Tohru's unconscious, dream-spurred tail twitches were the worst thing about her spending the night in bed. Fat, rippled poil snaked around the hips; roiling tides of sheen scales slipped between the legs. She could hardly control her fiery demeanor during the day, so with fantasies running amok in the depths of sleep, the arcane serpent's meaty tail squired and slapped a steady din of groans and hisses out of her beloved office lady. Over a number of months, with Tohru's nightly intrusions slowly becoming more regular—more tolerated—Kobayashi's stream of standard "No"s and "Stop"s had given way to gentler "Enough..."s before crumbling into "Fine"s, dry sighs and skittish glances from dead-fish eyes.
/
So-called "death marches" were no foreign event to the Oborozuka branch of the Jigokumeguri Corporation, but even the most hardened of salary workers still dreaded the idea of an office sleepover: less of a night's sleep and more of an extended lunch break with a baked-in nap time. Orderly cubicles and walkways had warped into narrow, winding fjords: splayed-out, snoring bodies and satchel bag pillows bumbled Kobayashi's steps into awkward, achy paces toward an empty spot against the wall. She slumped down, crumpled by exhaustion but grateful that she didn't have to tolerate the office tile. With no one to witness, the workaholic programmer vanished from perception; and while she still held certain aspects of a maid's expected conduct as uncompromising truths, she had slowly warmed up to the advantages of one's own maid being a mythical beast from a magical world.
Tohru hummed a soothing lullaby, cradling her master's head in her lap. Carnation-white fingers gently combed through salmon-pink bangs, tracing a tender touch along cheek and jaw. Kobayashi mumbled; head wordlessly turned into Tohru's hand. Face nestled in that familiar, charcoal-blue frock, her nose picked up on her dragon's other-worldly scent: a sort of dry, earth-dusted pine kindling—a burning green; rich and dancing with a comfortable energy. It wasn't long before Kobayashi had drifted to sleep, the slightest smile on her face as Tohru's thick, smooth-scaled tail soothed the stress from her lady's lower back with gentle, rhythmic rubbing.
/
Maids, of course, on some level, were indeed a part of the family. They were a reliable, charming and encouraging face within the household: a comforting presence in any room, hallway or outdoor space as they performed any number of odd jobs which kept a master's daily life in order. Yet among all of the Victorian paragons poised in postures of distinguished servitude and neatly staggered across the living room wall upon calendar cut-outs, Kobayashi found not one lounging on a sofa at day's end, cuddling up and sighin softly into the household head's shoulder. What horrified the maid fanatic more so was how she tolerated Tohru's behavior; nay even looked forward to it with a subdued, self-aware and self-depreciating giddiness.
Empty beer can rested on the table. Television droned evening news. Quiet din of summer wind and passing cars sluiced through the apartment's ajar balcony door. Yet Tohru's breathing was all that Kobayashi heard. The svelte pressure of interlocked fingers: her only palpable sensation. Thumb swirled sudden circles into Tohru's palm, but the dragon's only reply was a sleepy, half-conscious moan. Head tilted away and teeth pulled at lower lip as Kobayashi wondered if a peaceful, napping Tohru might not wake from just a little peck to the forehead.
