Off Target

Jarod was dizzy. The ritual smoke still filed the room, making him cough.

“Dammit, all that work and nothing!”

Jarod tried to open the window to let the room air out, but his legs didn’t work right, and he fell on the way.

“Shit …”

Trying to get up was no better. His arms wobbled as he pushed himself upright on the floor, like they weren’t sure what he was telling them to do.

Finally finding his feet, he got the window open. He leaned on the window sill with his head hanging outside, still dizzy, trying to get a breath of fresh air.

His vision cleared a bit, and he turned around to sit on the window sill while he surveyed the damage.

The ritual brazier was melted, the ingredients gone. Exactly what the spellbook described as success. So where was Mikey?

Jarod sighed. He thought he’d cry, but he was cried out.

”I’m so sorry man, I tried, I really did.”

A single tear did squeeze its way out of his eye.

Jarod felt a sudden pang of - gratitude? It was mixed in with what he’d been calling the Broken Brotherhood feelings, the whole mess of emotions tied in to losing his best friend.

Jarod caught a whiff of something awful in the clearing air, and realized that he was soaked with sweat, and reeked of the ritual fire.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he stood up and went to take a shower.

Still, none of his limbs worked right, and he kept stumbling. It was like when you try to run in a dream, and your legs seem to be stuck in molasses, or when your arm is so asleep you can’t make it do anything except exaggerated gestures.

His Grandfather had warned him - trying such a powerful rite as your first magical working was dangerous at worst, and exhausting at best.

Jarod looked at the ceiling. “I’ll save you the trouble, Gramps. You told me so.” If only he’d been more open to learning when Gramps was still alive.

He finally got into a warm shower, and began to scrub the stink off. The feeling of his hands on himself was - amazing. Every touch was a massage.

“Oh yeah, this is what I needed.” He put his palms on the shower wall to support himself, and stuck his head under the water. The feeling of the lather and fresh water sluicing off of his body was incredible.

He stayed there for a few minutes, relishing the feeling, and realizing that the dizziness and physical disorientation were gone. In fact, he felt amazing.

He opened his eyes, his head still bowed to let the water run down his back. He saw his cock at full attention, and twitching along to his heartbeat. He screwed up his eyebrows in confusion - he hadn’t noticed it at all.

As he stood up straight, the streams of water hit his manhood, and sensation exploded into his entire being. He stumbled backward, ending up against the back wall of the shower stall, stunned by the pleasure he was feeling.

All he could do was close his eyes and gulp down air in ecstatic gasps. The skin of his member was so sensitive that the water by itself was bringing him close to blowing a load.

Upon opening his eyes, he saw it wasn’t just the water - his hands were on autopilot, stroking and squeezing his cock in increasingly desperate fashion. This wasn’t his normal method of jerking off, but DAMN was it effective!

Jarod felt strength, purpose, and a strange sense of elation grow within him, so strong it was almost as a physical feeling. The feeling grew in sync with his pleasure, and as he got close, the combination became overwhelming.

The sound he made as he came was primal, animalistic. Cum exploded from his cock, again and again. The odd physical feeling of being filled with emotion became more solid, more real, more invasive.

He was gasping, and spitting water out of his mouth. It was running down his face, and he realized that in his orgasm he’d slipped down the back wall and was now sitting in the shower stall.

He felt both powerful and spent, amazing and exhausted. His erection was fading, but his cock was still incredibly sensitive.

Other than breathing, movement was out of the question. Supergasm has drained the energy from him, but in a completely satisfying way. His whole body flooded him with sensation, seemingly new versions of what he knew he was experiencing - the moving water, the sounds of it hitting the wall and curtain, and odd slickness of the stall wall on his back.

It took him long enough to recover that the water was getting cold. He slowly stood up, turned off the water and groped for a towel.

Jarod dried off, enjoying the routine activity and the feeling of the soft cotton towel. Finishing with his hair, he turned toward the mirror.

“Holy shit.” Jarod’s voice was barely a whisper.

In place of his reflection was Mikey - still wearing the stupid hat that Jarod had used as the focus in the summoning.

Mikey was just as shocked by his first sighting of Jarod.

“What the FUCK?!“ Both the reflection and Jarod’s mouth said, his voice sounding dual-toned.

Mikey was clearly surprised when Jarod’s mouth obeyed him instead.

Trying to reply, Jarod found that he couldn’t speak, or move.

“I - I’m sorry - I’m not doing that on purpose.”

Mikey spread his hands in front of him, watching to see if Jarod’s did too. They did, causing a look of guilt to cross Mikey’s face. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them still.

“J, please believe me, I didn’t do any of that on purpose, man I swear to God I thought I was in a dream or some shit, I couldn’t see that it was you, and …” Mikey trailed off and averted his eyes in embarrassment. He seemed to retreat backward into the reflection.

Jarod’s body relaxed, re-opening itself to him and his will. It was clear to Jarod that his body now answered to both of them at the same time, and Mikey seemed to be trying to forcibly stifle his connection in favor of Jarod’s.

“So, uh, what do we do now, Bro?”