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When Blue’s knuckles connect with his face, Red doesn’t really feel the pain. Not exactly. Sure, it hurts – getting sucker-punched full-force by a pissed off best-friend-turned-rival-turned-friend-again-turned-whatever-the-hell-they-are-now doesn’t feel good (at least, it’s not supposed to.)
But Red’s not focusing on the pain.
He’s not focusing on the throbbing in his jaw. He’s not even focusing on the angry words Blue is spitting in his face, his hot breath puffing up to obscure his vision. He has no idea what vitriolic babble is spewing from Blue’s mouth. It all sounds like complete gibberish – it might as well be.
No, Red’s too busy focusing on the sensation of the touch itself.
Blue is wearing gloves, but Red swears he could still feel the heat from his hand through the insulating fabric. (He’s probably imagining it.) He wants Blue to punch him again. He’s desperately hoping that Blue will punch him again. If Arceus is real, It will listen to his silent pleas and make Blue punch him again.
“—are you even listening to me?!” Blue screeches. “I can’t fucking believe you! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Punch me.
Hit me.
Shove me as hard as you can.
Wrap your fingers around my neck and choke me out.
Put your hands on me again.
Red says nothing, his words stuck in his throat, lodged in his windpipe, because he can’t believe he’s praying for his best friend to hurt him. He wants Blue to beat him up. No, he needs it. He needs Blue’s hands on him, he needs to feel the feeling of another person again. It’s been so long, too long. He doesn’t care how he gets it – he needs to feel it. Now that he’s felt it, it’s all he can think about.
Blue spins away sharply, his scarf fluttering around him. “I told Leaf it was a stupid idea to come here,” he mutters under his breath. Red nearly reaches out to grab him, but stops short. His brain short-circuits and won’t let him move any further.
The mere thought of touching Blue makes him want to vomit. Bile rises into his throat instantaneously, when he imagines his hand reaching out to grasp Blue’s forearm.
Red flinches back, taking a step away instead of towards Blue, crunching the icy grass under his sneakers, and shoves his hands into his pockets to keep himself from doing something else stupid. Blue’s head turns slightly towards the noise. Then more, as if he’s regarding Red in a new light. His eyes focus on Red’s face. Blue reaches out again. Red braces himself for another punch, and preps himself to retaliate, because as long as it’s been since he’s felt another person, it’s been just as long since his last fist fight, and he’s aching to start swinging.
Blue doesn’t touch him.
His hand is less than an inch away from Red’s face. He’s so close, Red can feel the fibers of his glove brushing against the peach fuzz on his cheek. If Red were to shift even a little bit, his cheek would be comfortably cradled by his palm. “Shit,” he says quietly, sounding embarrassed. “...I forgot how easy you bruise.”
...what?
Red hums uncertainly. His tongue probes his lip, and he tastes blood. His lip is split. Blue sure knew how to throw a punch. “It’s...fine,” he returns. “I wasn’t listening to you. Had it coming.”
“No, it’s not fine.” Blue sighs. His hand falls back down to his side. “I wouldn’t have been listening to me, either. It’s probably a good thing you weren’t listening, to be honest.”
...what??
Blue’s...changed.
A lot.
He’s bulked out, growing into his long, lanky limbs. He’s taller, but still just a smidge shorter than Red. His voice is deeper. His auburn hair is bleached into a peachy ginger. He has facial hair, the sparse beginnings of stubble dusting around his mouth and cheeks. He even has a nose ring, a little stud in one nostril that glistens in the diamond dust. When Red turned around to see who was approaching him on the peak of Mt. Silver, he didn’t recognize Blue at first; he looked like a completely different person altogether.
And, he doesn’t think with his fists first, anymore. Apparently. Sort of. He was actually trying to talk to Red before he socked him in the mouth for ignoring him, so Red will give him that, at least.
...fascinating.
Red takes a small breath. “You...look good,” he compliments, to break the proverbial ice. And he means it, truly – Blue does look good. He’s become rather handsome, in all honesty. “I, uh…” He points to his own hair. “I like the ginger. Looks nice on you. And the nose ring.”
Blue’s face flushes. He clears his throat. “Uh...thanks,” he says awkwardly. “You, too. You, uh, you look good, I mean. You look good, too. Like, shockingly good. It...I’m surprised you’re...”
Not dead.
There’s a silence that coats them, along with the snow that’s gently cascading from the sky.
He has no idea how to talk to this person who looks vaguely like the Blue he used to know.
Red swallows. “It’s, um...been...a while,” he comments, feeling the proverbial ice reforming. “Uh...”
Blue smiles. It’s a lopsided grin, different but familiar. His cheek dimples with it. “It’s been five years,” he says, answering Red’s unasked question. “If you’d been paying attention, you would’ve heard me say that.”
(That vaguely rings a bell. Five fucking years, Red! Yeah, Blue might have said that. But...)
“...five?” That can’t be right. “Five years…?”
“Yeah.” Blue’s face falls again. His eyes leave Red’s. “Five years.”
Days blur into weeks blur into months into years into half a decade. Red has been living on Mt. Silver for five years. He was a teenager when he first scaled the summit. He’s been making the most of the environment, he’s been training his team and perfecting his skills and bonding with his Pokémon for five whole years. His Fame Checker, the only thing he had that kept time and date and regularly updated with news of the surface, died ages ago.
Red’s eyes flicker down to where Blue’s hand rests on his hip, then back up to his face. “How, um...how did you...know?” Red asks. “That I was here?”
“A friend. You might know her.” His smirk returns when Red gives him a quizzical look. “Your girlfriend ratted you out.”
Girlfriend…? Red mouths in confusion.
It hits him.
He startles back, inhaling sharply.
Lyra.
He told her to keep it a secret. He told her to not even mention she battled someone, to just completely omit the fact entirely. He told her, if people asked why she was gone for so long, to say that she went to train, got stuck in a blizzard, and had to take shelter, and that was it. He told her to say, if anyone asked, there’s no one living on Mt. Silver, to say it’s uninhabited. To say any rumors spread by researchers down at the bottom, rumors of a ghost that haunts the summit, are completely baseless. To say there’s no one, to say there’s no body – there’s not even any bones. To say there is no sign of life here besides the wild Pokémon.
Lyra promised she wouldn’t say anything, as they sat side-by-side in front of his campfire. Her hand unashamedly grabbed his and locked his pinky into a promise, and he nearly shoved her into the flames with how absolutely horrid and unwelcome and unfamiliar it felt. She promised she wouldn’t say a word. She said her lips were sealed. He asked her how he could trust her; he didn’t even know her.
She stayed for one week, then two, camped out in his camp to stay safe from a sudden blizzard.
They became fast friends. Good friends. Lyra showed him her PokéGear, the latest development in communication technology, and all the different widgets and apps that came with it, and let him fiddle around with it in curiosity. She told him about all the new types that have been discovered, as they did morning stretches together. She told him all about Mega Evolution, the latest fad hitting the competitive battle sphere, and demonstrated it with her Ampharos. She showed him newly discovered evolutions from her Pokédex, excitedly clicking through each entry with overwhelming energy. She taught him about all the new match ups as they lay next to each other in their sleeping bags.
Lyra told him about how Leaf became Champion of Kanto. She told him about how Blue took over Viridian City Gym. She told him about how Rocket tried to make a comeback in Johto, but she stopped them. Lyra was chatty – a welcome change, even though it annoyed him to hell and back the first few days. And his quiet nature didn’t put her off at all; in fact, she seemed to like it.
(She called him a good listener. He called her a good storyteller. She said she liked hearing his opinions. He said he was content simply listening to her voice. She giggled, and said she’d take that as a compliment. He smiled, and said she should, because it was.)
Before she left, after the blizzard finally subsided, she promised him she wouldn’t tell a soul. He asked how he could trust her.
(You still don’t trust me, after all this time? she laughed. Come on, Red. Who am I gonna tell?)
(You can’t, he begged. You can’t tell anyone.)
(I won’t. I swear. What do I need to do to convince you?)
(He hadn’t answered. Lyra got in his personal space, too close for comfort despite how close they’d managed to get with each other over the last couple of weeks. She wrapped him in a hug, tight and warm, and before he could involuntarily rip away, kissed him on the corner of his mouth. He completely melted in her touch. His knees went weak and his heart began to palpate so fast and so hard he thought he was having a panic attack. I promise, she swore. I promise.)
(Your secret’s safe with me.)
When she left, Red missed her. Desperately. He longed for her companionship, for that brief connection they shared for those too-short two weeks. He nearly begged her to stay, for just a little longer. He considered letting Articuno out to fly and whip up another snowstorm, to create a false narrative where she’d be forced to stay, but he couldn’t do that to her. Lyra needed to go home. She had family, a mother who loves her, and friends, a boy she grew up close to. Plus, she’s the Champion of Johto.
She was exactly like him, except she had a life to return to.
Nothing but lies. It was all lies. Lyra was always going to tell. She admitted it, when she first arrived, that Blue told her all about him. That he told Lyra she reminded him of Red. That they had the same sort of burning energy, the same fierce determination in their eyes. She said Blue missed him, deeply. She said he was lonely, she said he seemed depressed.
Red didn’t believe her.
But now that he’s staring Blue in the face, watching his cocky expression fall more and more as he realizes this information is giving Red some seriously conflicting emotions, he can see it – the concern Blue has for him. “Look, don’t...be mad at her, alright?” Blue asks softly. “She was really worried about you, man. She said she thought you’d come down with her.”
She asked him to. He vehemently denied her. He wouldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back. And when it finally broke through, that she would be returning to civilization alone, she finally, reluctantly, left him. Red shakes his head, and takes another step back.
He’ll have to leave Mt. Silver.
He’ll have to find somewhere else.
If Lyra told Blue, who’s to say she hasn’t told everyone she knows? He can’t stay, now that people know where he is. They won’t stop coming, now that the secret is out. With curious trainers, looking for a fight with Kanto’s elusive Champion, comes even more curious investigative reporters, looking for a scoop about the freak of nature who fled from society to live among the Pokémon of Mt. Silver.
People will just continue to betray him, over and over again. Red can’t trust anyone, anymore.
“Lyra’s the one who asked me to come find you,” Blue admits. “I said I’d give a month. To see if you’d come chasing after her with your tail between your legs, begging for forgiveness. And you didn’t. Kinda dirty to treat her like that.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” is all Red can manage to get out, with his lungs trying to betray him the way they are.
“No? Huh.” Blue doesn’t believe him. Red could try to convince him, but what does it matter? No amount of denying it will make Blue believe him; in fact, it’d probably make him believe it to be even more true. “Well, whatever. Either way. This whole, uh…” He waves a hand around vaguely. “Whatever it is. Is over. So where’s your stuff?”
“I’m not leaving,” Red states. His heart is thudding in his ears. Blue’s eyebrows skyrocket up under his bangs. “You might as well leave now, before it gets dark.”
“Uh, ha ha, funny joke, pal.” Blue levels him with a glare. “No, you’re coming back with me, whether you like it or not. I’ll knock you on your ass and drag you kicking and screaming through the snow if I have to.”
That’s exactly what Red wants him to do. That’s what Red is praying for him to do. To tackle him to the cold, snowy ground, to beat him senseless and drag him by the ear all the way back down to Pallet, to throw him down on his mother’s doorstep and kick him while he’s still curled up on the concrete.
“I’m not leaving,” he repeats, more frantic, more desperate in his attempts to get Blue to attack him. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” Blue takes a step forward. Red, instinctively, takes a step back. “I told Lyra, I told Leaf, I told Gramps, I told your mother, that I wasn’t coming back without you. You are not going to make a liar of me.”
Red cannot go back to Kanto. He can’t. Kanto is not for him. He can’t go anywhere where people will recognize him. Recognition means no secrets. No privacy. No respect. Everyone will know everything about him, and he’ll never know peace again. He’ll be put under house arrest, to assure he’ll never disappear again. He’s a flight risk. He’ll be considered a danger to himself. He won’t be trusted to take care of himself. No one will be able to take their eyes off him, because if they do, he will vanish quicker than the blink of the eye, and he will ensure he’s never found again.
It’s quiet, on Mt. Silver. It’s calm. It’s private.
It’s home.
This is his home. Blue is asking – no, telling – him to leave his home, his only respite from the overbearing presence of aggravating adults and invasive interviewers and liars. Pokémon don’t lie, because they can’t; they’re literally incapable of it. Red reaches down towards his belt in a burst of desperation. He is not leaving this mountain. He has a right to be here – this is his home. It’s been his home for the last five years. It was bad luck Lyra found him.
He should have left the second he couldn’t see her anymore.
Blue barks a short laugh when he realizes what Red is doing. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he gripes. “Seriously? No, I’m not battling you.”
Red detaches Pikachu’s ball. “You’re going to have to knock me on my ass and drag me kicking and screaming through the snow,” Red says, repeating Blue’s earlier words. Blue’s eyes narrow dangerously. “If you aren’t here for a challenge, you can go back home. Leave me alone. I don’t want your pity party.”
“Pity party?!” Blue bursts into laughter, doubling over at his stomach. “You think I’m here because I pity you? That’s fucking rich.”
In almost an instant, Blue stops laughing and unclips a premier ball from his belt. They’re all premier balls, Red notices; they all match, now, unlike the last time Red saw him, and they aren’t dented and beaten to hell like Red’s are – they’re nice and clean, downright pristine with their pure white shells. The atmosphere shifts as his gaze hardens to stone and zeroes in on Red.
Blue is in his element – battling is his job. He’s seen all sorts of combinations of Pokémon, all sorts of teams with all sorts of trainers. Red has seen, and fought, exactly one person since he absconded from the champion seat.
Red is at a major disadvantage. His mind is screaming that this is a bad idea. He’d have better luck with a fist fight. (At least then, he’d have a fair chance at winning.)
Blue knows his entire team front to back. Red has no idea who Blue plans to lead with. He has no idea if Blue’s team has changed, or if he merely replaced their balls. He has no idea what Blue will come up with for a strategy. Blue’s not fifteen anymore; he’s no longer the same brash and overly-confident teenager he once was, someone who used his Pokémon purely as a means to get ahead. He’s twenty, he has the experience to back his bragging, and he’s ready to crush Red’s team into the ground as though he’s just another weak one-badge trainer.
(Lyra told him that sometimes, if Blue is in a bad mood, even the older kids will leave the gym in tears, because Leader Blue obliterated their team in less than five minutes while pointing out every single one of their flaws and weaknesses, and sent them away with a come back when you’re worth my time. The strongest Gym Leader Kanto has ever seen, she had said; it even took her a few tries to beat him.)
“You really want to do this?” Blue asks. “I don’t plan on holding back.”
This...is a bad idea.
Red nods.
“You challenged me,” Blue says for clarification. Red nods. “As per League regulation, I establish the terms of the battle. I assume you have no qualms with that, since, well. You know. You’re the one challenging me. You know the rules of the game, Champ.”
This is a very bad idea.
Red nods.
Blue’s stance changes. He straightens up, no longer posturing in his usual, casual half-lean. He holds his ball out towards Red. “Six on six,” he announces. His voice is steely, professional; he’s taking this as seriously as he would an officiated gym match. “No items. No switching, except through moves. Do you accept the terms of the battle?”
Red swallows. This is his last chance to back out, tuck his tail between his legs, and acquiesce with Blue’s request to leave the mountain with him, to return to the life he fled.
This is an incredibly bad idea.
“I accept.”
They stare at each other. Red’s grip tightens on Pika’s ball. For the first time in his battling career, he is terrified of losing.
Nothing is spoken as they throw their balls into the field. Pika emerges from hers with a squeak, shaking out her fur and looking back at Red curiously.
Blue leads with a Tyranitar.
Red has never seen it before today.
His heart stutters. He needs to get Pika out of there. A twirl of the finger, and Pika uses Volt Switch. Tyranitar Protects, and immediately counters with an Earthquake so powerful it nearly knocks Red off his feet, and knocks Pika out in one hit.
Blastoise.
He points for Blast to aim Hydro Pump. Blue’s Tyranitar glows bright with crackling electricity. A bright flash of lightning snaps directly in front of him, immediately followed by an ear-shattering clap of Thunder that makes him jump, and takes Blast out. Blue’s Tyranitar knows Thunder. Blue came prepared to battle. He expected this to happen. He expected Red to challenge him. He tailored his team specifically to take Red out.
Blood boils in his ears.
Venusaur.
Venus launches Leech Seed and Tyranitar is too slow to Protect against it. Good; he can play the waiting game now, at least for a while. Tyranitar chases Venus as she hops across the snowfield, attempting to tackle her, but misses. She gets close enough to attach her vines for Giga Drain. Tyranitar is too slow to Protect, but now that Venus is close, it’s able to ram full force into her side with a pained roar.
Another crack of Thunder assaults Red’s ear drums. Venus is paralyzed. She tries to spit up a Sludge Bomb, but it misses. She tries to shoot her vines out for Giga Drain, but Tyranitar Protects. Another attempted Double-Edge that misses. Another Sludge Bomb that lands. Tyranitar is poisoned. It runs across the field, its heavy footfalls shaking Red to the core, and he watches in horror as it crashes into Venus so hard, it takes enough recoil to make it faint, too. It was a suicide tactic, to cut his losses – Tyranitar was no longer viable, and according to his own rules, Blue couldn’t switch. It was the only way to ensure he wouldn’t have an immediate disadvantage to Red’s next Pokémon.
Blue has become ruthless over the last five years. His experience as a gym leader is shining brightly, and Red is coming to the realization that he is wildly out of practice. Red’s last battle with a human had been nearly two months ago, and before that, five years ago. Blue battles every single day. The difference in their skill has been separated by the yawning maw of a bottomless chasm, with Red left abandoned on the wayside as Blue marched on ahead.
They both hesitate to send their next Pokémon out. It’s three to one; Red is running out of options. “I don’t want to do this,” Blue calls, “but if I have to, I will. I’m not leaving here without you.”
Red’s fingers run along the balls on his belt. He grips one, and launches it into the air. Snorlax crashes down to the earth the same time Arcanine does. Snore’s dozing; she hadn’t been expecting to be tossed into battle, clearly. Blue at least gives Red the courtesy of letting him wake her up. And once she’s up, she beats on her stomach twice for Belly Drum and munches down on the sitrus berry she’s holding in her paw.
He can see Blue’s lips twitch into a smile from the other side of the field. That’s...concerning.
Red notices Arcanine’s focus sash hidden under her mane moments before Snore pummels her with a full-force Giga Impact, way too late to call for her to switch tactics. As she’s reeling from her expended energy, Arcanine retaliates with her own full-force Reversal.
Blue planned for that. Blue predicted it. He can’t believe it.
Snore is down.
Arcanine wobbles on her paws, and before she can crash into the snow, she vanishes with a flash of light. “I’m benching her,” Blue calls. “She’s exhausted, and can’t fight anymore. Might as well be fainted. Consider it three to two.”
Red’s hands are shaking as he tosses out Charizard’s ball, who emerges with a roar. Blue sends out a Gyarados. Red has never seen it before today, either, but it doesn’t matter, because it goes down in one hit from Charmy’s Thunder Punch.
Four to three. He’s making progress. Blue sends out Alakazam, next. A protective barrier shimmers around Alakazam. Reflect. Red grits his teeth; he was hoping Charmy would be fast enough to take him out before he could set it up. That’s a problem.
Charmy blows a Will-O-Wisp from his snout. Alakazam shuts his eyes, hovers in the air, and bends one spoon. Calm Mind. That’s a problem.
Soaring into the air, red hot energy gathers in Charmy’s gaping mouth. Alakazam’s spoon straightens out as Charmy lets loose Fire Blast. An explosion of fire sends a heat wave towards Red’s face, melting all the snow on the battlefield. A moment later, Charmy crashes into the freshly created mud, as Alakazam’s Psychic hits. He’s knocked out.
Red stands there, breathing heavy, staring at the spot on the ground where Charmy crash-landed with wide eyes and pure rage in his heart. Never in his life has he been taken out so quickly; never in his life has he been so humiliated. Alakazam regards him with a pitying gaze. (His eyes seem to say, he tried to warn you.)
“...are you forfeiting?” Blue asks. “You do have another team member.”
Red unhooks Espeon’s ball with trembling fingers. She emerges with a soft cry, landing delicately in the melted snow, and shakes her paw free from of mud. Vee creates a force-field to mimic Alakazam’s, a Light Screen to hopefully dampen the damage of Psychic. Alakazam bends his spoon again. Another Calm Mind. He flinches from burn damage. Vee gathers dark energy up, and releases a massive Shadow Ball that connects with, and knocks out, Alakazam.
Five to four. Red would need the luck of a Chansey to turn this in his favor, because he is sure he knows at least one of the Pokémon Blue has left.
Pidgeot emerges from her ball with a caw, her golden feathers gleaming in the light of the white snow as she stretches her wings, a pretty gemstone charm wrapped around one of her legs like a tag.
“I didn’t want to do this, Red,” Blue says. His hand is clasped around his necklace. “But if it’s the only way you’re going to listen to me, I don’t have a choice.”
There’s a blinding, colorful light bleeding out around Blue’s clenched fist. A massive swirling of energy, so powerful it makes him stagger back and brace himself with one leg. He points to Pidgeot, and all that energy surrounds her and encloses her in a crystal ball of light.
It’s the same effect Lyra’s Ampharos had, before it...
Oh, Red realizes belatedly.
The charm on Pidgeot’s ankle is a mega stone.
Pidgeot emerges from her shell with an ear-shattering cry in her new mega form, her massive gold plumage waving in the wind behind her. She is beautiful, and she is terrifying.
Red is going to lose.
Vee desperately creates another barrier, Reflect this time. Pidgeot flies around the field so fast that Red’s hat is nearly blown clean off his head, and she only seems to be getting faster. She becomes nothing more than a glittering shimmer in the flurry of snow. Snowflakes blur his vision as she creates a wind tunnel around Vee.
Hurricane. An enormous one. It’s so tall, he can’t see the top even when he cranes his neck.
Pidgeot cries as she dive-bombs Vee inside the vortex. He can’t see what Vee does in retaliation. Pidgeot emerges and flies even faster, leaving doubles in her wake. Vee darts out of the swirling column and fires off a Psychic that connects with a double. She’s just too slow; she doesn’t stand a chance. The real Pidgeot tackles Vee with the strongest Return Red has ever seen a Pokémon use.
Vee is left unconscious on the battlefield as the Hurricane finally subsides, and vanishes in a flash of light as Red returns her. Blue breaks the connection he formed with Pidgeot, reverting her to her natural state, before recalling her to her ball. Red can see his forehead glistening with sweat from his place on the far side of the field. His mouth is open and panting; he looks exhausted.
Red fumbles with the balls at his belt, hesitating as his fingers brush against each one.
Pikachu – fainted.
Blastoise – fainted.
Venusaur – fainted.
Snorlax – fainted.
Charizard – fainted.
Espeon – fainted.
And that’s it.
Pikachu, Blastoise, Venusaur, Snorlax, Charizard, Espeon. That’s six.
There’s...no more? No. No, that can’t be right. Blue still has another Pokémon he hasn’t used, yet – that can’t be it.
“It’s over,” Blue calls, voice hoarse. “You have no more Pokémon to use. Do you yield?”
Red’s words stick in his throat. He can’t breathe. His breath quickens. His vision blurs. His heart thuds in his ears.
“Do you yield?” Blue repeats, louder. “You’ve lost, Red. Accept it.”
He lost.
Red lost.
He’s suffocating.
The harsh, cold, biting wind of the peak of Mt. Silver wraps its icy fingers around Red’s neck, squeezing hard enough to burn his lungs, dragging him down further and further in an attempt to drown him. Red tries to take gulps of air around those fingers, desperately trying to inhale enough to emerge from this abyss, and can’t.
He’s hyperventilating.
His vision goes spotty, and Red hears Blue shout hey! right before he collapses.
Red is warm.
Something smells good.
There’s something soft and kind running through his hair, carefully pushing it away from his face. A cool cloth pats gently at his temple, then at his mouth.
He blinks his eyes open warily.
“Morning,” a sideways Blue greets from above him with a frown. “You fainted. Do you remember anything?” Red shifts his head, but Blue’s hands hold him steady. He jumps under the sudden contact, but Blue doesn’t let him budge. “Don’t move too much,” he says. “You hit your head. I got the bleeding to stop, though. And I got the swelling to go down on your lip.”
Red shakily raises his hand to his forehead, fingers feeling around, and cringes when he brushes against a spot that’s covered with a bandage. “Don’t touch it, idiot,” Blue reprimands. “Just – relax, okay? What’s your name?”
What a stupid question. But Blue wouldn’t be asking just for shits and giggles. “Red,” he croaks. He licks his lips to wet them, winces as his tongue catches on the split, and clears his throat. “Red,” he repeats more clearly. Blue looks expectant. “...Satoshi Yamaguchi.”
Blue nods. “How old are you?”
“Twenty.” He hadn’t really known before this afternoon.
Blue pats the cold cloth against his covered wound again. It feels sublime, the way it soothes the throbbing behind his temple. “Where are you from?”
“Kanto. Pallet Town.” What’s with all the questions? “What—”
“Who am I?” he asks, cutting Red off.
Red rolls his eyes. “Annoying.” Blue doesn’t smile. “Blue Oak,” Red amends. Then: “...my best friend.”
Blue blinks, and his cheeks go pink. Finally, a small smile graces his face. “...damn right I am.” His voice is soft. “What do you remember, pal?”
They battled. “...I…” Red swallows dryly. “I lost.”
“Yeah. You did. Here, c’mon, big guy.” Red feels something shift under his head – Blue’s thighs, he realizes – as Blue says, up you go. Blue grabs his shoulders to help push him into sitting upright, keeping him steady when Red starts to careen forward from a sudden bout of dizziness. Then, he forces Red to spin around to face him. “Look at me?”
Red does. They make eye contact. Blue’s eyes are very pretty up close. They’re different colors; hazel, but one is much more green, and one is much more blue, and his eyelashes are long. Red can see little circles in them, clear lenses that cover the pupils, unnoticeable from afar, but easy to see up close. They’re contacts – Blue needs glasses, now? Huh.
He attempts to flinch back when Blue’s hands cup his face, but Blue holds him steadfast. He tilts and turns Red’s head around, his thumbs rub some warmth into his cheeks, his fingertips prod and pull open his eyelids. Red feels sick. After Blue finds whatever he’s looking for, he sighs in relief. “It doesn’t look like you have a concussion,” he explains. “I’m kind of surprised – you went down pretty hard. Had me scared for a second.”
Red can’t move. He can’t breathe. He’s completely frozen, trapped, with Blue’s hands burning his face, the heat radiating from them searing his skin. It feels horribly amazing. Then, it’s gone, when Blue lets him go to reach around for something. “Here,” he says, holding out a thermos. “Drink. It’s tea. Chamomile.”
Red grabs it, carefully and purposefully avoiding brushing against Blue’s fingers. He nearly drops it. Blue’s hands wrap around his, and he does drop it when he yanks away and back, snatching his hands away from Blue’s, just about cracking his head open again on dirt floor of the cave. “Hey, whoa! What the hell? What’s your—”
“Don’t touch me.”
Blue’s words die in his mouth. He makes a little noise, before he snaps his mouth shut. He takes a small breath, and whispers, okay. Red scoots away from him, across the ground, away from the spilled tea, and curls up on himself. “...sorry,” Blue says. “I didn’t know. I won’t, anymore.”
No, that’s not what he wants. He wants Blue’s hands all over him. He wants to feel the warmth of Blue’s skin against his own. He wants Blue to hit him, he wants Blue to strangle him, he wants Blue to wrap him up in his arms and never ever let him go. He wants Blue. He wants to feel something besides the freezing cold of the mountain. He needs it.
He misses Lyra.
He misses the way she forced him to pinky promise with her. He misses how she hugged him, he misses how her lips felt brushing against the corner of his mouth.
He wishes she’d done more, other than just the little tiny fleeting glimpse of a touch she graced him with.
“How are you feeling?” Blue asks him, jolting him from his thoughts. He’s pouring boiling water from a campfire fixture back into his thermos to refill it, plopping another tea bag into it. “...dizzy? Sore? Confused?”
He feels sick to his stomach. “I’m fine,” Red lies.
“Good. Let me know if that changes.”
He wishes Blue were younger again, only because when Blue was younger, he never listened to anything Red asked of him. He wishes Blue were a worse person. He wishes Blue would disregard his request. He wishes Blue would force himself on him. Why is he so different?
In their shared silence, Red takes in his surroundings, if only to distract his own mind. As he’s looking around, he recognizes where he is. This is his fire pit. That’s his equipment. Blue is sitting on one of his blankets. They’re at his camp. His bag has been rummaged through (clearly in a haste, by the way there’s still stuff half hanging out of it), to dig out the first aid kit and other miscellaneous healing items, both for people and for Pokémon. “How’d you find my home?”
“Home?” Blue asks incredulously. “You call this a home?”
“Yes.” It’s got a roof; it’s got a bed. It’s home. “How’d you find it?”
“Arcanine. She sniffed it out.”
“Oh.”
“And before you ask,” he continues, “I healed up your team for you. You’re welcome.”
“...thanks.”
They fall into silence again. It’s truly night, now; Red can see stars glittering in the sky, the light of the moon reflecting brightly off freshly fallen snow. Nighttime on Mt. Silver is quite beautiful, incredibly tranquil. There aren’t many nocturnal Pokémon that make their home here – it’s so quiet, it’s easy to hear the softest of sounds. He can hear the sound of the trees blowing in the cold breeze, he can hear the snow as it accumulates on the ground, as it drifts steadily down to create a new and undisturbed blanket for tomorrow.
Nowhere is as quiet as Mt. Silver’s peak; not even Pallet.
Blue clears his throat, and inches forward to re-offer his thermos. “Here,” he says again, softer, as though Red is a timid-natured Skitty about to bolt from him. “I’ll hold the bottom, so you don’t drop it again. Okay?”
Red carefully grabs it again, and with Blue’s help, he’s able to tilt it up to his mouth, and get a sip of warm and comforting honey and chamomile tea. It tastes like home. “...I know we...didn’t discuss it, not really, but…” Blue trails off. “You did lose. I didn’t say it, in the terms, but...I’m sure you know what was on the table.”
He did. Blue won, fair and square, and even though Red’s a poor loser, he’s a man of his word. He knew exactly what was at stake, when he challenged Blue.
His peace and privacy. His entire life as he’s known it, for the last five years, will be uprooted completely within a matter of days.
He doesn’t respond.
“Red, you...can’t live here forever.” Blue’s giving him another concerned look. “You realize that, right? It’s...not healthy. I mean...aren’t you...I dunno. Worried? About, like...how this is affecting you?”
Maybe, if Blue gets aggravated enough with Red’s lack of answers, he’ll hit him again. Maybe he’ll get so frustrated he loses himself in his anger, and he won’t stop until Red is bleeding and begging for mercy. Anything to feel him again.
He doesn’t respond.
“You’ve got a lot of people who are willing to help you out,” he continues. “I shouldn’t have to convince you of that. You know you’ve got people who care about you. Plenty.”
Everyone he’s known has lied to him. Every single adult he met as a child, as a teen. Every single friend he’s managed to make. Everyone has lied, in one way or another.
He doesn’t respond.
“Are you doing this on purpose?”
Red glances up to see Blue looking at him with a distressed expression on his face. It almost looks angry, but Red’s hopes are dashed before they can even get up, when Blue schools it into something more neutral. “I…” He stops. He takes a little breath. “...I’m sorry I talked to you the way I did, earlier. And I’m sorry I hit you. It...it wasn’t...I was angry, but that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have done it at all. So, I’m sorry.”
Red wishes Blue hadn’t changed so much.
Fifteen year old Blue would skip past trying to reconcile. Fifteen year old Blue never apologized for anything, because fifteen year old Blue was never in the wrong. He wouldn’t give apologies, because they were beneath him. He’d stand by his choice, and he’d do it again without hesitation, because fifteen year old Blue was always in the right. He’d grab Red by the shirt and scream in his face, he’d shove him down and crouch low to sit right on top of him. He’d grab his collar, and he’d give Red’s cheek an ugly new bruise.
It was never one-sided, though – whenever Blue pinned him down, Red would kick him off. They’d beat each other senseless: Blue wouldn’t take Red’s no as an answer, and Red wouldn’t let himself be pushed around; Blue refused to respect Red’s pleas to stop, and Red refused to tell Blue what he wanted to hear. It didn’t matter if they were both bruised and bleeding; they fought and they fought and they fought until they physically couldn’t anymore, only to do it again the next time they disagreed on something.
Getting Pokémon was the worst thing that ever happened to them, because it made Blue stop fighting him. Their arguments started getting settled with battles, not brawls.
It’s been five years since the last time Blue put his hands on Red.
Red misses it. Desperately. Deeply.
He doesn’t respond.
“Look,” Blue sighs, and Red blinks at him. “I can’t read your mind. You have to tell me what you’re thinking.”
“...I can’t.”
Blue looks hurt. His face falls, and he averts his eyes to stare down at his hands, where he’s cupping the thermos of tea. “I want to help you,” he says. He sounds broken, nearly pathetic, in how desperate his voice seems. “Do you just...not trust me? Is that what it is? I mean, I’d get it, but...”
Red can’t trust anyone, anymore.
He can’t even trust himself.
He doesn’t respond.
He curls more into himself. He tucks his head between his knees, and pinches his eyes shut.
Blue sighs again, and Red hears him shuffle around. He hears him come closer. He feels Blue’s presence sidle up next to him. But he doesn’t touch Red, because Red told him not to. Red hears him breathing beside him, slow and steady inhales and exhales, the steady rhythm of life.
“I missed you,” he says. His voice is right next to Red’s ear. “Sometimes, things would happen, and I’d just...I mean, instantly. I’d think, I gotta tell Red. Like...like becoming gym leader. You were the first person I wanted to tell. I didn’t tell Leaf, or Gramps, or Daisy, because I wanted to tell you first. They found out when the public did. I’m sure you can imagine how happy they were about that.”
He doesn’t respond. His shoulders relax.
“I went to Kalos, y’know. To study, mostly. It wasn’t for long, I was only there for a year. It was basically just a glorified internship. Man, you’d love Kalos. Maybe not the cities, but definitely the small towns that are out in the middle of nowhere in the countryside. Tiny places where everyone knows everyone. Some of them are so small, they make Pallet look big. And the food – man, just describing it doesn’t do it justice. I’m surprised I didn’t gain more weight.”
He doesn’t respond. His arms slacken.
“And Mega Evolution, I wanted to tell you the day I was able to form the connection with Pidgeot. It’s...it’s not like...like a normal bond, you know? It takes a lot out of you. I’m putting my all into her. I passed out the first time we tried. I mean, just, totally out. Dropped like a sack of bricks. You should’ve seen the way she was fretting over me. So worried she did something wrong.”
He doesn’t respond. His lip trembles.
“I just...I missed you,” Blue says, his voice tight. “So much. I was so used to you being there, and then you weren’t, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. The only reason why Lyra and I got to know each other was because Daisy gave her my number. Without asking, might I add. Because she said I, quote, needed friends.”
He doesn’t respond. His eyes water.
“I mean, she wasn’t wrong. I...wasn’t talking to anyone. Not even Leaf. I was actively avoiding everyone.” Blue laughs a little. “The first time she called me, I hung up on her. I thought Daisy was trying to set me up or something. How pathetic is that? My game’s so weak I need my sister to get me a date.”
A little laugh bubbles out of Red’s lips. He feels a tear roll down his cheek.
“But she kept calling, and kept calling, and eventually we actually started talking to each other, besides basic pleasantries like, hi, and, are you free for a rematch next Sunday. She’s nice,” Blue admits. “She’s real nice. Friendly. Kind. Caring. But, you know that already.”
He feels another tear roll down his cheek and slip between his lips. He takes a shaky breath, and it ends in a hiccup.
“Aw, c’mon. You know I don’t do crying.” Red hears Blue shift a little bit closer. He unfurls his body, and glances over at him. Blue’s distressed, obviously concerned, eyes wide and worried. But, when they make eye contact, he smiles. Red tries to smiles back, but it feels like a grimace. “Hey, there you are.”
Blue reaches his hand out, as though to rub Red’s back, the way he used to when they were little, and Red would be crying about something stupid that he’d get over within an hour, but he stops just shy of making contact. “...you okay?” Blue asks, and he takes his hand back. Red nods slightly. “Let me help you,” Blue continues. “Stop being so stubborn. I mean, you challenged me to a battle knowing full well I’d kick your ass. If that isn’t stubborn, I dunno what is.”
“I thought I’d win,” Red mumbles. “I always did.”
“Yeah, well.” Blue shrugs. “Things change.”
People change. Blue’s changed, too much. He’s so completely different from the way he was, before. He’s not the same person.
Red is.
Life is perfectly preserved at the peak of Mt. Silver, coated in a thick layer of snow and ice. He’s become stunted, starved out on this mountain, with no new company besides migrating Pokémon. Lyra was a disruption to his routine, an unexpected addition he should have taken as an omen. He should have realized, that life didn’t stand still back down on earth. Of course they didn’t. Things tend to grow and evolve rapidly when they aren’t being suffocated.
People, humanity, thrives in the company of others. They learn from each other. They rely on each other.
Five years is a long, long time without any sort of human contact.
Red is so desperate for love and affection, he spent the better part of the day praying to Arceus that his best friend would beat him up, assault him and force himself on him. If that isn’t stunted and starved, what is?
Blue clears his throat. Red looks back at him. He’s holding his hand out. “C’mon,” he says softly. “Friends?”
Red, despite his better judgment, slips his hand into Blue’s. Blue’s grip tightens instantly, clutching Red as though he has no plans to ever let go. His hand is warm, soft and reassuring. His thumb rubs a small circle into the back of Red’s hand. It feels good. Too good.
He wants more.
He needs more.
Just this little bit of contact is sending his heart and mind into overdrive. He desperately wants to shake himself free from Blue’s grasp, but he can’t bring himself to do it. “I – missed you, too,” Red says haltingly, forcing the words out. “A lot.”
Blue brings his other hand to enclose Red’s completely. He gasps, and involuntarily yanks back, dragging Blue closer to him. But Red doesn’t let go. He’s clinging to Blue’s hand, and he can’t let go. “Are you...okay? Sorry, is…I know you said not to touch you.”
“No.”
Blue frowns, brow furrowing. “...no?”
“It – I’m…” Red feels his lip wobble. His heart beats erratically in his chest, so sporadic and rapid he’s surprised Blue can’t hear it or see it. It feels like it’s trying to beat right out of his chest. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
Their knees are touching, barely, but Red can feel it acutely. Blue’s still rubbing circles in the back of his hand. He has to know – how could he not know, what this is doing to Red? His cheeks are hot, his breathing is ragged. Dizziness consumes him, along with a wave of nausea. Red shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, forcing a few more tears loose from where they hang on his eyelashes.
One of Blue’s hands leaves his, and catches one of those tears with his thumb.
Red moans.
And it’s not some little, withdrawn sound. It’s desperate, it’s wanting, it’s begging for more. His cheeks are burning under Blue’s touch – he can’t believe he just did that. Blue, the bastard, blinks in confusion at first, then gains a particularly evil smile that dimples his cheeks sweetly and squints his eyes up. “Oh,” he says, like he’s reading Red’s mind. “I see.”
He scoots closer. Red tries to lean back and away, but he’s kept in place when Blue cups his face in his hands. Red’s able to hold in his noise this time, but only barely. It just feels so good, to be held again. “You could’ve just said you were lonely, Red,” Blue continues, and another tear gets swipes away by Blue’s thumb. He’s gentle as his hands run down the sides of Red’s face to behind his neck, as he pulls Red’s head towards his chest.
He’s so warm.
Blue’s arms wrap around him. His fingers stay tangled in his hair, practically petting him as though he’s an Eevee kit, and Red is instantly overwhelmed and overcome with feeling. It’s too much, but it’s not enough. He wants more, but he needs it to stop. A whirlwind of mixed emotions erupt in his chest, and he can’t stop himself from letting out a muffled sob into Blue’s shirt.
His fingers fumble around Blue’s sides, dipping down and slipping under his shirt to feel skin, to feel Blue jump at his prodding hands as he runs them up and down his spine, feeling each and every bump and ridge. Blue’s heartbeat stays steady under his ear, a direct contrast to his own near-panicked state. An easy, slow bu-bum, bu-bum, a calming rhythm that reminds Red of home.
He needs to be closer.
Blue’s shirt gets rucked up more as Red’s arms wrap him completely, as his hands desperately reach to get as much skin-to-skin contact as they can possibly get. He maneuvers around until he’s sat squarely between Blue’s legs and clinging to him with his legs circled around his torso, pressing his ear further into Blue’s chest. He can hear every breath Blue takes, how the air fills and deflates his lungs, how his heartbeat changes minutely with each one.
He wants to be closer, but he’s unsure of how. He’s not even sure if crawling inside his skin would suffice. So, this will have to do, for now. Curled up in Blue’s lap like a child, pushing his hands as flat as they can go against his back to maximize the contact, letting his slow heartbeat and his gentle hands calm him down.
It’s not enough, but it’s more than what was.
The only warning Red gets before Blue starts speaking again, is a tiny breath that’s different from the others. “So, when I first got the gig, for running the gym, I skipped out, constantly.” His voice sounds different, coming directly from his chest. It rattles pleasantly against Red’s ear. “I’d open...maybe once a week? If that. I couldn’t settle down. It got so bad it was closed for six whole months, straight.”
That sounds like the Blue he knew, the fifteen year old Blue who never listened to anyone about anything. Blue’s fingernails scratch his scalp, and it feels so good. He hums in thought, and it buzzes against Red’s skull nicely.
“But, obviously, trainers were looking for matches,” he continues. “And I was nowhere to be found. They’d wait days, or even weeks, and I’d never show up. Sometimes, they’d come find me, chase me down. Out in the woods, or wandering in caves, or diving in the ocean. They were looking specifically for me, and that’s what let me know, oh, so they’re serious about their badge. It was the only thing that’d bring me back. I wasn’t gonna waste my time on battles that didn’t matter.”
When they were younger, Red was convinced that Blue talked simply because he liked the sound of his own voice, and that Blue thought he had to fill the overbearing silence with something, because it wasn’t like Red was going to. He used to find it irritating – they’d be laying down for a sleepover, and after ten minutes of silence, right when Red was on the verge of passing out, Blue would attempt to start a conversation. It was always about nothing, about stupid things and whatever random thought popped up into his head, and it didn’t matter if Red never answered, because Blue spoke enough for the both of them.
It would annoy him to no end – couldn’t Blue just shut up? Why’d he always have to talk? Blue didn’t seem to understand the concept of being quiet. (They had their fair share of brawls about that, too, but they were always getting interrupted by Red’s mother stomping up the steps to the loft and flicking the lights on, catching them tussling on the floor with Blue’s fists in Red’s hair and Red’s teeth clamped on Blue’s arm.)
But now, it’s the most comforting noise Red’s ever heard. He doesn’t want Blue to stop talking. The sound of his voice is so familiar, so warming, even though it sounds different than it used to.
“Did you know, about Cinnabar Island exploding?”
Blue’s question catches him off-guard. Red nods, barely, against his chest, and shifts closer. Lyra told him.
“It was...” Blue’s sigh moves Red’s head, pushing it up from his chest as he sucks in a deep breath. Red clings tighter. “I mean, the only word to describe it is amazing. You could see the volcano erupting from the beach in Pallet. It was a whole public event. News reporters and scientists and the morbidly curious.”
Blue probably fell under that last category, if he had to guess. Red would have been the same – how many people could claim they witnessed a volcano eruption, in person? Not many.
“A lot of the refugees were getting housed by good Samaritans, and the inn was hosting free rooms. I let people stay the night inside the Gym for a while, because there just wasn’t enough room for all of them. Just...all these families, suddenly...didn’t have a home, anymore.”
One of Blue’s hands runs from his hair down his back, and he jolts when Blue’s warm fingers brush the flesh between his shirt and his jeans. They don’t move, until they do. Similar to how Red’s hands are splayed on his back, Blue’s hand traces along his spine until it rests on his shoulder blade, fire on his cold skin.
“And all I could think about was, I hope Red isn’t there.”
He hadn’t been to Cinnabar once after fighting Blaine for his badge, because the burned mansion unnerved him. Blue’s worries were for naught.
“That’s where Lyra and I first met. On the ruins of the island. She came looking for me, for her battle. I was…um...” Blue swallows. Red can feel it move under his ear. His hand twitches on Red’s back. “I was...I was searching the rubble.”
For the first time since Red’s had his ear on Blue’s chest, Blue’s heart quickens. His hand moves again, back down Red’s spine, to rest in the small of his back and pull him closer. His fingers barely slip in his waistband, almost imperceptibly, as the fingers in his hair grip tight with anxious nerves.
(He’s...well, he won’t say, but he’s lonely, Lyra told him. I invite him to hang out with me and my friends all the time, but he never agrees. I think it’s because he misses you.)
(I think it’d make him happy, Lyra told him. To know you’re alive.)
Blue’s hug squeezes Red so tightly it’s difficult to breathe, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Blue buries his face on the top of his head. Red feels his nose poke into his crown, feels him take a long, deep breath, and let it out in his hair. Then again. And again. Each one grows shakier than the last, the air rattling inside his rib cage in soft, stuttered gasps.
Oh.
He’s crying.
Blue is not a loud, or obvious, crier. He doesn’t shout or scream or bawl or whine. He’s so incredibly subdued and silent about it that half the time, Red completely misses it. When they were younger, if Blue had a nightmare during a sleepover, Red would only wake up after he slipped under the covers with him, his cheeks stained and wet from shed tears that had already stopped. (Red would ask if he was crying. Blue would snap no and kick him in the leg. Red would kick him back, but he’d curl up close, wrapping his arms around Blue in a tight hug, and Blue would let him, every single time.)
If they hadn’t been pressed up against each other like this, holding onto each other, Red wouldn’t have even noticed.
And he chooses to ignore it.
Blue’s never liked being vulnerable in front of others. He’s sure that hasn’t changed. Red doesn’t move; he simply stays put as Blue’s hands wander, as if he’s realizing just now that Red is in his arms, alive and real. His fingers curl up tight in the hair at the base of his neck; they stutter up and down his back in shaky motions, from the top of his spine all the way back down and back up and back down.
Red flexes his fingers, clenching them and releasing them, in a subtle attempt to comfort. It must work, because Blue’s grip relaxes. Blue’s hands trail from their spots on Red’s body to Red’s face, to hold his cheeks in his palms. Red refuses to let go, but he lets Blue move his head, to pull back just enough to look each other in the eye. His are bloodshot, still shiny with tears that haven’t shed, yet. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, and Red believes every word.
Blue manages to convince Red to release him for just long enough to set up the bedrolls. He stays close, though, making sure they’re still touching, even if it’s just Red clinging to the back of his shirt, or keeping his fingers wrapped around his wrist, or brushing their shoulders together, not even giving him the privacy to change. And as they lay down, they slot right back together again.
Red tucks his head under Blue’s chin. He shoves his leg between Blue’s. He pushes Blue’s shirt up, then he’s clinging to the warm, soft skin of his hips. His hands move, sliding across his abdomen, his stomach, around his sides, up his back again, constantly in motion, feeling as much of Blue as he possibly can. It’s not enough. “Clingy,” Blue mumbles into his hair, and Red feels his face flush.
“Sorry,” Red says. “I just...it’s…”
It’s been so long.
“It’s okay,” Blue assures. “I don’t care.”
Blue shimmies. He squirms around in Red’s arms, pulls his own arms free, tucks them into his shirt, and pushes his shirt up and over his head. Red immediately shoves his face into Blue’s newly-freed chest, grip increasing ten-fold. Yes, this is what he wanted. More. More contact, more warmth. It’s not enough, but it’s better. He squeezes closer, cheek squishing on Blue’s sternum.
It’s not enough. It’s just not enough. Red needs more.
With a jolt of irrational confidence, Red slips his fingers under Blue’s sports bra, and grips the fatty flesh hidden behind it. This is different, too. Those weren’t there, the last time Red saw him. Or, they were, kind of, but they were smaller. Blue shimmies again, arches his back up as much as he can while being pinned down, and stretches behind his own back.
There’s a series of quiet, little snaps, and the bra isn’t as tight as it was, before. “Gotta move to take it off,” Blue mutters. Red acquiesces. He lifts his face just enough for Blue to reach between their bodies and pull the sports bra off. “Happy?”
Red snakes his arms behind Blue’s body and buries his face into the soft chest hair in front of him. He savors the scent. Blue smells like sweat, tangy and salty. He smells like snow, crisp and cold. Most of all, Blue smells like a person.
He runs his hands all over Blue’s skin. His shoulder blades, his sides, his underarms, his chest, his neck, his breasts, his stomach, down into his sweats.
Red can’t get enough. He needs more.
His knee shifts as he attempts to get closer, and Blue whines.
Red freezes.
Blue’s hands scramble across his body and grab his face, to pull him up until their noses touch. Black holes stare into Red’s eyes, with little rims of blue and green. “...don’t start something if you aren’t going to finish it,” he hisses. “If you want to touch me, then touch me. Don’t fucking half-ass it.”
Red moves his knee again, into the soft warmth between Blue’s legs, and Blue exhales a sharp, hot breath, right into his face.
And that’s enough.
Their faces smash together so forcefully Red feels their teeth clack. Blue’s lips are chapped, and his must be, too, because Blue’s tongue darts out to lick them both before slipping it inside his mouth. He tastes strange. Like smoke, fire. It’s heady, and bitter. It makes him think of how Viridian Gym smelled when Giovanni ran it. Cigarettes and tobacco. Blue smokes.
Blue bites his lip, and tugs it between his teeth before his fingers grab the hem of Red’s shirt, to lift it up and yank it over his head. And they’re right back together, his hands running down the sides of Red’s face to rest around his neck, on his collarbone.
Red stutters a gasp.
Blue squeezes, just a tiny bit.
Red groans into his mouth.
Blue squeezes, again, and Red feels himself start to harden up. “Oh,” Blue says curiously, when they’ve split apart again, both of them panting heavy. He does it again, harder, longer. Red’s vision goes spotty, and when it returns, he takes a gulp of air, and moans, loud. Loud enough for it to echo into the cave. “...oh.”
Red licks his lips and swallows. (A lot of the saliva that just went down his throat was Blue’s.)
Blue licks his lips in response, and takes a small breath. “When I punched you, earlier, did you...like it?”
Red hates a lot of things about Blue. But most of all, he really hates how he can just read Red’s mind. Instead of answering, he dips his head low and latches his mouth to the underside of Blue’s jaw, and loves the way it feels when Blue hums in pleasure. He’s sad to feel Blue’s fingers leave his throat, but the feeling goes away as he digs them into the fat of Red’s ass. He grips tight, and pulls hard, forcing Red to rut against him.
And Red can’t stop.
He automatically thrusts up between Blue’s legs, feeling the fabric dip inside the more he pushes. A rush of cold air hits him suddenly, and it takes a moment to realize Blue’s yanked his pants off his waist. And—
Blue’s hand is warm, and soft.
One more thrust inside Blue’s palm and Red feels his entire body tighten up and subsequently let go, over and over. The resulting relief is nearly enough to make him faint.
“Oh,” Blue huffs. He sounds disappointed. “Uh, okay. Wow. I mean, I guess I should’ve...assumed you wouldn’t, uh...last long...”
But…
It’s…
It’s still not enough.
Red wants more.
“Choke me,” he whispers. Blue’s eyes go wide. He needs to feel Blue’s hands on him. He wants those warm fingers wrapped around his neck. He tugs at the waistband of Blue’s sweats, and wiggles them down. He leans in to steal another kiss from Blue’s stunned lips. “...knock me on my ass, and drag me kicking and screaming through the snow.”
No sooner than Red finishes speaking, he’s slammed down onto the bedroll, hard. His back hits the warm spot Blue was laying in, and Blue swings himself on top, straddling him. Yes. Yes. This is what he wanted. Blue kicks his pants the rest of the way off while his nails pierce into Red’s chest, sharp and vicious. “You piss me off,” he spits, and Red loves it. “Making me come up here. You’re a pain in the fucking ass.”
Heat surrounds his throat. His hands fly up to grab Blue’s wrists, strong enough to bruise. He bucks up in an attempt to throw him off. Blue bites out a low moan. His fingers tighten. Red’s vision blurs with a choked gag. And then they’re gone.
A gentle hand runs through his hair, before gripping it and yanking hard. Blue’s in his face, now, completely filling his vision. They pant in each other’s faces, drinking each other in. Blue is flushed from his ears to his neck. A bead of sweat drips from his hair, down his nose, and into Red’s mouth. “I should have beat you up,” he whispers harshly. “One punch wasn’t enough. I wanted to destroy you, for all the grief you put me through.”
“...what’s stopping you?” Red pushes. “Do it.”
“Apologize to me.”
He wants to. He will, eventually. But that’s not the point, not right now. It’s too soon. “No.”
Blue yanks his hair so hard Red can feel the pop in his neck, digs his nails into his collarbone, and leans in closer. Their noses squish together. “Fuck you,” he hisses.
This is the Blue he knows. This is the Blue he left. This Blue is familiar. He’s a slave to his rage, his anger consumes him until all he knows to do is yell, spit, and punch. This is his Blue.
Red grabs his hips, and hooks his fingertips into the band of his boxers. Blue’s hand moves back to his neck. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he snaps. “You don’t deserve to.”
And as his breath is stolen again, he manages to get Blue’s boxers off his ass and down his thighs. As his breath is gifted back, the scent of sex fills his nostrils. His eyes dart down, to look at what he revealed, and a sharp pain connects with his cheek as his face snaps to the side. He tastes blood; his lip opened back up. “Look me in the eye and say you’re sorry,” Blue demands.
Red looks him in the eye. They’re filled with fury, and lust; he’s enjoying this just as much as Red is. “No,” Red repeats, and takes the brief opportunity to roll them over again.
He pins Blue’s hands down over his head, and bends down for a kiss, one that’s welcomed wholeheartedly. Legs wrap around his middle and pull him down. Wet meets wet. They moan into each other’s mouths. When they pop apart, Blue sucks in and spits up into his face. “You motherfucker,” he grunts out, while Red grinds against him. “Tell me you’re sorry.”
“No.”
Blue bucks his hips up. They hiss together.
“You’ve gotten weak,” Red comments. “You used to be able to throw me off no problem.”
“Go fuck yourself.” He bucks up again, thrusting hard into Red’s pelvis, and they slip together easily with a soft squelch.
Blue is wet, and burning hot.
Catching their breath, they stare at each other. A grin teases Blue lips, painted red with Red’s blood, and falls away back into a scowl just as quick. He clenches around Red hard, and hooks his ankles tighter, pulling him deeper. He struggles weakly under Red’s hands, and lets out a downright feral growl. “Get off of me!”
“Make me.”
Blue thrusts, and he thrusts, and with each thrust, they gasp into each other’s ears. When Red adjusts and leans too close, Blue shoots forward and snatches his bottom lip between his teeth, crashing their mouths together again, and slips out of his grip while he’s distracted.
He chokes Red while their lips are locked. He sucks in whatever breath Red manages to inhale. And its like that, when Red feels his body coil up again, as he starts to feel light-headed, as Blue rams himself up.
Everything is tight. His lungs, his abdomen, Blue’s fingers, Blue. He barely hears Blue’s cry as blood rushes in his ears. There’s a rhythmic pulse beating throughout him, and the second he can breathe again, he’s coming, and he can’t stop it. “Blue—” he gasps out, attempting to warn him.
“Oh, shit—!” Blue’s suspiciously missing strength immediately returns to shove Red off and out of him in the nick of time with a yelp. “Fuck, man! Ooh, you are one lucky son of a bitch. I would have killed you for real.”
They ride their highs together and crash down in a heap on the bedrolls. Red’s chest and stomach are sticky, but it feels good, because Blue is on the other side, nice and warm and alive. He rests his ear above Blue’s heart, listening to the erratic beating calm down to its regular, slow pace.
“I’m sorry,” they say together.
“I didn’t mean that stuff,” Blue continues, hushed. “You’re...you’re my best friend. You mean everything to me. You know that, right?”
Red nods, and Blue sighs softly, clearly relieved. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” Red says, in the same quiet tone. “I’m...sorry, Blue.”
“I know.”
Red’s hands spread over Blue’s stomach, sticking in the spent that he shot out, and he presses a kiss to his chest. Blue’s arms drag up and wrap around his shoulders, holding him close. Red feels him press a soft kiss to his forehead in return. “...Lyra’s not my girlfriend,” Red says.
“I know. I was teasing you.”
“...oh.”
Blue’s sudden laugh shakes him to the core. It sounds lovely. “She thought she was your first kiss, because of how you reacted. She said you practically swooned. Man, you’re such a loser.”
Red’s face heats up. Lyra can’t keep a secret for shit. “She told you?”
Blue hums. It vibrates through his skull.
“...did you…?”
“I almost corrected her,” Blue answers his unasked question, again. “I didn’t, but it would’ve been real funny to see the look on her face.”
“...thanks.”
A secret they promised to each other, until the day they died.
(Blue’s great at keeping secrets.)
Red’s first kiss had been Blue, during one of their fist fights. Their last one, in fact, before they got Pokémon. They were fighting about which starter they’d take. (Red wanted Charizard, which was a problem, because Blue also wanted Charizard.) Blue had leaned into his face, and Red met him halfway to steal a kiss and surprise him, to get the upper hand.
Except it didn’t end there.
Rolling around in Blue’s room, fists pummeling and spit flying and hair getting yanked out from the root. Lips locked and teeth biting. Hands wandering and nails scratching. Bumping and grinding between layers of fabric. Vicious words spat in each other’s faces. Red went home that night with marks in the shape of Blue’s thin fingers blooming in yellow and purple on his throat and kiss-swollen lips. The next day, he picked up Charmander’s ball with a grin.
An unconventional first kiss, but a first kiss nonetheless. It had been his, but he had no idea if it had been Blue’s. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. He never said.
“Is that why you liked fighting so much?” Blue asks, startling him. “Y’know. The whole...”
“No,” he lies. “I didn’t...like fighting.”
“Oh, okay. Sure. Right.” Blue’s fingers run through his hair softly. “I liked fighting because it was fun to rile you up. And it was always so easy, too. You were so stubborn.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
He thinks of the bright, wild fire in Blue’s eyes back then, and how familiar they felt just moments ago. Was it anger? The intensity of his rage, his fury. Was that all it was?
He thinks of the way Blue’s face would flush up, the way his pupils would dilate, the way he couldn’t keep his hands off of Red. The way Blue was always the one to seek him out after, never with an apology, but with bandages for his cuts and ice for his bruises. Stubborn idiot, he’d always say. Can’t you take care of yourself? As though it was Red’s fault he was injured.
He thinks of the face of disgust Blue would make whenever someone got too cozy with Red. (He thinks of the evil eye Blue gave Leaf once, when she kissed him on the cheek on Valentine’s Day one year.)
“Oh,” Red says, knowingly. “...I see.”
Blue jolts.
They were both starving.