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A Game to Howl About

Disclaimer

The following is a work of fiction and is not suitable for readers under the age of 18 or 21 depending on their respective countries/states. Furthermore, for audiences who do not like scenes depicting M/M sexual interactions, muscle growth, cock growth and anthropomorphic creatures, please do not read further.

You have been warned.

*******

The Wolves were playing an exceptional game. They were tearing up the field to the riotous cheers of the spectators. John stood up with the rest of the as their star player - the intimidating Dennis 'Rosco' Roswell ploughed through defensive players and slammed the ball right into the end zone.

The crowd went wild, everyone did. Even fans of the opposing team had to get up out of their seats and clench their teeth in anticipation.

It was a game-winning play. Their opposition had no chance of winning now.

"That's my boy!" John screamed, pumping a fist into the air.

Patrick - 'Pat' for short - shouted alongside him in the stands. It had taken their combined pay checks at their sucky fast food jobs to these tickets but it was well worth it. They were in the middle rows that made the players look a little like miniatures but there was no mistaking Calvin 'Creedy' Doorman who barked the ordered of the other players as they got back into position.

The rest of the game was just a formality. The opposition was defeated and there was no way they could make up the lost ground. That didn't stop the rest of the crowd cheering though as the defence kept the opposing players at midfield and never let them once get even close to scoring a point.

Damn fun game though.

"We're going to the finals!" John shouted, pumping his fist into the air.

He and Pat filed out with the rest of the crowd, everyone excitedly chatting about this play or that moment in the highlight reel. Though they were packed like sardines in the tunnels leading to the parking lot, the energy did not leave him. He was bouncing on his feet, recalling every moment that Rosco showed off his skill and strength, cleaving down the line of the opposing players and leaving the other team well in his dust.

That was the trademark of the rising new rugby team, the Sydney Wolves.

Though Sydney had its own Rugby League teams, this new team that seemingly sprang out of nowhere truly took the league by storm. No one really favoured them at the start because they only had the minimum number of players to send to the field, no backups and no safeties. Media officials constantly commented on how if one of those players were injured or thrown out of the game, it was over for the Wolves. But every player showed both resilience and determination. Bone-crushing tackles and game-ending body checks that would've taken down any normal man were shrugged off with ease.

"Did you see when Creedy got slammed and practically flipped in the air?" Pat asked, grinning broadly. "I thought it was over for sure! But then he just got back up, shook the other guy's hand and totally creamed him the next play! Fuckin' A!"

"Yeah!" John laughed. He cringed slightly at the 'F-Word'. Though he was already well past the 18 year mark, he still found swearing offensive. It was just how he was raised.

Pat was a different story. He was raised to curse. Primary school had seen him thrown to the principal's office multiple times for saying something that shouldn't be said by a 10 year old. He knew about sex before sex education came about and he had been allowed to see MA15+ movies before he even reached 15 years of age. Raised by a regular couch coach and with no mother, Pat could have turned out on the bad side of the coin; easily a punk kid doing drugs, smoking, drinking and bumming around on welfare for the rest of his short life.

Oddly enough, he didn't.

Because he found rugby league.

Rugby needed discipline, order, teamwork and social skills. Pat had aspirations to be the next rugby star and in order to do that, he needed to be clean from start to finish. No drinks, no smoking and definitely no drugs. He worked out every day when he wasn't at school or training with the team. Muscles were showing on his wiry frame and though he was a long way away from being the huge mountain of muscle he needed to be to even be considered for a role, but he had his eyes set on his goal.

As for John... Well, he wanted to be on a team as well but for entirely different reasons.

Hefting his large soda, he agreed with Pat as they finally broke out to the exterior of the stadium. As was their ritual whenever leaving any sort of venue, they immediately made a sharp right and moved perpendicular to the crowd. They had observed that people always fanned out in a vague conical shape whenever they left a stadium. It was a weird piece of social behaviour that they took full advantage of.

"Man, I wish I was on the field," Pat laughed, grinning broadly and throwing his head back. "I bet I could've made that play in half the time!"

"Are you kidding me?" John laughed, nudging his friend with his soda arm. "Rosco crossed half the field in ten seconds! You telling me you can do that in half the time?"

A mischievous spark entered Pat's eyes. "You know what? I bet I could."

Eyeing his friend suspiciously but putting up an air of mock bravado just so that he wasn't emasculated, he said. "Great. Let's head to the school's field and -"

"No way, dude. It ain't the same if it ain't on the same field." Pat hiked a thumb back at the stadium. "You game?"

"Uh..."

"What's the matter?" came the challenge, a wicked grin crossing Pat's features. "Ya chicken?" The all too expected clucking came after and despite himself John felt his blood boil.

"All right," he sighed, shoving his drink into Pat's hands. "We wait until everyone is clear then we do it."

Pat grinned triumphantly but that grin faded over the next two hours when the last of the players and the crowd left. It was well into ten PM by the time the two of them had finally managed to sneak back into the stadium, pretending to be two kids that had forgotten something in the bleachers. They waited in the tunnels to the field while the cleaning crew finished off picking up rubbish from the bleachers. When everyone was gone and the lights flicked off, Pat strutted out to the middle of the field, turning towards a weary and slightly agitated John.

"Okay, I'm Rosco," Pat announced, crouching down and pretending to be the hulking player. "You try and stop me from getting to the end zone."

"Pat..." John murmured, "this is stupid. It's late and we're here illegally. Can we just go home already? I'll even call it a draw."

"No way, man! You fucking challenged me so man up and take your loss like the pussy that you are!"

John grit his teeth. Pat was more immune to heckling and insults than he was; having had to endure 'motherless' jokes and jibes all through his life. John lived a normal life in comparison. That made his skin a little thinner than Pat's and thus easier to bait. Pat knew this. John knew that Pat knew. That didn't matter.

It worked.

"Fine. You may be Rosco but I know him better than you! I know you even better!"

"Yeah, right," Pat scoffed.

They squared off against one another, Pat grinning in the moonlight while John glared at him intently. Like lightning, Pat suddenly bolted to the right but John knew that it was a fake. He pretended to jump towards his friend but at the last moment, jerked in the opposite direction just where Pat was heading!

There was a moment of shock on Pat's face before he was off down the field with John just a second behind him! John swiped at his friend but missed by just five centimetres! He could feel the fabric of Pat's shirt on his fingertips. That attempt cost him another second and it was enough to give Pat a sizable lead!

But he knew Pat and he had just one more chance before it was all over.

They cleaved down the field, bolting past the ¾ mark. As they came to the end zone, Pat did the one thing that he always did when he was about to win; let his guard down. His friend slowed, just by the fraction of a second but it was enough. John pushed forward with the last ounce of his strength and threw himself at Pat.

Their bodies collided and they went down in a tumble, Pat letting out a startled cry as they both slammed into the well-trimmed grass.

"Ha!" John shouted. "I win!"

"Nuh-uh, fucker!" Pat laughed, rolling away from his friend. "If I had the ball, I would've cross the line! See!?"

"You just rolled over there!"

"No way!" Pat shouted, leaping to his feet.

"Wanna go again!?" John retorted, rising to the challenge.

"Fuck yeah!"

FWASH!

The stadium lights suddenly came to life, descending upon them like spotlights. Both boys froze.

The soft sound of a slow clap hit their ears and they both slowly turned. Halfway down the field, slowly approaching them, was a man dressed in a jet-black suit with his shirt collar open. He was guarded by two, massive bodyguards, bigger than any man either boy could have seen. Behind the man were the towering figures of Dennis Roswell and Calvin Doorman both in casual attire.

"That was quite the play boys," the man said, ceasing his applause. "I was wondering if you could try it again? I didn't get that good of a look with the lights off."

The two boys exchanged glances and both took a collective step back.

"Uhm..." began John.

"Ah, where are my manners," the man said, chuckling softly. "I go by many names. Some people call be The Man, Boss, Bossman, Big Guy and even Playa' if you're feeling rather street. By why don't you just call me 'the Director'."

"The Director?" repeated Pat.

"Yes. I am the owner of the Nexus Conglomerate and by extension, the NexSports company of sporting goods. That, naturally, makes me the owner of the -"

"Sydney Wolves!" John exclaimed, eyes wide. "You're the owner of the Sydney Wolves!"

"Correct." The Director folded his arms. "Now, about that play..."

John exchanged glances with Pat and shrugged. What was the harm in showing the Big Guy a play for fun? Maybe this was some sort of weird punishment for sneaking into the stadium but as far as punishments go, it wasn't so bad.

"Before you start," the Director said, holding up his hand. "I'd like Dennis and Calvin to join in."

Now there was the punishment.

"Uh... what?" Pat began shakily.

"Raw talent is something that is both hard to find and detect. Even harder to refine. Dennis said he spied some talent in you two and in order to properly gauge that, I need a suitable comparison." The Director stepped back, further into the light. "Gentlemen?"

His bodyguards shielded him from the view of the two boys as Rosco and Creedy stepped up to square off against the intruders. Though it had been hard to make out the features of the Director, the tough, grinning features of the two rugby players were very visible. Clearly, this was some form of ironic punishment.

"Pat..." John whispered. "We should just apologise and get out of here..."

"Are you kidding?" Pat replied all too loudly. "This is awesome! We get to play with our stars! I'll show Creedy that I'm just as good as he is!"

"Duuuuude..."

The hearty guffaw of Rosco interrupted them. "Don't worry you two. The Director is sincere on this one. It's an audition. Show us some talent and..." The big player shrugged. "... who knows, right?"

An audition? So there was a possibility that John Mackenzie could actually be a player for the Sydney Wolves? The little kid that was picked on in school because of his bright red hair and freckled features? Who grew up tall and lanky with every inch of muscle he gained looking so pathetic on his long arms and legs?

"Wait..." John began, frowning. "What do you mean by 'this one'?"

"Begin!" came the Director's voice over the speakers.

John was suddenly knocked off his feet and carried heftily over Rosco's huge, muscular shoulders. He screamed - a sound that became far too girly in his opinion - and flailed. Rosco's thunderous laughter echoed in his ears as the big rugby player dropped him over his shoulder and he bit the dirt. Not too far away, Pat was pinned to the ground by a much bigger Creedy, the professional player, lounging casually on his back while checking his phone.

John's cheeks burned in embarrassment.

"You weren't ready," the Director bellowed. Squinting against the light, John saw the Director in the soundbox. "Again."

John begrudgingly got to his feet and lined up next to Pat. They exchanged quick glances and waited for the signal.

"Begin."

John had no idea what he was thinking but for some reason, he just charged straight ahead and slammed hard into Rosco. His huge idol didn't even miss a step and laughed as his massive arms wrapped around John and lifted him off the ground, half-carrying, half-cradling him back towards the opposing goal line. John was heftily deposited on the ground, on his feet. To add further insult to injury, Rosco made a show of dusting John's shoulders, sides and thighs off like he was trying to make sure John wasn't hurt.

For a second, Rosco's fingers brushed against John's crotch and in that moment, he paused. John's cheeks burned as those thick, meaty fingers taunted his barely hidden erection.

Rosco smirked and kept dusting away. Alongside Creedy who had once again slammed Pat, the two players stood beside one another, ready for the next play.

"This is fucked up!" Pat growled, crouching down ready for the next time the Director called 'Begin'.

"Pat, we should just give up," John murmured, sending mental commands to his cheeks to stop burning. "No way we can get past them..."

"No way!" Pat sneered. "I ain't givin' up! We're this close -" he shouted, holding his thumb and forefinger just a few centimetres apart. "This close to getting into a professional rugby team!"

"We're twenty-one! Most professionals are already in teams by now!"

Pat turned away from him, his eyes afire and angled fiercely at Creedy. "I ain't givin' up!"

John knew his choices... Give up and leave his friend to be creamed by two big, muscular men who trained every day of their lives to smash into similarly big, muscular men or stay and share in the pain.

There was no contest.

He crouched down beside Pat and nodded at him. "Okay... I'm with you. Let me come up with a plan."

Pat grinned toothily at him. "Fuck yeah!"

The next play didn't go any better as he and Pat were carried past the halfway mark of the field. But in that moment, John got a pretty good reading on his two opponents. After compiling all his knowledge about the two, he had a good plan. Another failed play came and went but in the moment the Creedy and Rosco laughed and gave each other a high-five, John turned to his friend...

"Take the hit for me. Both of them."

Pat made no complaint and they stood beside one another, ready for the final play. In the soundbox, John saw the Director pause and lean forward.

"Begin."

Rosco and Creedy charged but this time, Pat leapt in front of John, spreading his arms and colliding with them both. The two players were stunned, their momentum temporarily halted. In that moment, John charged forward and leapt at Pat, pressing his feet against his friend's back and leaping clear off and over the two professional players.

John hit the ground running, charging well past the two players and making straight for his goal!

He was in the clear!

He was going to make it!

He was -

WHAM!

... too cocky.

He hit the ground with Rosco's massive, mountainous body filled with hardened, tempered steel pressing down on him like a warm, muscular blanket.

"That was a pretty awesome strategy, kid," laughed the player in his ear. "Not sure it's really that legal but fuck, not bad."

Then something weird happened.

Rosco reached over John's waist and a big, meaty hand squeezed at John's crotch. Rosco's lips gently pressed against John's cheek in a light, taunting peck.

"Good job, kid."

As quick as it came, Rosco had his hand and lips away from John and was standing, pumping a fist into the air.

Puzzled... but at least glad to have won some ground back, John rose to his feet, already thinking up of another strategy to get past these two professionals. However, the moment he did, the stadium lights flicked off.

He spun in the darkness just as the Director's voice echoed through the night.

"Good play, boys. Excellent show of teamwork and inventive thinking."

"So did we make it?" Pat said from somewhere in the darkness.

"No."

Both their hopes were instantly dashed and John felt like collapsing to the ground right there and then.

"What!? Why the fuck not!?" came Pat's angered reply.

"Because both of you are still crude, untempered and it took five plays to get to that point. By then, the game would have been over. You can't waste a single play. Plus, your sizes aren't exactly up to standard."

"Then this was a waste of our fucking time!"

"Really? I'm insulted. You got to have a personal 2-on-2 match with two of my finest players and you call that a waste of your time?"

Strangely, the Director did not sound pissed. More amused, really. John remembered the Director had two bodyguards and wondered if that beating he had anticipated was on its way.

"Besides, I don't think an invitation to come train with the Sydney Wolves is a waste? Though if you consider it to be such then I suppose I could retract the offer."

For a moment, John wondered if he was dreaming. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? Had the owner of the Sydney Wolves actually invited them to train with the team?

His caution prevailed over all else and he shakily asked, "What's the catch?"

As his eyesight adjusted to the darkness, he saw Pat's incredulous 'shut the fuck up' look.

"The catch is that you need to perform and become better than you are right now. We'll draft up a contract for you within the end of the week. You have until then to show true progress. If you display excellent teamwork, the capacity to grow, outstanding strength and endurance and, most of all, an eagerness to win, then we will offer you the contract. If not... well, how does tickets for life to every Sydney Wolves' game sound?"

John saw Pat's eyes light up. Either way, it sounded like a win-win.

"We're in!" shouted Pat.

"Excellent," the Director said, clapping his hands eagerly. To both John and Pat, the Director said, "Be here at 7 AM tomorrow. Bring your best."

John still stood a little stunned at what had happened, staring blankly after the vague shape of the Director and his team as they vanished deeper into the darkness. He was shaken from his revere when Pat seized his shoulders and began shaking him wildly.

"Can you believe it man!? We're gonna be part of the Sydney Wolves! The fuckin' Wolves!"

He could only laugh in agreement and turned after the tiny figures of the Director in the distance. Something didn't sit right with him about the situation. It was a dream come true but... how often do dreams come true?

"Yeah," he said to Pat. "We're going to have to head off to bed though. We gotta be here at 7."

"Oh yeah! I'll drive."

John gave his friend a crooked smile. "You realise that means we'll have to be up before 7, right? Like... at 6 or 5 AM."

Pat gave him a startled look. "There's a 5 AM?"

******

Pat may have been disciplined on field and mostly off field but when it came to discovering that there was a time before 9 AM, he was severely lacking. John waited impatiently at the player's entrance to the Wolves' personal stadium while he watched Pat's pick-up truck roll into the parking lot. Naturally, his best friend parked very far away from Rosco's hulking Humvee and Creedy's flashy sports car not because he was embarrassed but because as he got out of his rusted car, Pat was still desperately trying to straighten out his short, brown-blonde hair and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"You're late," John said, offering a wry smile at his athletic friend. "And your shirt is on backwards."

"Fuck..." Pat muttered, tearing off his shirt and hurriedly trying to rearrange it. John had to turn away from Pat's tanned skin that was starting to show the hardened muscle beneath. There was some body fat to lose but despite that, the muscles were there.

"How late am I?" Pat asked.

"Hour and a half," John answered, glancing back at his friend once Pat had dressed himself. "But the Director understood. He gave me permission to wait out here for you."

His slightly taller friend winced loudly. "He's not pissed, is he?"

"No. He laughed when I told him about that time I woke you up at three in the morning because we spent all night cramming at my house for the exams. He actually ordered some soda just so he could spit it out in hilarity when I told him how you barged into the exam rooms waiting for the test to begin."

Pat gave him a foul look. "Then I bet he'll shit himself when I tell him about that time you went down to Bondi in a Hello Kitty thong."

John's ears began to burn. "Don't you dare."

Big mistake on his part as Pat returned a malicious grin. "Try and stop me, mate."

A deep rumble erupted from behind the two young men. "Hey! You two coming in or what?"

They turned to find Rosco waving them down.

John returned a wave in reply and hurried into the locker rooms with Pat. They both got changed into some rugby gear that the Director had laid out for them. There were several batches of different sizes. Suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious of his size, John took a large despite how he would have just barely fit into a medium. Pat fit into a large well enough but only because he had broader shoulders. The rest of the fabric hung off his frame like a loose sheet.

Together, the two friends headed out onto the field.

John's heart skipped a beat when he saw the small thirteen-man team on the field running through some cardio and training. It always amazed him how this small team could make it so far in the league when most other teams had double or triple the number of mandatory players just in case of injury. He watched Rosco, the Hooker of the team and his idol, run catch a ball from a team mate and run against an imaginary opponent.

At the very least, John would've thought there would be a practice team to play against but no... the Sydney Wolves just played with their imaginations.

Maybe that would be their role? Punching bags for the team to get them in top shape?

"I'm glad you both made it."

The two boys turned at the voice of the director. In the sunlight, they could see the Director's form and shape clearly. He was tall, almost six feet but it was hard to discern his race. His skin was tanned and his hair was short, brown and spiky. Nothing in his features suggested he could be fully Caucasian. There was a strange, glimmer in his eyes that seemed so alien. Perhaps the only thing that brought him from his all-business shape was the fact that he had a goatee that he sported rather well on his strong, square jaw.

"Sir..." John began as an apology.

"What positions do you play?" the Director asked, stepping past the two of them and gazing out into the field.

"Oh... Uh..."

"I'm a fullback!" Pat shouted loudly. John winced as Creedy - the current fullback - jogged by.

"Excellent," answered the Director. "You'll work with Calvin then. And you, John?"

It occurred to John that he had never told the Director his name but decided that probably wasn't important. Chances were, with his resources, the Director did a background check on the two of them.

"I'm normally a left wing..." John answered softly.

"I think not." The Director straightened and put two fingers to his lips, letting out a shrill whistle. "Dennis! Please show our John here what it means to be a Hooker." The Director frowned and rubbed his goatee. "Huh... That sounded a lot cleaner in my mind. Oh well." He grinned at the two newest players. "Impress them and all you'll need to do is sign your name."

With that, the Director turned and strode away.

Rosco approached, rolling his huge, broad shoulders. The short, black hair he sported framed his handsome features perfectly and led into a short chin strap that both revealed much about his discipline in maintaining it and a puckish side that said that he wasn't all business. This was in comparison to Creedy who constantly wore a five o'clock shadow and had a thick mane of brown-blonde hair running down his back that he tied into a ponytail when he was in game.

Then there was the two newcomers that these veterans were being paired up with. Pat who was clean-cut, clean-shaven and clean all around; disciplined and a stickler for procedure and the rules. Of course, he was being paired up with Creedy. While the timid John who was paired with Rosco; someone who was so self-conscious about his body being taken under the wing of someone who was so confident of theirs.

John felt like he was being thrown into some sort of reality TV show.

Rosco clapped a huge hand on John's shoulder, nearly toppling the young man over. "Okay, kiddo. Ready to learn what it takes to lead the team?"

"Um... I'm really more of a defence guy..."

He got a grin for that. "Judging by how you organised that play last night and how you cleaved halfway down the field, you really think that?"

"That was a one-off..."

The Hooker smirked. "Then let's make it a frequent thing." He flicked his head towards the field. "Come on, follow me."

John smiled and turned to find that Pat had already marched off to meet with Creedy. It looked like the two of them were having a heated discussion. John just hoped that Pat could get along with the player.

He wanted more than anything for both of them to make the team.

"Alright..." he said, a small smile on his face. "Show me what you've got!"

*****

John slumped against the locker, panting heavily.

It was six in the evening and the other players had already left. He would have left an hour ago if it hadn't taken him an hour to drag himself into the locker rooms. His entire body ached and he could barely move. After two steps, he collapsed to the ground and needed to take five minutes before he could muster the strength to get up and take another two steps.

What astounded him was that Pat was still on the field running drills with Creedy. Apparently, he wanted to make up for the hour and a half that he was late. Good on him and good on him for showing such amazing endurance but there was a reason John preferred to be on the defence instead of the offence. Offence required strength endurance and killer stamina. He had neither of those. Being on the defence meant he just needed to put on bursts of speed here and there to catch his foes.

Playing as a Hooker was not his thing.

He winced as he tried to pry himself off the locker but stumbled forward. He crashed into the benches and groaned as a stinging pain rippled up his chest. He played the offence while Rosco was the opposing player. Being bulldozed by the towering hulk for an entire day was not fun.

Strong hands gripped his armpits and pulled him up, seating him easily on the bench. The hot stink of a man who had been working hard in the sun wafted into his nostrils. John didn't even try to hide how that aroma churned his blood and hardened his cock.

"Hell of a job out there, kid," Rosco chuckled, flopping down beside him. The Hooker lifted a thick arm, carrying a towel and rubbing his sweaty neck. That gesture alone exposed his stained pits and made John glad he was sitting down or he weak knees would have sent him toppling. "You've got a long way to go, though."

"I don't think I'm meant to play your position," John admitted, turning his gaze away from the hot, muscular man beside him. "I've only ever played defence... Are you sure I can't work with Creedy or Mossman? Maybe even Harvey?"

"You know all the player's names and positions?" Rosco asked.

"Of course. Who doesn't?"

"Probably half the fans," Rosco snickered. "They focus on the players that get them going not the rest of the team. The only time they know the other player is if they do something stupid or fuck up."

John flinched at the swear, something Rosco caught.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Um... Just... You swore."

"Yeah... Everyone does... So?" Rosco leaned forward, eyes narrow. "You swear... right?"

"Of course!" Then he paused and shook his head. "Sorry... That's a lie. I don't... It's just how I've been raised. I've never sworn in my life!"

Rosco reeled back. "Hang on... You're not one of them super-Christians, are you? The ones that don't have sex before marriage, never masturbate, go to Church every weekend, Sunday School and whip yourselves if you even look at a girl funny?"

"What? No! Of course not! I just..." John blushed and glanced away. "It's just the way I was raised..."

"Well. Good then."

That puzzled him. "Good? Why is that good?"

He glanced back at Rosco but his entire field of vision was suddenly consumed by the handsome features of the massive player. He felt something strange against his lips and before he could even think, there was a foreign object - something slick and dexterous - being pushed between his lips and brushing against his tongue. It took him an entire minute of tongue play and huge hands groping his frame before he even remotely realised that Rosco was making out with him.

The moment this realisation hit, he spent another half a minute just enjoying the scent and smell of the massive rugby league player before he pushed away. The movement slid him across the bench while the indomitable Rosco remained rooted in position.

"Wh - What!?"

Rosco gave him a cocky smirk, looking so devilishly handsome in the process. "Knew it. You know, since last night I've been wondering if that bulge I felt was just an unusually large package or if you had a hard on. I'm pretty sure it's the latter." He licked his lips. "Though, I'd be glad to be proven wrong as well. Take off your pants."

"Whoa now!" John shouted, leaping off the bench. "What the hell? What's going on here?"

Rosco's eyes flashed with mischief. As he rose, John became very aware of the sheer size difference between them. "Isn't it obvious, kid? I'm gay."

"A - And...?"

"And," began the Hooker, striding forward and running his huge hands through John's bright, red hair. "I've always had a thing for redheads. I'm really curious if all the fur down there is as red as this..." He offered a sly wink towards John's pants.

John wondered if he should pinch himself. "Wait... you... you find me attractive...?"

"Fuck yeah!" Rosco laughed, making John flinch again. "You're so goddamn adorable. That's not offensive, is it?"

Shaking his head, John could only keep his eyes cast down, the blush on his cheeks growing brighter and brighter. Rosco's big hands glided down the side of his face, cupping his chin and gently lifting it so that their eyes met. "I... I just can't believe that..."

"Well, you better believe it." Rosco winked at him. "The Sydney Wolves are a very special team, you know."

"Wait... Does that mean that all of you are...?"

"Gay? Oh god no! Just... Well..." Rosco glanced over his shoulder and smirked. "Tell you what? You're still not officially part of the team yet so I can't tell you everything. But how about this?" His huge hands rolled down the sides of John's chest and hooked the sides of John's pants. "If you want this, just say so. If not, I'll back off. Let's make a promise though that this won't affect your performance or whether you make the team or not. No sex favours, no blackmails. Okay?"

John nodded slowly. "Y-yeah... It's just that... I've never really... Ever..."

Rosco pulled away, surprised. "No shit. Really? You're a virgin?"

Wincing, John said, "Well... I've got red hair, scrawny and can't take it when someone swears... I'm not exactly boyfriend material..."

"Just not to the right guy," answered Rosco, slowly falling to his knees. John gulped as the player fell, his pants were slowly sliding down his legs, gripped by Rosco's hands. His idol pressed his nose against John's jockstrap, taking a deep breath followed by a quivering shudder. A strange, rumbling emerged from Rosco, almost an animalistic growl really.

Slowly, Rosco pulled off John's pants and -

"Holy shit!"

John jumped, blushing all over.

"Is this thing fucking real!?" Rosco laughed, his eyes wide with both awe and lust. His finger slowly ran up the length of John's eleven inch, erect cock. "Fuck dude..."

"Ummm..."

"Shiiiiit..." Rosco gripped John's throbbing cock in his big, meaty hand, making the younger man moan softly. "Okay... Yeah, I'll stop swearing..." He grinned and leaned down, the tip of John's cock hovering against his nose. He took another long whiff and shuddered, another loud growl rippling from his throat. "My mouth will be full anyway."

John closed his eyes. The moment Rosco's warm lips wrapped around his cock he felt back. Rosco gripped him tightly and lowered him to the ground gently. The cold floor of the locker room was a shock against his bare rump but this was in contrast to the hot lips of his idol against his cock. Eyes completely shut in pleasure, John could only squirm and whimper, toes curling in pleasure as Rosco did his magic. John couldn't help but thrust deep into his idol's throat, making Rosco choke as the massive length jabbed into the back of his throat.

Rosco pulled his lips away, dragging them along John's vascular length in a slow, deliberate movement. John almost blacked out there and then.

"This'll take some getting used to," Rosco snickered. He tapped a finger against the tip of John's cock, pressed his finger against the droplet of precum and pulled it to his lips. "But I'm not complaining."

*****

The next day, John was quivering with anticipation as he approached the stadium. Once again, Pat was late. That made John worry. If his friend was consistently late, he wouldn't make a very good impression on the Director. He wanted the two of them to both make the team but this tardiness wasn't helping...

His thoughts were pushed away from the thought, however, as he got out of the cab and he spied Rosco's intimidating black Humvee just rolling in. As the massive player emerged from the vehicle, Rosco seemed to sniff the air and then caught sight of him.

"Hey! Johnny!"

"It's just John," he answered, striding up to the massive player.

"Right, right." Rosco frowned and watched the cab drive away. "You drive?"

"Nah. I have my licence but never got around to getting a car for myself. Pat always drove me."

Rosco shook his head. "Not gonna cut it man. Come on." Rosco's big hand seized his wrist and before he could protest, he was being dragged through the stadium and into what appeared to be the office.

Rosco banged on the big oaken doors and the Director's pleasant 'come in' echoed from deep inside.

John bit his tongue to keep himself from protesting as Rosco pushed him inside.

"Hey boss," the Hooker said, waving a hand. "Johnny here needs a ride."

For a moment, John was stunned at how... different the Director's office was to what he had expected. Part of him expected to see pennants, trophies, big images of star players and other sports-related things hanging from the walls. Instead, the room was neat and tidy. Glass cabinets filled with various, items lined the walls while an enormous screen stuck out of the wall behind the Director's big, high-backed chair. The word 'Nexus' was engraved into the very floor beneath them in the stylised fashion of the Nexus Conglomerate.

"A ride you say?" the Director asked, lifting his eyes from his desk. "What is your current mode of transportation, John?"

Blushing, John said, "Usually a carpool with my friend Pat but since he's late again..."

"I see." The Director's fingers seemed to type at something on his desk despite the desk being completely empty. "Hmmm... a leading man like yourself deserves something powerful, commanding. But I take it you're not one to boast about your success. There is an air of humility about you that is quite admirable. I'm thinking... a Hummer."

Before John could protest, the Director seemed to grab thin air and spin a panel of what had to be solid light around. On screen, clear as any other screen, was the image of a deep blue Hummer. It was a beast and much too big for anything John had ever driven.

"How'd you...?" he began.

"Oh this?" the Director asked, gesturing the screen. "Come over to my side of the desk. I'll show you."

Spying Rosco's grin, John moved behind the Director. As he came parallel with the desk, he was surprised to find dozens of screens just like the one the Director had shown him hovering over the desk. There was even a keyboard of the same design in front of him.

"Whoa..."

"Bi-Directional Holographic Technology," the Director explained. "It actually uses a lot less power than conventional screens. You never have to worry about dead pixels and it's as clear as any current resolution. Best part is that you can switch one direction on or off meaning that anyone sitting opposite to you can't see what you are working on. It's still in the testing phases, though. Some bugs need to be worked out."

"Like what?" John laughed. "This looks bloody amazing!"

He coughed suddenly, realising that he had let out a pseudo-swear.

"This for instance." The Director kicked his desk lightly. The screen jumped and began jumping around in a mess. "All the screens are ultra-sensitive. Even the slightest movement will rearrange them and it's always a pain to get them back. But enough about that." The Director turned to John. "The Hummer?"

"Oh... right... Well, you see..."

The Director suddenly stood from his chair. "You're right. There's no use showing you a picture of a car. You need to be there, test it out, drive it around a bit. Come, let's go."

"But - but... training...?"

The Director gave John a rather unsettling smile. "I am making an investment. I assume you will not let my faith in you go to waste."

John suddenly found himself cornered. If he refused the Director, he would be insulting the owner of the Sydney Wolves and his chance at joining the esteemed team. If he accepted, then he would be effectively signing that contract.

Then again, he always did want a new car...

He followed wordlessly as the Director took him out of the stadium and to his personal limousine. Rosco followed, grinning brightly. Somehow, the massive player managed to squeeze himself into the limo. The Director gave directions and they were suddenly heading away from the stadium. John sincerely hoped that Pat wouldn't feel alone out there.

"Why not tell me about yourself, John?" asked the Director. There was a bottle of champagne that he opened and poured glasses for both the three of them.

John politely refused. "I'm really nothing special... Just a kid that grew up right here. Majored in economics. Hoping to run my own business. At least until I got this opportunity, I mean. I'll give this my all, sir."

"No need for flattery, John," chuckled the Director taking a sip of the champagne. "I know full well your potential. It is just a matter of realising it." He set the champagne glass down and gave John a small smile. "In fact, I am of the opinion you need to loosen up a bit. You have several personal rules you adhere to. Not swearing for one. I believe the other is that must always wait to be addressed before being spoken to by someone who is your elder."

"No shit?" Rosco laughed. "You're old school, bro!"

John blushed deeper. It felt like the two were making fun of him. "I thought it would just be... polite."

"It is," replied the Director. "It is respectable for someone your age to adhere to such rules for so long. However, if you want to truly experience the world, you need to partake in it not just stand off to the side and observe."

"And... how would you suggest I do that, sir?"

The Director smiled. "How about a killer ride for starters?"

On cue, the limo stopped. The driver opened the door and the Director stepped out. John was surprised to find himself at a car retailer he had never seen or heard of before - something called Drive-N. Rosco practically pushed him into the broad, glass showroom.

And then he saw it... no, him.

The Hummer that the Director had shown him. The Director had been right. He had to see it in person, to feel its leather seats and the raw power that it emitted from behind the steering. The time between when he stepped into the showroom and when he was inside the car was a blur. When he inside, gripping the steering wheel... he just knew that this car belonged to him.

"Yeah... I could get used to this," he rumbled, eyeing the pristine dashboard. His entire body tingled with as he lounged back in its frame.

"Want to take her for a spin?" the Director asked, offering John the keys.

"Hell yeah!" John exclaimed, failing to notice his mild profanity. He swiped the keys and started the engine. It's waking roar, the thunderous rumble of anticipation and just the way it quivered like a wolf ready to pounce... It resonated deep within John.

"Dennis will accompany you just to make sure nothing bad happens," the Director said. As he said this, the passenger door sprang open and Rosco jumped in, his form fitting perfectly in the seat. "Have fun."

"I will!" John exclaimed, glancing towards the stick. He frowned suddenly. "Oh... Um... I don't drive manual."

The Director raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought you did."

John blinked a few times. "Well... I haven't driven stick in a while. I mean, my parents' car is auto. But I got my license under a manual."

"Ah, understandable," the Director answered. "Bring her back in one piece."

"Him," John rumbled, grinning broadly as he run his hand over the steering wheel. "A beast like this... can't be anything less than a male."

"An alpha male?"

The words seemed a little strange in John's ears but he didn't know why. It fit his car perfectly. "Yeah... an alpha male."

"Perfect. Have fun."

John pushed the car into gear and suddenly, they were roaring down the streets in his knew Hummer. He had no doubt that he would accept the Director's offer. This car was made for him. He loved it. Pat would be so jealous. Hell, the envious gazes he got from passing motorists filled him with a new confidence that he never knew he had.

This car just gave him power... so much power that it was a hell of a turn-on. The rumbling of the engine, the jostling of its frame as it rushed down the streets; it was like the car was giving him a hand job.

He found himself going back to the stadium and was glad to see Pat's rusty ute there. Feeling a little self-conscious and not wanting to get any parts of Pat's rust on the car, he parked next to Rosco's Humvee.

"You gonna take it?" Rosco asked.

"Definitely."

"Good to hear," rumbled Rosco, leaned over. John shuddered as he felt his friend's breath on his neck. "So what do you say we break her in, huh?"

John's eyebrows shot up. "What? Now? Here?"

"Why not? The car's yours."

"But... in public? And...?"

"Scared?" Rosco grinned toothily. "Hard to think the guy that owns a Hummer would be such a chicken. Guess they're right when they say guys with big cars are trying to compensate for something."

John's eyes flashed. He suddenly seized Rosco's shoulders and slammed him hard against the seat. "I'll show you!"

*****

Though he had only had half a day's worth of training, John was feeling sore and tired but it was not the same weariness as he had yesterday. This time, he was feeling pumped, energetic and raring for more. Rosco winked at him as he got changed with the rest of the team. Many of the other members were giving him nods of approval as he pulled off his shirt, slick with sweat and hugging his frame.

After the Director had effectively given him the Hummer, he was more eager than ever to make sure he made the team. As the other team members headed out, Rosco whispered an invitation in his ear.

Having not spoken to Pat for the entire day, John politely declined and offered a raincheck for tomorrow. Rosco understood and said that he was looking forward to it.

John waiting for another hour before Pat entered the locker rooms, stomping angrily in and tossing his shirt at the ground.

"Pat?" John asked. "Is something wrong?"

Pat looked up at John, blinking in surprise. "John? I..." He shook his head in frustration. "Shit... I'm fucking all over the place..."

"What do you mean?" asked John, taking his friend's shoulders and guiding him slowly towards the benches. When they both sat down, John was a little surprised to find himself looking down at his friend. Though they were sitting. Maybe he just had a longer torso while Pat had the longer legs. "How's training with Creedy?"

"It's fucking stupid!" shouted Pat, throwing his hands into the air. "He's so relaxed and fucking lazy! 'Natural talent' he calls it. Well not all of us have natural talent! I have to work hard to get where I am and he just coasts along! It's not fucking fair!" He gave John's chest a light backhanded slap, the gesture bouncing off John's pectorals. "I mean, look at you. You barely work out and you're fucking six foot ten, built like you came off a runway and the Director even bought you a fucking Hummer!"

Wait... was that right?

John glanced down at his shirt which was stretched taut across his muscular chest. Two points truly pressed up against the fabric which were his permanently erect nipples. Beyond the mounds of his pecs, he could make out where his abs showed. Was he always so... ripped and built?

Of course he was. He had been playing rugby since he was a kid. It's how he met Pat. How could he not be built like this when he loved the game so much?

"Look, we all go down different roads to get where we want," he said. "You work your ass off. That's got to be something, right? I bet the Director sees that. Just keep doing what you're doing, really prove yourself and I'm sure you'll make the cut."

Pat rolled his eyes and snorted. "Look at you, talking like you're already part of the team."

"The Director bought me a bloody Hummer."

Again, Pat rolled his eyes and got up. "Don't remind me."

"You want a lift home?"

"Stop rubbing it in." Pat gave John a friendly nudge.

"How about this?" asked John, rising to his feet. He towered over Pat by a whole head. "Tomorrow, I'll come to your door at 4:30 am. I'll be your personal alarm clock. How's that sound? That way, you won't be late and you'll actually be on time for once."

Pat sighed and nodded. "Fine, fine." Then he grinned. "Thanks man. I really appreciate it."

"Anytime, little buddy. Any time." Then, thinking about what had happened in the car just a few moments ago, John realised that he had been hiding a big part of himself from his best friend...

"Hey, Pat... I gotta tell you something."

Pat lifted his eyebrows. "Yeah? What?"

John took a deep breath... and then let it out very slowly. He wasn't so sure how to bring up to his friend that he got aroused whenever he saw big buff rugby players slam into each other or that meeting said big and buff players was one of the reasons he got into rugby in the first place.

"I'm... kinda... gay..."

Pat smirked and gave him a knowing stare. "'Kinda gay'? You can't be kinda gay, man. You take it up the ass or what?"

"No! Never! I'm a virgin!" he cried. "Well... not so much... Rosco and I..."

Pat rolled his eyes before shaking his head. "Dude. I've known about you and Rosco for weeks!"

"Wait? You have?" He shook his head again. "How?"

"Come on," laughed his friend. "You always disappear on me whenever he's playing a home game. You've been spending a lot of time together finally and I've seen your texts."

"But I've only met Rosco two days ago!"

Pat let out another laugh. "Well, officially. Pretty lucky that we got caught that night, eh? Would've been hard keeping your dating life a secret from me and your parents. At least now you don't have to hide it from him or me."

John massaged his temples. He was getting a headache. Was that right? Had he and Rosco been dating for weeks now?

Of course it was. How could he forget that day that he accidentally hit his boyfriend's head with a rugby ball accidentally in the park? It was something right out of a movie. They ran a few plays against one another. Rosco called Creedy over and he and Pat played against them. The two amateurs were trounced for the most part but that stunning play where Pat had blocked both the professionals and John had leapt over them both to score was something that really caught their eyes.

It helped that the Director had been there as well...

Of course, nothing was officially drafted until two nights ago when they ran a few plays in private after the big game with their two favourite players...

"And I'll be honest with you too," Pat said, blushing lightly. "Rosco's game really improved when you started showing up and Creedy... well... he thought he could get the same... He pisses me off but last night... well..."

John's eyes widened. "No... way! You and Creedy!?"

Pat shrugged absently. "What? I was angry at him, I slammed him against the locker and one thing led to another and..." He scratched his cheek absently where his five o'clock shadow made him look a little like the laid back Creedy. "He's taking me out tonight for steaks. I won't stay out too long. You're picking me up, after all."

"You dawg!" John laughed, punching his friend lightly. "I'm happy for ya, little buddy!"

"Stop calling me that. You know I hate it."

He did...? Hadn't he just started calling Pat 'little buddy'? No, of course not. He was always taller than Pat though Pat was always bulkier.

"I won't keep you then," snickered John. "Bring protection!"

"Bite me!"

*****

Hoooooonk!

John lounged back in his seat as he lifted his big hand away from the horn of his new ride. He just loved how it sounded. The horn was like a wolf's cry, rallying his teammate. It was 4:35 am and the sun was still down. No doubt some neighbours wouldn't like the interruption but John really didn't feel like getting out of the car and ringing the doorbell. Pat's dad was a real jerk, always comparing the two of friends with Pat playing a defensive role and John fitting neatly into the leadership placement.

He expected to wait for a while before Pat would come out but to his utter surprise, the door sprang open and Pat squeezed his hulking frame out of the door. He always had to slide through his side since his shoulders were always so broad - perfect for blocking runaway plays. Pat had a slice of toast in his mouth and his bag across his shoulders as he bounded down the driveway and leapt into the passenger's seat.

"Thanks for this, man," Pat said, throwing his gear into the back. "Good timing too. The old girl broke down last night."

"Your ute?" John asked, stunned. "Heh, about time. That thing has been through hell and back. 'bout time you got a new ride."

"Well not all of us can get the Director to shell out thousands for a Hummer."

"Prove yourself today and you just might get yourself a frickin' limo."

John was rolling of the driveway and heading to the stadium before he noticed Pat was staring at him at awe.

"What?" he growled.

"You just swore!" Pat laughed, pointing at accusing finger at him.

"What? No I didn't!"

"You said 'fucking'!"

"I said 'frickin''. Not the same."

"Close enough!" Pat laughed and threw his arms around John's broad shoulder, thick arms bulging. John gave a cry as he fought to keep the car stable. "Awww! My baby boy is growing up!"

"Pat! Jesus! I'm driving!"

Pat didn't let go and just kept laughing. Somehow, John managed to bring them to the stadium in once piece. He gave Pat a heavy punch that bounced off his friend's thick shoulders like he was hitting a steel wall. It didn't hurt and he was sure that it didn't hurt Pat either.

"Okay, good luck in there," Pat said, giving John a returning punch. "Kick some ass!"

"You too, mate."

They leaned in towards one another and gave each other a quick peck on the cheek. Then, the grabbed their gear and was out of the Hummer. John's big feet fell on the ground before he realised what he had just done. Pat whistled blissfully as he strode towards the stadium but John was stunned that he had just kissed his best friend on the cheek.

Then he shook his head.

What was he so concerned about? It was purely plutonic. Nothing romantic. Hell, everyone on the team already knew that he and Rosco were fucking. Had been like that for weeks now. It's how he was introduced to the team.

Right...?

John shook his head again. A headache was starting. Maybe he should call in sick? Then again, there was a big game coming up and he didn't want to let the rest of the team down. He was still on probation; as was Pat. They needed to make an impact so that the team didn't have to rely on just one set of players all the time.

Nodding to himself, John strode into the locker rooms where Rosco was already getting dressed. His boyfriend was naked and just taking off his pants. Behind him, the rest of the team was likewise nude or getting nude. Pat was just stripping off his shirt.

"Johnny!" exclaimed Rosco, leaping to his feet and naked as the day that he was born. Well... not so much as blood was already rushing to Rosco's groin and that glorious ten inch cock was starting to rise. The hulking player slammed into John, thick arms lifting him off the ground and spinning him around twice before their lips met passionately.

John indulged in the moment before pushing his boyfriend away with a grin. "Hey, not in front of the guys."

Rosco set him down and grinned. "Why not? They don't mind."

"Well, not everyone swings our way. Don't want to unnerve anyone."

"We're all a team here, Johnny," answered Rosco with a grin. "We share everything. Can't work like a proper team if you're hiding things."

John shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's true."

He glanced knowingly at Pat who smiled and nodded back. His best friend had been fine with learning that John was gay so there was nothing to hide. He was part of this team now.

"But there is something we've got to show the both of you," Rosco said, glancing over his shoulder at the other members of the Wolves. John frowned when he noted that everyone had very big, very hard erections. "It's the reason why the team has always been able to perform so well and why we've always managed to keep playing despite only having the minimum number of players."

John gave Rosco a suspicious stare. "Wait... you're not juiced, are you?"

A few of the other team members laughed.

"You could say that."

John was livid. He couldn't believe his ears. Rosco had been his idol for months since the Wolves had started and his boyfriend for weeks! Now they were talking about taking steroids!?

"Drugs!? That's how you guys have been winning all this time!? Steroids!?"

"It's not what you think!" Rosco exclaimed. "Look, let us show you."

"Hear him out, Johnny," Pat said, nodding at the others. "Look, you're in this far. Why not, right?"

He gave Pat a startled stare. "What happened to working your ass off fair and square? What happened to discipline versus raw talent!?"

Pat lifted his hands in surrender. "Just let us show you."

"'Us'?" John repeated. He took a step back in shock. "Hold on... You've been taking them too, haven't you!?"

"It's not something you take... well, it is but..." Pat shook his head. "Look. Just... Five minutes, give us five minutes."

Someone joked about how it takes longer than five minutes for them and that was met with a ripple of laughter.

"Johnny, please," Rosco begged.

He couldn't say no to those big, blue eyes. "Fine," he sighed.

Rosco grinned and then leaned his head back, spreading his arms to his sides. At that moment, something strange began happening in the locker room. Several of the guys began moving towards one another, rubbing their cocks against one another. Others were fully pressing their lips together, giving each other long, wet, sloppy kisses.

John's eyes bulged when Creedy strode up to Pat, his thick, chest hair rubbing up against Pat's semi-naked form. The big Fullback rang his tongue along Pat's neck, making his apprentice shudder and delight and let out a soft whimper. Creedy in turn emitted a very animalistic growl. All these noises were echoed around the locker room mixed with moans and grunts.

Then a new noise cut through the sonata of male-on-male action.

The sounds of flesh twisting and growing faster than it should have.

John's eyes went straight to Rosco as his already built, muscular form began to change. Thick, juicy pectorals began ballooning outwards bigger than even humanly possible. His hard six-pack grew into a definitive eight and looked so hard and cut that they might as well have been diamonds barely contained under bronzed flesh. Thick veins pumped across Rosco's meaty forearms and biceps, matching their growing size and mass. Rosco groaned loudly and hunched over. Large lumps began appearing across his spine, the lumps of his vertebrae. John only watched in amazement as those lumps began to shift and move, growing larger and even creating more lumps between them. He realised that Rosco's spine was lengthening!

The big Hooker fell onto his hands and knees, groaning in pleasure. Thick globules of precum were spraying down between his legs, his cock throbbing excitedly. His already thick legs grew one muscle group at a time. John watched as large lumps pushed against Rosco's perfect flesh stretching his skin.

Loud cried escaped from the rest of the team and John tore his gaze away from his boyfriend for just a moment to spy everyone else undergoing the transformation. The perfectly normal human players all nearly doubled in size and height, towering over the locker rooms that they slammed passionately against. Thick muscles sculpted from years of training burst out in sizes that would have taken years for bodybuilders to shape and made them flush in jealousy.

This sort of made their heads look comically small on their shoulders but that soon changed.

John looked on in horror as Creedy and Pat exchanged wild, passionate kisses on their enormous forms. Pat looked simply monstrous as he lay beneath Creedy, their massive, muscular forms rubbing against one. Then, Pat's jaw began shifting and gyrating strangely. Is chin jutted forward farther than it should have but it perfectly locked with Creedy's similarly lengthening features. The rippling muscles that grew from their necks seeped to pump into their heads, broadening their skulls and pushing their ears further and further up their heads. Creedy's long, lustrous hair rapidly spread down his back not as hair but as a full-blown mane. Shorter, thinner hairs began spreading all over his mountainous back, covering the rolling hills of muscles but at the same time keeping them perfectly visible and accentuating every curve and cut.

This same man began crawling forward over Creedy's features, spreading across his cheeks and rolling over his long features. His nose shot forward and obtained a thick, black texture. In that moment, he pulled away from locking muzzles with Pat to flex his jaw. Long, sharp fangs flashed between his black, rubbery lips and he brought them about in a wicked grin at a similarly changing Pat.

Beneath the monster, Pat moaned and arched his back, his features taking on the same lupine features. His hair had grown thick as well and from them, sharp, triangular ears poked through, growing big and fluffy. Pat's broad features fit perfectly on his new, muscular frame. The light brown fur that covered his entire head quickly spread rapidly all across his body, rolling down the slope of his neck, sweeping across the mountains of his pecs and covering his erect, pink nipples before disappearing into his crotch with was covered by Creedy's hulking form.

John remembered that his boyfriend was right in front of him and turned in time to watch Rosco's back become covered in thick black fur. A moan from his boyfriend heralded the growth of a long, fluffy tail that slapped against his thick, furry legs. Rosco pushed himself back up from the floor, exposing his thick torso as it was consumed by a forest of black fur. John's eyes were drawn directly to Rosco's thick cock as it too became consumed in the black fur from tip to base. Its form shifted, changing and resembling a canine sheath.

He could only watch in awe as a bright, red tip began pushing out from the tip of the sheath, rising to a full 14 inches of canine length with throbbing knot and dripping with cum.

"Fuck yes!" roared Rosco, fleshing his huge, veiny biceps.

His eyes sprang open, still bright and blue but bigger, more feral and sitting on the head of a wolf.

Rosco grinned at him, showing those big, sharp teeth. "We're -"

"Monsters!" screamed John, taking a step back. He looked around the room, watching as several of the Sydney Wolves began mounting one another. Three members were even shoving their dicks in one another forming a perfect circle. Nearby, Pat was getting his ass stuffed by two players, one of which was Creedy.

"Johnny, no... We're just -"

"Don't call me that!" shouted John. "It's just John! I... I was never..." He glanced down at himself; at his ripped, 6 foot 11 frame. "I was never this... I wasn't this tall... What have you done to me!?"

"We didn't -"

"Get the hell away from me!"

*****

For the fiftieth time that night, John's phone rang.

He didn't even bother picking it up. He knew it was one of the Wolves and he had no intention of answering it. What irked him even more was his family. They all acted so... accepting of the fact that he was the new and upcoming Hooker for the Sydney Wolves alongside Rosco - a much needed second as his father put it. They were even accepting of his sexuality and weren't at all surprised that he had been dating a rugby player!

Some part of him knew it was right but the other... something deep inside of him, something... old, knew it was wrong. That same something was what kept him pinned to his bed, hugging his pillow that seemed all too small now, fully clothed and strangely ashamed of this new, ripped, muscular body that he had. He had torn apart his photo albums, thrown his trophies into the bid and ripped his extra-large shirts to shreds all because some part of him knew it was all wrong...

There were dreams and images of a scrawny, red head kid that... that never had dreams of rugby and just played it occasionally with his friend who was all over the game... A kid who was so deep in the closet that he couldn't even admit it to himself and had admired the muscular forms of the players from a distance... not... not this.

What was this?

It felt like he was waking up...

His phone rang...

But... it was a different ring. His phone normally rang with the short, simple, generic tune. This time... it was a loud, boisterous rock blast that he loved because it always announced that someone was calling him and he was important. His ego always swelled at the thought that he could bring the entire room to a hush with that noise.

But it was wrong... he wasn't like that... was he?

He glanced at his phone and froze. It was a strange, thin, black rectangle with no visible microphone or panel. Not even a touch screen. But for some reason... he just knew how it worked. He waved his big, meaty hand over its surface, not even touching the cold face. The Bi-Directional Holographic Display sprang to life showing his missed calls and the one that he was currently receiving... coming from the Director.

He just knew this had something to do with the Director and he swiped the phone from his bedside table. "What have you done to me?" he growled.

"Exactly what you wanted," came the cool, calm response.

"I didn't want any of this!"

"Are you sure?"

John felt that headache coming again and he let out a growl. "Stop that! I know you're... you're messing with my head... What..." He snarled. "What is this...!?"

"A little bit of time travel, dimensional research and development, genetic alterations, mind control and the just a smidge of super villainy."

"What!?"

"Why don't you come to my office, John? I feel this is something we need to discuss in person."

John growled and quickly hurried out of his bedroom. All the trophies lining the walls of his house sickened him and he barely said goodbye to his parents before he was out the door and in his Hummer, tearing down the streets. The roads were oddly quiet and peaceful despite the early evening. When he got to the stadium, he saw that the rest of the team was still there.

He decided to take route to the Director's office that didn't take him across the field or the locker rooms. There as a large part of him that wanted to go into that locker room and join the rest of the pack... because that was what they were... a pack of wolves. And he... he didn't want to abandon them.

Because he was their alpha...

He growled at himself and shook the thoughts from his head. His hand quivered as he pushed open the Director's door and barged in. The Director sat quietly behind his desk, cloaked in total darkness. The entire office was pitch black but John could still make out the Director's faint shape.

John searched for a light switch...

"Don't bother, John," came the slow reply. "There is no light in here. Close the door."

He didn't say a word and just did as he was told, plunging the room further into darkness.

"So where shall we start?" asked the Director. "Perhaps let us start with the why. You know the Wolves better than anyone else except perhaps for me. You know that they are an exemplar team and one that is easily rivalled by anyone else. They have passed drug tests and inquisitions. Everyone questions how they can be so amazing. Today, you discovered the truth."

"Because they're fucking werewolves!"

The Director chuckled. "Perhaps. I have not truly given a name to the condition. It is not true lycanthropy. Their bite or a scratch will not be enough to transform another. In fact, the entire condition is based entirely on another lycanthropy-like infection discovered in a far off dimension. In that dimension, furs and humans lived side by side but some humans held a specific gene that made them receptive to a certain canine pheromone that transformed them into big, hulking canine or lupine after extensive exposure. Quite ingenious really.

"The failing of that, of course, is the fact that old lives and memories are retained. If someone dug far enough, they'd discover the truth. That is why these... 'werewolves' kept a close knit community that was rather closed off to the rest of the world ensuring that local authorities and government were in the know. Practically speaking, in other dimensions and worlds, such an approach would be deemed highly ineffective as not all worlds allow for furs."

"So what is this then?" demanded John.

"An improvement. I wanted an infection that was more widespread and not restricted alone to the same or similar gene pool. At the same time, I wanted to make sure that the change is controlled as any sudden change will cause widespread panic. It was a delicate balancing act of efficiency versus subtly and one other factor."

John found dread building in his chest. "Wh - What...?"

In the darkness, he somehow saw the Director's toothy grin. Fangs flashed before him. "Profit."

"Profit?"

"The Nexus Conglomerate is a company, after all. We aim to make money. What better way to make money than to create a team of super humans who could clean up the league easily, win the sponsorships and earn the trust of the world. Our presence in this dimension is minimal at best and starting with a nice, new rugby league team was one of many avenues we've taken to turn this world into our metaphorical bitch."

"You're going to take over the world!?"

"Of course but you know what the best part is?"

"What?"

"No one will know about it. Except, of course, you and I."

John's eyes widened and he took a step back away from the Director, his back pressed up against the door. "Wh - Why me?"

"Because I'm evil and I love watching people squirm." The shape of the Director stood. He was bigger than he had appeared before. Shorter than John but infinitely more intimidating. "What do you think will be the worse torment? Knowing that you are consistently contributing to the growing presence of a series of companies whose collective motto is 'We're evil. Get used to it' or the fact that you're loving every moment of it?"

"No! I would never -"

The Director shook his head and let out a soft, disappointed sigh. "Alas, John, it is far too late for denials. We've already altered your past and the transformation has already taken hold. Within the hour, you will be marching down into that locker room, falling on your hands and knees and begging to drink the cum of the Wolves that you've grown to love and have become your pack. You will take your place as their alpha and you will lead this team to victory after victory and as time goes by, you are going to actively go out, find new recruits and turn them into the same, hormonal, super-human beasts that the rest of the team are."

"You're not going to make me turn other guys into werewolves!" John shouted, clutching the sides of his head even as the headache intensified. "I'm not going to be part of your fucking plan to turn the world into gay werewolves!"

"Gay?" The Director laughed. "John, how very narrow minded of you. I'm not just aiming for one sexuality here. As Dennis told you, not everyone swings that way. Yes, they enjoy one another's company but there are quite a few men down there that would prefer a large pair of breasts than a dick and balls. This is encouraged. And do you know why?"

"I... It spreads the infection..." John whimpered, knowing the answer but fearing why he knew it. "We'll make kids... make more wolves... argh!"

"Precisely. There is no way to stop it, John. Soon, you will give in. It's just a matter of whether or not you choose to go through it willingly or not. You can choose to be trapped in your own body, screaming against impregnable barriers as you watch your body work to the Conglomerate's goal or you might just enjoy yourself. We take care of our employees, you know."

"B - By turning them into fucking werewolves!?"

"Of course not. We have weretigers, werehorses and all variety of were-creatures. Some hybrids here and there. Sometimes just downright freaky mutants. We're not restricted to just werewolves." The Director grinned evilly and spread his arms. "We're the Nexus Conglomerate. We change the world because why the fuck not?"

John threw his head back and let out a murderous cry. He spun around and barged right out the door, running away from the Director. He charged through the hallways, tears in his eyes and not sure where he was going.

When he next regained his composure, he found himself moving into the locker room. The rest of the team was there, all of them transformed. He caught sight of Pat being cradled by the equally big Creedy, the latter's cock buried knot-deep into the other and the two of them having their lips locked in a passionate kiss, their hand-paws caressing one another lovingly.

Rosco looked up from where he sat, dejected and with ears folded back. There was a spark of hope in the wolf's eyes.

John found himself moving forward despite own reservations and he sat down beside his mate. The contact of their broad shoulders rubbing against one another started something deep within him... a train of thought that he just could not deny.

Even before he became this... person, he knew he was special... He loved men more than he should have. When the Sydney Wolves had come into town, he had fallen in love with Rosco from a distance. This was a dream come true. It furthered some terrible company's plans for the world but... was it truly that bad? He got to be with his soulmate... someone he knew he had to be with no matter what.

"Listen," he mumbled softly, for the first time being in full control of his thoughts and movements. His head no longer hurt. "I'm sorry about... before. I guess I was just a little freaked out and..." He glanced at his big hands. They seemed so alien but at the same time so... right. "This is all so... different. I mean who I was... to who I am now..."

"Yeah... I know," answered Rosco. "I watched you grow up." He offered John a faint smile. "I'll understand if you want to go back..."

"I don't and that's what I'm really afraid of... Is this something that I want or just something that... that the Director wants..." He sighed softly and looked straight back at Rosco, his hand snaking out and gripping his mate's paw tightly. "But you know what? I don't think it matters. Not really. I've got you and come what may... I don't care. The Director can end the whole fucking world if he wants but as long as I'm by your side, I couldn't give a shit."

Rosco grinned broadly. "You're swearing."

"Yeah?" answered John with a smirk. "So what?"

"Here's what..."

Rosco leaned in and pressed his lips against John's. The contact was electrifying, activating something deep and primal inside of John. The young man quivered in delight as his entire body suddenly felt like it was boiling from the inside. He knew what was coming and he accepted it, embraced it. It felt good.

He pulled Rosco in for a deep kiss, pulling his lips wide open to allow the wolf to push his long, flat tongue deep inside his mouth. John shuddered. He eagerly drew that tongue into himself, suckling on it and letting the fluids roll down his throat, strike his belly and spread the warmth all throughout his body.

The heat all over his body started to build and he found himself uncomfortable in his own clothes. He kicked off his shoes and with Rosco's help, pulled down his pants. His eleven inch cock sprang up proudly, the thick bush of red hair rubbing closely to Rosco's black, furry sheath. He moaned softly at the gentle touch of that fur against his own bare flesh. That felt wrong.

Fur on fur... that was what would have felt right.

He gripped Rosco towards himself, the heat from their cocks reaching hellish levels. John had to pull his lips away from his mate, letting out a lusty growl. His cock burned with need and the transformation. He threw back Rosco, slamming him hard on the bench like he had done that day in his Hummer. Sitting atop his mate, he moaned as his cock began to shift and change right before his eyes.

Every drop of pre that leaked out of his cock was like a droplet of molten magma that filled him with both relief and lust. The thick, red pubic hairs around the base of his cock began to thicken and grow, spreading wildly across this balls and all over his cock. Every throb of his member drew it closer and closer to his belly where it quickly grew attached by a thin leaf of flesh. The prickling sensation of the fur rolling up to the tip of his cock head and covering it completely in creamy-white fur made him shudder.

His plump sheath fully formed, John reached down and massaged his large, furry balls, feeling them grow and build between his fingers, the cum practically churning deep inside of them. The need for release built and built deep inside of him and that need manifested itself in the emergence of his new, jet-black, tapered cock. He grinned to himself as his powerful fourteen inch member sprang into full view, his knot quickly forming.

"Oh fuck me..." Rosco whimpered, staring at the monster right before him.

"You got it," growled John. He seized Rosco's side and spun him on his belly. Rosco let out a faint whimper as his alpha lifted his tail and pushed the tip of that black cock deep into him. John moaned. He had mounted Rosco the day before but this was something else.

It felt right.

His entire body agreed. He groaned, the sound growing deeper and deeper as his neck thickened, thick veins rolling over his shoulders and ballooning out his deltoids. His shirt ripped and shredded beneath the monumental growth. His pecs tore his shirt right down the middle and his exploding biceps tore the sleeves clear off. John growled in pleasure, each pop of his spine growing a new vertebra like a mini-orgasm that sent quakes throughout his entire body.

John rumbled in pleasure, shutting his eyes as he let his body go into auto-pilot, sitting back and enjoying the overwhelming pleasure that flooded his mind. His cock pushed deeper and deeper into Rosco, each thrust gaining more ground and the warm of his mate's insides filling him with more and more strength. His senses expanded. Every sound in the room was increased a thousand fold and he could suddenly smell each of his pack mates. He knew Pat's smell off by heart and the heavy musk around him was most likely from Creedy.

He felt his face being pulled forward, the growth of his new canine muzzle a welcome relief. He flicked his tongue, enjoying the sensation and raw power of the strong jaw and fangs that he now possessed. Flicking his ears around was entirely new but he would grow used to it, he knew.

A deep growl rippled from his expanding chest. He leaned down and took a good, long whiff of Rosco's scent, shivering from head to toe as it permeated his nostrils and he committed it to memory. This was his mate and there would be no changing that. That scent fuelled his growth even further, making him grunt as the change spread down to his abdominals, making them as hard as diamonds and so large that he could actually feel them rubbing against one another.

He pinned Rosco down with his new, powerful arms, loving how the veins popped up against his creamy white and red fur. That red fur made him smile. No longer would anyone tease him about his stark red hair because it matched his fur perfectly. It was a beautiful russet colour, covering the majority of his body save for the creamy white underbelly that showed off the contours of his muscular chest perfectly.

He gripped Rosco with his paws, pulling the big wolf up against him and pushing his knot straight into the wolf.

"Oh fuck!" roared Rosco. "Yeah! Fuck! That feels good!"

John seized Rosco's scruff and pulled the wolf up against his chest. "Shut the fuck up and kiss me."

Their muzzle met in a passionate kiss; their breath filling one another. John felt like Rosco was inflating him, pumping more and more strength into his body. One breath brought his tail into existence, wagging happily behind him in rhythm with his powerful thrusts. Another ballooned his thighs to colossal sizes, the biggest in the entire team. A third made his calves to be envied and the four gave him the biggest feet in the entire team.

They knew who their alpha was.

He threw his head back and let out an ear-splitting howl.

His cock rocked wildly deep inside Rosco, spilling his seed inside his mate.

Rosco joined his howl, his own member celebrating their union at last.

John 'Johnny' Mackenzie grinned and pulled his mate into another loving kiss. This was where he belonged... with his pack... no one else.

*****

The Sydney Wolves were on fire. With the addition of two new players, the team were no longer as stretched thin as they had been before. They were stronger than ever and that kept the opposing teams on their toes.

Down on the field, Johnny Mackenize pumped his fist into the air and let out his trademark howl that everyone thought was crazily convincing for a human. He jogged back down the field as Rosco took his place. The two clasped hands and bumped shoulder for a little longer than normal. However, no one suspected a thing as the two separated and Rosco took up position in front of the new Fullback.

High in the skybox, the Director smiled to himself as he watched, leaning casually back against his seat. Beside him were several contract offers from different players' agents from different teams advertising their interest in joining the new and upcoming teams.

In truth, he had no interest in them.

He never did.

"When are you going to tell them?"

The Director smirked and glanced over his shoulder at the other person in the skybox. "Never."

"You never intended to take over this world with a bunch of werewolves, did you?"

"Of course not. Where would the profit be if everyone was a mindless drone? People need to have their own free will so that they can make their own assumptions, make their own fortunes and promises so that they could give it all to us when they grow desperate enough."

"So the Wolves...?"

"Were just a bunch of kids who wanted to play rugby and now have their wish granted."

"And Pat and John?"

The Director smirked. "Ever notice how people play all the harder when they have someone they're playing for?"

The figure chuckled. "So it's just as Pat said. Calvin Doorman was jealous about how well Dennis Roswell was playing all because of John entering his life. So, now that he has someone in his life too, he plays all the harder. Huh..."

"Now you're getting it."

"Calvin was always laid back and a little lazy. But Pat is stern and quite disciplined. The two bring out the best in one another both on and off the field. Then there's Dennis and John. One is outgoing and very friendly while the other is shy but has a strong personality." The figure let out a soft chuckle. "It never was about making a team, gaining profit or taking over the world was it."

The Director said nothing.

"This was all about making those kids happy. Making their dreams come true." The figure shook his head. "Why would you tell them you hoped to make them a tool of your evil schemes?"

"Because everyone needs a purpose whether it be an adversary to beat or a game to win," answered the Director. "If those guys down there just exist to play the game, they will be nothing more than the mindless drones that I fight to give personality and life. People are so much more fun to mess with when they feel pain, after all."

"Uh-huh. And what are your plans going forward?"

"Oh, you know." The Director hand a finger down the contracts. "I'm going to expand the team. Throw other unmated players into this dilemma of turning those they have fallen for against the morality of fighting against me. Probably conspire to get some woman pregnant and have the player fret over what the kid will turn out, maybe even fear for the girl's life. Hell, I might even get one of the guys pregnant if I'm feeling particularly kinky. Who knows?"

"And you're doing this all because...?"

"Because I'm evil. Plus it makes me money."

"Right... Of course." The figure turned to leave. "Have fun making people's lives better. You know the bad guy always loses, right?"

The Director closed his eyes, a smile on his face. "I know." He flashed the figure a wicked grin. "It's a good think I'm not a sore loser then, isn't it?"