You push open your front door with a sigh, relieved to finally be home after a long day at work. Shrugging off your jacket, you toss it towards the coat rack, where it stays for three seconds before sliding off and crumpling to a heap on the floor. Glancing at it, you decide picking it up isn’t worth the effort, and instead kick off your shoes into a region that’s vaguely close to the shoe rack.

Bumping the door closed behind you with a socked foot, you make your way into the kitchen, destination already in mind. Hand sliding along drawers and cupboards, you make your way to a cabinet set just above your stove, high and out of the way. You tug open the door and reach inside, coming back out with a glass bottle of amber liquid.

The label reads Old Murkrow, straight bourbon whiskey. You’ve never been the type to get full on drunk, but you’ve found you’re quite fond of a stiff drink after a long day. The bottle lets out a dull thunk as you set it on the counter, and you turn your attention to your cupboard, looking through the rows of glasses for a good tumbler.

Your search is interrupted by a pair of thick, orange arms wrapping around you from behind, gripping tightly against your chest and pulling you off of your feet into a backwards bear hug. “Welcome home!” Dragonite says, snout nuzzling against the back of your head. You let out a slight wheeze and tap on his arm, flattered by his enthusiasm but not quite built to withstand its crushing force.

“Oops, sorry,” he says, chuckling as he returns you to your feet. He means well, but he can be a bit excitable at times. You spin yourself around, leaning back against the counter and facing the dragon, looking up at him. He stands a good two feet over you, which only makes it even more adorable to see him so eager to see you.

“How was wooork?” Dragonite asks, leaning down towards you with a smile. His tail swishes around on the floor behind him, like a happy dog, if that dog were too lazy to lift his tail.

“It was work,” you say, shrugging. You stare at each other for a moment, but there isn’t a hint of awkwardness in it, just the two of you enjoying each other’s presence. It’s amazing how things have worked out, really. A few choice encounters with the dragon led to even more ‘choice encounters’ back at your place, and before you knew it, you were together.

Dragonite’s eyes flick from yours over to the counter behind you, and his face twists in a mock grimace. “Eugh,” he says, “I can’t believe you drink that stuff.” He lifts the bottle into the air, squinting at it, the liquid inside brought to a dazzling orange glow from the sun filtering through the window.

“It tastes good,” you say, chuckling at his disgusted expression as he swishes around the bottle.

“No it doesn’t, it tastes like cardboard soaked in paint thinner.” He sets the bottle back down, sticking his tongue out at it before turning back to you. “Anyway, after you’re done pouring yourself a glass of distilled hate, d’you wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure thing,” you say, fishing out a snifter from behind a row of lowball glasses. It’s a vibrant green with an etching of a Mareep on the side, and it looks a little silly, but you like it anyway.

“Great, I’ll be on the couch.” With that, Dragonite ambles off around the corner, tail thumping behind him. You unscrew the bottle and fill up the glass about two thirds of the way, giving it a cursory sniff. Definitely smells like bourbon. Screwing the cap back on, you stick the bottle back in the cabinet and head around the corner to meet Dragonite, glass in hand.

As expected, the dragon’s sitting on the loveseat, squinting at the television and fiddling with the remote. His face is set in a look of determination as he blindly fumbles his way through menus and prompts. He’s never been the best with televisions, computers, anything electronic, really. You slip in beside him, setting your glass on the table while he continues to mash buttons with his claws.

“Here, let me try,” you say, holding out a hand for the remote.

“No no,” he says, eyes not moving from the screen, “I got this.” You shrug, leaning against the armrest as he pushes forward in his one-sided battle against modern technology. In a moment of brilliance, he manages to open Netflix. He turns towards you, beaming with pride while the logo fills the screen. “Told you I could do it.”

“Your trophy’s in the mail,” you deadpan. He lets out a single ‘ha’ and leans into you, arm slipping behind you and resting on the back of the couch. You bend forward and grab your drink, swirling it around.

“Gross,” Dragonite says, smirking at you.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bringing the glass up to your nose, you inhale deeply. A slight medicinal odour, followed by the smell of corn. Heavy earthy tones and a touch of sweetness, vanilla, perhaps. You take a sip, letting the whiskey roll across your tongue before swallowing. Yep, that’s definitely corn, and what tastes like hints of leather and oak in the background. Involuntarily, your face scrunches up at the burn as it goes down.

“How can you drink anything that makes you make that face?” Dragonite asks, stifling a laugh at your expression. 

“That face is how you know it’s good,” you reply, breathing out through your mouth, savouring the flavour and rough feeling in your throat.

“God, you are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” Dragonite says with a wink, leaning in to kiss your cheek. You blush, partially from the alcohol, partially from something else. You share a look for a moment, before his eyes widen.

“Popcorn! How are we gonna watch a movie without popcorn?” Dragonite stands up, tossing the remote back onto the couch. “You pick something out, I’ll be back in a jiff.” You grab it and start flipping through the new releases and recommendations, while the microwave hums around the corner, the sounds of popping gradually overpowering it.

There’s plenty of options available: a buddy cop movie starring some actor you’ve never heard of and a Pikachu, a documentary on wild Mightyena, and a biographical film on a Xatu, to name a few. You wind up picking a romantic comedy, knowing that Dragonite likes them. Hardly what you’d expect of a big, strong Pokémon like him, but you’ve found him to be full of surprises.

“I’m back,” says Dragonite, hands clutched around a huge bowl heaped with popcorn. He places it on the coffee table then sets himself down on the loveseat, his arm returning to its place behind you. “What’re we watching?”

“When Harry Met Salazzle,” you reply, pressing the play button and putting the remote onto the table.

“Oh, nice, I’ve heard good things about that one.” He reaches forward and grabs a handful of popcorn, popping a few pieces into his mouth. You raise your bourbon up to your mouth, taking a swig while the movie fades in.

---

“I’ll have what she’s having!”

Dragonite erupts in laughter, tail thumping against the couch repeatedly, on the verge of completely losing it. His laughter is infectious, and you let out a giggle of your own, Dragonite’s arm wrapping around your shoulders as he works his way through the last of his whooping cackles. They’re strong enough to reverberate through your chest.

“Have I told you I love you lately?” Dragonite asks, finally coming down from his fit of cackling, but the smile he gives you is still bursting with mirth.

“Never hurts to hear it again,” you reply, returning his grin. His eyelids droop ever so slightly, and you feel his hand start to rub your shoulder. He scoots even closer to you, pressing his body against yours. You could feel it before, but now that he’s this close, it’s hard to ignore the sheer heat coming off of him. Another one of the benefits of being with a dragon.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his hand growing more and more insistent in its attentions. A claw moves from your shoulder and traces along your collarbone, dipping into the front of your shirt. His hand roams shamelessly across your body, brushing along your pecs, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest growing steadily faster as he touches you.

That hand is quickly joined by another poking through the bottom of your shirt, sliding up and pressing against your stomach. Now that you’re fully in his grasp, he starts groping you in earnest, caressing every inch of your torso that he can reach. It’s difficult to contain yourself, and your hands wrap around his arm, feeling the powerful muscles buried just underneath.

He doesn’t stop there. Slipping lower, one of his hands moves between your legs. You’re hard even before his hand clasps around your bulge, the feeling of him exploring your body more than enough to excite you. You hear him puff air out of his nostrils, though you’re not quite sure why. Out of amusement at your eagerness? Satisfaction at how easily he can key you up?

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers in your ear, that deep baritone sending shivers down your spine. You let out a soft chuckle, not because it’s funny, but because hearing those words sends a wave of giddiness through you that’s hard to express any other way. It’s an almost instinctive reaction.

But you’re not satisfied with just being touched; your desire for Dragonite is as strong as his is for you. You reach out and run your hands across Dragonite’s smooth front. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the strength and power contained just under those scales. Yet every drop of that strength is balanced by tenderness and caring, he’s demonstrated that quite clearly.

Of course, there’s a certain part of him that particularly interests you. Your hands drift lower and lower across his body until you find what you’re looking for, a thin gap between his scales. His genital slit, an area that you’ve become intimately familiar with. You dip a finger inside, then another, feeling his inner walls. 

You push deeper, spreading his vent open wide and coating your hand in thin slime. Soon, you reach what you’re after, fingers brushing against the head of his member. Even trapped inside its slit, it’s stiff and pulsing at your touch. No doubt he would’ve slipped out by now if he had a mind to, but he’s probably restraining himself, preferring to make you work for it. Well, you’re more than willing to put in the effort.

Dragonite lets out a deep rumble as you start to stroke his shaft from inside of his slit, hips bucking gently into your grasp. It barely takes any time at all before your hand is being pushed out of the way by his rapidly emerging erection. It looks just as large as it felt, a spire of pink flesh the thickness of your wrist, growing and growing until it reaches a little over a foot in length.

You stare at it, hand wrapping around its base and giving it a squeezing stroke up to the tip, milking out a drop of pre. You wipe it away with a thumb and bring your wet hand up to your face, your nose twitching as you breathe in the scent. It’s thick with the smoky-spicy musk you’ve come to crave. Your tongue darts out to sample it, sliding up along your thumb.

Tasting it is a dozen times more powerful than smelling it, the masculine flavour sticking to every inch of your tongue, the slight salty-bitterness of his juices making your mouth water. It’s the unmistakable, overpowering taste of Dragonite, and you won’t be satisfied with just a sample.

With a touch of reluctance, you crawl out from Dragonite’s warm embrace, getting onto the floor and situating yourself on your knees between his legs. From this perspective, his cock looks even bigger than before, towering over your face and dripping onto you. Your nose is pressed right up against it, and his aroma rests heavily in your sinuses, causing your own neglected erection to throb against its cloth confines.

A bit of drool drips from the corner of your mouth, and as pleasant as it might be to huff his scent, you decide to start moving things along. Bringing your mouth up to the base of his slit, you stick your tongue inside, dragging it up along his shaft until you reach the head. It throbs and spurts out a wad of precum, hitting you with a fresh wave of his flavour.

Any thoughts of taking things slow that you might’ve had are immediately purged from your mind, replaced with an irresistible need to have him inside you, pumping your stomach full. You wrap your lips around his head and fit as much of his dick into your mouth as you can, which isn’t nearly as much as you’d like, not able to take even half of it inside of you before he’s battering against the entrance to your throat.

You strain to look up at Dragonite, and see him looking back down at you, eyes lidded and mouth parted as he pants softly. His pleasure is written clearly across his face, and if that weren’t proof enough, his cock throbs a moment before your mouth is flooded with a pulse of fluid. Precum bubbles around the edges of your lips, leaking back down onto his shaft and glittering in the light.

The sparkling droplets only spur you on, highlighting the parts of him you have yet to pleasure and filling you with a drive to reach them. You force yourself forward and feel him slip into your throat, slowly working further inside you, inch by inch. Dragonite certainly notices, letting out a pleased growl as he feels your throat clenching down around his cock.

Happy that he’s enjoying what you’re doing, you keep going, breathing through your nose as best you can while your throat is stuffed with ever increasing amounts of dragon cock. You can feel him throb inside you, and you tighten down around him, feeling a spurt of pre shot right into your belly in response.

The feeling, hell, the very idea of pleasing Dragonite like you are now, burying your head between his legs and serving him, is too much for you to handle. Reaching down with shaking hands, you undo your pants, tugging down the waistband of your briefs. They peel away from your member, already stained with pre. You wonder briefly if you’d be able to cum just from the feeling of blowing Dragonite alone, and your dick throbs at the thought.

Satisfied with the amount of Dragonite’s cock you’ve managed to fit inside you, you start working in earnest, bobbing your head up and down on his shaft. You still fall a few inches short of reaching his base, but you’re happy to work the small amount you can’t reach with your mouth with one hand, your other already busy between your legs toying with your own erection.

Judging from his squirming and the way he’s breathing, puffing gusts of air out of his nostrils, you can tell Dragonite is getting close. You’re relieved. You were getting close as well, but you’d be reluctant to have your own release before getting Dragonite off first. You double down on your efforts, sucking and stroking as best you can.

But for all the freedom he’s given you thus far, Dragonite can’t seem to sit still now that he’s about to blow. You feel a clawed hand come to rest on the back of your head, and when you push forward to take him back into your throat, that hand suddenly starts pressing down.

It’s joined by another, Dragonite forcing your head into his groin with both hands while his hips start humping as best as they’re able while he’s seated on the couch. Those final few inches that were beyond your reach are squeezed into you with his help, the scales just above his slit bumping up against your nose.

Even if he’s pushing you to your absolute limit, your throat straining to accommodate his length and every fleeting breath through your nose tainted with musk, you’re harder than you’ve ever been. Both of your hands move frantically between your thighs, the sound of your stroking covered up by the loud noises of Dragonite’s wild pounding in and out of your mouth.

Thankfully, at the pace he’s going at, you don’t have to endure his rough treatment for long. He bottoms out inside you, his cock pulsing against your lips. That pulse rushes forward, pushing against the walls of your throat, before a gush of cum unloads directly into your stomach. It’s quickly followed by another, and another, and you jerk yourself off in pure bliss while Dragonite fills you with his seed.

Swallowing as best you can while you’re stuffed to the gills with dragon cock, you manage to reach your own climax. You squirt ropes of cum onto yourself, sullying your shirt and pants with streaks of white, although you could hardly care less at this point. At the same time, Dragonite pulls himself free of your throat, remaining in your mouth only long enough to fill it with a blast of his cum. It’s potent, and incredibly thick, something you’re all the more aware of when a rope of it splatters across your face.

Your head slumps forward into the crook of his thigh, cum dribbling down your cheek and out of the corner of your mouth, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You can see Dragonite doing much the same, head rolled back and nostrils flaring as his breathing steadies. He manages to recover far faster than you do, and you feel one of his hands settle on top of your head, ruffling your hair before starting to pet you gently. 

“God, you’re a mess,” he says, his tone warm and affectionate. His hand slips from your hair to your chin, lifting up your head so that you’re looking into his face.

“But you’re my mess.” His hands slip under your arms and he pulls you up into his lap, his snout pressing up against your mouth and drawing you into a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and return it, filled with a deep, visceral joy. It’s something you’ve felt quite often, ever since Dragonite came into your life. You wouldn’t trade him for the world.