FSE

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Rock Bottom

Written by Leo_Todrius

Supported by my Patrons

Four forty seven. The bluish white numbers radiated the cold, hard truth from the depths of black mesh on the smart speaker. The floor to ceiling glass wall of the apartment offered an unobstructed view of the city beyond. The sky was painted in beautiful and conflicting shades of amber and periwinkle, a hazy blanket capturing the spillover of street lights and office buildings. Even in the middle of the night, there seemed to be no rest, no peace, no escape. Cars still filtered through the streets, lights glittered from the sky scrapers, and the distant blinking lights flashed from a helicopter hovering over a good story for another day's news. It seemed like it would have been the perfect night for rain, but no drops fell. The cement far below was dry. Only Ben's cheeks were wet.

The tears were selfish ones, a rare indulgence in a life spent in the care and betterment of others. They were also fleeting. Ben felt as if he should have been crying a river of tears for lost opportunity, for the anguish of squandered potential. His veins had been poisoned by nostalgia. Memory was, after all, a sickly sweet drug. Another heavy, weary, lingering sigh escaped Ben's lips. He'd tried to fall asleep, to rest and recharge and clear his head. Once again he'd failed. His mind was trapped on a treadmill, an endless spiral.

Thirty seven years old... The thought sickened him. How could it be that he felt so old and so young at the same time? He could remember high school and college as if it was yesterday. To say that it had been heaven on Earth wouldn't have done it justice. He had built true joy, true friendships, and a plethora of amazing memories. Ben wouldn't have traded anything for those experiences. The only regrets he had from that time were not coming out of the closet, not pursuing love, and perhaps not going out as many nights as he should have. Those regrets were tiny and easy to live with since the rest had been so perfect. What wasn't easy was the fact that almost thirteen years had passed since those times had ended.

How was that possible? How was it that it had almost been as much time since college ended as it had taken him to get to college in the first place? How was it that the good times in his life accounted for such a small percentage? The answer was a dark, bitter, dangerous one. He had lived the life of the perfect son; selfless, compassionate, empathetic and caring. When others had been learning who they were and setting down the foundations of their future lives, he'd been making sure his mother wasn't worrying, that she was eating, that her needs and whims were met. It had been tedious before college. It had been laborious after.

Ben rolled from his back to his side, looking out of the window at the city beyond, feeling that moment distilled into an eternity. It had been such a steep slope. It all felt so... unfair. From the very beginning, he had tried to make everyone happy and do anything he could to fix any problem. The problem was that if you started by giving everything you had to someone, there was no outcome other than resentment when they constantly asked for more and more without giving anything in return. The accolades of being touted to others as the best son ever felt hollow and empty. By the end, everything had felt like mechanical obligation, a duty to fulfill. Now that it was gone, that was the truly terrifying part.

If having such easy access to his memories of youth made Ben feel young, it was the weight of the rest of his life that made him feel so old. Thirty seven years old, two hundred and eighty pounds, six feet tall, thinning brown hair, a medium beard and a soul so old it felt ancient. A fleeting smile crossed Ben's lips as he thought about how energetic he'd been as a child, even as a teenager. He'd pushed through a lot of problems by sheer determination and will power, but now? Now it felt like the fuel tank was empty. No, it was more than that. He'd hit empty a long time ago.

After a long, drawn out struggle that had taken far more time than it should have, where was he? He'd thrown away his brief but brilliant career to do what any perfect son should. He hadn't been able to be the kind of friend he wanted to for what felt like an eternity. When the weight of obligation was lifted, there was so little left in its shadow. He'd only gone on a handful of dates and they'd all been terrible. Another weary sigh. That was the problem with not coming out because of what one's parents might say, but had there been another choice? The breadcrumbs of bigotry had led to only one decision. Even that choice had been a selfless one. If they had known he was gay, they would have felt like failures as parents.

A wave of disgust prompted Ben to sit up from bed, huffing with frustration. He leaned forward, hands resting on his bare legs, only a pair of boxers to protect his modesty. Even that wasn't enough to vent his frustration that swirled through him in tepid, almost boiling rage. Ben sprung up to his size fifteen feet and began to pace. The bare soles padded across the worn out carpeting. What was the point of it? No job, drowned in five flavors of debt. He had taken care of others to the point that he had neglected to figure out a future for himself and now it felt too late. Even his career had been a means to an end, just a way to pay the bills, and he'd lost even that much.

Ben maneuvered his way through the apartment, weaving between the collected detritus of his mother's life. Even that seemed like an insurmountable burden pushed onto his shoulders. One more obligation, one more duty, one more thing to clean up... He reached the far end of the apartment, coming to a stop before a wood and glass display cabinet situated by the front door. His mother had called it the 'Shell Cabinet' given that it was stuffed from floor to ceiling with a lifetime's worth of collected seashells. Of the whole display, there was only one element that was his, tucked in a corner. He lifted the glass panel to the third shelf down, reached in and withdrew a smooth, heavy, dark grey stone.

The rock was heavier than it should have been, feeling almost like metal despite clearly being stone. It was smooth, almost as if it had been polished. Ben's right hand closed around it as his left closed the shell cabinet. He turned around and walked back to the window, looking out over the city. His hand still clutched the stone, his body heat slowly warming it. Ben thought Just like everything else that had been truly his, it had been tucked away and hidden for a lifetime. It was a memory of the few years he could go on adventures with friends, to explore ruins, to find a memento.

Ben's hand tightened around the stone, squeezing it with all his might until the blood drained from his knuckles and they turned white. He squeezed until his fingertips pulsed with what little blood was making it all the way to the extremities. Why did he have to endure so much for so long when his heaven on Earth had been so fleeting and so far behind him? The rage built in Ben's heart until he could take no more - or rather, the rock couldn't. In a split second, the stone cracked like an egg. The outer shell splintered inward, expelling a thick, oddly warm gray slime to squish between Ben's fingers. He looked down at his hand with more than just a little shock. He'd always assumed the relic was solid. He'd held it countless times. He'd even tossed it around... To think, all this time, that it had a gooey center? What if it wasn't a rock? What if it was something else? Just what had he gotten all over himself?

Ben turned and headed to the kitchenette, trying not to drip the slime anywhere. So far the goo had only clung to him, though it did seem to be dribbling along his forearm. Ben made it to the sink and reached out, opening his hand to drop what was left of the stone. Nothing fell from his palm. In fact, as soon as he opened his fingers, there was no sign of it. There was nothing but the slime. Ben shook his head in confusion and opened his hand, spreading his fingers. Gooey strings of slime stretched out between them and as his fingers came back together, the slime squished out more.

"Great..." Ben muttered to himself, grabbing a paper towel with his left hand. He brought it down to try and wipe the slime off, but when the paper touched the slime, it just slid off. Ben was confused and tried again, but the paper towel did nothing. It didn't pick up a single fleck. "Absorbent my ass." Ben muttered in more dismay. Despite the risk to the plumbing, Ben decided he had no other choice. He turned the water on as hot as he could get it and put his goo covered mit under the stream. The water beaded up on the slime and rolled off the surface, not even putting a dent into it.

Hydrophobic... That had been the phrase that Ben remembered from his school days. His head ached. Not only had he gone without sleep, but he'd skipped more than a fair share of meals. Now he was facing some sort of geology crisis. Ben reached out with his left hand, trying to scoop the slime off of his fingers. He managed to squish it around, but it didn't come off.

Confusion was starting to become panic. Ben turned and started to wildly shake his hand, trying to fling the slime off. The fast motion only succeeded in getting the goo to completely coat his fingers, palm, wrist and forearm. In frustration Ben let out a yell of rage, balled up his fist and brought it down, slamming it onto the cutting board. The wood splintered as if it had been struck by an ace, toppling apart as Ben's first hit the counter with a thud.

For a moment, there was no movement. Eventually, Ben looked down at the firm, hard, stone gauntlet that had hit the counter... But it wasn't a gauntlet or a glove. It wasn't a coating. It was... his hand? Ben lifted it up and slowly unballed his fist - a fist that was easily twice its original size. The fingers that unfurled were dark gray, thick, and tipped with sharp, slightly curved talon-like points. It wasn't slime. It wasn't stone. It wasn't quite flesh, although it was closer to that than anything. Ben lifted his hand and looked at it. There were black and light gray freckles in the pigment, almost like granite. There were creases and lines in his palms, and there were fingerprints... of a sorry. They weren't human fingerprints, not anymore. They were angular, looking almost like some sort of grip texture.

"What is this?" Ben whispered to himself, looking at the edge of the dark flesh. It graduated into his own skin, tapering off and shifting tone as the pigmentation tinted lighter and lighter. He stared at the would be seam, at the edge of the changed flesh, but the edge wasn't a defined position. It was moving... and it was moving fast. Ben grunted suddenly as his arm ached and throbbed. He suddenly grabbed onto the counter for support, his claws digging into the laminate, slicing it like a hot knife through butter. The counter creaked as his strong, powerful fingers began to compress on the material beneath.

Ben's eyes squeezed shut as he panted and groaned, feeling oddly warm, oddly stiff,and oddly... aroused. His muscles ached as if he'd gone through the hardest workout of his life. His head pounded. His chest rose and fell with breath, although it seemed to be doing more rising than falling. The gray contamination spread up his right arm, passing his elbow. As it did, the bone burned and ached and throbbed until the flesh began to stretch, tightening as something beneath the surface moved outward. The perfect curved bone began to push outward, taking on a bump that eventually became a point. It sloped back behind his elbow, almost like some sort of guard for the joint.

It was hard to think, but there was no point staying in the kitchen if whatever this was wasn't going to wash off. Ben stumbled back through the apartment, knocking over a stack of mismatched blankets to the floor. He huffed and grunted, returning to his bed, returning to the view of the city. He grunted suddenly, doubling over, panting harder. He huffed and panted, looking down at his belly and his man boobs. As he watched, crumpled over and compressed, he saw his chest rising up. The thick, round water balloon like mounds of flesh began to harden. Their mass was changing, flattening a little but growing wider. The fat was restructured, almost burning with heat as the boobs became pecs. His nipples hardened with stimulation before growing darker and darker, turning from pink to brown and then grey.

"Fuck..." Ben murmured, shocked, even amazed by the change. It felt so strange, so good, so... Words failed him, especially as his own scalp began to do more than just tingle. One of Ben's biggest shames had been the fact that since he had turned thirty, his hair had been thinning. The brown strands got thinner and thinner, both in their mass as well as their number. A bald spot had formed on the back of his head that he tried not to think about, but now... now there was no denying it. His oily, messy hair began to contract, withdrawing. Centimeter by centimeter, inch by inch. It pulled back as if on some sort of reverse time lapse video. The hair plunged inward, spreading out his bald spot across his head. The ring grew larger and larger until it reached the sides of his head, then the back, and finally what passed for bangs.

Ben felt the cool apartment air on his hot, bald scalp. His clawed hand flexed and clenched before it reached up, running over his large, round, full belly. Ben looked up at the window, catching the faintest of reflections. His bald head looked... good? His belly looked huge... His pecs were meaty... Somewhere in the strange soup of self doubt and hopelessness was a momentary flash of pride. Like an ember landing in a dried out forest, it began to take. The pride grew as Ben looked at his reflection, only more encouraged as his cheeks and chin darkened with the shadow of stubble.

For every hair that had sunk into Ben's scalp, several in his beard had grown. Strand after strand pushed out longer. His rosy, full figured face darkened with new stubble as the beard crept up higher. The ends were coarse and blunt from keeping the edges neat, but as the strands pushed out they began to soften. Ben stood before his reflection, seeing himself in a strange new light. He had always been big, but in a way that he tried to hide from before. But now? He had a mighty belly, manly pecs, a thickening beard... his skull glistened, and he had the hand of a beast, a monster, a creature...

Ben closed his eyes without clenching them. It was the first time in what felt like months. He let his mind float for a moment, drifting in his own body, feeling the strength and heat and power of his new arm. He closed and opened his clawed fingers before he reached over and groped his left pectoral with it. The leathery skin felt tough and firm, more than enough to squeeze the meaty pec. The flesh beneath responded by darkening at once, taking on a dark gray hand print. Ben pulled his hand back, looking at the hand print, watching it start to spread.

Whatever seed had started to grow in Ben was accelerating. He murmured softly, moving his jaw side to side as he felt a strange pressure shifting in his skull. His pec hardened, the skin growing tougher than leather as the gray pigment spread. Once more the changing man looked at his powerful hand, his wicked grip, his claws. It was so alien and so good at the same time. It was as if... Ben wasn't even sure how to complete the thought. Was this destiny? Was this a purpose? Was this a fluke chance? Whatever it was, it felt good... Too good for the apartment. This wasn't a moment that belonged to anyone else. This was his moment.

Ben walked to the sliding glass door on the side of the apartment with steady, heavy steps. The spreading change crept up Ben's arm, wrapping around his biceps and triceps as they began to push out, firming and hardening just as much as the tough skin that now covered them. More of the gray spread across the valley between his pecs, starting to lay claim to the other mountain of flesh. The clawed hand gripped the sliding glass door and slid it open, allowing Ben to step out.

The cool wind blew across his bare, bald head and ruffled through his thickening, lengthening beard. He stood in nothing more than his boxers, though they were starting to tent as blood rushed to his groin. While he'd seldom had any chance to show off his assets, his manhood had at least been delightfully thick. As it got harder and harder, it was pushing towards the all time record for personal length. Ben stood there on the balcony, surrounded by nothing but the open air and the view.

Somewhere in the distance there was a siren, somewhere up above the steady thumping of the helicopter blades. Just a few lonely souls and a city of the sleeping masses. It was almost elegant in the peacefulness, the quiet, the stillness. It had all felt too distant, too big for Ben before, but now... something about the change made him feel as if he was up to the task, up to being a creature of the night - although no creature ran around in bargain brand underwear.

A darkening tongue slipped across his lips, wetting them before the claws slipped under the waistband of his shorts. The material was drawn down and his cock flopped upright, wobbling under its own turgid arousal. With one more tug, he pulled the waistband wide enough for it to flutter down from his waist, landing on the balcony floor around his feet. Ben looked down at his exposed shaft for a mere moment before he grabbed it with his leathery grip, throwing his head back and letting out a hiss as he felt the change seep into his manhood. The blood had made his shaft red but soon it turned purple and then gray, surging outward in length and width all at once.

Some small, fleeting part of Ben's brain recoiled at the fact that he was standing naked on his balcony, jacking off while he turned into some sort of monster... but the voice grew quieter and quieter until it was gone. Clawed fingers slid up and down the fat, thick club like gray cock. He pumped it as if he was trying to inflate something, and in a way he was; himself. Ben's hips thrust forward and back, pushing his cock through his paw, grunting and growling and moaning. His cock edged longer and longer, pushing past eleven inches, then twelve, then fourteen, then sixteen. It was too big for just one paw even if it was a huge one, so Ben did what felt natural and added a second.

The moment that Ben's left hand touched his monster cock, it was immediately stained gray. The pigment spread up from the point of contact, taking root in his fingers. His nails darkened from ivory to tan before taking on the same gray. The nails grew thicker as fast as they grew longer, pushing out from his fingers, curving and taking on points. The flesh beneath grew irritated and inflamed as it attached itself to the claws, giving them a true anchor.

Ben could feel his heart thumping harder than it ever had, pushing tainted blood through new flesh. His left hand swelled larger, wider, thicker. The gray seeped across the back of his hand, then up his wrist. Tendrils of pigment snaked through his skin before fanning out, bleeding together and darkening still. Vellus hairs fell away from his forearms, leaving them as smooth as living stone. The male threw his head back, groaning hard, working his python of a cock. It was thicker than a soda can. The base was the same monotone gray that was consuming his body, but the fat, round head was a purple-black from the blood pooling there.

A sharper wind blasted across the balcony, but Ben still felt as hot as molten steel. His pecs were rock hard. The corruption trickled down, sliding over his rotund belly and wrapping beneath his arms. While the vellus hair fell from his belly, the brown hair beneath his arms turned black, growing thicker and tougher. What had begun as wisps soon became tufts. More hairs sprouted, growing longer and longer, obscuring the flesh beneath entirely.

While the spreading corruption turned Ben into some sort of monster, he only felt his masculinity growing stronger. The fat he'd been ashamed of was a source of pride. The thinning hair he'd been trying to hold on to was liberating now that it was gone, and the beard he'd kept in check for his whole life was extruding out from his face steadily, adding on inch after inch. The gray pigment climbed up his thick neck, coating his Adam's apple, the flesh growing tougher over his carotid artery, exposing the lumps of his spine as they stacked up into his skull. As the pigment reached his beard, the brown hair began to turn black. The paler color was chased away from root to tip.

Ben writhed and wriggled, enjoying the transformation. He felt it slide over his chin like he was sinking into a warm bath. As the gray slipped up over the tip of his chin, the dark black beard was punctuated by two spots of silver on either side of his mouth. At first they were tiny dots, but the streaks descended down inch after inch, distinct in the otherwise dark beard even as the trailing edge tickled the tops of his firm, fat pecs.

"Fuck..." Ben muttered, grunting as a glob of precum erupted from his fat cock, followed soon after by a steady stream. The clear goo dribbled out, falling into a puddle on the balcony floor. Each double-fisted thrust of his hands jerked his cock, flinging pre in thick webs across the glass guard wall. His gray cock was impressive, jutting out well past his belly. It had dwarfed his balls by comparison, at least until the corruption had spread to them. The wrinkled flesh turned from pale peach to dark gray. The skin relaxed, growing looser. The wrinkles faded as the sack made room, and as if no longer restrained, Ben's balls began to swell.

Thu-thump. A heartbeat. Thu-thump, another. His balls responded accordingly, growing to the size of large kiwis on the first and farm fresh eggs the second. Ben was an animal in heat, feeling the urges saturate his brain. The front of his torso had been converted, the grey flesh seeping along the underside of his belly before connecting to the gray around his huge cock and leathery sack. The corruption closed in around Ben's right shoulder, the firm flesh hardening even further as another bump formed, erupting from the smooth slope in a sharp angle, honing and curving into a claw like horn. His left arm had grown an elbow spike to match the first.

Bones creaked, ligaments popped, muscles stretched. Ben had by all measures always been a large man, but it seemed as if the corruption had inspired a second puberty. His toes wriggled as his heels broadened and his feet widened. His legs ached with faint growing pains as they grew longer for the first time in almost twenty years. Even his smooth back was shifting. Grey streaks spilled across his shoulders, flowing from his darkened pits and his thick neck. The corruption wrapped around his ribs from his belly. The canvas of his back was painted gray and his spine began to push outward, tiny bumps rising to the surface as his vertebrae became more distinct and more dangerous.

Hard, hot, lewd friction produced rough sounds as clawed fingers assaulted furious flesh. His cock dribbled copious, unending amounts of pre. His balls swung, hanging lower and fuller each movement. He looked like another man, or rather another creature. He was gray from chin to knee and the changes weren't slowing down. The gray trickled down his legs. The last pale portion of his shoulder was subsumed as a shoulder spike emerged from his left side to match the first. The corruption climbed up Ben's cheeks and spread across his lips, turning them a darker shade of gray than his skin.

It was hard to ignore the tingling, even burning as his flesh was changed. Ben's ears ached and burned, the bases tapering in and losing their roundness. The gray slipped up along the lobes. The cartilage nearly hummed as it stretched the skin over it, climbing up into a distinct pointed edge on each side. Ben's nostrils flared as his nose grew leathery and tough. The pigment spilled in around his eyes, his orbital bones swelling thicker and fuller, pushing out in a more pronounced stance. The man's smooth, manly skull darkened as the corruption spread over the surface unabated.

As the last bastions of humanity were erased from Ben's head, he grunted. His swollen brow furrowed, his lips pulled back to reveal his canine teeth were lengthening and sharpening. As tough and firm and thick as his gray leathery skin was, it was growing irritated as his temples began to swell. The flesh above his temples went from being as hard as leather to as hard as stone, swelling outward into curved horns.

The heat inside Ben should have been reaching its zenith as the corruption coiled around his ankles, spread across his feet, claimed his toes and erupted out of the tips with sharp, wicked claws. Each digit was fatter, stronger, longer and tipped with a deadly weapon. He had been changed from head to toe, every inch of his body now gray. He'd been refined as a man, finally embracing his bald head and full beard, his round belly and fat ass... but something was missing, something was incomplete.

The sexual pleasure coming from Ben's new fuck tool was starting to be dwarfed by that uncertainty. Frustration grew until his fang filled mouth snarled. His eyes clenched shut before they opened. A glowing, molten amber light burned its way out from the center of his pupils, eroding away the bluish green irises until the entire surface was emanating that yellow glow. Despite his frustration, Ben hadn't let go of his cock. Both clawed paws worked his meat furiously. It was thanks to that repetitive motion that Ben realized his changes weren't over, at least not yet.

It was subtle at first - a change in his center of gravity. His back and forth motion illuminated more weight forming along his backside. His huge, clawed feet had to shift a few inches to keep him balanced. His ass cheeks clenched and unclenched, swelling fuller and rounder. More meat bulked out beneath the leathery hide. As the orbs bloated wider, they pulled apart and revealed a bit of anatomy that had not been there before.

A nub began pushing out from the cleft of Ben's ass cheeks. It had been a natural extension of his tailbone, liberated from its static existence. Unchanged for nearly forty years, the old bones were supplemented by new ones. They pushed apart slowly at first, making room for new segments in between, but once the shift had started, it accelerated. While usually more unyielding than Ben's human flesh had been, his new darkened flesh almost took on a rubber like consistency along his tailbone as it emerged. It rose outward almost like an erect shaft, the new bones stretching the dark coating out little by little. Deep seeded tingling spread across the appendage as ligaments, tendons and muscles wrapped around the extension.

Ben huffed through his fangs as his tail began to wriggle and writhe, an extension of his inner feelings. It grew faster and fuller by the moment, putting the impressive growth of his cock to shame. It surged outward, growing longer and longer, almost resembling a snake as it coiled and uncoiled, descending downward. As awkward as it was, and as hard as it was to figure out just how to control it, Ben could feel the tail adding another degree of balance. Just the slightest shift to one side or the other, even its angle up and down helped to modify his stance... and it helped to triangulate the last change, the last point of transformation growing in his back.

At first it felt like his shoulders were stiff, but then the weight grew. It spread across his back and down his spine. The perfectly firm, full, sculpted muscles began to grow indistinct, then lumpy, then swollen. Ben growled, drool dripping from his fangs and his cock both. His claws stretched longer and sharper, his now four-foot long slashed from side to side, growing wider at the base. He snarled and growled. His back bubbled and broiled, the leathery skin barely hanging on.

The pressure mounted, the sensations grew. There was wriggling, straining, stretching. At the end Ben couldn't handle it one second longer. He let go of his cock, threw his arms to the side, stood upright and let out a window rattling roar. The stretched flesh on his back paled and dried out just before it snapped and fell away, allowing two enormous gray wings to unfurl. The wingspan easily stretched beyond the width of the apartment balcony, knocking a potted plant off the edge.

That had been it - the culmination, the flash point, the end goal. The burning fire inside of Ben ebbed a bit. His body stood there, large and in charge. He'd added on two feet of height, a few hundred pounds of muscle, and many inches of length to his cock. His tail slithered back and forth behind him, his wings pulling back in to fold up in modest repose. Ben looked at his arms, his belly, his cock. He reached his clawed hands up to feel his horns, his smooth head, his pointed ears.

With the heat of the corruption cooling down just a little, he was left to wonder and feel awe over the transformation. Ben turned slowly, looking back at the glass behind him, catching a faint reflection. He reached up, raking his clawed fingers through his nipple length black beard, admiring the silver streaks. He looked hot - no, he looked sexy. He was amazing and he was something else. The word bubbled up from his early studies in mythology and architecture - gargoyle. That idea filled Ben with even more questions. What would happen when the sun rose? How long would he live? Had that stone held that corruption all this time? As Ben wondered those questions, though, his glowing amber eyes shifted. They looked beyond his reflection and into the apartment he had come from.

That ache, that raw wound, and all of the mounting resentment was swirling around inside. For the first time, though, Ben was standing outside of it. He was on the balcony, apart from the weight of his past. He looked at the mess, at the obligation, at the memories... He didn't want to take that mantle on again. He didn't want to return to life as it had been. Whatever had happened, whatever that stone had been, it gave him a fresh start. He was a new man, a new beast. He was sexy as fuck and he wasn't going to hide that any longer.

A clawed hand gripped the guard wall before a huge foot joined it. Ben's wings stretched out as he climbed up onto the steel beam between glass panels. He steadied himself for a moment, glowing amber eyes looking outward across the city. He took in the view from his home one last time before he tipped himself forward, letting his center of gravity pass the point of no return. As ben slipped over the edge, his wings fanned out, catching the air he was crashing through. Despite his mass, his wings were large enough and strong enough to carry him away from his apartment, away from his old life. The gargoyle soared out into the city and his new life.

****

The sound of the subway grew louder and louder as the transport accelerated before ebbing again, falling away like a wave that had crashed along the shore. The sounds funneled out of the stairs climbing their way to the surface, emptying out into a world that had not quite woken. The harsh fluorescent lights illuminated the walls of the bus stall, showing off the advertisements and the graffiti at the same time.

Aside from the subway coming and going, it had all been quiet for hours. No souls stirred on the surface, but it seemed the spirits were restless as a clatter came from the subway terminal. A recycling bin clattered as it was knocked over, followed by frantic footfalls. A young man sprinted up the steps, eyes bleary from a combination of fear and confusion. The blond's curly hair was shaved short on the sides and left longer in the center, showing a faint green tinge of long forgotten hair dye faded away. Gold rings dangled from his ears, and judging by the shabby way he was dressed, they were likely the most expensive things he owned.

"Where ya goin', street rat?" A holler came from behind him. The question was dripping with menace, punctuated when the recycling bin was thrown against a wall.

"I thought a fag like you would love a chance at a big ol manly cock like this!" Another hooted. The teenager reached the top of the stairs, looking both directions before he broke into a sprint. He hadn't been born in the area, but he'd been making a mental map as he tried to find good places to sleep at night.

"Maybe he's playing hard to get." The first thug smirked, reaching the top of the stairs. His baseball hat was embroidered with the same emblem of the beer that had soaked his shirt ater a particularly messy night at the bar. His black shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots had practically been a uniform for his way of life. His friend sported a mullet and a mustache rather than the hat, but his clothes were essentially the same.

"He didn't look so hard to get the other night, necking with that fairy at the back of the train." the mullet haired thug snorted.

"Maybe he paid the rat some coin for that. Is that it? You're in it for the money?" The cowboy shouted out. His eyes scanned the streets, searching for movement. It was a bit more difficult than usual given the level of alcohol swimming through his veins, but a thud of plastic in an alleyway gave the two the only clue they needed. In the alley, the homeless youth cursed his luck, standing knee deep in the murky mush of the dumpster he'd fallen into. The hinges had rusted through and the plastic lid couldn't support even his meager weight. He grabbed onto the edge to pull himself out, but yelped as two sets of hands grabbed him and yanked him out.

"Stay away, I don't want any trouble!" he squeaked, looking up at the two. He winced a bit, his back aching from where he'd landed on the cement.

"You didn't want trouble? No decent, god fearing boy sleeps in the subway..." the cowboy said, "Now I'll give you a choice. You're going to end tonight tasting cum or tasting blood. Which is it going to be?" he asked. Despite the dim light of the alley, it was all too easy to see the light glint off the pocket knife blade as it was flicked out. The teen looked up at the knife as if his whole life was reflecting in that metal. He said nothing, bracing himself for the end. He closed his eyes and awaited the coming pain, the coming darkness. When the dumpster shuddered, he gasped and opened his eyes.

At first, the homeless teen couldn't figure out what he was seeing. It was like the shadows and darkness of the alley were swirling around like an angry wind. He sat up, turning half way around as he saw the mullet haired thug jump back out of the alleyway and break into a dead run before jumping onto the chain link fence at the end, trying to climb it and get to the other side. When the young man turned back, the swirling mass of shadow had finally slowed enough to make out.

A clawed hand clutched the cowboy by his throat, lifting him off the ground by his throat. The cowboy squirmed, his hands feebly trying to pry the gray digits from his neck. His brown eyes bugged out as he looked at the face of the monster that had come out of nowhere. Ben growled, showing off his fangs. His eyes glowed with an unearthly light. The cowboy tried kicking his legs to shake loose, but it was to no avail.

"You are a waste of flesh, a blight on this city. Even your whisky soaked brain should be able to remember this warning... If you so much as glance at anyone without the proper respect, I will hunt you down and turn you inside out while you watch. Is that clear?" the deep, gravely voice growled. The cowboy blanched, soon adding urine to the list of liquids that had stained his clothing that night, but he tried to nod. Ben gave one last growl before he pulled back and then extended his arm, tossing the harasser.

The young man watched with wonder as the cowboy sailed through the air, hitting a gutter before toppling to the ground. Much to the teenager's dismay, the impact was diminished by his limp body. He managed to push himself back up to all fours, lumbering a few strides before he stumbled and fell over again. Both the gargoyle and the teenager watched until he managed to crawl out of sight. Eventually Ben turned, looking down at the young man.

"Are you alright?" Ben asked. The teen looked up at the bald, bearded, massive gargoyle.

"I am now... Thank you." he said softly.

"What's your name, kid?" Ben asked. The blond frowned.

"I'm not a kid, I'm eighteen!" he protested, "And the name is Joey." he added in a more reserved tone.

"What were you doing out here this late?" Ben asked. Joey frowned more.

"It's not like I had anywhere else to go. I was just trying to get some sleep but there isn't anywhere safe in this city. Well, at least there wasn't until now." He grinned.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ben asked. Joey reached out, sticking his arm up toward the gargoyle. Ben hesitated before he reached down, careful not to crush Joey's wrist as he got a hold of it and pulled him up to his feet. Joey dusted himself off a bit before realizing his pants were probably going to smell like garbage until he found a way to wash them.

"What I'm saying is, if I've got you looking out for me, maybe I'll be safe after all. Maybe just long enough to sleep? If you're not busy..." Joey said. Ben contemplated for a long moment, looking at the young man. His hair, his piercings, his style was something Ben would have aspired to when he was younger... but it had come at the cost of a safe and stable life. Maybe there was no shortcut, no way to have it all.

"We've only got a few hours until sunrise. I'm not... entirely sure what'll happen when the sun comes up, but I can keep you safe until then." Ben said. Joey smiled a bit more at that, walking up to Ben. He stood on his tip toes but still only managed to come to the top of the gargoyle's belly.

"Well, you can keep me safe until then, and then I'll keep you safe? How's that?" Joey asked. Ben let out a soft exhale from his lips. What was this? What was this feeling he was feeling? He'd barely been a gargoyle for an hour and intervened in a hate crime by instinct, and already he'd met someone that wasn't afraid of him? Ben looked at the young man until he gave a nod. Joey gasped as two huge, powerful, beefy arms scooped him up off the ground. Ben turned and broke into a run, picking up speed until he pushed off. His wings flapped with power, lifting the two off the ground. More flaps came, his tail acting as a stabilizer. The rose higher and higher, arching upwards.

Joey looked down in wonder, seeing the city from above for the first time. It seemed so much nicer from above, so much more inspiring. It also felt warmer, safer, and a lot more comfortable in the gargoyle's arms. Despite being the color of stone, he was warm to the touch. His skin was a bit tough, sure, but it was still nice... and the smell was clean and strong, musky and spicy with just a hint of an earthy smell. Something told him there wasn't anywhere he wanted to be other than in those arms.

****

After what had seemed like an eternity, the sun had finally crested above the horizon. The darkness had burned away, replaced by a vast sea of orange and pink. The colors were so rich that they bathed the buildings in hues that made them seem like a dream - a very nice dream. Joey had found himself sleeping in countless cold, hard areas since he'd become homeless. He'd found nooks and crannies, crawlspaces and alcoves, anything to give him the faintest sense of safety. He'd never considered the safest spot would be high above the city, high above any threat, curled up between the large, firm arm of a gargoyle and his round stone belly.

He'd had so many questions to ask Ben, but their time had been so short. As the rays of the sun stretched out across the roofs of the city, Ben's rock colored skin had hardened and petrified, turning to actual stone. Whether it was by instinct or strategy, a gargoyle looked less conspicuous near the edge of an old building. Joey had helped him get situated and stayed close as he turned to stone... and yet, even being made of rock, he was a lot softer and a lot warmer than most of the places Joey had taken as a bed.

The eighteen year old looked at the gargoyle's face, both fearsome and fearless, compassionate and curious. He looked at the smooth scalp, the dangerous horns, and how amazing his beard had translated to stone. It was like some ancient Greek bust with each curl and tuft meticulously accounted for. Joey reached up, running his hands down that stone beard to the meaty man boobs, then the stone belly and then lower.

"If I'd had someone like you in my life, I might never have wound up on the street." Joey said softly, still worn out from the previous night's adventure. He looked up at Ben's stone face for a long moment. "I don't know if you can hear me, or if you'd even say yes to my crazy idea, but for a few hours I am just going to pretend you're my dad and that we're home and ready for a long nap." Joey whispered.

When the gargoyle didn't object, Joey tilted his head and rested it against the gargoyle's stone belly. His green tinged curly mohawk fluttered in the slight breeze, but that beefy arm was as firm and anchored as anything. Joey snuggled a bit more into the body of his guardian and protector, getting as comfortable as he could. He took one last scan of the skyline beyond, appreciating the palette the sunrise had used to paint everything. With that image burned into his mind, his eyes fluttered shut.

His breathing slowed, his body relaxed. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe. Even if Ben couldn't move until morning, even if he was petrified, Joey knew he was safe there. It felt right to be in his arms, both in the fantasy of him as a dad, and perhaps in a different kind of fantasy of him as a daddy. Either way, Joey knew he would do his best to make Ben a very happy man. If there was any justice in the universe, Joey knew he would find a way to become a gargoyle too, sealing their fate and their family together.