The Long Green Line
A/N: Presented on the occasion of @call-me-clever-girl’s 22nd birthday. Thank you to @selectedtrash for beta reading! (3428 words)
Santiago is an OC of @call-me-clever-girl. Source (at her writing blog).
Warnings: Food. Brief mentions of gore, horror, overeating, violence.
* * *
You paced frantically around your one-bedroom apartment, towel in one hand and yardstick in the other. You’d been living there for nearly a year now and while you had no illusions that it was some grand estate, you never had the occasion to quantify exactly how small it was.
Today, that innocence died. As the aroma from slow-cooked pork wafted through the kitchen, you learned that there was about three and a half feet between the appliances attached to the wall and the countertop that butted up against the living room couch. You walked up and down that corridor, all nine feet of it, as you tossed in vegetables and spices. The aforementioned couch was exactly seven feet long and the coffee table stood two feet from it, the television ten. The front entrance, as well as the door to the bedroom and the bathroom, measured just under three feet wide. Tricky, but not much to be done about it.
After a day spent creating carnitas and egress, the apartment smelled of garlic and sage but looked almost spartan, a far cry from the cozy atmosphere that you normally enjoyed. The only hints of its prior life were found in its dusty corners, where tall piles of treasure and clutter alike were packed into as little floor space as physically possible. This was the price you paid for precious inches of maneuvering room. And today, today only, that price was worth it.
You knew that he was going to arrive exactly on time, because for the last week he had been so excited about seeing your place. So when you started waxing the floor you knew that you had exactly nine minutes to finish up and change your clothes, which you did, with eleven seconds to spare. You spent those last seconds fidgeting with the ends of your hair, trying to shake off your analytical mindset. This should be fun. It was going to be fun.
Ding Dong!
“Just a minute!” you called out. Stealing one last look in the mirror, you stood up straight, put on a big smile, and opened the door.
Standing before you was Santiago, the love of your life. A naga, with russet-brown skin fading into mottled dark green scales, he stood a whole head above you, looking down with luminescent yellow eyes. His black hair was tousled in beautiful waves that fell just above his broad, muscular shoulders. His features were naturally sharp, but they were softened by the smile that came easily to his face.
“How are you, my clever girl?”
“Lovely, now that you’re here.” You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his neck. “Say, what’s that behind your back?”
You grinned. He never came to a date empty-handed, always bringing along some little bauble that made him think of you. Sometimes they came from a shop, sometimes they came from the swamp, and you loved them all the same. But this time you were surprised; you gasped as he revealed a bouquet of plump white roses.
“Oh, Santiago, they’re gorgeous! This is incredible, thank you!” He beamed back at you. “I’ve got just the spot for them in the kitchen. They’ll catch the evening sun.”
You rinsed out a glass from the sink, put the flowers in, and set it on the windowsill. During it all, an uneasy silence rested in the air. You hadn’t invited him in, and he didn’t make to enter. He simply sat in the doorway, watching you walk around your nearly-empty apartment. “Looks like you’ve been busy.” His tongue fluttered out and tasted the air, “Mmmm… and it smells like it, too!”
“Like I told you, you need to eat a proper meal for once.” He didn’t exactly fill up at restaurants. Despite his protests, you always felt guilty for ending dinner so much more satisfied than him. So now, meeting at your own place for the first time, you had resolved to feed your boyfriend as much as he could eat.
You returned to the doorway and unbuttoned his big black coat. It hung well below his torso but still looked comically small, his tail easily spilling out from the bottom and far into the hall. Clothes weren’t terribly useful in the water, he had explained to you on your first date, but the coat helped him remain decent in human society. Still, he grew up wearing nothing at all, and that’s what he preferred. You preferred him that way too, which had probably been obvious from your uncontrollable blushing.
You tossed his coat to the side, then hesitated. “Come in, babe.” Both of you understood how much anxiety you were hiding behind those simple words. But he said nothing, and if he had reservations of his own, they didn’t show. He held his smile and began slithering in.
His powerful muscles glided his body across your newly waxed floor, thick waves of scales shifting to and fro. You tried not to stare as your brain automatically began measuring out his length. Three feet. Six feet. Nine feet. He turned back to face you, sheepishly, coming back toward the door as his tail began piling up in the space behind him. Twelve. Fifteen. Eighteen. He stopped suddenly, looking around.
“Um...”
“Wrap through the kitchen?” He nodded wordlessly, sliding between the counter and appliances. In one opening and out the other. Twenty-one. Twenty-four. Twenty-seven— The tip of his tail was nearly through the doorway, and you shared a relieved sigh, knowing that you’d cleared the first hurdle. As soon as it crossed the threshold, you slammed the door shut, perhaps a little too hard. He winced, then broke into full-chested laughter.
“Well, that was a little adventure,” he said, reaching the end of his tail up to embrace you.
You wriggled free, thoroughly embarrassed. “The first of several, perhaps. Now, sit down, and I’ll check the pork.”
He did not sit down, and instead followed you eagerly into the kitchen, his tongue lapping the fragrance of the meat. The walkway is barely big enough for one person, certainly not accommodating two plus a tail. “Sit down, sit down,” you say, shooing him away. “I’ll bring the food out when it’s done, but give me some space.”
He begrudgingly retreated, flopping down on your couch. At only seven feet, it wasn’t even pretending to be long enough for him, his tail lazily draping over the end.
After cooking the meat for hours, the last steps for carnitas always felt strangely rushed. You took a big vat of sour cream from the fridge, tortillas and hot sauce from the pantry. Placing the trays on the stove to cool, you dropped one steaming piece of pork in your mouth. Perfection. Mama would be proud.
From the couch came a small whine, as the top of your boyfriend’s head peered over the back of the countertop. “Dear god, that sssssmells so good. I’m about to drown in my own drool.”
You clicked your tongue and shot him a sideways glance. “Are you a dog, whining for your food like that?” His brow twitched in embarrassment. “Am I dating a dog, Santiago?”
He collapsed dramatically onto the couch, whumping down on the pillow. “You’re always teasing me, Raptor.”
“You make it too easy, darling.” Your lips curled upward as you poured the juices over the cooling meat and tried another piece.
“It’s reeeeeaady,” you sang.
“Yaaaaaaaaayyyy!” He threw his hands in the air as he cheered. He was playing it up for you, of course, but he was still clearly excited, his tongue rapidly flicking in and out of his mouth. “I can get up for it.”
“Nope,” you said, already setting down the toppings on the coffee table.
“What are these for?” he said, shrugging his shoulders. You rolled your eyes. He was always feigning ignorance about food, saying that a childhood in the swamp left him with simple tastes. Humans make it all too complicated, he insisted, with these vegetables and sauces and spices. But it was all a ruse. He loved savory food especially, and there was no hiding it; he rolled each bite around on his tongue to bask in its flavors.
You brought over the two heaping trays of pork, and he rubbed his hands together. “Not yet,” you admonished, a pair of fingers tracing the lines between your eyes and his. He smiled but said nothing, tongue still snapping out between his lips. Last, you brought the tortillas and napkins, plopping yourself down on the couch. “I’ll make your first?” you asked.
He nodded. “Thank you, sssweetie.” You loaded it up with everything, including nearly a fistful of the pork. You smirked as you passed it to Santiago, who was now visibly salivating.
He grabbed it from your hand and didn’t— maybe physically couldn’t— force himself to wait a moment longer. He took his first bite, and his eyes fluttered shut. “Mmmmmm, oh zhissssh is ssssho good,” he said, barely getting the words out before cramming the rest into his mouth.
You laughed quietly as you piled up your own tortilla and laid down on his chest. He was only too happy to have you, his tail curling slowly around your body, tiny by comparison.
“Why would you ever eat out when you can cook like thisssss?” he said, licking the grease off his fingers.
“You flatter me.”
“It’sss not flattery if it’sss true.”
You cocked your eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it still is, actually.” Then, slapping him playfully on the tail that laid across your chest, you nodded to the trays. “Anyway, eat up. I made this for you, it’s all yours.”
His tail abruptly stopped sliding across you, shocked. You could practically hear his eyes bug out. “All of it?”
“As long as you let me sneak in a few, yeah. I told you I was gonna feed you for real, didn’t I?”
He wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head again and again. “Oh, whatever I did to deserve you, it couldn’t possssssibly have been enough.”
You hummed, lifting his hands off of you to prepare yourself another. “I’m not gonna keep making them for you, though, you gotta dish your own from now on.”
He giggled and mussed your hair, and then hastily piled some meat on a tortilla. As he scarfed it down, the tip of his tail poked up to lie on your chest, as it always did when you ate together. Warm on both ends, he would say.
He ate for nearly an hour, cleaning every last bit of meat off the trays. Mama always told you that the highest compliment that a cook could receive was a silent meal. But she was wrong. Santiago’s gratitude was vocal as he pounded one loaded shell after another into his mouth. His tongue turned its flavors into all manner of sighs, grunts, and murmurs. You said almost nothing the entire time, soaking in that beautiful music of his.
Swallowing his last bite, he smacked his lips and heaved an enormous sigh. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! It was amazing, sssweetheart. A gift from heaven.” His scales tickled as you pressed himself closer to you.
Your cheeks flared and you gave him an embarrassed smirk. You rubbed his belly, engorged from the sheer size of his dinner. “You full now?”
“Oh god, yesss,” he groaned, his hand resting on top of yours. “I won’t eat for another week.”
“Mmmm, then I’m satisfied.” You nuzzled his side, and he squeezed you gently in response. By then he had engulfed you entirely in his tail, leaving only your head and arms uncovered. It was not a warm embrace; you, in fact, were the furnace in the relationship. But it was still immensely comforting to you, like nothing you had known before. His tail rarely came to a complete stop, always slithering gently in place, and the texture of his scales soothed you as they brushed over your skin.
You were lost in that full-body massage when he cleared his throat. You lifted your head to see him watching you, with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.
“Ssssssso, we were going to watch a movie?”
You smiled. One of the few things you loved about your apartment was that when the sun went down, it got dark. There were no streetlights and the road rarely saw traffic that late, so the most light that made it into your apartment was filtered through two window shades from your neighbors. It was a gentle reminder from the world that it was time to sleep.
Or, more relevant to present company, it set the perfect mood for a campy horror movie. Watching them had become a Friday night ritual, and you were delighted that this week, Santiago was going to be part of it.
There was just one problem. “Aww, you’re gonna make me get the lights?” You brushed one hand along his abs and the other up his tail, from the tip to as far as you could reach. It wouldn’t take more than ten seconds for you to hit the switches, of course. But in that moment you wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped up in him forever.
He cocked his head. “No, I’ll get them. Where are they?” You didn’t exactly want him to stand up either— it takes two to cuddle, after all. But instead of arguing, you pointed to the wall next to the front door. To your surprise, he did not move to stand up. He scrunched his tail into a hump where you had pointed, and then smacked it clumsily against the switch.
You giggled, but it worked.
The title screen rolled and the score began, a creepy little melody that already had you grinning. You could already feel his body tensing around yours. Stealing a glance at him, you barely recognized the voracious predator that destroyed your carnitas. In his place, a young man, wide-eyed and lock-jawed, features tensed as if preparing for a fight.
You tried to sound casual. “Hey darling, what’s up?”
“I— I don’t watch a lot of movies like thisss...” he said, softly.
“Oh,” you said. A little disappointed, you reached for the remote. You had others you could put on, of course. Honestly, you’d watch anything if it meant you’d get to snuggle with him the rest of the evening. But still, this shift in the routine felt like you were betraying the tradition.
“No, I want to watch!” he said, grabbing your wrist, and then immediately releasing it. “I mean, if you like it, I’m sure I’m gonna like it.” His eyes narrowed into a smile, their dim light seeming to sharpen as they glinted off his teeth. “I’ll tell you if we should ssstop, I guessss.”
Understanding flashed through your mind. “Oh my god, Santiago are you scared?” No way, you thought, it couldn’t be that perfect.
He shifted in place. “A little, yeah,” he admitted.
You covered your mouth to stifle a giggle. “Oh, now this is gonna be fun.”
His eyes suddenly widened. “I ssshouldn’t have told you that, should I?” he asked weakly.
You set down the remote and brushed his cheek, still giggling as you shook your head. “No, Santiago.” You leaned up to plant a small kiss on his lips. “You absolutely should not.”
He sighed and buried his head in your shoulder. “Hmph. Sssome help you are.”
The film was new to you, but it was clearly a love letter to the B movies that the directors had enjoyed as teenagers, hitting beats that were all too familiar. Your boyfriend probably had a harder time seeing that love through the spooky veneer. But his reactions breathed life into the experience like you hadn’t felt in years. After all, you could see the jump scares coming from a mile away, but he was caught off guard every time, letting out small yelps. And as the tension mounted, you could feel him instinctively constricting more and more around you, anticipating the next big release.
But it was the gore that really got him. The first death scene was a decapitation, and when the guy’s head flew off, he shuddered so hard it rippled down his entire body, jostling you several times on the way down. You could tell that the second one was going to be bloody as well, which gave you an idea. Just as the nerd’s guts spilled out of their chest, you dug your nails into his sides as hard as you could and scratched them across the same spot.
He bucked wildly and howled, tossing you around in his grasp. You collapsed into his chest, laughing. “Geez, Santiago, you’re gonna wake the neighbors.”
“Damn you,” he muttered, bopping you upside the head.
You hugged him, but before long your hands had other plans. They began roaming around his sinuous curves, matching his motions along yours. You relished the gentle firmness of his spotted green scales in your palms. He rewarded your affection with sharp, breathy gasps, and deep shivers that shook both of your bodies. Soon the movie was forgotten entirely as you wrapped around each other, snuggling ever closer.
Your intimate dance was interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream, the heroine finally succumbing to a grisly death. Your poor boyfriend nearly jumped out of his skin, spasms flinging his tail around wildly until—
CRASH!
His tail connected with the pile on the far side of the room, striking it to the ground.
“Oh my god, I’m ssso sssorry!” he said, immediately stilling himself and letting you go.
“What happened?” you asked, still dazed.
“I’m sssorry, I’m sssorry, I didn’t mean to, I should have been more careful!”
Putting the pieces together, you let out a relieved chuckle. “Hey, hey, it’s fine! Stop—” you fumbled around for the remote. “It’s fine, Santiago.”
He groaned. “I should never have come over, it was ssstupid, we both knew there wasn’t room—”
“No, listen—”
“I broke everything!” His voice was loud but it wobbled, as if he was on the verge of tears.
“Darling, stop. Look at me.” You grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Where’s the light?” you grumbled, tripping over his length as you turned on a lamp. His gaze immediately snapped to the mess he had made, but yours kept trained on him. You didn’t care what had fallen down. You rushed back to him, grabbing his chin. “Darling, look at me.”
He did, and what a sorry sight it was. His normally toned skin was near-white and his mouth sagged, hanging open. His eyes were wide, downcast, and wet with half-formed tears. You stuck out your neck toward him, trying to match his pathetic look with one of patient determination.
“First of all, you did not break everything.” You glanced over at the trinkets now scattered across the floor, none of which had any significance at the moment. “I don’t think you broke anything at all. But even if you did, that’s okay.” He whimpered in protest. “No, Santiago, I mean it. It’s okay. We both knew it was going to be tight, and I wouldn’t have let you come over if it mattered that much to me.” Your features softened, but you spoke seriously. “That stuff doesn’t matter. You matter. I’m glad you’re here.”
As you spoke, he closed his eyes and took long, deep breaths. He began to nod, your words bringing him to his senses. “If you want to go home, I get that, but I’d rather have you stay.”
He nodded, swallowing. “Me too,” he whispered.
The two of you sat in silence for a while as he continued calming down. You smiled at him; when he opened his eyes, he sighed in response. “You’re too good to me, Raptor,” he said, dipping his head. You bent down to meet his far-off gaze. The embarrassment was still etched into his face, but at least his hysterics seemed to have passed.
“Now, you want to finish the movie?”
He let out a weak grunt. “What, so I can wreck the resssst of your apartment?”
“Yeah, well,” you said, grinning. “I wasn’t really watching anyway.” You blinked, surprised by the truth in your words. Years of Friday night movies, and you couldn’t remember a single time that you’d actually stopped watching one entirely. But somehow, you thought to yourself as he began wrapping you once more in cool scaly coils, this change in the routine suited you just fine.
