Xenobiotic

Parley closed the unremarkable cardboard box and put it back on their dresser among piles of intimidating (but 'purely decorative') knives and piles of brass keys. The hormones had arrived over a month ago and they had syringes, but they still weren't ready to go through with it. Hell, they had put off getting safe and legal testosterone from a real doctor just because they worried about the more permanent effects. They looked and the mirror and touched their skin -- soft, certainly beautiful on their delicate features and small face. Arrayed with the softest vellum, nearly invisible hairs which swept down their cheek and lips, further accenting their "beautiful" and "feminine" features.

And they just wanted to die. Or grow a beard. But the beard wouldn't do either, even if it was as good as a burley cis man's, it wasn't right either. They wanted something else. Something they saw in some probably fake image which were probably made in a carefully crafted scam to get them to buy some little bottle of nothin' but saline. If this stuff was fake, it probably wasn't dangerous or someone would have made a big deal about it. An announcement from the FDA or a news story where someone's "daughter" died mysteriously, next to a box of unlabeled syringes and a box with clear vials and a printed thank you note congratulating you on your purchase of a 180 day supply of non-chiral testosterone. Or something like that.

That night they finally made up their mind. It was time. The risk was small, other people had been doing this and it probably did nothing anyway. They found Mallory and asked her to help. Mallory knew about the experiment and while she didn't agree with the idea, she knew that Parsley had thought this through and knew what they were doing. That's what she told herself, at least. She showed Parsley how to puncture the foil tops of the vials and draw up the liquid without getting any air bubbles ("no, it's intramuscular so it's not like it'll stop your heart if you accidentally do get a bubble, it just hurts a lot") and how to find a good bit of muscle on their thigh for the jab. It wasn't until Parsley actually had the needle in their hand over their bare thigh that they felt a bit faint and realized that maybe they were afraid of needles. Then they looked at their delicate and supple skin and stilled their fear, longing for the changes they had been promised.

"This one's for you pog champ," they muttered and in a single fluid motion it was done. Or, that's how they imagined it happening. In reality they sweated a little bit and their hand started to shake. Why did they think that was a cool thing to say? Why did they think this was a good idea?

"Mallory, can you do it for me? I don't want to mess it up with my hands shaking"

"Oh hun, yes I can do it this time." as she delicately took the needle from Parsley's shaking hand.

"Alright I'm going to do it as you're breathing out. Just relax. Breath in... and breath out..." and with a little stab and a weird flowing sensation, it was over. Parley felt a sick with a pang of regret. Am I about to have a heart attack? Will my hair all fall out and my skin gush with acne? Mallory removed the needle, capped it, and put it aside.

"You're alright. Even if this stuff is any good, it'll be a month before anything could happen at all. Hormones are slow, and subtle. And you can stop early and it'll be like it never happened and that's okay too."

"Yes, yeah you're right. Thank you for this and, umm, can you sit with me next time? I'll be the one that does it though."

"Of course sweetie." she said as she ruffled Parsley's short brown hair and gave them a hug, and Parsley started to cry.

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"Why aren't these hormones working?" Parsley anguished as they inspected dark patchy hair growing like an angsty teenage boy's to-be beard and mustache. It has been three weeks and so far they had plenty of testosterone effects -- this patchy hair, getting aroused for no reason, some less than subtle bursts of anger. Parsley knew these were happening on a much faster timeline than regular testosterone. That's what frustrated them. They didn't want the effects of testosterone, they wanted the effects of the enantiomer of 5a-hydreoxytestosterone. They hadn't found anyone else who had been using these hormones. They couldn't even find the source they bought theirs from from or the uncanny video supposedly showing its full effects.

"It seems to be working to me." Logan noted as he was pouring a bowl of cereal. For the second time this morning. "They're definitely doing something, and they aren't making you sick, at least."

It was true. Parsley had gone and asked for some "routine" blood tests which showed nothing unusual except elevated testosterone - but "completely within normal range for someone with ovaries", as the doctor put delicately. They no longer got "miss" or "ma'am", at least, and the bitter looks they got from some were balanced out by the knowing smiles from queer strangers who knew the journey they were on. Or thought they knew, since inside Parsley was still hurting. They were afraid, afraid of how quickly things were happening, afraid of where it was leading, not having any idea what the result of this process would be. But it was better than the alternatives, of being stuck being soft and cute and feminine forever or, even worse, becoming a man. Both possibilities appalled them so much that were willing to undergo this incredibly risky and upsetting process. Assuming it was even going to work.

Three more weeks had passed. Kit was coming over for the weekend, sure to arrive any minute. Parsley nervously inspected themself in the mirror. They really ought to feel self concious, anyone who saw them now would regard them as a freak or a monster. Ha, a freak. But Parley saw nothing but truth, the truth of their spirit manifested in material. But what would Kit see? Kit knew them, really really knew them, but that didn't mean that they were going to understand this. They hoped they would. There was a pair of short knocks on the door. Parsley moved to sit on their bed, cross legged leaning against the headboard.

"Come in," they said. Kit entered and looked at them for a long moment, face neutral as they contained their reaction. They silently walked over and sat across from Parsley, keeping their eyes locked on Parsley's. They slid onto the bed and breathed in slowly, looking down, then their mask of neutrality cracked as they breathed out, smiling, showing amazement.

"Holy shit..." they finally let out, "You look..." they trailed off. Parsley smiled and thinned their lips in a mix of bashfulness and pride.

Kit reached their hand. "Can I touch your face?" they asked, amazement giving way to wonder, their eyes wide taking in the Parsley's otherworldly beauty.

Parsley nodded slowly, and Kit reached their hand forward to touch the impossibly fine and straight hairs poking out from Parsley's cheeks, like sparse sideburns of silver wire drawn out thin as spider silk. Their eyebrows were thicker, and still dark brown like before. But the most dramatic change was their eyes. Not from any sort of physical effect of the hormones, but what Kit saw looking into them. Joy, peace, happiness. Where before these things were seldom had and always tainted with some unnamable distress, now they were there in the open without the grey sheen of suffering.

Parsley reached up and touched the inside of Kit's wrist, gently and uncertain. Kit met them with the same, and they clasped each other's hands all four together between the two of them. Kit leaned forward and kissed them on their right cheek, their unspoken signal. Parsley's jaw relaxed, eyes remaining fixed intently on Kit as their lips parted the slightest amount. Parsley's smile faded into something else, something dark and hungry, as they turned Kit's wrists over in their hands, tenderly pushing their thumbs into the soft spot of Kit's wrists as they took one in each hand. With this simple motion, Kit was made vulnerable, owned. As they loved to be, asked to be, a desire they only shared with their closest lovers.

Parsley straddled them, putting both of their wrists in one hand as the other pulled Kit's long dark hair away from their ear, exposing their neck as they let out tiny moan. Parsley leaned close to Kit's face, brushing their lips against the corner of Kit's mouth, then hovering their lips so close to Kit's. Kit was tickled by Parsley's new beard but in their state of submission the tickle became electric, torturing them with intensity. Parsley's lips were millimeters away from them but they were pinned, unable to reach up to meet them. The heat of this closeness overwhelmed them, and a pressure, a want, lust incarnate was building as a sensation on the roof of their mouth like a word screaming to be spoken. Parsley saw all of this in their eyes and smiled. Not the smile from moments before, but a dangerous smile. They shifted their weight as if to give in and kiss them, then pulled away from the tease of a kiss. They took their hands away from Kit's wrists so their finger could trace a line from the hollow below Kit's ear to the softest spot of the side of their neck.

Parsley put their mouth, hot and wet, on Kit's neck as they tightened their grip on their hair and exposed their top teeth, taking Kit's tender flesh in their mouth. With this softest bite, Kit moaned, completely vulnerable to Parsley's teeth. Completely trusting as Parsley gently bit and released and moved and kissed until Kit's body was writhing under them. They departed from Kit's neck and looked them in the eyes before plunging into a hot and heavy kiss. Kit was stunned for a moment before softening into the kiss and finally mustering the will to kiss back. They wrapped their arms around each other and laughed together and kissed and stroked each other's faces as Kit was reminded once again of how they fell in love with them in the first place.