Latex slugs 7
Sean follows the silver trail without hesitation.
It threads from the bedroom door, down the stairs, across the threshold, and out into the cooling air of evening, catching the last light like a promise. His heart is pounding, but there’s no fear in it—only recognition. A broad, unguarded smile keeps breaking across his face, again and again, as if his body is ahead of his thoughts and laughing about it.
By the time he reaches the grass, his legs are already feeling strange. Not weak—yielding. Jelly-soft, warm, responsive in a way they never were before. Sean pauses just long enough to steady himself, hand on the doorframe, breathing in the damp green smell of the garden.
Matt is there.
Gliding, slow and sure, moving with an ease that makes Sean’s chest tighten. The suit has fully done its work on him. From the waist down, Matt is all gastropod now—ridged and textured, broad and soft, the silver sheen of mucus catching on the curves of his body as he moves. He’s feeding without hurry, gathering leaf litter with gentle intent, tasting the garden like it belongs to him.
Sean’s heart does a little stutter when Matt looks up.
Their eyes meet, and Matt’s face lights in a way that feels like home. There’s no surprise in his smile—only welcome. He changes direction without thought and glides closer, leaving a fresh arc of silver on the grass. Sean feels it before he sees it, a warmth spreading low in his body, anchoring him.
“You came,” Matt says softly.
Sean laughs, breathless. “Like I could stay upstairs.”
He takes another step, then another, and finally his knees give way—not collapsing, not failing, just choosing the ground. The grass is cool and forgiving beneath him. He kneels there, hands resting loosely on his thighs, and looks at his husband with a kind of awe that feels almost too big for words.
Matt stops right in front of him.
Up close, he’s never looked more handsome. The familiar lines of his face are gentler now, framed by a calm confidence that Sean has always loved but never seen so fully embodied. The contrast between the human tenderness of his expression and the alien grace of his lower body makes Sean’s breath catch.
“You’re beautiful,” Sean says, voice rough with feeling.
Matt’s smile softens. “You feel it, don’t you.”
Sean nods. He does. There’s a deep, spreading warmth inside him, a loosening that’s unmistakable now. His bones feel… distracted, as if they’re being gently persuaded to stop insisting on their old shapes. It doesn’t hurt. It feels like relief.
“I’m starting,” Sean admits, wonder threaded through the words. “I can tell.”
Matt’s eyes shine. He shifts closer, until the silver between them thickens and Sean’s skin drinks it in, the contact speaking comfort where words aren’t needed.
“I’ll be right here,” Matt says. “Every second.”
Sean believes him without question.
He reaches out, touching Matt’s arm, and feels the answer in the texture, the warmth, the calm certainty that pulses back. The garden seems to hold its breath around them, leaves whispering softly as the light fades.
“I followed your trail,” Sean says, smiling. “Like it was calling me.”
Matt chuckles, low and fond. “It was.”
They stay like that for a while—Sean kneeling, Matt settled close, the silver between them growing richer and more expressive. Sean becomes aware of the subtle changes in himself: the way his weight wants to spread rather than stack, the way urgency drains out of him, replaced by a patient, grounding presence.
His smile doesn’t leave his face.
“I used to think I’d be scared,” Sean says quietly. “Of the moment it started.”
Matt leans in, resting his forehead gently against Sean’s. “And?”
Sean closes his eyes. “I’ve never felt more certain.”
The words feel complete as soon as he says them. True in a way that doesn’t need explanation. He can feel the melt beginning now, a soft internal rearranging that promises something simpler, something honest. He doesn’t rush it. There’s nowhere else he needs to be.
Matt hums, content. “We’ll learn it together. Everything.”
Sean laughs softly. “You already have, my handsome slug husband.”
“Only enough to show you the way,” Matt says, affectionate. “You’ll find your own rhythm.”
Sean opens his eyes and meets Matt’s gaze, steady and bright. The garden is dim now, the silver trails glowing faintly, mapping the path that brought them here and the paths they’ll make next.
“Stay with me,” Sean says, though he knows the answer.
Matt’s hand settles over Sean’s, warm and sure. “Always.”
As the evening deepens and the garden cools, Sean lets himself sink into the change with a full heart and an easy breath, held in place by love, by presence, by the quiet certainty that this—this kneeling, this softness, this shared silver—is exactly where he’s meant to be
