A Gay Old Time!
Chapter 1- He's pretty SieBOLD to do that
A/N- Not much to say about this fic. Just a funny little adventure starring our favorite Kalos region elites and champion! Also, you have been warned now, there is yaoi and yuri in this fic. In fact, there's so much gay, your eyes might bleed as you read this. I know. Mine have.
"Hey, hey, heyaaaa!" An obnoxiously bombastic voice greeted from the other side of the room into a Holo Caster. They could faintly hear her conversation. Something about a child wondering if she could challenge the League.
"Uh...nope, sorry kiddo, we have League matters to handle. Important, big-girl shit. Closed for the night." Malva furrowed her brows and crossed her arms as she listened intently to the voice on the Caster. "...Uh...oh tomorrow at ten? Yea, sure you can challenge us then, just prepare to get burned...what? Yea, yea, appointment set...alright, have a good night kiddo." She conversed briefly, shutting off the living room Holo Caster. On the other side of the room, Diantha fumed. She couldn't believe how formal Malva WASN'T being.
"Alright guys, when's Adonis gonna get his shit together?" Malva asked, sliding onto the couch next to Drasna. The dragon specialist looked to have almost toppled over in surprise. "How long has it been already, an hour?"
Drasna shrugged. "Probably, dear. Most likely less tho-"
The fiery news-woman rolled her eyes. "Oh sweet ARCEUS; what is he, a GIRL-?"
A powerful voice suddenly boomed from outside the living room. "Douse thy flames and fiery passions, fellow Elite! The calm of this celebratory, good-spirited night need not be sullied by such an attitude!"
Drasna giggled; Malva scoffed. "Or by his tardiness!" the latter woman growled.
Wikstrom frowned; she did have a point. But nonetheless, "Though that may be true, I do doubt verily a problem shall arise simply due to his want of celerity!"
"Yea, but-"
Diantha shook her head; there wasn't a need for all this quarrel on their special night, of all things! "No, Wikstrom is right, Malva. Put yourself in his shoes. I'm sure he's just trying to look his best in honor of our dinner. And as such, shouldn't you be honored by such a gesture as well? It shows he considers you- and all of us- worthy enough to impress and look nice for." Diantha concluded.
Malva tilted her head side to side in consideration, then nodded reluctantly. "Well, if you put it that way, MOM, I guess it is pretty noble. But waiting really steams me off, and I'm getting seriously hungry."
Drasna nodded. "Yes, dear, I have to agree- though no ill will to you in saying so, Diantha dear."
Diantha gave the older woman her warm, winning smile. "No, it's fine; I understand how much of an appetite you have."
"Verily so- the appetite of a draconian beast, one might presume!" Wikstrom added in jest, taking a seat on the far end of the couch where Diantha was sitting.
Drasna burst out laughing. "Oh my goodness, you two are such cards! But even then, I could probably devour a charred knight and his melting armor to boot!"
Wikstrom blinked. "...Correct, art thou? On...such an account, I shall hasten my departure, anon..." He joked, pretending to get up and dash off.
The two young women laughed it up, and the dragon-training elite continued. "Oh sure, hurry on, then! I'll just watch you wobble away at literally 2 miles per hour in your 100-pound set of mail."
The knight pouted, grumbling that it was only 67 pounds while the two other women were in an uproar. Defeated, he returned to the couch and put his head in his hands dramatically. "Curses! 'Tis such a veritable shame to accept defeat from a villain!" He bemoaned, causing Drasna to chuckle ominously like a witch. After the little joke died down, the room stood silent. Malva directed her gaze toward Wikstrom after a while.
"So where were you, then?" She asked, rather bitingly.
The man in question cocked his head to the side. "I do beg thy pardon?"
"We were waiting on you, too. You walked in no more than two minutes ago, man. What were you doing beforehand?" She laid her back against the couch cushions, sinking in slightly.
"Hmm...nosier than a Probopass, do I say! Well...seeing as though thine interest is invested in such a curiosity, I was simply wrestling the car keys from a certain...lock-resolving-device kleptomaniac of mine."
Once Malva caught his drift, she exploded in haughty laughter. The other two smirked. "Ha, your Klefki? Woooooooow, man, that's just great! How did it steal them in the first place?"
"Do I not hesitate to suspect that the sneaky elf discovered them upon my very desk! The scoundrel!" He spat out, clenching his fists. "In a heartbeat would I have his head-...though it seems his whole body is one." The steel-specialist mused.
"And you wouldn't hurt your poor little Pokemon, now would you dearie?" Drasna asked, almost motherly.
Wikstrom sighed. "True art thou, my fellow Elite! I must check my passions..." He mumbled to himself.
With that, another awkward silence followed, everyone anticipating the arrival of a certain chef. Minute after clock-ticking minute passed.
Diantha succumbed to breaking the quiet. "Well...we have been waiting quite a while, huh?"
"Yea, what tipped you off, sweetie?" Malva asked caustically.
The champion huffed, ignoring her. "Hmm...I hate to be the one to say it but...someone really needs to inform Siebold of our predicament."
"...Or just to hurry his ass up." The fiery trainer grumbled.
Diantha shot her a glare of daggers. "Yes...but less blunt. Any volunteers?"
Everyone stood silent. Telling the Water-type specialist what to do was like pulling teeth, and having him bite you before you can even try. The young man could be very bitter when provoked, even resorting to yelling at an unwitting soul to make them leave him alone. Thus oftentimes, he would be left to his own devices.
Yet now he was taking matters too far, and his time-monopolizing tyranny must be stopped. "Heh. No one's gonna brave the wrath of the storm, eh?" Malva taunted.
Drasna grinned. "Keep in mind that 'no one' includes you, dear."
The Team Flare member glared at her through slitted eyes and glaring glasses. After grumbling to herself, she quickly thought up an idea. "Hey, wait! Here's a thought! Why don't we play a game of chance to decide who gets the...unlucky job."
Diantha frowned. "As long as said game has nothing to do with pyrotechnics like last time, then sure." The other two elites nodded in agreement.
"No, this will be waaay tamer." Malva promised and quickly snatched one of Drasna's fang earrings from her ear. She placed it on the floor. "Alright, let's play spin the bottle...Er, dragon tooth. Whoever the point points to is the winner!" She exclaimed.
"What-hey! Please give that back-"
"How absurd! Might such a curvature cause only ambiguity?" Wikstrom interrupted.
"Got a better idea?" Wikstrom sighed and lowered his gaze to the ground pensively. "No? Alright!" Malva span the tooth enthusiastically. It went on for quite a long time, building suspense. After six seconds it finally slowed to a stop, sinking its point into a certain knight's steel-plated armor.
"Damnit." Wikstrom hissed under his breath. Malva clapped boisterously for him.
"WOOOOOHOOOO, looks like you get the GOLD, baby! Go upstairs and claim your prize!"
"For the love of Arceus, Palkia, Dialga, and even GIRATINA, Malva, calm your sarcastic TITS!" Diantha roared at the villain. Wikstrom sighed and began his way to certain doom, and out of the living room. He could hear the champion apologize for her outrage, and Malva laugh heartily at her dramatic tirade, saying how utterly hilarious it was.
But the noise was drowned out by the knight's worry. He ascended each gruesome step with trepidation for the scene to come.
His hardened, steel armor could endure many things. Swords, spears, lances, javelins, cutlasses, claws, talons- what have you. It could even bear the sour remarks and verbal assaults of foes and comrades alike. Yet there was one weapon which could tear it apart as if it were nothing but paper.
It's not as if he were afraid of his fellow Elite. That was far from the case! In truth, Wikstrom wouldn't, couldn't, deny his outright affection for the young man. His beauty, his ethics, his pride, his enigmatic apathy drew the knight to him like faces of commoners to the stunning Diantha. At a first glance, he was no more than some artsy youngster. Yet once Wikstrom could break though his shell and see him for the wonderful, dynamic, and strapping creature he was, the older man was captivated, imprisoned by love's binding fetters. But male? A sinful crush, indeed; but Wikstrom had long since overcome his traditionalism in search for true happiness. Now, he desperately yearned for Siebold to reciprocate his feelings. Unfortunately, he knew not of how to approach the water-type trainer, let alone of which way the younger man swung.
With wavering feet as his inept aid, Wikstrom ascended the flight of stairs, and began his intimidating trek down the long hallway toward Siebold's room. Fear and regret pervaded his mind along the way, yet even that couldn't halt the man of steel. He had a task to uphold, a promise which shouldn't be broken, lest his attested chivalry be slandered.
True, his armor could brave many offenses, many foes. Yet Siebold's imminent hatred of him could easily pierce through his formidable mail, and slice through his mortal, vulnerable heart.
Wikstrom ceased his step at the door. He breathed deeply, but before he could even place a calloused finger on the knob (or possibly turn back with his tail between his legs), a voice sounded from within. "Come in." It droned, and the knight cursed to himself. His boots must've been a dead giveaway.
Slowly, the knight's hand took control and opened the door. He steeled himself for the worst, and put up a more confident facade. "Greetings, my friend." He began, but his voice went dry at the sight of the younger male shirtless.
"Hello, Wikstrom, what's the problem-oh...I'm keeping you all, aren't I?" Siebold guessed. "My apologies."
When the knight got his voice back, he replied. "N-no, friend, worry not! 'Tis quite alright!" He ripped his eyes from the beauteous sight (toned and lean, fair porcelain-white skin, yet sporting a bit of a chef's belly), feeling incredibly lewd. "T-take thy time!" He mumbled, almost breaking his neck to hide his red cheeks.
Good thing Siebold was distracted, and hadn't even noticed Wikstrom's admirations. His eyes darted to and fro between two different shirts. Out of the deep blue, he expressed his thoughts. "Oh my...what should I wear? I've narrowed my choices down to two, yet...both would look so nice on me! And both would match nicely with my jeans..."
The latter statement pulled the steel-type master back to his fellow elite; he hadn't even noticed what pants he was wearing. The thought amused him and he- OH ARCEUS LOOK AT THAT ASS. His succulent, rounded posterior was simply a sight for sore eyes in his tight, cerulean blue, cut skinny jeans. And his thighs and calves were just so...PERFECT- was that a tent pitching in Wikstrom's pants or was a Pokemon released? Oh Arceus-dammit, why did his love interest have to be so gorgeous?!
"Can you stop staring into space and just help me out here?!" The younger man demanded, then in a calmer tone. "I thought you were trying to hasten my departure; isn't that why you came here?"
Wikstrom was taken aback. He forgot how volatile Siebold's emotions could be. "Um...yes of course, dear chef! 'Tis only my duty to help a friend!" He bellowed with a slight hint of nervousness, but Siebold didn't catch it and just rolled his eyes.
"Alright, then, you know of my dilemma! Which top do you think I should wear?"
Wikstrom looked over at the two shirts, and pondered the inquiry. After a few seconds of deciding that Siebold would probably look just as handsome in either, the knight shrugged. "That I cannot decide. My apologies, fellow elite, I am a man- ha...and as such I don whatever suitable garments I might find."
Wikstrom, chuckling, found the remark quite humorous, but Siebold only fumed. "Bah! You sexist ass, you can't just denounce me of my manhood because I want to wear the right shirt!" He clenched his fists.
"N-no, wait Siebold, thy conclusion on my jesting is misguided-"
"Whatever, I don't want to hear it, just pick one for me!" He growled, and the frown marring his face took stabs at Wikstrom's heavy heart.
"Erm...mine apologies again, dear friend. How doth the monochromatic blue garment thither suit thee?"
Wikstrom was pointing towards a button-down shirt with two pockets on either chest and rolled up, upper-arm length sleeves. A light blue to dark blue gradient flowed along it like a wave. Siebold stared at it intently a while more, then shook his head. "No...I love it but...that won't do! Don't..." He sighed, and looked towards Wikstrom with those deep, ocean blue eyes that melted his heart. "Look, don't get me wrong or think me shallow, but...the only reason..." He sighed again, cutting himself off to think. "Don't tell anyone else either, please. The only reason I'm trying to look nice is because...well in addition to respecting our formal family outing, I'm trying to...erm...get someone's attention."
Wikstrom's eyes lit up. Could he possibly mean...
"A friend of mine, yea." Wikstrom just about jumped for joy. Perhaps the water-training elite was referring to him but beating around the bush? "I heard that he was coming to dine at the place we're about to head to and...oh screw it. You'd never understand." Or...maybe not.
Nevertheless, "Oh? Elaborate, lad."
The blond rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. "Why would I bother...just...ugh. You probably don't even get what it means to gay."
Wikstrom was practically dancing on the inside. That made him one step closer to his beloved.
"Tch...I bet you were raised to eat, shit, and breathe that 'marry a good woman and have beautiful children' philosophy." Siebold criticized in a mocking tone of voice. "That's not even artful. So plebeian, so binding. Marriage. You wouldn't even understand what it means to have a tentative relationship or live a life composed of fleeting moments of passion with new, exciting lovers every night..."
Wikstrom huffed. He loved the younger man to death, but when he was in one of his philosophical, new-age rants he could be very close-minded and thoughtless. A con, sure, but...the steel elite could not stop staring into those beautiful pools of indigo blue...
"...and to have to dance and stumble on the edge of what's accepted in the eyes of others, plunged into a taboo lifestyle that you are forced to live in because anything else would not be YOU. You can't be straight, or bisexual, or stop liking your own sex in general because-"
"Soft now, young lad. Further explanation is needed not. I fathom fully what thou art struggling to convey."
Siebold furrowed his brows. "Wait...what? You do?"
"Although agree I cannot withal, aye, I do. 'Twas not kind of thee to assume my sexuality, as well."
Now Siebold was shocked. "You're...I...what? Don't tell me YOU are..."
The knight nodded.
"You're kidding. That's a joke."
"Jest I surely do not. Such an act would be a rarity in regards to a concern so pressing." And pressing it was, indeed. Was Wikstrom actually homosexual? He was gay for Siebold, true, but would other men arouse him the same way? Sexuality was hardly ever a thought that passed his mind. Up until the past couple of years, the idea of marrying a woman and extending his family line was simply that: an idea. Not a goal to live for, nothing he was enthusiastic about, just something his parents demanded he do. He never gave it much heed.
Siebold shook his head. "The day I believe you're gay is the day Tepigs fly. Anyways...I can't wear the blue shirt because that's so predictable! I'm a water-type guy, so of course I would wear blue! How boring. But this one-" the blond elite pointed to his alternative choice, a smooth violet shirt with a thin matching purple scarf and another white, buttoned shirt to go over it. "I think it would look really snazzy. Purple really pops out against my pasty skin-"
"Pasty is scarcely a suitable descriptor, sir Siebold. Thy skin is so fair and bright- almost to the likeness of a sparkling, vibrant field of virgin snow, or the glowing radiance of a full moon in a drowsy night sky- yet thou posses a complexion far more stunning." Wow. Seems he was a poet and didn't even know it. "I pray, I implore thee, heed my counsel. The white over-wear would simply blend with thy skin; verily a bore to wandering eyes. And the violet undershirt is attractive, yet clashes with thy shining indigo orbs. They shall seem black and dull rather than blue and vivacious as I view them now. However, thou shalt find appeal and comfort in the blue. The darker tones shall contrast, and thus emphasize, thy pale, lunar complexion, whereas those lighter hues shall compliment them. The deep navy of thine eyes shall find solace in the presence of the darker gradients. And- dare I muse- thy shirt shall fit snugly against thy breast..."
"Okay okay, I get it! And...breast? Wow you are some kind weird, Wikstrom. But..." He sighed, sifting through all the information presented to him. "I suppose I see your point...and the evidence that you're actually pretty gay."
The knight chuckled. Siebold continued, mumbling to himself. "And, wow, I didn't even know how artful you could be. Some 'man' you are." He joked.
"Hah...mine apologies. Mayhap I acquired said 'artful'ness from thee?"
Siebold shrugged. As Wikstrom grew more and more fond of the blond, they spent more time together talking and forging a friendship. "Perhaps. And perhaps I should wear the blue top...alright you've convinced me. Now, shoo," he said sassily, swatting his hand in the knight's direction. "Go inform the others that I shall meet with them very soon."
"Aye, that I shall." The older elite promised. He made his way back to the door, and turned the knob to walk out. "But anon- be prompt this time, lad. 'Tis not a pretty sight: Malva erupting in the manner of a vicious volcano."
Siebold giggled. It was a euphonious sound to Wikstrom as he hurried downstairs.