Is It Nick or Nicky?

[Commission: Nick Bosa History Reimagined as Tiny Little Gay Guy]

Nick smiled warmly when Mikhail, the team intern, leapt from the driver’s seat and ran around the car to open the rear passenger-side door. Nick placed a hand on the little guy’s shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “You’re not a chauffeur, bro,” he said. “Besides, I’m gonna ride up front!”

Mikhail jumped a little at the contact, but returned the smile and returned to the driver’s seat. Nick checked his phone as a text came in: “How’s it going?” It was his coach.

“I’m taking care of it,” Nick tapped back, hopping in the passenger seat. Mikhail kept his eyes on the road, almost as if he was afraid to look at the hunky football player. Nick was used to this kind of reaction from shy women, but usually didn’t get it from guys all that often.

“Coach said to drive you straight home after the gym,” Mikhail explained mechanically. “He said I could pick up food for you if you needed it.”

This level of catering so close to a game wasn’t abnormal for Nick, although he always kind of bristled at it. “Honestly, don’t sweat it, buddy. You can just drop me off.” Suddenly an idea occurred to him. “How about you and I go together to grab a bite to eat? I’ve never really hung out with you outside of just, y’know, team stuff.”

Mikhail’s pale cheeks flushed for a moment. He scratched a zit on his forehead, then chewed on his fingernail. Nick hadn’t meant to cause the guy to have a seizure from a simple question. “Well, I dunno… I mean, coach said--”

“Coach said his star player can pretty much call the shots,” Nick added warmly. “And this star player says, let’s share some nachos and take it easy.

Mikhail nodded anxiously as he tapped on the GPS.

Nick threw on a hoodie and pulled a hat low over his eyes to hide his identity at the little mom and pop eatery. After the hostess seated them, Mikhail stared at his lap quietly.

“So,” Nick said, sipping his water. He sat back in his chair and glanced around the mostly empty restaurant. “What got you interested in working with an NFL team?”

Mikhail turned suddenly, as if he’d just sensed something behind him, although no one was in the direction he glanced. He slowly relaxed and eased back into his chair. “I, uh… my aunt, um, knows one of the team owners, so when I was about to graduate college, I… uh…”

The waitress approached with a large plate of nachos. She smiled warmly at the well-built athlete. Nick wasn’t sure if she recognized him or if she just saw his broad-shoulders and his brawny frame. He snatched up a handful of cheesy chips and waited for Mikhail to do the same.

“He easing up?” coach texted.

“He’s fine. Got it under control,” Nick texted back.

The issue Coach so insistently texted him about had to do with an HR complaint Mikhail had filed. It wasn’t serious, just a request for a transfer to a different team with complaints about the “team culture”--although Coach’s worry was that this was going to blow up into a bullying thing.

And while Nick had always been kind to the little guy, some of the other guys on the team snarked (with varying levels of sincerity) that they were missing jockstraps, or that Mikhail’s gaze was lingering too long as they left the showers. It was possible Mikhail heard, and that kind of talk, out in the media, could become an issue for the team.

It was up to Nick to make Mikhail feel welcome, although Nick was going to do what he did to everyone: treat him like his best buddy.

“Well, if you’re into football, it must be kind of exciting, right?” Nick began. Getting Mikhail to converse was a chore--especially since everyone else Nick knew was more than happy to bask in his attention.

“I’m not that into, y’know, sports,” Mikhail said quietly. “I like stats, cuz I’m a numbers guy, but football itself isn’t… my thing.” He exhaled softly. “I had a vitamin deficiency as a kid and my bones are really breakable, so I could never, y’know, run around, play with other kids. Really changes how you grow up, socialize… how your whole, life… um, trajectory… works…”

Mikhail took a moment to puff on an inhaler, then stood and walked hastily to the bathroom. Nick wasn’t worried; this was how Mikhail went everywhere. Nearly every motion from his scrawny body was spastic.

Suddenly Nick shivered. He rubbed his arms through his sweatshirt to generate some heat--what, had the AC kicked on or something? It was a little chilly for that nonsense. Luckily the waitress was on her way back.

“Everything okay?” she said, looking around for the person missing from the cast-aside chair.

“Yeah, everything’s great,” Nick said, his voice a little shrill sounding. He cleared his throat. “Everything except the, uh--” What, was he getting a cold? Coach wasn’t going to like that. He cleared his throat again.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” the waitress said, adjusting her low-cut shirt as she glanced around. “That guy with you--does he play for the NFL?”

Nick’s laugh was cut short as he shivered again. “Uh, yeah, actually…” What the hell was wrong with his voice? He was going to see the team’s doctor tonight, he decided. “Actually, he’s not--but I am.”

The waitress’ frozen smile hung for a moment before she rolled her eyes. “Okay, well, I get that you’re being--y’know, incognito… but one of my cooks says he plays for the 49’ers! What’s his name? Michael Wyndham or something?”

Nick shook his head as he tried to puzzle through the situation. A fog was settling over his senses--must be the head cold, really taking over--but how the hell did this lady know Mikhail’s last name?

Heavy footsteps behind him shocked him out of his confusion. Nick turned to see a MASSIVE man thudding toward them. This guy was a GIANT--he had to be at least seven feet tall, Nick estimated, and was built like a beast. Nick was stunned when the goliath had a seat at the table.

“Look, Nicky,” the massive man said, “This has been fun and all, but I’m thinking we really need to get back to the hotel. I have to get some serious rest tonight.”

It took Nick a moment to see MIkhail’s features on the enormous man’s face. A moment later he looked down at himself; the beast in Mikhail’s seat wasn’t quite as big as Nick was small. He looked up at Mikhail’s powerful frame and nodded weakly. He felt nauseous as his hands rested on his thin legs. He gently patted his own arms, shocked when he touched bony elbows. Everything about this felt wrong, but something in him compelled him to turn to the waitress.

“Um… can we take our food to go?” Nick wanted more than anything to be out of that restaurant, but there was another nagging feeling he couldn’t shake: Mikhail had made a request… and he was compelled to do as the big man said.

“Sure thing!” the waitress said, rushing away, her gaze locked on Mikhail’s enormous body.

Nick looked over to his companion for some answers, but the large man just tapped at his phone, glancing up occasionally to toss Nick a smile.

“I think… I think something’s wrong,” Nick began, but the waitress returned with their bagged-up dinner. She shoved it in Nick’s lap as he weakly fumbled for his wallet. Wait, why was he paying? Mikhail had the team’s card. But his hands seemed to move on their own, handing payment to the waitress as Mikahil rose (and rose… and rose! Good god he was HUGE!) from the table and sauntered to the door. Nick signed the slip quickly and hustled after the big guy, shocked at how many extra steps he had to make to keep up.

“Look,” Mikhail said, clapping a huge hand on Nick’s shoulder. “I think we can both say that was some nice quality time, right?”

Nick couldn’t stop shaking. He reached into his pocket and found the keys to the car. Why the hell did he have the keys?

“See, the thing is, coach is worrying that some of the guys are, y’know… being a little too rowdy with you. But I’ve always seen you as, like, a little brother. The guys haven’t made you feel uncomfortable, have they?”

Nick couldn’t believe he was looking this brute in the chest. He’d never felt this small before, even next to the linemen! He kept glancing up at Michael’s wide, thick shoulders, then down at his own skinny legs.

“No, that’s not it at all!” Nick began. He wanted to point out that he was the NFL player and Mikhail was the bullied guy, but once again, the shrill sound of his voice made him fall quiet.

“Exactly,” Mikhail said. “So let’s just call it a night. I think coach will be happy to hear that you’re happy.”

Something happened. Nick thought he was going to throw up. As he swooned on his feet, his vision went blurry. The weight of the food in his hand lessened--had he dropped it? He put one hand on the car to steady himself. Holy shit, he was really going to throw up!

“Oh my god, Mr. Bosa, are you okay?”

Nick gasped for air as his vision cleared. LIttle Mikhail had put down his to-go food and stood by Nick’s side with his phone out.

“Should I call the team doctor? You looked like you were going to pass out!”

Nick looked down at his once again 6’4, 270 pound body. Mikhail, holding the bagged food and the keys, was scrawny again.

“No,” Nick said, relieved that his hallucination was over. “No, just get me back to the hotel.”

He was silent the whole way back. As Mikhail parked, he gently put a hand on Nick’s forehead. “Mr. Bosa, you don’t feel like you have a fever, but you looked really bad back there. Are you sure I shouldn’t call someone?”

Nick shook his head. With a smile, he patted Mikhail on the shoulder. “Nah, I think I just need to get a good night’s sleep.” Plus, what was he going to say: I had a dream that Mikhail was big and I was small?

“By the way,” Nick said as he grabbed the heavy bag of to-go boxes from Mikhail, “I’d rather you called me Nick instead of Mr. Bosa.”

Mikhail smiled.

Another text came in from the coach. “What’s the status on the situation?”

Nick and Mikhail headed back to the hotel, Nick’s big arm around Mikhail’s skinny shoulder like they were buddies.

With his free hand he texted bacik, “Situation taken care of.”

*

At the airport, Nick waited with the other players as they prepared to board. Another fan hassled him for an autograph and congratulated him on his game. The team’s security stepped up, pushing the fan back, but Nick eased the situation and offered the autograph, posing for a selfie with the fan as well.

As they began to board the flight, Nick noticed Mikhail hovering on the outskirts of their crowd. It looked clear he wanted to approach, but the other teammates exchanging leers and smirks kept him at bay. Nick departed from the group and approached the little guy, catching a nod from the coach as he approached.

“You ready to fly home?” Nick said, giving Mikhail a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“I, uh…” Mikhail seemed more anxious than usual. “I was going to tell you this later, in like, a letter, or something, but… I’m going to be leaving the team. I handed in my resignation.”

Nick sighed. “Damn, man,” he said, shaking his head. “Is it something I did? I mean, it’s gonna be a real drag not having you around anymore.”

“No, it’s just…” Mikhail sighed. “I just don’t fit in with the team, and I think I’m just gonna move on… no hard feelings though. Maybe we can stay in touch? Facebook or something?”

Nick smiled. “That’d be cool as hell!” he said, realizing he might want to dial it back a bit. “Yeah, we’ll defintiely stay in touch. YOu’re a good dude, Mikhail. I’ve always appreciated having you around.”

Coach gave Nick the thumbs up as they boarded. As he plopped his big body down in his first class seat, Nick couldn't understand why he was so tired all of a sudden. He’d completely forgotten about the episode from the night before. He checked his watch--it was a four hour flight, and he could maybe use the nap--and started swiping through the movie options on the screen before him as his eyes grew heavier. Sleep swept over him so gradually he didn’t even realize it.

Nick woke up to a hard slap on his shoulder. “Intern!” came a stern voice. Nick started awake--shocked that he was unfamiliar with his surroundings until he realized he was on the plane. Then he was shocked again: he was cramped into an economy class seat. He looked down at his stick-thin legs, then gawked at his small hands as the slap came again. “C’mon, intern! You’re still an employee of this team until we get off the busses.” It was Clay, one of the assistant coaches.

Nick’s blood boiled--how fucking dare Clay talk to him like that? Slapping him was way too far. With a word, Nick could have this guy fired. But as Clay shot him a stern glare, Nick found himself hopping out of his seat, fumbling around for a messenger bag he didn’t really recognize. He stumbled into the aisle, barely awake, and gawked at a plane that seemed much bigger than when he’d boarded.

It was Nick’s job to gather all the team’s luggage and bring it to the bus… He knew that was wrong, but he couldn’t shake the urgency of that task. He stood by the carousel, lighting up as he recognized a suitcase, rushing out and lugging it back to his big cart. Twice he had to pause, putting his head between his knees, as he repressed the urge to vomit. These weren’t his bony knees. This wasn’t his scrawny body. None of this was right!

“You almost done? We’re ready to go!” It was Clay again. Nick had never seen Clay, a dumpy, middle-aged man, do anything but grovel for his attention. But now he had a distinct fear of the man.

Wheeling all the luggage back to the bus was hard enough. He was winded after about a hundred feet. Why the hell couldn’t the huge football players lug their own stuff, he wondered?

The fact that he’d thought that without even noticing made his blood go cold. Everything seemed to be totally out of his control. This had to be a dream, or a psychotic break. But he felt like he was being swept away in a powerful current. No matter how wrong it all seemed, he couldn’t escape it.

When he made it to the bus, he saw the players approaching. Part of him wanted to call out to his buddies--but a much stronger force kept him silent. He couldn't bear to see how huge they looked now. Just hours before, he’d stood alongside them on the field, as equals! But now they seemed like gorillas as they stomped past him without even glancing his way. He waited back with the other interns, none of whom liked him very much. (That wasn’t right, he knew; the interns LOVED him, but now his head was throbbing as he flashed on images of them calling him “weird” and shunning him.)

On the bus, he glanced around, searching for Mikhail--or Michael, rather. As he sat there, studying his tiny fingers while the bus jiggled him around, he started to wonder if Mikhail had ever been real. He remembered playing that day. But with every second that passed, it all seemed like it had happened to someone else.

*

Nick sat in his shitty Saturn, staring at his last paycheck. He was still dazed as he recalled asking Clay if he would give him a good recommendation. The assistant coach--who had never liked him--just chuckled.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he’d said. Nobody had even said goodbye to him as he’d left. He’d searched the players for Michael, the only person who’d ever been nice to him, but he was nowhere to be found.

Nick stared at his face in the car’s rearview mirror. It was still him, but everything was a lot smaller. He was used to having a neck as thick as his head, nice dimples, strong cheekbones. It was like someone pumped all the air out of his head.

He lifted up his shirt and examined the doughy, pale belly, the tiny tuft of hair on his chest, the little pink nipples. He let his shirt fall, then pulled it up again. He remembered the muscles he’d had for years, but for some reason, every time he saw his emaciated form again, it looked familiar.

“My brother!” Nick suddenly remembered. He was grateful to see that Joey’s number was still saved in his phone, but froze as he went to dial it. Joey explicitly said not to call him in-season. Nick sadly recalled the last time he’d gone to see Joey play, how his brother had told him not to embarrass him in front of hte other players.

He remembered Joey’s birthday, when Nick arrived with a card and a small gift. “I’m going out with the guys,” Joey had said in a patronizing tone. “I mean, these are big boys, Nicky--not the kind of crew you hang around with.”

There was the time Joey caught Nick jerking off to photos of Joey’s college roommate. Nick sobbed as that memory emerged. Fuck, wait--jerking off to a dude?! But it was real. Ever since then, Joey had always kept Nick at arm’s length.

“I won’t tell mom and dad,” Joey had said with a look of disgust, “but… I don’t really want to know about that side of you, bro.”

As Nicky rubbed tears from his eyes, he heard a knock on his car door. His heart leapt as he looked up to see the face of his hero staring down at him. Shamefully he rubbed his tears on the sleeve of his shirt as he rolled the window down.

“You taking off without saying goodbye?” Michael said, flashing his dimples as he smiled. Nicky’s heart leapt.

“I, uh… looked for you, but, I…” Nicky was overcome. Words were flooding the pipeline--so many things he wanted to say to Michael, but nothing would come out.

Michael just smiled. He opened the door and reached down, unbuckling Nicky’s seatbelt. The little guy just sat there, baffled, and let his big hero run the show. Michael reached down and pulled Nicky from the car, leading him away with a big, muscular arm around his shoulder. Nicky basked in the warmth of that muscle. He wanted to bury his face in Michael’s armpit--but he knew those impulses were what got him in trouble.

When they arrived at Michael’s Mercedes, Nicky paused. “Wait, what are we doing?” he asked.

“Since you’re not employed anymore,” Michael said, “I was wondering if you wanted to come work with me. In my house. Personal assistant. I’ll pay you under the table. Give you a place to live.”

Nicky thought of his shitty apartment. He sighed at the offer being put in front of him.

“But… why?” he asked, once again wiping away tears. So much had happened that day. He felt like he’d run a marathon. Vaguely, he recalled that he’d actually played an entire NFL game, but it faded from his mind quickly.

“Because I like having you around,” Michael said. He unlocked the doors with a click and hopped in the driver seat. “Hop in, bucko.”

Nicky slid into the warm leather seat. It felt so familiar, like a car he used to have in a dream once… his head hurt. He needed to sleep.

He sat in the passenger seat, afraid to look at the big jock next to him but unable to ignore the potent smell of the NFL player’s musk. Even fresh out of the shower, Michael always had a robust, masculine smell to him. That, mixed with Michael’s deodorant and whatever spritz of spicy cologne he wore… Nicky felt his little dick getting hard as he filled his lungs with Michael’s pheromones.

“You still remember how it used to be?” Michael finally said.

Nicky froze. “What do you… mean?”

“How it was before we switched,” Michael said. Nicky’s eyes welled up again. He’d felt so alone, struggling with the idea that maybe he was going crazy. Having Michael confirm it for him… it was like a massive weight lifted.

“Is it real?” Nicky asked. He looked at himself, then dared to look at big Michael, whose shirt was riding up, revealing just an inch of Michael’s tanned, slightly hairy abdomen just above his belt.

“I don’t know how it happened,” Michael said, flexing his big arms and chuckling, “but… I just wished really hard I could be like you. And then… it happened. I guess the first time around, it didn’t stick. But on the plane today… did you feel it? Did you feel the whole world rearrange? Did you feel time itself bending and twisting?”

Nicky just shook his head. “I was asleep,” he whispered. Then he perked up. “Wish it back!” he said. “Wish things back to normal!”

Michael put a strong hand on Nicky’s narrow chest and pushed him back against his seat. It took barely any force; just the feeling of Michael’s hand on him made his will dissolve. “How about his, buddy? We spend one night like this, and tomorrow, if you want me to, I’ll see if I can’t will things back the way they used to be. Sound good?” Michael’s strong fingers started to stroke back and forth, gently digging into Nicky’s aching flesh. The little intern’s head cocked to the side. His body was tingling under Michael’s caress.

At MIchael’s penthouse, Nicky tumbled after his new employer. All thoughts of his old life, of being a huge NFL star, were gone, as Michael stepped into the house, shedding clothing with every step. Michael’s still-warm shirt fell over Nicky’s face, engulfing him in Michael’s smell. Nicky pulled it away to find Michael’s discarded jeans, belt still threaded through the loops.

Nicky followed the trail to the bathroom. The final article of clothing was Michael’s briefs. God, how he’d always wished he could steal a pair. Several of the players had accused him of it, although trutfhfully he’d never taken a single article of clothing from another man. He stopped at the door as he heard the shower water squeak on.

“You wanna join me?” Michael called from within.

His entire life, Nicky suddenly recalled, he’d felt ashamed of the way he’d lusted after men. Craving male flesh was his dirty little secret, something he did in private and felt shameful for in the daylight, but suddenly the man of his dreams was inviting him in. He knew, on the other side of that bathroom door, beyond the billowing steam, was the body he’d dreamt about secretly for months.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a fading voice cried out that this was all wrong; he was into women, Mikhail was into him, and he was a powerful athlete on top of his game.

Nicky shook his head. It was much easier to embrace things as they were now. He grabbed the briefs and held them against his faith, breathing deeply before he pushed into the bathroom. He felt like an invisible force was drawing him into that shower.

Once the frosted door opened and he got a look at all that tanned muscle, Nicky fellt to his knees. He looked up at the mountain of a man--now his employer, he thought wistfully--and gazed upon the powerful dick he never thought he’d be able to see up close. It jerked and twitched as big Michael stared down at him.

“I figure it’s the least I could do, since you gave me this life, sorta,” Michael said. He shifted his hips, waggling his stiffening rod back and forth. He touched it to either side of NIcky’s head like he was knighting him, then dragged it across Nicky’s face. The little man giggled in delight. “And let me tell you, not everything switched. There’s still a part of me left in here.” The massive lineman placed a strong hand against his beefy chest, then reached down to grab one of Nicky’s hands, guiding it to the hairy slabs of meat. “The part of me that wanted nothing more than to be close to you. It’s still in here, Nick. You feel it?”

Nicky was nearly delirious with joy. He could barely comprehend what Michael was saying to him.