Noah tapped the key card against the door panel and turned the handle. It was late, and he was exhausted. After a delayed flight, lost luggage, and a tumultuous cab ride in pouring rain, his brain was fried. The dozens of work emails he missed because the plane Wi-Fi was down would just have to wait. At this hour, the only thing he wanted to do was collapse into bed. 

It was long past midnight, and all the way from the airport, Noah feared his room had been resold. In a surprising demonstration of customer service, however, the Portal Hotel had held his reservation. Despite his exhaustion, Noah indulged the excitable desk attendant as he explained the hotel’s amenities. The guy was nice enough, and Noah especially enjoyed the way his pecs stretched his already tight shirt when he inhaled. 

The room was pitch black, and Noah felt around the wall for the light switch. When he flipped it on, his jaw dropped. The place looked like a perverse fusion of a hotel room, a field house, and a locker room. A massive scoreboard complete with HOME and VISITOR sections was mounted above the king-size bed. On the opposite wall, there was a row of narrow, gray metal lockers where a dresser should be. A flat-screen TV hung above a mini-fridge and an incline bench. Instead of a desk, there was a rack of free weights and a mirror. 

Noah stepped back out into the corridor and looked at the number plate on the wall. It matched the number on his key. He recalled the desk attendant mentioning something about themed rooms, but in his sleep-deprived stupor, Noah paid it little mind. “Themed room” conjured up images of Regency-style furniture or tiki torches, not intramural athletics. 

“Whatever,” he said as he stepped back into the room. “As long as the bed is comfortable.” 

With no luggage to unpack and a full day of work ahead tomorrow, Noah stripped out of his clothes and laid them gently on the incline bench. His gray suit, blue collared shirt, and striped tie were damp from the rain and could use an iron, but they would do for one more day until the airline found his suitcase. Hoping to find a bathrobe or some towels, he opened the lockers one by one and instead found uniforms and kit for every sport: gridiron football, baseball, wrestling, soccer, basketball, and even a brightly colored bowling shirt. 

“Hell of a theme,” he smirked. “They really went all out.” 

Noah lingered on the uniforms, feeling the fabric of each one in turn. He had never been much into sports, but something about the gear hanging in the lockers made him want to look closer. He picked up the baseball cap, held it in his hands for a moment, and slipped it on his head. 

“Ohhhhh.” Noah sighed as a wave of pleasure washed over him. He caught his reflection in the mirror and studied the way he carried himself. It was all wrong. He straightened his back and brought his chest forward, instantly making himself look two inches taller. He raised his chin and squared his shoulders, giving him an air of quiet confidence. He adopted a wider stance and placed his weight on the balls of his feet, like he could sprint around the bases at the drop of a hat. 

“Damn,” he said, playing with the timbre of his voice. “I could get used to this.” 

Noah lifted the jersey and pants off the hook and pulled the cleats, socks, jock and cup, belt, and glove off the shelves. He brought the uniform into the bathroom, which, true to the theme, was little more than a shower head, a floor drain, a urinal, and a sink. Stepping into the jockstrap felt awkward, and he shifted his weight on one foot to keep his balance, but by the time the straps were in place around his ass and the pouch snugly covered his cock and balls, he felt himself settle into a new, sturdier stance. As if by instinct, he knew exactly how to keep his center of mass directly over the midpoint between his feet no matter what. 

“Not instinct,” he muttered in a forced baritone. “Practice.” 

He slipped the cup into the jock pouch and chuckled as he knocked twice against the rigid plastic. Then he slipped into the jersey and the pants. They were tight, almost too tight. Noah had to suck his belly in to tuck the jersey in and fasten the belt. To his surprise, when he exhaled, his belly was gone. The buttons of his jersey ran in a straight line all the way down his flat stomach to his waistband. 

“Huh.” He was shocked, but his expression showed none of it. If anything, he looked bored. “That’s weird.” 

Noah pulled the socks on and tucked the pant legs neatly in. With a satisfied smile, he stepped back out of the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. 

“Whoa,” he said. “This feels… this feels wrong.” 

He peered into the open locker and saw the chewing gum he was looking for. He unwrapped a piece, popped it into his mouth, and sat on the edge of the bed with his legs splayed. 

“This feels right.” 

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