Scales of Fame!
By: Mikolai
"You're late," the voice came from the door behind me. I ignored it and kept adjusting the golden cuff on my wrist. It was too tight, digging into my scales. I decided to take off the jacket. It looked dumb anyway. I looked into my dressing room mirror.

My name is Kizzy, short for Kizmet, but nobody calls me that unless they’re pissed. Thirteen years old, pure gecko, though my scales aren’t your basic lizard brown. They’re iridescent, shifting between emerald and cobalt depending on the light, which, by the way, looks killer under stage lights. My eyes? Amber, slit-pupiled, which freaks people out until they remember I’m the one selling out arenas. Hair’s black, cropped short with a razor-sharp fade, because dripping sweat onto a mic isn’t a vibe. Tonight’s fit? Custom leather pants (tail slit included, obviously) and a mesh top that shows off the shimmer of my stomach scales. The stylist called it "street fae." I called it not itchy.

Behind me, my manager, Ms. Duvall, tapped her foot, a rabbit habit I’d learned signaled irritation. Her heels were sharp enough to puncture tires. "They’ve been holding the intro loop for seven minutes," she snapped. "Your fans are teenagers, not fossils. Move."

I flicked my tongue out, quick and involuntary, tasting the air. Perfume, sweat, the metallic tang of her impatience. "You seen my rings?" I asked, rummaging through the clutter of glitter tubes and half-empty energy drinks on the vanity. The diamond-encrusted knuckle dusters weren’t just for show. Last time I went onstage without them, a tabloid ran a headline: “Kizzy’s Claws Clipped?” Like my worth was tied to how much I could bleed into the spotlight.

Ms. Duvall’s ears twitched. She hated it when I ignored her. "They’re in the case where they always are," she said, her voice tight as a snare drum. "And while we’re at it, the Times wants a post-show interview. No, don’t give me that look. You canceled the last three interviews." 

My fingers finally brushed cold metal under a pile of sequined gloves. The rings. I slid them on, knuckles flashing under the dressing room lights. Diamonds winked like trapped stars. "Tell them to eat my tail," I said, flexing my fingers. The rings fit snug, a second set of claws.

Ms. Duvall's nose twitched, whiskers stiff with fury. "You are not blowing off the Times again." Her ears flattened. "Do you know what it costs to," she air-quoted with her pink manicured paws, "' maintain your image?"

I flicked my tongue again, tasting the stale energy drink on my teeth. "Yeah, yeah. Image is everything. Blah blah." I snatched the half-empty bottle off the vanity and drained it, the neon-green liquid burning my throat. The caffeine hit instantly, sharpening the world into hyperfocus. My tail twitched, restless. "Tell them to meet me after, if they can handle the smell of sweaty gecko."

Ms. Duvall's nostrils flared. "Kizmet, " she started, using my full name like a guillotine. I didn't let her finish. "Make sure the signing booth’s prepped, the Sharpies are uncapped, and my soda-pops are chilled," I said, flicking my tail toward the door. "Or I’ll tell Variety you feed me iceberg lettuce for dinner." Her ears shot straight up, rabbit equivalent of a middle finger, but she turned on those lethal heels and stalked out. The door slammed hard enough to rattle the bottles on my vanity.

The moment her footsteps faded, the stage manager's voice crackled through the speaker. "Five minutes, Kizzy." I took one last look in the mirror, amber eyes dilated, scales glistening under the gel lights, and exhaled. The crowd's roar vibrated through the floorboards; a tidal wave of sound that made my ribs hum. I rolled my shoulders, cracked my neck, and stepped into the hallway. The stage lights hit me like a physical force, hot and blinding, and then the beat dropped. Ten thousand voices screamed my name.

I felt like pure energy for the next three hours. My tail coiled around the mic as I vaulted across the stage, lyrics dripping like honey from my tongue. The bass pulsed through me, syncing with the rapid-fire flick of my heartbeat. Fans pressed against the barricade, hands outstretched, some crying, some mouthing every word like a prayer. I crouched at the edge of the stage, letting a kid with chipped fangs, some kind of bat, brush their fingertips against my rings. The crowd surged, a living thing, and for a second, I forgot the exhaustion gnawing at my bones.

Midway through *Scales & Sirens*, my signature track, I backflipped off the riser, my tail snapping out for balance, and landed in a crouch. The pyro exploded on cue, flames licking the air as the beat hiccuped into the dance break. Ten thousand bodies jerked in unison, a sea of neon wristbands and dyed fur. I grinned, fang showing, and launched into the choreography, sharp, slick, serpentine. The backup dancers, two jackals and a fox, mirrored me, but the screams were all for the glint of my scales under the strobes. A girl in the front row fainted. Security scooped her up before her knees even hit the ground.

"One more song!" they chanted, hoarse and desperate, before the final notes had even faded. My lungs burned, my throat raw from growling lyrics, but I grabbed the mic stand and spun it, slamming the base into the stage. The crowd erupted. "You little devils," I panted, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. The stage manager flashed me a frantic signal from the wings, *time’s up*, but I flicked my tongue dismissively. "Who wants Bloodmoon Freestyle?" The shriek that answered rattled my eardrums. The bassline dropped before the house lights could even come up, unplanned, unrehearsed, pure adrenaline. I freestyled verses about midnight deals and alleyway fights, my rhymes ricocheting off the rafters while my fans lost their minds.

The jackal backup dancers, Max and Jax, didn't miss a beat; they never did. They slid into formation like we'd rehearsed, their movements fluid as shadows. The fox, Calvin, shot me a look halfway between exasperation and amusement but matched my energy, his tail flicking in perfect sync with mine. They knew me well enough by now to roll with whatever chaos I conjured. Calvin tossed me a water bottle mid-spin; I caught it, crushed it against my forehead, and lobbed it into the crowd. A dozen hands fought over the crumpled plastic as if it were holy. The song ended with me flat on my back, chest heaving, staring at the arena ceiling as glitter rained down.

Backstage, the signing line was already forming, a snaking beast of neon hair and eager claws clutching merch. My tail dragged as I slumped into the booth, but I forced my spine straight. Image, always image. The first fan, a mole girl with pink-tipped claws, shoved a poster at me so fast it brushed my nose. "You're my everything," she whispered. I scrawled my signature with the Sharpie Ms. Duvall had prepped, black ink, not silver, because silver smeared on fur, and added a tiny doodle of a gecko tail. Her squeal could've shattered glass.

The Times reporter materialized beside me like a bad smell, recorder hovering near my mouth. "Kizzy, how does it feel knowing you're the first reptilian artist to headline the Pepsi Dome?" I didn't pause signing. "Like wearing wet socks. Next." A wolf boy elbowed forward, his hoodie sleeves ripped to accommodate his gangly arms. He smelled like cheap cologne and teenage desperation. "My mom says you're a bad influence," he blurted. I grinned, fang showing. "Your mom's right." His laugh was half-howl as I scribbled *Stay feral* across his hoodie and poster.

Ms. Duvall hovered at my shoulder, her rabbit ears twitching every time I veered off script. The reporter tried again. "Your lyrics reference underground fight rings. Are those autobiographical?" I flicked my tongue, tasting the stale sweat and adrenaline still clinging to my scales. "Nah," I lied smoothly, pressing my palm into a sobbing raccoon girl's poster. "Just street poetry." The raccoon's claws trembled as she clutched the paper to her chest, her whiskers glistening with tears. I added a quick heart next to my signature. Couldn't have her mascara running more than it already was.

The Sharpie bled dry halfway through signing a vinyl sleeve for a python kid twice my height. He didn't blink, just held out another marker with steady hands, his golden irises slit with patience. "You dropped this during the second chorus," he rumbled, placing a lost scale, mine, emerald-bright, into my palm. I tucked it into my pocket with a nod, something tight in my chest unfurling. These were the moments Ms. Duvall's spreadsheets couldn't quantify.

The Times reporter cleared his throat, recorder bobbing near my chin like an annoying insect. "Your single *Molting Season* debuted at number one. Critics say it's too raw for your age." I didn't look up from sketching fangs onto a fan's cast, their arm broken a month ago. "Tell the critics to molt their own skin sometime," I said, pressing my thumb into the fresh ink to smudge it artfully. The kid, some kind of hedgehog hybrid, looked ready to pass out from joy. The reporter sighed, scribbling in his notepad like I'd given him hieroglyphs.

A tiny fox kit shoved forward, barely taller than the table, clutching a stuffed gecko doll missing an eye. Her lower lip wobbled. "They said you wouldn't sign toys." I snatched the marker from the python kid's hand and scrawled my name across the doll's stomach in looping letters. "They're dumb," I told her, flicking the doll's ear with my claw. She beamed, revealing gaps where baby fangs hadn't grown in yet. Behind her, Ms. Duvall's ears flattened, but I caught the way her nose twitched when the kit hugged my arm. Even rabbits had soft spots.

Hours later, the limo's blackout windows muted the city into a smeared watercolor of neon and shadow. My tail throbbed where I'd smacked it against the stage riser, the ache pulsing in time with the engine's hum. Ms. Duvall's tablet glowed between us, casting her fur in eerie blue light as she scrolled through a spreadsheet tighter than my leather pants. "Tomorrow," she said, whiskers twitching, "you have breakfast with Rolling Stone, a fitting for the VMA wardrobe at noon, and " she paused to tap a claw on the screen, "the label wants three new song concepts by next month."

I peeled my forehead off the chilled window, leaving behind a smudge of sweat and stage glitter. "Cancel the breakfast." My voice came out rougher than usual, shredded from three hours of growling lyrics. The streetlights flickered overhead, painting her frown in strobe-light flashes.

Ms. Duvall didn't look up from her tablet. "It's non-negotiable." Her claws clicked against the screen like a metronome set to 'infuriating.' "They're doing a spread on 'Youth in Revolt.' You're the poster child."

I flicked my tongue, tasting the stale limo air, leather, her lavender perfume, the acrid tang of my own exhaustion. "Fine." The word tasted like defeat, but I let it sit there, heavy between us. The city blurred past, a smear of neon and shadow. "Just make sure they pay Max, Jax, and Calvin extra. Hazard pay for keeping up with my 'revolt.'" My fingers curled into air quotes, the diamonds on my knuckles catching the passing headlights.

Ms. Duvall’s ears twitched, but her claws stilled on the tablet. "They’re under standard union rates," she said, as if that explained anything. I dug my claws into the seat, the upholstery groaning. "They’re my age," I hissed, tail lashing against the leather. "Max and Jax send half their checks to their families. Calvin’s got a baby sister with bad lungs and always in the hospital. Pay them." The words came out sharper than I meant, but the image of Calvin counting coins for medicine, his fox ears drooping, burned behind my eyelids.

She exhaled through her nose, whiskers trembling. "Your parents won’t approve additional, " I cut her off with a laugh that sounded more like a snarl. "Tell my parents to fuck off," I said, leaning forward until my breath fogged the tablet screen. The limo hit a pothole; my diamond rings scraped on the glass. "I give them an allowance. Not the other way around." The truth tasted bitter, like the dregs of a energy drink gone warm. They’d skipped my first showcase to bet on underground cockatrice fights. On my last birthday, they’d asked for a loan. They didn’t even bother to pretend they loved me or to get me any gift.

Ms. Duvall’s ears flattened against her skull. "Language," she murmured, but her claws tapped a quick rhythm against her thigh, rabbit morse code for fine. "I’ll adjust the payroll. Happy?" I slumped back, tail curling around my waist like a living belt. "Ecstatic," I deadpanned, but my throat tightened. Thirteen and already the breadwinner for three households. The city lights bled into streaks outside, gold and sodium bright. I used to count them from our tenement window, back when the only gold I knew was peeling wallpaper.

The limo glided to a stop under the hotel’s awning, The Velvet Haven’s marble facade glowing like a pearl under spotlights. The doorman, a towering tortoise in livery, swung the door open before the engine even settled. His shell creaked as he bowed. "Master Kizzy. Your usual suite awaits." I flicked my tongue in greeting, tasting chilled champagne and imported moss from the lobby’s living walls. Ms. Duvall’s heels clicked behind me, her voice low. "Seven AM car. Don’t make me send a retrieval team."

I tossed the tortoise my jacket, the silk sliding off my shoulders like water. "Tell room service to send up crickets, candied, not fried, and that mango soda from the vault." His slow blink was the only acknowledgment I needed; he’d been here since opening night, back when my rider demanded three kinds of live beetles and a humidity dial. The lobby’s chandeliers caught my scales as I passed, scattering emerald fractals across the gold-leaf ceiling. The concierge, a pangolin with diamond cufflinks, slid a black card across the desk without being asked. "The penthouse pool has been refilled with mineral spring water, per your request."

That’s when I heard it, a laugh like shattered chandelier glass, sharp and glittering. "Kizzy. You look like you wrestled a street mouse and lost." The voice curled around me, familiar as my own tail. I turned, slow, already smirking. Rex Akuma leaned against the grand staircase, arms crossed, tails flicking in lazy arcs. Thirteen years old, same as me, but where I was built for speed, Rex was all calculated stillness. His dark gray fur drank the lobby’s light, the red stripes along his body glowing like cooled lava. His crimson eyes tracked the glitter still falling from my hair.

"Rich boy," I shot back, flicking a stray sequin at him. It caught in his fur, winking gold against gray. "Last time I checked, your family owns this dump." Rex grinned, his fangs gleaming. "Correction," he said, pushing off the stairs with a fluid grace that made the bellhops stare. "My guardian parent Ivan owns the place." His tail swished, a smug pendulum.

I didn’t wait for him to reach me. I lunged, wrapping my arms around his middle before he could dodge. Rex stiffened; kitsune hated surprise hugs, but then his arms came up, patting my back like he was defusing a bomb. His fur smelled like expensive cologne and ozone, the scent of fox magic lingering under the surface. "Gross," he muttered, but his tail curled around my leg briefly. "You reek of adrenaline and cheap body spray."

"Missed you too," I said, stepping back and flicking my tongue at him. His nose wrinkled in fake disgust, classic fox reaction. "What are you even doing in town? Thought you were locked in some ivory tower doing calculus and advanced classes."

Rex smoothed a paw down his silk shirt, the fabric so dark it swallowed the light. "Just wrapped a shoot for Teen Vogue," he said, rolling his eyes like it was nothing. "Spring collection. Apparently, kitsune sell sunglasses and swimsuits." His tail flicked dismissively, but I caught the way his ears perked at the mention. "Not my favorite gig, but Ivan says exposure builds connections." He shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Got paid enough to buy out that vintage sword shop in Kyoto, so. Win." Rex blinks at me with that sexy smile that gets him into trouble.

I snorted, grabbing his wrist before he could play it cool. "Come up to my room," I said, tugging him toward the elevator. My claws clicked against the marble, echoing in the hushed lobby. "You can tell me how miserable you were posing with some tiger model while I eat my weight in candied crickets."

Rex allowed himself to be dragged, his tail swishing in lazy amusement. "Better believe I'm coming," he said, flicking my shoulder with a claw-tip. "You stole the penthouse before I could book it, lizard." His grin flashed, all fang. "Ivan threw a fit when he found out. Said no gecko out-foxes an Akumu."

I cackled, slapping the elevator button with my tail. "Tell Ivan to cry about it." The doors slid open with a chime smoother than Rex's silk shirt. Inside, the walls were mirrored floor-to-ceiling, doubling the sight of us, a disheveled gecko still glittering from the stage, and a pristine kitsune with fur like shadow given form. Rex caught me checking myself out and rolled his eyes. "You're insufferable."

The penthouse took up the entire top floor, its doors opening with a retinal scan that flashed green across my slit pupils. Inside, the space sprawled like a dragon's hoard, obsidian floors polished to a liquid shine, a chandelier dripping actual diamonds, and floor-to-ceiling windows that showed the city sprawled beneath us like a circuit board. My tail twitched at the familiar scent of mineral springs and candied crickets waiting on the coffee table.

"Ugh, finally," I groaned, yanking off my rings one by one with my teeth. They clattered onto the marble countertop, diamonds skittering like startled beetles. My shirt followed, peeled off with a sticky sound of dried sweat and stage glitter. I tossed it at Rex's face; he caught it between two claws as he laughed.

Rex made a show of wrinkling his nose, holding the fabric between his thumb and forefinger as if it were radioactive. "Disgusting." But I saw the way his pupils dilated; kitsune couldn't lie about scent. He unbuttoned his own shirt with ritual precision, silk whispering against fur as he folded it into a perfect square. His cufflinks, obsidian carved into fox heads, clicked softly beside my rings.

"You're missing your shadow," I said, flopping onto the couch and shoving a handful of crickets into my mouth. The sugar crust shattered between my teeth, releasing the earthy musk underneath. My tail curled around a soda bottle, twisting the cap off with a practiced flick.

Rex snorted, arranging himself on the opposite chaise with the precision of a chess piece. "Walter's overseeing security downstairs. Some tabloid leech tried to bribe a bellhop for my room number." His ears twitched, the only sign of irritation. "He's probably interrogating them with tea and scones as we speak."

I choked on my soda, imagining Walter, all Doberman muscle and tailored suits, offering a trembling paparazzo cucumber sandwiches while his brass knuckles gleamed on the table. "Bet they piss themselves before the first sugar cube hits the tea," I wheezed, wiping mango foam off my chin. Rex's smirk was all the confirmation I needed.

The crickets were disappearing fast, my claws leaving tiny divots in the crystal bowl. Rex watched with that eerie stillness; tail draped over the armrest like liquid shadow. It hit me then, stupidly hard, how much I'd missed this.

"You got taller," I said around a mouthful of crushed sugar-shell. My tail flicked toward his feet, dangling inches closer to the floor than last time.

Rex rolled his shoulders with a fox's fluid grace, claws flexing against the chaise's velvet. "And you got louder," he shot back. Then, softer: "Your scales look fried."

I stretched, tail arching until vertebrae popped. The exhaustion hit in waves now that the adrenaline had drained. "Three-hour concert will do that." My eyelids felt weighted, but I caught Rex's gaze flicking downward, lingering.

He laughed suddenly, sharp as breaking glass, and stood with that effortless fox grace. "You're wound tighter than Ivan's antique pocket watches." His fingers twitched toward my shoulders, claws retracted. "Turn over."

I didn't argue. My tail uncoiled from the soda bottle as I rolled onto my stomach, scales scraping against velvet. Rex's breath hitched when I wriggled out of my pants, apparently even Rex weren't immune to the spectacle of a gecko shedding clothes. The cool air kissed my bare skin, raising gooseflesh along my thighs. My cock lay soft against the couch, thick at the base, even flaccid, the slit glistening under penthouse lights.

Behind me, fabric whispered against fur. I craned my neck to catch him stepping out of his tailored slacks, his fur ruffling as the fabric slid down toned thighs. His cock hung half-hard between his legs. Kitsune and their damnable grace, even naked, he moved like ink spilling across parchment.

Rex grabbed a bottle from a table, glass clinking as he popped the cork with a claw. The scent hit me first, jasmine and something smoky, expensive. The kind of oil that probably costs more per ounce than my first tour bus.

The bottle glinted in his hand, amber liquid catching the penthouse lights. I twisted onto my stomach, scales pressing into the velvet couch. The first drip of oil hit my spine, warm as blood. Rex's fingers followed, spreading it slow from my shoulders down. The scent bloomed between us, heady and thick.

"God," I groaned into the cushions as his thumbs dug into the knots along my ribs. Rex worked with precision, each stroke calculated to unravel tension I hadn't even named. The oil seeped into my scales, loosening the ache of three hours under stage lights. His claws retracted just enough to tease, dragging feather-light over the sensitive patch between my shoulder blades. My tail jerked, slapping the couch.

Rex chuckled, the sound low and smoky as the oil's scent. "You're tighter than a drum," he murmured. His fingers traced the ridge of my spine, pressing into the hollows where wings would've been, if geckos had them. "What's got you wound up? Besides making a lot of money and having so many fans." The question landed like a velvet-wrapped brick.

I snorted into the couch cushions. "Yeah, well. Your family’s music company works me like a rented mule." My tail twitched as his thumbs dug into the base of my skull. The pressure sent sparks skittering down my vertebrae.

Rex's breath ghosted over my ear, his voice dropping to a whisper that prickled my scales. "This is what you wanted, Kizzy. The fame, the money, the screaming fans." His claws traced the ridge of my spine, deliberately. "Our deal, remember? You get the spotlight. I get..." His teeth grazed the nape of my neck, sharp enough to make me shiver. "A favor whenever I want, no matter what it is."

I exhaled through gritted teeth, fingers curling into the velvet. He was right. Two summers ago, when my stomach growled louder than the tenement's roaches, Rex had slid a contract across his family's marble breakfast table, his paw print in blood-red ink next to mine. “First dibs on your talents,” he'd said, tail flicking. “No matter how big you get.” The Akumu's always played the long game.

His claws dragged lower, pressing into the small of my back where exhaustion pooled like lead. "Look at you now," he murmured, the oil warming between us. "Diamond rings. Sold-out concerts. Fans who'd chew through steel bars just to lick your boots." His chuckle vibrated through my ribs. "Admit it, lizard. You love every second."

I groaned as his thumbs circled the tense cords of my tail muscles. The truth curled under my tongue, bitter-sweet. "Wouldn't be here without you," I muttered into the velvet. The admission tasted strange, raw, like molting skin.

Rex's claws paused, then resumed their slow press down my spine. Something warm bloomed beneath his touch, seeping into my scales like liquid gold. The ache in my ribs softened, unraveling thread by thread. My eyelids grew heavy, the penthouse lights blurring into halos.

"You're melting," Rex murmured, his breath stirring the sensitive frills behind my ears. His thumbs circled the base of my tail, each rotation sending waves of warmth radiating outward. My sore throat, raw from hours of growling lyrics, smoothed as if dipped in honey. The stage bruises along my hips faded under his touch, the sting dissolving like sugar in tea.

I arched into his palms with a sound that was half-purr, half-hiss. "What'd you do to me?" My words slurred, tongue heavy with the weightlessness pooling in my limbs. The penthouse blurred at the edges, the city lights beyond the windows smearing into liquid gold.

Rex's claws traced the dip of my lower back, pressing just shy of painful. "Magic," he murmured, lips brushing the sensitive ridge where my scales met skin. His breath carried the scent of candied plums and something darker, a musk that coiled in my gut. "Just a little trick to ease the ache." His teeth grazed my shoulder, playful, possessive. "You're welcome."

I melted further into the couch, boneless. The oil seeped deeper, warmth spreading through my veins like liquid gold. Every nerve sang under his touch, the exhaustion washed away in tides of pleasure. My tail twitched lazily, the tip curling around his ankle. "Cheater," I mumbled, but there was no bite to it. My voice sounded drunk even to my own ears.

Rex chuckled, the sound vibrating against my spine. His claws traced idle patterns down my hips, dipping lower with each pass. "Hardly cheating," he murmured. His breath ghosted over the small of my back, hot against the sensitive scales there. "Just... enhancing." The oil bottle glinted as he poured more into his palm, the scent thickening between us, jasmine and something darker, muskier. His fingers slicked warm over my tailbone, deliberate. "You deserve to feel good, superstar."

A shudder ran through me as his touch wandered lower, the oil making every glide effortless. My thighs parted instinctively, the cool penthouse air brushing against skin rarely exposed. Rex made an approving noise, claws retracting just enough to tease. "Look at you," he breathed, kneading the tension from my muscles with practiced ease. "So pliant. So perfect." His thumbs pressed into the curve of my ass, spreading me open with a slow, slick drag. My breath hitched; he'd always like this part.

The oil dribbled down my cleft, warm as fresh blood. Rex worked it in with torturous patience, circling my rim without quite breaching. "You're tighter here than anywhere else," he mused, his other hand stroking the length of my tail where it arched off the couch. I bit the velvet cushion to stifle a groan. The scent of jasmine thickened, mingling with musk as his claws traced feather-light patterns around my entrance. Every nerve sang, every scale prickled with anticipation.

I lifted my hips instinctively, presenting myself with a shameless arch of my spine. Rex's breath hitched, a rare slip in his usual composure. His thumbs spread me wider, the oil making every movement obscenely slick. "Eager," he murmured, but his voice had gone rough around the edges. The first press of his claw-tip against my hole sent electricity crackling down my tail. I pushed back against him, impatient, already craving the stretch.

Rex chuckled darkly, pouring more oil directly between my cheeks. The warm liquid trickled down, pooling at my entrance before his fingers spread it in slow, maddening circles. "Relax," he breathed, pressing a kiss to the base of my tail where the scales were softest. His other hand stroked along my inner thigh, claws retracted, just firm enough to make me squirm. "I'll take care of you."

The first breach came without warning, a single claw-tip pressing in just enough to make my back bow. I hissed through clenched teeth, tail lashing against the couch as he worked me open with meticulous patience. Oil dripped from his fingers as he added a second digit, scissoring gently while his free hand kneaded the tense muscles of my hips. "Look at you," he murmured, his breath hot against my spine. "Taking me so well."

A shudder ran through me as he crooked his fingers, brushing against that spot inside that sent white-hot pleasure crackling up my tail. My claws shredded velvet as I arched into him, a broken sound escaping my throat. Rex's chuckle vibrated against my scales, his other hand stroking the length of my cock where it strained against my belly. "Patience," he chided, though his own breath came quicker now, his usual composure fraying at the edges.

The slick sound of oil being poured filled the penthouse, thick and obscene. Rex slicked himself slowly, his cock gleaming under the chandelier light, already fully hard. My tongue darted out instinctively, tasting the musk thickening between us. Two weeks since my last release, tour schedules didn't leave room for privacy, and the ache had settled deep in my bones. Rex positioned himself between my thighs with that kitsune grace, his cockhead pressing insistently against my entrance.

"Breathe," he murmured, claws digging into my hips as he pushed in with one slow, devastating roll of his hips. My tail lashed wildly as he stretched me open, the burn of intrusion giving way to molten pleasure. Rex groaned through clenched teeth, his usual composure shattered by the tight heat clenching around him. "Fuck, always so greedy for it," he hissed, bottoming out with a snap of his hips that knocked the breath from my lungs.

I could feel him fully now, the heavy press of his balls against my ass, the slick slide of his cock buried deep inside me. My claws scrambled against the couch as I arched backward, pressing my spine flush against his chest. Rex's breath hitched against my neck, his arms encircling my waist to pull me closer still. His thrusts came sharper now, each snap of his hips making my cock bounce untouched between my thighs, precum beading at the tip.

Then his fingers curled under my chin, tilting my head back. Our lips met in a messy clash of teeth and tongue, tasting of mango soda and candied plums. Rex kissed like he fought, calculated yet desperate, all sharp bites and molten heat. His tongue slid against mine, stealing my breath as he rocked into me with slow, deep rolls of his hips. I moaned into his mouth, the vibrations making his claws dig deeper into my thighs.

The chandelier above us swayed with each thrust, scattering diamond fractals across our tangled bodies. Rex's tail fanned out behind him like living shadows, twitching with every ragged breath he took. He broke the kiss to nip along my jawline, his fangs scraping the sensitive scales beneath my ear. "Say it," he growled, his voice rough with exertion. His cock twitched inside me, dragging against that spot that made my vision whiten.

I bared my teeth in a grin, even as my hips rocked back to meet his. "Make me." The challenge slipped out hoarse, mangled by pleasure.

Rex's pupils dilated to crimson pools. His claws dug into my waist as he pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in with enough force to make my tail arch off the couch. The penthouse walls echoed with the slick slap of skin, the groan of overstressed velvet. My vision blurred at the edges, reduced to the feeling of him splitting me open on every thrust.

"Say," he punctuated with a brutal snap of his hips, "it." His fangs grazed my shoulder, teasing the thin membrane where venom might have pooled if we were different creatures. I writhed beneath him, claws scrabbling for purchase as he angled deeper, hitting that spot that made my thighs tremble.

The words tore from my throat, raw and unbidden. "Fuck me." The admission tasted like surrender, like molting skin left behind. Rex's growl vibrated through my ribs, his thrusts turning erratic. His tail lashed wildly now, the usually controlled appendage betraying his unraveling. I could feel him everywhere, the hot puff of his breath against my nape, the slick slide of fur against scales, the relentless press of him inside me, stretching me open with each movement.

Rex's claws tangled in my hair, wrenching my head back to expose my throat. His fangs scraped the vulnerable skin there, not hard enough to break flesh but enough to make my pulse stutter. "Louder," he demanded against my ear, his voice frayed at the edges. I arched into him with a choked moan, my cock dripping untouched between my thighs. The penthouse air smelled of sex and spilled oil, thick enough to taste.

His tongue slid wet against mine when I twisted to kiss him again, the flavor of candied plums and salt sharp on my teeth. Our tails coiled together like living ropes, scales rasping against fur with each thrust. Rex's usual precision shattered as he fucked into me with ragged desperation, his composure unraveling strand by strand. I drank the broken sounds from his mouth, each gasp and snarl sweeter than the mango soda abandoned on the floor.

The orgasm built slow, a coil tightening at the base of my spine until my vision swam with emerald fractals. Rex's claws raked down my chest, leaving hot trails that bloomed into pleasure-pain. "Come for me," he growled, his voice rough as shattered glass. His thumb swiped over the head of my cock just as his hips stuttered, a perfect, devastating rhythm that tipped me over the edge. My release splattered across the velvet cushions in thick pulses, my whole body shuddering as Rex followed with a sharp cry, his cock twitching deep inside me.

He collapsed against my back, his fur matted with sweat and oil, his breath hot against my shoulder blades. Our tails stayed tangled even as our bodies relaxed, a silent tether in the aftershocks. The penthouse smelled like sex and spilled soda, the chandelier casting fractured light across our spent forms. Rex nuzzled the nape of my neck with a rare, unguarded tenderness, his fangs scraping gently over my pulse point.

I flicked my tongue lazily, tasting salt and exhaustion. "Guess your fancy oils aren't just for sore muscles," I muttered, voice hoarse from panting. My tail twitched when Rex chuckled, the vibration traveling through my spine.

He withdrew slowly, his softening cock dragging against oversensitive flesh. I hissed through my teeth, but then his lips were on mine, soft in a way kitsune rarely allowed themselves to be. The kiss tasted like sugar and something darker, a hint of copper where his fang had nicked my lip earlier. "Thank you," he murmured against my mouth, the words uncharacteristically sincere. His claws traced idle patterns down my flank before he stood, fur gleaming under the chandelier's fractured light.

I watched him pad toward the bathroom, tail swaying with that liquid grace I'd never quite replicate. The shower hissed to life before the door fully closed, steam curling through the gap like grasping fingers. My scales prickled where sweat and oil had dried sticky against them.

Rolling off the ruined couch, I dug through the pile of discarded clothes until my claws brushed cold glass. My phone blinked with notifications: twenty-three missed calls from Ms. Duvall, fifty-two texts from the label, and one from Calvin with a photo of his baby sister grinning toothlessly in a hospital gown with a message. The sight punched through the post-coil haze sharper than Rex's fangs. I thumbed a transfer to Calvin's account to make sure my friend is taken care of.

The penthouse doors slid open onto a private infinity pool suspended over the city, its edges vanishing into the night. The water shimmered under submerged LEDs, shifting from sapphire to emerald to match my scales. Dropping the phone on a lounger, I stepped to the edge. Wind whipped at my bare skin, carrying the distant pulse of downtown clubs and the metallic tang of smog. Sixty-nine floors up, the air tasted cleaner, almost sweet.

My toes curled over the ledge. Below, the city grid stretched like a circuit board, taxi lights streaming like data pulses. The first plunge shocked my system, water so cold it burned, snapping my lungs tight. I resurfaced with a gasp, shaking droplets from my frills. The mineral springs tingled against sore muscles, soothing where Rex's claws had marked me.

I floated on my back, tail undulating lazily to keep me adrift. Up here, the noise dissolved, no screaming fans, no Ms. Duvall's schedule reminders, just the rhythmic lap of water against infinity pool edges. My scales drank in the moonlight, iridescent greens shifting with each ripple. The stars blurred overhead, smeared by penthouse steam rising off my skin.

The water held me like Rex's arms had earlier, firm, knowing. I sank until my ears submerged, muffling the city's hum to a distant throb. My claws skimmed the pool floor's glass bottom, tracing constellations in the algae bloom. Neon from the hotel sign below pulsed through the water, painting my belly in fleeting pinks and blues.

Mineral springs bubbled up through hidden jets, massaging the ache from my tailbone where Rex had gripped too hard. I flipped onto my back, floating motionless beneath the stars. The chlorine stung my nostrils less than the memory of fox musk clinging to my scales. I rubbed at a particularly stubborn patch near my shoulder, scales rasping under my claws.

The pool's infinity edge blurred water and skyline, the city lights fracturing into liquid gold where they met the surface. A breeze carried the distant wail of sirens, the pulse of bass from some rooftop club, sounds that usually set my nerves jangling. Now they just dissolved into the water's hum against my frills. My tail drifted lazily, stirring ripples that distorted my reflection into something amphibious and ancient.

Climbing out left puddles on the heated marble, each step printing gecko-shaped shadows that evaporated almost instantly. The towel smelled of hotel-logo detergent and something faintly herbal, rough enough to scrape away the last traces of chlorine clinging to my scales. I cinched it around my waist, watching water droplets roll off my forearms in perfect spheres, nature's merch beads.

My phone buzzed against the lounger, screen flashing with BlueJay X notifications stacked like dominoes. The app icon pulsed crimson, 2.2M new mentions since curtain call. Scrolling through the hashtag #KizzyKicksAss was like mainlining adrenaline straight to the brain. Fan edits spliced my freestyle with anime fight scenes, thirst tweets dissected my hip rolls in microscopic detail, and some art student had animated my scales refracting stage lights into actual rainbows. My tongue flicked out absently, tasting pixelated devotion through the screen.

Balancing the phone against an ice bucket, I hit record. The camera lens warped slightly at the edges, catching the pool lights haloing my damp frills. "Yo, scale squad," I rasped, voice still a little raw from the concert. The gecko grin came easy, fangs glinting under submerged LEDs. "Three hours and y’all still screaming? Feral behavior." I tossed another towel at the camera, laughing when it slid off mid-air. "Nah but for real, mad love for dancing with me tonight. Every single lizard, fox, animal, and hybrid in that dome?" My tail thumped the lounger for emphasis. "Y’all the reason my music goes platinum before the ink dries."

Tags flowed faster than thought, #KizzyConcert, #ReptileRampage, and other hashtags, my claws tapping glass like a snare drum. The post uploaded with a cartoonish *whoosh* sound effect I’d paid a sound designer a stupid amount of money to customize. Notifications exploded instantly, a fireworks chain reaction of hearts and emojis.

The towel slithered off my hips as I flopped onto a lounger, scales still beaded with pool water. The night air licked my skin, raising gooseflesh along my thighs. Behind me, glass doors hissed open, accompanied by the clink of ice cubes and Rex’s unmistakable footsteps, that predatory grace even barefoot.

"Drink," Rex commanded, pressing a sweating glass into my palm. Condensation trickled between my fingers as I took it, the liquid inside shimmering violet under the pool lights. Rex settled beside me, close enough that his thigh brushed mine, fur damp from his shower. The scent of jasmine and something darker clung to him, mingling with the chlorine on my scales.

The towel slipped lower as I leaned forward, the terrycloth pooling around my hips. Rex's gaze traced the exposed curve of my spine, lingering on the fresh marks his claws had left. I took a long pull from the glass, pomegranate and something herbal that burned pleasantly, before turning to press my lips against his. The kiss tasted of ice and the expensive herbal drink, bitter on my tongue until Rex's fangs grazed my lower lip, sweetening the sting.

"Thanks," I murmured against his mouth, tail curling around his ankle beneath the lounger. My claws tapped the glass where condensation beaded like stage lights on chrome. "For this. The oil, the drinks, the..." My gesture encompassed the penthouse, the cityscape, the lingering ache between my thighs. "All of it."

Rex's smirk was a blade in the dark, sharp enough to draw blood. He sipped his juice, the ice clinking like my discarded jewelry. "Patience, lizard." His tail flicked lazily, brushing my inner thigh where the towel had slipped. "What you want will come." His claws traced the rim of my glass. "In time. This is only the beginning."

Above us, the stars pulsed like distant spotlights. I imagined them as stage markers, each one a city waiting for my name in neon. My tail curled tighter around Rex's ankle, anchoring myself to this moment before the whirlwind began again. The realization hit like a bass drop; this wasn't the peak. Just the first chorus.