Title: A Little Future Planning
Fandom: Pokémon
- Characters: Cassius, Wikstrom, Lanette, filler OCs for two seconds (ChivalricCodeshipping)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "It was truly lonesome derived of one's heart's calling, Wikstrom thought, though in reality—as he roll out of bed and found his pants—he simply desired to check up on his young lover."
Notes: This wound up with, like, a bunch of extra info for Reasons, so much that it'll clutter everything here, so if you care, more notes at the AO3 version (user: WintermoonTyger).
Warnings: Boyfriends who are a bit sappy. It's gross.
- b - e - g - i - n -
The moment the alarm went off, the reaction was instantaneous. Cassius lunged for his PDA from a dead sleep, shutting down the barely-begun racket with a tap on the screen. He was, however, not quite awake as he stared blearily at the PDA's bright, eye-burning screen trying to remember exactly why the alarm was necessary at quarter after midnight. Because there was always a reason.
The arm that had been draped across his waist became the hand on his shoulder and whoops, Wikstrom was inevitably awake now. "Is something wrong?"
"Nuh, jes' got a conference call." Though he had reminded himself that it was tonight earlier in the morning, apparently one forgets all previous appointments when they bring a 'boy' back home. Cassius really did not want to leave the bed: it had all the best things in it. But even as he mentally complained, Cassius was already sitting up and putting his feet on the carpet; everything began aching immediately. "Go back to sleep, Ti. I'll just be downstairs. Won't take long."
There was a light touch at his lower back that fell away nearly as suddenly. "I await your return."
Cassius found himself smiling a little and reaching back to brush his fingers over the back of Wikstrom's hand. He's so cute.
Moment over, Cassius rooted around in the dark for anything wearable, finding his underwear among the mess and, with a cursory glance behind him, pilfering Wikstrom's button-down. If the man was not going to get up before Cassius returned, what was the harm in borrowing it? It was a rather nice thrill before business.
It was also a thrill leaving the room, as the temperature difference was practically palpable. It was chilly due to the leaking winter, and man, it woke him right.
Downstairs, Xatu already had a small pot of coffee on, and Cassius found it staring intensely at the brew trickling down. The older Xatu got, the more it was determined to keep its foresight accurate, which meant everything had to be timed perfectly with correlating events: if his trainer was going to need coffee at some god-awful time no living diurnal creature should be subject to, it was going to make sure it was finished the moment Cassius' foot stepped into the kitchenette.
It had predicted and accounted for his pause to fiddle with a breast button just outside the doorway, as Xatu turned its stare to its trainer the moment Cassius crossed the threshold, indicating his interest in the timing was over, thus according to its own standards it had successfully fulfilled its vision. "Thanks, man," he murmured, scritching the top of its head gently. "You good?"
"Xa." Equally quiet. It raised its wing, said, "Xatu," and toddled off to its nest in the back room.
"Yeah, goodnight." He watched it leave, then grabbed his mug from the hanging rack. The rack could hold ten and currently held nine, more than triple what it had been from the start eight months ago. It began as two, which quickly grew to four once Maiten was hired and Bos became a staple, his juice cup's array of color matching his mother's unexpected bright floral pattern mug ("I like flowers," she had said with a straight face). Three were for guests, and two more because it became slowly apparent Catha and Cassius were likely not going to return to Johto when their stint in Kalos ended. They had uprooted their lives to move halfway around the world for this gig; as long as they did the job Bill gave Cassius, they were going to be in Kalos for years, likely decades. Which meant, as both Wikstrom and Jean-Luc were proving in such a short amount of time, they were going to create lives here.
Partners need their own cups, too.
Coffee and Catha's tub of yogurt in hand (living dangerously, tonight), he plopped himself in front of his office computer and woke it up. Get in the call that was waiting for him to answer, glasses and headset on, and ready to take on the big leagues. Sort of. He still ached everywhere.
Unsurprisingly, not the last to arrive. Fifteen faces were on screen—two looking just as sleep-needy as he felt—and Bebe was absent. The usual order of things, with the last two calls being exactly the same.
"Yo," he issued to the round of greetings, which quickly dissolved back to the matter of Andrew arguing that Brigette's cloud would shut down established transporter locals, and perhaps it would or perhaps it wouldn't, but Andrew did put a mountain of his life researching this field and Brigette was going to make it obsolete. Technology marched on.
Two personal chat tabs popped up nearly at the same time. With nearly the same accusation.
[pOrtIA] to [CASSIuS]: That is NOT your shirt.
[LANette] to [CASSIuS]: You're buttoned up to the neck in something nice. I doubt it's a sign you're entering the next life phase.
Cassius glanced back up at the monitor and both girls were grinning, out of context for the rest of the attendees. Perfectly fine observation, since the whole point was to show off a little. He did not write back to either but did take a moment to look smug as hell, and he tilted his head to the side, where he flicked a finger down against the stiff collar on the bare side of his neck. How loose the shirt was gave it enough room to briefly pull outward, and even if they could not see the darkened mark he knew was there, they would get something out of it. Portia muted her microphone and hunched over to presumably giggle inappropriately, and Lanette took it as delightfully scandalous, putting her hand to her mouth in mock offense. If anyone else had been watching his feed in that moment, no indication of it was made.
But then, Bebe came online (looking as haggard as he, Amanoa, and Kodie) and the questionable etiquette of squashing competitors outright was put on halt to jump right into discussing this half of the year's quota, rank, and roster, which meant numbers. Lot of numbers.
Good thing half his brain was in his PDA.
- t - i - m - e -
Two hours later, Wikstrom found himself waking up and all alone in bed, the illuminated clock betraying Cassius' prolonged absence. 'Conference call', Cass had said. It was not so tough to imagine what that entailed: a lot of words that meant little to most common folk, while simultaneously words that kept the world running. Which Wikstrom was happy to leave Cassius to...but perhaps...
It was truly lonesome derived of one's heart's calling, Wikstrom thought, though in reality—as he roll out of bed and found his pants—he simply desired to check up on his young lover.
He could just hear Cassius's voice from the top of the stairs, and it fell silent as Wikstrom traversed them down. Where the entire upper layer was dark, the illumination from Cassius's office stretched far enough to see around the corner, a guide to his destination.
"The program is complicated enough without having to add gender detection," Wikstrom heard, "or all the other little options you want." There was a pause. "M'not saying it can't be done, 'kay. Jes' saying it's gonna take a while, especially with the compatibility issues we're already having in Kuwen, Perot, Holon, and Iscotia. I got priorities."
The luminosity was thankfully soft and Wikstrom's eyes adjusted slowly as he padded softly to the office entrance. Looking inside—bright, ouch—Wikstrom found Cassius as expected, back to him at his computer. The faces on screen numbered six, and a woman was pantomiming speech in one camera feed.
"Yo, ask Amanita," he groused. "Look, those trays are her idea; I'm just helping with the code." He waved a hand about. "Two projects at a time, anechan. Your cloud's still a ways away."
Wikstrom moved to lean in the doorway, just watching. One minute, he told himself, and then he'd go back upstairs. Another one of the people onscreen was speaking, and it was a short back and forth between him and the redhead Cassius has spoken after.
"Night, Brige." The redhead's face vanished and Cassius put his head down on the desk in exasperation. "What the hell, man, your sister sucks brill, you know that, right—" Simultaneously, one of the remaining girls' face took a turn for panic and Cassius swung around with a start, his countenance one of sheer terror looking straight at the doorway. Wikstrom raised his hands up instinctively, a beat passed, and Cassius exhaled sharply, "Fuck!" He reached around behind him and twisted the webcam around, saying into the headset, "It's fine, don't worry," before tossing it aside and getting up to politely throw himself at Wikstrom, arms around his neck and nose to his shoulder. "Arc's end, y'scared the shit outta me, Ti."
"My apologizes." Wikstrom came to rest his hands on Cassius' back. "I merely sought how you were fairing. I did not mean to cause a stir."
"No, that's okay. I was heading up in about five minutes. ...Ehhh—" Cassius bounced his head from side to side slightly in further thought. "—though I said that half an hour ago, so you're just in time to save me. Ah, you weren't woken by anything, right?" With Wikstrom's 'no', he grinned cheekily. "Okay. My dear knight, here to the rescue."
Wikstrom laughed quietly until Cassius angled up to kiss him, and it melted into nothing when slightly parted lips touched his own. It was a tired and short-lived kiss, and Cassius put his face back into the crook of Wikstrom's neck, clinging tighter. "Ah, you're really warm."
As a courtesy, Wikstrom wrapped one arm across Cassius' waist and the other hand drew up to cradle the technician's neck, to keep him close. And that was another thing, as a stiff collar tickled Wikstrom's wrist. "You're wearing my shirt." He stated it as a fact, but there rang a note of intrigue. It was not just the shirt (which Cassius was clearly swimming in) that caught his attention, but the fact Cassius was also wearing his glasses (and no pants).
"Ho, cat's out of the bag, now." Cassius did not unbury himself. "If you want it back, gonna need you to take it off me reaaaaal slow."
There were images in that drawl, which Wikstrom took pleasure in imagining with a hum, but even if Cassius was serious, catching a few hours sleep seemed the better course of action before kicking off a potential round 3. And there was another thought that caught his intrigue: dressing Cassius up, instead of down. What would he look like in a suit? Take him out of his leather and denim, put him in fashion the youth popularly took to? Would he agree to it? "If you're up for it in the morning."
"Mmm." And maybe that would have been that and head back upstairs from there, but Wikstrom's eye caught the display on the monitor by chance, focusing on it for more than a second to recognize when something was...off? He tapped Cassius on the shoulder—"Eh?"—and pointed to the computer.
Cassius saw it immediately, flinched, and stormed back to his desk; those remaining in the call almost immediately began to look and act as if they had not just had their ears to the ground and subsequently caught in the act. He grabbed his headset. "I can see you listening, you damn gossiphawks. Good night." One click and he was out of the call, and he put his computer into sleep mode, bringing the room and hallway back into its original darkness. "Oh my god." There was no way to see his embarrassment, but it came through loud and clear in his voice. "I thought I muted that. Sorry."
Wikstrom shook his head and said, "No need."
Cassius brushed past him and Wikstrom followed, stopping at the base of the stairs while Cassius dropped things off in the kitchen—the shirt was too big but Cassius was not short, and in the fleeting light of the open fridge door, every inch of his thighs was bare and the blue of his briefs a darting tease—and patiently waited for Cassius to lead the way back to the second floor (as was the politest course of action).
"By the way," Cassius said with a small laugh, making his way back, "Lanette nearly jumped out of her skin noticing you." He reached out to prod gently Wikstrom's collarbone. "With a little practice, you could probably learn how to move about silently, too, yanno. That'd be funny."
Wikstrom smiled and took the hand pointing at him into his own. "My dear, if a knight was meant to skulk, what would be the point of a ninja?"
"Well, you wouldn't be scaling the wall outside a princess's room to kidnap her, so that's a plus. Something more romantic, maybe." Cassius made an expression of faux shock. "Is her maidenhood safe?"
"How vulgar." Beat. "We would recite her poetry, first."
Cassius snorted and put his free hand over his mouth to quieten the laughter. "Oh my god. Just take me back to bed."
With hand over hand, that's exactly what happened.
- e - n - d - i - n - g -
- o - m - a - k - e -
"Arc's end, y'scared the shit outta me, Ti."
The camera was now facing an empty, bleary wall, but there was sound and voices filtering through. Everything in the chat turned silent, straining to hear through the mic what they could no longer see.
"My apologies," said the likely owner of Cassius' shirt.
"Holy shit," Portia whispered. "That's a voice."
"Shh!" Lanette warned. Portia wasn't wrong though. That was a nice voice and—after her initial shock and scream of fright in seeing the 'night visitor' staked out behind Cassius had worn off—she began to think it was also nice body. Damn, why did it have to be so shadowed that far back?
"My dear knight, here to the rescue."
Which meant little without context, and the eavesdroppers thought nothing of it.
[BABEttE] to [all]: How big is this guy? I didn't see him.
[abRAM] to [all]: Big. Like a wrestler.
[pOrtIA] to [all]: Did you miss the size of that shirt?
[BABEttE] to [all]: Eeeeeeeeeeeee
[BABEttE] to [all]: Wait, what?
"You're wearing my shirt."
[BABEttE] to [all]: What about what shirt?
[BABEttE] to [all]: oOOOHHHH
"Ho, cat's out of the bag, now. If you want it back, gonna need you to take it off me reaaaaal slow."
Someone squealed out loud; someone eeped equally loud. "No, no, not here, please no," pleaded Kodie, which Lanette thought was the responsible reaction to have, but... Well, she wouldn't mind. Much. A little. (The boyfriend hit some of the important physical characteristics spot on, so demonstrate away.)
"If you're up for it in the morning."
Loud were the sighs and subtle whines of disappointment. "Thank you thank you," said Kodie.
They only heard the footsteps too late, and Lanette watched everyone sit up straight and look busy as the clatter of the headphones resounded and Cassius laid it on expectedly thick: "I can see you listening, you damn gossiphawks. Good night."
They collectively aww'd as Cassius dropped from the call, but no sooner was his screen gone did they just pick up from where they left off, back to business. It wasn't every day one of them left the door open to be spied on with a lover-type (every once in a blue moon); the others who retired earlier would be sad to miss the chance (especially Bebe, given she had been the last one teased after a similar situation, getting all mushy with her then-boyfriend having also forgotten to mute her mic). Oh, but Cassius was not wrong calling them gossiphawks: the others would know what they missed soon enough~