We are no longer on the run.

It reaches out to unbutton my shirt. As my scales are bared, it doesn't avert its eyes.

This house is ours, now. Our choice of furniture, paint, temperature. There are no humans in this far corner of the universe. No humans to take away what we've made.

It brushes its claws against my back. Hard claws against hard scales. A soft gesture. I lean into its touch.

We talk. We reminisce, plan for the future. Laugh, loud, that screeching sound that damages human ears reclaimed, turned into an expression of joy.

I bite its shoulder. It hisses with pleasure. Loud. I sink my teeth in harder.

We are almost new people, out here, without humans. Every day we relax more, become more ourselves. Every day we fall in love again.

It kisses me on the mouth, down my neck, all the way down my body. I let go. I arch my head back. I let myself feel. Its forked tongue flickers against the nubs on my thighs.

We think about humans less. What they might have wanted from us. How to change to fit their expectations. We think about each other more.

The sun falls across its chest. I watch the way its scales iridesce as it squirms under me, shimmering in time with its short breaths.

In this moment, we are the only two who matter.