The Professor arrived smelling of tobacco. His shirt was freshly singed and his white coat was slung over the strap of his laptop bag. He had clearly come straight from the lab, and looked particularly rugged in comparison with Lysandre, who was dressed in a finely tailored suit with flame-orange piping.

"Come in," Lysandre said. "Make yourself comfortable. Have some wine. I've ordered in a casket of the best red you'll ever taste."

"Thank you. You are too kind."

"How did you burn your shirt?"

"One very feisty Charmander," Sycamore sighed, picking at the mark. He accepted a glass from Lysandre, and took a short sip. "I'm truly sorry I've had to set this talk back so many times. I've been busy working in the evenings. I barely sleep these days. Before I know it, my hair will be grey as ash!"

"I am sorry for your situation. It is one that I understand."

"I heard about some ruckus caused by Team Flare near Geosenge. What was that about? I couldn't find any agreement between the reports in the news. Was everything hushed-up?"

"Our in-field investigations for Lysandre Labs were being tampered with. All is settled now." Lysandre reassured him. Sycamore nodded, accepting the explanation, and produced a cigarette. "You can't smoke that in here. How long has it been since your last, anyway?"

"An hour? I'll give up eventually."

"Put it away. I didn't invite you to my flat so I could watch you puffing smoke into my furniture."

"I'm sorry."

"Nevermind. You're here now, and that's what is important. I have been waiting to speak to you in complete confidence. I want to share with you my plans for Kalos. I know that when I make my intentions public, many will consider me absurd and dangerous. But this is the product of ten years of observation and innovation, and I am certain that it is the right path. My aims are… difficult to achieve. And vast. Radical."

"I never had a doubt that you'd settle for anything less."

"I have come to accept that the world is heading towards a slow apocalypse. Mankind is to blame, but our leaders are too full of greed to stop, and now it's too late. Our planet will be barren, overpopulated, starved. Drained of its beauty. Ruined." Lysandre spoke with ardent sincerity. "Many people are aware of the situation but do nothing to stop the destruction of this planet."

"I know."

"You are one of those people. And for too much of my life, I have been idle as well."

"You are one of the least idle people I've ever met. Look at everything you've achieved."

"It still isn't enough. As a planet, we have reached the point of no return. All that is left to do is shape a future in which some trace of natural beauty may be retained. And there is only one certain way to do that. We have to raise arms against our greatest enemy, not just speak censored words of concern."

"What you say is true."

"I know that. Tell me, Professor. What would you suggest is the biggest threat to a sustainable future?"

"A lack of funding for research into alternative energy resources," Sycamore answered instantly. Lysandre shook his magnificent head. He was prowling back and forth, restless, one large hand grasping his own wine glass.

"You're wrong. It's overpopulation. Of both people and of Pokémon. The planet only has finite resources. The more we multiply, the less there remains for each of us. And the world is stripped bare."

"There is little to be done about overpopulation without enormous breaches of human rights. That's obvious."

"We have no choice left! Something has to be done. But who is going to do it? Who will be the one to challenge everything we know?" Lysandre asked. He gazed at the other man. His eyes were aflame. "Am I being unreasonable to ask that?"

"I don't know," Sycamore admitted. "Perhaps not. Though such a scheme to combat it is not something I can readily imagine."

"Not many are willing to imagine it, let alone organise a viable plan or write it into policy," Lysandre said. "But I have a vision. The pieces of my scheme are falling into place. I cannot say how long it will take."

"And what do you want from me? I don't know how much I can help you," Sycamore said. "If you want a team of brainpower behind you, I can offer you my the minds of my brightest students but-"

"Whyever would I want the minds of your students?"

"I can be of little use. I study theoretical Pokémon evolution. I've no experience in environmental sciences. I'd dedicate my lab to your cause if it would help, but I don't see how it can."

"I already have a fine team of scientist. I want your support. That is all." Lysandre said. He stopped his pacing, and stopped, standing before Sycamore. He looked every bit a proud commander, and there was not one part of Augustine Sycamore which stood to resist him.

"You have my support," he replied. He grasped Lysandre's hand with both of his own. "I've always known that you were destined for leadership. If anyone is the one to truly save our future, it's you."

"And you promise to back me all the way?"

"Yes. Without a second thought."

"You can begin proving yourself tonight," Lysandre said. He placed his glass down on a small table covered with a square of blood red cloth. "Come to bed."


As he had promised, there were no second thoughts to hold him back. Sycamore followed his host into the bedroom. There was just one very small, high window. The bed was laid with black sheets; not the scarlet of Team Flare that Sycamore had come to expect. Lysandre's Pokéballs were arranged in a beautiful wooden case on his desk, its lid open. There were few personal touches to be noted; reading glasses on his bedtime table, and the most recent pile of journals Sycamore had leant him, seemingly left unread on his desk.

"You're an intelligent man. Don't waste my time by pretending not to know what I want from you tonight," Lysandre said. His hand brushed the small of his back, and through thin fabric, he could sense the other man's body. After so many years of imagination and distant memory, Sycamore's body felt so real beneath his fingers. It took all of his restraint to retain a gentle touch.

"I want it too," Sycamore said. "But I don't understand why you want this. Last time-"

"I crave beauty. Is that enough to satisfy your curiosity?"

It was. Sycamore slipped his arms around him, feeling the contours of his back; his first steps in the exploration of Lysandre's body. He tilted his head, and their lips closed in a kiss.

It was soft and lingering. Lysandre cupped Sycamore's chin in his hands, and the stubble of his cheeks bristled against his fingers. The Professor's tongue met his own. His kiss tasted of tobacco and red wine. Lysandre's hands trailed past Sycamore's throat, resting on his collar, where he began to unpick his buttons.

You can only unwrap a present once. Fine black hair caught between Lysandre's fingers as he grazed over his chest. Sycamore, seemingly lacking the other man's patience, was clutching Lysandre's leather belt with both hands, his swelling crotch grinding against the top of Lysandre's thighs.

He freed Lysandre of his belt and trousers and grasped the weight of his manhood through silk underwear.

"Come on, Lysandre," he moaned. "I've been waiting long enough." He shuffled his shoulders, dropping his own shirt on the floor and began to nimbly remove Lysandre's cravat, jacket and white shirt, expert fingers flying from button to button. Lysandre's body was thick and muscled beneath his clothing, so unlike the soft feminine fleshiness that was all Sycamore had known for the last year.

The men tumbled onto the bed. Sycamore landed atop Lysandre's bulk and hands went to his Sitrus-yellow belt. He was seated on the other man's hips, spine curved back and crotch thrust forward, a clear, silent command for Lysandre to unbuckle his belt.

As the remains of his clothing were thrown aside, he leaned forwards over Lysandre, resting his weight on his knuckles. His cock was hard and pink. It curved against his stomach, aligned with the dark trail that led down to his pubic hair. He took himself in his palm, watching Lysandre's lusty gaze. Pushing aside black cloth, he held the other man's erection against his own, and stroked them both. Lysandre was leaking precome from his aching tip.

Lowering his upper body slightly, Sycamore pressed his own cock against Lysandre's, and gyrated his hips. Lysandre moved with him, wrapping his arms around Sycamore's back and squeezing his body so close that he did not know which heartbeat was his own.

The two men's eyes were locked on each other; grey and blazing blue, only inches apart.

"Does that feel good?" Sycamore breathed. "Do you want more?" Lysandre growled. Pinning Sycamore to his body with one bulging arm, he held up two fingers to the Professor's mouth. His lips parted instantly, and he sucked on the thick digits, slathering them with saliva before Lysandre withdrew them.

Lysandre's wandering hand grasped his arse, and squeezed, hard enough to bruise. He felt between his buttocks, quickly finding that intimate cleft, shut tight against intrusion. Sycamore squirmed atop him like a bug caught in a net.

Perhaps no-one had ever done this to him before? Lysandre felt blood pulse to his crotch at the thought of being the first man to fuck Augustine Sycamore..

"You're mine." Lysandre said. His slick fingers circled, pushing hard enough to feel around the edge of his hole. As Lysandre's first fingertip pushed inside, Sycamore gritted his teeth and groaned. His hands were bunched into empty, useless fists on the black sheets.

The resistance was incredible. Meat and muscle pressed against Lysandre's intruding fingers. Sycamore's sphincter twitched, but Lysandre only shoved harder. When he felt that he could go no further, he let the pressure of Sycamore's body slide his fingers out, only to jerk his wrist upwards again, and he could sense that he had forced the other man open a little deeper.

Sycamore was biting his lip, eyes tight shut. At the lightest push, he rolled onto his back, and Lysandre climbed between his legs, pumping his fingers harder.

He had never seen a person so stripped of control as Sycamore was at that moment. Without his clothing, effortless charm or academic titles to hide behind, this was Sycamore in most natural and vulnerable state. The thought filled Lysandre with a strange, calm confidence.

"Out of our comfort zone, are we?"

"Mmmmm."

"Do you want more?"

"Eurghh…" Sycamore gasped, weakly reaching for his leaking prick and desperately grasping it like a lifeline. "Yes. Yes, please." He yelped as a flat palm stung across his arse, bidding him to wait on all fours. He shuffled into position, face red with heat, arousal and humiliation.

Nobody had ever dared to treat him like that. Never had he truly given up control to another. And yet, with the red-haired beast of a man kneeling above him, Lysandre's will was his command. Somehow, it felt so right. As Lysandre explored him, he was certain that he had been waiting his entire life for somebody strong enough to earn his true devotion.

Somebody like Lysandre.

Thick fingers slipped from his body.

"Are you ready?" Lysandre asked. The end of his erection was bulging from his fist.

"Yes."

Lysandre closed the gap between them. The blunt tip of his cock pressed up against his waiting, puckered hole. After one, two, three, four gentle pushes, Lysandre thrust with enough force to pierce Sycamore, burying his cock up to the hilt in his body.

Sycamore let out a howl and his shoulders collapsed.

Lysandre watched carefully as the other man panted, adjusting to the fierce intrusion. His hips remained propped up in the air by the meeting between their bodies. The pressure was like no sensation Lysandre had ever experienced. He had to close his eyes and breathe deeply to stop himself coming there and then.

"Fuck. Fuck, Lysandre."

He was so tight. Lysandre let the pressure of Sycamore's body squeeze him out until just the head of his cock was left forcing him open. He pushed back, slowly, until he was balls deep once again, steadying himself with his hands on the young Professor's hips.

Unable to hold back for any longer, Lysandre began to fuck Sycamore with relish. At first, it was a battle to open him up inside, but as his flesh settled around him, it became easier to pump his cock into his warm, tight body.

After a few minutes of the assault, Sycamore had managed to regain use of his limbs, and was clambering back onto his hands and knees, gasping with each thrust. The pain of friction was mingled with a deep pleasure as Lysandre's cock bumped against his prostate, harder and harder. He wrapped his hand back around his aching, abandoned erection.

"I'm going to come," Lysandre hissed. He leaned over Sycamore's body, supporting himself with one arm, and wrapping the other around his chest, enclosing him so tightly that Sycamore could only manage the shallowest of breaths.

His buttocks clenched and loosened rapidly as he pumped into the other man. There was a long, strangled moan from Sycamore as he tipped himself over the edge, come splattering the sheets.

A moment later, Lysandre groaned deeply. A shudder of pleasure spread from his crotch to the corners of his body. He continued to thrust for a few seconds before sliding out with a soft pop, and tumbling onto the bed.

Sycamore rolled onto his back. Oxygen filled his lungs. For a long while, the two men lay in silence as their pulses slowed to steady beats. Sycamore felt strangely empty, as though a hollow had been carved out of his body. He shifted onto his side to gaze at Lysandre, who was staring at the ceiling.

He was undeniably handsome, but it wasn't his body that drew Sycamore to him. There was something about him that exuded power and leadership. Sycamore wasn't the only one to sense it. After all, Lysandre had followers from every corner of Kalos.

He knew in his heart that this was the man who was going to lead the world into a brighter future.