” he called after, “where did you get that t-shirt?”
Chris looked down at his Batman shirt, then back up at Tom. “Friend of a friend I think. Why?”
“No reason,” Tom said. Once Chris was out of sight, he returned to his drink, deeply concerned. That was the exact same shirt the kid at the signing had been wearing. The same kid who’d given Chris the pin. The same Chris who was now writhing in pain up in his room.
Something wasn’t right.
Something really wasn’t right.
A full hour had passed and NO ONE had recognized Henry. He had stopped at basically every booth, stood in dozens of lines, and not a single flash of recognition.
And yet, people couldn’t. Stop. Staring. It was like he had a giant sign on his chest that said “LOOK HOW HOT I AM.” Cavil wasn’t naive about his looks. He was a handsome guy (you needed to be to play Superman), but people were gawking at him in ways he had never experienced. It was like he had turned into a walking slab of meat.
The effect was somewhere between humiliating and euphoric. On one hand, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was exposed. The convention center was packed, people crammed in on all sides, and he felt almost as if he was the only one not wearing any clothes. But at the same time, he felt confident. Confident that he could enjoy the experience unrecognized. He was just here to have a good time, and so far, his time had been great.
“ARE YOU WORTHY ENOUGH TO LIFT THE HAMMER OF THOR??”
There was a rush of people and a screams. Henry frantically looked around for the source of the chaos. The crowd was gathering around a large booth. In the center, Thor’s hammer. It was resting on a large cinderblock, and Henry could see that people were lining up to take a crack at lifting it.
He smiled. This was just the kind of fun activity he wouldn’t get to do if he’d been there officially. Besides, it would give him the opportunity to show off those muscles that people seemed to be so obsessed with.
He marched forward. Just then, a hand came out and pressed itself against his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“Sorry bud,” a female security guard said, “gotta wait in line.”
“Where’s the line?” Henry asked. She jabbed at thumb at an endless sea of people snaking around the booth.
Henry signed. Well, it wasn’t like he was going to be late for anything. He had all the time in the world.
“CHRIS?” Pratt banged on the door. Nothing. Maybe he’s in the shower, he thought to himself, trying to ward away the other thoughts that were creeping into his mind. What if something had happened? Was he okay?
“CHRIS!” This caught the attention of a cleaning lady down the hall. She looked up, not a flash of recognition on her face. “Excuse me,” Chris said, turning to her, “do you know if he’s in there?”
“The big guy?” she said.
“Sure,” Chris didn’t even think to ask his name. He was sure she didn’t know it.
The cleaning lady shook her head. “He left a little while ago. I think he had a signing or something.”
But he already had a signing earlier today…
“Thanks,” Chris said, walking back down towards the hall. Something smelled fishy. He needed to find Hemsworth soon. Not just because he wanted to make sure he was okay, but because the boner in his pants was starting to come back fast…
“NEXT!”
Henry could barely stand up. He had never stood in a line like this, and the added extra muscle to his body only made things harder on his feet. Now he knew exactly what all those poor fans had to go through waiting in line for one of his panels. God, I never want to do this again, he thought, glancing over the heads of the next few people to see how many more there were.
Just then, there was another rush of screams, and everyone in the line suddenly ran across the isle.
“Man, what is it this time?” Henry said, exhausted.
A girl in a Legend of Korra cosplay stopped to reply, “the Justice League cast! They’re all signing over at the DC booth!” Sure enough, directly across the way, the rest of his cast mates were signing posters.
“Not the whole Justice League cast…” he mumbled to himself begrudgingly. Just then, he heard the announcer say: “NEXT,” and someone shove him from behind.
“What are you waiting for?” some guy in a shoddy Deadpool outfit said, pointing to the hammer. To his astonishment, Henry was the next in line. The rest of the people must have ran away when his co-stars came out.
Henry stepped up onto the stage, walking towards the hammer. Nobody had picked it up yet (most people just wanted to take pictures with it), so this was his time to shine, and he was feeling especially and abnormally cocky.
“HEY JASON!” He yelled across to the other booth. He and Momoa had always been super tight. They had even slept together on more than one occasion. Cavil couldn’t wait to see what his buddy thought of his brand new look and insane strength.
But Jason didn’t even hear him. He just continued to sign, practically ignoring the giant, muscular guy on stage directly across from him. “JASON!”
“HEY DIPSHIT,” shoddy Deadpool yelled from behind him, “you going to lift the damn thing or not?”
Henry looked back at Jason, and then the hammer. If there was one surefire way to get his attention, this was it.
With both hands, he gripped the handle. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pulled.
Nothing. Henry felt sweat pool on his brow. He looked up. Jason still wasn’t looking.
He tugged again, this time throwing the full weight of his body back and gripping the hammer with all his might. He groaned, his muscles flaring and flexing as the sweat continued to glisten from every pour on his body. He tugged, and tugged, and tugged.
And with each tug, he grew even bigger. His arms ballooned outwards, his back expanding and leaving his shirt threadbare across his body. The hammer still wouldn’t budge.
“Buddy,” the announcer said, “it’s okay, you don’t have to…”
“I’ve got it bro,” Henry said. Bro. The word felt so unfamiliar to him, and yet when it came out of his mouth, he felt like he had been saying it for his entire life.
He shook his head, directing all his focus, all his energy towards the tip of the hammer. He planted his feet firm, stuck his ass out, and pulled back.
“HHGGGGGGG,” he groaned aloud. He wasn’t even thinking about Jason Momoa. Hell, he’d forgotten who Jason Momoa even was. The only world was the pump, the sweat, the rush.
The hammer started to shake. As it did, Henry felt the shirt split along his back. He felt the sleeves around his biceps give way, as muscle and sweat exploded out into the cool air.
As the tatters of his shirt fell away, so did everything else. His mind, his memories. By the time the last nail on the bottom of the hammer gave way, the only piece left of Henry Cavil—or “Hank” as he was now called—were the parts focused on his marvelous physique. He was nothing more than a dumb muscled jock, but a damn strong one at that.
SNAP.
The hammer came loose. Hank lifted it up, brandishing it in the air with a dopy smile as the crowd around him cheered wildly. His wet, sweaty muscles glistened in the fluorescent lights, and his Avengers tank top clung tight to his heavy chest. Funny, Hank thought to himself, I don’t remember putting that on. But it didn’t matter; the attention had shifted towards him. Just how he liked it.
Over at the DC booth, Ben Affleck shook his head. “What an idiot,” he said, “you’re not actually supposed to pick the hammer up.”
“Interesting,” Gal Gadot said, “I feel like I know him from somewhere. Does he look familiar to you, Jason?”
But Jason said nothing. His eyes were transfixed on the smoking hot jock with the dumb smile, flexing and posing for pictures with the hammer. Jason shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His dick was harder than it had been in ages, and he felt his briefs grow wet as a bit of pre cum leaked out and through his jeans.
“Well well well, looks like we’ve finally found someone WORTHY!” the announcer clapped Hank on the back, showing him off to the crowd, “what’s your name son?”
“Um… it’s Hank, bro. What’s yours?”
The announcer laughed. Clearly this guy wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was a hit with the crowd. “Well Hank,” he continued, “judging by your t-shirt, I’d say you’re a pretty big Marvel fan. Is there any particular star you’ve been wanting to meet?”
The question stubbed Hank (as most questions did), so he said the first name that came to his mind.
“I don’t know bro… Jason Momoa is pretty cool.”
Jason shot up at the mention of his name. The crowd “ooo’d.” The announcer gave a nervous laugh. “I think you might have the wrong studio—“
“What?” Jason said, sauntering down from the booth and over towards the stage. He ignored Ben and Gal’s hisses for him to “stay back” and “stop,” instead marching forward with a passion and a lust burning in his chest. “There’s nothing wrong with a little cross-over now and then!”
Jason knew he had said those words before, but when? He pushed the question to the back of his mind, and jumped up on the stage to snap a picture with Hank. The crowd cheered wildly as the two men gave identical thumbs up, and when the cameras were done snapping, Jason handed him a signed autograph.
“Here,” Jason said with a wink, “read it.” He walked back over to his co-stars, who were both annoyed and amused by the kind gesture. Hank didn’t hesitate. He opened up the flooded piece of paper, expecting an autograph.
Instead, it was a note:
Marriot. Room 413. Tonight. Be there.
-Jason
The sun had dipped beyond the horizon. The day had ended, and so began the mass migration out of the convention center and across the train tracks. Thousands of people making their way back to their hotels. To rest, to eat, and to prepare for the next day of shopping, sightseeing, and signings.
Among them was Chris Pratt. He was exhausted, having grown tired of signing autographs for every other person he passed, or having to take pictures with every single guy in a Star-Lord cosplay. Chris bought himself an Iron Man mask at one of the t-shirt towers, and went the rest of the day incognito. He had completely underestimated how trying it can be being a celebrity at a big convention. On top of that he still couldn’t find Hemsworth. He’d been over to the Marvel booth, Hall H, and every spot he might have been, and he was nowhere to be found. It was almost as if he vanished.
And the worst part? Chis was horny as all hell. The beast in his pants would not quit poking at his jeans. He needed release. He needed it soon.
So, like everyone else, Chris decided to head back to the Marriot. Perhaps he’d hop on Grindr, make some guy’s night. Perhaps he would just jack off. But before he did any of that, he decided to check Chris Hemsworth’s room one more time. Maybe he had gone back. Maybe he had been there all along.
Chris reached the fourth floor. He headed down the hall to room 413. And just as he was about to knock, he noticed: the door was open.
Just a crack. Enough to hear moans and groans emanating from the other side. With a light shove, Chris pushed the door open and stepped inside. His jaw dropped.
“Aw yeah… fuck me bro! Just like that…”
Hank’s ass made wet slapping sounds at Jason Momoa continually shoved his cock in and out of the jock’s hungry hole. His thighs quivered and his dick twitched. This was a nerd’s fantasy come true. Everything Hank had ever wanted, packed into 9 inches and shoved up his ass. He was being pounded by the hottest guy on the planet. He was being fucked by Aquaman.
He looked up. Some guy was standing in the doorway, gawking.
“Lookin’ for something bro?” Hank said, smiling stupidly.
Jason looked up. He recognized Pratt almost instantly. He stopped, slipped his wet cock out of Hank’s ass, and jumped off the bed.
“How did you get in here man,” Jason said. He was even more imposing in real life. Chris stumbled back as the huge Somoan man inched closer and closer.
“I’m… looking… Hemsworth?”
Jason laughed. “Wrong room.” By now, his erect penis was pressing up against Pratt’s jeans. He could smell the hot sex burning off Jason’s dark skin. He could smell the jock slut he was fucking off his musky breath.
It was too much for him to take. He felt his cock inflate in his jeans. It gently pressed up against Jason’s already rock solid boner, and he took immediate notice.
He smiled, “looks like we have a Guardians of the Galaxy crossover cumming up, if you know what I mean.” Chris could only nod. Jason laughed. “You’re going to have to get rid of Batman though.” Chris looked down at his Batman t-shirt.
Suddenly, he remembered. It was a gift, from his girlfriend Nancy. She’d gone to Comic-Con the previous year and brought it back for him, told him to wear it when he went for the first time.
But wait… my girlfriend’s not named Nancy… I don’t have a girlfriend! I have a wife! Her name is…
But before he could remember that, Jason was kissing him. His taste was overwhelming; rough, salty and wild. Like the ocean. He drank deep from Chris’ lips, and for that moment, he forgot everything he was trying to remember. Jason’s arms came up and peeled the shirt from his skin, unveiling the massive chest he had grown earlier that day.
Jason gave it a playful pat. “Damn man,” he said, shaking his head, “we’re going to have fun with you tonight.”
“We?”
Jason moved behind Chris and pushed him towards the bed, where Hank was moaning quietly, awaiting the next dick. He crawled forward on his elbows, his face just inches away from the hard dick still trapped in Pratt’s jeans. Chris didn’t even have to do anything. Jason was already reaching around and undoing his belt, his titanic chest pressed up against the superstar’s exposed back. It was as hot and hard as lava rock.
“Mmmm,” Chris groaned. There was a *click and his pants fell to the floor. A familiar blast of cool air swept over his dick, but was quickly vanquished as Hank took the cock in his mouth and swallowed it whole. “FUCK!”
All the while, Jason was kissing Pratt’s back. He made his way down… down… down to the crack of his ass. While Hank continued to give Chris the blowjob of a lifetime, Jason opened his cheeks and shoved his face inside.
It was unlike anything Chris—or Daniel—had ever felt. Both guys on him, from either side, the sloppy warmth of Hank’s mouth sheething his dick, and the furious tickling of Jason’s gruff beard against his sensitive hole.
He looked down at Hank’s ass. Still red and raw from Jason’s dick, Chris leaned forward and started to finger it. Hank moaned, loud. He was ready for another fuck. He needed another fuck.
“Here,” Chris said, “get on the bed.” Hank looked up at him with hungry eyes, and for a second, Chris recognized them. They were the same eyes of the guy who had run into him outside earlier that day. It was the same guy.
Meanwhile, Hank was starting to see the recognition too. He was starting to wonder what he had been doing, how he had gotten in a room with both Chris Pratt and Jason Momoa. But it was tough to focus on those questions when both celebrities were making out with each other on the bed. Hank got on his back, stroking his dick seductively as Chris and Jason continued to kiss.
As he was kissing him, Chris started to notice something strange. Jason’s beard was… shrinking. There was no other way to describe it. Instead of a large bush of hair scratching his face, the man was now sporting a thin layer of scruff. It felt perfect against his cheek, which he also realized was starting to feel more and more bare.
“Fuck him,” Jason whispered with the slightest hint of and Aussie accent. He nodded to Hank, who looked a lot more like a hungry, horny Henry Cavil now that his face was in the light. Chris smiled, and scooted across the bed so that his dick was just inches from the man’s ass.
“Ready?” Chris asked. Henry nodded, and he guided it inside.
His head shot back. His mouth agape. A moan escaped his lips, and just as it did, Chris felt something else up against his own asshole.
He didn’t even have time to process Jason’s dick before it was balls deep inside of him. Chris had to stop fucking for a second to adjust to having something so large enter his butt so quickly. But the pain was soon replaced by pleasure. Daniel had never been fucked before. But goddamn it was amazing.
Jason pounded the young man’s ass, watching as his muscles began to subside, his body growing lighter. By now, it was easier to see Henry on the other side, moaning and writhing as his ass was decimated with the force of two men. “Fucking hell,” Jason said. His voice was softer, lighter. And was that accent… Australian?
“I’m close!” It was Henry who said it. Daniel felt his body tense around his dick. He watched the superman’s muscles grow tight, preparing to erupt. Cavil threw his head back. bared his teeth, and screamed: “AGGGGGGGHHHH!”
White hot spunk splattered all over his chiseled chest. It clung to his hairy pecs, and dripped onto his newly grown beard. He was the same man who’d bumped into Daniel at the beginning of the day. And now, Daniel was about to give him his load.
“Me too!” Daniel said. Between the tension around his dick and the tension inside his ass, it was too much to keep it in any longer. He closed his eyes, felt his body grow numb, and with one final yelp, he shot his load inside of Henry Cavil’s ass. Henry moaned as the warm fluid filled his sphincter, and brought a hard muscled hand up to stroke Daniel’s chest as the young man rode out the monumental orgasm.
It was so monumental, that he could barely feel Jason tensing up behind him. Except that “Jason” didn’t look too much like Jason now. His skin was softer, lighter, as was his hair. He felt the orgasm cuming, and as soon as he did, he pulled out of Daniel.
“On your back,” he demanded. Daniel obeyed, snuggling up to Henry, who was jerking his still-hard dick, on the other side of the bed. Daniel watched as Chris Hemsworth, the man who’s smiled and signed his autograph for him just hours ago, jumped off the bed and walk over to his side. He brought his big, Aussie cock just inches from Daniel’s face, and smiled. “Ready?”
Daniel nodded. And with that, Chris gave two final strokes, and exploded.
“GGGRRAAAAAGGGGGHHH!” Daniel felt something hot and sticky plaster his face. Chris’ dick continued to spew cum, until Daniel could barely see. He brought a hand up to wipe the spunk from his eyes. When he did, he saw Chris Hemsworth towering over him, his naked muscular body covered in cum and sweat, and a sweet smile curving at the corners of his mouth. “Wow,” he said with a laugh, “what a day.”
“Yeah,” Daniel smiled, “what a day…”
The question as to “what happened” lingered heavy over the three men for the rest of the night. And yet nobody dared ask. Needless to say, that day at the convention had been the adventure of a lifetime, a memory they would all treasure for years to come.
They all slept in that same bed, huddled in each other’s arms, still buzzing from the intensity of their respective orgasms. And then when the sun rose, they got dressed, and said their goodbyes. Henry and Chris would likely see each other again, due to the nature of their professions, but for Daniel, this was it.
As they were getting dressed, Chris handed Daniel his Batman t-shirt from the floor. Daniel shook his head. “Keep it,” he said, “something to remember me by.”
Chris smiled, and put on the shirt himself. It fit perfectly over his tall, muscular body. He looked down at the yellow insignia. “I guess I’m going to get in big trouble at Marvel for wearing this.”
“Why?” Daniel said, slipping on Chris’ shirt in exchange, “there’s nothing wrong with a little cross-over now and then.” Chris smiled, and gave him one final kiss.
EPILOGUE
“Who’s Jason?” Tom asked, holding up the water bottle to Chris as he packed his suit case.
Chris shook his head, pretending not to know. “No idea,” he said, “might be one of the cleaning people.”
“Weird cleaning people…” Tom said, inspecting the blue tape on the side. He shrugged, placed the water bottled down, and continued to go through Chris’ stuff. It was astonishing how much crap he had gathered over the last couple days, a giant Thor hammer, a signed autograph from Jason Momoa, an Avengers tank top. Hell, he even bought the same logo Batman t-shirt as that guy who had come up to him at the signing.
But as Tom was packing his clothes, he noticed something lurking under the bed. He leaned down, carefully reading the text on the front.
“Hey, Chris?” he said.
“Yeah buddy?”
“… Never mind.” Tom said. He snatched up the pin and placed it in his pocket.
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