A/N: Unlimited Porn Works continues. Maybe next, I'll actually have the proper, semi-PWP smut between these two I've always dreamed of?
...Probably not. But I can dream.
He woke breathless under the high ceiling of the castle, the dream still fresh in his mind.
N sat up gingerly, and bit his lips shut to stop a gasp. It ached, heavy and thick and hot between his legs.
...This again. The sheets would need changing.
At least he knew what to do now. Not like the first time, when he'd been too scared, too confused, to do much more than lie in bed paralyzed until it went away on its own. Dragging a hand down over his belly, under soft sheets, to ease the pressure was really much more efficient.
The first slide of palm made his heartbeat so loud in his ears, and at first he thought of nothing, focused only on the sound of his own steady breathing, soft pants and the occasional thin moan. Peaceful, almost; relaxed, except the rhythmic motion in his wrist as he tugged slowly on the shaft of his erection. Slowly, always slowly, because you had to or else the pleasant friction would turn to pain. This much he'd learned.
But the longer it went on — the closer he got to that edge — the harder it was to keep everything nice and slow, and the more he found his scattered thoughts drifting back to the dream, to the way another hand might have felt in place of his own...
He never tried to imagine the other person who was always in his dream. Instead, he filled the blanks with thoughts of real, palpable people, and allowed his mind to wander out and away.
Hilda might have been a good person to have around at times like these. She never pretended that looking fourteen made you fourteen, on her own behalf. N had no doubts that she would be attentive, precise, careful to go slow enough that everything felt exactly as it should. She would make it good, or as good as it could be, and his hand sped as he pictured it.
Her eyes lingered on him sometimes now, and the intensity in her gaze might have been that sort of interest. That stare was fascinated, challenging, anticipating, and every once in a while he thought that her smile with the half-lidded eyes was just her way of begging him to make a move, any move, even and especially if it meant shoving her up against the nearest wall to see if she was as strong as she looked.
N closed his eyes, arched a little, and wondered what Hilda looked like naked. Tall and willowy, but feminine. Maybe she'd have a few scars from close calls with her pokemon in the past; maybe her skin would be smooth and soft and close to perfect.
She'd know how everything worked, too. She'd have it all figured out. She would make it good.
And — for some reason, as he arched off the bed, stroking hard and fast but so slick with sweat now that it didn't matter anymore, N was still sure of it — it would be all about him. The way Hilda watched him, eyes smoldering with something close enough to hunger, she might not have even asked for anything in return. It might have just been her mouth, swallowing him, drinking him deeper and deeper, maybe licking, maybe even sucking like she was starving for it, and in N's head she had this strong tongue that curled all around him, oh—
That strange and wonderful part, the part where his whole body went rigid, muscles everywhere straining, and then the world around him shattered, streaks of brown and black squeezed so tight it looked almost white. Everything released in thin, off-white jets that caught his thighs, the sheets, even one of his ankles, before he finally collapsed, spent.
N woke again more than an hour later and climbed out of bed, heading for the shower in the old Plasma quarters. He ducked his head under the steamy spray, his bangs flattening instantly to his forehead, and ran idle fingers over his stomach.
All the while, there were blue eyes burning bright on the wrong side of his eyelids.