FSE

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Deagan sat on his couch, doing nothing. Sure, the television was on, but he wasn't really watching it. The weekend wasn't shaping up to be terribly exciting, not with current events getting in the way. Then again, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes, just doing nothing was exactly what he wanted to do. He plucked his phone from the table, idly looking at his reflection in the black glass. Yep, still looking pretty decent, though he'd grown a healthy layer of stubble over the last evening and most of today. Ah well, shaving was a chore better left for those days he actually needed to look good on. Still, he'd never found himself to be quite as handsome as his boyfriend, Frankie, with his tan skin and masculine form, just the right amount of meat on his bones, but he was alright with that.

He was just about at the point of slipping off his worn lazy-day jeans and properly relaxing, when Frankie suddenly barged into the room, looking unusually excited. “Remember how we planned to get those tattoos?" he exclaimed. Less of a question and more a lead-up to something he wanted to say. “With the fucking hyena and the-“

“-yeah, with the shark. What about them?" Deagan interrupted him.

“Well there's this new tattoo shop in town, they opened like yesterday, and they have good reviews already, so, wanna do it?" Frankie explained. He wasn't going to take no for an answer, but this was something they'd been planning, either way.

“Lemme just check," Deagan answered. “What's it named?"

“The Tattoo Cellar," Frankie said. “Pretty damn boring name but it looks like they do good work."

Deagan flicked the display on his phone and quickly found their website. It was pretty amateurish, but the examples of tattoos were great. Nobody could be a master of everything. The prices were pretty reasonable too, and being new, there was no queue.

“Going with the designs we had?" he asked.

“Yeah unless you got any better ideas," Frankie replied, grinning. “Definitely want a hyena though, and I think the pic I had is pretty fucking good."

“Yeah, me too. Lemme just get ready, I gotta shave and all that-“ he added. “-and you might want to shave a bit more if you want to get it on your chest."

“Oh shit, right," Frankie exclaimed, heading off to the bathroom. He had that typical Hispanic hairiness, which Deagan coincidentally found incredibly hot. It'd definitely get in the way of a tattoo, though. That – and Frankie found his groin stirring pleasantly at the thought of his partner with a smooth, shaved chest for a change, as well.

Really, it was less about what he looked like, and more about who he was. Deagan just adored every inch of him, every hair on his body and filthy mouth included. “Just don't cut yourself," Frankie yelled after him, heading off to the second bathroom to make himself look a little more presentable. “Pretty sure they won't do work on broken skin!"

It only took a few minutes before they were both ready to go, freshly shaved and showered. The tattoo place was only some quarter-hour away, though with how hot it was getting outside, they decided to take the car regardless.

The tattoo parlor was an underground one. Not in the sense of it being unknown, but rather, literally underground, in the basement of what was otherwise an apartment building. The two boyfriends entered, felt that it met their expectations well enough, and presented their designs.

“Got a bunch of these new ultra-vivid paints, if you wanna to try them. Slower to fade and more vivid colors, yeah? I'd charge extra normally but I wanna get to usin' them," the artist said, after looking at their proposed pictures of a hyena and a shark.

He looked somewhat like a cross between a sailor and a former street urchin – but having watched enough tattoo shows in preparation for this moment, Deagan and Frankie had gone in with the expectation of every tattoo artist looking a little peculiar. It was, it seemed, a job that attracted the more unique individuals. That was probably what it took to make someone want to spend their days piercing the skin of others with a needle.

“Well, is there any reason not to?" Deagan asked.

“Nope. Some idiots say they're bad for you, but idiots say all kinds of things," the artist replied, his eyes telling a tale of many frustrating customers.

“But they're not?" Frankie asked, in turn. And when the artist shook his head, his continued. “Well, let's fucking do it then. Guess I'll go first?"

Deagan certainly didn't mind. His partner going first meant that, if it looked too painful, he had a decent excuse for running for the hills. And so, Frankie got into the chair, taking his shirt off – another twinge of arousal in Deagan's cock following the sight of his momentarily smooth chest being bared.

“Ah good, you actually shaved. Was expecting to send you right back home," the artist chuckled. “Bet it was your friend that reminded you."

They continued with the casual banter as he got his equipment ready, and then finally got to work, needle against Frankie's chest. Deagan didn't look too closely; it wouldn't be a pleasant sight, even if it was totally safe and the results stunning. Rather, he focused on the way Frankie's hands clenched around the armrests. The corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. But overall, he took it well. Not a single utterance of protests, not before he was done.

“-ffffuuuuuuck me," he growled. “Good god!"

“First time getting one eh? Well you carried yerself pretty well," the artist laughed, bandaging up the fresh tattoo. A bit more of his accent seemed to come out as he got more relaxed with the two. Deagan responded with similar amusement.

“Just remember to clean it and all that. Here, read this while I do your friend," he said, handing Frankie a little pamphlet about tattoo care.

And then it was Deagan's turn. He'd opted to get his tattoo on his upper arm instead, and while none of the experience was terribly painful, it wasn't the kind of memory he wanted to remember a second longer than he had to. So he paid it as little attention as possible, letting his thoughts wander elsewhere while the artist worked.

He only saw the result briefly before it was bandaged, and it was rather beautiful, a shark stylized in black, white and cyan tones. His arm ached a little, a buzzing sensation still radiating from the freshly inked spot – but it felt almost pleasant. Not nearly as bad as he'd imagined.

“Well, there you go then. Just remember to take care of 'em and they'll stay pretty clear a pretty damn long time," the artist spoke as he quickly counted the money.

With that, the two drove home again. Frankie seemed a lot more upbeat than usual, still – probably a little drunk on endorphins.

“Man, that fucking needle hurt," he laughed, and couldn't stop laughing. Luckily he wasn't driving. “Like good god, not doing that again!"

“Wasn't too bad for me," Deagan replied. “Arm just feels a little stiff now, down to the fingers."

“Should feel normal soon enough I think," Frankie replied. His tone was instantly a little softer and caring whenever Deagan expressed any kind of discomfort. “Still alright to drive?"

He was noticing an itchy sensation on his chest, as well. It didn't worry him, since it was just his skin being irritated and healing after the repeated needling.

“Yeah, it's not like paralyzed or anything. Just a bit stiff," Deagan reassured him. Soon enough, they pulled back in front of their home and quickly made their way back inside to avoid the sweltering heat.

With little else to do, Frankie decided to flop onto the touch and watch whatever was on TV. Granted, there were a few options for more exciting pursuits, but he didn't feel like humping his boyfriend's shapely ass while it was this warm. Maybe later in the day. Though he certainly felt the urge to, uncharacteristically much so – just that errant thought of clutching onto Deagan's hips and pumping his cock into his tight, pink pucker left him with a rather obvious, girthy bulge. A familiar yearning, a sense of pressure deep in his loins, one that'd draw more and more of this attention until finally relieved, ideally inside a warm and equally eager man.

He focused on the television for a moment. A cooking show? He let out a little chuckle as the host began to caramelize some onions.

“What are you even laughing at?" Deagan asked, more curious than concerned.

“Eh, just the expression on his face I guess," Frankie replied.

He continued watching, feeling oddly giddy, everything just a little amusing, at least until the television chef sliced up some sausages for whatever kind of stew he was making. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Frankie burst out laughing again in a long cackle that left him wheezing. He had a surprisingly alarmed expression in his eyes. “The- the fuck am I laughing at-“ he panted, followed by a giggle. “Fucking sausages- something's wrong."

Deagan stared at his partner as he doubled over, laughter-spasms wracking his body. It didn't seem too serious at first, but when he couldn't stop, the strangeness of the situation suddenly sunk in.

He fumbled for the phone. He'd call a doctor, maybe even an ambulance. There had to have been something wrong with the tattoos, he thought, frantically grasping for his mobile, only to find it slipping from his grasp and falling into the floor with a loud crack. He looked at his hand and suddenly noticed that skin had grown between his fingers, making them – if not harder to move – just different enough that he was struggling to hold any kind of small object.

Frankie laughed at how his partner dropped the phone, finding some kind of comedy in just about everything, and then promptly tore his clothes off, his body language telling Deagan that he felt something on his skin.

That's when the gravity of the matter really sunk in. Frankie had always been hairy, but he was downright hirsute now – a soft kind of tan fur covering most of his chest and belly, slowly but visibly enveloping most of his body. “God- fucking- what-“ he stuttered, diving for the phone, but finding that the impact had broken it. Where'd he put his own?

“C-calm down, Frankie, just… we need to focus," Deagan implored him. He felt cold and clammy all over, as if he had a fever, only not unpleasant. His skin was growing slicker, he realized. Slicker in some places, and rougher in others. And he'd always been white, but now, he realized, he was turning literally white, the little pigment his skin had bleeding away.

“Has to be… hahaha, the fucking tattoo ink," Frankie panted. Indeed, even though his face looked as it always did – despite the tawny fur slowly creeping up his neck – he was panting heavily. “O-okay, focus," he stuttered. “Tattoo guy's probably asleep, but, one of us could head to the… the damn phone booth, call an ambulance…"

It was then that that Deagan realized just how suffocating his clothes were feeling, all of a sudden. Extremely tight. He was growing larger, or at least more muscular, and his arms were numb from how tightly his shirt squeezed around them. He struggled to undo the buttons, doubly so when it began to feel as if it was choking him, but his clumsy fingers refused to obey him. He collapsed onto the sofa, afraid that this would be the end of him – and then, with a sudden tearing sound, the fabric of the shirt gave way, tearing as his arms and neck both grew thicker, more muscular, leaving the cloth hanging off his changing body in tatters.

“I'm…" he looked down at himself. His stomach was a stark white, but his arms were darkening, towards a shark-like grey. The cogs in his head turned, albeit sluggishly, and the realization came entirely too late. “…turning into a shark?" he exclaimed. “This doesn't make any sense, it isn't possible. A hallucination..?"

He was desperately trying to come up with rationalizations, any rationalizations. They lived in a naturalistic world, and this kind of sudden transformation wasn't possible. But even as he struggled to reason his way out of the fever dream his life had become, he continued changing, nipples fading away and melding into his chest as the charged spread across his chest. His skin, particularly the dark grey parts of it, took on a rough, coarse texture that made short work of the rest of his clothes. He was getting ripped, far more muscular than he'd ever been before, and there was a certain narcissistic delight in watching it happen. Enough so that- oh no.

“Nh, this is starting to feel… kinda good," he half-whispered, his eyes darting from his swelling cock to Frankie again. And he quickly realized that he wasn't the only one feeling that way; his boyfriend was fully erect, cock proudly jutting from his increasingly fluffy crotch. Darker, seemingly larger than before. Thicker. More virile and potent. Seemingly eager to plunge into him at a moment's notice. He could see the veins in his cock pulse along to the beat of his heart, and with each one it swelled.

Frankie was painfully aware of it, too. He'd started to feel those stirrings of arousal the moment the changes began, and it was quickly proving hard to ignore. He was clenching his teeth in an effort to keep himself from stroking that pleasantly thrumming, insistent erection of his. It might make things worse if he gave into it, he reasoned. Instead, he focused on the changes elsewhere on his body, trying to suppress them through sheer willpower, even as his cock engorged further, growing in both girth and length and drooling precum onto his fresh coat of fur. Thump. Another inch swelled forth. Gods, he was starting to look so sexy, with that huge fucking horse cock just right there. He could almost reach his tongue out and-

A sudden jolt of pain and a cracking sensation in his feet drew his attention, resonating through his entire body. Bones rearranging? He watched, breathing shallowly, as his heels drew upwards and his toes swelled, the undersides darkening and growing leathery. Pawpads. Like a- like a fucking hyena. He burst out laughing at that realization. He was turning into a goddamn hyena. Small twinges of pain accompanied each of his toenails narrowing, blackening into a claw.

None of it felt unnatural, not even as he pulled his foot – or paw – closer to himself to examine it. The pads felt warm and soft to the touch, and a little ticklish but they were distinctly a part of him.

What seemed different was his cock. It was slowly engorging to a far longer, girthier shape than any hyena would have, pleasant tingles and jolts shooting through his body as the head flattened before his eyes, his foreskin retreating and melding with his shaft. The rim of his glans seemed to grow more pronounce, becoming more defined, but more uniform in color. Almost like a horse. Exactly like a horse, he realized, when some splotches of his previous skin color remained, leaving him a mottled, eagerly throbbing equine cock, demanding his attention, urging him to find another stallion to sink it into. Or… a shark.

Those thoughts were quickly interrupted as his face suddenly cracked, and he sneezed as his nose began to elongate, pulling his jaw along with it. Oh god. The sensation all but whited out his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Deagan was squirming and thrashing on the sofa. His feet remained flat, though he'd lost his nails, and with how weak his knees felt he could barely support himself at all, when he tried to stand. But he was feeling dry, horribly dry. Parched. He panicked for a moment, thinking he might be growing gills and choke – but that never happened, the oxygen in the air still filling his lungs. Regardless, he felt so utterly dried out, like a fish left out in the sun, that he suddenly sprung to his feet on pure instinct, and barely managed to stumble into the bathroom, turning the shower on full blast.

Bliss. It was wonderful, feeling the water coat his grey, rough body, and he collapsed back onto the floor, right under the beautiful sensation of the water splashing over him. Yet it seemed to only accelerate his changes. His toes felt sticky as the same webbing formed between them, and then – a surge of arousal. Deagan watched with rapt attention as his cock began to swell again, growing thicker. Just like his boyfriend had, he could feel the blood pulsing through it, veins visibly pumping, each one accompanied by an almost orgasmic swell as he grew larger, thicker, more luscious and desirable.

But that reverie of cocklust was interrupted by strange, overwhelming sensation that sent precum splattering all over his belly. With a wet, painless, and even ecstatic wet slurp, his growing member slowly split into two. His sack, in turn, seemed to meld into his body, the skin becoming part of a puffy slit. One that he instinctively knew that his cock – no, cocks, two of them, both thrumming, throbbing and dripping with beautiful pearls of precum – would retreat into when not in use. Twice the sensations. His back was arching, hips bucking into the air, trying to sink his shafts into anyone, anything – desperate for an orgasm that was not yet to come.

A crackling along his spine and a pressure building at the very base of it forced him to flop to his side. He knew what was coming even before the thick tail began to extend, new muscle and bone forming, all alien to him, yet immediately under his conscious control.

He realized he'd began to drool as he stared at his twin cocks swelling a little more, bobbing insistently, and licked his lips, tempted to see if his new form was more flexible. But he realized that his teeth were suddenly sharp, very sharp, enough so that he nearly cut his tongue on them, just in time for him to experience that sudden mind-shattering sensation of his skull stretching into a more aquadynamic, piscine shape.

His nose sunk inwards, leaving only a pair of nostrils which immediately flared, picking up a myriad of scents. He could smell his own arousal, far more strongly than he ever had before, and he could smell Frankie, whose increasingly masculine musk was quickly driving him wild. The smell of his cock, his heavy sack, his lust – he needed it all over himself. A final ache along his spine signaled the growth of a fin, smoothly extruding from his back – and then, finally, relief. He slumped down in the shower for a few minutes, his tail flopping onto the floor as all the stress and tension of the strange mutations left his body, leaving him an anthropomorphic shark. Of course, that relief only brought with it a different kind of tension that quickly began to build, prompted by the scents and sensations that his new shape was feeding into his mind.

Frankie was panting. There was little left of the human he'd once been, but his cock had grown so much that he could almost touch it with his shiny, black nose, and it hung there – tantalizing, utterly erotic – and he stuck his tongue out, lapping along the rim of that flat head and scooping up a few droplets of precum, a whimpering snarl spilling from his lips as the flavor sunk into his tastebuds. He curled up, ever so slightly, just barely managing to open his muzzle wide enough to take the flared head into his mouth, and that wet warmth, along with knowing that he was not only sucking cock, but sucking his own, fat horsecock sent him into a frenzy of agonizingly short, feverish thrusts, rutting what he could of that shaft against his own tongue.

That was how Deagan found him, once he'd finally found his footing again. He still waddled with a slight awkwardness, his heavy tail weighing him down and throwing his balance off, but all of those worries felt very distant and unimportant the second he saw his boyfriend happily gurgling as he drank in his own preseed.

And his paws. They were right there, toes splaying and curling as much as they could. At that point, even he was far beyond the point of trying to resist the urges welling inside him. He hopped up on the sofa, grasping Frankie's ankles firmly and pulling his paws onto his cocks. He couldn't even remember if he was into paws, but the leathery warmth of those pads against his throbbing lengths was heaven. Almost any touch probably would've been. He pulled harder, stroking one of his cocks along the underside, and then the upper side as well, the tickling of fur along his sensitive flesh so utterly erotic. Had he been attracted to paws? Right now, he felt attracted to anything, and another wet splash of his precum – this one splattering onto the hyena's snout – only emphasized that.

The strangest part, perhaps, was that Frankie also found the feeling rather pleasurable. Ticklish, yet sensual. His toes curled around Deagan's cock, as much as he could manage, and in turn, his own huge, sexy horsecock sent a rope of warm preseed into his gaping muzzle for him to gulp down. The heat of it coated his tongue again. It was a momentary kind of weakness, the sensations surging through his balls and shaft distracting him as his boyfriend used his feet like a kinky kind of fleshlight – and then he realized he could have so much more. So much more, wrapped around him.

But maybe he shouldn't. The tickling sensation of the shark's pre-lubed shaft slipping between and against his leathery yet soft pads had him laughing again, but it was also immensely erotic, and soon his mouth was wrapped around his flared cockhead again while Deagan kept him doubled over, a glassy look of lust-fogged thoughts in his eyes as he stroked himself against his feet. Already, he was throbbing, painting the hyena's previously clean fur with spurts of his wet arousal.

Oh, Frankie was almost there. His tongue caressed the bloated flared, entire body shivering with need. He tongued over the drooling slit at the very tip, tongue almost dipping into his cock to drink in more that delicious, slippery heat. Clumsily, he tried to double over further, to thrust more of his cockmeat into his hungry, mouth. God, he was going to cum. He was going to cum all over his own tongue and down his own throat. He sensed his balls tightening, swelling, preparing to spurt their contents into his slavering maw.

He heard Deagan grunt with masculine satisfaction and opened his eyes just in time to see his cocks throb in unison – feeling each heavy twitch against his paws – and the first massive, thick rope of cum erupting from the tip, all over his chest and cock. It was hot. Incredibly hot, far warmer than human cum would be, and it made his skin tingle where it seeped into his fur. The scent was like an aphrodisiac to his changed, sensitive nose, those globs of pearly, musky white landing just out of the reach of his tongue, egging him on.

He groaned, sticking his tongue out as far as he could, trying to get just a little taste of that mess covering his cock, and then a final splatter of cum landed right onto it, coating his tastebuds in that aphrodisiac flavor. Frankie came almost immediately, trembling and quivering as he felt all that tension erupt, weakly grinding his cock into his mouth as the seed gushed up along the length before finally, finally, drowning out his thoughts in a mouthful of heated, white cum. He swallowed, greedily, hungrily, and there so much of it. He wasn't just hung like a horse; he was cumming like one, too.

Seeing his boyfriend cum, Deagan reached down to squeeze and rub at his fuzzy, heavy sack, feeling it almost pulsating against his palm. If it hadn't been for him just having sated those increasingly animalistic urges on his paws – on which he now wiped the last few dregs of cum from his twin shafts – feeling that would've definitely gotten him horny again. That, and the sight of Frankie breeding his own mouth and drinking the results like some common beast.

He collapsed back onto the sofa. His head felt pleasantly empty. Fuzzy. He'd worry about how to fix everything once he'd had a little nap. Yeah. Worrying felt very, very hard right then and there, even though he knew he should've. And so, he drifted off into heated, erotic dreams, his spent cocks dribbling.

Frankie finally pulled off his cock with a loud gasp for air when the cum stopped coming. His stomach felt bloated with the volume of it all, but the warm, fuzzy glow that enveloped his entire being made it feel pleasant regardless. Cumming what seemed like gallons was fun.

There was a faint voice in the back of his head, in that moment of sticky post-orgasmic clarity. One telling him that there might be consequences if he couldn't get a hold of himself. That perhaps he was making the changes worse, or even permanent. He didn't know what else could happen, but he knew, somehow, that it would. Further mutation. Maybe his cock would grow so huge he'd have trouble walking. But he'd barely finished draining his balls before he could feel them refilling again, more seed filling them out to the point of aching, with a wet kind of gurgling that he wasn't sure if he heard or just felt.

He shivered. And that pressure began to grow too much to resist. The cum all over his belly hadn't even dried yet and already he was feeling the burning need to spurt out more of it, in thick, heavy ropes. But not just anywhere. No, he wanted to feel Deagan clenching around him as he filled the shark's body with his seed. Over and over. He wanted to be filled, too, in turn. The fantasies were myriad and increasingly difficult to resist.

“We should… probably try to resist," he grunted, not realizing that the shark had already dozed off, picking up the glasses that'd fallen off in the throes of orgasm, only to realize that they didn't fit on his muzzle. And he didn't need them; his vision was suddenly perfect, if a little bleached compared to that of a human. “It might still be reversible. Or it might get fucking horrible if we continue," he continued.

For once, he was the voice of the reason between the two, as difficult as it was. He was still hard, too, and the sheer amount of blood it took to keep a cock that big – how long was it, almost a foot? – erect was making it very, very hard to think clearly. He stood up and tiptoed his way to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of ice-cold water, and promptly poured it over his head. Better. If only slightly.

The gears in his head turned. He couldn't go outside like this. Calling a hospital seemed like an bad idea as well, since he'd almost certainly get locked up – and who knew for how long? He moved back into the living room and realized that Deagan had dozed off, at least for a moment. His phone, though, was right next to him on the floor, and Frankie picked it up. Unlike his boyfriend, he had no difficulty using his fingers, shorter as they were.

He dialed the tattoo shop, expectantly holding the phone next to his ear. “The number you've dialed has not been recognized," an automatic voice greeted him. Fuck.

After struggling for several seconds with the glass screen, he managed to tap in the website – and that returned a 404. Either the artist had done whatever he did intentionally and pulled a disappearing act, or he'd realized that he fucked up and subsequently was forced to disappear. What had been in the ink? Was it i_rradiated or something? Like all those fucking 80s cartoons? So we're turning into the 20-something mutant horny hyena._ Was that even possible? He somehow doubted it.

The nagging feeling that things would get worse if he surrendered to the lust was still there, and he could still feel his balls churning. With each step he took, they slapped against his inner thigh, feeling so much heavier than before. How much would he even cum, now? It felt like a gallon- no! At least try to fucking resist. You're not some horny idiot animal, not yet at least.

Though his rough pelt did feel really good. The scents his new, black nose was picking up were amazing, like a new sense having opened. His step felt nimble despite his stocky build, and raw strength coursed through his thickened, sinuous muscle. He stood in front on a mirror for a while between bouts of pacing restlessly, taking stock of the changes so far.

He looked like some kind of hybrid. One could still see he had been human; he didn't have the animal ears yet. The fur wasn't that thick. His muzzle wasn't as fully formed as it would be on a real hyena. His eyes looked the same as they ever had, even if his vision had changed.

That momentary thoughtfulness was interrupted when he heard Deagan shift on the sofa. He joined the shark in the living room, and his heart nearly skipped a beat when he found him lying there, slowly stroking his cocks, rock-hard and ready for action already. They didn't look like human cocks, but he had difficulty tearing his eyes off them either way. And the wanton behaviour from his normally more modest boyfriend – that was what really set him off, watching his slick, webbed hand slide over equally slick cocks, hips lazily grinding against his grip.

His massive horsecock was swelling up again. Thinking quickly became more difficult as it lurched to life, engorging with blood and lust with each beat of his heart. Fuck it. Whatever else happens will totally be worth it. He wasn't sure if the reasoning was good. On some level he was terrified of what might happen. But every other part of him was more and more focused on that tight, pink hole under the shark's tail.

His self-control finally crumbled when Deagan, seemingly half asleep, or in a trance, traced a cum-soaked finger along his thigh and sunk it, without hesitation, into his bare tailhole. The sight was accompanied by the most erotic little groan of pleasure Frankie had ever heard, or at least it felt like it – and in a mere moment he was on top of the shark, his equine shaft heavily flopping onto his toned stomach with a meaty slap.

“We might as well enjoy this, right?" Deagan asked with a weak grin and just a hint of hesitation in his voice, and already his hips were thrusting up, presenting his ass for the newly minted hyena.

“Rrh, yeah. It can't do any more fucking harm, can it?" Frankie replied, leaving a wet trail of precum on the shark's scales as he pulled back, getting into position. It was all excuses, really. It could do more harm. It just felt far too good to fight any of it. He raised the shark's legs onto his shoulders, holding them there, driven by the urge to see his expression when he took a cock this big. His hips bucked, and Deagan's tight but experienced pucker twitched against the pressure.

He pushed a little harder, gritting his teeth. Deagan's eyes fluttered, and then rolled up, with another sweet moan. Another twitch, a tremble, and he felt the shark's body beginning to yield, stretching and relaxing enough to allow him inside, to allow him to breed him – and with a pop, his flare suddenly sunk inside, along with several inches of his eagerly throbbing cock. The warmth, the tightness, the sheer primal intensity of it all felt a lot like what he imagined heaven to be like. He let that sweet, demanding ache in his loins guide his motions from there on out.

Deagan was moaning, whimpering and begging for more. The feeling of that fat flare grinding over his prostate each time the hyena thrust into him set off fireworks of lust in his mind. It had another effect, though – whatever mutagenic substance was in the tattoo ink had used up most of its potency, but the fires of lust burning through his body had a kind of aggravating effect on it. A pulsating kind of itchy tingling spread across his chest. His nipples had disappeared earlier, during his initial transformation, but now, those sensitive nubs returned, scales quietly becoming softer and pinker until that pair of mammalian features was obvious. He had no idea what he'd even look at by the end of this. Not shark, not human, and going by how he squirmed when Frankie tweaked his new nipples, sending twin jolts of euphoria up his spine – perhaps not even entirely male.

God. He'd always liked having his nipples played with, but now – he was clutching at the sofa, fingers digging into the cloth, those teasing sensations merging with the constant surging pleasure that Frankie was rutting into him, pucker hungrily clenching around his massive shaft despite already being stretched taut. He was brought out of that sexual reverie by the sensation of something wet around his nipples, and then the hyena pinched his teats, almost making him cum then and there.

He could barely hear what Frankie was saying with how aroused he was, with how his blood roared as it passed through his ears, with how beautifully his chest, cock and ass all thrummed along to the beat of the hyena's hips, like a musician and his instrument. Something about milk, though. And something about feeling him clenching. Something about good boys. And a permission to cum, punctuated with this rough fingers twisting his stiffened nipples, gently but firmly.

It pushed him over the edge, easily. But he was barely aware of what was happening, just about dissolving into quivering, gelatinous bliss. His muscles tensed as that first rope of cum rushed out along the length of his cocks – both of them, one buried inside his mate and the other outside – with heavy throbs that he could feel in every fiber of his being, even before it wetly splashed onto his stomach, onto the hyena's teasing paws. He clenched and milked and squeezed around his shaft, his body taking over the duties of pleasing his mate while his mind was drowning in those orgasmic convulsions.

To match the warmth spreading over his belly, he felt a similar bloom of heat inside him, accompanied by a series of quick throbs and bucks. Frankie was pumping him full, seeding him to the point he felt bloated. It felt like gallons of it, and it felt beautiful, a soothing and erotic warmth that filled him so thoroughly. Clinging to every part of his insides, the rest of it sloshing around thickly with every weak thrust that followed. Deagan wallowed in that sensation, the floaty blissfulness of feeling his partner spurt that heated, loving gift deep into him. A lot of it was forced out around his shaft, gushing from his quivering ass. The couch would need cleaning. Or maybe he'd just roll around in the mess later. It was something for another time.

Frankie finally slumped back onto the couch once he'd emptied his sack. It was with a measure of alarm that he realized he could immediately feel it fill up again, more cum churning in his loins, preparing for another orgasm. It was like he didn't have a refractory period at all, anymore. His muscles weren't as tireless, though, which was probably just as good. On a whim, he licked his milk-soaked fingers. It tasted faintly sweet, a little fatty. That, most likely, made him the first man on earth to taste shark-milk, he mused. Knowing that it was Deagan's milk made him throb inside that tight, warm vice, a last weak spurt of seed splashing into his depths.

Deagan pinched his nipples, a small trickle of milk coating his fingers. The tingling sensation from the stiff little nubs shot straight into his crotch. God, it felt fantastic. He wasn't too sure about the lactation, but he'd always liked having his nipples toyed with, and this on a whole different level. He felt like he could probably cum just from having the hyena suckle on them.

A rather devious thought formed in the shark's mind. If getting rutted had done this to him, what would it do the hyena, being a mammal? Frankie had never shown the same enjoyment for nipple-play, nor the enthusiasm. The thought of sharing the experience with his partner – and milking him – almost made his knees buckle, and he was almost instantly hard again, his stamina seemingly unending in this changed, new form.

At this point, there really was no going back, anyway. So there'd be no harm in returning the favor.

Frankie was still lying there, panting and exhausted, a blissful and empty-headed grin on his face and massive equine shaft barely flagging at all. He barely had the energy to react at all when Deagan pulled off that mighty cock with a wet schlurp, letting the spent-hyena seed gush down his shaft, virile balls and aching taint, and slowly oozing along that bare ring of flesh under his tail, some of it pooling there.

“Your turn," the shark grinned. “Just enjoy it."

He had always been a little clumsy on top. Not that he didn't enjoy it, he just hadn't had much practice. His role tended to be on the receiving end. For a good cause like this, though, he was willing to do it. He'd expected to struggle to lift the hyena up, but it was surprisingly easy with how strong he'd gotten, and using those new muscles felt good. He hoisted the limp hyena up by the hips, guiding his legs to wrap around his waist.

What was a little more difficult was the angle, even with his two cocks. The first several thrusts had his cockhead jabbing against Frankie's thigh, at the rim of his warm pucker rather than the opening that'd allow him to sink into that blissful warmth. Eventually, he had to reach down to guide himself in, firmly nudging one of his cocks right against Frankie's heated tailhole.

Frankie's head was swimming with both the post-coital fuzziness and glow. Would he start lactating too if he let Deagan breed him? He hesitated to say if he actually wanted that, but he was all but powerless to put up any resistance, his body easily yielding to that growing pressure, the insistent masculine hardness pushing against him, demanding entry. Lubricated and slimy with his own cum as he was, he couldn't have stopped the shark from sinking into him even if he wanted to. The tapered shaft pried him open as it was designed to do, the tip slipping inside him easily enough and slowly, inch by inch, stretching him out around the thickening shaft.

The friction of being penetrated seemed to resonate throughout his body. God, this was a bad idea. It felt amazing, though, like a warm, tingling glow, all the way from his prostate to his chest. It left him squirming, a kind of pressure just behind his nipples that grew and grew as the shark's thrusts grew faster, triggering more changes in his malleable body. Frankie's eyes lingered on the shark's chest for a brief moment, the ache in his own growing undeniably intense. Thin white streams of milk dribbled from his pronounced teats. It was strange, in a way, how he'd lost his nipples when he turned into a shark, only to grow another pair.

Deagan leaned down, splaying his webbed hands against Frankie's chest. His previously firm pecs felt softer, more yielding, and he couldn't help but knead them as he continued rutting. The situation felt surreal, for lack of a better word – surreal, but intensely erotic. Soon his partner's chest had swelled into a pair of modestly sized breasts. The rest of him was as masculine as ever, but whatever was causing the mutations cared little for it.

Frankie let out a loud growl of lust, the shark's rough palms against his perky new nipples leaving him quivering in pleasure, his legs instinctively wrapping around his partner to help him thrust. To sink that breeding rod into his clenching body. He couldn't believe how good it felt. How could these transformations be bad if they felt like this?

Soon, he was panting with lust, broad tongue lolling out of his stubby, hyenine muzzle, eyes half-lidded and breath coming in needy stutters, punctuating each buck of the shark's hips. He could feel his chest swelling just a little further, into a decent handful of fur-covered breasts for his boyfriend's groping hands to caress and enjoy, and then – there it was, a wet sensation spreading through the fur around his nipples. His breath hitched as he realized was it was; warm milk, coaxed out of him by kneading paws. He was being milked. Just as his ass was milking the shark's cock.

Deagan thumbed over his stiff teats, circling the broad areolas, spreading the wetness around and leaving them glistening in what little of the setting sun reached the mating pair through the windows. They looked so very, very pretty. Tasty, even. And on an impulse, he leaned down, parting his muzzle to gently take one of those nubs into his mouth, tongue lashing over bare, tingling flesh. Coiling, caressing, and gently suckling, letting a trickle of the hyena's milk coat his tongue. He tasted warm, almost musky, and soon he was nursing on his boyfriend, greedily teasing out as much milk as he could, teeth just barely grazing the very edge of his teats.

The both of them where moaning; one out loud, and the other muffled by his boyfriend's body, as they once again fully gave into those animal urges to mate, to simply rut, hips moving on pure instinct towards one inevitable goal; leaving the hyena just as stuffed with seed as the shark himself was.

Frankie could barely process what was happening. He caught himself groaning out something about Deagan sucking on his fucking tits, something about breeding him, but really, all the words were meaningless vocalizations of joy, punctuated with moans that spoke far louder than anything he consciously phrased together.

Another thrust, and his chest swelled into a modest pair of breasts. A B-cup perhaps – he didn't have a lot of experience with those sizes. But it felt wonderful nonetheless, and when the shark gave of them a final lick, only to latch onto the other, he came again. It was a quiet, shuddering orgasm, this time. His muscles just didn't have the strength, he didn't have the energy to moan with enthusiasm, and so he simply shuddered as his cock pulsed between them, another thick load of cum erupting from his flaring tip. His eyes were tearing up, sparks dancing across his vision, this third orgasm almost painful, if exquisite.

He felt a similar warmth bloom inside him. Then realized that he was clenching around Deagan's cock´, realized that that he was throbbing, too. Cumming inside him. Giving him every drop of his seed, a warm and sticky offering deposited deep into his belly. Frankie didn't bottom often, but the sheer fulness was rather beyond words. Nearly delirious, he wanted the shark to keep sucking his newly formed breasts forever, to never stop cumming until his stomach was bloated.

The moment did end, though. The throbbing of the shark's cock inside him, and the second one pressed right against the fur-clad balls, ebbed. The spurts slowed down to a trickle. Deagan's mouth left his nipple, a thin white sheen of milk over his lips and on his chin. A very, very satisfied, predatory, toothy shark-grin on his face. For a few seconds, at least; quickly, that pleased expression faded into one of tiredness. He felt much the same. It felt like it was late, but he felt just perfect the way he was lying on the sofa, and checking the time would've only done harm. Not like he'd be going to work tomorrow. Or ever again, if unlucky.

His eyes fell shut, no matter how hard he tried to fight the sleepiness. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but at least he was in this with the person he loved the most. They'd figure something out – a way to reverse the changes, or if not that, then at least away to enjoy them to their fullest.

Worst come to worst, they did have food stocked for about a week. That week, no matter what happened afterwards, would certainly be a rather enjoyable period of enjoying their newly changed bodies both their own and those of each other.

By the time the two fell asleep, both were fully hard again, lazily grinding against each other as they dreamt. And so it went.