Has anyone figured out I don't own Pokemon, yet? ...Anyone?

This was inspired by an old, old post I saw on Tumblr. Ideas a-flurry. Can't believe I'm writing this, when I know it's going to throw me off-track of S.S.I, but here we are. I'm having problems writing that one right now, anyway, and I don't really know what to do with it. Awkward.

It wasn't like his life was bad, or anything, even though the other Executives would peer at him and his bruises and cigarette and they would wonder what happened to him. His life played out like some kind of psychological horror film, you know, those ones where you'd be watching and you picked it up because it said it was horror genre, but by the end you were as warped and empty feeling as the protagonist or victim? That's how he felt all the time. It wasn't a horrible feeling - it was never a horrible feeling when you watched those films, either, a feeling of some form of excited depression, but it thrust you straight off the cliff of content into another feeling. Something deep, like the ocean was. It showed you another world you'd never taken part in, because the average person never got psychologically fucked up, and you'd have some kind of empathy for a character who didn't exist in your world, but you knew, somewhere out there, you knew there was a person out there in the vast world who had experienced that level of being fucked over with life.

Maybe he was just addicted to the abuse.

And it wasn't like he was always abused. No, Archer took care of him sometimes, and there was nothing he liked more than when Archer would come up behind him, and he would shiver, grabbing the stove in front of him because he was always cooking when it happened, and that teal-haired man would slowly slide his hands up his shirt and tease him with his stony face as he talked about a mission that his partner was going to do the next day. Nothing about his actions turned him on, but it always, always made the taller, thinner one breathe in sharply and flush. No, there was nothing Petrel liked more than when Archer would talk nothing but pure business, with his very serious expression, while teasing him.

It just wasn't so pleasing the few times Archer had caught him not paying attention due to the fact his hand was quite literally around his dick, and the man would growl in frustration and, right before he knew Petrel was about to climax, he would grab him by his head and shove his face into the burner, making the pot of food fly down his front while he burned his face. And his expression would turn into a Houndoom's snarl and he would finish what he was saying while Petrel struggled against him and screamed in agony before letting him go when the mission was through his skull. He would watch with sharp eyes as Petrel would fling himself into the shower, turning it cold to make the pain go away.

But he always apologised later, pulling the taller Executive into a tight embrace while applying some sort of heat dissolver on his face like a patient parent with a child, and he'd wipe Petrel's tears of pain away, and he'd kiss him and apologise again. And Petrel always, always forgave him.

Still, maybe Archer wasn't the best. He'd heard the other Executives point out his facial scars he worked so damn hard to cover up, they'd point out how his uniform kept him closed up and how he could joke despite having another bruise on his eye, or how a finger-shaped bruise had made it up his collar. They'd wonder, aloud, how he maintained any form and smiled and cracked jokes despite a swollen eye that made it hard for him to see the patients in the medical wing. But he never stopped working, and he wondered if it was only from fear that Archer would severely punish him if he did, in a way Giovanni would likely not have approved of. He was never sent to the underground prison, where Proton would have his way with him instead, and he never made the connection until one night when he received the very treatment he knew Proton would administer on him by Archer himself.

Broken ribs, broken fingers, broken toes, none of it mattered as long as Archer walked away relaxed.

He shivered, grabbing the bar to the oven as Archer came closer, and he felt those bare hands slide his shirt up. He could feel the blood rush to his face but he tried to ignore the nails that ran over his nipples as Archer talked, but it was so fucking hard when all he wanted to do was bend over the counter and submit. He swallowed, staring at the bubbling pot of soup as his partner talked. "My job went easy, today," he started, his hands finding their way downward as his nails dug into bruised flesh. Petrel sighed out, feeling his belt tugged at and loosened and, with a thud, it fell to the floor as Archer's hand snaked its way downward, "I just had to crush a kid's dream, file some paperwork, nothing unusual. Do you want to know what we have planned for you tomorrow?"

"Yesss," Petrel hissed out, his knuckles turning white as he felt the oh-so familiar sensation of Archer's hand wrapping around his dick. Concentrate, concentrate, he reminded himself, swallowing down a whimper of need. Still, he felt his back end shove against Archer, and smiled when the man complied, shoving him back with his hips with a low grunt.

"Are you paying attention at all, you fucking slut?"

He chuckled lightly, "yes, Archer, now what's my mission?"

"Well, I plan for you to infiltrate the Radio Tower. You'll kidnap the director and you'll dress as Giovanni. We need to get our message out, and you need to look over the radio transmitter room." With that, Petrel froze, his lust-lidded eyes snapping to a wide stare. He couldn't even see what was in the pot in front of him, although he looked straight at it. The hand on his dick still moved, and he felt it, but more importantly, he felt the colour drain from his face.

"I... what?"

"It'll be simple, Petrel, you already have one of his suits," well, sure, because Archer enjoyed roleplaying sometimes, much to Petrel's dismay, "and you have a whole team of grunts to do the dirty work."

"Why should I dress as Giovanni..?"

"Because," Petrel was sure he would finally see the day where his knuckles would burst free from his flesh at the sound of Archer's livid tone, it was finally the day his knuckles would hit national television as the first set of knuckles to break by pure grip alone. At least he might get a huge chunk of money for that, because he sure as fuck wasn't going to get paid to sit around in a three-piece suit tomorrow. "If shit happens, we'll need you and your disguise to convince people that Giovanni is back and that Team Rocket is not to be fucked with, you daft shit." He screeched as Archer grabbed his hair and pulled his head back and fuck his back hurt from arching already. Please, please Lugia, let my death be fast.

"I understand," he whimpered out. Archer shoved him forward, sending the pot off the burner, and pushed him down to where he could feel the temperature on his chest. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had his trace chest hairs singed off, but he sighed in relief as Archer kicked his feet out from under him, making his chin hit the counter on the way down. He coughed, covering his mouth from the blood that erupted from his bit tongue while Archer pulled him back up.

The teal-haired man shoved him towards the counter and started his actions again, as if the whole scene that had erupted hadn't happened and if Petrel was really one to get off to pain, he would have found the ordeal much more comforting, but with a mouth full of blood, he was having a hard time concentrating or getting off to the hand that pumped his dick. "You'll send your little grunts out to kidnap the director and make the Radio Tower workers shit themselves in fear," oh god, he was being ground against but why did it have to be now? His fucking tongue hurt. He couldn't even feel the cut on his chin, where blood entangled into his beard. There was just so much fucking pain. He grabbed hold of the counter, finding his hips moved on their own accord against the hips of the man behind him. "And when you get an order, if you get an order, you'll comply. Got it?"

"Yes," Petrel hissed. His tongue scraped against his teeth, but he knew if he didn't respond, Archer would take it in a very, very different way. And he really didn't want to feel the stove's heat again. "I understand," he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the feeling around his face and concentrate on nothing but Archer's words and the feelings in his lower region. It worked. Kind of. Not really. Not until Archer shoved him down on the counter, his face moving in to whisper in his ear.

"Good." The purple-haired Executive sighed out, looking up at him as he felt the tension in the room faze out. Archer had a way of doing that, with those intense teal eyes and the way he was grabbing his ass and working his trousers off. Perhaps his ability to make tension dissipate was why they had all agreed to make him the new leader, Petrel wasn't sure, and he didn't care, as long as Archer kept moving his hips in obvious need. If he never froze, they were in the clear, and Petrel could finish dinner and maybe they'd cuddle, or have a second round of sex. And Petrel lived for sex.

It was only a moment later that Archer made his wish come true, shoving himself in with a loud hiss, his head thrown back to pant at the ceiling as Petrel moaned softly, clawing at the counter to have something to hold onto so he could more easily meet Archer's hips. Oh, yes, this was what he lived for - he could ignore the pain in his tongue and the fact that the man behind him was the one who repeatedly hurt him. This moment, with Archer panting and grabbing his collar and pulling him back to kiss him in a frenzy. Petrel could only moan in his mouth, his eyes rolling back as his partner found that sweet spot in his ass, hitting it over and over while grabbing his dick in just the right amount of pressure.

Petrel lived for this.

He whined in disappointment when it was over, laying his head on the counter as they panted in the aftermath. He grabbed the spoon from the counter, stirring the food in the pot before watching Archer walk off, stretching as he did so, without a word. That's how it always was. Archer never spoke after sex, even when he wasn't throwing him down on the floor before doing so. Sometimes there would be silent cuddling, but Petrel always wanted to know what was going on behind those cold eyes afterwards. Sometimes, he'd see a tinge of pity as he would pet his twitching lover, as if trying to issue an apology that never came nor went, but it would disappear only a moment after Petrel would flick his eyes up to look at him. It was his personal moment, Petrel had decided, and he knew that asking would only lead to a ruined afterglow.

And maybe their life together hadn't been the best, but Petrel preferred it over letting an already mentally fucked Proton deal with Archer's mood swings or, worse, Ariana, whom he knew wouldn't be able to handle the way Archer worked. And anyway, the entire Team had been locked into one base for the past three years, everyone had to live with someone else, and at least he wasn't a grunt, shoved into a room with a dozen other people or more. It was no wonder they were losing morale, all of them. "Archer." No response. Typical. The man didn't even glance at him from the couch. "Dinner's ready." Still nothing. Petrel sighed, hiking his trousers up and filling a bowl for both of them.

"Slowpoke tail soup, again?" Petrel smiled softly.

"It's all we have. Proton's doin' a shit job at gettin' food, y'know." He was relieved with Archer cackled.

"Kid doesn't even know how to get food that doesn't taste like Rattata ass." Petrel sunk down on the couch, moving in to shove himself against his partner, a little content smiling surfacing. Archer had had a good day, it was obvious in the way he didn't turn down the close contact, how he poked at the Slowpoke tail chunks with a comical grimace and how he, most importantly, hadn't shoved Petrel down onto a scorching-hot burner despite the fact he very clearly had thought of it.

Still, Petrel really hated when Archer ordered him to wear the three-piece suit and fix up a disguise, he hated the way those teal eyes didn't even hide the hunger he had for the man he wasn't, but the one he was pretending to be. He absolutely hated, most of all, how Archer shivered at his impression of Giovanni's voice, pure and clear. And even though the teal-haired man grabbed him by his lapels and forced him into a kiss, he hated knowing it wasn't because he was, well, Petrel, but because he was very clearly supposed to be Giovanni, and that every single soft touch on his hidden face and every look of - not lust, that wasn't the same look he gave Petrel, no - love wasn't for him but for the man he was supposed to appear as.

Every hit, every shove and every scar on his body was all because he wasn't Giovanni. But at least he impersonated him well. And that was enough to Archer, who, without saying a word, made a very clear order to pretend that he was Giovanni, to seduce him as Giovanni. It made him want to puke, but he ran his hands up his uniform, watching him shiver while keeping a steely face. "Executive," he said. Archer's eyes fluttered open, his grip tightening on his collar.

"Boss," he breathed, eyes filled with lust and some other emotion Petrel really didn't want to admit was there. Not to himself, not to anyone. He grabbed Archer up, swinging himself back on the couch and pulling Archer on top of him, looking up at him. Hiding emotions was second nature by now, at least, because the man on top didn't notice the vile hatred below the black contacts.

"Gio," he whispered, grinding himself against the suit. Petrel put his fingers on Archer's lips, eliciting the smallest of moans from the man and an even bigger blush, and he swore his envy would personify and turn him into a fucking Gyarados to rain hell down in their flat. It never happened, much to his disappointment.

Petrel knew exactly what he was to do: never reveal a single hair of his own, never reveal anything but what he had to. Archer had made it very clear in the past that if he saw a single strand of purple, it was over. And no one wanted Archer to freeze when he was dry-humping you. No one. Because that was a sign of the end-times, as far as Petrel cared. It was a sign things were going to happen, and those things would normally land a man in jail. "Executive," he whispered back, slipping his fingers into his mouth as he sighed out. He took the saliva, ripping the white uniform trousers down to use it against his entrance.

Archer arched his back, grabbing his collar as he did so."Giovanni, please, it's been... I need," he panted, pressing his arousal to 'Giovanni's' chest. Petrel smirked.

"Tch, tch, Executive."

"Archer," he replied, eyes serious behind a mask of lust.

"Tch, tch, Archer, impatient as always," Petrel wanted to shudder, but at least he would get to top; no use breaking character now. "If anyone is going to suck dick, it's not your Boss." Archer groaned, grabbing his shoulders as Petrel worked his way into his ass, a finger at a time, only feeling his own arousal as the man's head, high above his own, rolled to the side with his moan as he found the perfect spot to pleasure him. Archer, however, was making his way to unzip his trousers, more than ready for 'Giovanni' to take him, but Petrel found himself in shock when the man suddenly pulled away, sliding off the couch and looking up at him, his eyes glazed in lust and his lips pressed against the cap of his dick.

Wait, what?

Petrel stared at him before grabbing his hair harshly, pushing his head down as he opened his mouth to take his length in. He chuckled darkly at the muffled sound of Archer calling the Boss's name out, moving his head up and down forcefully. He wasn't sure if it was the fact Archer was vulnerable suddenly, or all the anger trapped inside that he had to humiliate himself by letting him call him Giovanni while abusing him when he was just being himself, but he found it very, very pleasurable whenever Archer would choke.

Maybe it was okay to be king.

He hoisted Archer up, shoving him face-down on the couch before pulling his trousers down and moaning when Archer shoved his hips back, his actions filled with need as he grabbed the arm of the couch, looking back at him. Petrel chuckled, shoving himself inside and petting his hair when he screamed out, his eyes screwed up shut. "Executive Archer, does it hurt?"

"Y-yes sir, but, nnngh, it feels... please, it feels so, ahhhh," his eyes sprang open when he felt the bundle of nerves within him get hit, "nngh, Gio... Giovanniii," he moaned, pushing back faster, his hand grabbing his own arousal to get himself off. Petrel slapped him away, smirking.

"No, Archer," he said darkly, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "Boss gets off first. You get off last. That's the rules, here." He nibbled his ear, making Archer moan loudly and grab his hair in a tight grip as Petrel rode him harder, his pants and moans making Archer respond with his own moans and whimpers.

"Giov-Gi-oh Mew, please!" he cried out and that sent Petrel over the edge, throwing his head back and moaning Archer's name out, almost as in reward. What he didn't expect, however, was the simple act of moaning his name out in Giovanni's voice threw Archer over the edge, and he watched the man's shuddering orgasm with interest, his hands finding their way to run his fingers, crooked and previously broken, over his arousal, eliciting a lovely shake every time his nails scraped his balls.

However, he felt his afterglow shatter to pieces when Archer whispered, "Giovanni, I love you." He felt his jaw tighten, and after a few moment without a response, he wasn't able to catch Archer's movement before a bright flash of white erupted on his right eye and he saw nothing but darkness.

A/N: A shortie but a goodie. Feel free to drop a review.