Archive of Our Own

The afternoon light filtered weakly through the frost-covered windows of their train car, painting everything in shades of pale blue and grey. Outside, the wind howled across the Frozen Heart, but inside it was warm, almost too warm, with the stove burning hot and their bodies pressed close together.

Verso was tucked against Monoco's side, one leg thrown over his thighs, their bodies fitted together in that comfortable way that came from months of sharing space. They'd been like this for the better part of an hour—lazy and unhurried, the kind of afternoon indulgence they could only afford when they had no traps to check, no Nevrons hunting them, nothing to do but exist together in their small pocket of warmth.

Verso's hips rolled forward in a slow, deliberate grind, seeking friction against Monoco's thigh. He was already hard, arousal pressing insistently against his trousers, against the solid warmth of Monoco's leg.

"Greedy," Monoco murmured, one large hand sliding up Verso's back to rest between his shoulder blades.

"You're one to talk." Verso pressed a kiss to Monoco's mask, right where his lips would be. Then another to his cheek. Then to the smooth wood of his forehead. "You like watching me get worked up."

"I do," Monoco admitted, his hand sliding lower to rest on Verso's hip. Large enough to span from hipbone to the small of his back, to hold him exactly where he was. "Though we should probably—"

"Probably what?"

"I don't know. Do something productive?"

"This feels productive to me." Verso ground against him again, slower this time, and was rewarded with a soft sound from Monoco. His other hand traced down Monoco's chest, over the smooth wood and soft fur. "Very productive."

"Verso," Monoco said, but there was no heat in it. Just warmth, affection, the kind of comfortable intimacy that came from knowing someone completely.

Or almost completely.

Verso had been thinking, his thoughts eating him during quiet moments like these. An idea had been forming in the back of his mind for weeks now. Something he'd been curious about but hadn't quite known how to bring up. But they were here, warm and safe and alone, and—

Fuck it.

"Have you ever tried transforming into a human?" he asked.

Monoco went very still beneath him. The hands on Verso's thighs stopped their gentle stroking. "What?"

"You know. Like you do with Nevrons." Verso shifted to prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at Monoco. "You use their feet to transform into them sometimes. I just thought—have you ever tried it with a person?"

For a long moment, Monoco didn't respond. Verso could feel the tension suddenly coiling through his body.

Then, slowly, carefully, "I... no. I haven't." There was something in his voice though. Something that caught Verso's attention.

"Why not?"

"I don't know." But that wasn't quite true, Verso could tell. "Never had the opportunity, I guess. I'd need chroma from a person, and I can't exactly go around collecting people's feet."

"But you've thought about it." It wasn't a question.

Monoco was quiet for a moment. Then, quieter, "...Maybe."

"Maybe?" Verso traced the edge of Monoco's mask with one finger. "That's not a no."

"It's not a yes either."

"But you're interested." Verso could feel heat building low in his belly, arousal mixing with curiosity. "You're curious what it would be like."

"I…" Monoco stopped. Started again. "Yes. Alright? Yes, I've thought about it. I've wondered what it would be like. To be able to taste things, eat and breathe and experience things the way you do. To be able to—" He cut himself off.

"To be able to what?"

"To kiss you properly," Monoco said, so quietly Verso almost didn't hear him. "To be able to leave marks on your skin with my teeth. To taste you." His hand tightened slightly on Verso's hip. "To—to have a body that can respond to you the way you deserve. To be able to fuck you properly."

Verso's breath caught. "Monoco—"

"I know what you're going to say." Monoco's voice was quiet. "That I'm perfect the way I am. That you don't mind. And I know you don't, I know you're happy with… with what we have. But I mind. I want—" He stopped, and Verso could hear the frustration in his voice. "I want to be able to give you everything. Not just my hands. I want to feel you the way you feel me. I want to know what it's like to be inside you, to make you fall apart on my cock instead of just my fingers."

Verso was quiet for a moment, processing. He'd never realized Monoco felt this way. Had never known it bothered him that his Gestral body didn't have the same... equipment that Verso did.

"I love you exactly as you are," Verso said finally. "You know that, right?"

"I know." Monoco's hand came up to cup Verso's face, wooden thumb stroking over his cheekbone. "I love you too. That's why… that's part of why I want this. I want to be able to give you more."

"But you've never tried? To transform into a human?"

"Never had the opportunity. I'd need chroma from a person, and it's not like I can just ask someone to—" Monoco stopped. "Wait."

"I have chroma," Verso said.

Monoco went very still again. "Verso—"

"I'm suggesting that you could use mine. If you wanted to." Verso shifted, bringing them face to face—or face to mask, anyway. "I have plenty of chroma. And you could pull it from me the same way you do with Nevrons, right?"

"I mean, technically—" Monoco's hands tightened on Verso's thighs, and Verso felt a thrill at the pressure. "Yes. I could use your chroma."

"Good." Verso pressed another kiss to his mask. "Let's try it."

"Okay." Monoco's voice was fervent now. "Yes. Let's try."

Verso leaned back, adjusting so he was straddling Monoco's thigh instead. "So—how do we do this?"

"Same way I do with Nevrons, I assume." Monoco sat up, his hands finding Verso's hips and pulling him closer. "I'd need to touch you and pull the chroma from you."

"Touch me where?" Verso felt heat creep up his neck. This was the part he'd been thinking about, turning over in his mind during their long nights tangled together. "Anywhere? My hand? My—" He stopped, then forced himself to continue. "My foot?"

The silence that followed was heavy with something Verso couldn't quite name. He could feel Monoco's attention on him, intense and focused even though he couldn't see his eyes behind the painted mask.

Then Monoco said, very quietly, "Your foot?"

"You said you use Nevron feet. I just thought—it seems appropriate? Thematically consistent?" Verso was talking too fast now, words tumbling over themselves. He could feel his face heating, embarrassment warring with arousal. "But if that's weird, you could use my hand or my arm or literally any other—"

"It's not weird," Monoco interrupted. His voice had gone rough, deeper than usual. "I just… you'd let me do that?"

"Obviously, or I wouldn't have suggested it." Verso swallowed hard. "Or—I mean, if you need an actual severed foot like you use for Nevrons, I could cut mine off. It would grow back. Or I could just reattach it after if you work quickly enough—"

"You're being ridiculous." But Verso could hear the fondness in his voice. "I should be able to use your chroma without you having to reattach any body parts afterward. The Nevron feet are just convenient because Nevrons try to kill me if I get close enough to touch them while they're alive. You're not trying to kill me."

"Not at the moment, anyway."

"Reassuring." Monoco's thumb traced circles on Verso's hip. "But yes—your foot. If you're serious about this."

"I'm serious." Verso felt his pulse kick up, heat flooding through him at the thought. "Are you?"

"Very." Monoco's voice had gone rough again, eager. "Then let's try it."

"Okay then." Verso climbed fully off Monoco's lap now, immediately missing the warmth. "So I need to take my boot off?"

"Probably a good idea. If I'm going to touch your foot."

"Right. Obviously." Verso settled onto the furs and started working at his bootlaces. His fingers fumbled slightly. partially from cold, partially from anticipation. His heart was beating faster now, excitement making his hands shake.

When he finally got the boots off, then his socks, he turned back to find Monoco sitting up, watching him intently.

Verso settled back onto the furs, bare foot extended toward Monoco. The air was cold against his skin, making him shiver. "So—how does this work exactly?"

"I just—" Monoco reached out, then hesitated. "I touch you and concentrate on pulling your chroma. It should flow naturally if I focus on it."

"Should?"

"In theory." Monoco's hand hovered over Verso's foot. "Ready?"

"I'm ready. Stop stalling."

"I'm not stalling, I'm being careful."

"You're stalling."

"Maybe a little." But Monoco's hand was moving now, fingers closing around Verso's ankle. "Okay?"

"Yeah." Verso's breath caught at the touch. "This is fine."

It was more than fine. Monoco's hands were large enough that his fingers wrapped all the way around it, encompassing his ankle completely. Those large hands, big enough that his fingers overlapped when he held Verso like this. The touch was gentle, reverent almost, and Verso felt heat coil in his belly.

"You have nice feet," Monoco said absently, his thumb tracing over the arch of Verso's foot.

Verso blinked. "I thought you weren't interested in human feet? You always said they were strange compared to Nevrons."

"Nevron feet are interesting because of their structure. The way they're built for different terrains, different movement patterns." Monoco's hand slid lower, his touch careful and exploratory. "But yours are—I don't know. Different. Elegant."

"Elegant." Verso watched Monoco's hands moving over his foot. "That's not a word I'd use for feet."

"Well, they are. Delicate bone structure, strong tendons." Monoco's fingers traced the lines from Verso's toes to his ankle. "You can see all the mechanics of how they work right under the skin."

"Are you getting distracted?"

"Maybe." Monoco's thumb pressed into the ball of Verso's foot, and Verso had to bite back a sound. "This is—you're very warm. I can feel your pulse right here."

"Monoco," Verso said, trying for stern and missing by a mile. "Are you going to actually transform, or are you just going to give me a foot massage for the rest of the afternoon?"

"I could do both, mon cher."

"Please focus."

"Alright, alright." But Verso could hear the smile in Monoco's voice. His grip on Verso's foot adjusted slightly, his other hand coming to rest on top of it. Cradling it between both palms. "Let me concentrate."

Verso watched as Monoco went still. The train car was quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the wind outside. For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then Verso felt it, a strange pulling sensation, not quite in his foot but through it. Like something was being drawn out of him, gentle and careful. It didn't hurt, but it was odd. Disconcerting. Like exhaling something he didn't know he'd been holding.

Chroma. Monoco was pulling his chroma.

"Is this—" Monoco started.

"It's fine. Keep going. It doesn't hurt."

The sensation intensified, and Verso watched in fascination as faint tendrils of color—his color, the gold of his chroma—began to drift from his skin toward Monoco. It moved like ink in water, curling and flowing in patterns that shouldn't exist in the air but did anyway. Beautiful and strange and slightly unsettling.

Monoco's hands were glowing now, the same golden hue seeping into his wooden form. It spread up his arms, across his chest, flowing over him like paint being poured over canvas. And then—

The transformation was faster than Verso expected. One moment Monoco was wood and fur. The next, he was rippling, shifting, the lines of his body blurring and reforming. Light flared bright enough that Verso had to squint and look away for a moment.

When the light faded, there was a man sitting in front of him.

A naked man holding Verso's foot with hands that were now flesh instead of wood, skin tanned and weathered and very, very warm.

"Holy shit," Verso breathed.

For a moment, he couldn't do anything but stare. Couldn't process what he was seeing. Because Monoco—it was still Monoco, Verso could tell by the way he moved, the way he held himself—was gorgeous.

He was big. That was Verso's first coherent thought. Monoco had always been large as a Gestral, but as a human he was massive, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled, the kind of build that came from years of hard labor. His chest was broad, covered in gray hair that trailed down his stomach in a line that Verso's eyes followed hungrily.

Thick arms corded with muscle. Strong thighs. Large hands and feet that matched his overall size. Scars scattered across his skin in thin white lines, on his forearms, his chest, one across his ribs that looked like it had been deep once.

His hair was long, falling past his shoulders in thick white waves that matched the shaggy beard covering his jaw. The beard was full but not unkempt, framing a face that was rugged and weathered, with a strong nose and laugh lines around his eyes.

Gods, his eyes.

They were red. Not the red of blood or rubies, but a deeper red, like wine, like sunset. Dark at the edges, lighter toward the center, catching the firelight and reflecting it back. 

But it was the expression in them that made Verso's heart stutter.

There was no mask now. No painted wood to hide behind. Just Monoco's face, completely bare, every emotion written clear as day across his features.

Wonder. Awe. Curiosity as Monoco looked down at his own hands, flexing his fingers and watching the way his tendons moved beneath the skin. And then his eyes found Verso's face again and—

Adoration. Pure, unfiltered adoration. Mixed with desire and love so intense it made Verso feel like he couldn't breathe. Monoco looked at him like Verso was the most precious thing in the world, love so fierce and unguarded it made Verso's throat tight.

And his cock—

Verso's eyes couldn't help but drop lower. Monoco was already hard, his cock thick and flushed and jutting up from a nest of dark hair.

"Verso?" Monoco's voice was uncertain. He was looking down at himself, at his own body, then back at Verso. "Are you—is this okay? Do I look strange?"

"Strange?" Verso's voice came out strangled. He tried again. "You look—fuck, Monoco, you're gorgeous."

Monoco blinked and a flush crept up his neck. The color spread across his skin, visible proof of his reaction, and heat flooded through Verso at the sight. "I am?"

"You're the most—" Verso cut himself off, heat flooding his face. "Yes. You're—you're very attractive."

That was an understatement. Verso was having trouble forming coherent thoughts. His brain had apparently short-circuited, too busy cataloging every detail: the way Monoco's chest rose and fell with breath (breath! actual breath!), the gray hair scattered across his pectorals, the thick muscles of his thighs, the way his hands—large enough to still span his waist, he thought dizzily—still held Verso's foot with careful gentleness.

The way his cock twitched slightly when Verso's gaze dropped to it again.

"You're staring," Monoco said, but he sounded pleased. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and Verso felt his heart do something complicated in his chest. It transformed Monoco's entire face, making those laugh lines deepen, making his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"You're very starable. Is that a word? I'm making it a word." Verso swallowed hard, trying to get himself under control and failing miserably. "How does it feel? Being human?"

"Overwhelming." Monoco was looking down at himself now, and Verso studied every expression that crossed his face. Curiosity. A hint of uncertainty. His free hand came up to touch his own chest, fingers spreading over his sternum. "I can feel my heartbeat. I have a heartbeat. And breathing—I'm breathing. Air moving in and out, and it feels—"

He stopped, his hand moving lower, tracing down his stomach. Then lower still, wrapping around his own cock. His eyes went wide, his lips parting on a sharp inhale. His other hand was still cradling Verso's foot, thumb stroking absently over the arch.

"Oh," Monoco breathed, his voice gone rough. "Oh, I can feel—"

He stroked himself once, experimentally. His whole face transformed with pleasure, his eyes fluttered half-closed, his jaw went slack, a flush spread across his cheekbones.

Verso's breath caught. The combination of watching Monoco touch himself while those large, calloused fingers traced over his foot sent heat flooding through him. He'd never thought much about his feet before—they were just feet—but something about the way Monoco held him, the reverent way his thumb traced the tendons and curves, made his skin feel hypersensitive.

"You're still—" Verso swallowed hard. "You're still holding my foot."

"I know." Monoco's voice was rough, distracted. His thumb pressed into the ball of Verso's foot again, and Verso had to bite back a sound.  "Does it bother you?"

"No." The word came out shakier than Verso intended. "No, it's—it's good. It feels good."

Monoco's eyes snapped to his face, and something dark and interested flickered there. "It does?"

"Yeah," Verso managed. His cock was straining against his trousers now, and he could feel himself getting harder with every touch. "I didn't know it would, but—yeah."

"That's—" Monoco's hand tightened slightly, and his hips jerked up into his own grip. "Merde." His eyes opened again, finding Verso's face, and the hunger there made Verso's breath catch. "This is incredible. No wonder you—no wonder humans are so obsessed with this."

"We do tend to enjoy it," Verso managed, his own arousal spiking at the sight of Monoco touching himself.

Then Monoco's eyes met his again, pupils dilating, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Come here," Monoco said, his voice dropping lower. "Please. I need—I want to touch you. Want to feel you."

Verso didn't need to be asked twice. He climbed fully into Monoco's lap, straddling his hips, and Monoco's hands immediately gripped his waist to steady him.

They were close now, close enough that Verso could see every detail of Monoco's face—the way his pupils were blown wide, the flush high on his cheeks, the way his lips were slightly parted. Close enough that he could feel Monoco's breath against his skin, warm and quick.

"I've been thinking about this," he whispered, running his thumb along Monoco’s jaw. "About being able to do this with you. About watching your face while I—"

Monoco kissed him.

Or tried to, anyway.

His lips crashed into Verso's with more enthusiasm than skill, his nose bumping against Verso's, his beard scratching. His mouth was closed, uncertain, and for a moment they just pressed their lips together awkwardly, neither quite sure what to do.

Then Monoco pulled back slightly, confusion blooming across his face. His eyebrows drew together, his lips pressing into an uncertain line.

"I—sorry, I don't—" Monoco's flush deepened, spreading down his neck to his chest."I—I've never—"

"It's okay." Verso cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. "Let me show you."

He leaned in slowly this time, giving Monoco time to adjust. Pressed their lips together gently, just a soft contact, barely more than a brush. Then he pulled back.

"Like this," Verso murmured, his eyes on Monoco's face, on the way his eyes tracked the movement, the way his lips parted slightly. "Soft, gentle. You don't have to rush it."

He did it again, a little longer this time. Pressed their lips together and held for a moment before pulling away, then again. Small, chaste kisses that let Monoco get used to the sensation. Monoco's eyes fluttered closed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He started to respond after a moment, pressing back carefully.

"Good," Verso breathed against his lips. "Now, open your mouth a little. Just a little."

He did, and Verso licked softly at his lower lip. Monoco made a startled sound, his hands tightening on Verso's waist, but he didn't pull away. His eyes flew open, surprise and pleasure warring across his face.

Verso did it again, then traced the seam of Monoco's lips with his tongue. He deepened the kiss slowly, tracing the inside of Monoco's lower lip with his tongue, then ventured further. Monoco caught on quickly, his tongue meeting Verso's tentatively at first, then with more confidence.

The kiss was clumsy, uncoordinated, but it was perfect. It was Monoco, learning how to kiss him, and Verso had never wanted anything more.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, wonder bloomed across Monoco's face. His eyes were wide, his lips parted and slightly swollen, his cheeks flushed. His chest was heaving, pulse jumping in his throat.

"That was," Monoco started, voice rough.

"Yeah," Verso agreed. He was dizzy with it, drunk on being able to see Monoco's face, on being able to kiss him properly.

"Can we do it again?"

"Definitely."

This time Monoco initiated it, leaning in with more confidence. The kiss was still clumsy, his teeth clicked against Verso's once, making both of them laugh against each other's mouths. But there was hunger in it. Desperation. Monoco kissed him like he was trying to learn everything at once, like he couldn't get enough. His hands roamed up Verso's back, pressing him closer, and Verso went willingly.

Verso opened for him eagerly, letting him explore. His hands slid up from Monoco's face to tangle in his hair—gods, it was as soft as it looked, thick and silky between his fingers—and Monoco groaned into his mouth.

The sound went straight to Verso's cock. He ground down harder, seeking friction against Monoco's stomach, and felt Monoco's cock press hot and insistent against his ass through his trousers.

"Clothes," Verso gasped when they broke apart, when he could breathe again. His whole body was on fire, need pooling hot and insistent in his belly. "I need—too many clothes—"

"Agreed." Monoco's hands were already working at Verso's shirt, fumbling with buttons. His fingers were clumsy with need, shaking slightly, and after a moment of struggling, he made a frustrated sound. "How do humans do this so fast? There are so many—why are there so many—"

"Here." Verso batted his hands away, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "Let me."

He made quick work of his own shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Then his undershirt, leaving him bare from the waist up. The air was cold against his heated skin, making him shiver.

"Better?" he asked, and looked up to find Monoco staring at him.

"Much better." Monoco's eyes raked over him, and his expression shifted. His eyes darkened with want, staring at Verso with such hunger that Verso's breath caught. "You're beautiful."

"You're not so bad yourself." Verso reached for Monoco's chest, running his hands over warm skin and crisp hair. The hair was coarser than he'd expected, springy under his fingers. He traced the patterns it made, following the line down Monoco's sternum. "You're so hot. I've never—you're always a little cool as a Gestral, but this…"

"I know. I can feel it too. How warm you are." Monoco's hands traced up Verso's sides, thumbs brushing over his ribs, leaving trails of heat in their wake. His touch was exploratory, curious, learning Verso's body all over again. "And soft. So soft everywhere." His palm pressed flat against Verso's chest, and Verso's heart kicked up in response. Racing fast enough that he was sure Monoco could feel every beat.

"Not everywhere." Verso guided one of Monoco's hands lower, to the front of his trousers where his arousal was straining against the fabric. "Some parts are quite hard."

Monoco's breath hitched. His hand cupped Verso through his trousers, large enough to cover him completely, and Verso couldn't suppress the sound that escaped him.

The touch was perfect, firm and curious. Monoco's eyes went wide, his lips parted, and a flush spread across his cheeks.

"Sensitive?" Monoco asked, his voice gone rough.

"Very." Verso's hips pushed forward into the touch, seeking more. "And if you don't get me out of these trousers in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to embarrass myself."

"Can't have that." But Verso could see mischief flicker across Monoco's face, a smile tug at his lips. "Though I wouldn't mind seeing it. Seeing you lose control."

"Later. Right now I want—" Verso gasped as Monoco's hand slid into his trousers, warm fingers wrapping around his cock. "Fuck, yes, like that."

"Like this?" Monoco stroked him slowly. His eyes tracked every reaction, cataloging what made Verso gasp and moan. "You're so hard. So hot. I can feel—your pulse. Right here."

"You're one to talk." Verso's hand found Monoco's cock between them, hot and thick and already leaking. He wrapped his fingers around it, and Monoco's whole face transformed with pleasure—his eyes fluttered closed, his jaw went slack, and his head tilted back slightly. "Gods, you're so huge, it's ridiculous."

Monoco made a strangled sound, his hips bucking up into Verso's grip. "Yes. Fuck, yes, please—"

And then he froze. His whole body went rigid, eyes flying wide open. His mouth fell open on a broken gasp.

"Verso, I—" Monoco's voice cracked. "I can't—it's too much—"

Verso barely had time to process what was happening before Monoco came with a choked cry. His cock pulsed in Verso's hand, spend spilling hot over Verso's fingers, his own stomach, streaking across Verso's trousers. His hips jerked up helplessly, his hands clutching at Verso's waist hard enough to bruise.

The orgasm seemed to go on forever. Monoco's whole body trembled with it, his face a mask of shocked pleasure—eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, flush spreading from his cheeks down his neck and across his chest. Beautiful and overwhelmed and completely undone.

The sight went straight to Verso's cock. Monoco completely undone from just a touch—it was the most erotic thing Verso had ever seen. Heat flooded through him, his own arousal spiking as he watched Monoco fall apart.

When it finally subsided, Monoco collapsed back against the furs, breathing hard. His eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused and dazed. Then awareness crept back in, and mortification bloomed across his features.

"I—" Monoco's voice was hoarse. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—that was too fast. I barely—you didn't even—"

"Hey." Verso cupped his face with his clean hand, unable to stop the grin spreading across his own face. "It's okay. That was incredibly hot."

Monoco blinked at him. "It was?"

"Are you kidding?" Verso leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.  "Watching you come apart like that, just from me touching you? That was—fuck, Monoco, that was amazing."

"But I wanted—"

"And you still can." Verso kissed him again, deeper this time. "You said you wanted to taste me, right?"

Some of the frustration faded from Monoco's expression, replaced by cautious interest. "I did say that."

"So do it." Verso shifted back slightly, giving Monoco room. "You're practically hard again anyway."

Monoco glanced down, and sure enough, his cock was already stirring, starting to fill again. His eyes widened. "That's—is that normal?"

Verso grinned. "I'd be more surprised if it wasn't."

"Huh." Monoco's hands slid up Verso's sides, thumbs brushing over his ribs. Then higher, palms settling over Verso's chest. His thumbs brushed over Verso's nipples, and Verso's breath hitched. "Did you just—"

"Yeah." Verso's voice came out rougher than he intended. "That's—you can do that again."

"This?" Monoco did it again, circling both thumbs over Verso's nipples, and Verso had to bite back a moan. Interest sparked in Monoco's eyes. "You like that."

"Apparently more than I thought I would," Verso admitted. Heat flooded through him, his cock throbbing where it was still trapped in his trousers.

"Interesting." Monoco's touch became more deliberate, alternating between gentle circles and firmer pressure. Then he pinched lightly, and Verso gasped. "Very interesting."

Monoco leaned forward, and Verso felt the scratch of his beard against his chest before he felt his mouth. Hot and wet, closing around Verso's nipple.

"Fuck—" Verso's hands flew to Monoco's hair, fingers tangling in the white strands. The sensation was electric, pleasure shooting straight to his cock. "Monoco, that's—"

Monoco hummed around him, the vibration making Verso shudder. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, then he sucked harder, and Verso heard himself make a sound he'd never made before.

Monoco pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against Verso's wet skin. "You taste like salt. Like sweat and skin and—" He moved to Verso's other nipple, giving it the same treatment. "I want to taste all of you. Every part."

"Then do it." Verso's voice was wrecked already. "You said you wanted to mark me. So mark me."

Something dark and hungry flashed across Monoco's face. He kissed his way up from Verso's chest to his collarbone, then to the side of his neck. His lips traced over Verso's pulse point, and Verso felt him pause there. Then he bit down.

Not hard enough to break skin, but firm enough that Verso knew he'd have a mark there tomorrow. The sharp pressure mixed with the heat of Monoco's mouth, and Verso keened, his hips jerking forward.

Monoco soothed the bite with his tongue, then moved to another spot and did it again. And again. Leaving a trail of marks across Verso's throat, down to his collarbone, across the junction of his neck and shoulder.

"You taste so good," Monoco breathed. "Better than I imagined. And the sounds you're making—" He bit down again, harder this time, and Verso cried out. "I want to hear all of them. Want to find every spot that makes you fall apart."

"You're doing a pretty good job so far." Verso's voice was shaky, his whole body trembling with need. "But I need—"

"What do you need?" Monoco's lips traced lower, across his chest, down his sternum. "Tell me."

"Lower," Verso managed. "Go lower. I want—I want your mouth on me."

They separated long enough to deal with the rest of Verso's clothing, both of them fumbling and clumsy with need. Verso's trousers stuck on his hips, and Monoco had to help him shimmy them down. When Verso was finally bare, they both took a moment to just look.

"Gods," Monoco breathed, his eyes raking over Verso's body. His gaze lingered on Verso's cock, hard and flushed and leaking. "Can I—"

"Yes." Verso settled back against the furs, spreading his legs. "Whatever you want."

Monoco moved between his thighs, his large hands settling on Verso's hips. Then he leaned down, hesitant, and pressed a kiss to Verso's hip bone. Then another, lower. Then to the crease of his thigh.

"Stop teasing," Verso said, but his voice was fond.

"I'm exploring." But Monoco's eyes were dark with hunger now. He pressed another kiss to the base of Verso's cock, and Verso's hips jerked up. "Like this?"

"Yes, fuck, yes—"

Monoco's tongue darted out, licking a stripe up the underside of Verso's cock, and they both made broken sounds. Monoco pulled back slightly, his eyes wide.

"You taste—" He paused. "Salty. Bitter. But good. Really good." Monoco leaned in again, and this time he wrapped his lips around the head of Verso's cock.

The sensation was clumsy, unpracticed, too much teeth at first, but it was Monoco's mouth on him, hot and wet and eager to learn. Verso's hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the white strands.

"Careful with your teeth," Verso managed. "Just—yeah, like that. Use your tongue."

Monoco adjusted, taking him deeper, and Verso had to fight not to thrust up into the wet heat. He could feel Monoco experimenting—the way he hollowed his cheeks, the way his tongue traced patterns along the underside.

"Good," Verso gasped. "That's so good, you're—fuck—"

But then Monoco pulled off with an obscene pop, breathing hard.He looked up at Verso, his lips wet and swollen. "Where’s the oil?"

"It's over there," Verso's voice was rough, wrecked. He reached for the small vial they kept near the furs and handed it to Monoco.

Monoco poured oil over his fingers, slicking them thoroughly, before he carefully pressed one inside. At the same time, he leaned down and took Verso back into his mouth, as if he couldn't bear to stop tasting him.

The dual sensation made Verso gasp, his hands flying back to Monoco's hair. The familiar stretch of Monoco's finger inside him combined with the clumsy, enthusiastic heat of his mouth—it was almost too much. Verso could feel Monoco working him open slowly, carefully, all while his tongue traced patterns along the underside of his cock.

"Fuck," Verso breathed. "Monoco—"

Monoco hummed around him, the vibration making Verso's thighs tremble, and added a second finger. He pulled off just long enough to watch Verso's face as he crooked his fingers, finding that spot—

"There," Verso gasped, his back arching slightly off the furs. "Right there—"

A smile spread across Monoco's face before he took Verso back into his mouth. "There it is," he murmured around him, and the combination of his fingers and the wet heat of his mouth made Verso see stars.

Monoco worked him open with practiced patience—he knew exactly how to do this, had done it many times before—but now he alternated between working his fingers deeper and sucking at Verso's cock. His technique with his mouth was still clumsy, but he was learning fast, adjusting based on the sounds Verso made, the way his fingers tightened in his hair.

After a few minutes, Verso felt Monoco pause. His fingers stilled inside him, and he pulled off Verso's cock, breathing hard. Monoco's gaze on him was intense and considering, lips wet and swollen.

"What?" Verso managed, his voice wrecked.

"I was just thinking." Monoco's voice had gone low, rough. "I have a mouth now. And a tongue. And I want to taste all of you." His eyes dropped lower. "Every part of you."

Verso's breath caught as understanding dawned. "You want to—"

"Can I?" Monoco's free hand slid up Verso's thigh. "I know I'm already preparing you, but..."

Heat flooded through Verso, pooling low in his belly. "Yes. Fuck, yes, you can."

Monoco withdrew his fingers carefully, and before Verso could shift position himself, those large hands gripped his hips and flipped him over. The sudden movement, the casual display of strength—it made Verso's cock throb. He found himself face-down in the furs, and then Monoco was pulling his hips up, positioning him exactly how he wanted. Ass in the air, face pressed into the furs, completely exposed.

His heart raced, anticipation and embarrassment warring in his chest. Monoco's gaze burned into him, heavy and intent, and it made his skin feel too hot, too tight.

"Monoco?" he managed after a moment.

"Sorry." Monoco's voice was rough, awed. "You're just so…"

His hands settled on Verso's hips, large and warm, keeping him held up in position. Then one hand traced up his spine, across his shoulders, back down. Reverent, exploratory. Memorizing every line and curve. Then both hands gripped his ass and spread him open.

Heat flooded Verso's face. He buried it deeper into the furs, mortification mixing with arousal in a way that made his whole body tremble. Being exposed like this, held up and on display while Monoco just looked—

"Beautiful," Monoco breathed.

Verso made a strangled sound into the furs. "Stop staring."

"Can't help it." Monoco's thumbs traced circles on his skin, and his grip shifted, spreading him wider. "You're perfect."

"Monoco—" Verso's voice came out muffled, desperate. "Just—please—"

Then he felt Monoco's breath against his skin, warm and unsteady. A pause, and then the first tentative touch of his tongue.

The sensation made Verso gasp and clutch at the furs beneath him. It was barely anything, just a soft lick, but it sent heat flooding through his entire body.

Monoco made a low sound of pleasure and did it again, more confident this time. His tongue traced slow, deliberate patterns, and the scratch of his beard against sensitive skin made Verso shake.

Verso couldn't do anything but feel. Couldn't see Monoco's face, couldn't reach for him. He pressed his burning face into the furs and tried not to fall apart as Monoco's tongue worked him open. Every pass of his tongue, every scrape of his beard, every flex of those large hands holding him spread open—overwhelming.

Monoco's enthusiasm grew with each passing moment. His tongue pressed deeper, circling and licking with increasing confidence, learning what made Verso's thighs shake and his breath catch. The wet sounds filled the air, obscene, and Monoco's ragged breathing came between licks. He groaned against Verso's skin, the vibration making Verso shudder.

Then Monoco's fingers pressed in again—oil-slicked and careful, one sliding in alongside his tongue.

The dual sensation made Verso cry out into the furs. His whole body shook, barely supporting his weight anymore, but Monoco held him up effortlessly. He was caught between trying to press back into the touch and trying to escape the overwhelming intensity of it.

Monoco added a second finger, and his tongue moved with them, licking around where his fingers pressed inside. The obscenity of it, the intimacy, made Verso's neglected cock throb where it hung heavy between his legs.

Verso was barely coherent anymore, reduced to broken sounds and desperate gasps as Monoco worked him open with tongue and fingers in combination. When Monoco added a third finger, crooking them just right while his tongue continued its work, Verso's back arched off the furs.

"Right there," he managed to gasp. "That's—fuck—"

Monoco did it again, and Verso felt him smile against his skin. The pleasure built too fast, too intense, and Verso's cock ached, untouched and leaking.

"Monoco, please," Verso begged into the furs. "Please, I need—I need you inside me. Now."

Monoco's fingers stilled, and his tongue pulled away. The loss made Verso whimper. Monoco's weight shifted, and then gentle hands guided him to roll over.

"I want to see your face," Monoco said, his voice wrecked.

Verso went willingly, grateful to finally see Monoco again. The sight of him—lips wet and swollen, face flushed, eyes dark with hunger, his cock hard and leaking—made Verso's breath catch.

"You're ready?" Monoco asked, reaching for the oil again.

"More than ready." Verso pulled him down for a kiss, tasting himself on Monoco's lips. "I'm practically begging here."

"You are begging." But Monoco's smile was fond, tender as he slicked his cock with shaking hands.

Then he looked up at Verso, and Verso's breath caught at the expression he found there. Open and vulnerable and full of love so fierce it made his chest ache. Full of wonder and need and something that looked almost like worship.

"I've dreamed about this," Monoco said quietly. "For months. Ever since—since we first—" He stopped and swallowed hard. "I want to make it good for you."

"It will be, mon coeur." Verso cupped his face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. "Just—go slow at first."

Monoco nodded, and some of the tension eased from his shoulders. Then Verso's hands came up to Monoco's chest and pushed. Monoco went willingly, surprise flickering across his face as his back hit the furs. Before he could say anything, Verso was climbing into his lap, straddling his hips.

Monoco's hands flew to Verso's hips, gripping tight. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, his chest heaving. "Verso—"

Verso rose up on his knees, positioning himself. Monoco's hands trembled on his hips, his whole body tense with anticipation. Then slowly—so slowly—Verso began to sink down.

The stretch was immediate and intense. Monoco was thick, thicker than his fingers, thicker than Verso had expected, and even with preparation, he felt every inch as he took him in. The burn was sharp, riding the edge between pleasure and pain, and he had to stop halfway, breathing hard.

"Okay?" Monoco asked, and the strain was evident in his voice, in the effort it took him not to thrust up into the tight heat. "Do you need—"

"Just—give me a second." Verso braced his hands on Monoco's shoulders, adjusting to the fullness. "You're—you're bigger than I expected."

"Sorry, I can—"

"Don't you dare apologize." Verso took a breath, then sank down another inch. "Just—fuck—just stay still for a moment."

The struggle was written clearly on Monoco's face. The way his jaw was clenched, the way his hands were gripping Verso's hips hard enough to bruise. The way his whole body shook with the effort of staying still.

"You feel incredible," Monoco breathed, his voice wrecked. "So tight. So warm. I can feel—every time you breathe, I can feel it. Every muscle clenching around me. It's—it's almost too much."

"Good." Verso took another breath and sank down the rest of the way, taking Monoco to the hilt. They both made broken sounds, and Verso had to close his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the sensation. "Fuck, you're deep."

"Are you—is it good? Does it hurt?" Monoco's hands roamed now, up Verso's sides, across his chest, like he couldn't stop touching. "Tell me if it hurts, please, I need to know—"

"It doesn't hurt." Verso opened his eyes to look at Monoco's face, and found him staring back with an expression so full of wonder and love that it made his chest ache. "It's perfect. You're perfect."

They stayed like that for a moment, both of them breathing hard, adjusting to the sensation. Verso couldn't stop looking at Monoco's face. Couldn't stop cataloging the expressions flickering across it too fast to name. Awe and pleasure and love and desperate need all tangled together.

Then Verso began to move.

He started slow, rolling his hips, finding a rhythm. Monoco's hands gripped his hips—not guiding, just holding. His fingers dug in hard enough to bruise, and Verso loved it. Loved being able to see the struggle for control written across his features. The way he was trying so hard to let Verso set the pace, to not thrust up and take over.

And the sounds he was making were beautifully unrestrained. Moans and gasps and broken words that dissolved into incoherent pleasure.

"Is this—" Monoco started, then cut himself off with a moan as Verso sank down again. His eyes rolled back slightly, his head tilted back, exposing the long line of his throat. "I can't—it's so much—I don't know how to—"

"You don't have to do anything," Verso said, breath coming faster. "Just feel it. Just let me—"

He rose up and sank back down, and they both cried out. The angle was perfect, hitting that spot inside him that made stars burst behind his eyelids, and from the look on Monoco's face, it felt just as good for him.

"Verso," Monoco gasped. His hands slid up from Verso's hips to his chest, palms settling over his pectorals. Then his thumbs brushed over Verso's nipples, and Verso's rhythm stuttered.

"Fuck—"

"You liked this," Monoco said, his voice rough. He did it again, more deliberately, circling and pressing. "When I touched you here."

"Yes, I—ah—" Verso's words dissolved into a gasp as Monoco pinched lightly.

Then Monoco leaned forward, and Verso felt the scratch of his beard against his chest before he felt his mouth. Hot and wet, closing around Verso's nipple while his hips thrust up.

Verso moaned, loud and unrestrained, his hands flying to Monoco's hair. The dual sensation—being filled and having Monoco's mouth on him—was almost too much. His whole body trembled, pleasure sparking through every nerve.

"Monoco—" Verso's voice broke on his name.

Monoco hummed around him, the vibration making Verso shudder. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, then he sucked harder, and the sound that tore from Verso's throat was halfway to a scream.

"I love—" Monoco pulled off just enough to speak, his breath hot against Verso's wet skin. "I love the sounds you make. Every single one." He moved to Verso's other nipple, giving it the same attention, and Verso keened.

They found a rhythm together then, Verso rising and falling while Monoco thrust up to meet him, his mouth still working at Verso's chest. Clumsy at first, their timing off, but quickly improving. Learning each other's bodies all over again, learning how to move together.

Then Monoco pulled back from his chest, his eyes dark and hungry. "I want—can we change positions?"

"What do you—" Verso started, but then Monoco was moving.

His hands gripped Verso's hips and lifted, strong enough to maneuver Verso without slipping free, and then Verso found himself on his back on the furs. Monoco loomed over him, those broad shoulders blocking out the firelight, and then he was pressing Verso's legs up and back.

"Like this," Monoco said, his voice rough. He hooked Verso's legs over his shoulders, folding him nearly in half. The new angle drove Monoco impossibly deeper, and Verso cried out. His hands clutched at Monoco's arms, at his shoulders, trying to ground himself.

"Too much?" Monoco asked, but his hips were already moving, pulling out and thrusting back in with more confidence than before.

"No—not too much—perfect—" Verso was barely coherent, every thrust hitting that perfect spot inside him, making his vision white out at the edges.

Monoco's pace increased, and then Verso felt his lips on his ankle. Soft kisses trailing from his heel to his toes, his beard scratching against the sensitive skin. One of Monoco's hands came up to cradle Verso's foot, thumb stroking over the arch the way he had before.

"Still good?" Monoco asked, his voice strained. He pressed a kiss to the ball of Verso's foot, then his toes, all while maintaining his rhythm.

"Yes—fuck—yes—" Verso's whole body was trembling now, overwhelmed by sensation. The fullness of Monoco inside him, the angle, the way Monoco's mouth and hands worshipped him like he was something precious.

"Good." Monoco's grip on his ankle tightened, and he thrust harder, deeper. "Because I can't stop thinking about it. About how you reacted when I touched you here. How your whole body responded."

He traced his tongue along Verso's arch, and Verso moaned, his hips jerking up to meet Monoco's thrusts.

"You're so sensitive here," Monoco continued, his voice gone rough and broken. "Every time I touch your foot, you clench around me and I—fuck—I can barely think." He kissed Verso's ankle again, reverent, desperate. "Want to touch you everywhere. Want to make you feel so good—"

"Monoco," Verso's voice cracked. "I'm close. I'm so close—"

"Please." Monoco's rhythm was getting erratic now, his control slipping. "Please, I need—I need to see you come. Need to feel it." One of his hands left Verso's ankle to wrap around his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. "Let me see your face. Want to watch you—gods, you feel so good, I can't—"

The combination of everything—Monoco's cock hitting that perfect spot with every thrust, his hand on Verso's cock, his mouth still pressing desperate kisses to Verso's foot—pushed Verso over the edge.

He came with a sharp cry, spilling over Monoco's fist and his own stomach. His whole body clenched, back arching off the furs, and he heard Monoco make a strangled sound above him.

"Fuck," Monoco groaned, his hips losing all rhythm. "Verso, I—you're so tight, I can't—"

His face transformed with pleasure—his eyes squeezed shut, his whole body went rigid, his mouth fell open on a broken moan. He thrust forward one more time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and Verso felt the pulse of him, the warmth flooding deep inside.

The orgasm seemed to last forever. Monoco's whole body trembled with it, his grip on Verso's ankle almost painful, his other hand still wrapped around Verso's softening cock. When it finally subsided, he collapsed forward, barely catching himself on his forearms before he crushed Verso beneath him.

For a moment they just stayed there, both of them trembling, breathing hard. Monoco's forehead rested against Verso's shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against Verso's skin.

"That was—" Monoco's voice was completely wrecked. He lifted his head, and his eyes were unfocused, dazed. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Verso's hands came up to stroke through Monoco's hair, gentle and soothing. "Fuck."

Monoco let out a breathless laugh and leaned down to kiss him, slow and messy and utterly graceless. When he pulled back, his expression was soft, open in a way Verso had never seen before.

"I need to—" Monoco shifted, carefully lowering Verso's legs from his shoulders. Verso winced at the burn in his thighs, at the pleasant ache settling into his muscles. "Sorry—did I hurt you?"

"No." Verso stretched his legs out experimentally. "Just sore. In a good way."

"Good." Monoco carefully pulled out, and they both hissed at the sensation. Verso felt the sudden emptiness, felt the warm trickle of spend starting to leak out. "Come here."

He gathered Verso against his chest, rolling onto his side and pulling Verso with him. His hand stroked through Verso's hair, down his back, soothing and grounding.

Verso pressed his face against Monoco's neck, breathing in the smell of him—sweat and sex and something uniquely Monoco. His heart was still racing, pounding against Verso's chest where they were pressed together.

"I can still feel my heartbeat," Monoco said after a moment, his voice soft with wonder. "It’s racing."

"Mine too." Verso's hand settled over Monoco's chest, feeling the rapid thump beneath his palm.

They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, just breathing together, their heartbeats gradually slowing. Monoco's fingers traced idle patterns on Verso's back, and Verso felt himself starting to drift, exhaustion pulling at him.

Then Monoco shifted slightly, and Verso felt him press a kiss to the top of his head.

"Thank you," Monoco said quietly. "For this. For—for giving me your chroma. For letting me experience that with you."

"You don't have to thank me." Verso lifted his head to look at him. "I wanted it too. All of it."

Monoco's hand came up to cup Verso's face, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. "Still. Thank you."

When they broke apart, Verso could see exhaustion starting to creep into Monoco's expression. The flush was still high on his cheeks, but his eyes were heavy-lidded, his breathing evening out.

"You're tired," Verso observed.

"A little." Monoco's hand resumed its gentle stroking through Verso's hair. "Holding the transformation takes concentration. Energy. The longer I maintain it, the more it drains me."

"Then let it go." Verso pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "You don't have to stay like this for me."

"But I wanted—there's still so much I wanted to try—"

"And we will." Verso lifted his head to look at him. "This doesn't have to be the only time, Monoco."

Monoco was quiet for a moment, searching Verso's face. Then he nodded. "Alright. But—don't move. I want to keep holding you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Verso  felt the change happen gradually this time. The warmth of Monoco's skin cooling slightly, the flesh beneath his cheek becoming smooth wood again. The soft hair on his chest disappearing, replaced by fur. The arms around him shifting, reshaping.

When it was done, Monoco was back to his Gestral form—wooden mask and all. But his arms were still wrapped around Verso, holding him just as close.

"Better?" Verso asked.

"Mmm." Monoco's hand, smooth wood now, continued stroking through his hair. "I missed this body too. It's familiar. Comfortable."

"I missed it too." Verso settled back against him, tracing idle patterns through the fur on Monoco's chest. "Don't get me wrong, that was incredible. But this is you."

"Good." Monoco's hand slid lower, teasing. "Though I'm already thinking about doing it again. About having a mouth so I can taste you everywhere. About folding you in half and making you scream."

"Stop." But Verso was laughing now. "You're going to get me worked up again and I'm exhausted."

"Sorry." But Monoco didn't sound sorry at all. "I'll behave."

"Liar."

"Maybe." Monoco's arms tightened around him. "But right now I just want to hold you."

Verso settled deeper into his embrace, feeling the familiar coolness of Monoco's wooden form beneath him. It was different from the warmth of his human body, but it was just as comforting. Just as home.

Monoco's hand continued its gentle stroking through Verso's hair, and Verso felt his eyes growing heavy. The exhaustion from earlier was catching up to him now, pulling him toward sleep.

"Rest," Monoco murmured, as if sensing it. "I've got you."

"Mm." Verso's eyes drifted closed. "Love you, mon vieux."

"Love you too."

And wrapped in Monoco's arms, warm and safe and utterly content, Verso let himself drift off to sleep.