Chapter 2: The First Touch
they move to the bed. beos is happy and comfy and unintentionally releases more spores. kaelin gets even higher, all dazed and giggly and complete enraptured by this cute plush mushroom girl
The silence after the thunder was different now. It was full of the crackle of fire and the drumming rain, but between them, it was thick with something else. Kaelin’s hand was still in Beos’s hair, her thumb moving in a slow, unconscious stroke against her scalp. The sweet, powdery scent was a haze in the air, in her lungs, making the edges of the room swim pleasantly.
Beos blinked up at her, the fear gone, replaced by a questioning wonder. “Your heart,” she whispered, her head still resting against Kaelin’s chest. “It beats… like a bird in a closed hand.”
Kaelin couldn’t formulate a sentence. Her brain was fuzzy honey. All her focus was on the feeling of Beos—the incredible softness, the living warmth, the gentle rise and fall of her breath. The protective urge had twisted, melted into something warmer and far more selfish. She wanted to sink into that softness. She wanted to map it.
“Come here,” Kaelin breathed, the words slurring just slightly. She didn’t let go. Instead, she guided Beos with the hand in her hair, walking them both backwards, step by careful step, toward the rough-hewn bed in the corner. The world tipped and righted itself with each movement, colors a little too bright, textures achingly sharp.
Beos came willingly, her large eyes fixed on Kaelin’s face. “We are moving,” she observed, a statement of fact. “The angry sun is over there now.”
“Sit,” Kaelin managed, her voice a low hum. She gently pressed down on Beos’s shoulder until the backs of her knees hit the bedframe and she sat on the edge of the wool-stuffed mattress. Kaelin stood before her, looking down. The firelight gilded Beos’s pale skin, caught the eerie, beautiful shimmer in her eyes, and painted the creamy underside of her mushroom cap in gold and shadow.
Kaelin’s hands came up, trembling not from fear now, but from the overwhelming buzz under her skin. They hovered over Beos’s shoulders, then settled, fingers pressing into the worn, soft lichen-fiber of her tunic. She could feel the shape of her, the generous curve of her arms, the solid, plush weight of her. She slid her hands down, over the swell of Beos’s hips, a slow, exploring glide.
Beos shivered. A full-body tremor that wasn’t fear. Her iridescent eyes went wider, her lips parting in a soft ‘oh’. “That is… new,” she whispered. Her own hands came up, fluttering uncertainly before settling lightly on Kaelin’s hips, mirroring the touch but without its intent. “Your hands are… they make my skin remember it is there. It prickles.”
“Yeah?” Kaelin’s voice was dazed. Her thumbs rubbed circles over Beos’s hips. The fabric was thin. She could feel the heat of her beneath it. “Is it… good?”
Beos considered, her head tilted. The movement was so birdlike, so innocent, it made Kaelin’s stuttering heart clench. “It is not bad,” Beos decided. “It is a big feeling. Here.” She took one of Kaelin’s wrists and moved her hand to her own stomach, pressing it flat against the soft give of her abdomen through the tunic. “It is biggest here. A… buzzing. Is this storm comfort?”
Kaelin nodded, a slow, heavy motion. “Storm comfort,” she echoed, the words tasting right. Her other hand joined the first, smoothing over Beos’s stomach, feeling the gentle curve, the way her body yielded to the pressure. The spore-high painted everything in layers of meaning. This wasn’t just touch. It was communion. This strange, soft creature was allowing it, was experiencing it with a raw, undisguised curiosity that was more intoxicating than any smoke.
Her fingers found the rough-woven hem of Beos’s tunic. She looked into Beos’s eyes, a silent question. Beos just watched her, trust radiating from her like heat from a stone. There was no guile, no anticipation, just open-ended wonder.
Kaelin hooked her fingers under the hem and slowly, slowly, drew it upward.
Pale, luminescent skin was revealed, inch by inch. The soft plane of her stomach, the gentle dip of her navel. Then, the lower curve of her ribcage. And there, scattered like a constellation across her left side, were the mushrooms. Small, delicate, in pale creams and subtle greys. Chanterelles, oysters, a tiny cluster of something that looked like coral. They grew seamlessly from her skin, a part of her landscape.
Kaelin exhaled, a shuddering breath she hadn’t known she was holding. The sight should have been shocking, alien. Through the sweet haze in her mind, it was the most beautiful, natural thing she’d ever seen. She let the tudder ruck up under Beos’s arms, leaving her torso bare to the warm, fire-lit air. Beos shivered again, her skin pebbling.
“They are happy,” Beos murmured, looking down at the fungi on her ribs. “The light is warm. They feel your looking.”
Kaelin couldn’t speak. She was drowning in sensation. The visual beauty, the profound trust, the humming in her own blood. She lowered herself, one knee sinking into the rough blanket beside the bed, putting herself at eye level with Beos’s stomach. She leaned forward, her nose brushing the impossibly soft skin. She inhaled. Salt, clean sweat, that deep, damp-earth scent, and now, overwhelmingly, the sweet, spicy signature of the spores. It was everywhere.
She pressed her lips to the warm skin just beside Beos’s navel.
Beos gasped, a sharp, musical intake of breath. Her hands flew to Kaelin’s hair, not pushing her away, but tangling in the short, dark strands. “Oh,” she breathed. “That is… a different kind of touch. Your mouth is soft. Warmer than hands.”
Kaelin kissed a slow path upward, following the curve, tasting salt and something uniquely, essentially Beos. Her lips brushed the edge of a small, frilly oyster mushroom. Beos jolted, a tiny, surprised sound escaping her.
“They can feel that?” Kaelin mumbled against her skin, her voice muffled, thick with awe and the growing high.
“Yes,” Beos sighed, her fingers tightening in Kaelin’s hair. “Everything feels. It is all me.”
The admission, so simple, so profound, unlocked something in Kaelin’s spore-addled mind. The last vestige of restraint dissolved. She needed to be closer. This wasn’t enough. “Lie back,” she whispered, the command gentle, blurred at the edges.
Beos obeyed, scooting back on the bed until she was lying amidst the woven blankets, her dark hair fanning out around her head, her mushroom cap pressing softly into the bedding. She looked up at Kaelin with complete, unbroken trust, her chest rising and falling a little faster now. A contented, unconscious hum started in her throat, a myconid sound of safety and satisfaction.
As she relaxed, settled into the comfort of the bed, a subtle, visible cloud of fine, gold-dusted particles puffed gently from the gills beneath her cap and from the clusters on her ribs. It hung in the air around her like a halo of powdered light in the fireglow.
Kaelin, still on her knees beside the bed, breathed it in.
The effect was instantaneous and profound.
The world melted. The edges of the shack blurred into a watercolor wash of warm wood and shadow. The sound of the rain became a symphony played on a thousand different-sized drums. The fire was a laughing, dancing entity. But all of it, every sensation, funneled into a single, radiant point: the girl on the bed.
Kaelin swayed. A giggle bubbled up from her chest, unbidden, light and airy. “Whoa,” she slurred, her grin feeling wide and unsteady on her face. “You’re… you’re sparkling.”
Beos smiled, a sunbeam breaking through fog. “I am happy. The bed is soft. You are soft-looking.” Her words seemed to come from far away, each one a delightful, plump fruit Kaelin wanted to catch.
“I wanna…” Kaelin murmured, hauling herself onto the bed with clumsy, languid movements. She collapsed half beside, half on top of Beos, her body molding to the luxurious softness of her side. She nuzzled her face into the crook of Beos’s neck, inhaling the spore-rich scent at its source. It was like breathing in a forest’s secret, euphoric heart. “You’re so soft. Everywhere. Like a… a pillow made of clouds and moss.” Her hand slid over Beos’s stomach again, marveling at the give. “A moss pillow. With little mushrooms.”
She was completely enraptured. Every detail was a miracle. The silken texture of Beos’s hair between her fingers. The way her iridescent eyes, when Kaelin pulled back to look at her, seemed to hold entire swirling galaxies within the firelight’s reflection. The gentle, puzzled smile on Beos’s berry-stained lips.
“You are making many words,” Beos observed, her own voice a soothing murmur. She brought a hand up to touch Kaelin’s cheek, her fingertips cool and slightly rough. “Your face is warm.”
“You’re beautiful,” Kaelin breathed, the statement falling out with unvarnished, drug-laced honesty. “You’re a cute… plush… mushroom girl. A forest present. Just for me.” She was babbling, she knew it, but the thoughts were too wonderful to keep inside. She traced the edge of the large cap where it met Beos’s temple. “Does this… do you like this?”
Beos’s hum deepened into a purr. “The touching is good. It feels… like being seen.” She turned her head, her nose brushing Kaelin’s. The proximity was electric. Kaelin’s gaze dropped to her lips.
The kiss, when it came, was inevitable. Slow, messy, born of sheer intoxicated wonder. Kaelin’s lips were clumsy, seeking. Beos’s were still, then softly responsive, learning the shape of the gesture. She tasted exactly as Kaelin had imagined—like blackberries and damp, fertile earth, and something sweetly alien.
When they parted, Beos looked dazed, her luminous eyes hazy. “That is sharing breath,” she whispered, echoing something from her own world’s customs.
“Yeah,” Kaelin giggled, the sound vibrating against Beos’s skin. Her head was spinning, a pleasant, weightless whirl. The spores held her in a velvet fist, and all she could see, all she wanted to see, was the beautiful, strange, endlessly soft creature beneath her. The storm outside was forgotten. The world had shrunk to the warm cage of the bed, the symphony of the rain, and the enchanting, spore-dusted reality of Beos. She was adrift, and she never wanted to find shore.
the more kaelin explores beos the farther she falls into that drugged bliss. her words start slurring more, giggling easier, beos is just so plush and squishy and exactly kaelin’s type
The rain was a soothing blanket, the fire a distant star, and Beos was the warm, breathing center of a universe that smelled of sweet rot and new growth. Kaelin’s mouth found Beos’s again, less clumsy now, driven by a deep, aching curiosity that the spores magnified into a need. She kissed her slowly, savoring the texture of her lips, the way Beos’s breath hitched in a soft, confused little gasp.
Beos’s hands fluttered against Kaelin’s back, unsure, then settled, pressing lightly. “This sharing breath,” she murmured against Kaelin’s mouth, her words tinged with wonder. “It is a hungry thing.”
Kaelin just giggled, the sound muffled. “You taste like the clearing.” Her words were thick, syrupy. She nudged Beos’s jawline with her nose, inhaling the scent at her throat. “Like dark soil and honey.” Her hand, which had been resting on Beos’s stomach, slid upwards, her thumb brushing the lower curve of her breast. The touch was electric, even through the bunched-up tunic.
Beos arched into it, a tiny, instinctive motion. A shiver racked her, not from cold. “That—that place is very loud,” she breathed, her iridescent eyes wide. “The feeling is… a bright noise.”
“Yeah?” Kaelin slurred, captivated. She shifted her weight, leaning over Beos more fully, looking down at her face framed by the dark hair and the pale cap. The world tilted, a pleasant, slow spin. “You’re so… fuck, you’re so pretty. And soft. I just wanna…” Her sentence trailed off as she lowered her head, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the smooth skin where Beos’s shoulder met her neck.
Beos made a sound, a high, musical click that was pure reaction. Her fingers dug into Kaelin’s shoulders. “You are… learning my geography,” she managed, the myconid term strangely formal and accurate.
Kaelin laughed, a breathy, delighted puff of air against damp skin. “Best geography.” Her hands were moving of their own volition, learning the map. They slid down to cradle Beos’s hips, squeezing gently, sinking into the incredible softness there. “You’re like… perfect. So squishy. Exactly what I like.” The confession fell out, unguarded and true, filtered through the spore-haze. She nuzzled lower, her lips tracing the line of Beos’s collarbone, her tongue darting out to taste the salt.
A stronger pulse of that sweet, golden spore-dust puffed into the air around them. Kaelin inhaled it like it was oxygen. Her head swam, bliss amplifying. Everything was softer, slower, more vivid. The weave of the blanket under her knees, the individual strands of Beos’s hair between her fingers, the rapid, birdlike flutter of a pulse in Beos’s throat.
“Kaelin,” Beos whispered, and the sound of her name in that melodic, puzzled voice sent a jolt straight through Kaelin’s core. “Your thoughts are… loud. I feel them buzzing. Like bees in stone.”
“M’just happy,” Kaelin mumbled, her lips moving against Beos’s skin. She tugged gently at the fabric still rucked under Beos’s arms. “This is in the way.”
With a trusting, cooperative shift, Beos raised her arms. Kaelin pulled the tudder over her head and let it fall to the floor, forgotten. The firelight painted Beos’s body in molten gold and deep shadow. Her skin glowed with its own subtle luminescence, a moon-pale canvas dotted with those beautiful, silent fungal growths. Her breasts were full, soft curves, and Kaelin stared, her breath catching. The sight was profoundly natural, unconcerned, and utterly devastating.
“Oh,” Kaelin breathed, the word full of awe. Her hand hovered, trembling, then cupped the warm weight. Beos jerked, a sharp inhalation. “Sorry, ‘s too much?”
“No,” Beos said quickly, her hand covering Kaelin’s, holding it there. “No. It is… a big feeling. But not bad. The brightness is inside now.” She guided Kaelin’s hand, showing her the pressure she liked. “Here. It is… solid.”
Kaelin’s mind was pure sensation. The soft, plush flesh under her palm, the tiny, hard peak against her fingertips, the complete, unflinching trust in Beos’s eyes. She lowered her head, her dark hair falling to curtain them both. Her mouth closed over that peak, and Beos cried out—a short, sharp sound of shock that melted into a long, shuddering sigh. Her back arched off the bed, her hands fisting in the blankets.
The taste was new, complex. Skin, salt, and that underlying, earthy sweetness that was uniquely her. Kaelin lost herself in it. Her other hand roamed, kneading the softness of Beos’s hip, sliding down the curve of her thigh. She was everywhere, touch-drunk, spore-drunk, drowning in the perfect, responsive warmth of her. Beos was murmuring now, a stream of mixed Common and melodic clicks, her body moving with an instinct she clearly didn’t understand but fully embraced.
“So good,” Kaelin slurred, lifting her head for a gasping breath. She was grinning like a fool, her vision slightly doubled. “You feel so good. Exactly. Just exactly.” She kissed a wet trail across Beos’s chest, nuzzling the small cluster of coral-like fungi there. Beos giggled, a real, light sound.
“That tickles the caps,” she said, breathless. “It is a funny feeling.”
Everything was funny. Everything was perfect. Kaelin slid down the length of her, her body heavy and languid. She pressed her face against the softness of Beos’s stomach, her arms wrapping around her hips. She was holding on, anchoring herself to this miraculous, plush reality. The storm outside was a distant rhythm, syncing with the frantic beat of her own heart.
Beos’s fingers carded through her hair, gentle and exploring. “You are like a river,” she whispered, her voice dreamy. “All your wants are going one way. I can feel the current.”
Kaelin didn’t have words anymore. Just sounds. A hum of agreement. A low, needy noise as she kissed the inside of Beos’s thigh, the skin there impossibly soft. The world had narrowed to this bed, this warmth, this breathtakingly soft woman who smelled of the deep woods and felt like heaven. The spores told her this was everything. The spores told her this was home.
kaelin starts eating beos out, drinking in the slick there like she’s dying of thirst. luckily for kaelin beos makes a lot of slick. kaelin ends up cumming just for eating beos out, not touched at all
The spores told her this was home. That deep, sweet certainty narrowed her world to the heat and the scent and the softness beneath her. Kaelin’s mouth was on the inside of Beos’s thigh, her breath coming in ragged, wet gusts against the skin. The fabric of Beos’s simple pants was the last barrier, a crude insult to the intimacy of the moment.
“These,” Kaelin slurred, her fingers clumsy on the rough ties. “Need these gone.” Her words were thick, tangled in the spore-haze and her own need.
Beos lifted her hips, a cooperative, trusting motion. “They are in your way,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper of understanding. The pants slid down, discarded to join the tunic on the floor. Kaelin didn’t look, not yet. She pressed her face into the new warmth, the dark thatch of hair, and inhaled. The scent here was profound, an intensification of everything Beos was—damp earth after a rain, crushed green life, and that sweet, pungent musk that made Kaelin’s head spin and her mouth water.
It was animal. It was perfect.
“You smell like… like the heart of the forest,” Kaelin groaned, the words vibrating against Beos’s skin. Beos shuddered, her thighs falling open wider in a gesture of pure, innocent offering. The slick was already there, hot and plentiful, glistening in the firelight. Kaelin saw it and a low, desperate sound clawed its way out of her throat. The spores in her blood sang, and every rational thought dissolved into a single directive.
She leaned in and licked a slow, broad stripe through the heart of her.
Beos cried out, a sharp, shocked sound that cracked into a moan. Her body arched, her hands flying back to grip the wooden headboard. “Kaelin! That— that is—!” The sentence shattered. Her hips jerked.
Kaelin didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She was drowning. She sealed her mouth over Beos, drinking her in with a desperate, focused hunger. The taste was complex, musky and clean and utterly consuming. There was so much slick, a continuous, generous flow that coated Kaelin’s tongue, her chin, her world. She drank it down like it was the only thing that could quench the fire the spores had lit inside her. She licked and sucked, her nose buried against her, her hands gripping Beos’s hips to hold her still, to pull her closer.
Beos was unraveling above her. Her breaths became ragged, punctuated by high, clicking whimpers and fragmented Common. “It’s— it’s too much— the brightness is everywhere— I can’t—!” Her thighs trembled violently on either side of Kaelin’s head. The more she fell apart, the more that sweet, euphoric spore-dust misted the air, a feedback loop of sensation.
Kaelin was lost in it. The relentless, rhythmic press of her mouth and tongue. The intoxicating taste. The sounds Beos made, a symphony of bewildered pleasure. The feeling of that soft, plush body quaking under her hands. Her own need was a tight, screaming coil in her gut, amplified by the spores, fed entirely by this act. She was getting off on the taste, on the sounds, on the sheer, overwhelming fact of it. Her own hips ground down against the hard edge of the bedframe, seeking pressure, finding it.
It built in her, a wave with no hands but her own mouth touching it. It crested, sharp and shocking. Her whole body locked, a silent, arched bow. Pleasure, white-hot and absolute, tore through her, wringing a guttural, muffled cry into Beos’s skin. She shook against Beos’s thighs, trembling through the release, her mouth still working, gentler now, through the aftershocks.
Slowly, the world swam back. The roar in her ears subsided to the rain and the fire and Beos’s broken, hitching breaths. Kaelin went limp, her forehead resting against Beos’s pubic bone, spent. She was drenched in sweat and slick, her mind a blissful, hollowed-out shell.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing. Then Beos’s hands, gentle and unsure, touched her hair. “Kaelin?” Her voice was small, awed, and thick with unsated need. “You… stopped. The river… it went over a fall. I felt it.”
Kaelin finally pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked up the length of Beos’s body. Beos was propped on her elbows, her luminous skin flushed, her eyes wide and dark and confused. She was trembling, wound tight, clearly unfinished.
“Yeah,” Kaelin panted, a sluggish, satiated smile spreading across her face. Her limbs felt like wet sand. “Sorry. Got… distracted.” She hiccuped a soft, dazed laugh. The spores were still there, a gentle cushion, but the desperate edge was gone. “You’re just… really tasty.”
Beos blinked, processing this. Her need was a palpable thing in the air, a tension thrumming alongside the fading spores. She looked down at her own body, then at Kaelin’s limp, satisfied form. A new, different curiosity flickered in her galaxy-rich eyes, cutting through the haze of her own sensation.
“Your river reached the sea,” she said, her head tilting. Her voice held no accusation, only a crystalline, innocent logic. “Mine is still… moving. How do I make it fall?”