The night started out like any other Friday evening: your best friend noisily barging into your apartment in an obnoxious, but well intentioned, effort to involve you in less reclusive hobbies.

Seeing as how they had reduced their frequent attempts to a single night each week, you've decided to humor them. After all, it's only a couple hours in town-not much can happen, right?

As usual, the night's plan consisted of a visit to a well populated bar or club, this time one neither of you had set foot in before. This wasn't strange, given your own habits-but it was with some surprise when your questions of familiarity were met with a negative.

It wasn't long after stepping through the doors that your friend left to mingle with the other clubgoers, ever the social butterfly. You, on the other hand, are less than comfortable in such a densely occupied atmospheres, and quickly make your way over to a bar counter far off the wayside of the dance floor.

No one notices you as you quietly pay for your drink and seclude yourself amongst the unoccupied barstools. That's just fine in your opinion; despite your mate's encouragements, all of your outings added up to you finding a quiet out of the way spot and entertaining yourself with whatever you'd managed to sneak along; a book, CD player. Your friend often chastised you for 'hiding', but you didn't have the heart to debate the point.

This time however, you hadn't managed to secure anything of note-only your smartphone, and you weren't the sort of person to waste power scrolling through social media or texting. Without any object to focus your attentions on, you settled for trying to sort out your companion from the bobbing heads of the club inhabitants.

After several attempts, and failed guesses, you decided to give up-only for them to make themselves known, as they emerge from the crowd in your direction. At first you thought they were seeking you out to tell you something, hopefully that you could leave now-but instead they only winked as they passed you to hop onto a barstool a few chairs over.

Confused at first, you then realize they've started chatting up a woman you somehow didn't notice having slid into a seat nearby.

"Well, that certainly is an interesting offer-but I think I'd like a test drive first". You manage to catch the latter half of their conversation, the lady surprisingly returning your friend's advances with her own flirty smirk.

Suddenly you feel as though you should have asked for the car keys, as they abandon their seats and head for one of the restrooms. A gut feeling tells you it's going to be a few more hours before you'll be able to head back to your apartment.

Roughly half an hour passes, ten of them spent doodling on a napkin before you relent and finally pull out your phone-at the very least you can try to get through some of an E-book before it inevitably runs out of power.

You almost don't notice when someone drops into the seat next to you with a heavy groan. You do, however, pay little mind to it-both engrossed in your current novel, and not at all willing to engage in any sort of conversation, polite or otherwise.

"Pour me a tonic, and... two bottles of rum-one for me, and my buddy here". Now that got your attention, you may have been purposefully ignoring your surroundings, but you would have noticed if more than one person had sat next to you.

"Uh, no-please. That won't be neces-" Your words halted when you turned to look at the bemused grin on the reptile's face. You hadn't entirely taken stock of the situation yet, but something didn't feel right.

"I was referring to this boy," she paused to slap at her large, distended stomach, which you only just now noticed, "here, actually. You don't look like you could hold a bottle in you!"

This was the woman your friend had left with nearly an hour ago now, but they were nowhere to be seen. If they'd been gone for that long, and she wasn't worn out by whatever they were doing-surely they'd have enough energy to at least follow them out of the restroom?

And that gut; while you weren't really paying attention before, you definitely didn't see that when she left before. And the sudden frenzied movements in the scales, elicited by the downing of her first bottle of rum, did little to convince you she was somehow spontaneously impregnated.

Your eyes widened, the obvious conclusion reaching the forefront of your mind only seconds before she picked it up with a knowing smirk.

"Oh sorry, was that your friend? Well, take me back to your place and maybe you can convince me to let them out!" The taunt, while delivered in a half serious tone-and followed by a hiccupping belch as she downed the second bottle of rum-immediately dashed any hope of the contents of her stomach being anything but what you previously suspected.

Your thoughts bounced from one decision to another, warring to conclude upon which path to take in order to save your best friend. And damned if you wouldn't be saving them; they may be annoying at times, but they stuck with you at your worst-and even this whole night was the product of them attempting to liven your life somewhat. In a way, it was kind of your fault that they were in this situation to begin with.

While you debated over the correct course of action, the woman beside you chuckled to herself-finishing off the last of the rum before turning around in her seat to stand up. The heavy slosh of liquid snapped you out of your musing, her gut wobbling like a water balloon in front of her-another belch stirred by the movement-before she made her first steps away from you.

Seeing her begin to leave, along with the reminder that not only was your best friend submerged in the normal contents of her stomach, but that they risked drowning in the copious amounts of alcohol that filled it, filled you with enough determination to act.

"Your place or mine?" A well of confidence filled your tone, one that under any other circumstances would have been replaced by the meek muttering of your usual demeanor. If nothing else, she turned back to face you-her stomach swaying from side to side once more. She seemed surprised that you had even responded, let alone issued the question.

"I said," you press, not willing to allow this woman to just walk off and murder your friend, "your place? Or mine?"

Her perplexed expression slowly changes to one of glee, before cooling into her previous sly gaze. Returning to stand in front of you, she put a palm on her stomach-rubbing up and down the front of the ball where scales showed through between her fishnet top and torn dress.

"I must say, I certainly didn't expect such bravado from a shy one like yourself. Maybe we can have some fun tonight after all," you stand up, continuing your façade and not allowing her to look down at you, "how about your place; I always like a change of scenery after eating out!"

You carefully don't react to her as she continues to laugh and pat her belly when you lead her out. Looking away from her, uncertainty flashes in your eyes-unsure of what will happen after the long trek back to your apartment. You can only hope to think of something once you get there...

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Part one, in a lovely two part commission by  DarkArtist I've been a fan of them, amongst the many on this site, for quite a while-so do me a favor and send them some praise, alright?

Part two to be completed shortly.

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