Marcus The Remote of Transformation chapter 6 by deleted_user

Brandon’s eyes lit up like he’d just spotted half-off designer shoes. “Oh honey, it’s Marcus. Behave, boys. Especially you, new-and-improved Vince. No waving that baseball bat around unless invited.”

He swung the door open with a dramatic flourish. “Marcus, darling! You didn’t text, you just appeared. I love the chaos.”

Marcus strutted in like the apartment was his personal runway—tall, slender, with flawless dark skin, sharp cheekbones, and a perfectly faded haircut. He wore tight white jeans that hugged his long legs and a cropped graphic tee that showed off a sliver of toned midriff. Gold hoops swung from his ears, and his lips curved into that signature knowing smirk. “Bitch, I was in the neighborhood and figured my favorite roomie-with-benefits needed rescuing from these two tragic straights. Smells like regret and protein farts in here.”

Vince—still towering, still shirtless, still sporting an absurdly obvious bulge in his basketball shorts—let out a booming laugh. “Yo, Marcus! Check me out, bro. Remote came in the mail and I went full Greek god. Feel these abs. Go on, cop a feel. They’re real.”

Marcus’s gaze slid down Vince’s new physique, lingering for a appreciative second on the heavy outline of that nine-inch cock before he arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Damn. Someone hit the jackpot. You look like you could bench-press a Prius and still have energy to be annoying.” He glanced at the remote still half-hidden behind Vince’s massive back. “Wait. Did you just say ‘remote’? The shady package one? Spill.”

Paul shifted uncomfortably on the couch, cheeks pink. “It’s… complicated. We should probably put it away before—”

Too late. Vince, ever the chaos gremlin, was already grinning like a kid with fireworks. “Watch this shit.” He pointed the remote at Marcus without warning, mind racing with pure dumb fun.

Zzzzt.

Marcus jolted as the blue light washed over him. “What the—?!”

His slim frame stretched taller, shoulders broadening while his waist stayed narrow in that perfect athletic taper. Muscles carved themselves in fast-forward—defined pecs pushing against his cropped tee, arms swelling into sleek, veined biceps, legs lengthening and thickening with powerful thighs that strained the white jeans. His face sharpened even more: stronger jaw, fuller lips, a cocky glint in his dark eyes. The bulge in his jeans grew noticeably thicker and heavier, the fabric tenting obscenely as whatever Vince had pictured took hold.

Marcus blinked, then looked down at his new, jacked body—still recognizably himself, just upgraded to male-model levels with an impressive package. He ran a hand over his newly carved abs and let out a low whistle. “Well fuck me sideways. I feel… expensive.” His voice had dropped into a smooth, velvety baritone that somehow still carried all his sassy flair. He turned to Brandon with a wicked grin. “Babe, be honest. Does this new dick make my ass look fat?”

Brandon laughed, delighted, fanning himself. “It makes everything look delicious, darling. Though I do miss the old twink sway already.”

Vince howled with laughter, belly (now six-pack) shaking. “See? Fun! I just thought ‘hot upgraded Marcus with a fat cock to match mine.’ You’re welcome, bro.”

Paul buried his face in his hands, mortified but unable to look away. “Vince, you can’t just… zap people! That’s not ethical. We need rules. Consent. Something!”

Marcus flexed one arm experimentally, then gave his new bulge a casual adjustment that made it shift heavily in his jeans. “Rules? From the guy who ordered the magic reality remote? Cute.” He eyed the device in Vince’s hand, then glanced at Paul with playful menace. “My turn to play?”