Chapter 10 #2
“It’s alright, Laurel.” Beacon lays his hand over Laurel’s damaged one, even though he should have no way of knowing.
“Your father told me about the accident,” Beacon says. “I thought it rude and inappropriate of him, so I didn’t mention it to you. I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready.”
Laurel’s face burns.
“It’s not the same, no, but that’s why you understand what I… How I feel about my body. Yes?”
He sounds so kind. Accepting.
It’s Laurel’s turn to nod.
“You’ve dedicated your life to helping people feel right in their bodies because you don’t feel right in yours.”
Tears well in Laurel’s eyes. The reveal wasn’t supposed to play out like this.
Beacon continues, “Thank you. I never would have asked for anything like this, even knowing your capabilities.” He catches the tip of Laurel’s tail and twists it around his wide thumb. “I’m not sure how to use them, though.”
“Don’t you want to hear about the last one?”
Beacon looks warily at the third phallus, then laughs. “I don’t think that one suits me.”
It was a gamble, certainly. Laurel designed the shape of this one to be very different from the standard elven penis. “That’s more than alright. We will consider it a failed experiment.”
Beacon returns the crystal phallus to its slot, then withdraws the realistic one. “How do I use it?”
“You want me to show you right now?” Surprise colors Laurel’s tone, and his cheeks warm.
“Is there a reason we shouldn’t?”
“Ah. No. There isn’t. Are you sure?”
“Very.”
With a firm nod, Laurel sends a flicker of his magic to the door, locking it. “You’ll want to start by removing your kilt.”
Laurel’s heart pounds as he watches Beacon slowly unfasten his accoutrement—boots and socks on the floor, sporran and sgian dubh set on the workbench.
He unbuckles his kilt fittings, unwinds the pleated garment from his hips, and folds it respectfully before setting it beside his effects.
Beacon keeps his buttoned white shirt on and only hesitates a second before sliding his small pants down his thickly muscled legs.
Laurel appreciates the rock-hard definition even more after having seen those legs in action—and he doesn’t say a damn word about the jokes pertaining to what Beacon wears underneath his kilt.
The shirt hangs low enough to conceal Beacon’s lower body. Laurel adjusts the chair to allow space for both of them, stroking Beacon’s arm as he retakes the seat. He doesn’t verbalize the sentiment, but Beacon appears a touch more relaxed after.
Laurel kneels delicately before his husband, tail curling around his body.
“Will you hand me the prosthesis?” He decides to use more clinical, nondescript terms, at least for now, to keep Beacon from panicking at the depth of the moment.
While Laurel is positioning himself, the state of Beacon’s thick body hair makes him chuckle.
At the quirk of Beacon’s brow, he says, “Might have to trim it a bit.”
Beacon’s pale face goes almost as red as his hair. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I have a hair removal hex that will keep some stubble intact without impeding the connection.”
“A hex?” Beacon claps a hand over his face. “Fuck. Don’t explain, just do it.”
Laurel realizes Beacon has probably avoided grooming that area for a reason, so he pets the hair in apology before applying magic.
The spell is quick and painless; Laurel is pleased with the results, having kept enough that Beacon’s discomfort with his lower body shouldn’t be exacerbated. “It worked great! Do you want to see?”
Instead of responding, Beacon adds his other hand over his face, covering his eyes and cheeks so only his parted lips are exposed, chest swelling as he breathes hard.
That’s a ‘no,’ then.
Holding the phallus carefully on his lap, Laurel nudges Beacon’s legs apart, spreading them to give him room to work.
“The installation might feel strange at first, as your body adjusts. I’m going to use magic to align the prosthesis to your existing nerve pathways.
Let me know immediately if anything feels painful or even mildly uncomfortable.
Whether or not this continues is entirely within your control. ”
“You don’t have to coddle me,” Beacon grumbles, peeking through his fingers.
Laurel flicks him on the inner thigh, smiling at the incredulous sound it wins him.
“I’m not coddling you,” he says once he has recentered his husband’s attention.
“This is the process for anyone I work with. In this regard, you aren’t special.
I’m a professional, and I will treat everyone in my space with respect. Yes?”
Chastened, Beacon nods. Laurel smiles and kisses the spot he flicked, then launches into the next step.
He didn’t have a model for Beacon’s existing anatomy, which he typically would for an installation as sensitive as this; remembering Beacon’s flesh, hot and throbbing in his mouth, had to do.
Still, when he positions the phallus, it lines up agreeably.
“If you enjoy this, I can add testicles next time,” he mentions absently.
When Beacon wheezes his name, pleading, Laurel nearly doubles over. He isn’t laughing at Beacon, but he’s not laughing with him either, as Beacon isn’t laughing at all, so Laurel attempts to smother further noise. “Just keep it in mind! I’m going to start now.”
He presses the base of the phallus against Beacon’s pelvis.
He has to close his eyes to see the nerve network, teeth sinking into his lip as he aligns magic pathways.
It’s a complex task, but not one Laurel isn’t prepared for.
He knows the prosthesis has linked properly when Beacon gasps, and the phallus jerks in Laurel’s hand.
Beacon shoots to his feet, staring down at his crotch with wide eyes. “Fuck the stars, this is—”
“Incredible?” Laurel suggests, not unwilling to blow his own horn.
With shaking fingers, Beacon takes his new cock in hand.
He holds it in place, tipping his head side to side to examine it.
Laurel waits. Finally, Beacon strokes himself from crown to base, eyes widening when the foreskin—which had been a still fold on the unanimated phallus—slides fluidly in his grip.
It didn’t take Laurel long to learn that it’s not unusual for Beacon to struggle with words. Thus, when Beacon seizes Laurel under his arms and pulls him to his feet, up onto his toes, and kisses him for all he’s worth, Laurel figures that’s the sign of approval he’s been waiting for.