"Fucker!" you growl, and cup a hand over your mouth. "Shit!" You look around sheepishly.
You press the button again, and suddenly you're pushed into the elevator door.
"S-sorry," a deep voice, slurring comes from behind you.
You frown as you look over your shoulder, it's a thick heavy jock dressed in a cadets uniform. His eyes blink a few times, they're glassy and the way he's swaying you guess he can't handle his drink.
-ping-
The door opens, and you walk in. He follows and stumbles falling inside, cracking his shoulder on the door. He turns, and subconsciously pulls at his jacket.
*Jarhead*, you think to yourself.
You press your button, seven and wait. The door slides close. "You on seven as well?" You ask.
He works his eyebrows and tries to focus on you, "Fourth." You sigh and press four.
-Ding-, "Second floor", the synthetic voice announces.
You're watching the cadet, he's head is back and he's slowly slipping down the wall as his knees buckle under him.
You're *good samaritan* nature kicks in and reach out to support him.
-Ding-, "Third floor."
He's heavy and you use all your strength to hold him up. He looks at you and gives you a wide grin.
"Thanks," he mumbles. "My squad said I needed to sobered up, wanted to take me back to my room. Told ‘em I was man enough to do it myself, I'm fine!" He practically spits the last word.
-Ding-, "Fourth floor." The doors open and you know he's not doing to make it anywhere near his room, so you hook his thick arm over your shoulder and lead him out.
"What room are you in?"
"416," he mutters and retches.
"Hold it," you growl. "Where's your keycard?"
"Pocket."
You roll your eyes, and fumble through his pockets and find the key. Thankfully he's not far from the elevator. It takes a while as he's heavy, and you both stagger from left to right colliding into walls and fixtures.
He retches again, and for a moment you shy away, but you still get a waft of his breath--you screw up your face.
Using the keycard you open the door and help him inside. He immediately heads for the bathroom, and attempts to remove his uniform jacket as he bounces off the door.
You help him, and are left with the jacket as he just makes it to the toilet and throws up. You're impressed with his aim, there's no mess.
You’re confident he's going to be OK, so you leave him in the bathroom as your attention turns to the jacket. The grey fabric, although coarse has complicated embroidery adorning it. Many gold buttons pepper its surface, you frown, one is missing at the bottom. The size of the jacket fascinates you, much bigger than your normal clothes. Respecting the uniform, you put in across the back of the chair.
There’s a sound of the toilet flushing, and you wait for a moment expecting the cadet to reappear. And wait. Cautiously you peer around the door, and discover him laying on the floor.
“Hey! Buddy wake up,” you say shaking him. He groans and jerks his shoulder from your grasp.
“Com’on, you can’t sleep there,” you tell him. You struggle and finally coax him to his feet, slowly you guide him to the bed where he collapses, and again falls into a deep sleep.
You stare at the sleeping cadet, it was obvious of the comradery with the rest of the cadets, looking after him like a brother. The thought made you more than a little envious since your own friend had abandoned you just minutes before.
He belches, and thankfully that’s all. You try to wake him again, this time more vigorously. There’s no response apart from a grunt and some cuss words.
You have no plans for the evening, at least not now! Your mind starts to wander, and the good samaritan inside you Begins to evaporate.
With a wry grin, you begin to strip the cadet of his uniform; undershirt, boots, socks, pants and underwear—it all comes off. The cadet himself only mutters and groans as you manhandle him.
As you’ve worked your way down to his muscular nudity, it quickly became evident that his size was down to plain hard work at the gym.
His handsome face, thick bull neck and heavy set torso suggested a football scholarship. His abs, waist, and legs where strong, and you imagined him thundering down the field to the touch line. You chew on your lip as the last of your good nature snuffs out.
Walking to the door, you check outside—nobody. With a grin you slip the “Do not disturb” sign on the outside handle.
Returning to the cadet, you begin to strip your own clothes and bundle them into a laundry bag.
Rolling the cadet onto his front, you climb on the bed and begin to trace your hands over his body. Your fingers touch, probe and caress his torso. Satisfied, you roll him over and repeat the task from his feet upwards.
You take his head in your hands and roll it from left to right, carefully studying his features. You slowly nod.
Sitting on the edge of the bed you close your eyes, and focus on the cadet's physique, his torso, the muscle, his face. You begin to feel as if you're falling--backwards into a thick mire. It's pink and park, there's a familiar waft of sweat, and alcohol.
The substance begins to thicken, to the extent that any perceived movement is pointless. The taffy forms around you, taking the accents from your memory. It quickens, and you begin to feel that you can move again. You feel heavy, stronger. The odour, no stench, seems alien, yet familiar.
You're body tenses. It feels bigger--a lot bigger. You ball your hands into fists and your arms stiffen, a bicep stretches your skin.
Gasping, you open your eyes with a start! Your arms are now thick with muscle, dark hairs coat you arms and chest--oh wow, your chest. Heavy plates of meat hang from chest; swelling and contracting with every breath.
Pushing down, you raise yourself from the bed. Below you still asleep is the cadet, you know you're his double now, down to the last detail.
"I should get back to the party," you say in the same deep voice you'd heard before, and grin.
Picking through his clothes, you redress in his uniform. It's large size fits your stolen body perfectly now. From his pant's pocket you check his ID.
"Cadet Cody Wilson," you mutter.
Slipping on the jacket you grab the laundry bag with your clothes and dump them in the corridor as you leave knowing they'll be cleaned and returned to your own room later.
With Wilson's own confidence, you swagger back to elevator, and back to the party.
Although you don't have his memories, you're confident enough that the rest of the cadets aren't 100%, and besides, Wilson's a Jarhead... should be simple to play him--right?
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