#1 FAN
They met in the locker room at night.

Again.

By then, it had almost become a routine, though Joma still blamed the whole thing on that first ridiculous, fortuitous encounter. The Vineland Thorns had won another match and they were greeting the crowd, each of them in their own way. Everyone expected the eccentric scalie to do his weird signature stunt again, but he took it one step further: instead of a towel, he took off his tank top. He rubbed it shamelessly against his crotch, flung it into the crowd, and somehow managed to make it land squarely on Joma’s face.

The gecko was with his family, who were total fans of the Vineland Thorns. He had reluctantly agreed to them, as they were pretty persistent about the lack of “family bonding times”, and there he was, with a musky tank top on his face. He could briefly smell the masculine scent and sweat from the komodo dragon, and he felt his cheeks redden as he took it from his face and looked at the komodo as he greeted his teammates in victory. Joma felt a bit uncomfortable when the spectators’ gazes were upon him.

“Jomy, Jomy, can we keep it?” His younger brother's eyes were shining.

One thing was a towel. But a tank top that was part of his team uniform was an entirely different matter. He considered it as a gesture of courtesy when he explained the situation to the guards at the locker-room doors and gently asked to return the tank top for him. Joma could hear the team talking cheerfully, and he swore he saw a bit more of the komodo dragon’s skin than expected when the door briefly opened.

He nodded to the guards respectfully and he was about to leave when he heard the door opening again behind him and hurried footsteps until he felt a sweaty arm around his shoulders. The gecko's brain processed the musk before the presence next to him.

“Guardss told Modo a little lizard brought back his tank top.” Modo’s breath brushed warm against Joma’s face. “Modo came to say thanksss. This one’s a favorite.” His tongue almost caressed his cheek.

Joma decided not to ask why anyone would risk throwing their favorite tank top into the audience.

“No need to thank me, really.” Joma's cheeks reddened. He itted the komodo dragon's musk was… enticing in a way. Strong, but not unpleasant. And, well, the sudden physical proximity was another factor to consider. “It didn't cost me any—“

“Modo and friends are playing UNO. Little lizard s. Just one round.”

“W-what? Your teammates—”

“Come on! Modo is team owner! They can't say no!” The komodo dragon was pretty stubborn. His grip on Joma's shoulder tightened. Not in a menacing way. More like Modo had already decided the universe would be funnier if Joma said yes. The surprising part was that Joma was starting to agree.

Joma sighed.

“Okay, okay. I guess there is no harm if it is just one round. Let me send a message to my family before…”

“Ssssweeet”

The UNO round (in which Joma observed Modo was surprisingly cunning) turned into a second one. The second round turned into a round of drinks. The round of drinks turned into a party at a club. Joma felt a bit out of place at first, but he discovered the komodo dragon had a talent to keep everyone entertained; even the ones who were not particularly into loud music and dancing. The komodo dragon was a box of surprises, as his dance moves were weird, but fluid and rhythmic. He managed to be in many places at once: making Will spin and pushing him towards Jett, bouncing his hips against Olivia's, and then next to the gecko. He took the cherry from the cocktail he was drinking at the bar and, while looking at him intensely, he made sure the cherry rolled on his tongue before he engulfed it.

“Really? Even the pit?” He chuckled, clearly not expecting that.

Modo didn't answer immediately. He looked at the gecko from head to toe with an unreadable expression for a second before answering:

“Modo sees a better sssnack.”

Joma froze. Modo's pupils had dilated as he leaned closer to the gecko. His nostrils flared.

“Modo’s mussk is still on your skin.” His nostrils flared. “Mixed with yours… mmm. Dessert.” For the first time since they met, Modo whispered. But somehow, despite the music, his voice was heard, vibrating in Joma's bones.

And so the party at the club turned into a different kind of party in a private backroom, where the music faded behind the door and the only rhythm left was Modo’s low, gentle growl. In the small room, the manly scent of the dragon was stronger, and the gecko's body relaxed with the instinctive inertia a submissive specimen had towards the clearly dominant one.

“Modo noticed little lizard likes his sssmell.” He whispered, leaning his nose where the gecko's neck met his shoulders and taking a deep whiff. “Modo likes yours too.”

Komodo dragons relied more on pheromones than other species. That was the only rational thought the gecko managed to grasp when he was naked, hands against the wall, with Modo's sweaty briefs on his mouth while the bigger scalie's head was under his tail, his tongue caressing his most intimate spot. Despite his weird eccentric nature, Modo was surprisingly gentle during their first time.

And finally, the party at the club turned into a whole new experience, and Modo's personal phone number written on a napkin in Joma's pocket.

And there they were, at the lockers, at midnight. They didn't have to make a huge effort to orchestrate the moment. After that unexpected party, the gecko gradually became friends with the team. As far as he knew, none of them suspected about the more complex nature of his relationship with the komodo dragon, whose gaze he felt behind his head at times when he was talking to Will or another member of the team.

The others knew Joma was a doctor, so no one questioned it when he checked on the players after training, especially when someone complained about a bruise, a sore muscle, or — in Modo’s case — a suspiciously convenient cramp. It only required some weird acting-not-acting from Modo for them to see it as normal when Joma and Modo stayed behind so that the gecko massaged a supposedly sore calf during training.

The gecko was wearing the sweaty uniform Modo had used during the training that day. The bigger scalie's sweat mixed with his own as the komodo dragon held him over his lap, guiding him up and down, impaling him in his length. Modo licked his chest as his nostrils filled with their mixed scent once more, and growled:

“Modo iss going to cum insside, ssweety…”

Sweety?

No. Sweaty. It had to be sweaty.

Joma clung to that explanation with the last functional corner of his mind, which was hazy with lust and a warm feeling in his chest he hadn't dared to name yet. He felt Modo's cock swelling and finally, finally jetting hot firm shots of semen inside him. It was so much some of it spilled out his ass when he reached his own orgasm, coating his abdomen and the komodo dragon’s hand, which was holding him tightly, but with a surprisingly intimate touch.

As the last spurts of climax faded away, Joma tried to get up. But Modo held him close and tight, his cock twitching slightly inside the gecko. The gecko was confused, but when their gazes met, he quickly understood.

He leaned his head back, resting on Modo's shoulder. The komodo dragon licked the gecko's cum off his hand and growled, pleased, holding the smaller scalie in a gentle, intimate way.

“Modo said ssweety,” he murmured against Joma’s neck, as if answering the thought Joma had not dared to say aloud.

Joma’s breath caught.

“Modo does not missspeak.”

Then he stopped trying to get up.

For a moment, the world ceased to exist. It was just Joma and Modo.