Author's Note

Good day, my friends. I hope your desserts are as sweet as your breakfast is savory. I also hope you had breakfast.

So, a reviewer pointed out to me that, in the main story of the Pokémon games, Cynthia's Garchomp is female.

...Crap. She's one of my favorite characters, for crying out loud. How could I forget that? Well, whatever. The show goes on!

I have much and more to say and ask of you, too much to put here. Please read the after-notes. I would love feedback from you.

Chapter 3: Whispers of Heat

He had almost broken down by the time he crossed into his yard. He could feel the tears, achingly trying to force out of the corners of his eyes. He wouldn't let them. He was strong, and he wouldn't cry, no matter what. It was something he could take pride in. A mark of manhood, in his mind, though he was nine.

His mother stood waiting for him in the doorway, wearing the same sad smile she always did when he was unhappy. It was something he held in awe of her, how she knew the things that he refused to say, the feelings that he refused to show. She wrapped her arms gently around him as she brought him inside. A neighborhood Rockruff peered around the side of the home, watching the scene with a head cocked in curiosity.

His mother lay next to him in his bed, whispering sweet assurances that everything would be alright one day. What scared him was that he wasn't sure if she was telling the truth. It's a terrifying thing, to wonder if your own mother is being untruthful. To wonder if things would ever be better.

"It's because of my name," he sniffed. That wasn't true. He thought they also made fun of him because he didn't look as Alolan as they did. But that wasn't something he knew how to change. "They keep saying that Baren is a stupid name. That it means I'm not really Alolan."

"Do you believe them?" she asked gently. "Do you believe that your name is stupid?"

Kind of, he wanted to say. But he knew that would make her sad.

Instead, he asked, "Why did you name me that? Why couldn't you have given me a name more like the others?"

His mother kissed his small nose. It was something she did when he said something she didn't like. It was very effective. "Hush. Your name is special. It's a name from your home from a long time ago. It's a name of power. It connects you to who you are meant to be."

He nodded, but he didn't understand. Baren hated that about himself, how he couldn't understand things that sounded so simple, when she seemed to know everything he was thinking just by looking at him.

He must have been wearing his confusion, because his mother said, "Everything becomes better with time, sweet. Everything. You have to be thankful for your problems now, because they will make you stronger for when you're older."

"What's going to happen when I'm older?" Baren asked.

"I wish I knew." She moved her hand behind his head, pressing so that their foreheads touched. "Now, tell me everything you learned today." She closed her eyes, and Baren closed his as he began to talk. It was their game he played when he was unhappy.

When he opened his eyes again, his mother was calling him from the kitchen, telling him that dinner was ready.

On the Driftveil mountainside, Baren opened his eyes to the voice of a newscaster on the television.

"…has been put to a halt following a recent uptick in abnormal wildlife activity in the Eterna Forest. Oreburgh City's Gym Leader, Roark, who is also in charge of projects involving the Oreburgh mines, has issued an apology to the Eterna Forest Warden in the wake of what he refers to as a "major mess-up." He insists that the matter is being put to investigation, as there was no official sanction from the upper management of the Oreburgh mines for new digging to take place close to the surface of the forest. He additionally insists that they were unable to locate any unaccounted digging machinery that had been used in the incident. Nevertheless, the Warden has placed blame squarely at the Oreburgh Gym Leader's door, citing that the Sinnoh Underground was the region's largest work of construction, and required appropriate oversight in order for occurrences such as this to be prevented. We are now joined live from Eterna City by the Eterna Forest Warden and Gym Leader, Gardenia, who wishes to shed some more light on the fragile forest ecosystem."

"Well, first of all, don't call the ecosystem 'fragile,'" the woman on screen huffed. She had a dome of brown-and-black hair that was larger than a typical bowl cut, with twin bangs that framed the shapely features of her face. "Plants and plant-similar Pokémon have only existed there for so long because of their abilities to adapt against and conquer natural disasters. Of course, that doesn't mean we should…"

"I like that name."

"Which name?" Baren asked.

"Gardenia. It has most of the letters in 'Gardevoir.' Do you think that I should take it for my own?"

Baren was about to answer, before he was forced to stifle a groan. "No," he finally said. "I don't think it would fit right. She's a Grass-type Gym Leader. You should have a name that fits your status as a Psychic-type. And it wouldn't match your color scheme. You aren't green like other Gardevoir."

Gardevoir didn't answer, redoubling her focus on her task. It was a bright, hot summer morning that was quickly closing in on the afternoon. Baren sat upright on the couch in the sitting room. He had a hand on Gardevoir's head, the light blue fur shifting against his fingers. She kneeled on the floor, her gown spreading expansively over the rug, her mouth affectionately suckling his bulging manhood.

It was nothing new for her, and so she worked the hot length with the precision exclusive to the experienced. The small digits of her hands held the base firm as she went down and back up. Her tongue attended either side of the manhood as it came in and out of mouth. Occasionally, she would take the length deep into her cavity until it teased the chasm of her throat. Her eyes, those wonderful red cascades as deep as emotion, were clouded with mists of desire. Baren wondered what his own eyes looked like, right then.

He shifted his hand to caress the area just below her ear. She moaned onto his hardness at the gesture, and he could feel her pleasure as sharply as if it were his own. He knew that the same went for her. Their psychic link had come far in two years, and they had quickly found ways to exploit their shared feelings for the purpose of enhancing the sensations of their lovemaking.

He almost didn't notice the approaching climax, and when he did, he pulled Gardevoir's head further into his lap, the end of his manhood arcing smoothly down her throat. She closed her eyes as they rode out his climax together, the entire world condensed to just their existence. The two of them, in that moment, occupying a province of pleasure. He shot out once, then twice more, long strands of his seed coating the back of her throat. She put down the semen gratefully. In her mind, the ejaculate was representative of his greatest feelings of joy, pleasure personified, and it meant much that he let it out for her. Her energy hummed from the contact with his white love. All of these feelings were shared with Baren.

Still, it wasn't enough.

Once she had swallowed his release, Baren took her under the arm and he pulled her onto the couch, laying her lengthwise under him. In a flourish, his shirt came off. It was a step that Gardevoir tended to skip when she took off his shorts, in favor of moving right along to foreplay. He always forgot to take it off during her ministrations. But it was a small bump in their endeavors, forgotten by the end.

Her legs spread out under him, her gown the only barrier between what lay between her legs and Baren's wanting gaze. He reached down with both hands, between the fibers of that natural gown, and tore a large gap up, up, until he saw that sacred garden. She wasn't hurt. The gown, a natural part of her body, could reattach itself when ripped with only a healing thought. He had ripped it many times before.

He saw her cavern there, a little cleft in between two thighs each covered by a thin mat of white fur. The fur around the cleft was darkened by dampness, and a slip of pink peaked out, swollen with excitement. He knew because he could feel her excitement through their link, tempered by two years of proximity and various demonstrations of affection.

Baren wasted no time going down, bringing his head between those legs and delving his tongue into her opening. Where his tongue touched, the organ pulsed in rhythm with Gardevoir's sigh, and opened further to him. He accepted the greater access with fervor, using his thumb to massage her nub even as he went deeper inside her. The taste itself, of her juices, of the walls of her flesh, was fine enough, but peripheral in his strange understanding of their relationship. What mattered, what drove him to such great lengths to extract her essence, was that he was tasting her, and it was enough to drive him insane with desire. Her legs were about his head, and he could smell her, and it was the aroma of love, of a Gardevoir's desire, amplified by the very heat associated with their actions. He would have gladly drowned in her smell.

She had begun with a sigh, but now she was moaning in a sharp ecstasy. She encouraged him onward through their link, begging him to make her his, begging that he be hers. It was a redundant request, made in the throes of lovemaking. He was already hers, had existed solely for her association almost since they had met. Still, he appreciated the gesture, and it spurred him on further.

He curled his tongue upward, massaging the roof of her cavern, but she held on with an arc of her back and a gasp of exertion. But he took the nub of her clit and pressed between two fingers, and that was enough to send her over with a great defeated moan. For a moment, she reached the point of greatest pleasure, and that feeling was shared with Baren, who took hold of the sensation and rode it far beyond its time.

When it passed, he straightened on the couch, licking his lower lip of saliva and bodily fluids. She pulled herself up with him, arms around his neck, and their lips came together gently, but then the movements became fierce as they exchanged Gardevoir's taste. She had a strong kiss, matching an aggressive love, and they shared breath every brief moment they came apart. Her chest horn occasionally touched against his torso, letting out a low psychic hum that reverberated through the whole of him. His vigor returned as quickly as it had gone, his length painfully hard against Gardevoir's lap.

He knew he could sense it, his maddening arousal, and she shared in it through their link. Without appeal, she laid herself back on the couch, twining her legs around his body, bringing her cavern closer to his penis. She reached down with a deft hand, gingerly angling him until he was a spear, taking position to pierce her sex.

Many times, in the past, Baren had balked here. His feelings had been complicated, a confused muddle. Understandably so, given how radically his life had been forcefully changed.

But he no longer thought that far. He was addicted to her, nearly every thought being pervaded by his knowledge of her existence. It was a maddening obsession, an oppressive love that threatened to dash his mind to pieces. He often felt that he would go insane without her affection. He was dedicated to Gardevoir, her happiness, her pleasure. She was his temper, his ground in reality.

In one movement, he was inside her, and he grunted from the pressure, and she cried out from the power behind his thrust. His vigor was a testament to how often and for how long they had partaken in this sort of bonding. He pushed his mouth against hers, groaning at the pressure around his manhood, never ceasing in his pistoning. But she was a considerable power, herself, and her movements matched his in vigor and want. Her hands were at his waist as her hips matched his in orgasmic rhythm. In her mind, she encouraged him onward, saying sweet things that kept him determined to draw out the amazing sensations.

His hands reached through the soft tufts of her chest, where blue fur met the white, until he found her breasts, which he massaged with practiced hands. She was caught off guard, and the shocking pleasure was enough to bring her to an end.

Yet, she didn't have time to come down from the pleasure, because she realized that Baren not yet finished, and she was sensitive. His thumb went down, as it often did, to massage her nub, tender and reactive and swollen from her climax. In fact, every part of her felt sensitive. Her body, her vagina, her mouth. He was still kissing her. Every thrust of his length had her on pleasurable pins, enhanced by his tongue's careful exploration of her mouth. Her moans came stronger, and she spread her legs further, allowing him greater access. The tip of him kissed a place deep inside her. She could feel it coming, the climax she had wanted, greater than the one previous. And he could feel it, too.

At that point, she allowed him to throw the final stone, melting into his hands as he found the burst of vigor that indicated an impending end. He took his arms around her back, bringing her even closer as finally, with a pleasuring climax that matched any others, he brought their lovemaking to a close. They both groaned and grunted from the pleasure, cut off by the other's mouth. His seed shot far into her, warming her where no hands could reach. Her portal spasmed against his length, and the two organs pulsed in tandem as he emptied himself inside her. His kiss was deep.

Baren's body sagged as the wave of fatigue washed over him, but he didn't let himself fall onto her. The two, man and Gardevoir, stayed that way for a while, staring into each other, catching the breath that they shared. Baren finally heaved himself off of her, sitting up on the couch. His legs were a mess of husk-smelling juices, and the fur between Gardevoir's legs was dark and drowned, with branches of wet rivulets flowing down her thighs that shone from the windowed sunbeams. The couch beneath them was a mess of body liquids, which was fine. They rarely had visitors, and tomorrow was wash day.

Baren moved to stand, but Gardevoir put a hand on his bare chest, a warm hand with dried and cooling fluids, closed her eyes, and they were in bed. Over the covers, though, not under. Teleport was not so precise as that. It was no problem. The heat hadn't only been from their romping. It was a hot day, in the midst of a hot spell.

They lay there, enjoying the calm after their storming, for a short time before she spoke.

"You were right."

"Hmm?"

"Gardenia wouldn't work as my name. It's a human name. My identity needs to be something of my own."

"That's sounds right." But he didn't like being reminded of that great, immovable barrier that was the reason they kept the depths of their intimacy a great secret.

She slipped a clean hand into his. "Take me to Hoenn one day."

"One day," Baren promised. He had promised the same many times before. Countless times. Enough to make a promise pie. By that point, it had become a post-coitus ritual. It made him feel empty, guilty, like he was lying to her. But she was alright with it. She could suss out truthfulness, and he was truthful with each promise made.

At last, Baren decided that he should wash himself before he soiled the covers beyond sleep-worthiness, and moved to step out of bed.

Then he heard the ring of the Transceiver.

He looked to Gardevoir, but she was laid back, peaceful, her eyes closed and a hand placed tenderly above the arch of her legs. Her other arm was splayed diagonal, giving him a fair view of the pit of her arm, where reddened white flesh peaked out of fine blue fur. He had the sudden urge to lick that pit, having forgotten what it tasted like, and make her squeal in surprise. And then they would laugh before returning to bed, as close as two could be before becoming one.

Instead, he removed himself from bed and went out the bedroom, quiet as not to disturb her.

His house was larger now, with a sufficient size that referring to it as such instead of a cabin was certainly reasonable. It had been a decided investment nearly two years prior when Baren realized that the home wasn't large enough to house himself and a Kirlia, soon to evolve. Walls had been torn down to make space for two new rooms. The sitting area was larger, and his kitchen no longer a single slab of counter. He had made his home more livable, as well. There was now a television in the sitting room, which he didn't use often or with enthusiasm, but it was a nice thing to have. It was still on, which gave Baren a strange feeling of embarrassment, as if the people on the screen had peeked through and watched as he and Gardevoir were in the midst of their romping. In his kitchen was a larger refrigerator and a stove. He now had a second bathroom, larger than the first, with an actual bath to boot. His bed was no longer a mattress resting on the floor, where dust could rise and clog a nostril. The mattress now rested in an oaken bedframe, with a headboard and four fine dark legs to stand it. They–he and Gardevoir–slept together.

The Transceiver hung from a wall, large and dark blue, with a display that lit dimly when a call came in. It gave another ring. Baren turned off the television before forcing himself over to the device. It wasn't a call from the school. The number on the display was unrecognizable.

He removed the handset. "Hello. Who is this?" A lame introduction. Hearing his own voice made him realize how tired he was.

"The spirits from the deep and dark." The voice was deep, steady. Familiarly patronizing.

"How did you get this number?"

"The Trainer School was kind enough to provide it to me. Thanks for mentioning that you got a Transceiver, by the way." Hillard's tone was dry. Any drier, and he would have evaporated.

"Sorry." Looking down at himself, Baren went to the kitchen. The handset was wireless.

"You sound more worn out than sorry," Hillard said critically. "Were you just sleeping?"

"Something like that." Sleeping with. But Hillard didn't need to know that. The less Hillard knew about him, the better Baren felt. As he removed a small towel from the dish cupboard, he wondered, does it still count as sleeping with her if I never actually slept? But Hillard was talking again.

"Build better habits," he admonished. "Mornings are when all things begin. You can't expect to excel if you can't do something as simple as rise with the sun."

"I'll try and do better." Another lame answer, but Baren was lacking for a better one. With his free hand, he dampened the towel and took it the wet, dried and cracking mess on and between his legs. Baren was not comfortable with talking to the older man while covered in sex fluids. Surveying the results with a cursory eye, he decided that it looked fine, but he could still detect love's strong aroma. Whatever. It wasn't as if Hillard could sniff him through the Transceiver. Baren would shower afterward.

"Was that all?" Baren asked.

"Of course not," said Hillard, all about-business. "Why do you think I was talking to the Trainer School? The city administration is putting together some sort of project, and they've asked the school to provide competent trainers, teachers, and counselors to help, if they have Pokémon. They're pulling names now. You would've gotten a call later today about it. I decided to let you know early on."

"Why?"

"So, you could beat everyone else to the punch," Hillard said impatiently. "You could come down here early on to make sure they have a spot for you. It would improve the school's standing if you made a good impression."

"…"

"I only meant to let you know. It isn't my problem if you aren't interested."

"No, I am." It was the truth. He would go to many lengths if it meant helping the Trainer School. He was only frustrated that Hillard had been the one to tell him. "What kind of project is it?"

"You'll have to ask them. Do you know where the council building is?"

"Yes."

"Well, they're being tight-lipped about it, but I think that the chairman is in charge of the thing. Or you could try the school. I'm sure your Miss Eleanor knows something."

Baren already knew his choice. He wouldn't walk right into the council building and risk embarrassing the school. "Thanks. I'll do that."

"Hmm. You know where to find me. Take care of yourself. And take a greater interest in the world around you. Your home doesn't have to be your life."

"Wait," Baren said, feeling somewhat pathetic. "Could…could you say hi to my dad for me?"

A few seconds of silence, then: "If I get the chance, I'll send him your regards." Click.

It was a few seconds before Baren replaced the handset, thinking dark-gray, formless, oppressive thoughts.

"Are you alright?" asked Gardevoir. She was still in the bedroom but spoke as if she were right beside him. She must have still been tired, but her voice was vibrant, full of love and concern.

"I'm fine," he said, trying to make his heart smile. And then he asked, "Do you want to come into town with me?"

Author's PS

Right now, I can think of two things I am humbled by. First, the amount of time and effort that goes into uploading stories. I've read many hundreds of chapters on this website, and I've often found myself making small mental notes about everything I find wrong with the writing style or story structure. Well, I've had a change of heart. It takes courage even to start writing. This stuff is hard. Second, the response that the first two chapters have gotten. At the time of writing, we are at three hundred and fifty hits. Not a large number in the grand scheme of FanFiction, but it still feels amazing to me. The reviews have been few, but each one of them has made me giddy. One stood out to me as especially heartfelt and affecting. You know who you are, you reddish nightmare.

Now then, let's come back to Cynthia's Garchomp. I had meant to keep the already-established characters in the Pokémon universe as by-the-games as possible, so this blunder of mine is giving me mixed feelings. I had always intended to go back in time and fix any small typos that made their way to published chapters, but this is a bit more than a typographical error. Future visions I had of Cynthia's part in the story included her Garchomp as a male. I feel like changing it now would throw a wrench in the works, or be a betrayal to those who have already read the story. That being said, I doubt that changing it would make the quality worse. In this, I would like your advice. Should I alter the story, or is it alright to keep it as it is?