(I am so sorry. Like, beyond sorry. My god. This hasn't been updated. I know. But one, my computer busted around this time, and I've only been allowed a limited amount of my time. My parents have set limits; thankfully, I've now paid Steve the laptop back and the limits should disappear shortly. Anyways, I also has a Jack, so I'm talking to him constantly. XD Anyways, I promise to be more disciplined in my updating. I need to be! Wish me luck!

BTW, this chapter contains a lemon. It's pretty obvious when it starts, so I won't bother italicizing or shit, but it's more humor than actual sex, 'cause it's Tristan and Morgan. /smiles/ Anyways, next chapter gets gory and freaky as fuck, so warning now.

I don't own. If I did, I would have quite a few things to say to Tajiri about getting my hopes up by naming the Sinnoh third "Platinum." You bastard.)

"You know, sir, they're getting torches and pitchforks now."

"...I thought we'd abolished farming in urban areas. Didn't we?" Morgan said, leaning over the edge of the window as a bottle cracked against the glass. Tristan arched an eyebrow.

"Well, angry mobs kind of need those. It's like a rule of sorts." Morgan nodded sagely, and looked down at the crowd. He paused, and burst out laughing.

"Am I the only one who seems to have noticed that these people are all about over the age of forty?" Tristan shrugged.

"It's the hippie creed; trust no one over thirty." Morgan sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Okay, there's something I'm not understanding." He said, beginning to pace the floor. "I order, what, it must be the execution of, say, five hundred people a month--"

"Five hundred and seventy, sir, we exceeded our quota last December." Morgan whipped around to glare at Tristan.

"Am I making a point?"

"Yes, sir, but you need to average it out--"

"Tristan?"

"Sir?"

"Shut the hell up." Morgan ordered. Tristan rolled his eyes and stared out the window as Morgan continued.

"Anyways, I ordered the executions of a lot of people, and they have no problem with it--hell, they support me! But one--just ONE--gay love affair and they want your sodomizing ass on a silver platter. In a sane world, this would not be possible." Tristan shrugged.

"In a sane world, we'd most likely be far away from a position of power." Morgan nodded.

"This is true." Tristan had been considering the rioters outside the headquarters for a few minutes now.

They could, theoretically, storm into the headquarters and kill him. It wasn't likely, but it could happen.

So what did he want...more than anything in the world? What would he need if he died?

"Sir?" He said softly.

"Let's have sex. Right now." Morgan paused.

"Excuse me?" Tristan nodded.

"Yes...here, sir. We can't exactly head outside, can we?" Morgan sighed, and whined for a second.

"B-but I'll get papercuts." Morgan whined, pointing to the desk with papers scattered on it. Tristan sighed, ruffled his hair, and shoved the papers off the desk, and getting on it, legs spread.

"I'm ready for you, sir. I...I'm your dog, sir. Do with me as you please." Morgan paused.

And then he backhanded Tristan across the face; Tristan could only blink before Morgan pulled him close and kissed him passionately. "You," Morgan hissed, "ass." He kissed him again.

"You are not my dog, foolish man. You are my lover."

/Am I really? Or am I your dog, as I've always been?/

Morgan seemed to read his mind. "I know how I treated you when we were rebels. I know; I remember all of it. And you sat there and took it, and now I know why. Because you loved me...I feel terrible now, I really do. I never treated you as an equal. Tristan, if you want to have sex with me, you need to understand you're not my dog. You are my partner. Can you do that?" Tristan bit his lip.

"Being your dog, I don't mind it, Morgan. I don't mind letting you choke me into submission sometimes, keep me on a leash. I need it sometimes. Otherwise, I'd go crazy or hurt someone. I serve, and you protect me. I was always your dog, and I don't think I can stop just like that." He kissed him. "And the leash, as I know, works two ways..." Tristan went for his shirt, ripping it off carelessly.

"And I can make you be my dog any time I wish, sir." He closed his mouth around the hollow of Morgan's neck, loving the small squealish gasp Morgan gave him in return. Morgan growled, and ripped his shirt, biting down firmly on the side of his neck, licking the skin before pulling away and attacking Tristan's earlobe with tongue and teeth instead.

Pleasure wracking his body, Tristan could only think to fumble at Morgan's pants, yanking them down, but this stupid big...hard...thing was in his way... Morgan chuckled, and began undoing his own belt and yanking down his pants. "Wonderful, Tristan. I suppose you're presuming we'll have sex on the desk?" Tristan shrugged.

"Why not? You'd rather have ir in the hallway?" Morgan laughed.

"I suppose. Are there any field trips scheduled for the children's schools?" Tristan smiled.

"Sadly, no," he purred, grinding against Morgan, eliciting a gasp, "but I can put on enough of a show for you anyways." Morgan purred.

"Ooh, sounds wonderful..." He grabbed Tristan by the waist and yanked his pants and boxers down in one swift motion, effortlessly tossing them aside. Morgan paused, and whispered, "Shit! Tris, we don't...uh, we don't have lube."

Tristan grinned. "I can fix that." And with that, he pinned Morgan to the table, knelt down, and captured his cock in one swift motion.

Morgan almost screamed, instead settling for a heated gasp while he fisted his fingers in Tristan's hair. Tristan grinned, and began licking eagerly, drawing his tongue lazily up the length before sucking again, then licking, and repeating the process until Morgan snarled, "If it isn't fucking slick enough by this point, I'll kill you." Tristan laughed, and looked up.

"Dogs love to lick, sir." Morgan paused, and sighed.

"What can I do to prove I don't want you as my dog? What, Tristan? What do you want from me?" Tristan blushed, and shook his head.

"Oh, nothing sir...nothing." Morgan thought for a second.

"Ride me, Tristan. It works out, doesn't it? I top from the bottom, and you keep me tethered. You're right...the leash works both ways, my precious little puppy. Now ride me before I take that tight little ass of yours and force it down." Tristan grinned, and shook his head.

"You'll have to stretch me out first." Morgan apparently took that as a challenge, swiftly coating his fingers in saliva, and then moving to pin Tristan and inserting a finger. Tristan shrieked, and gasped, "S-sir, I was joking!" Morgan laughed.

"Good," he said, inserting a second one swiftly, "I wasn't." The pain was excruciating, but the feeling of Morgan rubbing inside his entrace let Tristan relax and enjoy it slightly, as Morgan stretched him out and laid back down, and whispered, "Ride me, Tristan. I know you want it--I can see it in your eyes." Tristan sighed.

"Sir...sir..." He choked on his words for an instant. "I love you, Morgan." Morgan cracked a smile.

"Love you too, puppy. Now come on." Tristan smiled, and adjusted himself so he effectively tethered Morgan to the desk, and lowered himself down on the erect cock begging for his attention. Tristan wailed, and gasped, "S-sir! Sir, it really hurts!" Morgan huffed.

"Well, I can't really help from this position, can I?" Tristan stuck his tongue out, and began to adjust, moving up and down gently, as Morgan gasped and writhed at his motions. "H-harder, now. Oh, Tristan..." Morgan shuddered with pleasure, as Tristan moved up again, and impaling himself down again. "Iloveyou!" Morgan rushed out. Tristan almost giggled, until Morgan grinned and took one hand, running it up Tristan's length.

That felt good. Tristan moaned loudly, shuddering from the sudden contact, moving up a little more eagerly now. "Oh," he moaned, "Morgan, faster, I--"

Suddenly, there was an insistent knock on the door. Tristan and Morgan both froze.

"...Sirs? You can come out now, we've dispelled the crowds." Derek spoke, voice muffled by the door. Morgan stared up at Tristan in terror.

"Uh...no, we're fine. We'll...just, ah, stay in here for awhile, thanks." Morgan said, voice strained. Derek paused.

"...Morgan Kent. Tristan Rainier. The two of you are having sex in there, aren't you?"

/Yes, and very good sex at that./

"No, of course not!"

Collins raised an eyebrow at Derek who raised an eyebrow at Jeremy who sighed and said, "Two hundred thousand grand a month isn't enough to deal with them, is it?" Derek shook his head.

"No...no it isn't." Collins sighed.

"Sirs, come out. We know you're having sex. It's okay, really."

"LIES!" Morgan thundered. "LIES AND DEFAMATION! IT'S A GODDAMN CONSPIRACY!"

Jeremy slowly began banging his head against the door. Collins felt like following suit, but decided it would overall be a very bad decision.

"Morgan Kent. Tristan Rainier. Come out. We know you're having sex." Desperate, Morgan tried another tactic.

"Nuh-uh." Collins sighed.

"Yah-huh."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yah-huh."

Tristan, during all this, was still waiting for Morgan to thrust up.

He'd stopped moving. Why had Morgan stopped moving? He wanted some more of that delicious friction, wanted Morgan, simply wanted...

"Nuh-uh."

"Yah-huh--"

Tristan lost it.

"THRUST YOU BASTARD, I'M TRYING TO HAVE AN ORGASM HERE!"

...The rest of the Elite Four fled, as any sane men would do, but before they did, Jeremy muttered to the other two, "By the grace of god, I hope they used protection."

An hour later, the sun had set and the moon had risen over the office, as Morgan lazily pulled Tristan to him. He smiled, and buried his face in his neck. "You're so pretty." Tristan raised an eyebrow at the bottle of vodka the Elite Four kept in case of 'emergencies', also known as "really boring meetings with the ambassadors from other regions who speak in heavy accents, or 'paperwork time'".

"And you're so drunk." Morgan tried to stand, still naked, and slumped over on the desk.

"Yanno, Tristan, if you were a dog, you'd like, be...my Irish setter. That'd be cool. You could totally sit on my lap and I could go all "I've been expecting you, Meester Bonnnnnnd, and then, like....we could have sex." Tristan rolled his eyes.

"Sir, really? I mean..." Morgan held a hand up.

"No no no...you'd be, like, a poodle." Tristan stared. Okay, it hadn't been that much vodka...had it?

Oh no, look. Three other empty bottles.

...The rest of the Elite Four was going to be pissed he drank their supply.

"Very masculine, sir." There was a pause. Morgan pouted, looking like a petulant child.

"I like poodles." He said dejectedly. Tristan sighed.

"I won't have sex with you until you're sober, you know."

That did it. Morgan fired up the coffee machine, slugged a mug down, and pounced.

"I love you, sir." Tristan said, laughing as Morgan pinned him down.

Morgan bit his earlobe.

"Love you too, my poodle."

Olivia was brought into the small church, as Jimmy walked ahead, calling, "Up, Marowak." The beast stirred, and fixed its' eyes on Jayel. /Soon./ It thought, grunting to itself. Livvy herself awoke to the stained glass windows shining down brightly on her, the red and gold lights twinkling across her face.

The irony of being in a church while her father was screwing another man into the desk was lost on her, considering she didn't know at the time, (and might've been scarred for life if she had.)

Jimmy examined the Pokeballs, and said nothing, considering the students had yet to school the child anyway. He would get her situated, however. "Eden, Jericho, please go get this girl some new clothes. Duma, you'll take her to our classroom, won't you, when we're finished? She may sit in with us on a lesson."

Eden's Murkrow sat on her shoulder and stared down at Olivia, flapping his useless wing. "Abel, come on. We're taking the lost sheep to her room now." Eden spoke, as Abel cawed and followed her, lurching behind Jericho and Eden as they took Olivia to the dressing room. She was still disorientated from the heavy incense, so the two helped her into a white sundress, which she didn't question in the slightest, considering how out of it she was.

Jack screamed inside his Pokeball, screamed for her to get away because he could smell kindred Pokemon's blood, and he could smell it on the children...But she didn't hear a single word, as they led her out into the hallway and down the cold, foreboding hall into a small classroom.

Slogans cheerfully trumpeted a deity Jack had never heard of. There were drawings of Mew and the Lati twins, crossed out and scribbled upon. There was a quotation on the board; "And the Unknown God said 'yea, for the Pokemon shall have no domain over the humans and so it shall be the legends are mere idols and shall be put to death'." Jack felt sick. This place was wrong, wrong wrong wrong.

/This is the way the world ends/

Jack roared with pain inside his Pokeball. All he wanted to do was protect Livvy and she was sitting there, staring blankly at the walls covered in blasphemy against the gentle Pokemon Legends, who had never hurt any human that served them. Not even Darkrai, ruler of night-ghasts and dark rooms.

"Children of the Unknown God, good morning." The children chorused back, "Blessed be, Saint Jimmy." Olivia blinked.

"Wh-what...?" The children turned to her as one living, obedient organism, and said, "Saint Jimmy is the prophet of the Unknown God, sent to this mortal earth to save our souls and protect the downtrodden from the false idols of Pokemon." Olivia blinked.

/But I've SEEN Mew with my own eyes! I know she exists; and so does Giratina! If they exist, why shouldn't the others exist too!? I've never even heard of this 'Unknown God' before in my life!/ She kept her mouth shut and watched, as Jimmy passed out thick books bound in what looked to be Tauros skin.

Livvy felt sick as she picked up the book, feeling rage and pain trapped in the sheath of skin covering words that held no meaning or sense. She opened it slowly, and skimmed through it.

"So sayeth the Unknown GOD that all fornicators with the beasts of Poke shall be put to death--"

"The monsters of Poke shall be put to earth; let no flying monster fly above the Unknown GOD and challenge his rule--"

"LET ALL POKEMON BE MADE AS SLAVES TO THE RIGHTEOUS! SO SAYETH THE UNKNOWN GOD!"

Livvy jumped and shut the book, for this was the passage they were chanting now. Jimmy watched, satisfied. With a small incline of his head to the Marowak, Marowak stepped forward and presented Livvy with her belt, missing only Jack and Jayel's Pokeballs. Livvy blinked. "Thank you?" The Marowak was unreadable; a mere beast of rage and barely contained bloodlust. Jimmy paused, and smiled warmly.

"We need no thanks for helping a lost sheep towards the Unknown God's flock. Come, child, celebrate the mystery of faith with us. Would you like to stay for awhile?"

He clapped his hands, and two children, blank as dolls, brought in a terrified girl clasping a Pokeball to her chest. Jimmy smiled, the smile now devoid of any warmth it might've given.

"I believe we have the appropriate tithe to the Unknown God for this mass." He murmured softly.