Limitless Evolution As a Snake

Her eyes flick up to mine, wide, green, dilated all the way out, and there’s something raw sitting right at the surface of them. "You’re the first person I’ve broken that for, and I don’t even know if I had a choice."

That last part hangs there between us, heavier than anything else she’s said tonight. I know what she means. The bond, the pull, whatever this thing between us actually is that neither of us fully understands yet.

She’s asking without asking whether any of this is real or whether I just reached into her chest with whatever I am now and turned a few switches until she stopped being able to help herself. I want to tell her it’s real. I want to tell her a lot of things I don’t actually have proof for.

Instead, I kiss her, slow, deliberate, my tail tightening where it’s coiled beneath her, smoke arms pulling her flush against my coils so she can feel every inch of how much I don’t want to let her go. She makes a soft, broken sound into my mouth and sinks into it exactly the way she’s been sinking into every question before this one, like giving in is easier than fighting.

When I pull back, she’s breathing hard, forehead pressed to my snout.

"Fourth question," I say, low, and I feel her flinch slightly, already bracing. "This one’s about me."

I lean in and lick her again before she can brace properly, deeper this time, slower, my tongue tasting the little gasp she lets out against my snout. She melts into it, hands fisting my fins like she needs something to hold onto, and I let my tongue wander down along her jaw to the soft skin of her neck, tasting the pulse hammering there.

"Matt—ah" she breathes, tilting her head back to give me more room, which, yeah, I take.

Smoke curls off my tail and slides down between us, slipping under the hem of her shirt before she even notices it’s there. She sucks in a breath when it touches skin, cool and warm at the same time, tracing up her stomach slow enough that I feel her shiver under it.

"What are you—ah—" She doesn’t finish the sentence because my smoke fingers find the clasp of her bra and undo it in one smooth pull, and her whole body arches a little, breath catching somewhere in her throat.

I never really was a person to begin with, not really. I used to think somewhere down the line I’d turn into some half-and-half thing, a guy with a tail who could still pass for human in bad lighting. Never happened, i just became more of whatever I already was underneath. A snake wearing a man’s shape like a costume that kept slipping off.

One of my smoke tails, finds her hip and squeezes, and she makes this sound, half gasp half laugh, like she wasn’t ready for how much she wants that.

"Matt, hah—" she stutters, hips pressing into my smoke hand on instinct.

I lick down further, along her collarbone, and murmur against her skin, "You feel so damn good, you know that?" Not smooth, not calculated, just true, slipping out before I can stop it.

She whimpers, fingers tightening in my fins, and I feel her heartbeat going wild under my snout.

That’s when I pull back, just enough to look at her properly. My eyes are glowing, I can feel the heat of it, the way the room gets brighter around the edges of her face and for a second neither of us says anything.

"When I turned into this," I say, voice rougher than I mean it to be, "when I stopped being anything close to human and became, this, a monster." I gesture at myself, the scales, the smoke, the too-many-teeth version of me that used to make people scream before it made them stay. "Were you disgusted, Lyra? Tell me the truth."

Her chest is still heaving, bra undone, my smoke still on her hip like I can’t quite make myself let go, and for a second I think she’s not going to answer at all, that the question’s too big, too much, sitting there naked in the air between two people who are anything but naked.

"Fa-hah" she starts, voice breaking, and I don’t know if it’s my hand or the question that’s doing it to her. "No. Never, i wasn’t, ah—disgusted, I was-fah" She stops again, forehead dropping against my scales, breathing hard, like the truth costs her more than the pleasure does.

My tail tightens around her without meaning to, some old instinct that wants to hold on tighter the closer she gets to actually answering.

"I was scared," she finally says, muffled against my coils. "Scared of how much I wasn’t disgusted at all.

Her confession tastes like victory on my tongue. Of course she wasn’t disgusted. How could anyone be? I drag my tongue lower, over the frantic beat of her heart.

Her breath hitches when my tongue finds her nipple, flat and slow, and I feel the sound she makes more than I hear it, a broken little "hah—" that goes straight through me.

"Good," I murmur against her skin. "That’s the right answer."

"Matt-ah!" she gasps, arching into my mouth, hands scrabbling at my dorsal scales like she can’t decide whether to pull me closer or hold on for balance.

I flick my tongue again, slower this time, and let smoke curl down her spine, over the curve of her hip, drifting close to her ass without actually touching, just hovering there, teasing, patient. She squirms, trying to press back into it, and gets nothing but empty air for her trouble.

"Not yet," I say, nibbling the side of her chest.

"That’s—ah—that’s mean," she stutters, thighs pressing together like she’s trying to do something about the ache herself.

tail slides down and squeezes one, firm, and she makes a sound that isn’t quite a word.

"You were saying," I remind her, voice low. "Scared of not being disgusted."

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