“Annual projections for this quarter are low, so we need to ensure that we’re doing everything in our power to see those year-over-year numbers…”

You twitched when your attention on the droning voice of your boss was interrupted by your phone screen, lighting up with a message on your desk. Palming the device, you quickly dimmed it, waiting several moments before turning it over, well outside the camera range. The hawkish VP of sales was on this video call, and seemed to possess a supernatural awareness of when someone was looking down at the small screen in their lap rather than paying rapt attention to the redundant powerpoint slide that was currently being shared on the monitor before you, and you didn’t fancy being called out in front of your peers.

Working from home was a mixed blessing. 

You had a tendency to be a workaholic, but those days, for now, were done. Distance was the name of the game, now that you were occupying the small home office you’d created in your boyfriend’s guest bedroom, and you managed to find time each day to do other things you enjoyed, in the hours you’d normally be spent on the phone or dealing with car guys—the type of overly confident, assertive man that tended to populate your field. 

Now there were walks in the back garden and time to catch up on your social media feeds; instead of rushed takeaway you at your desk while responding to emails, you indulged in reading fanfic over healthy lunches made in the kitchen, and you’d set up a small table in the living room, where you pieced together a new costume you’d been planning, while watching bad afternoon telly.

You knew without looking that the message would be from him. It was a gamble, opening his texts and videos while you were working, because you could never be certain of what they would contain. 

Once, during a department conference much like the one you were currently enduring, his call had come from the next room, where he was still sprawled in bed. The video feed had shown you a long shot down his wide, muscular body: sculpted pectorals and mottled scales across his hard abdomen, the view of his thick thighs partially concealed by the angle of his flexing bicep as he leisurely pumped his twinned erections. 

Shiny with the lubrication from his slit, he squeezed the dark pink lengths together, held highly in the circle of his huge hand. You’d bitten your lip, features frozen into a mask of casual disinterest, lest any of your coworkers pay attention to the image of you on their screens, watching in rapt attention as he released the cock on the left, the one you liked to refer to as yours, stroking its mate on the right to completion. It had been impossible to focus on the droning voice of your boss over the deep rumble of Bodi’s groans, coating his hook-clawed hand in spurt after spurt of his slippery release, holding it up to the phone with a cocky chuckle so you could get a good look, before adding that lefty would be waiting for you. 

It had been an interminable twelve minutes of shifting in your seat, rhythmically squeezing your thighs together as the video conference came to a close, before you’d gone tearing out of the makeshift office to the bedroom next door, pinning him to the mattress and climbing astride his thickly muscled body as his deep, rumbling laugh vibrated against you.

When you added afternoon orgasms to the list, there was no way to deny there had definitely been benefits to working from home.

These days though, the majority of the calls and texts from him throughout the workday were not nearly as scandalous or arousing, most not even featuring him at all. Sure enough, as you surreptitiously swiped the screen open, it was Belinda’s face staring beadily back at you. She wore a sombrero, and beneath her picture he’d added a reminder that it was Taco Tuesday.

You rolled your eyes with a smile, ensuring that you looked engrossed in the powerpoint graph as you responded quickly.

Sounds good. I don’t think she should be in charge of picking out the fillings though.

The sales VP cleared their throat, and you snapped to attention, loathe to be caught unawares. Dimming your screen, you slid the phone behind your laptop, putting it—and distraction—out of sight.

.

.

She had been a drop-off, found wandering lost in someone’s back garden, surrendered to the centre in a cardboard box barely large enough to contain her, with nothing to identify her beyond a pink dog collar sporting a heart-shaped charm. Belinda. A non-native species, she’d not been able to stay at the federally-funded rescue centre, and Bodi had fretted for six days over what to do with her. 

Six days of sending inquiries into every lost pet website in the area, expanding the search twice, putting up hastily made flyers in the area where she’d been picked up, combing through missing pet websites and message boards, of contacting other centres who might have more lenient guidelines. You’d suggested bringing her home, if nothing else could be done; a suggestion which had earned you a dramatic roll of his ringed eyes before he called another rescue to check their policies.

Six days of baby-talk, of extra treats, of testing her docileness and walking her around the long rows of tanks and terrariums on a leash. When you pointed out that it wasn’t as if either of you were novices to taking care of lizards, he’d given you a long, hard stare—a thousand yard stare which was always enough to cow the blueys at the pub, your pub as you affectionately called it, the gnolls in their trackies and singlets a familiar, comfortable sight now—which did little to prevent your snort of laughter. 

Your boyfriend had a confident swagger and a hard, no-bullshit appearance, but you knew that his bark was exponentially worse than his bite.

Six days was all it had taken for him to fall completely in love with the big iguana, despite his insistence to the contrary, and you knew it was only a matter of time before your cozy nest for two expanded to three.

You’d been drawn out of the bedroom office on the evening of the fourth day by the sound of hammering, finding Bodi cursing  and muttering to himself as he nailed up the stays for smooth, sandstone slabs, shelves that he’d marked out in intervals on the wall in the small sunroom.

“What?” he barked, seeing you smirking from the doorway. “Been meaning to put these up for ages, no time like the present.”

You smiled and decided to humor him for the moment, not leaving the office the following afternoon when you heard him cursing again, installing the tracks for an expandable enclosure, similar to what was used at the centre. On the seventh day, you’d overheard his gruff voice telling Barra to separate two bearded dragons who’d been fighting, moving one into the newly-vacated enclosure where Belinda had been. 

The giant iguana had gone home with him that afternoon, a temporary situation, just a short term foster, he insisted. She was already installed in her new enclosure in the sunroom, snacking on a banana by the time you left the office that evening, and your triumphant smile had earned you a disgruntled grunt as Bodi cooed at her.

Belinda had been home with you since, and you occasionally entertained yourself with thoughts of what Bodi might do if her missing owners were to turn up now.

.

.

Home was a new concept in and of itself.

Moving in with him had been a fast decision in the beginning, when things began shutting down; one that was far better than the alternative of separating for weeks at a time. The very thought of not seeing him—of his rumbling voice and gruff demeanor absent from your days and his wide, well-muscled body absent from your bed—had nearly sent you into an anxiety spiral. 

He’d shown up at your flat that same evening, quieting your panic and making the decision for you. Leaning in the doorway to your bedroom, arms crossed resolutely over his chest, completely filling the space, he watched as you loaded a suitcase with clothes, before going around unplugging your small appliances, moving the contents of your freezer to the esky he’d brought, and then you were locking the door behind you, heading to his small, well-kept house in the suburbs with little room to overthink the decision and stress. 

“It’s not like you’re giving the place up,” he reminded as you stared out the window that evening, watching signs of the city being replaced with indicators of the more peaceful outer districts. “You’ll be back in your own space before you know it, this can’t last forever.”

You’d pulled your eyes from the passenger window here they’d been glued to glance over to him. Bodi’s amber-ringed black eyes had been fixed forward, and nothing in his stern countenance had indicated that he was feeling anything but annoyance over the length of the traffic light, but guilt flipped your stomach. 

You were nervous about giving up your space, your independence. So far you’d not had a single regret over what your family called “your Australian adventure,” but nothing here felt like home, not really. You loved it, loved the people and the animals, loved your job…but you liked having a space of your own as well. Even so, the thought of separating from Bodi for more than a month was untenable. Unclicking the seat belt to lean over the 4×4’s center console, you’d wrapped your arms around his huge, scaled bicep and stretched to kiss his neck. 

“I know. I’m just glad we’re going to be together.”

You’d been nervous at first, worried that it was too soon for such a big step, but your fears had gone unfounded. 

His house had all of the modifications that came standard for mixed species neighborhoods, and you’d become enamored of his extra-wide platform bed and the long, low furniture in every room, and, your favorite of all, the outsized outdoor shower. Bodi rose at dawn each day, and you’d gotten in the habit of following him shortly after, leaning on the deck rail and sipping tea, the hem of one of his shirts grazing your thighs as you watched him. He swam the length of the lake behind his development, his thick tail serpentining in the water like a huge anaconda, and you were certain that you’d never tire of the sight of him pulling himself back up to the bank side, the water glistening off his dripping scales as the first rays of light broke through the trees. 

You’d meet him at the sleek outdoor shower, clenching your pelvic muscles in anticipation as the sharp tips of his curled claws dragged the shirt up your body, leaving you bare to the morning breeze and the cool water from the rain shower head, until you were pulled against his dripping scales.

Staying in meant you cooked together almost every night, splitting the duties and introducing each other to the regional dishes of the places you each called “back home.” He showed you the proper way to prepare nasi goreng and sweetly spicy babi pangang, and had devoured the bobotie you’d made from your tannie’s recipe.

He’d been outraged to learn bunny chow was not, in fact, a rabbit curry, the day you made the much-loved dish from your grandmother’s table.

“That’s false advertising,” he’d argued, huffing into the phone as you clung to the counter, doubled over in laughter at his indignation. “You said bunny chow, what was I supposed to think?! Now I’ve been imagining rabbit stew all day! Your ouma and I are going to have a little chat, once we can go visit.”

The thought of bringing him home to meet your family made something within you swoop, and your cheeks heated at the vision of your tiny grandmother brandishing a wooden spoon at the gruff lizardman, completely uncowed, as she was by everything. 

The mutton curry was the dish you missed most from home, although you conceded the name might be confusing for people unfamiliar with it. A devilish idea occurred to you as you disconnected the call, a costume from a past convention that happened to have a plush little tail…there was a black corset in the bag you’d packed, and with a little tweaking…

He’d arrived home to find you standing over the stove in the fitted corset and tiny black knickers shaking the puffy white tail at him. 

“I was promised,” he rumbled, his heavy tread thudding through the kitchen, “a bunny to eat.” 

He’d scooped you up, his wide muzzle nuzzling at your neck before depositing you in front of the stove once more. 

You were stunned by how quickly your life had become enmeshed with his, how you increasingly couldn’t imagine a future without him in it, how easily your edges fit together, despite the many differences you’d discovered over the past year. The fact that you’d gone out of your way to avoid him at the centre for so long seemed ridiculous now. 

“Can you imagine?” you murmured, holding out a spoonful of the mutton curry— not as good as Ouma’s, but still damned tasty—for him to sample, having voiced your thoughts aloud. “You would have had me transferred to the main, and I would have quit from the stress. I’d be dating some cute guy I met at a con right now, and you’d still be dodging lunch invites from Barra.”

“We’re both too damned stubborn for our own good,” he’d growled against your throat, lifting you with a squeak to sit on the edge of the counter. His huge hand palmed your fluffy cotton tail before pushing your legs open to stand between them, long tongue flicking out to taste your skin. “But there’s one thing I’ve got that none of those little con wankers have.” 

A hooked claw tugged the corset’s zipper, drawing it down your body before easing your knickers down your hips, cotton tail and all. “What’s that?”

“Everything you like.” Your outraged laughter cut off on a gasp when he dropped to his knees, his tongue pushing between your thighs. “Looks like bunny is on the menu after all.”

.

.

Belinda had become your companion every day on your walks around the edge of the lake, and enjoyed sharing your lunchtime salads of dark, leafy greens and hunks of fruit. You sent him snaps and texts of her throughout the day, and soon began posing her for your wider social media audience, as a fun afternoon amusement.

First it had been the hats. You’d found a lot of doll hats for sale online, and thinking it would make for some good social media, you’d ordered them. Belinda had a cowboy hat, a chef’s toque, an aviator with giant ear flaps, a princess crown, and the aforementioned sombrero. Bodi would groan and grumble about it being undignified, insisting that it was no way to treat a wild animal, grunting when you pointed out she was a hand-reared pet and would do about as well in the wild as you would yourself.

The hoodie was meant for a child, but with a little modification, Belinda’s wardrobe grew. You made an iron-on patch of your favorite band’s logo, snapped a picture of her wearing her new hoodie while lounging on one of her basking slabs, and posted it to Instagram. I’m with the band. 

Bodi had, predictably, scoffed. 

“She doesn’t even like that kind of music!” he’d insisted, climbing into bed beside you that night, his heavy tail thumping on the floor. “You need to be careful handling her during the day,” he rumbled as you settled against his scaled side, a claw pulling through your long, dark hair. “Make sure you’re disinfecting. You know she carries salmonella. It’s easy to forget about safety at home.”

“I knowww,” you huffed, sliding your hand down his chest. His scales lightened as they moved down his abdomen, softening slightly, and you stroked the vulnerable skin there. “I handle you all the time, and you don’t seem to have any complaints.” 

He groaned when you caressed the slit in his skin, feeling a slight swell as he began to respond to your teasing touch. You kept up the attention, a deep rumble in his chest growing along with his cock bulge, until a dark pink tip broke free, its mate pushing out close behind.

“There’s a difference,” he gritted out, hissing when you moved to suck on a glistening tip. 

The conversation was temporarily forgotten as you began to twist the tight ring of your fingers up the portion of his shaft which you could not fit in your mouth, stoking and sucking steadily as its untouched twin twitched against his belly. You weren’t sure why you favored the left, as each possessed the same thickness and heft, the same line of ridges and sensitivity…you supposed the snaking vein in the left was a bit wider, the pulse of his impending climax just a bit stronger against your lips, as it was at that moment. The first burst of his release hit the back of your throat, hot and somewhat salty, pulse after pulse until the blunt side of his claw caressed the back of your neck.

“See?” you murmured triumphantly. Bodi was already tugging your arms, lifting you to straddle his hips, his untouched cock still hard and ready for you. “No complaints.”

“Lizardman. That’s the difference.” You had perfected the slow art of wiggling your hips down his shaft, easing down slowly on the thick length, and he palmed your thighs, helping you along. “She’s not a baby. She’s an animal, and you have to remember that, it doesn’t matter how lazy she is.”

“Mhm. Less talk, more action, lizardman.”

You squeaked, hands scrabbling for purchase against his hard abdomen when he rolled his hips unexpectedly, filling you to the hilt, but you couldn’t complain—he was giving you exactly what you wanted. 

.

.

Starting back to work several days a week had been a shock to your system. 

Too used to those leisurely mornings watching him swim, dressing Belinda up as manga characters, cooking together and spending time together like—as foolish as it made you feel to even say—a little family. 

He’d gone out of his way to cheer you up when a long-planned Japan trip was cancelled, and volunteered to watch an entire season of your favorite anime with you the day it was announced that the con for which you’d been prepping your costume was going to be a virtual offering, despite the fact that he was unfamiliar with most of the series and normally possessed the attention span of a flea when it came to sitting still and watching anything. You didn’t miss the solitude of your apartment nearly as much as you’d feared you would, had become spoiled with the attention and relaxed vibe of working from his house. 

A whole life of being a workaholic, and you’d become complacent in just a few short months. 

“Make sure you pack your lunch,” Bodi fretted the evening before your first day back to the office. “I bought a box of that tea you like, to keep at your desk…I’ll start dinner so it’ll be ready when you get home. Let me know when you leave the office, yeah?”

You’d felt less foolish over your thoughts in the face of his mothering, and when he’d pulled you across his wide chest that night, his big hand spanning the width of your back.

“I’ll be home before you know it,” you murmured against his scaled side, feeling your breath catch when the heavy arm around you tightened infinitesimally.

Getting back into the swing of things hadn’t been easy. Meetings and emails, sales calls and touch bases to realign priorities. On the second afternoon, your phone had chimed with a message while you were in a frustratingly circular team meeting. 

The photo you opened once you were back at your desk burned your eyes.

Belinda misses you. Have a good day

It had been snapped inside of her enclosure, as she rested on the swinging log he’d hung from the ceiling, and you wanted nothing more than to go home right then.

You hadn’t realized then the slippery slope Bodi was on. 

You should have, you acknowledged now. His quick acceptance of taking her in, completely rebuilding an entire room in his house for her, the way he came home in the afternoons to check in on you both in the early days, a habit he’d resumed now that you weren’t there.

You’d laughed the first time he’d sent you a photo of the new harness he’d bought her, a tie-dyed rainbow ensemble in soft pastels with a matching leash, had cackled the first time he’d snapped her wearing one of the hats you’d bought. You’d noticed his gruffness had lessened, the babytalk of those first few days when her future had been uncertain returning.

…the koala onesie had been a different sort of surprise. 

By the second week after your return to work, he’d gotten in the habit of bringing the iguana with him to the centre, spending the entire day ensuring every lizard, snake, frog, and turtle in residence was cared for before heading home with Belinda to start dinner. Your lunchtime photo of the day had been of Belinda standing with her front claws on the dashboard, encased in a fuzzy grey onesie with a koala-styled hood. 

“Everything all right?” The voice of one of you co-workers snapped you out of your stupor, and you jumped, realizing your mouth had been hanging open. 

“I’m fine…my boyfriend’s gone befok, but I’m fine.”

Escalation was rapid. The longer hours you spent at work, the larger Belinda’s wardrobe seemed to grow. A poofy, pink princess-style dress, gossamer fairy wings, a t-shirt emblazoned with Daddy’s Best Girl in glittery script. He dressed her as if she were an actual child, rather than the outlandish costumes you enjoyed crafting for her, and his admonition about treating her like an animal seemed rich.

“I think it’s sweet,” your co-worker, a sleek naga exclaimed when you’d confided your daily preoccupation over lunch. “He misses you, obviously. She’s like a foster baby! I would just be happy that you get to play house together without dealing with surrogacy.”

The naga’s words rankled in your mind for the rest of the day. You thought about the way you’d felt—that your routine together had felt like a proper family, something both of you sorely missed in Australia, even though you were happy with your respective moves. Sharing each other’s cultures, taking care of Belinda…it had been nice. We’re still a good team. You’d planned on going back to your apartment that weekend, the con you were now attending virtually starting on Saturday, but now you hated the idea of not spending the weekend with the two of them…

The smell of a durban chicken curry met you when you opened the door, another dish from home you hadn’t had in an age. “I know what you’re going to say,” Bodi called out from the kitchen. “But I managed to call the studio and postpone the recital.”

You found Belinda wearing a pink tutu and shoes styled to look like ballet slippers, and nearly collapsed in laughter. He was ridiculous and a big, giant hypocrite…but you loved him.

“Still going back to your place this weekend?”

His voice was a rough growl, claws carding through your hair. You were sprawled across his chest, sated and satisfied from the evening’s activity. He’d taken you on hands and knees at the end of the bed, alternating cocks as he pumped into you until you were arched in pleasure, and now your eyes were  heavy in the humid air. Exactly where you wanted to be.

“I don’t think so, I can pull up the feed from here, as long as you don’t mind…I was thinking about maybe…not going back. At all.”

Bodi hummed, saying nothing for a long moment, and you held your breath.

“That’s probably smart. Seems a silly waste to be paying all that in rent. Belinda will be happy.”

His voice was casual, not betraying any emotion, stoic as always, and you hoped he felt your smile against his skin. An excellent team.

On Saturday morning, you suited up in your hybrid costume. The fitted bodysuit covered you from head-to-toe, and you’d just belted the pink t-shirt dress when he entered the room. You’d expected Bodi to make himself scarce—he didn’t share your enthusiasm for anime and had precious little patience for sitting in front of a laptop screen endlessly—and you turned in surprise as you pulled up the convention feed. 

He had put a white labcoat on over his normal clothes, hardly a costume, and you recognized the centre’s logo on the breast pocket…but he’d put Belinda in a black felt onesie; a long, thin tail swinging above her own, and little cat ears. 

“I’m the smartest bloke in the world,” he informed you, thudding across the room before taking a seat at your side, Belinda between you. “I invented some space…thing. Let’s get this con started.”

The opening ceremony was lost to your giggles, and you weren’t quite able to articulate why there were tears in your eyes, but as you laced your arm with his huge one, cheering as the con officially opened, you knew without question that you’d be calling your leasing office the next morning with your intent to vacate the premises.

You were home, and you had everything you needed.