The light through the windows was soft and golden, filtered by trees swaying just outside. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, the forest gently waking. The only sound inside the cabin was the slow, even breath of Cal—still asleep, curled under a sheet, one smooth thigh peeking out.
Ren had been awake for a while.
He lay on his side, head propped against a pillow, just... thinking.
His cock stirred a little against the sheets, not from a dream or need—but just the slow, warm comfort of waking up next to someone he loved. And, honestly, from having it at all. He smirked softly at the thought.
There were so many things he hadn’t expected when the Wave changed him.
But this?
Having a cock that responded to every stolen glance from Cal. That pulsed with pride and pleasure when he rubbed his thighs just right or when Cal sucked him slow under the covers. That he could grip between his thighs when they cuddled or press gently to Cal’s hips when they danced shirtless, teasing each other. That was a perk.
And god, the hands-free life? Wild. Getting off with just footwork, or tight leg presses, or the heat of someone’s mouth... He never thought he’d adapt so hard. But here he was. Rocking his own twist on femininity, dick swinging when he walked, and absolutely thriving.
He sighed, smiling to himself. “Best accident of my life.”
Across the bed, Cal stirred.
His body moved slowly, cat-like, still learning its new rhythm even after weeks.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Thinking.
The softness of his chest. The curve of his hips. The way his voice had softened—naturally, like a slide into a warmer octave—and how his words came slower now, more emotionally in tune. The way he walked with a subtle sway, not even on purpose. How his outfits had shifted, first out of necessity, and now... style.
He didn’t just look feminine.
He was feminine now.
And he wasn’t sure when it stopped being uncomfortable and started being something that fit.
There was still muscle under his skin—he hadn’t lost his strength—but the way he wore it now, with wide hips and smooth thighs and that tight waist? He didn’t recognize the man he used to be anymore. And that was starting to feel okay.
He smirked at the thought. “Pretty little femboy slut,” he whispered under his breath, almost mockingly. But it didn’t sting. It turned him on.
And damn if Ren didn’t love it, too.
In the kitchen, the two met, yawning and grinning, hair a mess and skin still warm from sleep.
They didn’t speak right away—just nudged each other playfully, using legs and feet to open cupboards, flip switches, and position the kettle. They’d long since perfected the art of hands-free coordination.
Ren wrapped a leg around Cal’s waist as he turned on the stove. “Morning, cutie.”
Cal pressed a kiss to Ren’s neck—because lips were easier than hands, after all. “Morning, babe.”
Coffee brewed.
Mugs placed with toes. Poured with care.
Cal took a slow sip, bare skin against the cool floor. “Been thinking... I’m really not a dude anymore.”
Ren arched a brow, smiling over his mug. “You sure you’re not? That dick says otherwise.”
Cal laughed, glancing down. “Okay, maybe I’m a slutty boy-girl thing with great hair and no arms.”
Ren leaned in, their thighs brushing. “You’re hot. That’s what you are.”
“And you,” Cal said, licking his lips, “are disgusting.”
Ren grinned. “Thank you.”
They drank a bit more in comfortable silence, then Ren waggled his brows, his cock half-hard just from standing close.
“So… about creamer.”
Cal blinked. “You want me to get it with my toes?”
Ren stepped closer, pressing his length against Cal’s thigh. “Nah. I want your creamer.”
Cal’s smirk deepened. “Oh? You first.”
Ren’s breath caught—but he leaned against the counter, lifting one leg, wrapping it around Cal’s hip to tug him closer.
Moments later, with the kitchen still smelling of roast and morning woods, they knelt together—no hands, just mouths and thighs and imagination—and added that extra "sweetness" (and saltiness) to each other's cups. Groaning softly as tongues worked, bodies pressed, and their special “cream” dripping into each other's mugs.
Cal took a long, lewd sip of his.
“Perfect,” he whispered.
Ren laughed. “Told you. You gotta milk it fresh.”
They leaned into each other again, coffee forgotten, letting the taste of each other linger.