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Frankie had always liked the natural history museum, ever since he was a kid. It was located on a verdant hill in the middle of the city, rising like a testament to ancient times. They had everything, at one point or another. He remembered the dioramas with taxidermied animals, the dark rooms with illuminated models of the constellations, the enormous whale skeleton, the hall of poor taxidermies – which were still a little unsettling even in his late twenties – and everything else. It was like a paradise for a nerdy kid, and there was always more to discover, it seemed. Sure, you could look up anything on the Internet these days, but it didn't provide quite the same tangible experience, nor scale. Seeing a picture of a dinosaur skeleton just wasn't the same as seeing the actual skeleton, constructed from real fossils, and being awe-struck by both the scale and the fact that such monstrous creatures had truly existed, at one point in history.

Oh yes, the dinosaurs. They were a long-time fascination of Frankie's that lasted well into adulthood. More than anything, he remembered one occasion when they had dinosaur animatronics, which young Frankie had found endlessly interesting. They were gone, now – animatronics had fallen out of style – but the fossils remained, as timeless as they'd remained since their formation deep in tar pits and peat bogs. Seeing them, though, had inspired his career choices. He wanted to be the curator of the museum, one day, shaping new historical experiences for future generations.

As such, now that college was done with, he had managed to land an apprenticeship at the place. Mostly, it involved near-janitorial duties, working in the dusty archives categorizing lesser specimens that didn't ever quite make it to the public areas, but to Frankie, it was like a candy store to a kid. The museum was full of items that nobody ever saw for one reason or another, and he would get to see all of them. Not only that, but he'd also get to touch them and, if necessary, analyze them, too.

Stephen – the current curator – was all too happy to indulge Frankie's natural curiosity. About twenty years his senior, the Asian man was driven by a similar interest in history. He had, of course, long since seen everything the museum had to offer, but every now and then, they got new specimens that fired up the same old need to know as much about everything as possible. Tonight – the curators always worked nights, long after any visitors had left the museum – he had promised some particularly fascinating samples for his young apprentice to examine and prepare for display.

Mostly, they were odds and ends, but the highlight of the day was something that'd long remained in the deepest archives simply due to the current zeitgeist – a skeleton from a t-rex that he was fairly sure had been a true hermaphrodite. A hundred or even fifty years back, such a thing was unthinkable, scandalous, unacceptable to as much as mention in polite academic circles. How would a hermaphrodite exist, when God had clearly created only two sexes? Only now was the public growing ready, and perhaps needing to see that marvel, if only to remind everyone that being between genders was hardly even worth raising an eyebrow over.

This old skeleton had wide hips, yet a distinctly masculine bone structure otherwise. While no evidence of its genitals had survived, from what the museum staff knew of the species, it'd almost certainly been equally as capable of laying eggs as it was of fertilizing them. For this sin, it'd been condemned to the deepest basement archives, and today, Frankie's job would be setting it up for display, just in time for Pride Month.

Frankie didn't know about any of that yet, only that he was to do something in the archives, which he was overjoyed about. The last few days, Stephen had him dusting off current exhibits while teaching him about them. Tonight, though, as he wandered up that hill, ancient oaks lining the broad path up towards the museum, he felt downright excited. One of these nights, when Stephen was on vacation or on sick leave, he was determined to explore every inch of the place alone, with nobody to rush him. For now, he was happy to just get to see all those unknown wonders kept in the basement.

Finally, with the “gas" lamps – the museum path was illuminated by modern light poles deliberately built to resemble Victorian gas lights – lighting his way, he arrived at the heavy wooden doors. Even the contrast here was exciting; the doors were centuries old, but next to them was a modern key card reader. He swiped his card, and the doors unlocked with a satisfying clack.

Frankie pulled them open and stepped inside into that increasingly familiar space.

“Ah, you're here. Good," a voice called out. Stephen was sitting in the cafeteria near the entrance, slowly nursing on a cup of coffee from the vending machine. “Ready to get to work, or would you like some coffee first?"

Outside of events – and Pride Month hadn't started quite yet – there was never any rush at the museum. The specimens weren't going anywhere, after all, and Stephen liked taking full advantage of that. Often, Frankie found it rather infuriating how slowly his mentor moved, but then again, the older man had proven that his approach worked long ago.

“I'd say we get to work, at least once you finish that coffee," Frankie replied. “So, what are we doing today?"

“All in due time," Stephen smiled, taking another sip of coffee. “I think you'll like this one, though. It's one of those items we couldn't show before."

He loved doing that, vaguely hinting at things, even if – or maybe especially because – it drove Frankie up the wall. Young people, wanting to get everything done right now. Stephen had been like that too, though somewhere between his first wrinkles and his hair turning salt-and-pepper with age, he'd stopped caring. Nowadays, he did things at his own pace. And today, his pace called for enjoying a strong, nightly cup of coffee before he did anything at all.

“Okay," he finally spoke, after letting the silence linger until Frankie chose to sit down as well, despite his eagerness to get going. “Since you've not been down in that part of the archives before, you might want to be a little more careful than usual. It's not been cleaned or organized for a while, so everything is… well, it's a mess, let me put it that way. And a lot of that mess is sharp."

“Like what exactly?" Frankie asked.

“Well, mineral samples, fossilized claws, and so on. I'm pretty sure that's also where we swept away the big stained-glass window when it broke. Did you ever visit while we still had it?"

Frankie nodded, hesitantly. He could faintly remember there being one when he was a kid; the museum was built almost like a cathedral, dating back to the height of the gothic architecture craze.

“Well, I've not cut myself on any samples yet," he added. “Maybe we should just get to work?"

“Maybe," Stephen smiled. He found himself rather enjoying making Frankie squirm. If he were a little younger, he figured, he'd probably do a lot more than that. Back in the day, he'd even fucked someone in the archives. It was the perfect place for privacy. But as he got older – he was in his fifties now – sex seemed less and less important, as charming as the impatience of youth was. “Okay, fine," he chuckled, and finished the rest his coffee. “Let's go."

He stood up, and Frankie quickly followed, as they walked to the basement door. At night, with no visitors, the museum was a little eerie. The various fossils and reconstructed skeletons gained a kind of menacing aura – all imagined, of course, they were nothing but old bones in reality – further enhanced by the deathly silence. They were just far enough from the city streets that it was almost perfectly quiet, except for the sound of Frankie and Stephen's footsteps, and the occasional creak of the old building.

In the basement, then, Stephen led Frankie to a rather large, wooden box, time-worn and covered with dust.

“So, this is what we'll be assembling. It's a Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton, fossilized, of course. The special aspect is that we're fairly sure this one was a hermaphrodite while alive, going by the bone structure," he explained. “If you'd kindly open that box for us? I don't think we can carry it up as it is with just the two of us."

Frankie got to work, grabbing a crowbar from a nearby table and pulling out nail after old nail, until the front side of the box fell open, revealing the skeleton. Each part was individually wrapped in cloth and packed alongside straw. Straw.

“Just how long has this been here?" Frankie asked.

“A while. We figured that people weren't ready to be told about a hermaphrodite dinosaur yet. But now that being different is a little more accepted, we're bringing it out for pride month. Well, grab a piece and we'll get going," Stephen smiled.

Frankie moved in to do so, and not seeing clearly enough in the dim lighting, missed a particularly large claw-tip sticking through the cloth. He didn't notice it before he'd already sliced his arm on it.

“Ow, what the f-“ he yelped, clutching his arm. It didn't bleed a lot, thankfully, but Stephen rushed for the first aid box regardless.

“And that's why we're careful," the older man sighed. “Well, at least it doesn't look like a very deep cut. We'll just have to wipe the blood off our dear dino, later. Here, put your arm like- yeah, like that."

Stephen doused the cut in iodine – another tell-tale sign of how long it'd been since anyone tidied up the basement – which stung and quickly wrapped Frankie's arm in gauze and bandages, with age-honed expertise. It was hardly the first time someone had cut themselves at the museum.

“Hey, look on the bright side," Stephen grinned, glancing up at Frankie's frowning expression. “At least this old guy got to re-live his glory days," he snorted, and then burst out laughing at the mental image of the dead dinosaur smiling upon them from whatever afterlife, knowing it'd claimed one last victim.

“Very funny," Frankie groaned.

From then on, the unpacking went without incident, with both men prepared to deal with claws and fangs that were still surprisingly sharp given their fossilized state. It took a few hours just to bring everything upstairs. T-Rexes were rather sizable, after all, and it took their combined strength to carry the skull alone.

As they worked, though, Frankie couldn't help but get distracted by the cut on his arm itching. It could hardly be an infection, that wouldn't show up so quickly, but he'd never had a wound quite so annoying. He had to focus all his willpower on not tearing the bandages off to scratch it. Either way, the two worked well into the morning hours, which provided just the focus he needed to not think about the incessant itching quite as much, and by the time the museum was about to open, they'd managed to assemble about a third of the skeleton inside a massive display case. Tomorrow, they'd continue their work.

Frankie left for home as the first visitors began to arrive, and thankfully so. Trying to work with little kids running around would be almost impossible. The itching had thankfully subsided a little, leaving the cut numb, and so he didn't think much more of it as he made dinner and then went to bed for the day.

His dreams, though, were vivid. Almost the instant Frankie closed his eyes, he found himself in a different world, as a different person- no, a different being, in a different time. In that oneiric landscape, mirroring both facts and fantasies of the Cretaceous period, he was the apex predator. A mighty Tyrannosaurus rex, stalking his prey. Not that something that big could truly stalk, but he chased after it nonetheless, until an instinct even more pressing and primal than hunger suddenly struck him.

His nostrils caught a scent of musky virility, and with a familiar shiver along his spine, his cock slipped out, quickly hardening with each beat of his adrenaline-fuelled heart. Yet, there was a new sensation to accompany it. New, at least, to the little fragment of Frankie's human mind that remained in the realm of dreams. A clenching wetness between his legs, just under his tail; a convulsive need to drop down and raise his hindquarters so that potent partner could mount him and fill him with eggs, just as the Tyrannosaurus that he had been assembling would have in ages past.

He was powerless to resist those urges as he felt that dream-lover approach him from behind with an imposing, dominant growl that made the heated wetness run down his legs all the faster. He sunk down, heavy head resting against the grassy ground as his backside nudged upwards with perfectly natural need, thick tail curling out of the way as much as it could to bare that mismatched and unmistakably feminine slit – dripping, by now, his scales drenched with the nectar of his desire – to offer it for the rough and dominant male to claim.

In any situation other than this, when he felt the pangs of his reptilian heat, the Tyrannosaurus whose role Frankie took in his dream, was dominance personified. Yet that gnawing empty need inside left him submitting to any sufficiently strong mate so they could fill his belly with eggs. A strong clutch that he'd lay and raise, once blessed with the male's seed.

Both roared in bliss as he mounted Frankie, small hands clutching at his scales as he drove his stiffened cock inside him, and began to rut, the world quickly dissolving into satisfaction and ecstasy, the sweet fulfilment of an itch being scratched, only deeper – much deeper – than any superficial itch could be. Frankie clenched around his mate, and he rutted into his welcoming body in turn, in feral, hard thrusts that pushed him into the dirt, tearing up the tall grass beneath the mating pair. Frankie's body clenched, wetly, around his rock-hard shaft with joy, encouraging him to thrust deeper and harder, and the pure male was all too happy to oblige, lost in the blissful sensations of his slick tunnel massaging his length.

Of course, feral matings like that never lasted for long, as much as Frankie – in the part of his mind that could think like a human – would've wanted it to. Soon, with ear-splitting roar, the other T-Rex hilted inside him, and he could feel its shaft bucking and jerking inside him, a wet sensation of heat quickly blossoming deep in his core with each warm jet of seed filling his womb. He'd be heavy with eggs in no time, his belly already bulging from the volume of potent, egg-making cum tickling his cervix, and soaking past it.

Frankie's eyes snapped open. He stared at the featureless ceiling, trying to piece together the dream he'd just had, to no avail. The fragments quickly scattered to the winds, unremembered as often happened. He only knew that it'd been intensely erotic. For more pressing matters, though – he felt warm. Not quite feverish, but like his body temperature was a little higher than usual, especially around the cut he'd received. Not enough to really see a doctor over, but distinctly bothersome.

At the same time, the itching sensation – at this point, Frankie blamed an allergy, perhaps to dust given how dusty the museum basement was – had spread to his extremities, and really, all over his body. His nipples itched. His feet itched. The little patch between his balls and ass that one usually called the taint itched. As he reached to scratch himself, he found his skin a little rough in each itchy spot.

Yep. Definitely allergies, he sighed, internally. His tongue felt swollen, too. All he wanted was to go back to sleep, ideally forever. Unfortunately, there was work to do, but at least he had some antihistamines somewhere in his medicine cabinet. With a groan, he forced himself out of bed. Strangely, he felt a little unsteady on top of everything else, and naturally found himself wanting to walk differently. Hunched over, perhaps, or on his toes. He felt the faint, distant tugging of a memory begging to be recalled once more, but it faded quickly.

Frankie swallowed the pill, chased it down with breakfast and headed to work, once again up that verdant hill. He felt at peace among those ancient trees, almost as big as… as big as… once again, there was that faint tingle of memory, of trees even more ancient, even bigger. He felt a kind of raw, carnal need sweep through his body at the almost-remembered pleasures, and found himself swelling in his underwear once again. There was an urgent feeling of need to do something, but to Frankie's great frustration, that's where it remained. Something. A yearning, unspecified. More concretely, he was becoming acutely aware of how sensitive his feet were. Even the friction of the soft soles in his shoes was pleasurable.

What he didn't know, of course, was that underneath those bandages that he'd decided to keep in place for one more day, scales had already begun to grow. The cut had already healed, but it had changed something, infected him with something old and primal. Had he noticed it now, maybe it wouldn't have been too late to do anything about it, but he was too distracted with both today's work and the strangely pleasurable sensations that washed over him with each step, each brush of his shirt over his nipples, and even moving his tongue around in his mouth.

Either way, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind as he stepped inside the museum once again. This time, Stephen was already at work, though not on the T-Rex. He had, apparently, decided that skeleton would be Frankie's job entirely.

“Well, it's only fair that you finish it. Consider it a favor in exchange for me showing you the ropes," he laughed, far too amused by his own jokes. “No, I'm kidding, but there are all these other skeletons we want up for next month. Prehistoric lions. Have you ever heard of those? They call them 'cave lions' and we'll want a whole pride of them."

“Because it's Pride Month?" Frankie asked, already knowing the answer would be a hearty chuckle from Stephen.

“You got it," he replied. “They were huge bastards, though. About three times the size of the lions we have now…"

Stephen could, when he felt like it and had enough coffee, talk forever about the stuff he was interested in, and that included every exhibit in the museum, as well as every known species of extinct megafauna. Frankie didn't mind, of course. If he didn't share those interests, he wouldn't have been so eager to get this particular job.

The skeleton, though – as he assembled more and more of it – began to have a surprisingly imposing presence on the increasingly afflicted Frankie. He felt a sense of awe, just staring at it, feeling compelled to finish setting it up as fast as he could. Just imagining a reptilian beast that large made his head swim, but not with fear. Rather, it was something akin to arousal, a lust for the raw power it possessed. An admiration, mingled with desire, a deep-set urge to somehow take that power into himself.

He shook his head to clear it. “So, you're saying this was a hermaphrodite, right?" he called over to Stephen, who was busy with his own reconstruction.

“As far as we know, yeah. Wide hips, a mixture of feminine and masculine traits. For a lizard, anyway, I mean. They hardly had all the things we mammals do to differentiate ourselves," Stephen replied, adjusting the cave lion's leg until he was satisfied it was in a sufficiently menacing position, the long-dead predator looking as if it might take a swipe at any guests who wandered too close.

“You figure it'd have been able to both breed and be bred?" Frankie asked. He wasn't sure why he was asking; it just felt like the right thing to ask.

“Hard to say, we only have the bones. Usually, hermaphrodites can't actually do both. This one, I'm not sure," Stephen answered. “Why do you ask?"

“No, no reason, it's just fascinating," Frankie admitted. Though he wanted to protest. Of course it would've been able to do both. He knew that with as much certainly as he knew that his cock was growing hard again. Like it's… just like me. Wait, where did that thought come from?

Something felt wrong, and Frankie couldn't stop thinking about it. Why did he suddenly feel so connected to a fossil? Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and had to excuse himself from the work, increasingly certain that there was something off about him. The cut, it had to be. Frankie rushed to the bathroom and urgently tore the bandages off his arm. What he saw made his anxiety spike.

His arm was almost entirely covered in what could only be described as greenish-brown scales, having spread from the cut to around his wrist in one direction and well over his torso in the other, covering much of his chest and stomach. Where the scales had consumed his chest was a budding breast, unmistakably feminine, with a pronounced nipple crowning the swelling, sensual growth.

The sight was jarring. At the same time, Frankie's divided mind registered the changes as something that did not belong on him, like a cancerous mass that had be removed, and yet, as something that he naturally should have. A satisfying addition that made him feel both at ease and yet horny at the same time. Even as he watched, more of his skin was gradually subsumed, replacing his skin with rough, reptilian scales. It was mesmerizing, but he felt dizzy with a heady mixture of lust and fear.

One thing was for certain; he couldn't let Stephen see this. Frankie quickly got dressed again, trying to think up an excuse to leave early and go home to observe his changing body. Before he was too changed to hide it; the scales were slowly creeping over his hand, up his neck, and towards his itchy groin. Going by the fact that he had a breast – something he was acutely aware of, now, how good it felt, how badly he wanted to squeeze and knead it – he had an idea of what might happen once it did.

“Hey, Stephen? I think I'm getting sick," he said. “Sore throat and all that. Can you manage on your own for a day or two?"

“Mm. Well, clearly you can't be at work if that's the case. We have a bit over a week…" his mentor trailed off, thinking, likely trying to calculate how long it'd take him to prepare everything alone. “Yes, go home for now. Get better soon," he added, dismissing the younger man with a quick wave of his hand. He wasn't pleased, but on the other hand, he equally didn't want to get sick, nor was getting sick anything Frankie could change.

Frankie, then, walked back home as if in a trance, feeling sexier that he could ever remember feeling, that perverse lusty energy soaring within him again. When he arrived, he quickly stripped his clothes off his body and stood in front of a mirror, staring at his changing form. With every moment, he was more convinced that the changes were beautiful, in some twisted way. Watching how his skin reddened at the edge of the scaly growth, as if trying to fight off an infection, and yet inevitably growing first rough, and then darkening into slick, shiny scales. Not only scales, but muscle, too, bulging beneath the new, protective cover.

He found himself squeezing that singular breast – though the transformation was perilously close to engulfing his whole torso now – and let out a hissing moan of pleasure at the feeling of it.

You should see a doctor. Or a priest, maybe, the reasonable inner voice of his told him, but his more animalistic, primitive side was fully enraptured by what was happening. He felt something like a butterfly slowly emerging from its cocoon into a final, beautiful form. Frankie watched, instead of doing anything, as the scales slowly crept closer to his stiff cock. He already knew what would happen. All those “memories" finally flooded his mind. He, just like the fossil that'd scratched him, would be a hermaphrodite. While that couldn't explain why he was going to have two beautiful, heavy tits – perhaps the influence of his human genetics – there was one thing that all females had in common.

The scales slowly spread over his inner thigh, itching everywhere they grew, and then underneath his plentiful sack. The warmth and the tingling finally soothed that itch, and while he knew he shouldn't like it, he did. His fingers clasped around his throbbing cock, unable to resist any more than a mere animal might've resisted, groaning as he stroked himself to the intoxicating, quivering feeling growing inside him now. A heat between his legs, along with a stretching sensation, like a stiff muscle trying to loosen up – his stroking grew faster and faster – while a confusing emptiness grew inside him at the same time, already begging to be filled.

He fell over backwards, propping himself against a wall and spreading his legs to see what was happening to him, just in time to watch as his new cunt yawned open, wetly, the skin beneath his balls splitting open painlessly to reveal a new, and visibly needy feminine sex, pink and ready to be claimed. And oh, gods, did he ever want it to. His fingers instantly dove down there, tracing over his new plump lips, feeling just how slippery he was getting with that heated, pheromone-drenched slime, only to plunge inside him moments later, causing his mind to crash down into rapturous ecstasy.

It all felt so natural. Only his body demanded more. Something thicker, more potent than just his fingers. Instantly, Frankie's amorous thoughts flashed to Stephen. He had exactly what Frankie needed, being a man. He'd just need… some changes, to make him more appropriate, more studly. His fingers moved faster now, as he masturbated both his cock and his new pussy, fantasizing of getting mounted and bred. He could smell his own arousal, too. It was a strong, primitive fragrance of need.

But the transformation wasn't done with him, yet. Not even close. Still the scales were continuing to creep over the rest of his body while he was distracted by the wonderful sexual sensations pulsing through his form, each shivering clench and each aroused throb bringing him closer to a glorious orgasm.

Yet, with how old the “cursed" fossil was, even the strange infectious magic on it had degraded. Frankie was, once again, interrupted as the changes travelled up along his neck, chin, and then into his mouth. His tongue, which had already felt swollen like it barely fit inside his mouth, hardened, becoming something rather unnatural even in comparison to the rest of the changes. Frankie suddenly realized that he couldn't breathe, that his long, stiff “tongue" was protruding out his mouth, nearly choking he realized that his nose was still open. As he took that breath, he glanced down, seeing another cock protrude from between his lips. At first, it was difficult to accept that it was his tongue, changed by something primeval, but as he flexed what would've been his tongue muscles, it jerked much like his cock would. And when he tightened his lips around it, the shock of pleasure was almost overwhelming. As he watched, his strange new tongue throbbed again and spat out a clear string of precum over his chest, where he now had two beautiful breasts, both aching and tingling for attention.

It was too much, far too much. Thankfully, perhaps, a quick series of painful cracks along his spine distracted him from that sexual reverie, his entire body convulsing as it began to reform rather than just growing scales, leaving him larger, more muscular, more dinosaurian. Even though it hurt, though, it didn't stop Frankie from pleasuring himself. He was pumping his fingers into his slavering reptilian slit with frantic, jagged motions, each time his seizing muscles allowed him to do so. Feeling his pussy clench around his digits in a vain hope to milk them for cum was a strange experience, but nonetheless intensely pleasurable, even if all it accomplished was make that gaping, drenched slit yearn for more.

Beyond even that, though, was the sensation of the changes reaching his already naturally sensitive feet. He let out a groan as claws sprouted from each curling, splaying toe to replace his nails, his soles growing smooth and shiny with small scales. He rubbed his feet together and moaned again, though it was muffled by the throbbing thickness of his second cock inside his mouth. Frankie could feel his orgasm approaching, unable to stop in the throes of transformation. He was rubbing his feet, sucking on his own cock-tongue – the thought nearly made him black out with how kinky it was – and simultaneously stroking his cock and fingering his clenching pussy.

Frankie's back arched as he went past the point of no return. For a moment, the entire world was a glowing pinprick of ecstasy, a familiar pressure welling up inside him, accompanied now by a deeper, hungry flame of need. And then, he was cumming. He roared with joy as his tongue and cock both throbbed in unison, erupting with thick ropes of his warm cum that splattered all over his scale-clad belly and heaving breasts. At the same time, his feminine orgasm had him clenching in rapid rhythm around his fingers, squeezing and trembling with climactic pleasure, hot, wet juices gushing over his hand with each spasm.

Then, it was over. Frankie slumped down, covered in his own sexual mess. The transformation seemed to abate for the time being, leaving him half changed, as his arousal dipped, no longer fuelling the transformative power of whatever he had been infected with. He hadn't fully transformed into whatever it was that he eventually would be and found himself able to think again. He tried talking out loud, and even though there were minor jolts of pleasure each time he moved his new, strange tongue, he could at least form words again as it softened.

One thing was certain. He had to show Stephen what'd happened. Maybe the older curator would know something. Even if he didn't, well, at least they'd have something new to study. Frankie was hardy a natural dinosaur, but as far as he knew, his scales were exactly as they'd have been on a T-Rex. He was a walking example of living prehistory, which had to be worth a closer look. As long as he could convince his mentor to disregard the cock-tongue, at least.

Though the scaly growth hadn't fully covered his head yet, other thoughts kept appearing before his mind's eye, all of them sexual. The fantasies he'd had while transforming, of turning Stephen into something else as well, were stuck on repeat; distracting, but not overwhelming in his satisfied state, at least.

Frankie found the longest, most concealing bathrobe in his wardrobe. It'd be difficult, but since he worked at night, he figured he could hide himself away enough to get to the museum without garnering too much attention. If someone caught a glimpse of his half-scaled face, they'd probably just assume he was a burn victim. Up close, his increasingly reptilian features would be more obvious – but he wasn't planning on sticking around long enough for anyone to find out, except for Stephen.

All of his reasons felt like excuses. It wasn't as if his mentor could realistically do anything, but regardless, Frankie felt driven to go see him. Maybe it was just a desire to show off his beautiful, changing body. First, though, he needed a nap. A good, long nap. Frankie barely made it to his bed before collapsing into it and falling asleep almost immediately, into deep, dark, and mostly dreamless slumber. Dreamless, except for one fragment that manifested even in his drained thoughts. This time, he was laying the eggs that he'd been blessed with. With the heat of the sun warming his reptilian body, he was squatting over a haphazardly constructed nest of straw and branches that'd offer some protection for his clutch until the eggs could hatch and grow into predators like himself. Besides the warm, glowing, maternal pride, he knew only one thing; he wanted to be bred, over and over again, just as surely as he wanted to breed someone else.

He slept soundly throughout most of the day, only waking up to scarf down food while still half asleep to fuel the changes, and woke up well past the usual time he'd start work. He also woke up rock hard again, along with the realization that he'd soaked his sheets with his lust again. His initial reaction was that he needed to have a shower, but, in a way, it made him feel rather sexy. Why wouldn't he show off his arousal? The scent alone would inevitably lure a selection of mates to him, and then, he could pick and choose who he allowed to breed him.

No. That's not… that's not who I am, he thought, but those defiant thoughts flowed slowly and thickly in his head, whereas thoughts of wild, heat-driven rutting and mating came easily, each mental image accompanied by a reinforcing dopamine surge. Just get to Stephen. He can help, somehow.

Frankie donned his robe, but found that his feet had grown too large and inhuman to fit into any pair of shoes he had. Muttering angrily, he opted to tear up an old bedsheet to wrap around them, instead. Seeing a hint of his scales was one thing. If someone saw his reptilian feet, along with the lethal-looking talons adorning them, he'd end up in a jail cell sooner or later, and then strapped down to a gurney in a lab. Or a morgue. He could never be seen outside; despite the roaring lust suffusing his body, he had enough presence of mind to realize that.

He made his way to the museum one last time through empty streets, up that familiar hill. The door was locked – Stephen usually kept it locked outside of the museum's open hours – and Frankie had left the key at home, in his usual jacket. Yet, as he grasped the handle and gave the heavy doors an experimental yank, the lock broke almost instantly, with Frankie nearly pulling the whole thing off its hinges thanks to his newfound strength.

He stepped inside. The itchy sensation all along his body was only growing stronger again, the transformation proceeding after the day-time slump. Come on. Find Stephen before it gets worse. Hurry up, he told himself, feeling the scales slowly creep up the side of his head. Now, even more than before, it was starting to affect his thoughts. The sensation was scary and yet exhilarating. How long would it be before he lost himself, becoming whatever he was about to change into? The more he thought about it, the more he found himself wanting it. Wanting, in some perverted way, to be nothing more than a half-dinosaur, rutting wildly, his life focused on nothing except pleasure.

He realized, too late, that it was already happening. He was losing himself. A shiver shot through him, and he shed the robe he was wearing letting his cock jut out proudly and his heated juices ooze down his thighs. Frankie barely looked human at all, naturally hunched over in a digitigrade posture, covered in scales, both hands and feet having already turned into distinctly primitive reptilian ones. The transformation had already reached the very seat of his being, scales slowly covering most of his head, and changing his thoughts with them. Permanently, this time. The only part of him that remained recognizably human was his painfully hard cock, retaining the human glans, even if the shaft itself seemed rougher, covered in miniscule scales.

Frankie sunk to his knees, trying to hang onto the shreds of his human psyche, but his head had already began to morph. The sensation was like a migraine, but pleasurable, somehow. The ache of his skull stretching into a shape more befitting a T-Rex made his eyes tear up, and for a moment, he couldn't see anything at all, not until he realized that he had a long, carnivorous muzzle. He dug his claws into the ground, fighting back the urge to roar with joy as tail tore through the skin at the base of his spine, extending into thick muscle that'd ensure he could keep his balance even with a digitigrade posture.

And that by now familiar lust, that he'd only truly felt in dreams before? It consumed him. His nostrils flared as he took in the air with new senses, catching the scent of an almost suitable mate. Almost. It was too human, not strong enough in body even if it was in mind. Just as he thought about it, he heard someone running through the halls. Stephen, no doubt having heard or perhaps even seen him. His adrenaline spiked, and Frankie gave chase, following the sound as he dashed through the museum's halls, knocking over displays of artifacts that'd once been invaluable to him. Now, they were nothing but detritus and hindrances compared to the more pressing urges.

The moment he saw the human running way, Frankie pounced, pinning him to the ground. As luck would have it, it wasn't far from where they'd been working. His half-finished fossil loomed above them, and next to them, the one Stephen was almost done with.

“W-what, no, don't-“ Stephen stuttered, face to face with a creature he could barely even comprehend staring down at him with a hungry grin, its tongue protruding like a cock from a mouth lined with razor-sharp teeth, and yet – it had distinctly mammalian features too. It wasn't even possible.

But Frankie was alive. More alive than he'd ever been before. He picked up the struggling human and carried him over to the skeleton. Though there was precious little conscious thought left in his mind, he was guided by deeper instincts, and they knew exactly how he could shape the older man into a perfect lover for himself. His teeth clamped down around Stephen's shoulder, just hard enough to pierce through his skin. At the same time, he tore off one of the lion skeleton's paws and scratched Stephen's arms with the claws, still sharp after all this time. As he did so, his cock throbbed approvingly. It felt like exactly the right thing to do.

The transformative power of the fossils had faded with time, which was why it'd taken so long to fully claim its first victim. Not so with Frankie's own body; though his own strain wasn't infectious, it still acted to supercharge other transformations. Almost the instant Stephen's felt the jolt of pain from the scratch, he saw fur beginning to grow around where the claw had traced over his skin. The sight was impossible, of course. As a man of science, he knew that much, which meant he was having an unusually vivid nightmare. Wasn't he?

It was either that, or this thing on top of him was Frankie, and even entertaining that possibility hurt, improbable – no, impossible – as it was. Yet, equally, it seemed obvious. The itchy sensation of his growing pelt raced up and down his arm, something like a sensual massage. It felt good. But none of it made sense.

At the same time, the hybrid straddling him and keeping him pinned down squirmed with excitement, its obscenely swollen cock throbbing, and something wet leaking over him from between its legs. A whiff of pheromone-laden feminine lust wafted over as it shifted, grinding down against him. The thing was a hermaphrodite. Just like the fossilized skeleton that Frankie had cut himself on.

“F-frankie? Is that- is that you?" Stephen stammered, his voice faltering as he faced the inevitable truth staring at him hungrily.

The creature growled, the sound muffled by the swollen cock protruding from its mouth, and leaned down to kiss him. Stephen yelped as he felt the warm, stiff, masculine flesh part his own lips, slipping into his mouth. It was slick with what could've only been precum, already, a hypothesis quickly confirmed as it throbbed when Stephen's unwilling mouth was forced to engulf it, a squirt of warm liquid coating his tongue. At the same time, the creature groaned, clearly delighted by the sensation of it.

Distracted as he was, Stephen didn't notice that the tawny fur had begun to cover his torso, spreading just as Frankie's scales had, but much faster. One moment he was disgusted with being forced to swallow much of the hybrid mutant's “tongue". The next, as the changes soaked deeper into his body, he felt an unwanted pang of arousal, that familiar twitch along his lower spine, the sensation that meant he was getting horny. Sure enough, his cock agreed fully, quickly swelling up to full hardness in his pants, quickly bared by a swipe of Frankie's sharp claws that tore his pants to shreds.

He could feel an abhorrent pressure building in his head. Being a scientist, Stephen tried to find solace in cataloguing each sensation, trying to commit it to memory for the sake of thinking back on it when he fucked- no, to-

Suddenly, as he inhaled, he was hit by the full force of Frankie's needy scent, his body already having adapted to recognize and truly take in the fragrance of his need. It was like a sweet convulsion shooting through him, overwhelming his mind with pure, raw lust. A need to rut. His hips bucked on their own accord. A sense of strength surged through his changing arms, muscles bulging as he found himself strong enough to push Frankie off him, roughly. Yet that moment that he should've used to escape was undermined by the raging desire he felt. Frankie fell naturally onto all fours, and raised his tail to reveal a beautiful, inviting, and soaking wet slit.

With a guttural growl of his own, he pounced on top of his former protégé in a rather feline way, overcome with that familiar urge to bury his cock as deep into his offered hole as he could. By now, his head was almost fully leonine, with ears sensitive enough to pick up Frankie's rapid heartbeat. It was all unnatural, and yet he was helpless to resist. His fingers dug into his friend's scale-covered hips, and he thrust again, grinding his turgid length against the softness of his hermaphroditic slit. The warm wetness seemed to soak directly into his blood, egging him on.

Fuck it, said the dwindling human voice in his head. If he was going to breed Frankie, he was going to do it properly. With a grunt of effort, he flipped the T-Rex hybrid onto his back, grabbed his legs, and nearly bent him in half, forcing Frankie into a mating press position that'd allow him to sink as deep as he could go. Frankie gave a hissing growl of approval, his cock-tongue squirting out more clear precum over his voluptuous chest, as Stephen, fully taken by the same primitive need to breed that drove Frankie, positioned his swollen cock at his dripping reptilian pussy.

With another snarling growl – Stephen looked more lion than man, now, his body covered in fur and a fierce, feline visage – he drove his cock deep into Frankie's body. Immediately, he clenched warmly around the intrusion in turn, as if displaying his approval, the intoxicating feeling of their mating quickly driving the lion to work up a quick, jabbing rhythm of thrusts.

At the same time, Frankie's taloned feet were right there, next to his face. He nuzzled against one, like a feline marking his territory, and found that the touch instantly made Frankie squirm beneath him. So, he did it again, rubbing his bristling whiskers into his sole, followed by another muffled moan from the half-dinosaur. A weakness. One that he'd certainly exploit until his young colleague's belly was swollen with his kittens. Stephen hadn't felt this horny since he was a teenager, utterly enchanted by the immense desire to thrust himself deeper into that wet, warm, bliss. It didn't even matter that they were both increasingly monstrous creatures. Nothing mattered except planting his seed in that clutching, quivering, and deeply fertile heat engulfing every inch of his cock. And every time his lips or nose brushed over Frankie's soles, that fertile heat clenched in a way that make his whole body tense up with ecstasy.

He thrust faster and faster, until his hips were a blur driving into the dinosaurian pussy offered to him, instincts and pheromones in full control and coaxing him to reach the inevitable, sticky end of their otherwise unnatural mating. He wanted to see his protégé pregnant, so heavy with his kittens that he'd struggle to as much as walk towards the end of it. He had to. Every muscle in his body was dedicated to pounding into him, harder, the sweet pressure in his loins building and building without the slightest hesitation.

Frankie beat him to it. With a choked roar, his body seized up beneath the muscular, dominant lion. He tossed his head side to side, neglected cocks erupting over his scales. He throbbed once, and then found Stephen's lips pressed against his own, sucking eagerly on his twitching cocktongue, accepting the next spurt of his seed directly into his mouth, the look on his face saying in no uncertain expressions that he savored the musky, salty taste of it, and the loud gulp of him swallowing after a few more throbs filled his mouth confirming it.

He held the kiss as his own orgasm approached. At that point there was nothing conscious or intentional about it. His hips moved without any thought involved as that pleasure reached a boiling point. Then, he hilted, grinding his aching, swollen cock deep into Frankie's cunt, and came. The hybrid T-Rex beneath him gasped into his mouth, euphoria drenching his senses at the feeling of his warmth blossoming inside him. It seemed to soothe that gnawing itch immediately with an immense satisfaction, soothing his heat and pushing him over the edge into another orgasm immediately following the first, squeezing and milking the cock seeding him with muscles that he hadn't even known he possessed, drawing every droplet of his potent virility deep into his hidden womb.

Finally, spent, the two collapsed on top of one another. No words were spoken for the longest time, not even when Frankie, his feminine sex sated with the only thing it desired, felt his cock begin to stir again, accompanied by a more familiar desire to establish dominance. Stephen wasn't opposed to it, of course. He never had been. Soon the lion climbed off Frankie, dropping down on all fours and baring himself in turn.

Frankie was on top of him in an instant, and his cock quickly found its mark in his mentor's inviting pucker and sunk inside while the two men roared with sexual joy. Rutting towards another messy climax, though this one less likely to leave a belly growing with life. Stephen hadn't, after all, developed a womb – at least not yet, that they knew of. That didn't hinder their breeding urges in the slightest. It all felt like those dreams had, to Frankie. A blur of carnal, blissfully wanton highs, sharpened and heightened with each strong squeeze of Stephen's pucker around him as he lost himself in that heated haze of their mating, losing track of time before he was already throbbing inside him, marking his older mentor with thick ropes of his seed planted firmly inside him.

They took turns rutting each other, after that, any real thought of a hierarchy forgotten once the lion had first stated Frankie's heat, until both of them were dripping with spent seed, Stephen from under his tail and Frankie equally from his well-bred pussy, swollen and puffy from repeated use. Eventually, owing to his larger size – and his submissive urges having been well and truly sated – Frankie ended up in control, pinning the prehistoric lion down. Not that he had any energy to do anything after what must've been a dozen orgasms, both from having his pussy fucked and rutting into Stephen.

“Well… that's… something," Stephen finally groaned. He had, it seemed, retained enough of his mind to consider the implications, at least when not horny. Frankie, perhaps not so much. “We'll have to… rewrite the books. All the books. If any part of you is accurate to the past…"

“I think… more important things," Frankie managed to growl in response. It seemed his cock-shaped tongue wasn't quite as nimble as he thought, even when soft. “More important…"

In a way, it made sense that he'd be a little more primitive. He was a reptile – part one, at least – whereas Stephen was mammal. Still, true to form, he felt curious. “What more important things?" Stephen asked, barely even realizing that he cocked his large, leonine head quizzically as he did.

“Spread," was all Frankie grunted in response, and immediately Stephen felt that lusty fog begin to creep into his exhausted mind again. Why study when they could live the ancient times, if in somewhat twisted forms? If everyone shared in their condition – especially if it got them this horny as well – the earth would quickly be something akin to a paradise.

Stephen felt himself stiffen again, his eyes drifting to the alluring, messy slit under Frankie's balls. Maybe studies could wait.