After the Wave

Chapter 2
Home Sweet Home

Chapter Description: M/M... oh, I'll let you be surprised.

Chapter II: Home Sweet Home

The relationship between 16-year-old John and 13-year-old Blake was no more or less contemptuous than any other shared by a pair of brothers. They were competitive, sure; even spiteful to one another, on the rare occasion-- but, all else being equal, they epitomized the ethos of the unremarkable suburbanite that colored the agonizingly sedate neighborhoods of middle America.

This was so until the Wave. No one knows what it was, exactly. It wasn’t a meteor, nor was it an alien device, nor was it recorded by any seismological equipment. It just... came. From the sky? From the sea? From some above-top-secret DARPA project? Perhaps we’ll never know.

The Wave hit the house of John and Blake Patterson on the night of November 16th, 2014. Pleasantly, it was silent and nonthermal. Quite unpleasantly, those qualities made it undetectable and impervious to prevention and study. So when it whipped through the boys’ house -- on a night during which they sat side-by-side, playing Portal 2 whilst their parents gallivanted about town -- the ferocity of its effects was immediately evident.

Controllers clattered to the floor. (They cost only around $50 then, if you can believe it.) Both John and Blake felt frozen in place -- whether they actually were remains up for debate -- but the biological changes rippling through their bodies were all too phenomenally real.

John was regressing in age, and quickly. That was the fact of the matter. To tell it to you kids, that’s when you get younger instead of older. All the progress you’ve made, all the development you’ve accomplished... spirited away like a fart in the wind. You might as well have never grown up. And it wasn’t as if the spiky-haired teen recognized it right off the bat-- who would? But, by the time he was younger than his little brother, there was no denying it.

Muscular development had melted into oblivion. Facial hair had retracted into softening flesh... then, John’s pubic hair was next to go, an occurrence the boy could only witness by pulling the front of his expanding jeans away from his body. In truth, he was merely interested in monitoring the size of his penis, which was dwindling with equal rapidity.

John had always been proud of his dick. He had no reason to be so now. In a matter of moments, the teenager had become the squeaky-voiced 11-year-old he’d had no fun being the first time around.

Blond, wispy-haired Blake was faring little better, though the consequences brought upon him by the assault of the Wave were far less evident. The inner workings of his body were reconstituting themselves. Cells were rearranging, organs were lending tissues to form new anatomy, and all Blake could bring himself to do was to kick his foot in impotent reflex. He thought he had the mother of all stomach aches. Factually, the 13-year-old was becoming a young lady... but only on the inside.

His six-year-old big brother was more humiliated than terrified. John had managed to climb out of his parachute’s worth of clothes and was stumbling, dumbly, naked, in front of his little brother-- whom had already begun undoing his jeans. For what reason, little Johnny didn’t know. For what reason, Blake didn’t even know. But he was doing it, sending his pants to the hardwood floor, his belt collapsing upon it with tintinnabulation, and the boy’s tighty-whities soon followed. Blake was only slightly less naked than Johnny--

--who was four years old, and “upset about it” would have been the understatement of the year. Seeing his 13-year-old brother’s cock was not something he’d intended on doing that night. Seeing it so much bigger than Johnny’s own was no picnic, either. But the 16-year-old in a little boy’s body had other penis-related matters about which to worry.

Johnny had been late to the mastery of toilet training. No crime, really. But, while some delayed learners come to develop an affinity for diapers, the boy harbored nothing but revulsion towards them. It was all he could think about as he tumbled backward through the years and collapsed to the floor. He’d had to wear them at night until he was nine; he’d rejected invitations to friends’ overnights for that reason and had always woken up with a soggy crotch.

But only when he was four years old could he be trusted with wearing real, big-boy underpants during daylight hours.

Which was a problem at that very moment, since teenaged Johnny was inhabiting a two-year-old body. His earlier private life had been characterized and crippled by diapers by virtue of his pissing himself. He didn’t want that again. He couldn’t tolerate the thought of going back to his portable potty. His “dipees,” as he had so often cooed their nom de plume. The underwear that he had tried in pathetic futility to make “cool,” but concomitantly the underwear that never managed to exude a single iota of such a sentiment. It just meant that he was a baby. This was what ran through his mind as, panicked, he held his pudgy, adipose-infused hands to his penis and began spewing urine all over the floor.

Since Blake had, seconds ago, collapsed to the floor in a half-naked heap, he was more or less rolling around in his 18-month-old big brother’s urine. Even as the hot liquid soaked his pulled-down pants, even as it splashed against his body in wild arcs, the young teenager felt nothing but affinity for Johnny. Indeed, increasing amounts of affinity. The one-year-old, then the six-month-old, squirming on the ground, had become Blake’s pride and joy.

Johnny wasn’t as proud and joyous. As his stream of piss came to an end, the cognizant 16-year-old newborn shrieked helplessly as he bathed in his own mess. He didn’t want his little brother to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. And he didn’t want his gosh-darn dipees!

Pity rippled through Blake’s mind as he saw his brother become younger and younger. He just loved him so much. Would give anything to protect him. Wasn’t there a way he could demonstrate that love to him?

His new equipment. That was the key. As oddly-wired as his anatomy had become... that was it.

Blake gently grasped his big brother by his tiny feet and began pushing them into his asshole. It was difficult to begin the process. Other than shit and thermometers, Blake had never had anything in his asshole before, and it was not on his to-do list this night. But the Wave had caused the 13-year-old’s anus, his rectum, to become directly connected to an alternate path... one straight to his uterus. He could use the restroom and gestate his brother at the same time.

Johnny disapproved of this new arrangement. He kept slapping his tiny hands against the cheeks of his little brother’s ass as Blake shoved him up into it. It was a warm environment, no doubt -- squishy and soothing and oddly comforting -- but it was still Blake’s ass, and Johnny was still, possibly, doomed to spend the next nine months in his little brother’s torso.

“Possibly” became “definitely” when an umbilical cord whipped outward and plunged itself into Johnny’s navel. It happened just before the boy’s head disappeared into Blake’s rear-end.

The young teen lay panting on the ground, his future baby’s urine having pooled around him. He didn’t want to be pregnant. But seldom do we decide these things for ourselves.

to be continued with many, many things.