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The transition between the seriously excellent sex dream Jordan’s having and actual consciousness is slow enough that he’s all the way awake before it hits him that the tits he can feel should definitely not be in bed with him and Taylor. Even then, it’s not until he brushes an exploratory thumb over one nipple and something twitches in his gut, that he even considers the possibility it’s not just Taylor’s weird thing they never talk about happening again.

He doesn’t quite roll off the bed as he panics, grabbing at what are, apparently, his tits as if he could remove them, but it’s a close call. Taylor sleeps on, serenely rolling to take over Jordan’s side of the bed as well, and Jordan glares at him bitterly before he goes into the bathroom to hyperventilate quietly and stare at himself in the mirror.

Or stare at this unfamiliar girl, anyway, because it’s really not him, even if her arm does move as he runs a hand over the unfamiliar planes of his face, weirdly clean-shaven even though he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been keeping up with it this well in the off-season.

He guesses she kind of looks like him, but it’s fucking weird anyway, and he has to press the heels of his hands against his eyes and just breathe for a moment before he can even begin to deal with any of the rest of this bullshit. He has boobs now. He can feel the weight of them as he leans forward to eye his new face in the mirror. His t-shirt fits weird, so he yanks it off, and that’s not any better because now he has a really good fucking view and it is freaking him the hell out.

This must be somehow Taylor’s fault. He’d never heard of this shit happening to anyone except Taylor, though he is now very slightly regretting their mutual unspoken decision not to discuss the subject.

 

When Jordan finally steels himself to go back into their bedroom, it seems deeply unfair that Taylor is still asleep, spread-eagled across as much of the bed as possible, looking way too fucking peaceful. Climbing on the bed to wake Taylor up as grumpily as possible seems like the best course of action, only there doesn’t seem to be a lot of room, and Jordan finds himself straddling Taylor as he shakes him, hissing, “Wake up, asshole, this needs to be fixed now.”

It doesn’t really improve Jordan’s mood that Taylor doesn’t even open his eyes to slide a hand up Jordan’s thigh, mumbling, “mmm, Jordan.” Jordan isn’t sure what exactly makes Taylor notice that something’s different, but he does feel a little vindicated when Taylor’s eyes fly open and he whips his hand away. He sounds a lot more worried now as he repeats “Jordan?”

“Oh, it’s me,” Jordan snaps. “What the fuck is happening?”

“I– what?” Taylor says, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “Jordan, why…?”

Which is fucking frustrating, because Taylor needs to tell him how to make this go away, and when Jordan leans forward over Taylor to hiss “Don’t fucking go back to sleep, we need to fix this,” his boobs are heavy and unsteadying. He grabs at them automatically, trying to keep his balance. It’s only more awkward, even if he manages not to fall. Especially with the way that Taylor’s looking at him.

It’s not an unfamiliar look, just like this isn’t an unfamiliar position. Jordan wouldn’t mind being here, knees on either side of Taylor’s hips, Taylor’s interest growing more and more apparent against the inside of his thigh, if things were a lot less different. But he feels wrong, and twitchy, and he doesn’t know what he wants, except for Taylor to fix things.

Jordan sighs, running his fingers through the short hair on the back of his neck. “You know more about this than I do,” he says tiredly.

Taylor’s laugh is nervous, but his hand, rubbing circles on Jordan’s thigh, is reassuring. He’s sheepish when he admits, “I don’t know that much, honestly. I mean, we can fuck? That should do it?”

“You have no idea at all, do you? You’re just guessing.” Jordan says accusingly.

“Maybe?” Taylor laughs. “But it might work? And you’re a hot girl, dude, you can’t blame me for trying.”

“I could,” Jordan grumbles. Taylor squeezes his hip, thumbs hovering at the waistband of his boxers.

“C’mon,” he says comfortingly, “we’ll fuck, and you’ll be back to normal, it’ll be fine.” He grins, wide and shit-eating, at Jordan. “You should sit on my face, that’d be hot as fuck.”

“…Not the point,” Jordan says.

“But true,” Taylor says. He doesn’t look sincere so much as he looks like he’d be seconds away from fistpumping in joy, if his hands weren’t so full of Jordan’s ass. He sits up as Jordan climbs off him, and leans in to wrap an arm around his shoulders and tuck his chin into the crook of Jordan’s neck, his weight comfortingly familiar. “It’ll be okay. I’ll fix it.” His lips are warm on Jordan’s pulse, and Jordan leans into his arms. He’s not totally convinced about Taylor’s ability to fix anything at all because he remembers what happened to the tap in the bathroom, even if Taylor claims not to, as well as the dishwasher disaster, but it’s reassuring that he’s trying.

“What could go wrong?” Taylor says earnestly into Jordan’s ear, and that’s a fucking loaded question in so many ways because they don’t know anything about what’s going on, but Taylor’s hand skates warm across his stomach, and Jordan is really damn into the shiver that goes up his spine.

Taylor tugs gently at his boxers, nosing at Jordan's neck. Jordan wants this, wants to fix things, wants to think about Taylor's body rather than his own. It's still weird when Taylor pulls his boxers off and there's no dick there, even though he knew that beforehand. Taylor, however, looks delighted.

"Fuck yes," he says, long fingers tucked into the crease of Jordan's thigh.

Jordan turns his head to grumble, but Taylor kisses him, giving him one last shattering grope before falling back, pulling Jordan with him. It feels weird to straddle Taylor's face like this, and Jordan scowls. "You don't even know if this'll do anything. No idea at all."

“Nope,” Taylor admits cheerfully, grinning up at Jordan from between his thighs. Jordan scowls at him, but it’s mostly for show. The way his stomach curls with heat as Taylor brushes a finger over Jordan’s new clit is unsettlingly different, but appealingly distracting. His hips twitch and Taylor makes a smug noise, cupping Jordan's ass to drag him down to lick broad stripes on his cunt.

It’s hard not to think about it at first, to catalogue the sense of absence, the muscles he can feel flexing inside him, how much wetter everything is. Taylor's tongue flicks at his clit, sharp spikes of pleasure sinking into him. Jordan swallows, hands flat against his thighs.

He’s tenser than he wants to be, even as into this as he is. Taylor murmurs “relax” against his thigh and the rumble of it makes something quiver inside him. He shudders, and groans as the motion presses his cunt firmly into Taylor's jaw. Taylor hums happily, digging his fingers into Jordan's ass when he tries to move again. Not that Jordan wants to move anything like away.

Fuck.

It’s not that Jordan didn’t know Taylor’s mouth was this good, it’s just– he can’t keep hold of the thought.

Taylor's lips wrap around his clit, tongue moving gently, and Jordan's going out of his mind. He wants to fuck down into Taylor's mouth, only that doesn't really work when he's like this. His legs tremble with the desire and the confusing physical responses, and Taylor's thumbs stroke softly against his shaking glutes as his tongue speeds up.

God, he's probably going to smother him, but Taylor won't let go, keeps pulling him in further, a hot press of sensations Jordan really doesn't have enough brain to process separately, as he draws in a long gasping breath and finds himself shaking his way through something that he's pretty sure is an orgasm. He jerks against Taylor's hands in the aftermath, breathing hard, in such a good mood that he doesn't even knee Taylor in the head much when he laughs.

He feels good, shivery and wrung out, but not done. His hands are stiff when he unclenches them from his thighs, and he flexes them as he strokes at Taylor's hair. Taylor leans into the touch, still holding Jordan in place as he tries to wriggle away.

"C'mon, we should fuck too," Jordan says, and tips sideways as Taylor abruptly lets go. Jordan scowls, but Taylor only smiles beatifically, licking absently as his lips. His chin glistens and there's a twinge in Jordan's cunt as he turns away to rummage in the bedside table for a condom.

Taylor's still sprawled out with his eyes shut when Jordan finally locates one, though his boxers have been shoved down to hang foolishly from one ankle, his dick curving up over his stomach. He jerks up when Jordan settles over his thighs, eyes snapping open, but relaxes to watch Jordan put a condom on him, stretching a lazy hand to touch Jordan's tits and pouting when he can't quite reach.

"This is such a waste," he whines.

"Shut up," Jordan tells him, and, astonishingly, he does so as Jordan kneels up and tucks the head of Taylor's dick against his cunt, holding it steady as he sinks down.

It's a lot more than Taylor's tongue, for sure. It's the angle that's weirder than the sensation, and he grinds down carefully, trying to find the right way to move. Right there seems to work, a smooth wave of pleasure that has Jordan twitching his hips forward to try to recapture it. He presses down, thighs shaking, and groans, breathing hard.

“You going to fucking move any time this century?” Taylor says, voice rough, his fingers digging pleasurably into Jordan’s thighs.

“Fuck you,” Jordan chokes out breathlessly, staccato with the movement of his hips. “This is your fault, and you can just sit back and fucking take it.”

The slow grin spreading across Taylor's face is at odds with the way his fingers tangle with Jordan's. Jordan rubs his thumb over Taylor's knuckles, still circling his hips, chasing the right pressure, the right grind against his clit.

He doesn't know if he's hitting it, he doesn't feel close, but this is good. Taylor's hands are tight on his thighs, his chest flushing red as he chews the hell out of his lower lip. It's hot as fuck, and Jordan feels unbearably smug. "C'mon," he says, heady with it, hips still moving

"Fuck," Taylor says. Jordan would chirp him for his eloquence, if he wasn't busy processing the way Taylor's hips surge up.

He slips forward, hands braced on Taylor's chest, still grinding down as Taylor fucks into him. It leaves him breathless, and yet is still a fucking tease; he never wants it to stop, and he wants something else. He whines, deep in his throat, cut off when he gasps in time with Taylor's thrusts, and Taylor's hands stroke along his thighs, thumbs smoothing along the crease of his hip. His hands are frustratingly tentative as he strokes down Jordan's curls, and Jordan inhales sharply as Taylor brushes his clit and skims past it, slipping on his slick folds.

Taylor's hips slow as he fumbles, trying to find it again, and Jordan squirms in place, trying to find that rhythm again. Taylor swears, short and choppy. His fingers are infuriatingly close to where they need to be, and Jordan is on the verge of screaming when he hits it. Taylor's grunt of triumph is infuriating in a different way, but Jordan's busy now, his grip leaving white lines on Taylor's flushed skin, as he rocks down, held between the lighter pressure of Taylor's fingers, and the solid feeling of his dick.

He shakes through a second orgasm, though it doesn't slow his hips or Taylor's. He doesn't know if he can manage another one, but he's chasing it, bearing down, when Taylor's fingers spasm, and the rhythm stutters to nothing as Taylor comes.

He's unhelpful when Jordan tries to pull off, though he strokes Jordan's thigh gently when he forgets what they're doing and tries to move at entirely the wrong angle, swearing at the sharp stab of pain in places he didn’t even know could feel like that.

They lie there sweatily once Jordan’s disposed of the condom, their breathing slowing down. Jordan's not usually this awake in the afterglow. He can't tell if it's being a girl or because he's so freaked out about being a girl, but he can't relax, even with the endorphins and Taylor curled behind him, solid and familiar.

Jordan doesn't even realise he's jiggling his leg, until Taylor splays his hand out warm across his thigh and whines, "stop it," into the nape of Jordan's neck.

"I can't sleep," Jordan grouches. Taylor tugs him closer, plastering himself against Jordan's back, one hand sneaking up to cop a feel. It's...interesting, still, but not really enough to mask Jordan's restlessness.

"You want breakfast?" he says instead. Taylor makes a sleepy noise. Jordan pokes him.

"Nooooo," Taylor says sadly. He clutches at Jordan as he wiggles out of Taylor's grip to stand unsteadily by the bed and look around for his clothes.

Nothing fits right, not even Taylor’s most giant t-shirt. Jordan wears it anyway, fidgeting with the waistband of his own ill-fitting boxers as he leaves the room to Taylor calling out tragically behind him.

Jordan's still complaining to the coffee-maker when Taylor comes up behind him, rubbing at his eyes. He leans affectionately on Jordan and makes grabby hands for the coffee. Jordan allows him to steal it, slumping against Taylor comfortably.

It's not exactly a surprise that nothing changes during breakfast, but Jordan was sort of hoping anyway. He could swap back at any time, for all he knows. It's no more impossible than anything else about this morning.

"When's this going to be fixed?" he says, drawing it out in a totally justified whine. He kicks Taylor under the table. "You and your fucking weird STD, man."

"It's not an STD," Taylor says unhelpfully. He kicks back, hooking his foot around Jordan's ankle. Jordan scowls at him; Taylor strokes his toes along the back of Jordan's calf. "We could go try to cure it again?"

He leers.
Jordan glares.

"It would probably be distracting?"

He makes a good point, though admitting it would be against the natural order of things. Jordan rolls his eyes instead. He gets up and Taylor follows him to pull him into a hug, tucking himself around Jordan, chin over his shoulder. Jordan takes a deep, slow breath, relaxing into him; Taylor makes a strangled noise.

"What now?" Jordan grumbles into his ear and Taylor pulls back a little to look offended.

"You have breasts now," he says, as though Jordan could possibly forget it. His hands slide down to Jordan's hips, broad and familiar. "It's really hot," he whines, and Jordan wants to complain he has more reason to whine than Taylor does, but Taylor's kissing him, and rehashing the situation seems like it's only going to be a continued exercise in frustration.

Taylor nudges Jordan backwards toward, but Jordan does actually remember that the last time Taylor tried this he backed Jordan into a wall. He twists away, appreciative of the plaintive sound Taylor makes. "C'mon," he says, hand on Taylor's wrist, and wrinkles his nose at the smug look on Taylor's face.

His hand is warm on Jordan's back, creeping down to grope his ass, and Jordan drags him on. Taylor kisses him again in their bedroom, and this time Jordan goes with it when he's pushed backwards, vaguely hoping that they haven't been leaving crap on the floor again as he tries to aim himself for the bed.

Jordan doesn't trip, but he does fall back fairly solidly on the mattress. It's not actually truly uncomfortable, but he sits up to complain anyway.

"Weak, man," he starts, because this is a shitty distraction, but Taylor drops to his knees and Jordan isn't going to claim that's not always pretty compelling to watch.

He makes a grumpy noise anyway as he digs his fingers into Taylor's hair. Taylor leans into it; huge fucking grin as he slides Jordan's boxers off.

Something moves wetly inside Jordan as Taylor leans down unsettlingly far, cheek rough as he rubs it against the inside of Jordan's thigh. "This is so hot," Taylor says yet again. Jordan wants to kick him, and also fuck the hell out of his mouth.

He manages the kick, and tugs on Taylor's hair, but Taylor's weirdly gentle as he spreads Jordan open; big, blunt fingers too light against Jordan's cunt. Jordan yanks at his hair again, and Taylor growls, satisfied, in the back of his throat as he licks sloppily up Jordan's folds.

Jordan was going to be a pain about this anyway, because it is probably all Taylor's fucking fault, but he just wants to rock down against Taylor's mouth forever as it is. Taylor mumbles encouragement against the crease of his thigh, which puts his tongue in entirely the wrong place. He hums smugly when Jordan uses his thighs to nudge his face into place, and the vibration of it shudders pleasantly through Jordan's cunt.

His licks turn long and sloppy again, which is good, but frustrating. Jordan wants something, moving his hips in anticipation, straining against the strength of Taylor's hands on his thighs.

"C'mon, fuck you," Jordan says, goading, and Taylor wraps his lips around Jordan's clit and makes his toes curl. Jordan's thighs squeeze in when Taylor moves his hand, eager to keep him in place. Taylor rubs his cheek against them, and Jordan doesn't know whether he likes the scrape of stubble just there, but when he spreads them a little, he definitely likes the way Taylor's fingers slide into his cunt.

He gasps, and Taylor curls them up gently, sending white-hot streaks through Jordan's brain. He whines, long and slow, and Taylor licks at him again, little flicks over his clit in time with the way his fingers press inside until Jordan’s shaking apart.

"See, I said it'd be good," Taylor says eagerly when Jordan pushes him away, and wipes the back of his hand over his ridiculously wet face.

Jordan can't actually form words, still curled in on himself, sucking in deep, cold gasps. He waves a hand as if to say, "so-so." Taylor snorts at him, standing up and stretching out his neck side to side.

His dick pushes against the wet spot on his pj pants, bobbing in Jordan's line of sight as he catches his breath. Jordan reaches for Taylor, curling his hands around his hips, leaning in to mouth at the shape of his cock. Taylor swears quietly, hand falling to Jordan's shoulder. He makes as if to move to the bed, but Jordan tightens his grip.

"Just-- stay here," he says, and Taylor sucks in a breath.

"This sounds like work," he says, fake-casual.

Jordan shrugs. "Hey, if you can't cut it."

"Fuck off," Taylor says easily. His hand is heavy on Jordan’s shoulder, thumb coming up to stroke his neck, but he doesn’t move. Jordan tugs Taylor's pants down just enough, and he exhales sharply as his dick catches in the waistband and bounces back up against his stomach. Jordan wraps his hand around it, jerks it a couple times as he leans in to lip at the head.

It's just Taylor's dick, same as always, but Jordan likes the feel of it in his mouth, the way Taylor is spectacularly easy for this. It's nicely familiar, something he doesn't have to think about doing differently, despite everything. He flicks his tongue against the head, dragging it wetly across the slit, and wallows in the way Taylor shudders, hands coming to rest heavy on Jordan's shoulders.

Taylor groans when Jordan cups his balls, dragging it out as Jordan goes down further, hollowing his cheeks. His legs tremble when Jordan bobs his head, muttering imprecations when Jordan punches his thigh to make him stand up. Despite all this, he's remarkably restrained, hips barely moving, even when Jordan slows down to really thoroughly chart his veins with his tongue.

It doesn't take Jordan long to give in: maybe Taylor’s restraint is worth something, maybe the tease is never as good as just getting Taylor off, watching his terrible faces and feeling the strain of his muscles under Jordan's hands. Jordan swallows, purposeful, does it again, sucks hard, and there's barely time for him to get lost in the familiar rhythm of it before Taylor's coming, making strangled noises somewhere above Jordan's head, Jordan swallowing around him.

"God, you douche," Taylor says, his hand digging deep into Jordan's shoulder as his knees finally buckle. Jordan grins up at him, and Taylor scowls. "Christ, can I fucking lie down now?"

"Be my guest," Jordan says, rolling back onto the bed. Taylor joins him, huffing disgustedly against his neck, fingers trailing lightly up Jordan's stomach to cup one of his breasts. Jordan's still not totally sure how he feels about that. It's certainly sensitive enough, but also fucking weird. He's not supposed to be able to feel that there. On the other hand, this is pretty much how possessively Taylor cuddles all the time, so there's that. Jordan breathes.

"You gonna calm down now?" Taylor mutters after a while. "It'll fix itself, I promise. But you have to relax."

"I'm relaxed," Jordan says, poking Taylor in the side.

"Okay," Taylor says. It's not like him to back off like that, not with the tension in Jordan's neck that he's pretty sure is incredibly noticeable. On the other hand, the sex-buzz underneath Jordan's skin is dying down, and that does always make him a little sleepy. Which isn't the same at all, but he can have that argument with Taylor some other time.

 

"I kinda miss your breasts," Taylor says later, after Jordan's woken up with a dick and they've celebrated, in between Jordan blaming Taylor for everything. “I mean, this is cool too, but so were they.”

"Miss your own damn breasts," Jordan says into Taylor's hair. "Or give someone else your stupid disease."

"It's not a disease," Taylor says defensively. He grins. "Besides, you'd be mad."

“I dunno, after this morning, maybe you’re too much trouble,” Jordan says.

“Maybe I’m too much awesome sex, you mean,” Taylor says. It doesn’t even make sense, but he cackles delightedly into Jordan’s ear anyway, and Jordan’s not going to push him away when he curls close.