Transformation Three Pack: Drake and Spencer *B*

[This story is meant to go with this picture here.]

The blinding camera flash caught Drake off guard and he rubbed frantically at his eyes. “Jesus, Spencer, what the fuck?” he gasped as he reeled. His whole body went numb. His sense of gravity went haywire until his roommate Spencer put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Easy there, big fella,” Spencer said, massaging Drake’s muscular shoulder. “Just let things happen as they’re going to. This will all be over in a minute.”

“What… will… be…” Drake’s eyes rolled wildly as he started gasping for air. He could barely hear anything over his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears, but for some reason Spencer’s stroking palm was soothing him.

“That’s a good boy,” Spencer cooed. His eyes lit up as the pins-and-needles all over Drake’s body grew.

Drake reached out a hand to hold on to his roommate but was shocked when his jacked, muscular arm flopped around out of control. What was wrong with it, he wondered, trying to get a look at it as his head flopped around uncontrollably on a suddenly rubbery neck.

Just before the last of his strength left him, Drake was able to raise one hand to his face. He was staring at a two-dimensional thing, a flattened photo of the hand he had expected to see. He tried to wiggle his fingers but they just fluttered like ribbons. Then he was staring up at the ceiling. Spencer stared down at him, licking his lips. Drake tried to speak, tried to stand, but his body wouldn’t respond. He was horrified when he realized he wasn’t breathing, though he felt no hunger for air.

Spencer reached down and did something out of Drake’s line-of-sight. Drake heard his belt-buckle clatter, the slow titter of his zipper, then felt his jeans pulling away. Spencer held them up. They remained unchanged. He folded them and set them aside.

“Okay, let me answer all of your questions by using an actual camera.” Spencer tapped his phone, then turned it around to show Drake.

He saw what looked like a limp cut-out of his own nude body flattened along the floor, like he’d had all the dimension squeezed out of him until he had the depth of a picture. Spencer grabbed Drake’s head--holy shit, just the contact with his skin felt so… fucking… good--and lifted him off the floor like he was weightless. Drake could only stare ahead as Spencer turned him around and snapped another picture. Spinning back and forth so easily was dizzying, but Drake struggled to focus on the picture Spencer showed him: it looked like a poster of him from behind, but he knew it was his actual body.

“I’m sure you figured out you can still see, hear, and--most importantly--feel,” Spencer said casually as he whisked Drake through the apartment, “but we got rid of all that annoying ‘talking’ and that bothersome ‘moving around’ you always did. Seriously, I love seeing those abs, but did you need to be doing crunches at 12:30 every night?” Spencer rolled his eyes. “Trust me, this is a far more enjoyable form for you.”

He grabbed Drake with two hands--he couldn’t believe how sensitive his sense of touch was, how every point of contact radiated waves of pleasure--and shook him out like a blanket, finally letting him settle over their dining room table. “Now you’re just a sexy tablecloth,” Spencer said. Drake’s head had flopped backward and he could now only see the whole room upside-down. He felt Spencer poking and tickling him all over. Without being able to moan or scream, he thought he might die as he felt physical pleasure on a level his brain had never processed before. “I’m having some friends over later,” Spencer said. He knelt down so they were eye to eye. “You won’t mind if we’re a little loud, will you?” Spencer gently stroked along Drake’s flat forehead; he silently reeled, desperate for it to stop, feeling horribly empty when it did.

Then Spencer just walked away. Drake couldn’t see if he was even in the apartment anymore. He lay there, desperate for Spencer to come back, overwhelmed by every gentle breeze that passed over his flattened body. He just wanted to pass out but that didn’t seem possible anymore. Light faded and he found himself silently begging for Spencer to come back. Despite how furious he was, he yearned for Spencer to touch him again.

It was dark when people came over. Drake was relieved by the noise and the activity. “Oh, wow,” said one of Spencer’s friends. “LOVE your new tablecloth! Is that… your roommate? How did you get him to pose for this?”

Spencer’s friends had always made Drake feeling uncomfortable with their lingering stares and the way they tittered the moment he walked into any room. The idea that they were most certainly jacking off to the thought of him used to make him sick to his stomach. That hadn’t changed, but his solitary afternoon made him grateful for the company, and for the chance at contact. He didn’t have to wait long at all.

“Wow, his dick really isn’t as impressive as I’d hoped,” one of them said, gently swiping a hand along the flattened image of Drake’s cock. He would’ve wept if he could’ve.

“I dunno, I don’t care much about his dick. I’ve always just really loved me some muscles.” Another of Spencer’s friends ran a hand over his pecs. Another explosion of sensation, one he could barely stand, one he couldn’t live without once it was gone.

“I don’t see any coasters,” someone else said. That he couldn’t turn to look at each voice was maddening.

“Don’t worry about it,” Spencer said. “Just plop your drinks right on the table.”

Drake shivered as a cold glass plunked right down on his dick. Another ended up on his abs. As conversations happened around him like he wasn’t even there--worse, like he was an object--someone knocked a drink over. Cold liquid and ice cubes spread across his chest and neck. He had never known what a subtle torture it was to desperately need to shiver without the ability to do so. Some of the drink dribbled over the edge of the table, down his face. As people hastily sopped it up, a tight wad of paper towels dabbed at his face. He wished he could have made eye contact with the person who had done it.

After some time had past--had it been minutes or hours?--he was horrified when the conversation in the room (that he had been trying desperately to block out) took on a sultry, deeper tone. He heard the sound of a belt buckle unlatching and a slow unzipping.

Drake lay there helpless as he saw, from his vantage point, pants hitting the floor and shoes getting kicked aside. The sound of mouths on mouths, mouths on--he could only imagine what other things--the squeeze of a lube bottle (some of which spattered, warm and slippery, across his chest), and then the sound of balls slapping against asses filled him with the deepest dread he had ever felt. As it went on and on, he yearned for unconsciousness, loathed most about this form that he couldn’t just black this out. He felt the warm, moist bodies going to town on top of him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, someone hopped off the table just as his moans started to crescendo. Drake didn’t recognize the guy but there he was, stark naked and jerking his dick while he fingered his own ass and moaned right in Drake’s face. “Fuck, fuck… I’m gonna cum right in your roommate’s hot face!” he said. For a moment, Drake felt a glimmer of hope: did this guy suspect that it was really him? But that hope faded when the guy’s body tensed up, and hot cum gushed repeatedly over his. He couldn’t look away or even blink. It dripped down his face like egg yolk. Somehow he could smell and taste it. He prayed for a hand to wipe it away but none came.

Eventually Spencer and his drunk friends tired themselves out. They filtered out of the room and the light was switched off. Drake was grateful to be alone but horrified by what had just happened, further agonizing over the idea that he had heard the door to his own room slamming shut. Some of Spencer’s friends were in his room doing god know’s what!

The only thing he could focus on was the color of the sky outside the window. He waited for it to lighten, from black to purple, then to rosy as the sun came up. At some point, his vision faded out and he found himself blissfully unconscious. He wanted to stay there forever.

He woke with the sun beating down on his face. For a moment he considered that what had happened was only a dream, until he looked around and found himself naked on the table. His whole body was greasy and sticky. He flailed for a minute before rolling off the table and landing face down off the floor, the wind knocked out of him.

“Oh, are you awake?” he heard Spencer say. Drake hopped to his feet. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. “Don’t try to talk. That will all come back in a day, or… a few. I don’t know, I never know these things.” Spencer sipped a mimosa and rubbed his eyes.

Drake looked down at his body but what he saw was unrecognizable. Compared to Spencer he seemed to be the same height as he had been before he was flattened, but he looked bony and frail now, like the muscle had been squeezed out of his frame. He patted his scrawny body, shocked, gaping silently at Spencer for answers.

“Oh, that…” he said. “Don’t worry, your body will blow back out to its old proportions in awhile. It’s just a side-effect of being two-dimensional for awhile. You’ll just have to be a skinny little bitch for awhile.”

From his own bedroom he watched two of Spencer’s friends walking out wearing only their cum-stained boxer briefs holding hands. They froze as they saw the unfamiliar nude figure in the middle of the room. Drake scrambled to their couch to grab a pillow to cover his manhood with.

“Guys, you remember my roommate, right?” Spencer said with a smirk.

“Didn’t he used to be… bigger?” one of the guys said behind his hand.

“He’s been sick,” Spencer said.

Drake hustled to his room to find something to cover himself. The dense, humid air stunk of sex. He grabbed a pair of boxer briefs from his underwear drawer and pulled them up to his waist. They sank right down to the floor as soon as he let go.